Boy, Out In Africa

Boy Out in Africa Based on the true story of a Gay teenager Growing up in the seventies,

Copyright: David William Kirby: 2011 The Dogbreaths Publishing ©2011 all rights reserved

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©2017 edit: all rights reserved 1 I guess my first experience of seduction was initiated by (what in today’s parlance would be called) a Paedophile; but this was the early seventies when such words were not in the common language. I was pre-pubescent when it first happened and Uncle Dick was a friend of the family. He would regularly drink with my father into the early hours of the morning. Dad cared that his pal should not drive home, having drunk huge amounts of alcohol, and he was given the spare mattress in my little bed room to sleep it off. I wonder how they would have felt if they knew he was not only making use of the spare bed during these drunken sleepovers but was regularly filling his stinking gob with me. This went on for three years. I would be asleep at first and the feeling of the cold sheets parting would gently rouse

me from my dreams. The touch of his foot against my small back was electrifying. It was never frightening. It was strangely exciting; something different to the humdrum of daily existence; intoxicating and dreamlike. I remember feeling his foot stroking up and down my smooth legs and stopping at my underwear. In silence I would turn onto my back, he’d climb from his bed in the shadows, and sit over me. I remember being impressed by the size of his dick and the frothy growth of pubic hair around his crotch; something I’d not yet developed. We would never speak. He’d kiss me gently and slip my underwear down before stimulating me with his tongue in a slow act of rhythmic sex. I’d feel his warm orgasm on my belly after his breathless exertions and he’d then silently go back to his own bed. Later in my life a colleague went to great lengths to explain that I was being sexually abused by a predatory paedophile. Well, whatever it was called, I enjoyed it. Perhaps it was the attention, being made to feel special by an adult, perhaps the secretive nature of our relationship excited me; I don’t know; but I was willing to passively engage without any negative psychological impact. Whenever I saw him during waking hours he’d not pay me particular attention but every now and then I’d catch a certain look in his eye; that secretive look that made me feel special. I’d know that he’d be staying over and eventually, once a routine had been established, I’d not bother going to sleep. I’d wait until I heard my parents wishing him a good night and I knew that he was going to get one.. We never had penetrative sex; I didn’t even know that this was possible and thinking about it I guess I didn’t even consider what we did as sex. It was more about pleasuring ourselves; experiencing grown up games like adults. I was growing up and he was showing me how. When I read about the terms of imprisonment men get for doing this sort of thing today I wonder at it. I guess if he hurt me or fucked me every time he stayed over it would be different. What we were doing didn’t seem wrong; it still doesn’t; although it’s not something that I’d feel comfortable repeating and I certainly do not condone sex with children. I personally don’t consider children sexual beings and they do nothing for me; neither should they. Uncle Dick was different, sex with him was different; it was the seventies for god’s sake. I couldn’t relate to anyone in my school and spent more time walking about the streets during school hours then actually in class. When I was fourteen I was a skinny, gangling creature, with waist length back hair (cut in the style of Johnny Thunders); who looked odd in a shirt and tie. Consequently I’d leave home in the morning with a change of clothes instead of school books. I then go to a friend’s house and change out of my uniform and into

some tight jeans and tee-shirt. With a touch of mascara and a floppy hat I’d be set up for the day. We often went to the West End of London and hang about in the music shops. It was during one of these trips that I learned of the all-nighter’s that used to happen every Friday evening at the Lyceum in the strand. We just had to go. No one ever questioned our age and at midnight the doors would open and in we’d go. Two fourteen year olds in a crowd of transvestites and drugged up hippies did not seem odd back then. Drugs were fashionable in those days and the evening would start with a handful of French blues, the 70s equivalent of ecstasy, a tab of acid and loads of joints. As the evening progressed people would give us lines of cocaine and speed making the night fade into a trippy blur by 6am when the place would close. I remember seeing a band called Cockney Rebel who, during a rendition of their amazing track “Sebastian”, were having problems with their equipment. A firm pair of hands slipped around my hips and a soft voice rang out in my ear. “Fancy a bit of how’s ya’ father?” He said softly above the noise of the band. “How’s ya’father?” I stuttered slightly nervously. “What’s that?” “Come here and I’ll show you.” With that I was led to a first floor toilet and, for the first time in my life, fucked rotten over the smelly toilet system. I remember he’d used the margarine from the inside of a ham roll as a lubricant before taking a bite of the roll and flushing it down the toilet. Although this did the trick it left me feeling sticky and I was glad to get home. It was after this not so passionate misadventure that I discovered that after sex one must do a motion, as it were. If not, as I found out much to my distress, a fart could be the end for a new pair of trousers. As I waddled in through the front door in the early hours with legs akimbo and streaked eyeliner smeared across my face I remember my mother coming down the stairs and saying “Are you up already?” “Yes Mum.” I stuttered as I climbed the stairs past her towards the bathroom. “Oh, it’s nice to see you up and about so early on a Saturday morning.” If only she knew. “I’ve been talking to your Father and he wants” us to join him in South Africa.” This was not what I wanted to hear. Daddy had decided that he could make more money in the Apartheid driven South Africa and had gone there to check this out a couple of weeks previously. Being under 16 years of age I didn’t have a choice and soon after hearing this earth shattering statement we were off. South Africa was shunned by the rest of the world during the seventies and they welcomed families like ours (basically anyone who did not slag them off and who

didn’t care about politics) with open arms. I was too young to understand the politics of the time and all I knew was what the adults around me told me. “Keep out of the black townships.” They’d say menacingly. “They kill white people on sight.” Being young I believed them although I didn’t understand why anyone would want to kill me. Colour didn’t seem that important to me although it was extremely important to South Africans. The black people I saw were either very sad looking, with dusty old suits and downtrodden expressions or tribal, in bright fabrics and no shoes. White people generally, adults that is, looked like they all drank too much, got too much sun and wore ill-fitting “Safari” suits. I soon discovered that white South African’s spent all weekends sitting at home having briars. This was what we’d call Barbecues. Meat was cheap and so was booze and I soon was bored eating burnt steak and watching my parents and their friends getting pissed. “Is there anywhere I can go out to meet other young people?” I asked one friend of the family on a blistering hot Saturday. “Church.” The person replied sincerely. “In South Africa young people go to church at weekends. Boy, do they have fun.” Church was not my sort of fun and I couldn’t imagine what was enjoyable about singing for forgiveness and praying for God’s guidance. I decided that I’d get dressed up and go into the centre of Cape Town and see if anything was going on beside begging for holy intervention. I’d already discovered that no-one had heard of the New York Dolls or Johnny Thunders so I didn’t backcomb my long black hair; deciding it might be better to dress down on this one occasion. Cape Town was a very pretty town although it covered a vast area and there were few busses. I stood at the side of the dusty road and stuck a thumb out. It wasn’t long before a van pulled up and two guys told me to jump in. Sitting in the back of the humid vehicle. beads of sweat began to collect on my forehead and my hair felt damp. I could hear the guys talking and my long hair seemed to be immensely interesting to them. “Are you a morphy?” The one who was driving asked casually looking at me intently in the rear view mirror. “No,” I answered not really understanding the question. “I come from London.” They laughed and one said “That explains it.” As we drove further towards the base of Table Mountain the sun began to set over the huge edifice, casting long shadows and giving it a blue hue. The twinkling lights in the distance became more apparent as the night began to set upon us. Cape Town glimmered in the crest of the mountain like a magical, fairy grotto and the darker it became the more magical it looked.

I looked towards the two guys who were wearing big smiles and seemed very relaxed together, like brothers or friends that had known each other for a long time. I heard them discussing “Morphys”. “I’ve seen the outside that club, Wings.” The younger one said.” My God, they pluck their eyebrows and shave their arms.” “How can men do that to themselves.” The older one replied. When they dropped me off in town I stopped the first person I found and said “Do you know how I can get to Wings nightclub?” The old black man wrinkled up his nose shook his head. His shoes were worn and his suit had holes in it. I looked into his eyes and for a moment I thought he wanted to ask me something, then suddenly, the moment went, he changed his mind and walked on. Cape Town wasn’t that big, just four or five main streets running alongside one another and a bus station, and empty flower market and a hotel. It didn’t take too long for me to see the whole of it and I couldn’t find anything that looked like a night club. It was dark now and a chill had replaced the heat on those wide empty streets. I decided to try to hitch back to Milnerton where by now my parents would have drunken themselves into a stupor. It was about ten p.m. and quiet, there wasn’t a lot of cars on the roads or people, it felt like I had the whole city to myself. Finding the main route back to Milnerton I stuck my thumb out again. Then, like an angel descending from heaven I saw a sight that would change my Southern African experience forever. Stumbling along the road came a vision of beauty. He was about five feet tall. Dark skinned with a thick moustache underlining his button nose. Wearing only a green satin dress with high heels on the end of each very hairy leg, he stumbled towards me holding a half bottle of rum. “Hello Girl.” He hissed as we met.” Are you going to the Shabeen?” whatever that was. “Of course.” I stuttered not believing what fate had delivered to me. “Well don’t just stand there, Girl, stick a leg out.” With that he pulled up his hem and flashed a hairy leg towards the passing cars. Very soon one came to a halt a few feet away. We both run to the car and climbed in. I sat behind the driver who was a fat, balding, middle aged man who seemed to be sweating profusely. “Where too Ladies?” He hissed looking down at my new friend’s hairy legs as he slipped into the passenger seat. “District Six please Love.” The green dress replied. “Oh, I’m not going there, I’ll be attacked.”

“Don’t be silly,” Green dress laughed. “We’ll look after you, won’t we love.” He turned and gave me a wink. “Oh, I suppose it’ll be okay if I drop you off.” he huffed mesmerised by the hairy legs as they protruded from under the green, silk hem. “What are your names?” “I’m Madame Palari...” The green dress giggled . “...and this is my good friend Lucinda.” Fatty drove slowly through the empty streets cautiously looking for those bogy men he had been warned about in the local rags. I noticed that every now and then he’d reach out and stroke Madam’s leg; this seemed to happen whenever the green dresstook a swig from the rum bottle he was jealously guarding. Each furtive grope was met with a quick slap across the wrist. “If you want Madam Palari’s snatch it’ll cost more than a lift to District six.” The green dress said abruptly before looking around and giving me a mischievous wink. “Don’t be like that.” Fatty hissed. “I could be useful to a young girl like you; I could help you go far.” “This is far enough.” Madam cried, suddenly pulling up the hand brake so that we all lurched forwards. He opened the passenger door and just before he fell out of the vehicle, looked back and shouted theatrically. “Come Lucinda, we’ve arrived.” “This is a township just on the outskirts of Cape Town...” My friend explained with a slurred smile. “...not a lot goes on here, but every Saturday they have a wicked party. It’s totally illegal but they’re always the best ones; aren’t they sweetie?” “I’ve not got any money?” I replied hesitantly, expecting my new friend to gasp in horror and drop me like a hot potato. “Neither have I.” He laughed. “But we’ve got what money can’t buy.” “What’s that?” I asked. “We’ve got youth and beauty. It’s all you need in this town.” What I did not know at that time was, he was absolutely right; a youthful smile and a young, energetic disposition opened doors in Cape Town better than the magical phrase ‘Open Sesame’. We entered an old building that looked derelict and run down from the outside but as we climbed the stairs other people appeared and soon we were in a small queue and the sound of disco music filled the air. As we got to the front of the queue a huge black bouncer stood to one side and we were in. It didn’t take me long to notice that I was the only white face in the hall but I didn’t feel uncomfortable; how could I? Seeing all those beautiful, smiling faces and sexy women dancing like their lives depended upon it just felt wonderful. Hell, it was wonderful. Madame took me around and introduced me to everyone he knew. Each one either

gave me a drink or passed me a bottle to swig from and soon I was so pissed I couldn’t stand or string a coherent sentence together; the only option was to dance. The last thing I remember was being sandwiched between two beautiful black women as they rubbed themselves against me in time with the throbbing music. I came around the next morning in an alcoholic daze and in bed with a handsome young Asian man I didn’t recognize. “Do I know you?” I asked softly as we were both bathed in early morning sunlight beaming through the thin curtains.. “You should do darling,” He smiled. “I’m your husband.” The boy got out of bed and left the room playing with his hair. I looked around and asked no one in particular. “Where are we?” As these words left my lips I saw the familiar, moustachioed face of Madam rise majestically from under the bed sheets between my feet. “You’ve come home with us...” Madam slurred obviously still drunk from the previous evening, eyes smudged with kohl and hair on end. “...and that’s Owen, my brother.” He hiccupped. “It’s true...” Owen smiled coming into the room with his hair up in a towel. “Mother had two boys and they’re both queer. Oliver is my older brother.” “Oh, that’s your name?” I said, realizing that I was naked under the bed sheets. I looked around for my underwear and other clothes. “I suppose you’re looking for them...” Oliver said pointing to my underpants that were ironed and on top of a small pile of clean clothes. “Mummy’s good at laundry and she’s been up all night scrubbing the skid marks out of your smalls.” “Take no notice of him.” Owen said with a wry grin. “She’s never had a white person in her house and wanted to do something special for you. As she’s only ever known service she thought doing your laundry would be the best thing.” Just then the door opened and two old women looked in. They both had their hair hidden under black coloured hijbs, as Muslim women call the scarves around their heads, and were dressed all in black. The two women giggled and smiled at each other, bowing their heads towards me. “Mummy...” Owen stuttered. “...take Auntie into the other room, please.” He looked towards me and laughed. “They can’t believe there’s a white boy in my bed; we’ll have the whole street in here in a minute, you wait and see.” “Where am I?” “We’re still in District Six...” Owen replied with a beautiful and endearing smile. “... it’s the closest township to Cape town and quite desirable amongst us cape coloureds.”

“It’s a cockroach infested rat trap.” Oliver interjected. “They say they are going to bulldoze the whole lot next year. You wouldn’t get any white people wanting to live here; no, it’s only good enough for us coloured people.” “Coloured?” I said. “Don’t you mean Asian?” “You’re in South Africa now you know, dear...” Owen sniffed as he brushed his thick black hair. “…everyone is put into their own, neat little racial box. Now, we’re Malayan but because we look like we’re from India we’re called coloured, it would be the same if I was the product of a stupid white Boer farmer and his idiot black servant girl. You know half cast. We’d still be coloured, not white, not black; we’re coloured.” “It’s true.” Oliver smiled dragging himself from the bed we’d all shared. “...If my daddy was a fat Boer and mummy a dumb Bantu servant girl I’d not be allowed to live with either of them.” “It’s true!” Owen smiled sweetly. “The law says that Coloureds have to live with coloureds, Bantu with Bantu and white with white. District Six is a coloured area and so it’s slightly better than other townships; like the ones that are allocated to Bantu only. Here we have electricity and running water. The Bantu have to collect their water from stand pipes and use candles.” “We used to live in the Malayan Quarter, just under the mountain, and it was really beautiful...”Oliver announced wistfully . “...that’s when we were little kids. But Mummy and the others made the houses look so beautiful the area was re-designated as whites only.” “So we had to move here.” Owen added. “Have you ever heard such a thing, a Malayan Quarter for whites only? It’s pathetic.” “Wow.” I said in disbelief. “Why do you put up with it?” “Oh, you’re so naive.” Owen smiled. “You know the police shoot you on sight out here if you say anything they don’t like. So my dear, we just have to put up with it.” “Not for much longer.” Oliver said picking up his now crumpled green dress and dropping it in disgust. He put on a pair of jeans and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “The school kids are organizing a march. You must come and show some support. It’s this Saturday.” Just then Auntie looked into the bed room and said something in a language I didn’t understand. “Aunties cooked us some eggs...” Owen said pulling on a bright shirt. “Would you like some?” “Yes please. “ I replied pulling on my underpants and getting up from the bed. When I was dressed I followed the boys into the kitchen and noted sadly that it was pretty dilapidated. They had cooked from a gas ring that was connected to a gas bottle but the back door was open and the strong sun light brightened the room up. I saw a couple of chickens out there so guessed the eggs would be fresh.

The back yard looked like an allotment with all sorts of vegetables growing in neat rows. I sat at the table and a plate of fried eggs and tomatoes were placed in front of me. The boy’s mother, who was very old and frail, said something to the Auntie who then repeated it to the boys. “Mummy wants to know how old you are?” Oliver said stuffing bread into his mouth. “I’m fourteen.” I said simply. “How old are you.” Oliver spat out a mouthful of tea and bread then screamed. “Oh fuck, Jail bait.” Mummy and Auntie then seemed to have a mad conversation and I guessed they were asking the boy’s what I’d said. “Don’t tell them,” Owen said anxiously before turning to me and saying. “We’ve never had sex okay, never.” “Why did we?” I replied. “That’s right,” He stuttered. “Just keep that up.” “You’re very tall aren’t you?” Oliver added. “When are you fifteen?” “In July.” I replied. Both boys looked at each other and grimaced. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything. How old are you?” “I’m sixteen,” Owen replied. “And she’s nineteen” They then spoke to the old women in Afrikaans and when they were suitably reassured Own smiled. “I’d better take you to the train station, you’re parents must be missing you?” “I don’t think so.” “But haven’t they put you in school yet?” “You’re joking.” I replied. “I’ve not been to school for about a year. The last time I went in they told me to leave because I had blue mascara on. I don’t think they liked the colour.” “What are you like?” Owen laughed “Come on, I’ll show you how to get home safely.” As we left the house I became aware that the other people in the street were looking at me although I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I’d got used to this growing up in Dagenham and being the only boy in the area who’d shaved off his eyebrows.(Being a fan of David Bowie in the seventies meant doing things like that). “You can get a train from here to Milnerton.” Owen said as we stopped outside the station. “Thanks.” I said. “Will I be able to see you again? “Yes, of course.” “Where?” He thought about this for a while. “Come to Main Street on Friday night, by the flower market. I’ll wait for you about ten o’clock. Do you think your folks will mind?” “No, I’ll see you there.” I said with a smile. Owen looked about cautiously and since we were unobserved leaned forwards and kissed me on the cheek. “Friday it is then.”

When I got home I found Mother in the garden pruning the roses. She gave me a wave as I came down the road. “You went out early, she smiled. “You father’s at work and I made you some lunch, it’s in the fridge.” “Thanks” I said kissing her. The next couple of days went quickly and soon Friday arrived. At around nine o’clock I was ready to go out. South Africa only had one TV channel at that time and it was on for eight hours a day. The first four hours were in English and the second four hours were a repeat of the first but with everything dubbed into Afrikaans. By then both my parents would be very drunk and it was no different this night. I came into the lounge just to see them getting ready for bed. “Are you going to watch that shit?” Dad said nodding towards the TV. “I thought I would.” I lied. “Well make sure you take the plug out.” Mother added as they went down the hall to the bed room. I waited a short while and let myself out the house quietly. The street outside was empty and silent although it was very hot. It seemed the whole neighbourhood went to bed at nine o’clock even at weekends; except me that is. I made my way to the main road and stuck out my thumb. It wasn’t long before I saw the headlights of a car in the distance coming towards me and as it approached I saw a middle aged man driving. He made eye contact and pulled over. “Can you take me to Main Street?” I asked. “Sure, get in.” We drove on for a while before the man said. “You’re British aren’t you?” “Yha,” I replied casually. “My father’s out here on business and I had to come along.” “How are you finding Cape Town?” He asked taking his eyes off the road momentarily. “Pretty boring.” I replied. “There’s not a lot going on here and the TV is crap.” “Oh, you’ll get used to that.” The man replied making small talk like you do in these situations, I felt relaxed and in no hurry. When he pulled off the main road and into one of the backstreets, I was about to say we’d missed the turn off when he beat me to it and mentioned. “I’ve just got to get some fuel.” We drove for a short while before pulling up in the drive of a small suburban house. When he turned to me and said casually: “Come on in, It won’t take a minute, I’ve got some in a can in the garage.” I didn’t have any pessimism, or fear or suspect him of anything sinister which perhaps I should have. I just repeated the eternal teenage response to such a statements; the obligatory dumb shrug.

