At the rundown government school in a dorp in the Free State where I occasionally try to impart the endless trickery of the English language to a grade 7 class, one of my favourite exercises is asking the pupils what they want to be when they leave school. The most chosen occupation is often security guard, presumably because of the uniform and aura of authority that comes with the job. For a poor, black kid this is the summit of achievement.

What about becoming a farmer, I asked the children recently, who after all are living in a farming community. A long silence followed, and then in chorus they replied with one word: “Boring”...

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