zote walked out of her small, run down flat and looked at the sun cupping a hand over her eyes to shield them from the bright light. A pang of emotional pain suddenly hit her as she thought of her son, James and how he loved sitting out in the sun.

"There are many things that Man denies us," he would speak like a philosopher.

"Jobs, education, good health, but God gives us better things for free. He gives us rain when the land is dry, a cool breeze when we are hot, and the lovely sun when we are cold. Bask in the glory of God's gifts and know that anything Man can possess you can too."

Nzote wished she could be like her son, able to forgive, to see good in any situation. But she had been through too much to feel that way. Then she thought of President Nelson Mandela and how he had gone through much worse situations yet he had forgiven, persevered and rose to lead the country. Surely she could find a way to forgive. She did, through a lot of prayers and reading her son's prose and poetry

She had worn her best; a colorful pattern long dress with a matching headscarf, which she had made along with beaded necklaces, earrings and bracelets. Nzote had acquired a micro-loan that she used to open a small kiosk where she sold her hand-made creations, mainly clothing and accessories such as handbags and wallets. She hoped in a few years, she would open a store and her family would move out of Soweto into a suburb.

But that was in the future. Today, she must go visit Vivian Smith. She had called Vivian three days earlier and asked if she could come and talk to her. She assured her she meant no harm, but needed the talk as a form of healing. Vivian was apologetic but cautious. Now that blacks were independent, she did not know what repercussions they would take against their former oppressors. She assumed all whites were considered oppressors and maybe she was right. With Nzote, the situation was even worse.

Nzote walked to the bus station and boarded one. She would transfer three times before arriving at Vivian's. She was relieved that passes were abolished. This was a system by which blacks had to have permission to move from one area to another by showing their pass identifications. Passes were checked anytime, anywhere. It was a form of harassment that attributed to the terrible apartheid system.

At last she got off the final bus. The suburbs were beautiful; a sharp contrast to Soweto. Nzote had worked in the suburbs as a maid so she knew how well wealthy white people lived. Sometimes she felt bitter that her people couldn't have basic needs in their own country. Still, she knew things would change.

She took a piece of paper from her purse and looked at the address again. The Smith estate was a bit farther. When she arrived at the gate, a young, black man opened it for her.

"Mrs. Smith is expecting you madam," he said politely.

"Thank you."

Vivian Smith opened the front door. In her late thirties, she looked elegant in a blue suit jacket with a matching skirt. Her light brown hair was straight and shoulder length. She looked pale as though she had kept herself indoors for ages.

"Hello," she said extending her hand. "I'm Vivian."

"Nzote." "Please come in," Vivian tried to smile.

They walked into a magnificent large living room. There were pictures on the wall, ivory carvings, and ceramic creations in shiny black and white. Woodcarvings of animals and native Africans in various sizes perched upon stands as if keeping watch. Exotic rugs covered the floor.

"Have a seat. Tea will be served in a minute," Vivian said waving towards a couch. Nzote sat down carefully.

"I suppose it's hard for you to be here," Vivian said.

"Not really," Nzote said clearing her throat. "I think I feel better knowing that you are a good person."

"Children are a mystery. You raise them the best way you can, but they go out there and get influenced by all kinds of evils."

"It's hard to expect children to grow up right when situations clearly show that people are not equal in this country," Nzote didn't want to get controversial but she had to speak the truth.

"I can't say I'm pleased with the apartheid system and the way blacks and other minorities are treated in this country, but it's been that way since I was a baby and it's all I know." Vivian tried to defend herself.

"Those are sins of omission, Mrs. Smith," Nzote said as a cook brought in tea on a silver tray. The Kettle, cups, saucers and sugar holder were beautiful porcelain pieces adorned with colourful flowers. A plate held vanilla cakes sandwiched with strawberry jam. The cook poured each of them a cup and quietly left as they both thanked her. They put sugar in their tea and stirred gently, the spoons clinking on the edges of the cups.

