Abu Bakr Solomons, Southfield
The imam who died
You were this nattily dressed man
who drove a smart station wagon
‘a salesman’ someone said
You lived in this beautiful
double-storeyed house
in Repulse Road
it stood out amongst
the other ordinary buildings
it had a balcony
Someone mentioned
that you were important
but then as a child
I measured authority
by the kind of clothes you wore
car you drove
the neat black fez with tassle
(that hajis donned)
perched on your head
I could see you chose
your outfits meticulously
with good colour combination
you always waved
and smiled as you drove past
looking through the window
as if you knew everyone
I never saw your wife
nor your children, you
were always driving alone
Then one day my mother said:
The imam who lives in Repulse Road
was killed by the boere
I didn’t know about security police
She added: His kifaait may be today
if they release his body
I understood very little
Then I heard there was going to be
a huge gathering on the
new rugby field, City Park
behind our house
but my mother ruled:
Don’t go there, kanallah
it will be dangerous
but she didn’t elaborate
So I climbed onto our neighbour
Mrs Finnan’s back wall and looked
onto the rugby field
There was a sea of white fezzes
and a bier covered with a black
cloth embroidered with gold
calligraphy, stood in the middle
of the crowd like a precious gem
glistening in orange sunlight
The crowd was silent until
I heard a few men exclaiming
something about greatness
and sacrifice that never dies
