from my mother's kitchen

A story by Leon G. A high white plastered wall protected our house from the service lane, where undesirable characters used to meet and plan diabolical schemes to steal, plunder and even murder, white people. During those days of apartheid, whites had a dichotomous attitude toward black people. Considered enemies, but treated like members of the family, caring for the kids, cleaning, cooking, and serving meals to white people seated like lords and ladies, on high-backed chairs, at tables, set with shining white plates, silver cutlery, each piece exactly, where it should be. Requiring permits to live in white areas, these black servants lived in misery,  being poor and worrying about the wives, husbands, and children left behind in tribal lands, because they didn't have permits. The small, windowless, dank, rooms in the backyards of their white employers,  were uncomfortably hot in the Summer and cold in the Winter, being covered with cheap corrugated, iron roofs. Our backyar

 A story by Leon G                                           A magic lantern movie ingeniously contrived using comic strips. Holding the box up for her to see, eyes pleading to be noticed. Ma carried on her knitting. Fingers, like claws, gripped the eyewear, twisting the expensive metal frame, into debris. Objects of value to himself, things he can’t do without, like his eyeglasses, ruined. Up early to make sure that his hair was neatly combed. White shirt, neatly ironed, laid out ready for the memorable day. The broad tie, blue stars on a red background, a victory garland dangling on his puffed up chest, shined like silk. The hand moved over the smooth material. Decorative clothing took hours to put on, making him late for school. This was the day the grade portrait would be taken Scrutinizing the arrangement of the pupils, according to height, taking a step backward, hand on chin, smiling, the bald-headed photographer pressed a button, and the historic event was chronicle