THE videos were startling. A row of white crosses marked with blots of red paint planted in a row, accompanied by mournful moaning. Each cross is for someone killed in the violence caused by gangs and drug peddling.
These were the scenes that flashed by on my social feed in November 2022; these have been the scenes from the Eldorado Park I have known since the late 1960s, and they have become more common over the past two to three decades. They are scenes from the wreckage of a community described sometimes as bastards, other times as mixed, as leftovers, the children born after settler colonialists raped indigenous women, coloureds, others, creoles, hybrids.
Others have always named us, given us a history. Across the country and in my home, Eldorado Park, we are the legatees to be added to those who died in pursuit of the treasures of the mythical paradise of El Dorado...
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