Excerpt
I met Bingo at the railway station in the early seventies. Even as kids we played together. Everybody knew Bingo’s father had come from Lesotho. That is why we called him “Ntate.” Even now, after five years of marriage I still call him Ntate. He still looks as he did years ago.
We used to play at Bingo’s home when we were young. They had all kinds of playthings. Ntate had built them a swing with the tire of an old car. Throughout my early teens I enjoyed this kind of play. We also played in our cardboard box village which we had built just below the pig sty. It is here that I knitted hats with wooden sticks and put them on our wooden dolls. We used to put heaps of cardboard and slide down the slope that was near the rhubarb plants. I remember reading a piece of paper about the first heart transplant that had been performed on one Phillip Bleiberg. Even though the newspaper was old, I read this news as if it was new. I was sitting on bricks near our cardboard house, holding the paper with my right hand. It is here and on this day that Bingo gave me the look that sparked what would become the love affair of the century in Kadake.
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