I followed him into the house and we stood awkwardly in the small lounge . It was a little dark, a typical man’s room, with a thick carpet on the floor and well made matching pieces of furniture; then without a word, he was gone. The man left me there for a moment and when I saw him again he had two towels. He folded one across his shoulder and laid the other out on the floor. “Lay there.” He said, like a strict school teacher instructing a pupil. I don’t know why I complied but I did without question; it wasn’t as if I fancied him or anything like that but I did as he asked. He came on like a Critical Parent and I reacted like a Compliant Child. He undid my trousers and pulled them down to my knees. My underwear went the same way and I looked up just in time to see him tugging at his belt. I closed my eyes and lay there as he sucked my cock then was amazed as he swallowed my come. I waited for him to finish what he was doing and very soon I heard him gasping for air. Using the towel from his shoulder the stranger mopped up his come in sience. He stood and said simply. “Get dressed.” Soon we were back in the car and heading back towards Main Street. Not another word passed our lips and as his car pulled up in the bus garage he opened his wallet and gave me a twenty Rand note. “Get yourself a cab home.” He whispered pushing the note into my palm. “Cape Town can be dangerous for a young boy at night.” I got out the car and walked swiftly away. The experience didn’t particularly frighten me but it was unexpected and I tried not to think about it again. It was a relief to find Owen waiting for me by the flower market as we’d arranged. “I thought you’d not be coming.” He smiled as I walked towards him. “It’s getting so late.” “I got held up.” I said simply. “So, what shall we do now?” “I’m going to introduce you to my friends.” He said excitedly. “You will love these girls; they’re simply fantastic; then we’re going to Boudwan’s.” “Is that a club?” I asked with a frown, it’s not a word I’d heard before and it could have been anything.. “What are you like.” He laughed leading me down the street to an alley near an intersection. ” Boudwan is this very nice white man. He’s fat but fantastically rich. When I told him you were fourteen he laughed and demanded that I bring you to him...” “I’m fifteen soon.” I interjected trying to sound older. But Owen totally ignored what I was saying. “...You wait...” He giggled. “...you’ll love him. But, first let me introduce you to the girls.” We turned into the dark alley that had parked cars on either side and I noticed the, very American, fire escapes picked out in the shadows as they ran down the sides of the

buildings. As my eyes got adjusted to the light I noticed a group of women standing in a group at one end of the alley; as we got closer one of them screamed. “Owen, you old queen, you.” In the twilight I saw, in fact the group of women were transvestites. They were all Cape Coloured and wearing the most outrageous costumes. One had a fishnet one-piece and suspenders going down to fish-net stockings and high heels. Another had a Basque and suspenders. One other was wearing just bra and panties with a pair of socks, acting as breasts, poking out from beneath the bra. They were all wearing a bizarre assortment of weaves and wigs. “Who’s the chicken?” The one who approached us asked giving me the once over. . “This is my good friend David.” Owen replied. “He’s from England.” “Charmed, I’m sure.” The tranny said majestically, kissing my hand. “I can see you’ll earn a bomb out here.” “Don’t be silly” Owen laughed. “We’re not working. I just wanted him to meet you; what will you be doing later?” “Oh, if I get three punters tonight darling I’ll be strutting my ass off at Wings. How about you?” “Will they let more coloureds in there now?” Owen asked. “They’ll let us in dear, we’re party people.” Just then a car pulled up and the “girls” looked over toward the driver. The one who’d been talking to us put her hands on her hips and shouted. “Business darling? I’ll give you a night to remember.” She turned to me and whispered. “Once I get his money I’ll run off, believe me, he’ll remember that” “Oh, It’s Boudwan.” Owen cried seeing the man in the rear seat wind down his window and wave.. “Come David, Boudwan’s come to pick us up.” As we walked away the girls all cooed and the one who had been talking to us shouted “See you at Wings, oh and bring your chicken with you, I’ll get to know him later; I adore the taste of chicken after a night drinking.” We left the group of trannies and walked excitedly towards the car. It was only when I got closer that I saw it was a Rolls Royce. As we approached the black driver, dressed in gray a uniform and peeked cap, opened the back door for us. A fat, balding middle aged man leant out towards us; he was wearing huge gold rings on each fat finger and cooed eagerly with a hilarious, distinctive fey affectation. “Owen, so this is your new friend....” We went to Boudwan’s house which was situated just outside Cape Town in the Millionaires district of Constantia. It was a two story house at the end of a long gravel

drive and was by the far the nicest house I’d ever seen. The whole street was dedicated to servicing the stately homes and mansions which were hidden by mature trees and well maintained drives from inquisitive eyes. It was only after the gates closed behind them and the vehicle entered the grounds that the whole house could be appreciated visually; the white weather boarding, bay windows with ivy and honeysuckle growing around them and pink shutters on the upper floor windows. Ivy covered one side of a huge portico and the sweet smell of summer flowers wept across the dark manicured lawns; into the cool rooms within. With their marble floors and mirrored walls I felt like I was in a scene from a fantastic film as the house door was opened by a valet and we swept in. “You’re a pretty boy.” Boudwan smiled as another valet opened an inner door for Boudwan. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Dick.” I’d heard that one before. I almost expected Boudwan to lead us straight the bedrooms. Instead we were in a spacious room on the ground floor which was very comfortably furnished with deep cushions spread over puffed up chairs and a huge Indian style rug covering 90 per cent of the marble floor. The valet stood discreetly in one corner next to a huge white piano waiting for instructions. “Bring the boys some drinks.” Boudwan smiled toward the man. “What would you like David, you pretty little, young thing; a soft drink perhaps or something a little harder?” He wobbled his chins flirtatiously and fluttered his eye lashes. “A beer will do.” I said nervously; having never been in such lavish settings before I wanted to do the right thing, and avoid any etiquette disasters. “You know what I want.” Owen stated to the valet who, going behind a mirrored bar, placed an apron over his suit. “I should do by now my little flower. Bring the boy a whiskey.” Boudwan sniffed as he sunk into a leather armchair. The valet opened a huge mirrored door and behind it was a whole bar full of every type of drink. As he made himself busy a pair of double doors at the far end of the room opened and a young coloured boy walked in. He was wearing a silk bask and long red stockings. “Oh Rudi.” Boudwan smiled. “Come and meet my guests.” “Did you get my wig you fat, Flemish bastard?” Rudi quipped with a smile. At this point Boudwan opened a box which he’d been carrying and pulled out a blond wig that shimmered in the light. It was around three feet long, dead straight until the end which exploded into a crest of shimmering curls. “Oh divine.” Rudi hissed. “Let me have it.” He pulled on the wig and then proceeded to prance about the room pulling the most amusing faces; like a model up on his own imaginary cat walk. He pranced here and pranced there, up and down, a pose here and a pose there. Eventually he ended up spread across the bar with one leg cocked daintily in the air.

“Oh, his such a queen.” Owen hissed. “Who is he?” I whispered discretely towards Owen. “It’s Boudwan’s boy friend. They’ve been together for ages.” “What’s your name white boy?” Rudi hissed slipping onto the sofa beside me. “David. “I replied softly. “Don’t be shy,” He smiled stroking his long fingers up my leg. He puffed up the wig and fluttered his long eye lashes. “We’re all friends around here...” “Stop winding the boy up.” Boudwan laughed. “You’ll have to excuse Rudi, he’s high on life.” “I’ve noticed.” “Don’t you think Dick will be able to do marvellous things with those hips?” Boudwan remarked nodding towards me; he sniffed as the valet furnished him with another vodka. “I’m sure he will.” Rudi hissed. “When is the old pouf arriving?” He turned to me and whispered “I won’t say coming because he can’t get it up anymore.” “He should have been here already.” Boudwan replied. “We were going to eat before going to the club. Is food ready?” He asked the valet through the side of his mouth. “Yes Sir.” The valet nodded. “Cook has a buffet in the music room.” ““Well let’s not wait. Come on boys, I’m famished.” He led us into the hall and into another room at the end. It was sparsely furnished with a huge window overlooking the garden draped in purple silks with a grand piano in the corner overlooking the window. “Boudwan’s loaded.” Owen smiled leading me to the food which was laid out upon a huge table. Each silver platter had what looked like a work of art set into it; but instead of paints the colours were constructed of crab and chicken, pasta and pastry. “It looks beautiful.” I said having never seen such a spread before except perhaps in the pages of a magazine. “Yes cook’s very talented.” Boudwan sniffed filling up a paper plate with a selection of meats and salad. “I brought her from Gent with me.” “Is that where you’re from?” I smiled not having a clue where Gent was.” “Yes, my dear boy.” “It’s in Belgium.” Rudi said turning his nose up at the food and strolling over to the piano. I was surprised to see him sit at the stool and play the most haunting melody. “Do you like Sarti?” Boudwan asked pushing a whole chicken leg into his mouth leaving a trail of mayonnaise dripping to his chins. “Rudi’s very talented. If he was in Europe he’d be a concert pianist but in South Africa the talent is not nurtured; it’s all about race here you know.” “Yes.” I said softly hearing the soft tinkling echo about the room like a spell to entrance

me. “It’s not fair is it?” Suddenly the doors were flung astride and the valet appeared. “It’s Mr. Richard, Sir.” “Show him in.” Boudwan said through a mouth full of crab and lobster patty. Rudi sensed the moment was gone and gently closed the piano lid. “Boudwan.” He snarled walking over to stand with us. “Wipe your mouth, you’re frightening the poor lad. Then through the door emerged a pile of silk and taffeta in the arms of an elderly gray haired man. He puffed and huffed before laying the pile on the floor. “Oh, Dick.” Rudi shouted. “You’ve done it again.” “You said Whistlers mother.” The old man puffed rubbing his back. “But I could only draw myself to do Withering Heights. The petticoats have come out very nicely.” Rudi skipped over to the pile and pulled it out across the floor. It was then that I saw it consisted of three beautiful silk and taffeta dresses with a similar number of puffed up petticoats. “They weigh a ton. It’s all the silk and lining, Chinese you know.” Dick stated looking at the dresses. “Dick is an accomplished costume maker. He’s made dresses for every theatre production in the world, you know.” Boudwan sniffed wiping his chin. “As long as someone pays I don’t mind.” Dick smiled seeing me and sliding up a little too close. “Now who are you?” “That’s David.” Owen said. “He’s from Europe too.” “How exotic.” Dick purred. “Now you would look fabulous in the blue taffeta number. That’s if madam doesn’t want it.” “No, no no...” Rudi screamed pulling on a bright red silk dress with a bustle on the back. “This is exactly what I wanted, Boudwan.” He exclaimed. “Do me up please.” “Did you make a green dress for Owen’s brother?” I asked. I sensed straight away that I’d said the wrong thing. “If you mean a little fifties number in green organza, I actually borrowed it to Owen.” “Sorry, Oliver was wearing it the other night.” Owen said shyly. “What, with his legs?” Dick snapped. “Heaven’s above. Still, you can keep it.” Boudwan had done up the last of the small buttons which descended from the nape of the neck to the bulging bustle just below the waist; when he turned to me and said. “Are you going to wear the blue, David?” “He won’t need a wig.” Owen replied. “Not with that head of hair.” “Yes.” Dick agreed. “It may need to go up but the length is perfect.” “I don’t...” I started to say. “Rollers!” Rudi interjected. “The heated ones.”

“ I don’t wear dresses....” I said. “Oh, come on darling. “Rudi replied. “You’ll look positively divine in this blue one; especially with big hair.” “Big hair?” “Yes Darling.” He went on to say. “Not a naff perm; something a little more archaic.” “I don’t know. “I stuttered feeling like I was not going to have a choice in the matter. Peer pressure is quite a force especially if one has been drinking and is in a group who all have the same intentions. It wasn’t long before I was standing in front of a full length mirror looking at an exotic creature in a blue, silk ball gown. Hair curled into the style of a French aristocrat and topped off with a similar coloured blue ribbon. “Shoes?” Dick stated as he stood back to admire me from head to toe in his creation. “You have to wear shoes” “Do I?” I said. The shoes I’d been wearing were normal leather brogues and would have ruined the whole effect. “Oh, well it was a nice idea.” It was a relief to find something that would enable me to get out of the costume without upsetting anyone before we went out in public. Owen was adding some hairspray to the black wig he had put on to go with his costume. This was a black and red taffeta gown cut short at the front and trailing off at the back. It reminded me of the dresses the dancers wear in those pictures by Toulouse Lautrec of Parisian CanCan girls. It fitted Owen perfectly and I assumed that Dick had made it especially for him. “What size are you ?” Owen asked “Nine.” I said secretly hoping that no-one would have a pair they could borrow me. “Fantastic.” Dick smiled. “You can wear a pair of mine.” “Can I?” I said hoping he wouldn’t detect my disappointment. “Yes Dear, I have a lovely pair of heels in the car. Not quite the right century but they will do. You’ll be the tallest person in the club.” “Will I?” I said apprehensively. “Yes, They’re very high.”... And they were.... 7 An hour, several more drinks and a snort of cocaine later Boudwan’s Rolls Royce pulled up on the pavement in the centre of town. There was a shabby door which led to a flight of stairs and emerging from the door was a queue of people that went halfway down the street. The driver opened the rear door and out stepped Rudi like a vision in red. His blond wig contrasting crazily with his brown skin as it framed his face and eyes which by

now were adorned with a pair of silver eyelashes almost four inches long. He caused a gasp of delight to ripple through the crowd. The gasp turned into a whoop as Owen followed dressed in the red and black can-can dress topped with his high black bouffant. Boudwan followed him. His large frame squeezed into a purple valet costume making him look like a pantomime Buttons accompanying two ugly sisters; although they were not ugly; just bizarre. He held out a hand to help me emerge. I nervously placed one of the seven inch heels on the pavement and pulled myself out of the car and a sudden round of applause echoed through the crowd. This made me feel slightly more at ease and I held Boudwan’s arm tightly partly to prevent a catastrophic fall and partly to ease my nerves. No-one paid any attention to Dick who followed me and in whose wonderful creations we were adorned. “It’s your first time in drag?” Boudwan whispered as we made our way past the queue and straight in through the doorway. “Yes.” I said trying not to look too awkward as we climbed the stairs past drooping jawed people who formed a line towards the dull thud, thud, thud emanating several floors above us. “Well, you look wonderful.” He said to comfort me sensing my nervousness. “I just feel like an expensive handbag swinging on your arm.” I said as we approached the landing at the top of the stairs. “Just remember.” Boudwan replied with a smiled as the security guards and bouncers parted like the red sea as we approached. “Every handbag has a silver lining....” There was a desk by another door which was closed and guarded by a huge building of a man. At the desk sat two women and a middle aged man. The man rose to his feet as he saw our group. “Boudwan De Wit...” He shouted above the sound of thudding bass lines that reverberated from the room beyond the door. “I should have guessed.” He came from behind the desk and kisses Rudi on the cheek. “Rudi; you look fabulous...” He kisses Owen next saying simply. “...Delightful Dear.” Then a hug and a kiss to Boudwan preceded a squeal of delight as his eyes surveyed me from head to toe. “And who is this beautiful creature?” “Rupert,” Boudwan smiled. “This is my very nice friend, David. He’s from England.” “What a charmer.” Rupert smiled. “You look absolutely stunning Dear, this must be one of...” He looked over my shoulder and saw Dick huffing and puffing loudly as he climbed the last of the stairs.

“....Richard’s creations. Richard, Richard, darling look at you; do you want a chair?” Rupert placed his lips close to my ear and whispered. “See, forty fags a day for thirty years. See what happens.” “Just let us in will you.” Dick huffed as he joined us. “Quick, before those stairs kill me.” Rupert waved his hand and the huge man by the door reached out and pulled it ajar. “My dears,” Rupert announced. “Welcome to Wings, the best night club in the whole of Africa.” I followed Boudwan through the door as Rupert whispered in his ear. “Catch me when the queue goes down and well have a little snorty, snorty in my private rooms.” I found myself inside a huge cavernous hall that was decorated on every wall from floor to ceiling with mirrors. A giant mirror ball hung from the ceiling above a throbbing dance floor casting diamond shafts of light around the hall. Other lights flashed on and off in time with the bouncing bass notes that thrust forwards from four stacks of speakers positioned in each corner of the room. The music was deafening but Crystal clear. I recognized the song at once having heard it before played by my mother during her Piaf evenings. When she would turn off the television and play her old records. This song was one of her favourites; La Vie en Rose; although I’d never heard it performed like this. It was loud, bold and incredibly sexy. The female’s voice seemed to wrap around me in a sensuous veil of sound. “Grace Jones...” Boudwan shouted as if sensing my intrigue. “It’s a very good version don’t you think?” “Superb.” I said as he led me to the dance floor. Although the shoes were uncomfortable and the heels positively dangerous I could not help but bump and sway to the sound of that song as its melody and hypnotic beat sucked me into a vortex of audio intoxication. I couldn’t tell when that song ended and the next began but soon I realized that we had been dancing for some time and the hall was now so crowded I couldn’t move my arms anymore. I looked for Boudwan but he was not nearby and I realized that the heels gave me an added advantage in as much as I could see right over everybody else’s heads. Rudi’s blond wig was like a beacon in the distance for me to home into. When I eventually pushed, barged and pleaded my way through the crowd I found my friends standing beside a huge circular bar. The crowd was six deep all the way around and in the centre was a shrine to alcohol. This shrine was being milked by several young men dressed only in tight satin hot pants and training shoes.

Above the shrine was an angel, descending through the clouds of dry ice on barely visible wires and from each shoulder rose huge feathered wings. It was the most incredible sight I’d ever seen. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Owen shouted as he passed me a drink of glowing green liquid.” “Yes,” I sighed. “Beautiful....” “Dick made the robes.” He continued pointing at the soft linen toga that the angel was adorned with. It was edged with gold thread and the gold picked up the diamond beads of light from the mirror ball making the whole vision come to life before my eyes. “He’s so talented.” I said looking around for him. “Where is he?” “Oh,” Owen smiled. “He’s gone with Rupert and Boudwan upstairs; would you like to have a look?” “Why not.” “Oyez...” thundered through the music as we left the bar. “Don’t leave me here on my own.” I looked back and smiled as I saw Rudi stumbling through the crowd towards us. Together Owen partly supported and partly led us through the remaining throng towards a discrete door beside the toilet that was guarded by another security man. He gave Owen a wink as we stepped up to him and pulled the door back. “Rudi.” He said as we stepped past him into a brightly lit hall. “Charmed....” Rudi purred as the door was closed behind us. “ Do you know him?” I asked as we walked towards a small room at the end of the hall. “No,” He replied. “He knows me....” Inside the room at the end of the hall we found Rupert, Boudwan and Richard sitting with two other men around a large glass table. The table had a bowl in the centre which was filled with coke and I saw traces of it smudged in front of each person on the table. “Boys, er, Girls...” Rupert smiled. “Come on in, David, come and sit here by me.” I did as he asked and soon a silver spoon was being offered up to my nose. In a few minutes I was spread out with those shoes on the other side of the room. It was so nice being able to get them off and relax even if I was wearing a silly dress. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Rupert asked stroking his soft fingers against my arm. “I’d feel better if I could get out of this dress.” “All the girls say that when I’m around...” Rupert hissed. Someone passed him a small pipe and he sucked on the end of it. Soon a cloud of exotic smoke was floating around my head and I felt slightly dizzy. “Here, have some of this Malawi grass; it’s radical...” I took a deep breath from the end of the pipe and soon I was on another planet. The room faded away and I was sliding down a rainbow landing softly on a daisy petal spilling diamonds from my brow. 8 “Wake up...” The words banged through my brain like a sledgehammer. “Come on,

wake up, I have to get going...” I opened one eye and saw Rupert standing beside the bed I was laying upon. He was getting dressed. I was naked once more. I remember thinking that I really should try to prevent this happening again; after all it was clear that we’d slept together although I couldn’t remember anything about it. “Where’s Boudwan?” I asked softly. “They went ages ago.” Rupert replied as he dragged on a pair of cowboy boots. He looked really ugly and I felt bad about being in his bed. “Come on Dear, I’ve got things to do.” “What’s the time?” I asked vaguely. “It’s nearly twelve.” “What about my clothes? I left everything at Boudwan’s.” “ Richard took that dress. Here’s a pair of jeans and a tea shirt. I don’t know what you are going to do about shoe’s dear, mine won’t fit you.” He stood and took a roll of bank notes from his pocket. “Here’s fifty Rand, go and buy something from the shop opposite.” He pulled back the curtain and I saw that we must have been in a room above the club. The shops below were open and people were milling around on the streets outside. “What are you doing today?” He asked as I got dressed. “It’s Saturday isn’t it?” “All day darling.” “I was going to go on a march with Oliver and Owen. They want me to meet them by the flower stalls at two.” “You’re new to South Africa Darling, aren’t you?” He said tilting his head to one side. “Yes.” “We’ll these are very troubled times.” He went on. “I’ve been here for several years but recently there have been plenty of riots and so on. The police kill you first and ask questions later so if you’re thinking about getting involved in all that you’d better be careful. About a hundred people were shot dead during the last riot.” “Really?” I said. “That was in Soweto, near Jo’burg but these bastards don’t fuck around out here; especially if you’re white. They expect blacks to cause trouble but white people who are caught up in it are made an example of. You’re still young; just make sure you live to see your next birthday.” “I’ll be careful.” I said simply placing the fifty Rand note in my pocket. “If you’re still alive why not come to the club tonight; it’s good here on a Saturday and you won’t get a better night anywhere else in Cape Town.” He went over to a small dresser and emptied the bowl from the previous evening into the top of it. “Want a snort before you go ?” “Why not...”

