February 17, 2016 by petrujviljoen
The women cooking on the pavements started storing their trolleys in our garden overnight. The white people in the building decided to have a party. Sometimes I was invited and sometimes not. This time I wasn’t. I went out to a club to miss it, came back late. There was drumming, they often did. I very nearly learnt how to drum at these parties. That night they must’ve gotten something wrong: the women’s stuff got stolen. The white people tried to blame me, said I left the door open.
We all walked around rather fearful after that. The women were very cross with us. I had to go out to work every day. On my way home one day, walking stiffly, head down, clutching my bag, three guys fell in with me, walking on either side. I don’t think I breathed for a while, expecting the worst. We walked on…
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