For my grandmother, Esther Makatini, who washed white people's clothes so that I could learn to write. - Lewis Nkosi

Bulane was dressed in faded old khakis, somewhat soiled and torn and sprinkled with mud, and although this was the height of summer on the highveld and the sun would soon be scorchingly hot, he was swathed in a thick army coat that looked frayed and moth-eaten, like something which might have been bequeathed to an importunate servant by a jokey employer.

Oh Mr Bulane, what a sight to greet the plains of Tabanyane!

Apartheid? We had defeated apartheid. We had finally perfected a method of making love even without making contact, utilizing empty space like two telepathic media exchanging telegraphic messages through sexual airways.