So that’s how I found myself in the middle of Cape Town one Saturday morning, shoeless and out of my head on coke. The shoes in the store opposite were awful and as it was hot I thought I’d not bother. It seemed perfectly natural to walk around bare footed on such a hot day. People looked at me but I was used to that. It was only when I went into a cafe to get some coffee that it became apparent why. “Fuck off.” The big Boer behind the counter said. “We don’t serve hippies.” Well being called a hippie was better than being called a queer so I went to the flower stalls and sat on a bench and waited for my friends to come. The police presence was very noticeable and I did found them quite intimidating as they strolled past in pairs slapping their horse whips against their palms and legs. Their revolvers were unclipped and ready for action. There was an un-nerving feeling in the air, partly anxiousness and partly excitement. I saw groups of young blacks and coloureds strolling around trying to look inconspicuous. The police were stopping the small groups from time to time and checking papers. I was aware that blacks needed special papers to be in the city and it was partly this oppression that they wanted to demonstrate about. After an hour or so I saw Owen walking towards me. “David..” He smiled as he joined me. “I’m so glad you’re here. Have you waited long?” “No, not really. It’s been nice anyway looking at all the flowers and taking in the sun?” “Where are your shoes?” He laughed. “At Boudwan’s.” “Oh, yes. I’m sorry we left you with Rupert but you were so drunk..” “It’s okay. When is the march going to start?” “We have to be careful because of the police.” Owen said looking about anxiously. “I have this flyer but it’s in Afrikaans.” “What’s it say?” “Apparently we’re to congregate around the main parliamentary building down there just after two. The want all the school kids at the front because they think the police are less likely to just start shooting if they see a row of children at the front.” “Oops.” I grimaced. “Are they likely to start shooting?” “No, we’ll be okay. “He smiled holding his hand out to touch mine sensitively. “They’ll protect you.” “Why should they want to do that?” I asked. “Oh, David, you’re so grown up and yet so innocent at the same time.” He looked around cautiously. “You are white. If you are going to place yourself at the front of our march for equality no one will allow them to kill you. I promise.” “I’m glad to hear that...” Just then a fat white woman with gray hair piled up on her wrinkly head came out of

the crowd. She placed her face next to mine and spat. Instinctively I pushed her away and shocked turned to place some distance between her and myself. “Fucking Caffier lover...” She screamed. “You’re an affront to common decency.” Owen grabbed my hand and pulled me down the street. “We’d better find every one else.” He said. “There’s safety in numbers.” As we turned a corner near the main judicial and parliamentary buildings which were situated in Cape Town at that time we came across a crowd of people. They were mainly black women dressed in traditional African costume with brightly coloured bundles of fabric on their heads as was the style. The small groups of black and coloured youths who had been walking about aimlessly earlier were now congregating at the front of the crowds of women and Owen led me toward them. A thin black man in a crumpled suit met us as we came closer. “Thank you for your support comrade.” He said placing me and Owen in the front line. We linked our arms and the crowd of women fell in line behind us. Suddenly a banner was unfurled proudly proclaiming the legend: ‘School Children of Africa Unite against Apartheid.’ Then a push and a shove and off we went. I looked behind our line and there was now over a thousand people pushing us on. Owen clasped my arm hard as we turned in one unit into the narrow street ahead. The youth on my right was a young black boy who smiled and winked as I looked down towards his bright eyes. Then a voice rose up behind us and the whole mass of humanity burst into spontaneous song. I didn’t catch the words as they were singing in Afrikaans but it was clearly a song about freedom. The melody rang out down the street and echoed off the buildings that lined our way. It was a truly inspirational moment that brought tears to my eyes. The street ahead of us cleared and only the police were left to meet us as we lunged forwards. One of them holding a loud speaker placed it to his lips and shouted a warning first in Afrikaans and then in English. “This is an illegal gathering. You have one minute to disperse or we’ll open fire.” The song continued but now louder and with more resolve as we gradually stepped forwards towards the ranks of uniformed men. “You must disperse at once or suffer the consequences..” The police man shouted again. I looked towards the end of the street and now a row of policemen on horseback were gathering in a straight line. An order was given and the line of horses drew closer. Still the song rang out, louder and louder, each word rising above our heads like a

prayer. Catching its own rhythm the beat thrust us onwards. The horses came closer and then a shout went up. Suddenly I heard a bullet fly past my ear and a woman behind fell forwards. I glanced back just in time to see blood on the road behind me. There was confusion and the horses charged. “Ouch...” I screamed. “That’s my fucking foot.” It was no good as the police horse that had stamped on my toe was gone into the crowd. People were running everywhere as tear gas landed just behind our ranks. More shots rang out and I saw the boy who had been clamped onto my right arm fall in the road side. The pain in my foot disappeared as I ran to him. I cradled his bleeding head in my arms and realized that he was dead. It was the most shocking realization I’d ever had. The boy must have been about ten years old and I remembered his bright eyes and glowing smile from just moments ago. A life now ended and for what? The chaos around me faded away as I stroked his still warm forehead. “Leave him comrade...” A voice whispered in my ear. “Save yourself.” I looked up with tears rolling down my face just in time to see the boot of a huge policeman make contact with my face. The blow rolled me backward and before I could steady myself my arms were being twisted behind my back and I was thrown into a police wagon. The door slammed shut and it rolled away leaving screaming and confusion in its wake. I looked around me and there were four other men in there with me. I was the only white person and this filled me with a sense of shame. “Don’t cry my friend.” One of the black men said as the van turned a corner sharply. “You did well today; think of your triumph.” “I’m so sorry....” The words rolled from my lips over and over again. The old man took my head in his arms and comforted me. Suddenly I knew and understood what previously I’d been blind too. It was a terrible and profound discovery; that man could be so unkind and yet in the face of adversity there could also be forgiving. I looked down at my foot and saw a horse hoof print across the centre. It hurt less then the emotional pain I was feeling. Suddenly the van pulled to an abrupt halt and the door was pulled open filling the van with bright sun light. A policeman dressed in the powder blue uniform looked into the van as the elderly man who had put his arm around me quickly sat back. “Out.” The policeman shouted. I did as he asked and found myself in a bright courtyard. Other police vehicles were lining the sides of the yard and I saw several other policemen standing around with their whips at hand. “Up there...” One of them shouted pointing to a row of steps. I did as I was told only

looking behind once to see the last black man emerge from the van and get a whip strike the back of his legs. At the top of the stairs was a door through which I found myself in a large room. A tall counter stood opposite and behind it stood another uniformed man who had his back to me. “Give your name and address to the officer.” Someone shouted as the officer behind the counter turned shuffling papers which he laid out before him. I recognized him straight away. It was the guy who had given me a lift from Milnerton about a week ago. The one who had made a diversion to his house to get some fuel and a little extra. We made eye contact and he looked very awkward. “Give your name and address to the officer....” The man shouted again from behind. “My name’s David...” I said softly. The officer looked left and right and I saw that he pretended to write my details on the form and I realized that I was going to be okay. “Herman...” The officer behind the counter said forcefully. “You book these others in; this one needs special treatment.” “You’re telling me he does...” Herman spat. “The fucking caffire lover.” I noticed the officer behind the counter had three stripes on his sleeves as he came From the counter and took my arm. “Come this way, you.” He snarled dragging me through a door at the end of the room. In silence he dragged me down the hall which lay on the other side. Then he unlocked a door and pushed me outside. “Go home you silly bastard.” He snarled looking over his shoulder. “Go home and don’t ever come back.” Then the door was slammed shut and I turned to find myself in a quiet residential street. I was still in Cape Town but the sound of guns and people shouting was gone. I limped to the road and looked around. In my pocket was the fifty Rand Rupert had given me earlier and I thought that I’d be able to use it to get a cab or taxi. There was a row of shops which I limped over too. The first was a tobacconist and as I entered the man behind the counter raised an eye brow. “You’ve been through the wars haven’t you?” “You wouldn’t believe it...” “I would, you know.” He smiled. “Nothing surprises me anymore.” “Do you know where I can get a taxi,” I asked. “I’ve lost my shoes and I’ve got to get to Milnerton?” “You are a long way from home aren’t you?” He reached behind the counter and pulled out a card. “You can phone them over there.” He gave me the card and pointed to a telephone that was hanging on one wall. “Have you got change of fifty Rand?” I asked taking the note from my pocket. “You’re not Howard Hughes are you?” He smiled changing the note. “No...” I smiled turning to call the taxi. 9 I was never so glad to get home and as I made my way up our garden path I met my

mother. She was carrying some clippings from the garden and stopped dead in her tracks as she saw me. “Where have you been?” She said. “I’ve been worried sick. I was going to give you one more hour and if you weren’t back I was going to call the police.” “I’ve just been in town. “I said limping onto our veranda. “I’m sorry if I worried you.” “Where are your shoes?” She said looking down at my bleeding foot.” “A horse stole them...” I said simply. She shook her head and we went inside. I found my father watching television which had just started broadcasting. It was a news report about the violence in the centre of town that day. I heard that seven people had been shot and many more injured. I looked at my throbbing foot and tutted. “Black bastards...” Dad sniffed. “They should have shot the lot of them.” “How can you say that?” I shouted. “Do you know I saw a child get killed today; a fucking little kid. How can you possibly be so ignorant?” “Sorry I spoke.” He said turning the sound up. “Watch your language.” Mum said emerging from the kitchen with a plate of food. “You’re still a kid too you know.” “Am I?” I said looking at the food she put on the table and going to my room. It was still there several hours later when I woke up. It was dark and the flat was quiet. I went down the hall to my parent’s room and opened the door slightly. They were asleep. I went to the bathroom and brushed my hair and tied it back with a band. Mum had left her liquid eyeliner on the shelf next to my toothbrush and it was all the invitation I needed. Several minutes later I was heading down the dark quiet Milnerton street towards the main road. I’d found a spare pair of shoes and although my foot still hurt it was not as bad as earlier. I stuck out my thumb and soon a car was pulling up to take me back into town. “Where are you going?” The young man in the driver’s seat asked. “Anywhere near the bus station.” I replied. I got in and the car set off. “I wonder if they’ve cleared it up yet?” “Were you there?” He asked taking his eyes off the road. “I try to avoid town when there’s going to be trouble.” “I just got caught up in it.” I lied. “I saw it on TV, it looked terrible.” He said. “Vorster made a speech a short while ago, did you see that?” I knew that he was referring to P.W Vorster, the Boer prime minister. He had held the reins of power for some years and was seen as the corner stone of the apartheid system but I’d never heard him speak. “I must have been sleeping...” I said. “What did he have to say?” “He was implying that the troubles would get worse and that it may be better for the

country if we moved forwards; you know, embraced change.” “Really.” I said. “So there is hope yet.” The man laughed. “You’re English so you would feel like that.” He was thoughtful for a while. “The Boers would rather spill their own blood then change the status quo. We have a long way to go yet.” The rest of the journey was in thoughtful silence and soon we were pulling up beside the bus station. “Take care now.” The man said as I slipped out of the car. “I will try.” I smiled back. It was quiet again. Walking to Main Street there was no sign of the trouble there only hours earlier although I was aware of increased police numbers on the street. I headed around the back and was relieved to see a queue as people lined up to go into Wings. I stood with them and soon I was halfway up the stairs waiting to hand over some of the owner’s money to get in. I didn’t even know how much it was going to cost. “David, there you are....” A voice said. I looked up and was relieved to see Boudwan. “Am I glad to see you.” “Well don’t wait there,” He smiled taking my arm. “Come, you’ll be my guest.” Together we made our way up the final flight and at the top we found Rupert sitting behind the desk taking money. “Hello Darling...” He shouted seeing Boudwan turn the corner. “Oh, and your friends still alive.” he remarked looking at me. “I’m busy at the moment dear, the bloody girls have let me down and I’ve got to take the money. Go in and I’ll see you both later...” With that we were in. It was rammed packed inside and the music was at full tilt. Boudwan took my arm and let me to the bar before shouting. “What do you want to drink?” “Just a coke please?” I said not wishing to make the same mistake as the previous evening. He ordered us some drinks and smiled. “Rudi will be here later. He’s having his legs waxed.” “How funny.” I smiled. “No, he’s really a lovely person. I wouldn’t change him for the world.” Boudwan said. “Has he ever been to Belgium with you?” I asked. “I took him there last year, it was a real pain getting him a visa to leave S.A and then when we got to Europe they wouldn’t let him in. It was so sad; he was really looking forwards to it.” “They wouldn’t let him in?” I asked. “...Why not?” “Well you know what he’s like.” Boudwan explained. “We flew all the way there and at immigration they said are you here for a holiday; well, he said no, I’m visiting my boyfriend’s parents.” “Oh no.”

“Yes, of course.” Boudwan huffed. “They looked at him and of course he only looks like a teenager and then at me, a full grown man, and that was it.” “You should have primed him before you got off the plane.” I said. “It’s no use. He does what he wants and that’s Rudi.” “Can I buy your friend a drink?” Said a camp voice behind me. I turned and a wealthy looking man was standing there smiling. Boudwan shrugged. “Do you want this person to entertain you?” He said. “Oh go on then,” I smiled. “I’ll have a beer.” Soon I was drinking a beer from a bottle and explaining what had happened to me earlier on that day to Boudwan. He was very concerned and asked if Owen had got home okay. Of course I didn’t know. Suddenly a pair of arms went around my waist and I felt a hard cock rubbing against my rear. I looked over my shoulder and it was the guy who had brought me a beer. I turned and pushed him away. “Cool it please.” I said with a smile. He was having none of it and his hands reached out and started to undo my trousers. “Look,” I said more assertively. “Just leave me alone.” “But I brought you a beer.” The man said defiantly. “So what?” “Oh,” He huffed angrily. “So you’re a fucking little prick teaser, are you?” “Look I didn’t ask you to buy me a beer...” “You fucking stuck up little queen...” The man shouted. I saw Rupert coming up behind him. He stood there listening for a second and saw what was happening before disappearing. “They shouldn’t let little prick teasers in here..” The man was ranting. Then suddenly he rose off the floor and was gone. I saw him being pushed through the crowd towards the door by a bouncer. Rupert now took his place. “I hope you’re all right,” He sniffed. “I hate it when these queens can’t take their booze.” “I’m okay.” I said not very convincingly. “Well, come with me.” Rupert announced taking me by the arm. I looked behind and saw Boudwan following. We were soon in the small room off the side of the dance floor. “Can you make a pipe?” Rupert said tossing me a bag of grass. “Want a line Boudwan?” “Of course.” Boudwan replied. “No,” Rupert said opening a money bag which was full of Cocaine. “I can’t have some half baked little queen upsetting my boys now, can I?” He placed the cocaine in the bowl and placed this in the centre of the table. I struggled with the grass until there was just enough to remove the stalks and seeds and fill the pipe. “So, you two are an item now?” Boudwan said with a smile.

“Are we?” I snorted much to Boudwan’s amusement. “Don’t be like that, Dear.” Rupert chortled as he sat beside me. “Last night you couldn’t get enough of me.” “Really?” I replied trying to remember what had happened the previous evening. “I was very drunk.” “You were fucking dragged up.” Rupert laughed taking a sniff of coke from his silver spoon. “I don’t usually fancy drag queens, so consider yourself lucky.” “That was the first time I’d been out in drag and it will be the last.” I said defiantly “Good,” Rupert sniffed. “You look so much better in jeans without your hair ponced up.” He took a spoon full of coke and held it under my nose. “Don’t you think Boudwan?” He said. I sniffed loudly and sucked the white crystals deep into the back of my throat. “Yes, he does...” Boudwan laughed. “For a fourteen year old.” “What!” Rupert exclaimed. “Tell me it’s a lie.” He said loudly. “Please, tell me it’s a lie.” “It’s no lie.” Boudwan replied laughing loudly. “Oh, no.” Rupert sighed. “I’m a fucking paedophile. Oh, my mother will kill me.” Suddenly he looked up and started to dash about the room. “You have to go, don’t take this personally but I couldn’t handle prison.” “Calm down, calm down...” Boudwan laughed. He turned to me and whispered. “It’s the coke, it makes him crazy sometimes.” I decided to go back to the dance floor and have a smooch. It was so exciting out there. All those sweaty bodies and the music pounding away; with a brain full of cocaine I could have danced all night; and I did. I looked around for Boudwan when the house lights went up but he was no-where to be seen so I made my way onto the early morning streets feeling a little shattered. I thought that I should make my way back home before my parents got up and headed towards the main drag out of town. Standing there with my thumb out I thought that I’d probably have to walk the whole way home before I got a lift. Then in the distance I saw the lights of a car heading towards me. It was a relief when the car stopped a few feet away from where I stood. I ran to it and the person in the passenger seat wound the window down. I saw two dowdy middle aged women in the front. “Are you going towards Milnerton?” I asked breathlessly. “Anything you say, Darling...” The driver shouted leaning back to let me into the rear of the vehicle. 10

I sat in the back and pulled the door closed. The woman in the passenger seat looked over her shoulder and smiled. She was around thirty and a cape coloured; her friend was a similar age and both dressed in tweed twinsets, pearl necklaces and Sunday bonnets. “Are you off to church?” I asked naively associating bonnets with church and after all it was Sunday morning. “If you want dear...” The driver said. She reached between her legs and lifted a bottle of brandy which she placed to her lips and started swigging. She passes the bottle to her friend who also had along swig. She turned and offered the bottle to me. “Do you partake?” She asked with a hiccup. I shook my head and realized the car was now driving on the wrong side of the road. “We’re on the wrong side...” I said seeing a bright pair of headlights in the distance heading straight towards us. “Excuse me..” I said as the headlights came closer. Just before we had a head on collision the driver screamed. “Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee....” And the vehicle swayed dangerously into the right lane. “We’ve just past the Milnerton exit.” I said seeing my route disappear into the distance. They ignored me. “But you’re going in the wrong direction...” “Don’t worry dear...” The driver slurred matronly. “We’re taking you home to meet the sisters.” “Do we have too?” I said resigning myself to the fact. Looking helplessly out the windows I saw a signpost which said that we were on the way to Bontiville, a notorious black ghetto which I read about in the newspapers. There were several murders here every day and the locals particularly favoured necklace burnings. This was where the victims would be tied up and blazing car tires placed around their necks. I felt decidedly uncomfortable and thought I’d better explain to these women that I was on their side. “I’m British...” I said. “I’m not a Boer...” “Good,” The driver slurred. “We can’t stand bores.” “We’re not from around here either..” The skinny one in the passenger seat smiled having knocked back some more brandy. “We’re from Jo’burg.” “Really?” I said. “We’re famous....” She went on to say. “Oh, really.” I said hesitantly thinking that I was in the company of two notorious Serial killers; The twinset two. “What are you famous for?” “Here we are...” Shouted the driver. I looked out the window and saw that we were now driving through dusty, dirt roads which had temporary structures on either side made of corrugated iron and mud.

Young Bantu children stood in the sun wearing faded and threadbare clothing. Here and there an adolescent looked at the car and pointed. As we drove further the temporary structures became thicker and I saw the odd bonfire burning surrounded by a straggly crowd of greying men and children. The car was causing quite a commotion and I wasn’t sure if it was because of my white face in the back seat of just the vehicle itself. “Here we are..” The driver said as we pulled to a halt outside a large hut which was placed off the ground on stilts. The veranda outside had another woman standing on it watching expectantly. As the driver got out of the car both women ran to each other and threw their arms about each other’s waist. Then they both started screaming at the top of their voices. Not screaming words but just screams for the sake of it. “This is how sisters greet each other out here...” The skinny one said as she fell out of her door into a heap on the ground. After the screaming pulled a crowd of bemused onlookers I heard the fat one say. “Come sister. I’ve got a guest for you..” With that they came to the car and opened up my door. I smiled shyly and stepped out into the sunshine. The crowd of onlookers stared at me with utter amazement. “Oh,” The sister from the veranda said. “It’s white.” “It” certainly is...” The skinny one hiccupped picking herself up from the ground and dusting herself down. “No, no,,” The one from the veranda said. “That’s what we called him. White.” “Do you know our friend?” The fat one asked in amazement. I looked at them and honestly didn’t recognize anyone. “Of course.” The one from the veranda smiled. “He was the white one on the march yesterday; That’s why we all call him white; get it?” That made us all laugh. She led us into her home. It was just one room with a bed in the corner and some well made wooden furniture. Some bright dresses hung from the walls on hangers and candles sat waiting to be lit when the sun went down. “I’m Rootie.” She said showing me to the bed. “Please sit down Mr. White and enjoy my home..” “Thank you.” I said. I could see the two women who had taken me there had had the wind taken from their sails and I guessed they expected me to be beaten or something. “You were with young George yesterday..” She said with concern in her eyes. “...when he was shot. His mother, Mrs. Ootie lives nearby and she would love to meet you. We all told her how you cared for her son.” “Really.” I said amazed. “I didn’t think anyone saw it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry..” Rootie smile. “...we see everything.” “Don’t talk to him...” The fat woman shouted opening another bottle of brandy. “Talk to me, me , me...” “She’s so funny.” Rootie smiled. “Calm down Belinda, I will give you my attention when I thank White for his help yesterday..” “But what about me?” Belinda smiled. “Me Me Me.” Then I saw she was larking around. Belinda stood in the centre of the room and lifted her skirt and blouse exposing a scar that ran from the top of her knickers to just between her breasts. “Look at my scar.” She shouted at me. “How did you get that?” I asked looking at the brutal looking line. “Don’t you know?” Rootie asked. I shook my head and noticed the skinny one started to look sheepish. “Belinda and Rose are both sex changes.” “It’s true....” Belinda shouted feigning misery and lifting her skirt and blouse to shove the scar in my face. “We’re both famous.” “You have heard of Groot Shire Hospital and Christian Barnard,” Rootie explained. “They did the first heart transplant, yes.” “Oh, I remember.” I said. “What the world wasn’t told...”She added. “Was that all the background, experimental surgery was done on Bantu and coloured people’s first. Of course many died needlessly but the world was only told about this when they had perfected the surgery and it was done on a white man.” “That’s terrible.” I said simply. “It’s also true for their operation, tell him Rose.” Rootie said looking towards Rose who was cowering in the corner. “Rose, tell him the truth.” “It’s true.” Rose whispered coming to sit beside me. “Ten years ago some men came to the township and looked for two outrageous queens.” “That’s us..” Belinda smiled gulping back another long gulp. “We’re outrageous.” “They found us..” Rose continued thoughtfully. “They said how you two would like to be real women.” She stopped and recollected the day that this happened and I saw her eyes glaze over. “We thought it would be a laugh or something so we said yes. They took us up to Groot Shire that night and in the morning I woke up and the damage had been done.” “They cut our bollocks off.” Belinda shouted dancing here and there with her bottle. “Now we’re bollocked.” She burst into hysterical laughter. “Just like that?” I asked. “Totally bullock-less...” Belinda hiccupped again.

