Break the vetkoek edit0.1 erthona,qstar, keith, loretta

[tectak]

Mbali watches oil get hot, the acrid smoke brings tears to eyes.
She knows that when the flames spit bright the heat is right and bread will rise.
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the dough yields, soft in floured palms.
She rolls and shapes the white, round cakes and kisses every one
before the oil baptises them with foment, faith and flame.
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden in the seething pot;
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the cracking crust as black
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the thought she lets the Lord take care of things;
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oil
then stacked on mats of sweet-corn stems, to cool before the devil calls.
And he will call: to take the bread and drink his due of Khoikhoi wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land
in dust and dirt, up to his feet; squirming while she praises him,
beseeching him to leave. She'll beg him not to take her to the hut
for this one time but the devil never listens so Mbali drops her eyes
and cries new tears of cruelty... then silently complies.
Afterwards the devil throws her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs;
she'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine then wash hard in the stream.
She looks up to the polished sky; cleaner now but still unclean
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows for now she's safe, she knows the devil knows this, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years, old enough to wed:
she prays for death to take her as she kneads fresh vetkoek bread.
tectak
Out of SA
2014

[Keith]

You have an excellent poem here Tectak, the images of baking bread and home life sets the balance then you turn us on our heads, very nice. just a few bits below.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes.
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one this line reads a little awkward to me.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden now in seething pot;
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the cracking crust as black
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things; your use of alliteration made me read this stanza over and over just to hear the sounds out loud.
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oil
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls. lovely image
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the dry Khoikhoi wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land, I like the second use of devil calls in separate context.
in dust and dirt, up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave and not take her just this time. The devil never listens do you need devil again here?
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs. and here ?
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows this, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread. Is something missing in this line ?
tectak
Out of SA
2014

[tectak]

You have an excellent poem here Tectak, the images of baking bread and home life sets the balance then you turn us on our heads, very nice. just a few bits below.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes.
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one this line reads a little awkward to me.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden now in seething pot;
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the cracking crust as black
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things; your use of alliteration made me read this stanza over and over just to hear the sounds out loud.
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oil
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls. lovely image
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the dry Khoikhoi wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land, I like the second use of devil calls in separate context.
in dust and dirt, up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave and not take her just this time. The devil never listens do you need devil again here?
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs. and here ?
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows this, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread. Is something missing in this line ?
tectak
Out of SA
2014

Thanks keith,
You are more right than wrong but, no excuses, I am correcting this piece on line and it keeps reverting without including my edits. Something is wrong.
I will act on your points and see how it goes.
Best,
tectak

[LorettaYoung]

You have an excellent poem here Tectak, the images of baking bread and home life sets the balance then you turn us on our heads, very nice. just a few bits below.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes.
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one this line reads a little awkward to me.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden now in seething pot;
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the cracking crust as black
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things; your use of alliteration made me read this stanza over and over just to hear the sounds out loud.
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oil
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls. lovely image
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the dry Khoikhoi wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land, I like the second use of devil calls in separate context.
in dust and dirt, up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave and not take her just this time. The devil never listens do you need devil again here?
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs. and here ?
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows this, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread. Is something missing in this line ?
tectak
Out of SA
2014

---

Hi, I like the repetition of the devil; it is an important theme. I think this is what you mean by SHOW NOT TELL. I suspect that a poem so filled with everything would take a lifetime to write. Loretta

[QDeathstar]

Im going to try and go through this line by line, but i have a feeling it will end up helping me more than it helps you, as this feels just above my pay grade.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes. is there a reason for the extra spaces between watches and oil or fans and flames? Eyes sounds sharp compared to the words ending each line that follow. Its a hard sound. Not youthy
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.i think squeeze is a bit of a odd word choice, being that she is apparently cooking with affection?
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one i like these lines, like a preacher baptizing children, greeting them with an affectionate kiss on the head.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.but reality is pain?
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden in the bubbling pot; these next two lines don't add to the momentum of the poem, i think. They dont seem to flow like the rest of the poem.
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the crust as black very simple rhythmic beat, unlike the rest of the poem, i like the alliterations though.
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things;The memory of her brothers black head?
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.why vetkoek passion bread? Is that just what it's called?
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oili like the rhyme of hums and buns.
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls.You move from imagery of innocence to something more foreboding. Perhaps you could emphasize that shift by breaking into two distinct stanzas here, or would that make the story disjointed?
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the Khoikhoi wine. i like "take the bread" phrase, it sounds forceful. (As opposed to eat). Perhaps he could do something more interesting than "drink" the wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land,
in dust and dirt up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave, not take her just this time . The devil never listens
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs.
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows it, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread.
tectak
Out of SA
2014

I will continue my comments later, but this took a bit longer than expected.

