by Liberty Henwick
When agony aunt and magazine journalist Jennifer Pendergast inadvertently uncovers a crime ring in Johannesburg which leads her into the dangerous world of game poaching, she realises that, as she follows the trail, everything she loves will be at stake in the fight not to become a victim herself.
‘Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fi...
Book One Johannesburg - A Weekend in October 2004
Jennifer Pendergast had twenty two pairs of heels - one pair of shoes for each working day of the month plus two extra. And twenty two different lipstick shades – which she picked not according to their colour but only if they had interesting names. It was her...
Pienaar Botha and Greg O’Reilly, the layout and design guys, were throwing teabags around the kitchenette, which used to be the original home’s scullery. Greg was wearing a merlot coloured t-shirt with ‘Evita Bez For Prez’ emblazoned on the f...
By lunch time the editorial department had reached fever pitch. Each woman was ducked down in her cubicle, frantically typing and making phone calls. Jenni munched a sandwich over her keyboard. She had dumped the pink envelope in the slush pile for the following mo...
The sunset was Armageddonesque – a blend of arterial red and searing yellow that, in a painting would look kitsch, but where it belongs in the sky, was breathtaking. These vibrant skies were not unusual for Johannesburg though, some say the air pollution is go...
Jenni dreamed she was being tossed on the sea in a tiny boat. Her stomach heaved with the waves and her face was being slapped wet. A familiar male form was sitting with his back to her in the boat, pulling at the oars. She couldn’t decide whether he was Piena...
Looking back on that Sunday, the 10th of October 2004, Jenni’s memories were sketchy. There were key moments, even snippets of conversation that were in clear focus but much of it was hazy or completely lost. It is said that this is common when suffering from ...
15th October 2004
By S.A. Baloyi
My full name is Samson Alhulani Baloyi, and today is my birthday. I am turning thirty years old. It is time to write about my life because I am sure it is nearly finished.
I am descended from Tsonga chiefs. My people call me Alhulani, wh...
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to work in the bush and care for animals, to be a part of this land that is in my blood and bones. My father and Grandfather passed on their pride in this place to me. I am formed of the dust of this particular earth and ...
My mother also worked at Skukuza Camp, she cleaned out the guest chalets every morning while Josephine and I were in class. With some other women, my mother took up weaving and selling baskets to tourists to earn extra money in the afternoons. She would go out early...
So anyway, Bossboy was turning 21 and he had a gedoemse 6/6 party planned. He invited everybody we could think of and even some we couldn’t – he had a few important friends we didn’t usually mingle with. Captain Dlamini was there from the ...