Thanks, South Africa. You’ve screwed it up for me.

I’m old-ish.. sort of. I should be thinking about marriage, kids, white picket fences and a crazy labrador puppy named Rover (or Sparky, Fluffy or something equally clichéd and ridiculous).

Instead, I am fearful. Fearful of bringing a child into the world and not knowing whether this kid is going to have to fight for what I freely have now.

I’m not even pregnant! Yet, I am worrying about whether my child will be able to go to university or own a house or at least be able to rent a flat.

I worry if my child will lie awake every night wondering if tonight will be the night someone will break-in or steal his car or, worse, kill him.

I worry if my child will have any faith in the government or would he be like his mother– furious at the injustices committed each day yet sitting on the fence and only feeling comfortable enough to voice these concerns around the dinner table.

What would school be like for him? Will he wait 8 months for textbooks? Will I be able to afford to send him to a “good school” (will they still be considered good schools then) and if so, would I have to apologise for it?

My worrying may be horribly premature yet I don’t feel too unnecessary. When I think about the family that I hope to have one day, it is only natural that I imagine being able to give them the very best I could possibly offer them. I’m wondering though, if that would even make a difference given the current economic, social and political climates.

Would my child read the newspaper with disgust and fury permeating from his every pore as he sees how his President has once again chosen to put himself before his people?

Would my child suffer the shocking blows to his heart that we experience every day when he reads about a horrific murder or the rape of a child or a man who was stabbed to death for his cellphone or a baby that was found in a bin or how a fight between two school boys turned deadly or how a young girl was kidnapped and became a victim of another trafficking syndicate.

Would he hurt when he sees a mother crying over her son’s coffin or when a few 100 shacks burn down?

It is a sad time that we are living in. It is a time where I see how dangerously we accept that this is how it is always going to be.

The crime, the blatant corruption, the laughing stock that is the implementation of our justice system, the best constitution in the world that is not so vehemently upheld, the President who is not a leader and the people who suffer are the characteristics of this country that we so foolishly refer to as a democratic one.

Ha! You vote and hope? Is that all? Is that all we can do?

I wonder if my son would be so bold as to say “No, I will not stand for this!” Will he speak louder than I have done?

Will he know how proud of him I would be? Will he be part of a movement of people that choose to no longer accept a life of cowardly tolerance?

I wonder if I would teach him enough, show him enough, give him enough to do more than I am doing right now. I hope that he will be braver than I, stronger than I, more willing to do something about it.

I hope that he won’t be disappointed in me.

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