Orania MonumenteIn the harshest climate, between the barren rocky karoo-veld, under the scorching summer sun and in the blisteringly cold winter frost, I see a people with the worry of a broken world on their shoulders. These Boers are the remnant and the seed, the settlers and the pilgrims, the exiled and the free.
These Boers are carved differently. They are carved, not born, as if the Almighty have a special plan for them. Their great grandfathers fought the Bantu tribes, their grandfathers the British and the Germans, their fathers the Communists; and the drums are echoing again. They fought for liberty and respite and in their 400 years of turbulent history, it was not granted. The world screams of these Boers as the ‘privileged’ people, the reality is far from it.
They braved a new hostile world, with only a ‘Staten Vertaling’, their bare hands, their dream. They succeeded and they failed. Their children and woman were taken by fever and war and famine and camps. The earthheaps and white crosses a testament to the price of freedom, for them a freedom still elusive.
These Boers were, and still are, beaten and bruised but never broken. They are a people carved differently, they are, by their faith, unbreakable.
From the dust and ash and blood there was crafted a word; one word to define them: Boer. From this Boer sprouted a language, Afrikaans. From this Afrikaans sprouted a culture: Afrikaner.
They are scorned by a political world without any grace, still they build. They are being murdered by the thousands, still they build. They are hated by the majority, still they build. They are shunned and ostracized, still they build.
The year is 2016, they first arrived 6 April 1652, still they are here.
I see a back bent with a pickaxe in the barren Bo-Karoo, I see a daughter walking from school, I see an old Mother baking, I see a businessman bent over his books, I see a council worry and plan and do with non-existent funding, I see a bricklayer build, I see a ‘dominee’ teach, I see a student study, I see children laughing and playing, I see young people having fun after the day is done. I see a Boer, and still the drums of hate echoes, and still the Boer builds.
I see a Bo-Karoo Boer, I see hope, I see a dream of freedom dearly paid, never received. I see a country demanding this Boer executed, culture extinguished. I see a Boer; they are carved differently, they are special. I see The Boer and they are Giant.

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    Jou Mandjie
    Jou mandjie is leegKeer terug na Winkel