I had grown up in Africa, ever since I was a little boy, a black nurse had raised me. I cannot remember it, but I have been told that I was breastfed by a black woman, something which is very unusual for a white boy like me. Every year, though, my nurse was changed, this was to prevent me from becoming friendly with her. My parents told me that the nurses were black and thus not worth knowing but that I, as a young boy, was easily affected by their cruel nature. It seems to me today, when I look back on my life, that my parents' hatred for the blacks increased as time passed.

But my parents hated not only the blacks and the other non-whites, they hated the Boers, too. As time passed, their hatred for the Boers increased along with the hatred for the blacks. I never asked why, because I knew they did not want me to, but I later understood. In Europe, where all whites in South Africa have their origins, disagreement was starting to rise. A man named Hitler had come to power in Germany and his intentions were unfortunate for most people. The Boers liked Hitler, we hated him. As I have understood now in the 21st century, Hitler's idea of the superiority of the white race was much alike what my parents believed, and what I came to believe. This may also have been why they did not want me to ask them, they could not explain their hatred for this man, except for the fact that he was German and we were Brits. Later, a war broke out in Europe and South African men were gathered to fight for Britain, even Boers who supported Hitler.

I never understood this hatred that my parents felt towards the blacks, nor the hatred for the Boers. I never understood it until I became much older. I remember that it was in the newspaper, I think it was in 1942 when I was 10 years old, that Nelson Mandela had joined the African National Congress. I asked my parents what the ANC was and who Mandela was and they told me that he was a Negro, that he should have been imprisoned or hanged a long time ago. Mandela was a threat to the the racial segregation in South Africa and thus also the lives and the superiority of the white. From that day, I understood what racism was about, how my country was divided into several groups, all filled with hatred for the other. I also realized, at the age of 10, that South Africa could not be this way for long. This view, however, was to change.

As I grew up, my parents and I traveled a lot. I went to Namibia, which was then called Süd-West Afrika to see the Skeleton Coast and life in a German colony. This, of course was before the war and before the major troubles in Europe and yet, we did not hatred Hitler or the Germans. I visited the vast safari lands of Angola, a colony of the Portuguese and I was lucky enough to visit Luanda and Sumbe. I have seen the Victoria Falls and been to the village of Livingstone, where Dr. Livingstone is said to have camped to study the blacks and their behavior. I have also been to Zambia, Zimbabwe and other countries. After all, I was a well experienced man when I finished my schooling in the early 1950's and went to the university of Pretoria. By the time I had completed my university degree in the later half of the 50's, many of the African colonies were starting to struggle for their independence. Not any longer were we, the white, afraid of the ANC because it had become illegal and all its leaders had been imprisoned, but we were afraid of the violence that occurred in other African states. FLEC in Angola, Leopards in Zambia and other political organizations roamed Southern Africa and they wanted only one thing, for the whites to die or flee. Soon, though, our government, which had now completed their goal of complete racial separation in a system they called apartheid, started to support these revolutions, even though these favored black power.

During my young adult years, I spent a lot of time working. I was white and therefore I had a physically easy job and a good wage. I got married and we got one child. It was then, in the early half of the 1960's, when I had a child of my own that I understood the hatred my parents had felt for the black: Myself, I had always been able to look after myself but my child? I felt like I continuously had to look after him. Even in Pretoria, the rich and modern city that we lived in, the blacks continuously posed a threat. One never knew if a black man would walk down the streets outside your house, posing a threat when he is there and leaving a sense of hatred behind him when he leaves.

But it is our country, the blacks argue. We do not want to take what is yours, we simply want our own property back, but it is not true. How can the Africans look after their own state? Their brains not capable of anything but controlling their body. The Negroes believe in magic, how can a society be constructed on the basis of something that does not exist? And, most important of all, is this land really the property of the blacks? The white explorers came, conquered some pieces of land, but we were willing to trade. Did not the Zulus fool the Boers during the Voortreker-Zulu war? 60 white men were killed by the brutality of the black race, 60 men were killed by the carnivorous Africans only on that evening.

With this in mind, I attended my job this day in the early 1970. In constant fear of the rebellious work of the Negroes and their constant longing to kill me. With what, though? Magic? Suddenly, I remembered what the black doctor did to me when I was young. I had a habit of wetting my bead at night, no cure the white doctors could give me cured the problem. In pure desperation, my parents brought me to an African doctor. White and black interference had not yet become illegal. As we entered, the man looked strangely at us, don't you know that the magic of black man cannot harm, nor help white man, he asked. My parents explained to him, and he seemed to understand, I can try to help you, since you are white, it is not the magic of the black man and not the spirits, the man said. If it is illness I can help, if it is the magic of white man, I cannot do anything. He looked into my eyes, touched my arm and whispered in an unknown language with a new voice. His eyes became wet with tears and his body heated up. Then, he spoke English again. He gave me something to drink and the claw of a lion to carry with me. When I asked what he had done, he explained that magic and spirits of a black cannot help white man. I called the spirits to help me - why are you sick, I asked them. They told me what to do, but they did not cure you. I cured you with the drink, you will be well again. I further inquired, out of curiosity and fascination, if the white man can do magic. Yes, replied the old man, white man can do magic. When you tame the animal you call a car and when you heat water without flames, that is magic. But I am a black man, I cannot understand your magic and your world. You are a white man, you cannot understand mine. As the old man had said this, my parents called on me and we left. This was the last time I would talk to a black man and believe he was my equal. From that day, racism would grow in me until I got children and racism would flow from my mouth and my actions.

Time passed. My child grew up to be a beautiful and strong boy. He finished his schooling and got very good results and he moved out. Little happened until the early 1990's. President de Clerk was elected and he once again legalized the ANC. Mandela was freed from Robben Island, where he had been imprisoned for several decades. This was in 1993, Mandela and the President were awarded the Nobel prize that year. Also other nationals of South Africa were to be awarded this, for example Bishop Desmond Tutu. I felt that along with Apartheid, my security disappeared in 1994. Black were suddenly everywhere, walking the streets, buying houses even inside the cities. I, alike my neighbors, fortified my house. Even as the old man I was, aged 62 years, I had the energy to do this for my wife and myself. We stopped showing ourselves in public, rather, we would sit in our garden or spend time with our neighbors. If we had to, we would drive our Jaguar. This development has been going on since Apartheid ended and even less today than in 1994 do I walk outside my fortified property. Our dogs, all trained to attack any black person who enters, are the only non-white friends we have. This is the development of a society that started out a little wrong and which was left alone to develop in the direction it wanted. No, I am not talking about apartheid, I am talking about post-Apartheid South Africa. I am a racist, like everybody else in this country.