The light at the end of the tunnel opens another world. That of ease. That of wealth. Of privilege. Of lake side living. Of a bright future. Of something to live for.
The dust behind me. Corrugated dirt that pretends to be a road. My GPS is no use. Streets have no names in that place. I follow the slow convoy. people commuting to the hole in the ground. No funeral for the dead. Certainly no funeral for the living. Not of that thing that happened two years ago. At the place named Wonderkop on a map.
The grass is burnt at scene 1. No memorial. No mourners. No nothing. No water. No justice. Just the shadow. The shadow of Lonmin. The shadow of a government that has failed. The shadow that won’t go away.
Go and find it on a map.