I remembered how he had come to my house one evening, just to talk. And then the shocked voice of his girl friend, as she told me. It sounded like a feeble argument, I know. Somebody hopes to reach the border tonight nobody knows his name, but the police man road blocks somebody is hiding in the back-room of a friend who is not suspected, but the police roam the township somebody is lying in hospital and cannot run he hopes for the best, but the police go through the records. You are at a disadvantage in a nightshirt even when confronted by three empty raincoats.
History is now banned, they say, it is subversive to know about the past.
They pocket my passport and my birth certificate they invite me roughly to follow them without noise. I can't paint it white with words. Alas, Meddem, the light for us no more, for you and me. We live in South Africa. Yes, Meddem, and I haven't seen GOD here these last thirty years, not here.