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At first, Sena Uncle didn't want to say anything, but Appa pressed him until he finally told them what had happened. He had set out for Kanthi Aunty's house, following the route Ammachi and Appachi had likely taken. Shortly after he left, however, he noticed a crowd up ahead on the road and smoke rising into the air. The traffic in front of him was too congested and, fearing the worst, he had got out of his car and hurried along the pavement. But he got there too late. The mob had set the car on fire with Ammachi and Appachi inside it.

Appa was silent for a while, then he said, "I must go. I have to see what happened." His voice was strange. "No," Amma said in a panicked voice. "You can't go. It's too dangerous." Now, Appa began to shout, "It's my parents for God's sake. It's my parents who are being burnt." Sena Uncle tried to calm him down but he wouldn't listen. Finally Amma yelled at him, "You have children to think of. If anything happens to you, what will become of them?" Appa became silent.

- "Funny Boy" by Shyam Selvadurai (1994)

At first, Sena Uncle didn't want to say anything, but Appa pressed him until he finally told them what had happened. He had set out for Kanthi Aunty's house, following the route Ammachi and Appachi had likely taken. Shortly after he left, however, he noticed a crowd up ahead on the road and smoke rising into the air. The traffic in front of him was too congested and, fearing the worst, he had got out of his car and hurried along the pavement. But he got there too late. The mob had set the car on fire with Ammachi and Appachi inside it.

Appa was silent for a while, then he said, "I must go. I have to see what happened." His voice was strange. "No," Amma said in a panicked voice. "You can't go. It's too dangerous." Now, Appa began to shout, "It's my parents for God's sake. It's my parents who are being burnt." Sena Uncle tried to calm him down but he wouldn't listen. Finally Amma yelled at him, "You have children to think of. If anything happens to you, what will become of them?" Appa became silent.

- "Funny Boy" by Shyam Selvadurai (1994)

Lale tries to look up. He reaches out to take the piece of paper being handed to him. He must transfer the five digits onto the girl who holds it. There is already a number there but it has faded. He pushes the needle into her left arm, making a 3, trying to be gentle. Blood oozes. But the needle hasn't gone deep enough and he has to trace the number again. She doesn't flinch at the pain Lale knows he's inflicting. They've been warned - say nothing, do nothing. He wipes away the blood and rubs green ink into the wound.

'Hurry up!' Pepan whispers.

Lale is taking it too long. Tattooing the arm of men is one thing; defiling the bodies of young girls is horrifying. Glancing up, Lale sees a man in a white coat slowly walking up the row of girls. Every now and then he stops to inspect the face and body of a terrified young woman. Eventually he reaches Lale. While Lale holds the girl's arm as gently as he can, the man takes her face in his hand and turns it roughly this way and that. Lale looks up into the frightened eyes. Her lips move in readiness to speak. Lale squeezes her arm tightly to stop her. She looks at him and he mouths, 'Shh'. The man in the white coat releases her face and walks away.

'Well done,' he whispers as he sets about tattooing the remaining four digits - 4 9 0 2. When he has finished, he holds on to her arm for a moment longer than necessary, looking again into her eyes. He forces a small smile. She returns a smaller one. Her eyes, however, dance before him. Looking into them his heart seems simultaneously to stop and begins beating for the first time, pounding, almost threatening to burst out of his chest. He looks down at the ground and it sways beneath him. Another piece of paper is thrust at him.

'Hurry up, Lale!' Pepan whispers urgently.

When he looks up again, she is gone.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"The Tattooist of Auschwitz" by Heather Morris

A long but wonderful reading. It's amazing how Mandela vividly remembers the details of his life from childhood.

Here's an excerpt from a few paragraphs I loved at the final chappers of the book...

//Just as we told the people what we would do, I felt we must also tell them what we could not do. Many people felt life would change overnight after a free and democratic election, but that would be far from the case. Often, I said to the crowds, 'Do not expect to be driving a Mercedes the day after the election or swimming in your own backyard pool.' I told our supporters, 'Life will not change dramatically, except that you will have increased your self-esteem and become a citizen of your own land. You must have patience. You might have to wait 5 years for results to show.' I challenged them; I did not patronize them: 'If you want to continue living in poverty without clothes and food,' I told them, 'then go and drink in the shebeens. But if you want better things, you must work hard. We cannot do it all for you; you must do it yourselves.'

I told white audiences that we needed them and did not want them to leave the country. They were South Africans just like ourselves and this was their land, too. I would not mince words about the horrors of apartheid, but I said, over and over, that we should forget the past and concentrate on building a better future for all.

Each rally was also designed to teach people how to vote. The ballot itself was a long, narrow piece of paper with the parties listed in the descending order to the left, and then the symbol of the party, and a picture of its leader to the right. Voters were to place an X in the box next to the party of their choice. I would tell audiences, 'On election day, look down your ballot and when you see the face of a young and handsome man, mark an X.'

- "Long Walk to Freedom" (1994) by Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela.//