This man had a mother. A father. He was perhaps a brother, a friend, a lover. This man had a purpose. He had a dream. He had a life. He had laughter and love and hope waiting for him.
Mozambican Emmanuel Sithole died because he was Mozambican. He died because of a bloodlust that is festering in my immoral and amoral society. In my country that I love.
My country that is at war with itself. With its compass. With its conscience.
He died senselessly and stupidly and I have cried for him.
Because he is me. And I am him. And he had as much right to be as I do. As any of us do.
I have dreams and a life and laughter and love and hope waiting for me.
I am African. But more than that. I am Human.
In a place that has lost its humanity.
I am so very sorry my people killed you. You deserved more. Better. Peace.
I am so sorry.
Photograph by James Oatway.