[tectak]

Im going to try and go through this line by line, but i have a feeling it will end up helping me more than it helps you, as this feels just above my pay grade.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes. is there a reason for the extra spaces between watches and oil or fans and flames? Eyes sounds sharp compared to the words ending each line that follow. Its a hard sound. Not youthy
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.i think squeeze is a bit of a odd word choice, being that she is apparently cooking with affection?
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one i like these lines, like a preacher baptizing children, greeting them with an affectionate kiss on the head.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.but reality is pain?
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden in the bubbling pot; these next two lines don't add to the momentum of the poem, i think. They dont seem to flow like the rest of the poem.
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the crust as black very simple rhythmic beat, unlike the rest of the poem, i like the alliterations though.
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things;The memory of her brothers black head?
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.why vetkoek passion bread? Is that just what it's called?
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oili like the rhyme of hums and buns.
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls.You move from imagery of innocence to something more foreboding. Perhaps you could emphasize that shift by breaking into two distinct stanzas here, or would that make the story disjointed?
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the Khoikhoi wine. i like "take the bread" phrase, it sounds forceful. (As opposed to eat). Perhaps he could do something more interesting than "drink" the wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land,
in dust and dirt up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave, not take her just this time . The devil never listens
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs.
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows it, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread.
tectak
Out of SA
2014

I will continue my comments later, but this took a bit longer than expected.

Hi qdeath,
thanks for so far. To help you understand this, should that be of any advantage, I should say that this alludes to the Hottentot Venus. The rest is up to you.
I don't like explaining anything outside my poetry because I don't do obscure and argue the case for clarity on all boards. This one, however, came from nowhere and caught me by surprise.
Best,
tectak
The inconsistent spacing was caused by a peculiarity, now gone I hope, of the editing on line. The damned thing kept reverting to random versions requiring repeated corrections so I will look again and try to put right.

---

Im going to try and go through this line by line, but i have a feeling it will end up helping me more than it helps you, as this feels just above my pay grade.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes. is there a reason for the extra spaces between watches and oil or fans and flames? Eyes sounds sharp compared to the words ending each line that follow. Its a hard sound. Not youthyold beyond years
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.i think squeeze is a bit of a odd word choice, being that she is apparently cooking with affection?an affectionate squeeze?
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one i like these lines, like a preacher baptizing children, greeting them with an affectionate kiss on the head.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.but reality is pain?allegorical, perhaps. I will look at this
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden in the bubbling pot; these next two lines don't add to the momentum of the poem, i think. They dont seem to flow like the rest of the poem. You have taken the point. This is a pivotal moment in the poem in which Mbali is in danger of musing back to a dire reality.
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the crust as black very simple rhythmic beat, unlike the rest of the poem, i like the alliterations though.
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things;The memory of her brothers black head? the childish thought that a black and shiny bread bun looks like her brother's head is comedic to her in a mixed emotional moment
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.why vetkoek passion bread? Is that just what it's called?popular bread in peasant SA now considered haute.
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oili like the rhyme of hums and buns.
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls.You move from imagery of innocence to something more foreboding. Perhaps you could emphasize that shift by breaking into two distinct stanzas here, or would that make the story disjointed?
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the Khoikhoi wine. i like "take the bread" phrase, it sounds forceful. (As opposed to eat). Perhaps he could do something more interesting than "drink" the wine. ...well, it is the duality of "take" I am after here. I cannot, though, think what else you could do with wine in this context. Open to suggestion
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land,
in dust and dirt up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave, not take her just this time . The devil never listens
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs.
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows it, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread.
tectak
Out of SA
2014

I will continue my comments later, but this took a bit longer than expected.

Hi qdeath,
thanks for so far. To help you understand this, should that be of any advantage, I should say that this alludes to the Hottentot Venus. The rest is up to you.
I don't like explaining anything outside my poetry because I don't do obscure and argue the case for clarity on all boards. This one, however, came from nowhere and caught me by surprise.
Best,
tectak
The inconsistent spacing was caused by a peculiarity, now gone I hope, of the editing on line. The damned thing kept reverting to random versions requiring repeated corrections so I will look again and try to put right.

[tectak]

You have an excellent poem here Tectak, the images of baking bread and home life sets the balance then you turn us on our heads, very nice. just a few bits below.

