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Dear Sahara,

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Dear Sahara, I was planning on writing sooner but my feelings overcame me and I felt I needed to settle and think about my feelings before I wrote. I am writing to tell you about my last visit to District Six. I knew I was there the moment my feet touched the ground. The anger and frustration built up inside me. The memories of the white's coming in and taking over. It almost makes me sick to think of it now. I needed to go back though; I needed to find out what had happened to our old home. From where I stood I could see the White's Inn hiding within the rushes. It squats there, hoping to be unseen. A place that is right in the heart of poverty where the rich go to dine. I walked up to the window and pressed my face against it. I could see the single red rose, in a vase upon a white laden table. I pressed harder and could just figure out new, up-market, haute cuisine. As usual the white's had it guarded. They don't want any of us in there. I walked along a little further and I came across our old black caf�. You wouldn't find any whites in there. No up-market cuisine either; just the normal bunny-chows. When you were done there is no pearl white napkin to wipe your hands clean on; trousers is all we get. I could see the dirt on the floor, on the faces of the customers and servers, on the food. And this was when the anger got too much. I walked back, back past the caf�, past the white's Inn and out of District Six. Why did I ever go back? The frustration of it all overwhelmed me. I didn't like it. I wanted the White's Inn to be taken down, for us to have our own home back. They hate us; they want us out, but why? What did we ever do wrong? ...read more.


They hate us; they want us out, but why? What did we ever do wrong? We were born a different colour, so we are different from them. No one is the same, but that is no reason to hate. Did we ever do anything to them? They come and destroy our home, our memories, everything we ever lived for; but we are still expected to adore and worship them while they disrespect us and hate us. I'm sorry that I had to tell you that District Six has become a place that I love to hate but it is the truth. I think that you would only know if you visited it yourself. I do not suggest it but maybe then you may understand the feelings of hate running through my veins, bones and hairs. I want you to know that this has not affected my memories, but the place where they come from has and I wish never to go back there. I hope you get a chance to visit one day and find out how horrid it really is. Tatamkhulu Dear Tatamkhulu, My feelings are true to yours. I visited District Six almost two months ago now. I didn't want to tell anyone because of the feelings I felt for that wretched place. You writing to me about it has made me satisfied that I am not the only one that hates the place and people that have destroyed it. Again like you when I took my first step within District Six I knew I was there, my bones, my skin, my hands; I knew where I was. If all of us went to District Six, I know that everyone would know immediately where they were. They wouldn't need eyes or ears, they would know. Just like you Tatamkhulu I looked at the White's only Inn. Knowing that I would never be one of them, and would never be able to live the luxuries they do. ...read more.


But they do not care. They care only for themselves and their great magnificence. I did not care for the detail inside but looked at the white exterior and how beautiful it was. Being black means that we do not get beautiful things, we are stuck with our dirty things. They may be dirty to the whites but to us they are our luxuries and our magnificence. I went and sat in our caf�; just like before. I could hear the laughter and the cheering but now all was silent. You could hear a pin drop, and the tension was quite clear. A stray thrush hair poked up from the dirt track of the floor. It looked so withered and lonely. It was fighting against the wind, holding on. Just like us. I felt like I could cry but at the same time I felt like I needed to shout at the white people. Turn back time; make them go, go, go, far from here. I thought about writing to you, while I was there. But I did not want to distract you. I did not know you where to go back to that place, if I had I would not have let you go. I hate it, just like they hate us. If only there were more thrushes and less wind, then we would be all right. But because we look and smell and act differently we must be strange and must be hated. This is not fair. We need to have a say in this. Whites run this world; racism is everywhere. We are not allowed to stand up against this or we get punished even more. I do not want anyone to know about my trip to District Six and I suggest no one else know yours. It is dangerous. I also wish never to go back there, and the memories I have shared there have been shattered. We needn't have to stand up to people; we should be accepted as we are. Sahara ...read more.

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