“Just like that.” Rose replied. “Belinda was lucky, she had no problems really. I had a very bad infection and now I’m totally dead down here below. I can’t even use it.” “She still has to take it up the arse.” Belinda shouted. “It’s true,” Rose said softly. “They said we’d be women but they made me a fucked up man. All we do today is drink and prostitute ourselves. We can’t do anything else.” “Stop being so depressing.” Belinda shouted. “At least you have a good pair of tits, look at these...” She lifted her blouse and I could see where her nipples had been rearranged and were not equally aligned. “This one goes up,” she said lifting the left one. “This one goes down....”Belinda said giving the right breast a tug. “...this one goes up, this one goes down, this one goes up, this one goes down...” “At least I don’t have to spray my cunt with a lubricant before I get fucked.” Rose shouted. “You would if you had one dear.” Belinda smiled. “Oh, Belinda...” Rootie smiled. “...Put them away.” She turned to me and said. “Please excuse her but she only carries on like this when she’s relaxed. It’s good really.” “Have you known them long?” I asked. “Yes, we all grew up together, I chose not to go with the white men.” “So, you’re a....”I said amazed, I’d never have guessed that she was a trannie. “Yes, but I still have my equipment.” She stood and took a glass from the wooden cabinet by the door and removed the bottle from Belinda’s grip to pour some saying to me. “What sort of country allows doctors to perform medical experiments on its people.” “This one.” Rose sniffed. She looked at me and said softly. “...do you smoke pipe?” “I don’t mind.” I replied. There was a young boy standing at the doorway looking in. Rose said something to him in Afrikaans and he disappeared. “I’ve told the tocolosh, the boy, to get us some weed.” “Doesn’t he need some money?” I asked. “No, I told you we’re famous.” “Dance with me.” Belinda said taking my arm and lifting me from the bed. I stood and we did a slow waltz around the room. It was getting hot under that corrugated roof and I felt a little dehydrated. “You dance like a real gentleman.” She whispered in my ear. “If I get rid of these peasants we can do it now, in the bed. You fancy that white boy?” “Sorry,” I replied. “I’m totally queer.” “What!” She said pushing me back on the bed. “You’re no fucking good then are you. Just my luck, we pick up a cute boy on the road and he’d rather suck cock then fuck frock. We’ll it’s your loss, darling.” Just then the boy returned with an elder adolescent. They whispered to Rose and she

turned to me. “Come on, we’re going outside to have a pipe.” I stood and followed them outside, we stood in a secluded yard which was surrounded on all four sides by shacks. The adolescent took and empty coke bottle and smashed it on the ground violently. I thought, this is it, that’s going to be smashed into my face now. Instead he filled it with grass having plugged the end with a small stone. Then he inhaled loudly placing a lighter over the end. His head was enveloped in a veil of smoke. He passed the pipe to Rose who did the same. “I’ve fucked Belinda..” The adolescent smiled. “It’s true, she has to spray it first or it’s too dry.” He turned to the young boy and said something in Afrikaans. They both laughed loudly. “Here...” Rose said passing me the pipe. I held it as they had done and sucked on the end. Feeling the smoke enter my lungs my head started to spin. Then I fell about in a fit of coughing. The three of them laughed loudly and sent me up in Afrikaans. Soon the pipe was heading back towards me and I sucked again on the end but not so deeply. It still made me cough loudly. “You’re not used to it.” Rose smiled. She looked at me for a moment and in her eyes I saw the great sadness that she held deep within herself. Never quite reaching the surface but always bubbling around just below her air of superficiality. “Before they made me a monster,” she whispered. “I’d fancy gay boys like you.” “Really,” I replied softly. “I can see that you were a good looking boy too, once.” “Not anymore.” She sniffed. “Today I’m only good for a quick blow job in the back of a car; or being some fat Boers bit on the side. They ruined my life.” “Don’t say that.” I said trying to be a little cheerful. “No, it’s true. Rootie did the right thing. She hid when they came for us and look at her now. She can be a man when she wants.” “There’s more to being a man then a pair of nuts.” I said trying to make her feel better but knowing instinctively that whatever I said it would not be enough. The boys were laughing and talking loudly in Afrikaans. “What are they saying?” I asked smiling. “The young one wants to fuck you.” “Oh, really.” I replied anxiously. He only looked about ten years old so there was no way I wanted to go there; even if the rejection upset them. “Don’t worry,” She replied sensing my hesitation. “He’ll make do with a drive in the car.”

We stood in the yard for hours talking about life in South Africa for young black and coloured people. I was amazed by the eloquence of their stories and how they coped with their pain comparing it with my own life and finding no comparison. I felt lucky but also extremely privileged to be allowed to peer into their world and be welcomed so much. My experience of white south African’s was so different. They either wanted to fuck me or send me to church. There was no compassion there but with the Bantu and coloured it was different. They really appreciated the little things, the small touches that made them feel humanized in a dehumanizing system. We watched the sun set over the steel shacks and the smell of bonfires rose in the air. “How am I going to get home?” I asked Rose just after we went back into Rootie’s home. “Oh, we’ll take you.” She replied. “When madam comes round.” Belinda was on the floor with her legs akimbo, the bottle still clenched in her hands and her twinset looking slightly ruffled. I sat on the bed with Rootie and Rose and we spent the next few hours talking about England and South Africa. They were just as interested in my life as I was in theirs. They were particularly interested in racial equality and how it existed in Europe. Of course all I could say was that we, like the South African whites, still had a lot to learn. About five am Belinda suddenly woke up and took a big gulp from her brandy bottle. She looked at me with one crooked false eyelash standing on end and the other flickering madly as it touched her eye. “Is he still here?” She coughed. “We have to take him to Milnerton.” Rose shouted with a laugh. She kicked Belinda with one foot. “Wake up you silly queen. We have to take him home before his parents wake up.” “Do we have to?” Belinda sighed. “Yes, come now, get yourself ready.” Soon we were ready to go and I stood in the doorway to give Rootie a firm hug before I left. She hugged me back and stood on the veranda as we got in the car. Just before we drove off she slapped her brow and shouted. “Wait, please wait.”She ran back inside the hut quickly and came out with a piece of paper. “David, this is the address of Mrs. Ootie’s Mosque. They want you to go there next week for a feast to celebrate the end of Ramadan. Please try to go they will make you very welcome.” “I will. Thank you.” I said taking the note. I read the address but it was in Afrikaans. I placed it in my shirt pocket and the car pulled away. The sun was now high on the horizon and as we drove out of the township along the

same dusty road we driven down hours before we saw people with their thumbs out; hiking their way into town to work. Belinda pulled the car up beside one old man. His bright eyes peered into the car. “Cape Town Boss?” “Get in woman.” Belinda shouted with a smirk. The man got in the rear of the car beside me as I smiled at him. We drove a little further and saw another lone male hiking. She pulled the car over and another black face peered in. “Cape Town Boss?” “Yes, get in, get in.” She smiled again. I nodded as I moved over to make room. We drove a little further and another man was hiking. She giggled and pulled the car over again. “Get in, get in.” Belinda laughed. By now it was getting a little cramped in the back of the car and I saw her looking in the rear view mirror with a cheeky smirk. Then she saw yet another hiker. “Get in, there’s lots of room in the back.” She laughed as the man looked at the four of us and smiled nervously. He too packed himself in somehow and now I was sitting amongst a tangle of arms and legs. Belinda saw yet another hiker and laughed out loud as she stopped the car again. “Get in.” She laughed. The guy saw that we were cramped in the back and that there was no room and he smiled and turned away. Belinda laughed again and drove on. The car came across a roundabout and instead if going straight across towards the Cape she turned the steering wheel hard to the left. The car started to go round and round and round. She was laughing hysterically and shouting Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! as it went around and around and around. “But boss,” One of the men complained. “I will be late for work.” “Well get out then.” She said stopping the car suddenly. The door handle was pulled and the whole lot of us spilled out onto the road. “Quick David,” Rose shouted. “Get in.” I did as I was told and the car pulled away leaving a group of angry workers shaking their fists behind us. Very soon were pulling up outside where I lived. It was still early and I hoped that my folks would still be asleep. Rose got out of the car to hug me before saying good-bye. “It’s been good meeting you.” She said with a smile. “Same here; I hope you get what you want from life.” “We might meet again...” She smiled. “If not, well, good-bye.” “Bye...” With that she got back in the car and they were gone. I hoped that we would meet again but in my heart I knew the odds were against it. Still, this mad experience was one that I will never forget.

11 I crept into the house and closed the door behind me. Going straight to my room I got undressed and thought that I’d just go to the loo before sleeping. I crept to the bathroom and after flushing the system opened the door and found my father standing beyond. “So you’ve decided to get up, have you?” He said sternly. “Yes...” I lied. “Well, your mother thought we should leave you in bed all day yesterday, but I think it is very unhealthy.” “Really.” I said stepping aside so that he could enter. “Yes, you must have needed it though...” I heard him start to pee. “...but as you’ve had over twenty four hours sleep, you can stay up now and come to work with me.” “What!” I exclaimed. “But I’m still tired.” “Don’t be ridiculous...” He sniffed turning to run some hot water in the sink. “You’re not at school and a boy of your age needs to be doing something. Not laying in bed all day and certainly not staying at home annoying your mother.” I was coerced into dressing once again and found myself sitting in my dad’s car on my way to the docks to join him at his work. He was gainfully employed, at that time as a foreman for the South African Navy, as part of their civilian crew. He was to oversee works carried out to their vessels and transportation containers. In reality he over saw a group of Bantu labourers who actually did all the work. The ship yard was run by the navy and was managed overall by an Admiral. The yard had navel security and it was run like a tight ship. My father had been in the forces most of his life and so he was well liked there and got on well with even the most senior officer. This particular day I was taken to the yard and dad asked me to follow him; eventually we found a group of labourers who were busy welding and fibre glassing away. He told me what they were doing and said I was to make sure they didn’t slack. Then he was off, he went back to the office, leaving me alone with this group of men. “My dad has asked me to watch over you.” I said feeling like a real idiot. “Oh, he has, has he?” one of the men replied. “You go and tell Midad that we do good job, yes?” “His name’s not Midad, he’s my dad.” I explained. “Yes,” The old man replied. “You tell Midad that we work hard, yes?” “Oh, if you say so!” I huffed. I saw a young guy looking at me and after a while he crept towards me and whispered. “You like the pipe?” It must have been my unusually long hair, but for some reason this was how people usually introduced themselves to me. “I don’t mind...” I replied. “Meet me down there...” He said looking down the yard toward an empty container at the bottom. “...Just you and me. Okay?”

“No problem.” I said. A few minutes later I was in the container with the guy and he was building a pipe from another old coke bottle. “I knew...” He said nodding towards my hair. “I thought he must smoke weed, all men with long hair smoke grass. It’s true, yes.” “I suppose so...” I replied thinking about all the trannies I’d met recently who wore elaborate weaves and wigs and who didn’t smoke it. “My name is David, what’s yours?” “Me, they call me Clonkie. You like the South African grass, yes?” “It’s strong..” I replied. “They call it Dagga here you know. Daghuh.” Clonkie said “Yes..” I replied. “Can you tell me something?” “Anything my friend.” He Said packing the grass into the broken bottle. “What’s a caffire?” “A caffire?” He said stopping what he was doing and looking at me suspiciously. “Yha, can you tell me what it is?” I asked him trying to look emphatic because although I didn’t know it’s meaning I felt sure that this word was considered an anathema to these people and I did not want to add to this feeling of oppression. “The Afrikaner...” He said after a short, tense pause. “They have their own church, yes?” “The Dutch Reform Church?” I replied. “That’s the one...” He continued. “...they left Europe because the rest of the Christian church could not accept their doctrine. It’s a doctrine that embraces racial stereotypes and segregation and this was not acceptable to the other churches in Europe. So these Dutch reformers, these Boers, came here to practice their religion and embrace racial oppression; carry the flag of slavery. Well, my friend....” He sucked on the bottom of the pipe and held a lung full of smoke down for a moment before exhaling loudly. “...Their scripture talks about believers and non-believers; those with God and those without God; those without being demon people or people of the devil. The word caffier means “without belief” or without God. It was always used to demonised us Bantu or native African’s and it made us feel that we were without god, or not made in god’s image, and therefore, without worth. You see, it meant that they could do as they wished with us without fear of God. The church therefore sanctioned their racial fascism and over the years we have heard this word whenever they wanted to destroy us; our culture; our families or our self-image.” He passed the pipe to me and I gently smoked a lung full. I was aware that too much would make me cough so I took it easy and managed to get by with just a short grunt and wheeze. The grass affected me immediately and I felt my spirits rise and his words enter my brain like pearls of enlightened wisdom.

“Like all verbal abuse...” He continued taking another deep puff of the pipe. “...once you’ve heard it a number of times it loses its potency. Although my people are generally Muslim and consequently some get very offended by it. Me, well I follow Islam like most of my people, and the Koran teaches us that people need mercy when they show stupidity; and the more stupid they are the more merciful we should be...” “Things are changing though.” I suggested having taken another gentle puff. “I was at the riot on Saturday and I’ve heard that these are happening all over South Africa. Even Vorster himself has said change must happen. What do you think?” “Vorster...” He chuckled. “...that man. That man is fascism incarnate; while he holds the reins of power there will be blood on the streets. I’m glad you were there on Saturday; it’s good for white people to see how they deal with us when we speak our truths. You must tell everyone you meet about what you saw and sooner or later the brutal reality will sink in. But, my friend, change will never happen while Vorster sits in Pretoria laying down the law.” “Is there an election soon?” “Ha, an election?” He laughed aloud. “What is that? I’ll tell you now, he will only leave government in a box. He is drunk on power that one...” “I heard that he is considering giving power to a colleague when he retires and that this will mean a more liberal regime.” “Really, where did you hear that.” He asked taking another puff from the pipe and passing it back to me. “Oh, he gave a speech on TV the other night. My folks were talking about it.” “I don’t believe it. I think change will only come when every Boer lay’s dead in the gutter. It’s happening already, Saturday it was the cape, and Sunday it was Johannesburg, and Amanzimatoti, tomorrow it will be Bloomfontain and this Saturday their blood will run through the streets of Pretoria.” “Who says?” A harsh voice said as a shadow crossed the door at the end of the container. I held the pipe down and saw a white man looking in at us. “Who are you?” I asked holding the pipe behind my back out of view. “I am Herman Van Der Westhazen, I drive the trucks here.” “Hello Herman....” Clonkie said looking awkwardly between me and the door where the Huge Boer stood. “What do you want?” “I smelt the grass, “ He said as his eyes surveyed the container. “I wanted to have a Puff too.” “You did?” Clonkie asked suspiciously. “Come on boys...” Herman smiled. “You don’t have to be frightened of me....” “Give it to him.” I passed the pipe over and Herman held it awkwardly and took one very small toke.

He exhaled immediately and coughed a little. “I heard what you were saying.” Herman coughed. “I agree with you. Change will not come with violence, your people have tried violence and South Africa is still the same. You have to combat bad ideas with better ones; the pen is mightier than the sword. That’s when things will change my friend; when you have a better solution.” “Really?” Clonkie replied taking the pipe and knocking the ash out and then tossing the pipe as far into the bush as he could. He eyed Herman intently and I recognized a little contempt in his smie. “Yes, blood may continue to run till then, my friend....” He continued. “...But the blood will not be Boer; it will be the blood of Bantu children and Cape Coloured women.” “And nothing will change, will it?” Clonkie asked tensely. He clenched his fists and the atmosphere became thick with unspoken fury. “Of course..,” Herman said with a small smile. “...there might be a public outcry around the world and this may eventually mean the beginning of the end for us Boer. I can see it happening all the time. My family are all taking firearms lessons and if you go to the gun ranges at weekends you’ll see for yourself that they are packed with white people preparing for the bloodbath. Sadly the Bantu do not have access to this type of protection.” “I guess you are right.” Clonkie said looking at his feet. He relaxed a little and gave me an anxious look. “I must get back to work. Your father will be mad otherwise David.” “Sure.” I said. “Your father work’s here?” Herman asked raising his eyebrows. “He’s the foreman.” I said before noticing Clonkie, who was now standing behind the huge Boer, shaking his head from side to side. “The foreman, eh?” Herman smiled slapping his hand across my back. “That’s interesting...” He hissed. “...very interesting indeed.” 12 When I rejoined the labourers they had started a new piece of work. I looked at what they had been doing previously and it all appeared in order. Clonkie went to carry on with what he was doing but Herman had disappeared as quickly as he had come. “How do you like South Africa?” One of the labourers asked with a smile. “It’s okay.” I replied. “Have you seen the signs that read “Ni-Blanks” or “Blanks Only” every where?” He asked. “You see it over certain doors, like at the post office, or on certain buses, at the gates leading the beaches and even on park benches?” “Yes.” I said remembering that most of the shops in town had signs like this over the doors. “Those signs mean Whites Only or Non-Whites Only....” The labourer continued as he did his work. “...This is how it is in South Africa, I am non-white and so I must use the door at the back of the post office. I can only get on every other bus and even the benches in the park

are not for this bum...” He laughed pointing to his rear. “... and I’m not allowed on the best beaches with my children.” “That’s terrible.” I said softly. Although I’d seen these things since coming to Africa and heard about the situation in Europe I’d not really understood the effect on the people. But the previous week and every day since the message was getting through my thick white head. I found it hard to believe that I was the only person who was having these feelings and conversations, and yet if everyone had them, the situation couldn’t fail to change. Then I thought about my father and his feelings regarding black people. He must have a very thick skin. I thought, because he must also be experiencing the same type of experiences and yet his hatred remained. It wasn’t all about race. He had friends who were Irish and Scotch, Spanish and German so his prejudice was purely about skin colour. Of course the others were either Micks or Spicks, Huns and Jocks; I suppose giving everyone else a name like this promoted the idea of British supremacy in his mind. In reality it just exposed him, and all the other “Brits” who shared this view of the world, as small minded islanders. No different from the Boers with their ridiculous religious ideology. “ Yet,” The labourer smiled as he painted a patch of steel with red lead. “My father was white. My mother was his maid and she was scrubbing the floor one day when hejumped on her. When I was born they took me away from her saying that I was not the right race to live in her area. My father didn’t want me and so I was brought up by total strangers in District six. Where else in this world could this happen; a child taken from his mother’s milk at gun point purely because she is a different shade of brown? “Quite...” I said simply. “David!” Rang out across the yard. “Midad wants” you..” One of the labourers said. I looked up and saw him walking from the offices with a clipboard in his hand. “Come with me, son.” He said as I walked behind him away from the smiling labourers, a little relieved that he had saved me from their questions. “There’s a little job I want you to do.” We entered a large white fibreglass container. In the ceiling of the container was a small hole through which a small bead of sunlight shone. “If you get the jig saw...” He said drawing a square around the hole with some chalk. “Set it at an angle and cut out a square.” “I see...”I said vaguely. “Then cut out a square the same size from that sheet over there....” I looked towards where he was pointing and saw a sheet of white fibreglass leaning

against a small wall. “Slot it in and seal it with filler. When it’s gone off just sand it back flush and paint it. Take all day if you want but just do a good job because it will be inspected after by one of the yard inspectors. Okay?” “Yha, sure...” I lied. “If you get any problems give me a shout.” “Okay.” Then he was gone. I thought I’d cut out the piece that I was going to insert first and so I carefully cut out a section about a foot square in the fibreglass sheet that was leaning against the wall.. I used this to measure around the hole standing inside the container on a pair of step ladders. So far so good. Carefully bevelling the edges with the jig saw I cut out the section which had the hole in the centre. Then I inserted the piece I’d cut earlier and held it in place while I lay strips of wet fibreglass over it. When this had set I went onto the roof of the container and did the same. By now the internal fibreglass had set enough for me to sand it back and paint it. Perfect. I then went onto the roof and sanded back that fibreglass and painted it. Stepping back I admired the job. The section was seamless and I was quite pleased with myself. I strolled over to the offices and knocked on the door. Inside I found my father talking to two S.A navel officers and a man in a suit and tie. “Are you finished?” My father asked glancing at the clock on the wall. “Yes. I am” I replied, seeing that it had taken me around four hours. It was nearly five and the yard closed at five thirty so I thought that we’d probably go after he’d checked it. “Who is this?” One of the officers said looking at me and paying particular attention to my long hair. I saw him give the other officer a sly glance which I’d seen other straight men use if they wanted to take the piss out of me. “That’s my boy..” My father said vaguely with pride. “Shall we go and see how he’s done?” The man with the tie stated as he stood and grabbed a clipboard. I followed the two of them as they made their way across the yard towards the container I’d been working on. The checked the numbers on the clip board and went inside. I could see the look on my father’s face as they looked at the seamless repair. “Very good.” The man in the suit smiled. “Shall we look on top?” They left the container and climbed the steps I’d used to get on the roof. I climbed up behind them and stood on the steps thinking that they’d only take a second to glance at the work. “Very, very good..” The suit said. “Let’s just test the strength...” He said. With that both men stood on the section I’d installed and just as I was about to say that it might not be the best idea there was a crack and crash and both disappeared

through a gaping hole. I heard groans coming from the inside the container and then my father’s voice rang out. “DAVID! “ The rage was clearly audible in his voice and I turned and ran as fast as I could. It was only later that I was told that the job should have been done on the outside so that the bevelled edges would support weight if it was placed on top of the container. Well, no one had told me that. I ran from the docks and into the busy road outside. Dashing down a side road I had to think about how to get back to Milnerton. It was hot still even though it was late in the afternoon and as I walked down the street a dust truck followed me slowly. There were men working behind it emptying bins and paying no attention to me as I walked ahead. I glanced behind me and saw a big Cape Coloured man driving the dust truck and he smiled as I looked back. Soon the truck was level with where I was walking and I looked up to see the driver leaning over to the passenger side window and smiling at me. “Want a lift?” he said “Okay...” I smiled back. I climbed up and looked behind, the guys who were emptying the bins into the back of the truck didn’t appear to have noticed me climbing in to the front. “Won’t they mind?” I asked. “Fuck em...” He said simply. “They’re Bantu, you know, working men. They won’t question me.. You’re not South African are you?” “No.” “British?” “Yha,” I replied simply. “I’ve always wanted to go to Britain...” He said. “These Afrikaners won’t give us visas to get out the country. If things were different I’d go around the world.” “Don’t you think things are changing?” I asked as the truck rolled through the smart white neighbourhood. “It will take time although I did see some white faces at our demonstration last weekend.” “I was there.” I said with a wide smile. “I thought I’d recognized you. That’s really courageous of you..” He looked from the road and I felt his eyes bore into me and I realized that he was hitting on me. “Hey,” He said abruptly. “Do you smoke grass?” “Of course?” I said. “How about the mandrax, you ever smoked a mandrax?” “I’ve had Mandrax in England but never smoked any.” I said remembering the time when I’d been given two by a friend at the lyceum in the Strand. “Can you smoke them?”

“They’re very good...” He smiled. “You know they are banned everywhere in the world but in South Africa you can still get them. I have some in my room.” “When do you finish?” I said nodding to the guys at the rear of the truck. “I finish whenever I want.” He said. He opened his door and called to the workers at the back of the truck. They looked confused and stood with their bins in their hands as we drove off and left them. “What are you doing?” I laughed. “I told them to take a break and I’d be back in an hour.” We drove into District six and pulled up outside an old rundown apartment block. The dust truck driver turned the vehicle off and I followed him into the building. He led me up a dark flight of stairs and into a small room which looked like the boiler room. There was a bed in the corner and some clothes lying around on the floor. I noticed the walls were covered with newspapers clippings about the recent riots around the country. “Wow,” I said not knowing what surprised me most, the newspaper clippings or the smallness of the room. “Things are changing...” He smiled. “...but this country will not be properly sorted until those martyrs on Robin Island are led out of the darkness of repression into the bright sunlight of freedom..” He reached under the bed and pulled out a small box. Inside was a pipe, a ball of grass and two pills. “Look at here...” He said holding up a small white pill. I saw, stamped on the back, the unmistakable legend MX. “Are you sure you can smoke it?” I asked as he crushed one of the pills up to a soft powder and mixed it with some grass. The he pushed the whole lot into the chillum and lit it up. I watched as he disappeared into a cloud of smoke; sucking until his whole chest inflated. He passed the pipe to me and I too took a deep inhalation. No sooner had the acrid chemical taste passed my lips I felt a huge rush boiling up from the soles of my feet. It flew up my spine and exploded in a massive surge of pleasure through every neurone in my brain. I lay back on the bed and, before I could do anything about it, he climbed on top of me. I saw his trousers drop and a long hard cock was being thrust into my mouth attacking my gag reflex. “Suck it, “ He hissed as I felt vomit rise in my throat. “Go, suck it good.” He came just as I threw up and I was looking at a puddle of vomit and spunk on his room floor. I wiped my mouth as my motor functions returned and I could sit up; I looked at him in disbelief. “You enjoyed that?” He said, even though it was obvious all I felt was dirty and abused again. I could have thought of a few better ways to spend the afternoon and should have left there and then. He passed the pipe back and against my better judgement, I took another blast; before falling back onto the bed completely out of my gourd.

The next thing I knew he was lifting me up like a sleeping baby and placing me back in the truck. “I said it was good...” He smiled as I came to a little. “Where shall I drop you off?” “Can you take me to Milnerton?” I slurred like a baby. “Sure...” He said as the truck thrust forwards. “We do Milnerton every Thursday...” The driver remarked after a few minutes had gone, sipping past like the endless array of streets and vehicles outside my window. “...Why don’t you come and meet me next week. I’ll see you there about three?” “Sure” I said in a daze as I recognized some familiar local landmarks appear around us. Then I was standing in the road outside our house and he was gone and I didn’t even know his name. I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed the whole thing although I guessed it must have really happened because I was now home. I noted that my father’s car was not outside and so I snuck quietly into the house. 13 I went inside and found my mother doing the housework. “I thought you were with your father?” She asked. “I was...” I said simply going to the bathroom and taking a shower. When I came out I put on some clean clothes and looked around. Dad was still not home and so I thought it was best if I got out before he came back. As I left the house I heard Mum calling from the kitchen. “Where are you going, I’ve made some food...” I had no money and couldn’t really think of anywhere to go so I sat on a wall near the road and watched the traffic go past. I was aware of someone walking towards me and looked up to see a huge guy in a soldier’s uniform walk past. I paid no attention but soon he had turned on his heels and came back to sit with me. “Why so sad?” he asked. “Do I look sad?” I replied simply. He was a tall white guy probably in his late twenties. He was dressed in the uniform of a S.A boot soldier; probably just back from the border dispute near the then Rhodesia; now Zimbabwe. “You look bored...” He smiled. I saw his white teeth in a straight line and thought that He looked friendly enough. “Do you want to come back to my place?” “Okay...” I said. He didn’t live too far and I was surprised to find his house was really well furnished and comfortable. He put on some music and opened a beer for me. “You’re from England, aren’t you?” “Yha.” “Do they all have such beautiful long hair there?” He smiled. “Not really?” I blushed. “I guess I’m considered a bit of a freak there...”

“And here...” He smiled. “...no other South African boys have long hair. It’s because we’re all forced to go into the army after leaving school and shipped up to the borders to kill the caffiers; or be massacred by them. By the time we get back we’re all old men.” “Really...” I said feeling a little self-conscious; it’s something that I feel regularly when how I look comes under the microscope. “Does it make me look odd?” I asked knowing full well that having long hair was considered extremely odd at that time in S.A. “No.” he said sitting next to me real close. “You look beautiful. Just like a girl.” He leaned across and kissed me gently on the lips. I felt his hand between my legs and his fingers digging into my groin. He pushed my hair from my eyes and looked at me deeply. “I’ve never fancied a man before...” He smiled. “I’ve never fancied a soldier before.” I smiled back coyly before asking. “So do you really fancy me?” Then he was smiling, taking my hand and leading me upstairs; soon we were tearing each other’s clothes off until, once naked we fell onto the bed and ground to a halt. “What do we do now?” He asked simply with a shrug. I showed him what I could and he picked the rest up for himself. Although I’d been fucked before by a ‘straight’ guy it had been painful and had left me feeling a little depressed; they’d forget that there’s no clitoris in the asshole or any natural lube so unless you take control (not really a passive stance) it can be quite an ordeal. But this man took me in the most caring way I’d ever been taken; slowly and with plenty of grease. It was pure pleasure and after he had come he took the time to make sure I came too which made me feel particularly appreciated. After the act he held me in his strong arms and we both fell to sleep. That night I dreamt of clean teeth and deep blue eyes; strong arms and warm emotions. I woke the following day to find myself alone. I got dressed and went downstairs to find a breakfast table laid with orange juice and fresh fruit. There was a note that said simply. I did not want to wake you, thanks for last night; it was really memorable. I had to be at Barracks before 7am so pull the door closed on your way out With love I still never got to know his name. I felt strangely uncomfortable there on my own and so had a quick drink and left. It was around nine am and I thought my father would have left for work and so I went home. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back...” My father said sternly as I walked into the house. “...get ready, you’re coming with me.” In silence I followed him out of the house and to the car. We drove to the ship yard without a word and I remember looking out the window at Table Mountain as we approached it

across the bay. The mountain appeared blue in the morning sunlight and a layer of fluffy white cloud sat on top just like in the best post-cards. The sky was so blue that morning that I could almost see the far side of the universe shining there in its deep hue. The world was peaceful that day and yet in the microcosm that was my father’s car all the worlds collided in chaotic anger. We eventually arrived at the Navy yard and instead of going to the offices as we had done the previous day we stopped by the security cordon and my father told me to get out. I was thinking that I’d made a mistake the previous day by doing the job inside rather than out but this was a very extreme way of punishing me. My father led me to the security office and as we walked in a couple of uniformed Navel Policemen followed us. Once inside the office they led me to a desk and my father sat beside it looking at me as if I’d committed murder. “We’ve had a complaint...” One of the M.P”s said sternly. “Oh really?” I said wondering just what else they could do to me for posing as an Artisan when it was clear that I’d never done manual work. Perhaps I was going to be charged with working under false pretences” and thrown into military prison. Then my mind wandered to the experience I’d had last night and I though perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad after all. “We’ve had a complaint...” The MP continued. “...that yesterday you were in one of the containers smoking drugs with one of the caffires. What have you to say about this?” Fucking bollocks. I thought without flinching, what I was going to say now. I braced myself. “It’s a lie...” I said simply. “We’re going to search you for drugs...” The officer continued. “Okay.” I replied knowing they’d not find anything. The two officers searched my pockets and socks and did a rudimentary body search and looked at my father. “Do you have any idea why someone would make an allegation like this?” He asked. “Who are you talking about?” I replied knowing that it had to be that Boer, Herman Van der Westhazen; no one else had known. “That’s confidential.” One of the officers replied. “Have you been told who I was supposed to be smoking drugs with?” I asked. “Yes,” One of the officers said. “And did they say I’d been smoking drugs?” “No, they denied it...” “Well, there you are...” I said defiantly. “Whoever put you up to this is obviously jealous of my relationship with the Foreman and is trying to make trouble for him.” I looked towards my father and I could see this remark filled him with anger.

“You heard the boy.” He shouted. “Now if you don’t mind. David go outside.” I left the three of them in the room and after a few minutes I heard my father shouting obscenities at the officers and demanding Westhazen’s blood. I felt guilty about what had happened but also a little peeved that Dad hadn’t told me what was going to happen back at the yard. What if I did have some grass on me; would he have seen me arrested and carted off to some military prison. This thought made me angry and I walked away, right out of the Navel yard’s main gate, leaving them to sort it out for themselves. 14 It didn’t take me long to reach town and I walked along the main road towards Constantia. I thought I’d go and visit Boudwan if I could get a lift out there. It didn’t take long and soon I was walking down the gravel path towards his big white house. I rang the bell and soon a valet answered the huge white door. “Is Boudwan there?” I asked simply. “Mr. De Wit is in a meeting.” The valet said. He opened the door and let me into the hall. “I will tell Sir that he has another visitor.” The valet walked away and soon I saw Boudwan walking towards me. “Have you come for your shoes?” He laughed as he joined me in the reception room. “I hope you didn’t mind me coming unannounced.....” I replied hesitantly. “...It’s just that I’ve had a problem with my father and needed to get away.” “Consider this your second home, sweetie...” Boudwan smiled. “If you can excuse me for a moment I have some business to attend to.” “Sure.” I smiled. “My valet will take care of you.” He turned to the valet and said something to him in Afrikaans. The valet nodded obediently and Boudwan shuffled off again. “See you soon.” He tootled. The valet led me to a side room and asked if I needed anything. I asked politely for a pot of tea and soon a hot silver pot, a china cup and a silver sugar bowl was placed at my side. After being left alone I went to the patio windows and opened them. In an adjoining field I could see two beautiful horses tethered to a pole. They both had saddles and looked ready to be rode. I walked to them and patted them on their long noses. “Do you ride?” I heard. I turned and saw Rudi walking towards me. He looked strangely normal in jeans and with a tee-shirt. The only thing that gave him Away as a effeminate homo was the enormous gold ear-rings he wore in both ears and the long gold chain around his neck. “I’ve only ridden once before.” I replied. “Come.” He said unleashing the horses. “There’s a beautiful bamboo forest just behind the twelve apostles, I often go there; especially when his bankers are here. Let’s get going and I’ll show you.”

“Okay.” I said as he helped me up on one of the horses. The twelve apostles are a range of hills that stretch out behind Table Mountain and are a sort of national park. I’d only ever seen them from the air as I’d flown into Cape Town and the area was spectacular from the air and incredibly beautiful at ground level. I giddied the horse up slowly and we took a slow canter through the trees. It was really relaxing just riding no-where in particular with the sun in our hair and the beautiful, heady smell of nature around us; the fertile earth of the Cape had an individual scent all of its own which is unforgettable. Then we entered the bamboo forest and as the horses picked their way carefully through the thick straight bush, I looked at the sky and almost felt nature in my blood. We entered a clearing and Rudi stopped his mare to dismount. “Tie your horse.” He smiled. “I have a spliff we can smoke.” I dismounted and joined him on the grass in the clearing. The sun was streaming down upon us and I undid my shirt to get some on my chest. Rudi did the same as he lit the joint and took a deep puff. “Do you like this place?” “It’s fantastic.” I replied as he handed me the joint. I could taste that it was packed with pure grass; after a couple of tokes I felt that numbness that you get when you smoke a joint first thing in the morning rise up from my toes. It sort of rises from your feet and it feels like your body is being slowly wrapped in cellophane. “That’s good grass.” Rudi smiled. “My friend brought it back from Durban, it’s real poison.” “I can tell..” I said vaguely as the grass hit my brain. We sat in silence for the next twenty minutes listening to the sound of cuckoos away down the valley and cows mooing in the sun. The bamboo was so thick that we could only see a few feet ahead before it turned into a wooden wall consisting of thick green lines. I lay back and saw the blue sky above us almost vibrating with Crystal clarity. “This is where I go when I want to get away from Boudwan.” Rudi said softly turning on his belly to face me. “He is so fat, I wonder how I can fuck him. Do you think I’m mad?” “No,” I smiled. “What would you be doing without him?” “I’d be some peasant living in a crummy township with no electricity or running water.” “Well, there you are...” I said. “...you two are like a married couple after so long together.” “I had all that poverty as a child...” Rudi continued thoughtfully. “... I swore that as soon as I could I’d escape and when I met Boudwan I knew that he would help me.” “How did you both meet?” I asked. “There are not really any opportunities here for a poor coloured boy like me, you can only go into prostitution or crime. I was never a thief so I had no other choice, but I liked it. I found that out when I was still a child, before my balls had dropped.

The Boers are always fucking their staff and my mother worked for some fat bastard in Port St. John. He would tell her to send me in to help him bath and soon he’d be riding my arse on the bathroom floor.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” I said looking across at him as Rudi flashed his brightest smile. “Don’t be...” He sniffed. “...I knew that if he was fucking me at least he’d be leaving my mother alone. And anyway It helped me get away from there and come to the Cape. I used to earn a good living giving hand jobs to fat Afrikaners whose wives were too religious to suck their dicks or wank them off. Then I met Boudwan and I knew he would look after me even if he wants me to fuck him all the time...” “Oh,” I replied; feeing slightly awkward by his explicit expose of their relationship . “Yes, but I long to be fucked again...” He looked at me with a saucy, expectant expression and I understood at once where this was going. “... Do you fuck or get fucked, David?” “I don’t mind...” I said as he reached out and touched my stomach. “...but what about Boudwan?” I whispered as he kissed me. “What Boudwan does not know cannot bother him.” Rudi replied as his hand dived into my trousers. Soon I was laying on top of him and he was pushing his arse onto my groin. I reached around and felt his hard cock throbbing in my hand as we formed a rhythm together. We had ridden there and now I was riding him like he was a racing horse going for the final furlong; then I felt him come into my palm. The feeling of sticky liquid in my fingers made me burst and I fell onto him panting loudly into the nape of his neck as he turned and kissed me. “I’ve been dreaming of that for weeks.” “Sorry...” I said feeling guilty again. “...please don’t ever tell Boudwan.” “Don’t feel guilty...” He smiled. “It was me who started it.” “But Boudwan has been so good to me.” I said looking away. “I don’t want to cause you both problems.” “Well don’t say anything to him darling..” Rudi laughed as he lit up another joint. “He wouldn’t mind anyway; he’d probably want to watch if he did find out, knowing him.” “I won’t say anything.” Rudi stood and adjusted his clothing as he passed me the joint. “Come let’s get back...” He walked towards where the horses were tethered and climbed up on his. “I’m making a pate for lunch, are you hungry?” “Starved.” I smiled climbing upon my horse. “Well let’s go,” He laughed aloud slapping my horse hard on the rear. “Yahoo...” Both horses ripped into a full gallop and I looked ahead as the thick branches of trees swooped over my head and the horse jumped over the thick bush. Soon I dropped the reigns and was just holding the saddle for dear life. It was terrifying.

All the while I heard Rudi’s voice echoing out around me as he laughed hysterically. Then with relief I saw the house baring down on us and my horse slowed to a small canter. “You should have seen your face...” Rudi laughed as he tethered his horse. “That was so funny.” “Ha, Bloody Ha.” I said sarcastically as I dismounted shaking with nerves. I really believed I’d die during that mad gallop so I didn’t think it was funny or sensible; but that was Rudi. “Let’s see if fatty’s still got those boring suits in tow.” He giggled, still unable to understand why I was not smiling too. I followed him in to the house through the patio doors and found Boudwan sitting on the lounge sofa talking on the telephone. “Hello Boys, “ He smiled placing his hand over the telephone receiver. “Did you enjoy your ride?” Rudi cocked me a half glance and smiled. “It was divine...” He drawled. “...how was your business meeting?” Boudwan said good-bye to his caller and hung up. “Crazy...” He said simply. “...this fucking country...” “What’s going on now?” Rudi asked as the valet passed him a cold glass of orange. “It’s Smith in Rhodesia; he’s bowing to international pressure and giving the country up..” “That’s good...”Rudi smiled. “...isn’t it?” “Well, yes...” Boudwan continued. “...but it means the markets are unsure of the effect here in S.A. My shares are going down every day and the bankers are telling me to go back to Europe where there is little or no uncertainty.” “Talk in English please.” Rudi sniffed as he poured a tot of vodka into his glass at the bar. “They are worried that if Rhodesia goes the way of Uganda, South Africa will be next and we could lose everything here; all our African investments.” “You’ll always be okay.” Rudi smiled. “I thought you said that your family owned steel mills in Belgium.” “That’s not the point.” Boudwan cried walking towards the bar and slamming his fist down hard sending Rudi’s drink flying through the air. “It’s all about growth. Do you think I want to be in charge of the business when it has to downsize; downsize for the first time in the family’s history. Well think again, I’d rather get out while the going’s good and keep my dignity; as well as the family money.” “But what about me...” Rudi said simply. “...what about us?” “What about us?” Boudwan whispered vindictively. “Anyway you‘re drinking too much.” “Should I go?” I said feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Take no notice of me, sweetie...” Boudwan said turning to face me. He wiped up the spilt alcohol and poured another two drinks. He walked over and gave me one. “I’m sorry but I always get like this when my bankers come here.” “They’ve upset you.” Rudi stated mincing over to stroke Boudwan’s forehead. “Come sit down let me rub it better.”

“Yes...” Boudwan stuttered taking a seat. “Rub my forehead. That will soothe it away.” “Why don’t I go and get dressed in that lemon ball gown you love. “ Rudi whispered softly. “That will make you happy....” “Yes, lemon..” Boudwan hissed. “I want that lemon, lovely lemon; go on then, get it for me....” Rudi stood and announced that he won’t be long and disappeared from the room. I wondered if Boudwan was okay he certainly looked a little disturbed curled up on the sofa hugging a cushion tightly. He suddenly opened his eyes and looked at me intently. “Why are you not getting dressed?” He demanded to know. “I’m okay as I am...” I said softly. “...thank you.” “But you’re not okay... “He stuttered sitting up abruptly. “...How can you be, dressed like that?” “You don’t really want me to get dragged up, do you?” “Of course.” He stood and walked towards me. “Please, you don’t know how happy it would make me feel.” “But....” “No buts...” He interjected. Boudwan took my arm and led me through the house up the stairs and into his bedroom. We found Rudi putting the finishing touches to his costume. As we entered he pulled a wig down over his eyes and did a twirl. “Fabulous.” Boudwan screamed like a demented diva as Rudi struck a pose. “Now, be a dear and find something for this young lady.” “I’m no lady.” I said with a smile. “No,” Rudi screamed. “You’re a tramp.” “And we’ve got just the thing.” Boudwan said throwing back his wardrobe door and revealing a huge selection of dresses. “Cher, circa 72...” He pulled out a leather and silk number that had lace around the hips and laces down the bodice. “Tonight you’ll be queen of the sluts and I’ll be your hooded slave.” He pulled out a leather mask that had zips for the eyes. “Boudwan, you’ve exceeded yourself?” Rudi laughed holding the leather bodice up to me. “But guys.” I protested. “We’re not going anywhere. Do I have to...” “Please,” Boudwan pleaded. “please do it for me...” “Oh,” I sighed. “okay, just this once.” “Then we’ll go for a drive.” “Oh come on...”I protested but my protestations fell on deaf ears. A short while later the three of us were in Boudwan’s roller driving aimlessly around Cape Town. Every time the car stopped at a set of lights or a crossing, down came the windows and either Boudwan or Rudi looked out to cause chaos.

“Hello darling...” Rudi said at a set of lights, flickering his eyelashes at an old dear . “Fancy a bit of this....” Boudwan hissed at the old maid as she crossed the road. She saw this hooded monster and ran; much to their amusement. After a while I sensed that they thought I was not getting into the swing of things. “Stop the car...” Boudwan shouted as we passed a church. “Come, let’s go and prey.” “Do we have to?” I sighed as they pulled me out of the car laughing. We entered the church and strangely for a weekday eve it was quite full. A verger saw us at once and came running to the back of the church to meet us. “You can’t come in here..” He stated matter of factly. “And why not?” Boudwan said defiantly. “It’s multi-racial isn’t it?” “Of course...” The verger said lowering his voice and eyeing me and Rudi as if we were aliens. “But you can’t wear your, er, hat...” “Why didn’t you say...” Boudwan said untying the laces at the back of his hood and pulling it off. “...come ladies, let’s take our seats.” The priest, who had been speaking had stopped to watch us enter, continued hesitantly. He was preaching about tolerance and forgiving and his words seemed particularly relevant with us at the back. The congregation stood to sing and I remember it was a hymn about the Virgin Mary. Every time the word virgin was sung Rudi pronounced it like an opera singer and his voice, perfectly pitched, rang out above all others. I was glad, after the service, to get out of there and was surprised to find the priest standing at the door of the church waiting for us. “ So glad you came...” He whispered kindly, taking our hands and squeezing them gently. “...It’s not often that prostitutes find the courage to seek out god and repent.” I looked at Rudi and nearly burst into laughter as we walked down the steps to the car. “And bring your gimp again...” He called nodding towards Boudwan. “...you’re all welcome here in God’s house, you know; no matter what perversion you suffer.” 15 I left to go home as soon as we returned to Boudwan’s house, In my own clothes and with my spare shoes in a bag under my arm. All I had to do was hike back to Milnerton and I stood at the side of the main route through town with my thumb out. A car pulled up and when I looked inside I saw two teenage boys smiling back at me. I’d not spoken to many white people since arriving in the Cape; and none of my own age. I was a little reluctant to get in the vehicle. “Your hair is radical...” The one who was driving said with the typical surfer’s drawl, looking into his rear view mirror. “How long have you been growing it?”

