A story about helplessness, rage, justice and dreams, in conversation with a poet, in times of droughts and floods by La’eeqa Martin, 24 yr, Cape Town, South Africa.
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La'eeqa is a youth and sustainable development advocate, passionate about community development and striving for social impact and equity in all her endeavours. Her interest areas include African development, sustainable communities and youth leadership.
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“Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.”
Robert Frost was known to draw inspiration from nature, and his poem Fire and Ice is no exception; painting a picture of juxtaposing elements - hot and cold, erratic versus methodical - to describe the destruction of the planet.
At 11 years old, my mind could only conjure up images of raging wildfires or mega-tsunamis, and seeing as how I could not swim, I told Frost, “I opt for fire as my choice of demise.” Years later, as my country suffered from both droughts and floods, I came to understand that the choice was never mine to make.
Upon first glance, it seems like Rob agreed with my helplessness, as he said,
“From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”
His words, however, unearthed emotions that my body was not prepared to feel.
Now, at 24, as I watch waves crash upon beds of sand, I wonder about the names of my shackled ancestors who docked on this land. As I take two buses and a car to travel from the city centre to my home, I remind myself that my bloodline has travelled further and I persist. When I stare at my framed degree as I enter through my front door and acknowledge its rarity in my community, I swallow back rageful tears.
Generations of greed and hate have made my people vulnerable; I am not surprised that Frost predicted it would lead to Earth’s defeat.
Standing at the edge of The End, I still dream in shades of ocean blue and sunset red. My breathing still settles each time I stare up at thick tree canopies and home will always sound like the screech of a Hadeda. So, before I drift off to sleep, I whisper to Robert Frost in the dark, “If we change the systems that control us, ridding the core of man’s greed and hate, and replacing it with equity and empathy, could we survive?”
I’m met with silence. He seems to have left the answer to that in our hands.