late on Monday night…

Every Monday I spend an hour or two catching up with the team of Fusion workers in Athlone, Western Cape, South Africa. Since relocating to Tasmania this happens at 9pm for me at the end of a long day. Despite my tiredness, its something I look forward to each week. Its not just that its fun to connect with friends in another continent, or that they have a wicked sense of humour and our ‘work chat’ is interspersed with lots of laughter, although these things bring a welcome lightness to the end of the day for me. I think its that I have seen a glimpse of their heart for God and for their bleeding country and there is a part of me that has decided that if there is anything I can do to encourage them on the road God has them, I will do.

Here is a poem written by one of the team, Sandile, its not the first poem of his I have shared on this blog; he wrote this one last week.

My nation is not a lost nation!!!

MY nation is not a lost nation,

Not while I’m still around,

As young as I am I’ll strive for change,

As juvenile as I am I’ll  fight for  transformation,

I refuse! that this nation be called a lost nation

I decline! that this nation be called a dying nation

Not while `I’m still in the flesh….


I`ll see to humanity being restored,

The efforts of our heroes won`t go to waste,

The sweat of our leaders won`t go down the drain,

My nation is not a lost nation I refuse…I refuse!!!


I still dream a better tomorrow,

Where I’ll` walk down from the streets of Soweto

down Cape town streets without fear..

I still imagine the dark nights of Africa

being the nights of celebrations

up from Ghana and

Nigeria down

to S.A.:)


If you care to join me feel free,..:)

If you wish to stop me don’t’ you dare!


I rebuke those who doubt change!

I admonish the hopeless!


Never and never call my nation,

your nation ,







An Angry Storm

this is a poem written by Sandile Sithole, a young guy who has left home and family in Durban to come to Cape Town and work with the Fusion team here and making a difference in the communities here, his dream is to see South Africa healed. prepareto be impacted…

An Angry Storm !

                                                         Black clouds gathered from south,

The wind blow hard like nobody’s business,

Darkness was upon our nation,

Terror arose from the dust

And faith was lost.

I began to hear screams,

People we crying,

The devastating storm had come,

And had swept all the faith they had,

The world became wild,

Men became rapists,

Men became murderers,

Men became thieves,

And they’ve shaded their faith.

Oh dear! A woman cried in observance,

She prayed for the saviour to come,

She begged for mercy to be done to the wrong,

Oh dear! A cry

Oh dear! Shame was neglected,

Women abandoned their babies,

Women had abortions,

Women became prostitutes,

Oh dear! The world had gone crazy

Oh the dust had taken,

Dust to dust,

Ashes to ashes,

Orphans left behind,

Widows weeping for lost love,

The priest cried what an angry storm!

 I wrote this poem in fear of what the world had become and also in concern of what is going wrong within the vicinity of our own communities. We putting our own selves in danger of living behind the people we value so much. Because we are not ashamed of our own selves we turn to do drastic things e.g. raping sinless children and doing all of the above shameful things etc.

The title AN ANGRY STRORM came to mind because certainly I think if we are doing shameful things we are never doing them in love but we do them in anger and also the fact that a storm is never a good because where ever the storm had pass all things are swept away only devastation and pain are left behind.