2004. Born in the RSA

I saw the tiny birth marks on your eyelids, girl child. But it was the visible absence of fear, fawning, terror and dread in your hands that had me spellbound. How was I to know that the hands of this girl child would feed ants ("They are hungry in this drought...''), make music, save honey bees, bugs, spiders and lizards from death by water and by us, put flowers on her father's grave and lock so many security doors and gates?
There are men out there who despise you, who hold you cheap, girl child. Should they find you out of doors on your own, they will rape or gang-rape you.
I don't think their fathers ever showed them how to rescue a drowning honey bee.

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