Living in Stellenbosch, I find myself moving constantly between the beauty of the Afrikaans language and its biting chauvinism. Afrikaans can be perplexing if you’re black and not a native speaker of the language. This is how it works.

The one moment I am reading the stirring Afrikaans poetry of Shirmoney Rhode, citing passages from her work in the English-Afrikaans book that honours my mother, Song for Sarah/Lied vir Sarah. The next moment this happens in a Stellenbosch bookshop, an exchange I posted online:..

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