I was an avid reader as a young man. I would take a book to sit on the bunk on the patio. I would read and read and think. Later I would write something. I planned to use my writing as a weapon to protect myself and change the world.

More than 30 years have passed since then. My desire to write what I like still burns in my heart. At this relatively advanced age, I am not bothered about paying off some bond or saving enough for my retirement fund to own a holiday home at Zimbali Lodge or Camps Bay.

In fact, it never was my desire to ensconce myself in a middle class cocoon that would shelter me from the hardship of being a black man.

Frankly, I do not care for material riches. When all is said and done, it does not matter whether you have a PhD, what CEO or director position you hold, the number of cars in your drive way or the labels on your back.

The quality of your life will come down to two questions:• who are you• what have you done with your life

This picture reminded me that i have always desired to write what I like to raise awareness about the black condition in a racist, supremacist capitalist world.

I have to yet write that best seller that will be prescribed for school children.

Still, i think my glass is more than half full. A man must rest satisfied with what he has

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