Mbali watches oil get hot then fans flames from her eyes.
With gentle squeeze, a baby's hand, the vetkoek yields to floured palms.
She rolls dough into soft, round cakes and kisses every one this line reads a little awkward to me.
before the oil baptises them with fire and foment, faith and flame.
Mbali prods and turns them once, golden now in seething pot;
bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the cracking crust as black
as brother Ebo's head. Smiling at the memory she lets the Lord take care of things; your use of alliteration made me read this stanza over and over just to hear the sounds out loud.
He always watches over her and makes her vetkoek passion bread.
Mbali hums as hot, crisp buns are hoisted from the cleansing oil
and stacked on mats of sweet corn stems to cool before the devil calls. lovely image
And he will call: to take the bread and drink the dry Khoikhoi wine.
Mbali will be hiding in the bushland by the stream, afraid to make
a sound until the devil calls her name. She will crawl, flat to the land, I like the second use of devil calls in separate context.
in dust and dirt, up to his feet; all the while she praises him,
beseeches him to leave and not take her just this time. The devil never listens do you need devil again here?
so Mbali drops her eyes and cries the tears of cruelty then silently complies;
but afterwards the devil will throw her hard, dry vetkoek crumbs. and here ?
She'll eat and drink the dreg-filled wine and wash hard in the stream;
cleaner now but never clean, she looks up to the polished sky
and thanks the Lord that once again he helped her to survive.
Mbali knows that she is safe, she knows the devil knows this, too.
Soon she will have fifteen child-years and old enough to wed,
she prays for death to take her as she makes the vetkoek bread. Is something missing in this line ?
tectak
Out of SA
2014

---

Hi, I like the repetition of the devil; it is an important theme. I think this is what you mean by SHOW NOT TELL. I suspect that a poem so filled with everything would take a lifetime to write. Loretta

Hi Loretta and thank you for your comments. Like all of us, we find poetry easiest when we "see" our way forward. I am not good at "showing" by the use of language and have to really work at it. To simply tell as story is much easier but much less rewarding...so if you can see in this what I see, then I am happy.
Best,
tectak

[Erthona]

This reminds me of a poem I wrote about Darfur, where 11/12 years old girls get pregnant with Janjaweed babies. I thought this both poignant and ironic. By the use of the term "Devil" I am assuming this is history from before South African freedom, and "Devil" means "White Devil", and the use of "Khoikhoi" would make this association with the dutch town of "Paarl" in South Africa where Nelson Mandala was released after 27 years of imprisonment in 1990. So one assumes this story stakes place sometime before then.
__________________________________________________________________________
This line "and burns the crust as black as brother Ebo's head" seems both redundant and gratuitous. Really, I think there are problems with this whole phrase "bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the crust as black
as brother Ebo's head."

"bad luck will call, meaning bad luck will come calling. The use of call, to visit is plain when used in the phrase "will come calling". It becomes less clear (in terms of visit) with "bad luck will call". Instead of speaking euphemistically, why not just sat "bad luck will visit?" Better still, "burning the cakes as black as her brother's head will bring bad luck ..." Do we need to know his name. Her name and the use of the word already places her in central to south Africa (and probably south African as has been noted), including "Ebo" does nothing for placing the location (unless throwing in a name from Nigeria, or that it is the name of a spider somehow is beneficial) or adding any kind of useful location clues or ambiance. Her name "Mbali" already places her as probably a speaker of Afrikaans/Zulu. Her name "Mbali" meaning flower in Zulu would almost be over the top if not so obscure, e.g., "She is blooming". Your a damn good writer Tom, but sometimes I think you outwit yourself by trying to be too clever, of course I am hardly one to talk about playing with obscurity. Still, bloody blooming?

One other point and I will stop (sorry, I'm tired). I have problems with the line "Soon she will have fifteen child-years". Why such an awkward phrase. Why not "soon she will be fifteen and old enough to wed?"

Well there is more I could say, but as I said, I am tired and don't feel up to the sheer size of commentary this would require, so I hit the high points, at least for me.


Dale

[tectak]

This reminds me of a poem I wrote about Darfur, where 11/12 years old girls get pregnant with Janjaweed babies. I thought this both poignant and ironic. By the use of the term "Devil" I am assuming this is history from before South African freedom, and "Devil" means "White Devil", and the use of "Khoikhoi" would make this association with the dutch town of "Paarl" in South Africa where Nelson Mandala was released after 27 years of imprisonment in 1990. So one assumes this story stakes place sometime before then.
__________________________________________________________________________
This line "and burns the crust as black as brother Ebo's head" seems both redundant and gratuitous. Really, I think there are problems with this whole phrase "bad luck will call if one turns back and burns the crust as black
as brother Ebo's head."

