What the Kempton Park Story Triggered and Tantalised in Me
I read a touching and haunting story about the decline of Kempton
Park and the mysterious deaths of women. There was a flood of emotion.
It got me thinking. It torched and touched my soul. A true story. A true throb.
Hurt and horror, it freed. Pertinent, powerful and vivid, it is told and fashioned
in a personal and nostalgic style, it left a pushy taste on my lips, a restless mass
in my heart. It weighed on my mind. It weighs on the consciences of the Africans.
As I read it, I paused and pondered. Kempton Park, for me, means OR Tambo
International Airport. It signifies a deep, personal landmark and a massive gamble.
A life-changing gateway. The decisive day I packed my bags and calling and took off.
Park and the mysterious deaths of women. There was a flood of emotion.
It got me thinking. It torched and touched my soul. A true story. A true throb.
Hurt and horror, it freed. Pertinent, powerful and vivid, it is told and fashioned
in a personal and nostalgic style, it left a pushy taste on my lips, a restless mass
in my heart. It weighed on my mind. It weighs on the consciences of the Africans.
As I read it, I paused and pondered. Kempton Park, for me, means OR Tambo
International Airport. It signifies a deep, personal landmark and a massive gamble.
A life-changing gateway. The decisive day I packed my bags and calling and took off.
The Ghost Town Women Dread to Tread
Image credit: Ossewa CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia.