Hum If You Don't Know the Words

by Bianca Marais

Privacy is not a concept my people understand or desire; we bear witness to each other’s lives and take comfort in having our own lives seen.

if I am to venture out into the white man’s territory, I need to wear the white man’s clothes.

the inky sap that is the sub-Saharan night.

The way he said it made it clear that being English was way worse than being a girl.

I knew the Afrikaners hated the English because of something called the Boer War,

There is no work for young men in the homelands and the mining industry takes them far away from their culture and clan and customs.

Only those who live in proper houses and are safe from the elements will find novelty in sleeping outside under the cover of a piece of cloth.

It is no coincidence that the parts of the country given to the blacks for their homelands are the parts where nothing of value grows.

I would not like to discover firsthand the kind of care a white doctor would take with a black life in a country like this. I wonder if their oath to care for human life

“I brought you tea. Three sugars, the way I like it. I hope you like it that way too.” Of course my brother does not know how many sugars I take because men do not serve women in our culture. The kindness of the unfamiliar gesture, and his awkwardness in carrying it out, make me want to cry.

I wonder if that cut of the cord that so decisively separates mother from child is nature’s way of reminding us that we are no longer of one body and must start learning the process of letting go.

Fear is what makes us human and it is in overcoming fear that we show our strength.”

I cannot help thinking that she is a child without her mother, and I am a mother without my children. I am learning how love wells up and causes great pain when it has nowhere to go. Like breast milk, it has to have an outlet; it can only be nourishing if it is directed away from its source.

the very fact that you are so righteous might be the reason Nomsa could not be honest with you. Sinners have more forgiving ears than saints.”

the more I thought about it, the more I’d come to believe that a story that ended happily was just a story that hadn’t ended yet.