Let me tell you about last night.

We’re seated at Naughty's Bar in the middle of Rondebosch, that green and leafy suburb, where birds busy themselves contentedly around cosy nests on branches above, expensive cars parked beneath.

The Argus billboard boldly announces: POLICE CLOSING IN ON ST JAMES CHURCH KILLERS.

‘Let's have a jug of draft beer,’ says Andre. We are university students and that's what we do, making Rondebosch both home and happy-hour playground. A tall, lean, black man enters the dimly lit bar. He carries a yellow Checkers packet with bold red writing. I look around suspiciously. The man leaves abruptly. The packet remains, neatly placed on the chair, partially hidden from sight by the high back of the barstool. Is it a packet of death or does it contain bits of dried bread from a poor man's lunch?

‘I wonder if he's a member of the PAC?’ I ask nervously, veering between fear and revolutionary anticipation. ‘Apparently that's how they blew up the Spur in Queenstown last year.’ I think to myself about that killing of twenty-five innocent white people. Twenty-five. Innocent.

Innocence is the name of our live-in maid. I’m twenty five-years old. She's worked for our family for those full twenty-five years, carrying me on her back before I could walk or even remember, watching me grow from green to gold, flourishing into a young man. She's been a mother to me, nurturing, nourishing. For years she endured the Group Areas Act, in and out of prison, unable to return to barren, jobless Transkei, paying fines and bribes. Then she came to live in the back garden flat in our whites-only suburb, when my parents employed her. She got a work permit, a stamped dompas: limited apartheid occupation, permission granted!

Andre becomes fidgety.

‘Don't be ridiculous, he's probably coming back. I’m sure he's just gone to look for a friend. I’m going to buy some cigarettes.’ He moves, giving the untouchable packet a wide berth.

A cool breeze enters through the open window, whipping open the hungry, yellow-mouthed packet to innocently reveal a half-eaten hamburger.