I have always felt like an exile at home. I did not gently enter this world after leaving, without consent, the enchanted kingdom of plenty and pure bliss: my mother’s womb. No. I was unleashed, wailing, into dust, hunger and disappointment, my tiny feet too frail for the stubbornness of a home birth. My second exile began in 1993, when I left my village of Habeni in Eshowe, northern KwaZulu-Natal, to study in Durban. I was escaping cattle herdi…
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