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Tawanda Omphile Plaatjie

A Letter To Lindelwa

My dearest Lindelwa,
Your name rings with familiarity over and over in my head,
Every day you take form, and become a reality I cannot shake off, or really comprehend,
First it was your beautiful big brown eyes, with lashes long and curly; no one can question your roots,
And then your lips followed, full and distinct, outlined with God`s very own rich lip liner, like a garden of Eden fruit,

As I stand in awe of how beautiful your face is turning out, your body magically seeps into the canvass and completes the picture,
Your tiny hands raised to your mouth, each with five perfect fingers
Your skin feels soft to the touch, as rare as the African silk
Just like mummy`s, it is a radiant brown that compliments your eyes, a true daughter of the soil.
Your tiny feet will one day walk on this very soil, leading you to a destiny of love and beautiful dreams fulfilled because of your forefather`s toil.
Do not worry your pretty little head, mummy may not have nail polish expertise, but if you ever want them painted I will learn, because for you I will be a student of life until I no longer break bread with the living.

The world waits for you to take your place,
Grandma waits on your arrival,
She wants to hold you in her arms and speak blessings into your life,
And tell you stories about mummy and your uncle`s childhood,
How he spoke baby gibberish and brought a smile to all of our faces, just like you will someday.

Oh your uncle, how he waits for you,

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