"bad luck will call, meaning bad luck will come calling. The use of call, to visit is plain when used in the phrase "will come calling". It becomes less clear (in terms of visit) with "bad luck will call". Instead of speaking euphemistically, why not just sat "bad luck will visit?" UK english. Sorry. We say "I'll call (or call in)sometime" Better still, "burning the cakes as black as her brother's head will bring bad luck ..." Do we need to know his name. Her name and the use of the word already places her in central to south Africa (and probably south African as has been noted), including "Ebo" does nothing for placing the location (unless throwing in a name from Nigeria, or that it is the name of a spider somehow is beneficial) or adding any kind of useful location clues or ambiance. Scene setting. Agreed. Probably OTTHer name "Mbali" already places her as probably a speaker of Afrikaans/Zulu. Her name "Mbali" meaning flower in Zulu would almost be over the top if not so obscure, e.g., "She is blooming". Your a damn good writer Tom, but sometimes I think you outwit yourself by trying to be too clever, of course I am hardly one to talk about playing with obscurity. Still, bloody blooming?

One other point and I will stop (sorry, I'm tired). I have problems with the line "Soon she will have fifteen child-years". I have heard this expression first hand. The years before legal marriage for a girl, emphasis on legal, are often called child-years Why such an awkward phrase. Why not "soon she will be fifteen and old enough to wed?"

Well there is more I could say, but as I said, I am tired and don't feel up to the sheer size of commentary this would require, so I hit the high points, at least for me.


Dale

Hi Dale,
You have it all. I needed a cathartic crit on this. I admit that I have an "insider" in SA but this one was on a whim. I was very moved by the Sarah Baartman story as told to me. I researched it and a few familiar chords were struck. I ,too, had written on this before. I am not clever. This is a mish mash but the names mean something to me, that is, I know the names and to whom they attach. I hear your words and will take heed.
Poetry is not always the best medium of expression. Sometimes it would be better to let blood.
Work in progress.
Best,
tectak

[Erthona]

Tom,

You might consider writing this in prose, or prose/poetry (whatever that is), which would allow you to include more detail, without each inclusion seeming like a blurb. You could do something like a reflection on her part, like...

"Mbali prods and turns the vetkoeks once, golden in the bubbling pot. She is careful not to let them burn because a burned vetkoek will bring bad luck, as if there were not enough of that already. Burned vetkoeks makes her think of her brother Ebo's head; bent over the braided cord held between his feet. Maybe all the bad luck they have had is because they are both burnt vetkoeks, and luck only comes at the end of life, a life where being alive means to suffer and endure..."

Not great, but it's not my story, but I think you get the drift (Probably would have anyway). I'd give it a try if the poetic approach feels too constrained, and it seems like there is much more you would like to include.
Anyway, to me this seems more like a story, rather than just a thought to be examined. It would allow you the time to develop the characters (she seems like an interesting character), rather than just focus on the idea of past injustices.
Just a thought.

Cheers,


Dale

[tectak]

Tom,

You might consider writing this in prose, or prose/poetry (whatever that is), which would allow you to include more detail, without each inclusion seeming like a blurb. You could do something like a reflection on her part, like...

"Mbali prods and turns the vetkoeks once, golden in the bubbling pot. She is careful not to let them burn because a burned vetkoek will bring bad luck, as if there were not enough of that already. Burned vetkoeks makes her think of her brother Ebo's head; bent over the braided cord held between his feet. Maybe all the bad luck they have had is because they are both burnt vetkoeks, and luck only comes at the end of life, a life where being alive means to suffer and endure..."

Not great, but it's not my story, but I think you get the drift (Probably would have anyway). I'd give it a try if the poetic approach feels too constrained, and it seems like there is much more you would like to include.
Anyway, to me this seems more like a story, rather than just a thought to be examined. It would allow you the time to develop the characters (she seems like an interesting character), rather than just focus on the idea of past injustices.
Just a thought.

Cheers,


Dale

---

Tom,

You might consider writing this in prose, or prose/poetry (whatever that is), which would allow you to include more detail, without each inclusion seeming like a blurb. You could do something like a reflection on her part, like...

"Mbali prods and turns the vetkoeks once, golden in the bubbling pot. She is careful not to let them burn because a burned vetkoek will bring bad luck, as if there were not enough of that already. Burned vetkoeks makes her think of her brother Ebo's head; bent over the braided cord held between his feet. Maybe all the bad luck they have had is because they are both burnt vetkoeks, and luck only comes at the end of life, a life where being alive means to suffer and endure..."

Not great, but it's not my story, but I think you get the drift (Probably would have anyway). I'd give it a try if the poetic approach feels too constrained, and it seems like there is much more you would like to include.
Anyway, to me this seems more like a story, rather than just a thought to be examined. It would allow you the time to develop the characters (she seems like an interesting character), rather than just focus on the idea of past injustices.
Just a thought.

Cheers,


Dale

No. Like you, too tired and I would tend to go on a bit.
Best,
tectak