What does it mean to assess an invisible wound? What would the steps of care look like? - Mopai weaves the geography of a rural and an urban landscape together that are shared, across diverse South Africans. She considers cross generational bodies that have witnessed a pre and a post apartheid South Africa. She weaves these narratives together to thread the moments within history, and the current present that clash with the imagination of an emancipated country. Her stories can be described as case studies that do not contain a final conclusion or report - instead they end with long durational pauses, for the reader who is from a South African context, to figure out. She unpacks the unwanted inheritances that have now been contaminated by newer social ills that hinder progress. The collection is not an easy read from the beginning to the end because of the raw and blunt visuals and raw telling of each story. If You Keep Digging is a compilation of everyday South African stories that are written and set in post apartheid South Africa. Keletso Mopai traverses back and forth between the timelines - treating South Africa's past as a shadow that follows the present; it is a lamentation for hope and freedom. This collection was published in 2019 by Blackbird Books, and it contains 12 short stories in total.
Mopai writes into existence different types of national crises experienced daily from sexual violence in institutions - educational, home and work spaces - to rape culture, migration and xenophobia. The writer re-alerts the collective consciousness, to signal the reality that the nation is not okay - because there is a strong emphasis on an ongoing wounding. Each story feels like an entry point into conversations that diverse families - across race, gender, sexuality and class - have together behind closed doors. Her writing feels like a window for the reader to be let into uniquely. She traces migration histories and labour injustice, human rights violations deliberately by not writing about them from an generalised and dominant political narrative. Mopai is interested in intimate settings and individual and collective viewpoints that speak outside of the viewpoint and are situated on the ground. Keletso’s characters exist in rooms, in the streets, on the farms and in the city. But she does not interrogate their experiences through a general voice, she interrogates these issues in conversation to an additional set of societal challenges, Hair Tales, there are multiple characters who are chronicling their struggles with their hair is regarded as problematic in different educational, workplace or lived contexts, Tshepo (1998), Rosina (2007),and Lisakhanya (2018). She breaks each story up to become like a collective journal entry about hair.
Through storytelling, the author exposes the effects of a fragmented society. The short story collection depicts these collective and shared experiences as not being isolated from each other but shared. It challenges the reader to not only engage with South African realities from an external perspective only, that instead it needs to be excavated further, to understand its intricate fibres that cross pollinate across the differences interpersonally. Mopai invites the reader to look beyond the surface of what exists in South Africa at this moment, and causes us to ask “what now?” or “where to from here?”
She gets us to query these collective anxieties from within the walls of the homes - holding the collective “South Africa belongs to those who live in it”6 responsible and accountable. She shifts the conundrum of trauma, identity, and inclusivity in the cities and rural communities out loud by excavating the invisible, because of a broader political and dominant narrative that has blinded the country from facilitating how to address its woundedness. I wonder what would have occurred had she found balance with lamentation in conflict, and incorporated hope to not overwhelm the reader into a space of uncertainty. Perhaps the lack of hope may come from not witnessing an abundance of it post 1994.