There was a sadness in her eyes, one that I couldn’t ignore as I left the train. I felt guilty for being white. Guilty for being privileged. In South Africa it seems that the two cannot be separated – not yet at least. I left the station only to have a black (for lack of another word) man spit at me. It seems he knew what I was thinking. Apartheid isn’t over – not yet at least.
I didn’t know where he was talking about…but instantly knew I needed to go there.
He mumbled sheepishly from behind a grizzly beard. Cigarette at hand. It wasn’t exactly the image I’d had in mind, but I was grateful nonetheless. He was to rescue me from the peril of my inconsistent Fiat Uno that had broken down outside his coffee shop.
I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by her confidence or do the BBM forehead slap face (cue moment of recognition for all the other times we miss it). I chose neither…and decided she actually was ‘quite pretty’ (cue Keira Knightley Love Actually voice). Speaking of which…even if you’re a Hugh Grant-hater, you gotta love this.
It was the unintended, yet perfectly-crafted, alliteration that finally convinced me to write about this touchy topic.