“I mean, as a parent, when do you tell your children how terrible this country is? How long can you keep them shielded from it?”  

This overheard coffee shop conversation promised to be a doozy. I had already paid my bill and I had promises to keep; reluctantly, I left the well-meaning parents to their soul searching. But the questions (and the assumptions underlying them) stayed with me as I drove through the streets of Johannesburg, watching the city thaw as the sun climbed higher, admiring how the winter light caught the litter bestrewing the pavements.  ..

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