My parents are both from immigrant families who sought respite in South Africa from the turmoil of Europe, after the Second World War.  I was raised in a home dominated by 'old-fashioned ideals and morals,' where children were taught the meaning of respect for one's elders, and that family and home signified a sanctuary of love and safety.

During my formative years in primary school, it was strange to hear, on too many occasions, children speak ill of black people (kaffirs), specifically their domestic workers whom they enjoyed ordering around.  No doubt it was due to the influence of their upbringing within the confines of their family structure - some believed that black people were put on this earth to serve the white man.  It too was hurtful to be called an outsider: "soutpeel" by fellow students, as I had an Italian name.

When I progressed to senior school I was exposed to a different set of principles.  A private boarding school in South Africa at that time was known for its liberal stance, since people from any ethnic group were accepted, albeit with much resistance from the government.  For the first time in my life I mingled, lived and associated with people, whom I was previously made to believe were subhuman, only to find out that they were just the same as me.  I quickly made friends with Black, Indian and other children from varied ethnic backgrounds, as there seemed to be a synergy between us - I could empathize with them, having also felt the sting of dissociation by fellow pupils at previous schools.  I also learnt of the hardships that they were of ten exposed to, even though they all came from affluent families.  I thus became aware of the little nuances of life that I'd enjoyed and taken for granted, because I was a white South African.

Life was then turned on its head when I, along with all other white South African school leavers, was conscripted into the South African Defense Force.  For the first five months of our basic training, we were brainwashed to believe that it was our duty to protect the country from the "Swart Gevaar" (Black Danger) and if necessary give our lives for this honor.  All the while being called a white kaffir, uitlander (outsider), soutpeel and many more choice expletives that the Afrikaans corporals called all of us who were "foreigners".  Talk about mind games; here I was been told it was my duty to help eradicate the black scourge on humanity, while at the same time been referred to as a white equivalent.  Not to mention that I was born in the country and knew that what we were being told was categorically untrue.  Let me just say at this juncture that it was two interesting years of National Service and leave it at that.

Life progressed; I went on to study and staked my claim for a future in a country that was gradually beginning to change with an increasingly underlying sense of unease.  Suddenly all that was spoken about while gathered around barbeques on glorious summer evenings, was the impending threat and that the Afrikaner government was loosing its fight to maintain apartheid in the country.  Walls around houses were being built higher; everyone was installing electric gate motors.  Alarms were being installed in every house, linked to armed response; even the types of dogs changed in most people's homes, to more ferocious breeds.  The animosity of black people towards whites was palpable, as they no longer just listened and obeyed like the meek and mild robots they were expected to be.

My parents, like a lot of their peers, afforded the highest priority to the future for their children and potential grandchildren.  Was this a country destined to follow in the footsteps of the rest of Africa?  Would their South African born children be tolerated once the Afrikaner relinquished power to the black masses?  This too became the main topic of conversation at gatherings within the confines of mini fortresses that people were creating around themselves.  Those who were eligible began the process of applying to countries that would accept South Africans with the required set of skills.  Social events were now marred with arguments between those who could leave, versus those who couldn't, the latter stating, "whoever leaves the country is a traitor!"

By the time the new South Africa's election date approached, my parents had settled in the USA, willingly sacrificing the vast fruits of their labors, in exchange for peace of mind for them and their children.  Since chaos was predicted, all during the elections they remained glued to the TV, gripped by fear for our safety.  When a bloodbath was miraculously avoided in spite of rampant hatred, they watched the black majority celebrating their newfound freedom, as their white, ashen-faced counterparts stood helplessly in the shadows and their future of uncertainty unfolded.

At this time most houses resembled tiny prisons.  You no longer saw people walking in the streets.  Downtown Johannesburg as we knew it, disappeared.  Businesses moved out, due to the escalating crime rate and homeless masses moved in to trash buildings.  Urban neighborhoods were cordoned off with palisade fencing, manned by armed guards who restricted entrance and exit to previously unobstructed movement.  Social get-togethers now resembled war room debriefings with someone recounting horrific stories of family members and/or friends who were involved in some form of violent crime.