“A couple of years..” I said expecting a torrent of abuse. “It looks really cute.” He smiled a broad and sincere expression which relaxed me a little. “You can drop me here actually...” The one in the passenger seat said as we headed out of town. They said their good-byes and I was invited to sit in the front passenger seat. “Have you known him long?” I asked making conversation with the cute blond youth who was driving. “Yha,” He replied looking at me with his deep blue eyes. “He goes to my school, we go way back.” “Oh.” I said looking out the window as the sun set above the mountain. “Have you ever been up there?” The boy asked looking towards the mountain. “Never.” I replied. “I’ve ridden a horse in the park behind it, over the hills and to the bamboo forest.” “There’s a beautiful road that goes half way up.” He smiled. “Shall I show you?” “Don’t go out of your way.” I said as he turned off the road and down a dusty track. “It’s no problem, I know the way up there and we can watch the sun set.” “I thought you had to use a cable car.” “No, that’s if you want to go to the top,” He replied taking a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “There’s a road, it’s only a dust track but it gets you half way there.” Soon, as the sun went down, we pulled up and out the windscreen I could see the panoramic lights of the Cape twinkling in front of us, as the city unfolded to the sea. “It’s beautiful.” I said softly as he offered me a cigarette. “Do you come here often?” “Only when I want to be alone.” He smiled. “I have a big family so there’s always people around at home. It’s nice to come here and get some peace. How about you?” “It’s only me and my folks at home.” “I suppose you don’t have to do National Service do you?” “No, I don’t even go to school.” “Wow,” He whistled. “That’s cool. As soon as I leave high school I have to serve two years in Mozambique fighting the guerrillas. I’m thinking about going to Europe to get out of it, but it’s tough being away from your folks.” He paused for a short period of time and I felt an excited rush of blood flowing to my brain as he bit his bottom lip anxiously. “Do you mind if I touch your hair?” He asked with knowing smile. “No...” I replied softly wondering where this was going. “…Of course not.” Suddenly and quite to my surprise we were kissing each other. I don’t know how or why but it just sort of happened. “You are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met.” He said looking into my eyes. “Your hair is so long and shiny, just like a girl, and your skin...” His soft lips brushed against mine and I felt his hand at my groin. “I don’t usually do this.” He whispered as we rolled back onto the back seat of the car.

“Neither do I.” I lied as I reached out and felt his thick cock throbbing in the palm of my hand. I pulled opened his jeans and looked down to see it burst out of his pants. Long, uncut and smooth with a small patch of light brown hair at its base. “Turn over for me...” He whispered. I did as he asked and felt his hard cock finding the button. Then his breath was in my ear and we danced the rhythm of love. In between gasps I thought I heard a car door slam nearby. Then suddenly there was a sharp rapping on the window of the car. I glanced around and saw the middle aged face of a Boer policeman looking in at us sternly. The guy who I had on my back started to stutter as the cop looked in and burst into laughter. “I didn’t realize you were fucking a girl in there...” He smiled nodding towards me. “You just carry on my son, I only wondered what the car was doing up here all alone.” He smiled and turned to walk away laughing loudly. “That was close.” My friend said as I turned to face him. He smiled and proceeded to wank himself off until I felt his warm come on my belly. “I was so close, I couldn’t stop.” “Don’t worry about it.” I smiled. “You know, I’ve never been with a boy like you.” “What?” He smiled as he used a tissue to wipe up. “Someone of my age?” “Well, you’re straight...” I said. “...I’ve never been with someone as straight as you. Normally they’re totally gay and older.” “Well this is 1976. Things change don’t they.” He looked at me with a smile and added. “I never thought I’d go with a guy either. I suppose if I think about it I have been curious recently. That doesn’t make me gay does it. I suppose I’m bisexual; what do you think?” “I think too much emphasis is placed on what we are.” I said thoughtfully. “All that does is places us in a box which we find hard to escape from. I think we humans all have a tendency to seek out intimacy. It doesn’t matter with whom or why, these questions hold us back. I think if you want to be close to a person it shouldn’t matter what sex they are. You should just go for it. Society prevents us from being impulsive. It has rules which are drummed into our brains from birth and these rules destroy our natural ability to locate intimacy or grab it when it’s on offer; leading to some very lonely people. ” “That’s profound.” He pulled on his shirt and lit a cigarette. “Is everyone so deep in Europe?” “Not really.” I smiled “In fact people are generally quite stuffy. I’ve had better sex here in South Africa then I ever had in London. I think the heat makes you feel sexy.

People walk about in less clothing and the suntans make us all look better; you know, healthier. In London people are generally quite stiff; the English are famous for being reserved, or hung up about sex,. The men are so paranoid about being seen as gay by their mates that intimacy becomes the first casualty.” “Do you think I’ll be okay in London...” He said softly suddenly looking like a small child, I looked into those blue eyes and saw fear for the future in them. “I can’t go to the front. It’s not that I’m a coward; I just don’t want to kill anyone; even if they are caffires or blood-thirsty mercenaries.” “You’ll be okay.” I said reaching out to touch his soft hair; I pulled him closer and held him in my arms as we looked out toward the moon rising above the ocean. Up there on the mountain we could see the expanse of black sky, littered with a billion twinkling stars, curve down and meet the dark waves of the Indian and Atlantic oceans as they met; in an almost a 3D view of the natural world. The moon was reflected on the water and a thin line of sparkling silver light danced between the sky and the magical bay. It was awesome, as the locals put it and we lay there for some hours in silence; just us, that big sky and wide rippling ocean; needing nothing else to be happy. He drove me back to my parents flat in Milnerton after midnight and kissed me gently on the lips before I got out the car. I never did see him again. Even today when I think about that night of sex high upon Table Mountain; I’m left wondering if he ever made it to Europe or if his soft white flesh was bloodied on the bombed out dirt of Mozambique. I never even knew his name. 16 The weekend soon came around and on the following Saturday I was stumbling through District Six looking for Owen’s house. It was easy to find the tumbled down old farmhouse in the middle of the dusty street which clearly had grown around it. I knocked gently and shortly after the door was opened by his Auntie dressed in her black mourning clothing. She put her fingers through her gray hair upon seeing me as if she was worried what I’d think. She ushered me into the house and I found Owen drying his thick mop of black hair over the gas ring that sat alone in the sparse kitchen. She hurried off to put her hair under a hijab before I saw her again. David...” He smiled as I joined him looking sort of surprised. “I thought you weren’t going to come.” “It was my idea to go to Bontiville...” I replied “…after all, I’m the guest of honour. So of course I’d come, it was good of you to agree to accompany me and make the arrangements” “My dear...” He sneered with a coy smirk. “I’m honoured. Tell me... “ He continued after poncing his fringe up a bit. “...are they going to give you a medal?”

“I hardly think so. I think the lady just wants to thank me for being there when her boy copped it.” “It was a wonderful thing that you did David.” He looked at me with a proud grin. “I couldn’t see Boudwan or any other white person doing that; or even being there like you were. You should be proud of yourself.” We were soon on a train heading from Cape Town towards Bontiville and as I looked around the carriage I was aware that no other white person travelled with us. The carriage was bare with hard wooden seats and as it chugged through the desolate streets I wondered if I was doing the right thing. After all white people were discouraged from going into the townships and this particular one required a special permit so that the authorities could monitor who went in and if they came out again. I remember that when the two sex changes took me there they were adamant that I wouldn’t be safe if I left alone. Owen, whilst nice, certainly wouldn’t be much help if we were attacked. “Do you think we’ll be safe until we find the mosque?” I said softly as the train left the dusty streets behind and the view became littered with ramshackle huts and corrugated lean-tos. I saw the empty faces of black children staring with wide, hungry eyes at the train as it tore a path through their playground and my heart sank. “Don’t worry...” Owen smiled. “Someone is meeting us.” The train eventually pulled into Bontiville station and drew to a noisy halt. We opened the door to the carriage and jumped down to the hot platform. I was aware that I was the only white face present and the locals eyed me suspiciously. “There they are.” Owen cried placing one hand in the air and waving. I followed him through the crowd and we came across a group of women with children strapped to their backs with blankets. They smiled and nodded towards me as we joined them and forming a procession I was led from the station by the crowd. There must have been at least fifty women gathered around me and looking at the rear of our group I saw some teenage boys holding machetes and long knives just in case anyone thought to attack us from behind. As the group led me through the street they sung out in proud voices a song of freedom; the same song I’d heard on the march before the police tear-gassed the crowd. It was truly amazing that all these people had come to welcome me into their community and into their hearts. The procession sang me through the tight streets of tin shacks and dirt roads before coming to a halt outside a long thin building. Above the door was a crescent moon and some Arabic writing I did not understand. On the steps which led up to the door stood a man in a long black robe and a white turban and he peered at me through his half moon spectacles as I came through the crowd. Behind him appeared a little old lady with a mop of gray hair perched in a neat

bun above her craggy face, she pulled a scarf over her head quickly. Then the woman stepped towards me in silence and took my hand. I looked into her warm eyes and saw tears swelling up in them as she mouthed a quiet thank you. “Mrs. Ootie?” I said feeling quite emotional too. “Come inside...” She smiled in perfect English. “We have a meal for you.” I followed her into the mosque and removed my shoes as they all did. On the floor in front of us lay several small square mats and in front of each was a metal plate. The old woman showed me where to sit and I saw that the other women and their children sat at the other side of the room, only the men sat next to me. “The Mullah will say a prayer for my son before we eat.” She said softly. With this the man in the turban started to sing. A strange , wailing song that reverberated around us. It rose into a crescendo and trailed off into a slight choking murmur before the only word I understood was squeezed out of his lungs; Allah. I noticed that I appeared to be the only young man in the room with the mullah and Women and wondered where Owen had gone. It was only years later that I realized that men and women never enter a mosque together and I was there under special privilege. A group of young boys started to step down the path down between the mats carrying large silver pans filled with rice and briyani. It was delicious and every time my plate was empty it was filled once again until I couldn’t eat any more. My plate was taken and I was led into a far room where I found Owen waiting for me. “They really made us feel welcome didn’t they?” He said leading me to a garden at the rear of the Mosque. “I couldn’t eat with you because you were the special guest but they fed me too in here with the boys.” “I feel like a celebrity...”I replied shyly. “Do I really deserve this attention, after all I did what any sane person would.” “To find sanity in a world of madness must be celebrated...” A voice said behind me. I turned and found the Mullah walking with Mrs. Ootie on his arm. They followed us into the garden and we sat under the shade of a willow tree. “Today we have celebrated your sanity.” “If you really knew me...” I said softly. “I don’t think you’d even let me in your Mosque let alone invite me in to eat with you.” “God is in your heart.” The Mullah said. “And for that you are blessed.” “My father wouldn’t agree...” I said thinking about the recent trouble I’d caused him and wondering what he would say if he could see me here, in this black township, surrounded by so called caffires, discussing God with a Mullah at the rear of a Mosque. “Then your father is a fool.” Mrs. Ootie smiled. “You risked your life for the sake of a

stranger. You took his blood from your hands and wiped it in the face of his murderer; for that God will always love you.” “Thank you...” I said feeling the tears rolling in my eyes. “Why do you cry?” The Mullah asked softly. “You should rejoice because for the rest of your life you will know that this act of kindness will make you a martyr in Gods eyes.” “I did what anyone would do...” I sobbed thinking about the events of that awful day and the look in the boy’s eyes just before he was struck down. “Not anyone...” Mrs. Ootie whispered. “You! .You did it.” The old woman took me in her arms and I cried with her for a few moments. Both lost in our thoughts, she thinking about the boy she had lost and me thinking about the man I’d become. I looked into the clear blue sky and saw white clouds there and, beyond, them the stars shimmered in their void. What a beautiful world we shared I thought, and yet this world was so blighted by the acts of man I wondered if we truly deserved to enjoy its wonders. “Why do they treat people like this?” I asked Mrs. Ootie after a while and she took off her glasses and rubbed her dark eyes shaking her head. “Ask the Mullah...” She whispered sitting beside me and shaking her head once again. “He might know. I can honestly say that even in my advanced years I still cannot understand the ways of the world. I just put it down to evil, Man is evil and we just have to deal with it.” “No, “ The Mullah smiled raising his eyes to God. “Man is not evil. It is the things that man does that is evil. And how does man do these things? He does them out of fear, he does them out of spite and he does them out of greed. If man did not harbour evil then spite would have no place in this world. If man could have no envy there would be no place for greed and if man could learn to love, even in the face of hatred, surely there would be only peace.” “I disagree...” Owen interjected angrily. “Look at this woman, look at the conditions my own parents have had to endure. I say things will only change if we fight and smash the system. Every Sunday I go to Devils Peak and look out to sea. How many of us remember our people who are imprisoned on Robin Island just a mile off shore. How many remember and still fight for them. I’ll tell you how many; not enough, that’s how many. I say we get guns and fight the war of all wars without fear. Confront them without mercy, just as our blood is spilt so shall theirs.” “Oh...” The Mullah laughed. “Such hard words for someone with such soft skin. No...” He continued. “If we march with passive resistance instead of weapons; if we allow them kill us they will see others replace our dead and eventually their bullets will run out. On that day victory will be ours.”

“It’s true...” Mrs. Ootie added. “The world is watching our struggle and we must show the world that we are better than those who oppress us.” The afternoon slipped by and soon it was time to go. I was surprised and happy to find that the group of women who had met us at the train station earlier were waiting to accompany us back. They were all holding candles in glass jars and as the procession led me through the streets I felt like a character from a Christmas story; Good King Wenceslas perhaps. The only difference was the songs that rang out in the night and although I didn’t know the words the message was unmistakable.

The group of women waited at the station with Owen and myself until the train rumbled in and quite to my surprise many of the women and even some of the boys who protected the rear came and kissed me good-bye. Their smiles lit up the night and as the train pulled away from that place I left with them just a little part of myself.

17 “There’s a Shabeen in District Six tonight...” Owen announced as the train rumbled through the darkness towards the Cape. “Shall we go, they can be much better then Wings; I love dancing with all the straight boys.” “Will I be safe...” I asked. “Safe?” He laughed. “My Dear, you’re famous now and the only danger you may face is the stampede for your autograph.” “Be serious. I don’t want to take any un-necessary risks.” “What are you like.” He huffed. “Come on it’ll be fun.” “What time does it start....” I sighed “Early,” He replied with a cheeky smile. “Around ten, oh come on. We can have a Spliff at my place and a bonk beforehand if you want.” “Oh go on then....” Four hours and a shag later we were queuing up outside a warehouse in another part of the run down district. Soon we were at the front of the queue and paying a tall transvestite in a huge blond wig our three Rand entry fee. Inside it was a familiar story, hundreds of Cape Coloureds dancing to Soca and the fierce beat of African pop. I went to the bar and brought a drink before mooching onto the dance floor and shaking it about a bit. Being the only white face in the crowd, a situation I’d got used to, attracted the attention of most of the women who formed a throbbing circle around me. I must admit that I loved the attention and being naturally flamboyant did my best to entertain. When Owen squeezed through the crowd and wrapped his arms around my waist a shrill of delight went through the crowd. The lights were throbbing and our hips were rubbing together and the beat of the music just took us to another level; it was

brilliant. The next couple of hours seemed like a hazy blur in my memory after a few more spirits and jaunts around the dance floor. I became aware of a commotion behind me and looked up to see several faces looking through the twilight in the same direction. Drunkenly I looked around and was shocked to see several policemen waving batons and thrusting through the crowd. “Jesus....” Owen shouted. “It’s a raid.” The music went off and confusion rang out as people scattered here, there and everywhere to avoid the baton blows. Owen and myself were separated and then I was being thrown into the back of another police vehicle. Not again, I thought as I looked around at the glum black faces that accompanied me. The vehicle burst into motion and we were taken to another police station and unloaded in the back court yard. A thick set Boar ushered me and my companions into the station’s charge room where I was surveyed with disgust by the assembled police. “Put this one in the white cells.” The sergeant behind the desk barked. I saw that I was being separated from those I’d been brought there with and objected. “If you’re going to lock me up...” I shouted. “I want to go in the same cells as these people, my friends.” The cops looked amazed as I made this foolish and drunken statement. The sergeant looked at me from behind his desk and sniffed. “You have your priorities all wrong, boy.” He snarled. “That’s a fucking joke.” I shouted. “I’m British you know, I know my rights....” “You do...” He shouted back. “do you? RIGHT!” With that the sergeant came from behind his desk and pressed his face into mine. “If that’s what you think son,” He said softly. “You should have stayed in the UK” He turned and looked at the other officers. “Put them all in the white cells.” I was herded with the others through the station. The group I had been brought in with were locked in large white room which had a clean bed and even a shower in the corner. Next to that was a toilet room which had toilet paper in its rack. “Hay...” I said aloud. “This is okay.” “Yha...” One of the black guys said as he tested the bed. “We don’t even have a shower at home. I’ve been here before...” He continued. “The cells they normally put us in have nothing in them, not even a window.” “It’s a good job they didn’t put us in there then.” I smiled. I lay on the bed and watched as a couple of the guys ran the water and a cloud of steam rose up from the shower pan. “It’s hot too.” One said stripping off his clothes.

It was really amazing as I lay there seeing around twenty straight men just strip off and shower naked. I was really quite impressed by the general size of their dicks and found the whole experience rather stimulating. “White...” One of them called. “Come and shower with us.” “In a minute...” I replied placing a pillow over my hard cock. I’d never really had the chance to really look at black skin before that. Oh, I’d slept with black guys, or coloured (as the S.A people called them: mixed race) guys but I’d mostly been facing the other way. This was the first chance I’d had to really look at their strong hard bodies close up. As the water ran down their legs and dripped from their hard bellies onto those long cocks I really saw the beauty of back skin; like soft leather it shone. Even the area under their foreskin was beautiful, like a plump black cherry. Every black man knows that his helmet is dark, but for me, a stupid white boy, it was a gorgeous revelation. Looking back I know I was objectifying these young men, creating some sort of sexual intrigue where perhaps there was none, but I was a stupid kid, uneducated and learning about these things so give me a break. “Come on, White...” Another shouted. “...Let’s look at your skinny white body.” I stood and stripped off my clothing. Removing my underwear was a little bit frightening because I didn’t want to face them with a hard cock. My interest in their bodies had become purely functional, I tried to tell myself to keep the blood down.

Yes, purely functional. The water was hot and one of the guys took some soap and rubbed my back. “Your hair is long, boy.” He said as the water forced the slight curl out and my hair lay flat against my back down to my waist. “You also have the arse of a girl.” “Shut up...” I said slightly embarrassed. It was nice feeling his strong fingers rubbing the soap into my shoulders and down my back brushing my buttocks for a second. “That feels really nice...” I turned around and noticed at once that this guy had a semi hard cock and it stuck out from his body a good ten inches. One of the other men said something in Afrikaans and they all laughed. The others got out and dried themselves cracking more jokes which went above my head. “What’s so funny?” I asked as the roar of laughter filled the room. “They’re wondering who’s going to get the bed.” “I think me and you should share it...” I smiled looking it his eyes. “So do I.” The man replied. As we dried ourselves off the others made themselves comfortable on the floor and I

was aware that they all lay with their backs to us. My soapy friend used the towel on his dick for much longer than it actually needed and then he turned the cell light off. In the darkness I slipped in between those crisps white sheets and felt his warm body slide in next to me. Without a sound I felt his hands on my hips turning me over and then that long hard cock was pressing into my arse. It was the biggest dick I’d ever felt and knew that it would hurt like hell if it was shoved up my bottom. I just moved around a little and stimulated it from the thick bottom to the thin tip. This did the trick and soon his come was splashing between my shoulder blades. Because he had had the decency to be holding my dick as the happened I came at the same time and then we both fell to sleep in each other’s arms. When I opened my eyes I heard someone banging on the cell door. Daylight was streaming into the cell and I looked up to see a white face in the door hatch. “You...” “Who me?” I said with a hung-over drawl. “Yes you...” The officer shouted. “Get dressed. Your father is here.” I did as I was told and stepped to the cell door as it was flung open. My last glance back saw two blurry eyes peering from under those sheets as the door was slammed behind me. “Your father is going to beat your arse.” The officer said leading me towards the charge room. As we turned into it I saw Dad standing with a group of officers laughing about something. His face changed as he saw me coming towards him. “David...” He shouted. “Just you wait till I get you home.” “How did you know I was here?” I asked in a daze. “Your parents reported you missing two days ago.” One of the police men said in a thick Boer accent. “They thought your arse had been murdered.” “Really...” I said rubbing my arse. “No, it’s really quite alive, abused a little but alive.” “You won’t be joking once I get you home, my boy.” Dad said sternly. He had to sign some forms and we were eventually led from the station into the hot South African sun. In silence I followed him to the car and we climbed in. After going a short distance from the station the awkward silence was broken as he said softly. “Where have you been since Tuesday? We have been going out of our minds.” I looked at him and saw genuine concern on his face. “Didn’t you think your mother and I would miss you. Are we made of wood, no emotions, or what? This isn’t the first time either...” “After what happened at the yard I thought you’d be cross with me.” I interjected mawkishly hoping to illicit some of Dad’s newly discovered emotions.

