nothings changed

Question 1

summary

Answer 1

about how a place in south africa is still affected by the apartheid that has been abolished. focuses on the idea that the racial divide that lawfully seperated based on skin colour might have been abolished

author: Tatamkhulu Africa

Question 2

tone

Answer 2

tone is angry and immediate as the poet seems irritated that significant change has no impact on district 6

Question 3

context

Answer 3

• apartheid system
• during 1970s all inhabitants living in district 6 where removed to make space to move white people into this area
• afrika focused his poem on political change, race and belonging

Question 4

quotes

Answer 4

• “district 6. no board says it: but my feet know it”
• “new, up-market hauste cuisine… whites only inn” / “working mans cafe sells bunny chow”
• “nothing’s changed”

Question 5

“district 6. no board says it: but my feet know it”

Answer 5

• the noun “district 6” shows that it was home for the poet and visiting this place after the end of the apartheid is fueling his anger
• the ceasura implies there is an invisible barrier that he is aware of as he walks around

Question 6

“new, up-market hauste cuisine… whites only inn” / “working mans cafe sells bunny chow”

Answer 6

• poet uses juxtaposition to show the economic divide still seperates race
• the slang “bunny chow” refers to a meal that is associated with comfort

Question 7

“nothing’s changed”

Answer 7

• repitition of the title shows that over time the speaker is still angry and there is no difference.
• it leaves the reader with a feeling of hopelesness and despair

Question 8

structure

Answer 8

• written in free verse to reflect his inner thoughts
• irregularity of the lines reveals that the poet is struggling to control his emotions
• 7 stanzas

Question 9

poem

Answer 9

Small round hard stones click
under my heels,
seeding grasses thrust
bearded seeds
into trouser cuffs, cans,
trodden on, crunch
in tall, purple-flowering,
amiable weeds.

District Six.
No board says it is:
but my feet know,
and my hands,
and the skin about my bones,
and the soft labouring of my lungs,
and the hot, white, inwards turning
anger of my eyes.

Brash with glass,
name flaring like a flag,
it squats
in the grass and weeds,
incipient Port Jackson trees:
new, up-market, haute cuisine,
guard at the gatepost,
whites only inn.

No sign says it is:
but we know where we belong.

I press my nose
to the clear panes, know,
before I see them, there will be
crushed ice white glass,
linen falls,
the single rose.

Down the road,
working man’s cafe sells
bunny chows.
Take it with you, eat
it at a plastic table’s top,
wipe your fingers on your jeans,
spit a little on the floor:
it’s in the bone.

I back from the
glass,
boy again,
leaving small mean O
of small mean mouth.
Hands burn
for a stone, a bomb,
to shiver down the glass.
Nothing’s changed.

Question 10

compare to

Answer 10

presents from my aunts in pakistan