America in Donald Trump's Shadow
I miss my childhood. Be specific, it has more than five stages. Fine, before I turned 14. I especially miss my shadow. I loved playing with it. It fascinated me. It was not the same all the time. Sometimes it would be elongated like a giraffe. Other time, it was normal.
I tried running away from it, but it stuck to me like glue, making me the happiest girl in the world. Funny thing though, it did not laugh when I laughed or cried when I was sad. My shadow was every where, which made playing jump-rope (ingqathu in Zulu) dangerous. On the left and right side, two girls would hold the rope we braided from wet grass. When it was my turn, I would jump in and check my shadow at the same time. I would trip and leave the game. I grew up and out-grew my shadow because I realized it was an integral part of me, not an extra somebody.
I don’t know if Donald Trump realizes that. His shadow is not another person, ordained by supernatural powers to be the next U.S. President. In fact, he should be grateful he had a shot at it from 2016-2020. It is also important he remembers we see the shadow on solid ground, not uprooted pavements and shattered glass, America in his case. His shadow is also determined by the sun. There’s no shadow during thunderstorms and hailstorms. Therefore, he cannot demolish the U.S.A. with a wrecking ball, and still hope to see his shadow.
Nonqaba waka Msimang
Executive Blogger
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