“Fuck that cunt...” He said abruptly, without any emotion beside that fierce anger of his, referring to Van Der Westhazen. “After what he did we made him a security risk and banned him from coming back on Navel premises. Do you think I’d take the word of a Boer over that of my own son?” “I don’t know. Er, no, of course not..” I said avoiding eye contact; looking out the window and feeling guilty because, after all, I had been smoking drugs while he was my boss; I’d selfishly never considered what would happen to him if I’d been caught. “You seemed pretty angry at the time.” “We had to show that we took the allegation seriously; it is government property for Christ’s sake, but David; you didn’t have to run away, especially out here...” He clenched his teeth and nodded to the scene we were driving through; an area which had a lot of Bantu and Coloured pedestrians strolling around minding their own business. “...Out There....” My father said. “...once these black bastards get hold of you, well, that’s it.” I didn’t have the nerve to tell him that they’d already got hold of me and that it was bliss, hilariously funny, exciting and something I intended to repeat as much as possible. I spent the rest of our journey looking out of the window thinking about the previous evening and how it had ended. I wondered if Owen had got away and if he was okay. Secretly I planned to excuse myself as soon as we were in Milnerton and make my escape. I could hike to Constantia and visit Boudwan for a few days or at least until the weekend. Or I could go to Owens’s place direct and then to Boudwan; but what if Owen was still locked away? I tried to quash the idea before I became too anxious; after all, with my parents keeping an eye one me I wouldn’t be able to just walk in and then walk out. I’d have to keep my nerve and wait until the time was right before making my move; they may have already made plans to keep me at home, I thought to myself. I sniffed and tested the water. “I suppose you’re going to ground me when we get back?” I asked confidently, to hide the fact that I was thinking of going straight back out as soon as we got home. “Of course not.” Dad replied as the car pulled into Milnerton and headed towards the estate. “But we’re going away till Friday so we want you to keep an eye on the flat.” He sniffed as the car pulled up outside the small block. “You’re going away?” I replied loudly as the opportunities for reckless fun opened up before me. “Where are you going...” I stuttered. “....Why didn’t you tell me earlier? “You weren’t around.” He said abruptly as he got out the car and slammed the door in my face. I jumped out the passenger door and ran after him. “Dad, wait.” “You weren’t around...” He repeated with that smug look that he often gave mother

whenever she missed any of his leisure pursuits. These hobbies, like eating out and late dances, happened after he’d been drinking with the boys and forgotten he was a married man with kids. Then the lads, the boys, the men, thugs and hooligans that Dad liked to drink with; even those he didn’t know from Adam and had only just met; would get into cabs and visit a nightclub, or late restaurant and even take in a late film. I remember that when mum got that look she would punch him, not just for leaving her at home with the kids but for spending all her housekeeping money; yha, I knew that look well. “So we booked up just two tickets and our plane leaves in about three hours.” “Booked what tickets, to where?” “I’ve got a meeting with the Admiral in Pretoria. Me and your mother are flying tonight and intend spending a couple of days exploring the Capital City. We’ll be back on Friday evening or Saturday afternoon; I’ll call and let you know.” “You can’t go to Pretoria and leave me here.” I protested weakly. “What am I going to eat.” “There will be food in the fridge.” He laughed as I followed him up the stairs to the flat. He opened the front door with his key and I followed him in. “All you have to do is answer the phone and take messages; it’ll be a doddle.” “So I’m a pissing human answering machine now am I?” “Watch your language; you.” Mum said as she appeared from the kitchen. “So it was him down there?” “Yha.” Dad said as he took of his shoes and turned on the T.V. “All we knew was they had a British lad in custody who matched your description. It could have been anyone.” “They didn’t say that I’d been arrested, then? I asked hesitantly. “Arrested? Mum wailed from the kitchen as pots collided in the sink. “What were you arrested for?” Dad asked angrily. “I wasn’t arrested...” I lied hoping to back-step away from the subject. “I was just picked up as I couldn’t produce any identification. That’s all.” “Oh,” Dad said, suitably reassured, as his attention fixated towards the T.V “That’s all we need, you getting arrested.” “Well you two are going away...” I said with a sigh. “...swanning off to Pretoria without me; so you wouldn’t be much use anyway.” “Don’t sulk, Darling...” Mother said as she dragged a suitcase into the lounge. “...Frowning will only make your forehead wrinkled.” “What am I supposed to do while you two are goofing off around the country?” “We’re not goofing off anywhere...” Dad interjected tutting loudly because he wasn’t able to concentrate on the T.V “...I’ve got a business meeting and your mother is coming to keep me company.

It’s all perfectly legitimate and you would have been coming too if we knew where you were; but as you where swanning off all over the place when I booked the tickets; tough, you’ll have to stay here.” “Don’t make excuses Dear.” Mother said as she passed Dad his coat. “He can spend the next three days thinking about the past week and weather it was worth it. Come on, we have a plane to catch.” “What do they want to see you about in Pretoria anyway?” I asked as they walked towards the door. “I don’t know.” Dad replied. “They may be promoting him..” Mother said as they went off down the stairs. “Don’t forget to keep the place tidy...” She shouted as they disappeared from view. “...See you on Friday.” “Right.” I said slamming the door. “Hi, is that Boudwan?” I said into the telephone receiver after the ringing tone stopped. “Yes, who is that; David?” “It certainly is...” I said. “How about picking me up from Milnerton and taking me out for the evening. My parents have gone away.” “Oh, that’s nice...” He hissed down the line. “Rudi’s cooking some lobster. I’ll ask him to do a portion extra, We’re going to the naturist beach tomorrow, would you like to come?” “Okay...” I replied wondering what a naturist beach was. “Okay, I’ll get a room ready for you. I’ll pick you up around eight; okay.” “See you then...” I hung the phone up and heard a tap on the door. Wondering who it could be I went and looked through the spy hole without any concern. There was a large white man standing outside so I opened the door.. “Can I help you?” I asked peering through the gap. “Mr. (Deleted)?” The man asked officiously as he looked through a pair of dark sun glasses towards me. “Do you want my dad?” I asked. “Are you David (Deleted)?” The man asked in a thick Boer accent. “Yes...” I replied wondering what he wanted and what this was all about. “I’m a police officer...” he continued through tight lips. “Really.” I said opening the door a little wider. “What can I do for you?” “Let’s just say this is an informal piece of advice...” “Advice?” I said wondering what he was getting at. “Yes, advice.” The man sniffed. “You are a visitor to this country and we are taking this into consideration...” “You are, are you?” “Yes, we are...” He peered over my shoulder. “...we know your parents have gone away

for a few days but if we have to come back it’ll be at a time when they are home. So far you’ve escaped prosecution twice. I’m here to tell you that if this happens again you will not get off so lightly. Do I make myself clear?” “Not really, just what exactly are you getting at?” “Caffires, Mr. (Deleted)..” The man looked behind him and I saw a police van waiting. “If you want to be treated like a caffire you are going the right way about it. This could be very dangerous for you.” “In what way could it be dangerous...” I asked indignantly, feeling a little angry by this man’s arrogance. “...are you going to shoot me because of the company I keep?” “Just take this warning seriously Mr. (Deleted); you will not be warned again.” He turned and walked away. As I closed the door behind me I wondered how they’d got my address and what was going to happen next. I wondered if it was safe to go to Boudwan’s later, but after a few minutes I put it out of my head and thought, fuck them, nothing was going to change who I was or dictate who I mixed with.. 18 Just as the brilliant disc of the African sun set over the baked Cape landscape and the blue shadow of twilight crept slowly up the side of Table Mountain, I stepped gingerly from the flat towards the quiet road that ran beside the shore line of the bay toward the town. Boudwan’s Rolls Royce was waiting for me and, as I climbed into the back seat I saw just across the road, the same police van that had been watching me earlier. I shook my head and smiled as the car door was closed behind me and we set off. “Do you know them?” Boudwan asked as I looked back at the van disappearing into the distance behind us. “Let’s just say...” I replied, sure that the van was not going to follow us, “...that they do not appreciate my socializing with blacks and coloureds.” “Oh, David...” Boudwan grimaced. “You should be careful. I know Owen is always asking you to go on marches with him but, Sweetie, you have more to lose then he does. These people will kill you if they think you are a threat.” “I don’t think so.” “You should be careful my friend. I have been in South Africa for around five years and never once have I stirred trouble up. I have an inter racial relationship but I do not go out and shout about it from the rooftops. They would just kill me. It’s much better if I do my work, let my money and taxes benefit the country and when I’ve had enough, I can go home.” He looked ahead for a while in a troubled silence and then dropped the camp affectation to tell me something seriously . “I had a friend who, like you, thought he could change things.” “Don’t tell me...” I said with a smile. “...they killed him?” “You may joke.” Boudwan said lowering his voice into a whisper. “But they locked that boy

up for terrorist activities; terrorist activities no less. He got twenty years for this stupidity.” “What was he doing?” I asked. “Making bombs?” “Not Bombs, David; just trouble...” He sniffed loudly. “Just making trouble for the authorities; you know, going into the townships without the proper visas; going on marches and that sort of thing...” “I’ve done all that.” “Well consider yourself lucky.” He said looking at me intently. “They will now wait till you do something that they consider subversive, and when you cross the line that they have drawn; they will fall on you like a ton of bricks.” “I think they have shown me the line...” I said thinking about my visitor earlier on. “Take my advice.” He said glancing at me momentarily. “Don’t cross it. Now, we are going to a party tonight, a rich friend of mine has hired a club and it’s invite only; how would you like to go with us?” “As long as I don’t have to go in drag.” I replied. “Oh...” He sighed, adopting his regular super queen intonation. “But you have such divine legs Sweetie.” Sometime later we were back in the Rolls heading towards town. Rudi was dressed to the nines in what he called his “Baby Jane” outfit. A small pink dress with a large ribbon bow at the back and a curly wig that framed his face in tight golden ringlets. I was wearing a white suit that Boudwan had brought for Rudi, which he’d never worn, it was a little too big apparently. It was made from Raw Silk and made me look rich and suave when worn with a black silk shirt and a pair of Boudwan’s 24 caret gold cufflinks. We were all a little drunk having polished off at least three bottles of Champaign so I was glad to see his usual driver was behind the steering wheel. “So who is throwing this party...” I asked no one in particular as the car pulled up beside the flower market. “And why is he throwing it?” “No-one needs a reason to throw a party.” Rudi hissed flicking his ringlets back. “He’s had enough of South Africa.” Boudwan replied glumly as the engine stopped running. “These are very unsettled times and he is worried, like I am, that once Rhodesia falls South Africa will follow; Smith is already talking about having fair elections next year...” “So he should.” Rudi said abruptly. “It’s about time we had the vote.” “You, yes.” Boudwan said as we got out the car. “But you are educated, most coloureds are educated. But the Bantu, well, look what happened in Uganda. There will be too much inter-tribal conflict. Perhaps there won’t be, but for Europeans who have the choice to stay ,and possibly be involved in a bloodbath, or get out; well, most of them will choose to leave. Like my good friend Maurice.” “What about you Boudwan...” I said following him and Rudi down the darkened street.

“...will you get cold feet and leave?” “Don’t ask him that, Darling, not right now....” Rudi smiled as we turned a corner and found a crowd of people fighting to get into a club. There was no semblance of a queue, no barrier or cheerful door staff; just a well dressed bun-fight. “,,,ah, this must be it.” “I followed Boudwan who held three tickets in the air as we fought our way through the expensively dressed crowd who appeared to be uninvited but desperately hopeful. We were let in by three big bouncers who were holding everyone else at bay; just inside the club’s door we were greeted by Boudwan’s friend; a middle aged man with an elaborate combover, too much perfume who was weighed down by several thick gold chains and bracelets. “Boudwan...” He shouted with a fey affect as elaborate as that comb-over perched upon his head; then minced closer and did the kissy-kissy mime to both Boudwan and Rudi. “Rudi, how good of you to come.” “Maurice..” Boudwan said taking his friend’s hand. “This is David, the British lad I told you about.” “Yes...” Maurice hissed taking my hand and putting his unwanted arm over my shoulder. “...I see what you mean; his eyes are beautiful; so green.” “Thank you..” I smiled as Maurice gently patted my bottom and gave me a flirty smile; he was absolutely repulsive, I thought returning the smile but holding back as I did not want to flirt or give that impression. “Now go in there and have some food. The drink is at the back and those bowls of charlie are superbcalifragaistic...”Maurice sang, as camp as Christmas. “... help yourselves Darlings, it’s al freeeeeeee.” “Free cocaine...” Rudi laughed. “...how thoughtful of you.” I followed him and Boudwan into the hall as directed and was amazed to find another mirror ball reflecting tiny multi coloured dots across the floor and ceiling. There must be, I thought, a small factory in the cape producing these things day and night specifically for gay gettogethers; Mirror-Balls Are Us, perhaps. Music was thumping loudly and I recognized the voice of Donna Summer as it filled the room with sound. Bad Girls.. Toot Toot. Rudi took my hand and led me to a glass table which had bowls of white powder lined up at intervals on top. He used one of Boudwan’s credit cards to make up two long, fat lines and passed me a rolled twenty Rand note to sniff it with. Bad Girls, Toot Toot... I looked around as the numbing taste hit the back of my throat and down my tongue. Boudwan was placing food on a plate and pouring some brandy into three glasses. “Have a drink..” He said passing me a glass filled with the brown liquid. I knocked it back in one hit and soon I was dancing across the floor with Rudi in my arms doing a

perverse take on the tango. Talking ‘bout those bad, bad Girls, Toot Toot..... Some time, and several sniffs later, I found myself in a toilet cubicle staring down Maurice’s dick. He had been thrusting it into my mouth like I had no sensation from the chin up; I didn’t want or encourage this attention and, in my inebriated state, initially thought I was being pestered by a flying sausage. When I opened my eyes and saw it was attached to the comb-over oddity I had a mini stroke. To prevent myself vomiting all over him I had to push the foul thing away and give his dick a slap. I had been trying to have a pee sitting down because I was too giddy to stand, when Maurice burst into the cubicle, obviously thinking having a shit was some sort of come on. I didn’t even realize he was sticking it in my mouth until it rubbed the vomit centre at the back of my throat and I gagged. “What is that lump on the side of your helmet?” I asked through a bombed out blur, my focus suddenly returned as the numbness left my head and feeling came back to my lips; lips his flying sausage was dive bombing. “Don’t worry about that, my love...” He said thrusting it into my face again. “...Just suck the fucking thing.” “No..” I said clutching my fingers around his drooping scrotum and squeezing his balls as hard as I could. His dick slowly bobbed into focus and I saw the lump in more detail, it was like a boil but with a weeping head. “That’s fucking disgusting...” I shouted, squeezing his sweaty balls harder. “You’re fucking hurting me, you bitch.” He screamed and I squeezed even harder. “Let my balls go.” Maurice shouted as his comb-over bounced up and down on his head as if the hamster had a life of its own. “Not till you tell me what that fucking disgusting lump is.” “I don’t know...” He squealed like a pig. . “...I’ve had it for about a week but it’s only been weeping for the last day or so.” “It’s fucking gross...” “Yha...” He screamed as his face turned puce red. “I think it’s syphilis.” “WHAT!...” I shouted pulling his balls down, right through my tight grip which made him curl up in agony. “...and you stuck it in my fucking mouth.” “Well I’m going back to Holland tomorrow, I didn’t think...” “You fucking little shit.” I spat rushing out the cubical to find a group of amazed people queuing up outside waiting to use the toilet. Their jaws were drooping as they watched this mini drama unfold. “Well?” I shouted as they looked at me dumbfounded. I rushed to a sink and

started to wash my mouth out. In the mirror above the sink I saw Maurice fall out of the cubical holding his balls. “That’s really nice, that is. You discover you have a STD so you go and give it to a total stranger; just because you are leaving the country and you don’t have to give a shit.” “You really hurt me...” He sniffled. “...my balls are going to hurt for a week.” “OH FUCK OFF.” I shouted back. “If you’ve given me syphilis, I swear....” “Don’t be like that Darling...” He said with a camp snarl. “...after all, some bitch gave it to me.” “Oh really, well bitch...” I said pushing him against the wall and shouting right into his repulsive gob. “...You should have kept it to yourself.” 19 The following day I was sitting in the sparsely furnished, waiting room of the local clap clinic; with Owen who had come for moral support.. It was a inter-racial affair and as I looked around the waiting room I was aware that once again I was the only white face represented. Nervously I turned the ring on my index finger hoping that my name would be called soon. Suddenly the ring slipped off and disappeared between the seats. I made a cursory inspection between my feet and, assured that it was gone for good and not wanting to stand out more then I already did, tried to forget about it. Suddenly a man in a long white coat with glasses that were as thick as a beer glass bottom appeared with a clipboard. “Mr. (Deleted)..” He said looking around the room at the sad collection of embarrassed men. I stood and followed him into a side room. We sat at a small table and he pulled a sheet of questions towards him and poised over them with his pen. “Before we start...” I said shyly. “While in the waiting room I was fiddling about with my signet ring and I’ve dropped it. Could you ask the cleaner to keep an eye out for it?” “Oh, I can do better than that...” He said standing and leading me back into the waiting room. Then, with me cowering behind him, the doctor announced with a loud, booming voice. “Has anyone seen this man’s ring?” I could have died of shame as the assembled men looked at us blankly. “Well...” The doctor continued. “...If anyone has seen this man’s ring please give your name to the receptionist.” I followed him back into the room thinking that he obviously didn’t know what cockneys meant when they referred to someone’s ring in London. We sat back at the table and he inspected me with curiosity. “Now, what can I do for you?” The doctor asked peering through his thick glasses at me.

“I think I’ve caught the clap.” I replied simply. “No, no, no...” He hissed tapping his pen upon the form. “We make the diagnosis around here. Now what makes you think that you have a venereal disease?” “Well...” I stuttered over the words being so embarrassed by the situation I’d got myself into. “I was at a party...” “Yes, you were at a party, yes?” “I’d had a lot to drink, and food...” “Yes, food.” “Then, it was in my mouth and I saw a lump, you know...” I was trying to be discrete, mainly because I felt so stupid, but in-reality I was just confusing the issue. “The food had a lump...” The doctor said looking at me as if I had a mental illness. “...you cannot get a venereal disease from food.” “Not food...” I stuttered. “It was someone’s cock.” “Surely you mean chicken...” He said with raised eyebrows. “...don’t you mean chicken?” “No...” I stuttered. “...dick, you know.” “So,” The doctor sighed. “Your friend dick had a party and you ate some chicken which had a lump; but why do you think you have a venereal disease?” “He told me he had it?” “Who did, Dick?” The doctor tapped his pen against the desk. “Look I think we better go through the form. When did you last have sexual intercourse?” “What...”I replied. “...penetration?” “Yes...” He said with a sigh. “...this is intercourse.” “Ages ago...” I sighed. “Well.” He huffed looking even more confused. “Do you have any pains when you pee?” “No.” “Sores or lumps?” “No.” “Discharges?” “No.” “Unusual smells?” “No.” “Any difference at all?” “No.” “Then why do you think...” “You have a venereal disease...” I interjected sarcastically. “...well I had a bloke’s penis shoved in my gob last night and noticed he had a sore. He told me it was a venereal disease and that’s why I am here?” “You sucked a penis...” The doctor grimaced. “...,knowing your partner had a venereal disease?” “I didn’t know at the time and I did not suck...” I gasped exasperated by this twat.

“...and he wasn’t my partner!” “But you saw a lump.” “After, I saw it after. Look...” I said as the interview started to grind me down. “…I only found out after he’d stuffed it in my mouth.” The doctor looked at me for a long while in silence. Then, raising one eyebrow, and examining me closely, asked. “So, you are a homosexual?” “Oh, for god’s sake?” I spurted out. “Yes, of course I am, I wouldn’t have a cock in my mouth if I wasn’t, would I?” “Hmmm.” He said pointing to a medical table set against a nearby wall with a paper sheet over it. “Would you remove your trousers and lay down over there?” “Why?” I asked “I wish to inspect your back passage; you may have lumps or sores that you are not aware of?” “Look.” I said abruptly, gradually raising my voice with each word. “If I had a lump or sore in my back passage why do you think I’d not be aware of it?” “It’s not always visible…” He sniffed adding “…I need to inspect it anyway.” He stood up and, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, waited for me to undress. “I don’t mean to be funny.” I said sarcastically. “But I only had the fucking thing in my gob And, unless that can give me a sore arse, I’d just prefer to have a blood test to see if he infected me; if not I can go.” “Are you a doctor?” He replied “No, of course not.” “Then stop protesting and let me inspect your back passage.” Reluctantly I dropped my pants and lay on the table with my arse in the air. “Just because I said it was a man I caught the clap from you automatically assume that I’ve had anal sex; don’t you think that’s pretty presumptuous of you?” The doctor placed a strong light at the end of the bed and had a good look. “Hmmm”. He said softly. “Does this hurt?” “Fucking Jesus.” I shouted feeling his finger get stuck in like he was digging in his nose for a bogy. “That would hurt anyone. Haven’t you ever heard of lubrication.” “Hmmm.” He repeated softly. “There doesn’t appear to be any signs of infection here.” “Oh, really...” I said. “...well whoopee.” “You can get dressed, I think we need to give you a blood test just to make sure?” By then I was too tired to protest. I got dressed and stuck out my arm waiting for the inevitable needle. He then told me to wait in the room next door while they tested my blood. After about twenty minutes I was called back in and the doctor looked across the table at me. “You have Syphilis.”

“Really.” I said smugly. “I would never have guessed.” “You will have to give me the names of the person who infected you so that we can get him treated.” “Don’t worry, “I said with a yawn. “He knows he has it and is already getting treatment.” “In South Africa you must tell a doctor who your last sexual partner was; come now, his name please.” “Okay, okay...” I sighed. The doctor poised with his pen over a note pad as I said. “Arthur Doyle, Arthur Conan-Doyle.” “Arthur Doyle?” The doctor said as he scribbled this nonsense down. “Is Conan his middle name?” “That’s right..” I smiled. “Arthur Conan Doyle, as in Conan the Barbarian.” “I see, and this, Mr. Doyle,” The doctor enquired suspiciously. “Where does he live?” “999 Letsbe Avenue.” “Is that in Cape Town?” “Of course...” I smiled. “It’s just down the road from here.” “Right.” The doctor smiled back. “If you go through there the nurse will give you your first injection.” “The first injection?” I repeated as it dawned on me that this infection was not going to budge with just a pill; oh God, I thought, this is going to drag on forever. “Yes, then you must come back every week for the next month and then once every three months. Okay, good day.” “Will I be infectious...” I asked pensively before I stood up. “...after my first injection, will I still carry the infection and remain infectious?” “Okay...” The doctor, ignoring my very sensible question, shooed me like a bothersome fly. “...good day.” With that I was waved away. 20 I took Owen back to my parents flat and as we got off the bus in Milnerton I saw a hearse pulling into the Cul De Sac near where I lived. There was a small group of people standing around a collection of flowers. We walked in silence to the group and watched as a thickly set coffin was removed from the house. “Has he died?” I asked an elderly man who stood in stony silence watching the hearse being loaded. “Yes,” The man replied. “Got it at the front.” He added; referring to the front of fire in Mozambique, rather than his chest. “That’s so sad...”I said simply as a wave of grief swept over me. Remembering the night of passion I’d spent with that man and thinking about the way I felt in his arms made me nearly cry; but was unable to with all those strangers watching. Owen didn’t seem to understand why the spectacle should interest me so and asked after I dragged him away so quickly. “Did you know him?” “Only briefly.” I replied positively shaking.