"I suppose you are right. I've never stood up against the system. I've never thought it was wrong to oppress the majority of people in this country, but I've also never lived in complete peace. Sometimes I've had nightmares of Blacks running rampant and killing all the whites. I mean you outnumber us by a ratio of ten to one? What held you all back in those day of darkest oppression?"

"Some of us don't live by the sword," Nzote said sipping her tea. "We believed you were human enough to realize what you were doing was wrong. We just never expected it to take this long."

"As long as we are being truthful, I never regarded blacks as being wholly human," Vivian spoke biting into a cake. "I mean, certainly I never thought you had neither the intelligence nor the emotional maturity of whites. You seemed comfortable working in the mines, or as cooks and maids and doing other manual labour."

"Comfortable? How about having no choice to get decent jobs?"

"Decent jobs mean education and experience."

"Yes. Both of which we were denied. You know something? I thought maybe your son may have gotten bad habits from outside influences but now I see the apple didn't fall far from the tree. You sit here talking about how well you raised your son yet you are the one filled with evil thoughts."

"And blacks are angels?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact we are. Because if we weren't we could have crippled the economy by massive strikes. You thought you had us by never allowing us to assemble, but we had ways to communicate and word could be spread like wildfire. Yes we could have crippled you or made your worst nightmares come true, but we held back because maybe we're angels."

"Oh please you didn't do anything because you are inherently passive, scared and lazy. You could be herded like cattle to the slaughter yet you remained complacent. It's not just South African blacks. Blacks all over Africa are the same. Look at how messed up they are. Colonization was the best thing that ever happened to them. In freedom they have led their countries to hell. Pick any country and see how ridiculously inept it's run. Blacks can't seem to find a bearing. They try to imitate their colonizers and end up running their countries into the ground. You're lucky we are here to keep South Africa decent, rich, and beautiful a country as God intended it to be."

Nzote felt a stinging in her eyes and knew tears would soon freely flow. She couldn't let them flow. Not now. Instead she thought of her son James.

"You know, James said South Africa was the diamond of this continent," she told Vivian. "He said we are the last frontier, the final salvation. Our diamond has to shine on the rest of the continent. We have to show them how it is done by working together both blacks and whites; coloureds and Indians. We have to show them how to overcome adversity, hatred, and pain by joining hands and working together as a united South Africa. Show by example, not mere words, he would say."

"And was this your example coming here today?" Vivian asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to know who raised the boy that killed my son."

"I'm sorry. I've lost my son too for he will spend the rest of his life in jail..."

"Don't say you've lost him cause you haven't. You haven't lost him as long as you can set eyes on him. Not as long as you can look into his baby eyes and hold his hands. Not as long as you can hug him and caress his cheek with the back of your hand. Not as long as you can cup his face in the palms of your hands and reassure him you'll always love him. I wish to God I could have even just one chance to do that to my baby." Nzote couldn't hold the tears back anymore. She let them run freely down her cheeks as she sobbed heavily.

After a minute, Vivian slid over and held her in a hug.

"I've been selfish," Vivian spoke softly. "I've only thought of my son. I even blamed your son for being there and letting my son commit a crime against him. I'm so sorry for your loss, Nzote. So sorry."

"I wanted you to know that your son didn't just knife some black boy to death," Nzote said wiping tears away. "That was a child who left behind a father, a mother, and brothers and sisters who loved him very much. That was a human being who loved everybody and taught children to love and respect one another despite their differences. A young man who had high hopes for this land of ours, which we must share, in order to survive. That was my James. Remember that."

"I'm sorry for not thinking of your pain. I've been sitting here going crazy because my son is locked up, but never thought of the terrible pain you must be going through. I apologize for that and hope that someday I will do something that would make James proud, or at least acknowledge that I too tried."

"That would be nice," Nzote said as she stood up to leave. "I hope we can meet again and not be so hostile to one another. This is a difficult time for both of us but maybe we have learned something and we can use it to better our lives and our country."