1.1 EXTRACT A
"There cant be another Dudu," I say. My mother strokes my cheek but says
nothing. I watch her until she turns the corner and is out of sight My mother
has worked hard all her life. In Jozi she cleaned offices and then became the
receptionist. When my father got the job at On the Rise Bakery, she made sure
she got one too. They work long shifts. When my dad comes home tired and
wanting to watch sport on TV, my sister asks him for stories from the factory
To her it is a magical place. To my mother and father, it means our survival
The street is a fast-growing current of people on their way to work, berets
pulled down over ears as protection from the wind. Older kids on the way to
school move in jostling groups. Little kids play in the rubble on the edge of the
street Rubbish is everywhere: plastic bags wrap around electricity poles in the
wind, the contents of black bin bags overflow onto pavements. Dogs scrounge
for scraps​