Eventually he did, and said, “How much would you like for this, miss?” I was startled at his politeness, and equally startled at the blush creepin... over my cheeks. I told him and he held out a note, our fingers touched and my eyes flicked back up to lock with his. I prayed he too could feel the electricity running up my arm from the place where our skin touched. Flustered, I took the money, and the spell was broken. I really ought to be closing up now; it’s getting late. A mad thought flashed. Growing up an Indian (Black) kid in apartheid South Africa was fraught with many challenges, but once in a while something shone through, this is my story of one such occasion.My Dad was a builder, who took undertook construction work for many of the farmers in the surrounding area to which we resided in. Howick was a pleasant little hamlet in Natal (The last British Outpost). In the seventies, apartheid was at its highest; Blacks lived separately, totally apart from their White counterparts.. More

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