My dearest Winnie,
I have been fairly successful in putting on a mask behind which I have pined
for the family, alone, never rushing for the post when it comes until somebody
calls out my name. I also never linger after visits although sometimes the urge
to do so becomes quite terrible. I am struggling to suppress my emotions as I
write this letter.
I have received only one letter since you were detained, that one dated August
22. I do not know anything about family affairs, such as payment of rent,
telephone bills, care of children and their expenses, whether you will get a
job when released. As long as I don't hear from you, I will remain worried and
dry like a desert.
I recall the Karoo I crossed on several occasions. I saw the desert again in
Botswana on my way to and from Africa--endless pits of sand and not a drop of
water. I have not had a letter from you. I feel dry like a desert.
Letters from you and the family are like the arrival of summer rains and spring
that liven my life and make it enjoyable.
Whenever I write you, I feel that inside physical warmth, that makes me forget
all my problems. I become full of love.
My dearest Winnie,
Our daughters raised in hardship are grown women today. The first born has her
own house and is raising her family.
We couldn't fulfill our wishes, as we had planned, to have a baby boy. I had
hoped to build you a refuge, no matter how small, so that we would have a place
for rest and sustenance before the arrival of the sad, dry days. I fell down
and couldn't do these things. I am as one building castles in the air.
My dearest Winnie,
You looked really wonderful on 17/11, very much like the woman I married. There
was color in your face. Gone was the choleric appearance and glazed look in
your eyes when you are under pressure of over-dieting. As usual, I kept
addressing you as Mum but my body kept telling me that a woman is sitting
across this platform. I felt like singing, even if just to say Hallelujah!
