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.
This poem was inspired by this sad story: https://mg.co.za/news/south-africa/2026-09-17-the-ghost-town-women-dread-to-tread/?utm_source=mailguardian.beehiiv.com&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_campaign=m-g-mornings-18-september-final&_bhlid=7282fc5c15faaf8157b56710a7d10cc59367e0dd
