The bush trills with insects in the hour before dawn. Weaver birds chitter and call above us, their grass-woven houses bobbing in the morning breeze. Our little group is nervous. We step carefully through the undergrowth, the two rangers leading the way with loaded rifles on their shoulders. We’ve all been thoroughly briefed. There are…
April 2007
In 1994 in Melbourne, Australia, my dad sat in peace. He had marched and fought, and now could return to the country he’d left, with pride and without fear. 13 years later, we were packed up and heading across the world from our life in Australia to post-Apartheid South Africa.
The anticipation…