A Truly Living Human Being

September 2001. A Sunny Day In New York. Many Of Us Who Are Writers Were At Work On The Transformation Of Life Into A Poem, Story, A Chapter Of A Novel, When Terror Pounced From The Sky, And The World Made Witness To It.

Learning To Write Sent Me Falling, Falling Through The Surface Of The South African Way Of Life.

The Creative Act Is Not Pure. History Evidences It. Sociology Extracts It. The Writer Loses Eden, Writes To Be Read And Comes To Realize That He Is Answerable.

About The Joys And The Courage, I Really Don't Know What Other People Think. I Just Know That I've Never Left Africa. I've Lived There All My Life. And One Of The Wonderful Things, In Spite Of All The Terrible Things That Happen In South Africa, Is The Way People Continue To Keep Their Dignity.

The Facts Are Always Less Than What Really Happened.