“That’s sad...” Owen stated as he gave me an odd look. “...he was a in the forces and so he was aware of the dangers?” “He didn’t want to fight for this country; he was forced to take up arms and kill.” “How do you know that?” Owen said as we turned into the next street. “He told me?” I lied. In truth he didn’t have to tell me as I could feel his fears and apprehensions during the night we spent together. I didn’t even think he was gay; just lonely and reluctant to go to his possible death without the feeling of a little intimacy. I guess if I could take anything from this awful experience it was that I was able to reciprocate and provide the closeness, the intimacy and passion he so desperately craved. We walked to my flat in silence until Owen chirped up in his ever positive way; “This area is lovely.” “Really?” I huffed. “You are very lucky to be able to live here...” Owen added looking at the manicured lawns And colourful flowering beds of shrubs. “It’s very different to District Six.” “I suppose it is.” I said vacantly as I led him to the street door. “When do your parents get back from Pretoria?” “In two days.” I replied as his chatter began to take my mind off the dead soldier. “You can stay tonight and tomorrow we’ll go back to Boudwan’s.” “If you think it’ll be okay; I’ve never stayed in this area before and I’ve lived in Cape Town all my life. I bet you don’t get many roaches here?” “Only the neighbours.” I giggled. I made us some drinks and we went on the patio to watch the sun set over Table Mountain. It looked dark blue in the late afternoon haze and the sun was just about bearable as it sat on the distant horizon shimmering above the deep blue Atlantic. “How long have you been here?” Owen asked as the sunlight dwindled and the vodka we were drinking lightened our mood. “Too long,” I replied with a smile. “Only a year, but what a year it’s been.” “What is it like in London?” He asked. “Well,” I said slowly, pondering the reply to such a broad question. “They think that people like us can’t walk on the same side of the street. In fact they have a really perverse understanding of the system out here and miss all the important stuff. Like how people like you are held back and not given a chance to get on. Like how Mrs. Ooties son was cut down before his life had even started. Like the way that coffin carried the body of a victim of the system; but a white victim. They miss all that.” “I hear that the British government have been the ones pushing the Rhodesian’s to give up apartheid. There’s talk of Smith resigning and now that Vorster has gone maybe P.W

Botha will allow South Africa to go the same way. I can feel change in the air.” “Can you” I said suspiciously. “You know David.” He smiled. “Earlier on when we were standing among the flowers and the coffin was being loaded into the hearse?” “What about it?” “Less than a year ago the police would have been called if I just stood among a group of whites in an area like this. But just now, no-one said a thing.” “I guess it takes someone like you to notice a thing like that? Someone who has really been affected by the system out here. I’ve just been peering through a window at it?” “No David...” He laughed. “You have been in there with us, experiencing it, forcing these people to look at themselves. You are the changing face of South Africa and I am so pleased we met.” “Even though I’m a poxed up sex fiend?” “Precisely because you are a poxed up sex fiend; I love you for that.” “Shut up...” I laughed. “You will make me cry if you carry on like that.” “You can always cry on my shoulder.” “Won’t you worry about catching syphilis? “I said cry on my shoulder,” Owen laughed before poking me in the ribs with another warm smile “Not fuck me; well not until you’ve had your course of antibiotics.” We went to the bedroom and stripped off. It was nice to feel his warm body close to mine and as the vodka flushed out our veins we slipped into a deep sleep. That night I had a weird dream. I was on a motorbike pillion with my arms clenched tightly around the leather clad driver; speeding down a long gray road. There was the brooding Indian Ocean on my left and on the right, stretched out towards the horizon was a flat sandscape; a hot desert of ripping dunes. I looked over the driver’s shoulder and saw the speed dial clocking 100 as the bike sped into the setting sun. Then I saw a sign fly past us that said we were heading towards a T-junction. The bike just got faster and I tapped the driver’s leather clad shoulder to ask if he’d seen the sign we’d just past. Then, before I could say anything, we were approaching the junction in the road and ahead of us was a brick wall. The bike screeched as we skidded towards the wall at breakneck speed. I closed my eyes and screamed but no sound left my lips. I sat up sweating. “David, we’re home now....” “Oh, shit.” I said as Owen opened his eyes and looked at me. I looked at the bedroom door and the handle twisted. Just then I saw my whole life speed before my eyes in a moment. “You’re father has been fired, and it’s all your fault.”

The door opened and I saw her face peer into the bedroom. Mother took a second to take the scene in, I could see the cogs in her brain spinning for the briefest of moments as she assessed the situation, I was in bed with someone, someone who wasn’t a woman, someone who wasn’t white. “Aghaaaa...” She screamed. “There’s a black man in the house.” “I think I’d better be going.” Owen said as he jumped out of bed and began to pull on his underwear. As that moment Mother chose to take a double take just to ensure she wasn’t seeing things the first time round. The sight of Owen stark, bollock naked struggling into a set of boxers nearly made her faint. Then the corners of her mouth curled up in opposite directions and one eye started to tremble as she closed the door again. “There’s a naked blackie in the bedroom...” She screamed. Owen pulled on his shoes and I wrapped a sheet around me as we cautiously opened the bedroom door. She was no-where to be seen as I escorted him to the front door. “I see you at the weekend,” I whispered. “I’ll come around to yours.” “See you then.” Owen said pecking me on the lips. It was at this moment that Mother appeared from the kitchen with a larger vodka and coke in her hand. “Oh...” She swooned. “What are you doing...” I closed the door and faced her. “...bringing a naked blackie back here?” “He’s not a blackie, as you put it...” I said indignantly. “...and he wasn’t naked when I invited him in. Anyway he’s not black, but coloured, and I love him.” “Oh, no...” She screamed. “This is your father’s fault.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” I said defiantly. “Where is he anyway?” “He’s had to go to the yard...” She mumbled distracted by her thoughts. Then she gulped back her drink and demanded to know. “Have you been raped?” I looked at her and shook my head. “Do I look as if I’ve been raped?” “I don’t know...” She replied pouring a straight shot and swigging the vodka back in one gulp. “What was he doing here; what were you doing in bed together?” “I asked him back,” I said. “And what do gay men normally do in bed together?” “Gay what?” She spurted. It was the first time I’d ever seen my mother flushed and lost for words. She went back to the kitchen and filled her glass with vodka again. “Are you telling me that you’re an Homo?” “If you want.” “You wait till I get my hands on your father...” She screamed. “You should be glad that he didn’t find you in bed with that thing; he’d be up for murder by now.” “That thing...” I spat. “...has a name, it’s Owen Okay?” “Owen...” She laughed. “Since when have they had names like that; he’s probable

called Nogologoloo or something; David, how could you..” “It was easy, I’ve been having sex with Owen for months.” “What!” She shouted. “You’re father has a lot to answer for.” “It’s got nothing to do with dad; it’s me. I’m gay.” “Shut up saying that.” She shouted with a mouth full of vodka. “If you were ill I’d call a doctor, if you were in trouble with the police I could call a solicitor, if you had bad eyes I’d take you to an opticians but this; what am I to do about this?” “You don’t need to do anything.” I said sitting next to her and reaching out to touch her hand. “And with a black man at that?” She sniffed recoiling away from me. “Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’ve got VD” “I’ve got more chance of catching V.D from a white man then from a black one; and anyway, he isn’t black; he’s mixed race, coloured.” “What difference does that make. It’s disgusting it is; the thought of you and him, in that bed; oh, dear. Wait till I get my hands on your father.” “Look,” I said smugly. “The thought of you and dad doing it doesn’t fill me with delight.” She then slapped me as hard as she could. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that; at least we’re...” “What normal are you?” “Yes, bloody normal.” “Well it took two normal’s to make me; so what does that say?” “Don’t blame your perverted behaviour on me; this has nothing to do with me; it’s all your father’s doing.” “How do you work that one out?” “He should have took you boxing like I asked him to; or to the rugby like my father did with my brothers; your uncles; and they came out okay.”

“I hate boxing and rugby.” I shouted. “Oh, I’ve had enough of this crap. You now know and I don’t give a shit. Okay. If you want me I’ll be in my room.” “And to think..” She shouted as I stormed away from her. “To think, your father lost his job because of you.” I sat in my room laying on the bed staring blankly at the bedroom ceiling waiting for Dad to get in and thinking about what she had said. Not just the bit about his job; but all of it. It seemed like ages before the front door closed and the sound of their voices drifted down the hall towards Me. I could smell food cooking and despite the tragic news mother was still able to cook his dinner. Then the knock came like raps of hell on my door. “Your dinners on the table.” I heard father saying on the other side of the door.

“I’ll have it in here.” I shouted. “You’ll have it with us...” He shouted back. “Now pull yourself together and come and join us.” I reluctantly did as I was told and found the atmosphere at the table decidedly cold. Mother never really joined us she just fluffed around in the background placing dishes on the table and taking away the empties. Dad occasionally looked up and spied me suspiciously. “So they sacked you?” I said trying to make conversation. “Fuck em...” He spat through a mouth full of pork. “They found out about Van Der Westazen and needed to make a scapegoat; well fuck em, that’s what I say.” “I’m sorry.” I said softly hardly finding the words to say. “It’s no good feeling guilty.” He said looking at me intently and invoking deeper feelings of guilt. “It’s just we made him a security risk and stopped him coming on the yard. They didn’t like that one bit; still; he was in the wrong for lying about you.” A stony silence fell among us; then he coughed which he always did as a precursor to saying anything uncomfortable. “So....” he said hesitantly, holding me in the bright spotlight of his gaze. “...Is it true what your mother tells me?” He asked eventually. “What’s that?” “That you like big cocks up your arse?” I looked up and he was staring at me with eyes of fire; his eating utensils at twelve O’clock and had a face that would crack glass. He was serious, Dad vary rarely made eye contact and when he did it was for a reason. I shook my head hesitantly. “Not quite.” I replied. “You do or you don’t; no half measures there, boy.” He stormed. “Look, it’s not like that.” I said starting to explain what “it” really was about but finding the words frozen in my throat and nothing except a small squeal coming out. “Right.” He shouted. “You’re going back to England on the next bloody plane. If your mother told me that you had got a girl up the pipe I’d be proud of you. If she said that you’d had a car accident and we’d have to push you about in a wheelchair; I could even live with that; but cocks; cocks up the arse; that’s another matter. I’m not having it. “ “You don’t have too.” I replied sarcastically. “And big black cocks, at that...” he sniffed. “...fucking black cunts.” “Do you have to?” I asked hesitantly; hoping he’d change the record. “That’s right, you can go and stay with your Uncle Dick, he’ll sort you out.” “Oh,” I replied thinking about “Uncle” Dick and his interesting hobby. The thought of him chasing me around the front room with his wellies pulled up and a dildo in his hand flashed before my eyes. “Why do I have to stay with him?”

“Because he’s the only one who will take you.” Dad shouted.. Take me, I thought as the sight of the dildo and those wellies loomed large in my brain. Dad was pacing up and down the front room now; shouting loudly. “I don’t want to hear anymore about your sordid perversion; and you’re not going out until we can get you a ticket back home.” “You have to be kidding?” I sighed. “You can’t keep me in, especially if I’m going home. I have to say good-bye to people.” “Not another word.” He snapped. “Now get to the bedroom or, if you want to act like a woman, go and help your mother in the kitchen.” I stormed into my bedroom and slammed the door. As I looked around the room desperately looking for a means of escape, the bedroom door opened and my mother popped her head into the room. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell him I caught that coon giving you one...” She said referring to Owen and using a voice that assumed that she’d done me a favour. “I couldn’t put him through that; there would be murders.” “You should have told him.” I said through clenched teeth. “...I don’t care and my friend is called Owen, okay. He’s not a coon or whatever else you think. He’s a beautiful young man and his mother would never talk about me in the disrespectful way you have talked about him.” “He’s name’s not Owen;” She said sliding into the room and speaking in a hushed whisper. “They don’t have names like that. He only told you that so that he could rob you or something.” “Mother...” I spat. “You are the most stupid person I’ve ever met. I love you but you are stupid. I bet you’ve never even spoken to a black person have you; or found out what happens here in this bloody country to people with different coloured skin. Have you, go on admit it?” “Grow up David.” She replied sarcastically knowing that this was the only put down that actually hurt. With it, anything I have to say could be relegated back into the realms of children’s stories and disregarded. “The blacks need white people out here to run everything; the country would go to pot if we weren’t here.” “You’ve been brainwashed.” I replied “Whoever’s filled your head with that shit needs shooting.” “I’m fed up with this; just leave me alone.” I said knowing it was futile to continue. “Just remember that you owe me one.” She said with a wry smile. That’s a joke I thought. Because she had not told father that I had been screwing a black man in their flat, she really though that I was in her debt. I felt like going in there and telling him myself. That would be fruitless, I concluded, laying on my bed

and wondering how long it may take them to get me a ticket back to Europe. All I knew was that time was running out and that whatever time was left would have to be used to the max. 21 I looked blankly at the plate of cold meats and potato which Mother had placed on the bed in front of me not less than an hour ago and pushed the food about with a fork. “Fuck This.” I said under my breath standing and putting on my trainers. “One of us has just got to go.” “Where do you think you’re going?” Dad said as I brushed past him heading towards the front door. “Come back!” He shouted at my back as I headed towards the road. I called Boudwan from a public telephone and begged him to come and pick me up which he said he would do. Some minutes later I heard my name being called and turned to see mother coming running toward me. “You father is going frantic; come back now.” “No thank you...” I said softly. “I’m waiting for someone to collect me.” “You’re doing what?” She shouted as I saw the Rolls Royce pull up behind her. “I’m going into town.” “But you can’t David...” She shouted as I crossed the road towards the car. “I’m going to call the police; do you hear; I’m calling the police about this.” “Who is that?” Boudwan asked as I got into the car and we pulled away. “I don’t know her...” I lied unconvincingly. “...She just started to scream at me while I was waiting for you.” “A nuttier..” He laughed. I didn’t agree with him because I hated being like that to my own mother; someone I love. It wasn’t in my nature to be rude to my parents but on this occasion I felt I had some point to make. We drove in silence to the bus garage and Boudwan explained that he had some business to attend to before meeting me later in Wings. With that he disappeared and I made my way to the club. There was a queue as usual and I waited with the throng to be allowed in. I found Rupert waiting by the desk overseeing the taking of entry fees as usual and he smiled his wide, capped-toothed smile as I came up the stairs. “David...” He said as I walked towards him. “...fancy seeing you here?” “Am I not welcome?” “We welcome chickens as well as hens here, my dear.” He cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered. “No-one knows I fucked you do they?” “Did you fuck me?”

“No, of course not...” He looked around and ushered me past the doorman and into the club. “...Let’s keep it that way, dear.” “Boudwan’s coming in a while.” I said as he tapped me on the arse. “Well you enjoy yourself and I’ll let him know you’re here.” “Can I come and have a snort with you when he arrives.” “You’ve got some front...” He said as his smile twisted into a bitter snarl. A moment of thought crossed his face before the snarl melted back into a smile. “For you, my dear, anything.” and with that he was gone. For a week night the place was already busy but no-one was dancing and the music filled the near empty dance floor. The sound of the Bee Gees singing in their falsetto about something to do with staying alive was swiftly cross-mixed with something new by Georgio Moroda. The sound of clicking synths and sequenced melotrones filled the air as that incessant disco beat filled my head like a drug. A drink was thrust into my hand and I looked into the eyes of a fat, middle-aged pouf as he shook his wobbly stuff around me. It was vodka and I smiled back as it went down the hatch. My admirer disappeared for a few moments before coming back like a loyal puppy with another drink in his hand. I took it and smiled. “My name’s Andre.” He said with a wink. “What’s yours?” “David.” I replied. “Have you been working today, or...” He sniffed coming a little bit closer. “...are you still at school?” “I’ve been at the clap-clinic all day.” I replied. “I’ve got a really bad case of syphilis; how about you?” “Excuse me.” Andre replied as he disappeared into the crowd. I smiled and toasted him with the vodka he’d just provided. Soon the club was full to the brim and I was swaying from side to side to the thumping beat of Abba’s Dancing Queen which always went down a treat pre-midnight just to get the punters in the mood. Suddenly I heard a commotion above the sound of the music and looked towards the entrance. I saw Rupert run into the club with a group of others. They seemed to be ebbing and flowing back and forth in time with the music. The double doors thrust open and the bouncer came tumbling through it with a gashing head wound. I went to the commotion and stopped beside Rupert.

“What’s going on?” “It’s nothing, just get away from the doors and let the staff deal with this...” I could hear screams and banging echoing down the stairs on the other side of the doors. Then they burst open as another bouncer was pushed with force into the club. I caught a glimpse of a group of men on the other side of the doors that were holding baseball bats and cleavers. “Who the fuck are they?” I said as Rupert picked the bouncer up from the floor. “They are the South African Rugby Squad, believe it or not.” “What the fuck are they doing?” I screamed above the noise of music and people screaming. Rupert turned to me and shook his head. “They have had a game in Cape Town and have been on the piss since yesterday. Someone must have told them we were a gay club because they turned up half hour ago and beat up the queue. Now they are trying to get in and smash the place up.” “Can’t you call the police?” I said stupidly. “The police are already outside but they think what they are doing is okay. They’re just standing there watching it go on.” “Jesus.” I said stepping back from the doors as they swung open and a huge guy came in swinging a baseball bat. Rupert bravely pushed the guy back through the doors and I saw a bat smash down on his head as the doors swung closed. “Go and tell the DJ.” I said to the bouncer who had just been floored. “Go and tell him to turn the music off. We’re going to be fucking killed otherwise.” A few minutes later the music went down and I heard the DJ speaking over the system. “Apparently the club is under attack and Rupert is being given a bashing. Come on everyone, remember Stonewall.” I’d never heard of Stonewall but have since learnt that it was a reference to the American stonewall riots of the late 60s when the queens fought back. It seemed to do the trick and twenty muscle Mary’s emerged half naked from the dance floor and burst through the doors. These were quickly followed by the few leather queens who appeared to relish the idea of a punch up. Rupert was dragged in and I saw through the doors the Rugby squad cowering under attack as beer glasses rained down like missiles and leather riding crops struck anything that moved. The punters who liked to wear hard hats were next through the door and slowly the Rugby squad, who expected no resistance, were repelled down

the stairs and onto the street. I looked out the window and, amid the gangs of Muscle Mary’s and Leather Men, I saw a drag queen smashing some big guy with her handbag and realized that, when we stood together, even a group of fluffy queens could fight and win. After the fighting was over and the Rugby squad had run away nursing bruised egos as well as broken bones the club filled once again and the music went back on. I remember Rupert announcing that the doors had been locked and that the booze was on the house. I even got my snort of Coke in the back room as he nursed a black eye with some ice from behind the bar. “Wasn’t that sensational?” Rupert laughed. “It makes getting a kicking seem worthwhile when something like that happens. I tell you, they won’t bother us again in a hurry.” He looked intently at me as I looked into my drink blankly. “Come on, you should be happy.” “My parents are sending me back to England.” I said softly, sniffing the Cocaine into the back into my throat. “Lucky you...” One of the people who was nursing Rupert replied. “...I’d love to get out of this god forsaken country.” “You are leaving at the right time...” Rupert said. “...You know, now Smith has left Rhodesia, well, South Africa will follow.” “Surely that’s a good thing.” I replied. “Not if you are white...” Rupert replied sniffing another line of Coke. “...even if you have Black sympathies. Don’t worry about that; we’ll all be tarred with the same brush when the gunfire starts.” “Surely not.” I said realizing that even if I did go back to Britain I’d take back something that money could never buy; insight into the ways of the world and a sense of pride in myself. “Anyway, what makes you think that things can be any worse than they already are?” “You’re still a boy.” Rupert said. “Ask yourself that question when you have business interests or property here; then you’ll be in a position to answer it.” “So this is it.” Owen said as we stood in the veranda outside his mother’s house watching the hot sun descend in the African sky. “I guess so.” “I’ll never forget you David.” “The feeling’s mutual. I want you to know that I was glad that we met.” “So was I.” He smiled. “I wish all whites could be like you.” “Thank you. Boudwan reckons that he’ll probably return to Belgium in a few months. If he does perhaps he’ll pay to have you visit him. I’ll come across

and meet you if he does.” “I won’t hold my breath.” Owen said looking away. When he faced me I could see the tears welling up in his eyes and his top lip quivering under that thin adolescent moustache that he was so proud of. “I’ve got to go...” He added softly. “Me too.” “When does your flight leave?” “In the morning; Owen, I mean it; I’ll never forget you.” “You will, but should you ever come back please look out for me.” “I will.” He reached out his arms and we kissed for a moment like two schoolboys; awkward and stiff. Yet I felt through him all the love in the world reaching out into my body and filling me up with goodness. I opened my eyes and found his looking into mine through a veil of tears. Then he was gone. The following day I was sitting alone on a jet bound for the UK. A packet of penicillin tablets tucked into my jacket and a letter referring for my next injection at the most convenient hospital. As the plane took off and I looked down at Table Mountain drifting away from me and beyond that the vast African veldt; I felt like I’d not only left Owen. Gone forever would be the disco music, those sexy shabeens and the hot girls (male and not so male ones) who shook me to my core. I was leaving the hot sun, the trannies and the Dagga of the Cape. Most of all I was leaving the wonderful coloured people of Cape Town; people like Rose and Mrs Ootie, Oliver, Owen’s brother and his mother and auntie. The people who sang my to the mosque and all the wonderful soldiers; spilling their blood to protect a cause they hated. I was heading into the unknown; London, the punk scene and more heady experiences awaited. Oh, but that’s another story. The End Copyright© David William Kirby:2009 The Dogbreaths Publishing [email protected]