I never thought I had a book in me. Not until, while on a writing retreat, I started remembering the stories.
Stories my parents had told me when I was growing up. Of riots. Of secret meetings. Of phones being tapped. Of my mother driving through barricades of armoured vehicles and burning cars to help the black people on the other side. Stories of how she stood up to the police for arresting and detaining honest people. And eventually left her job because my father didn’t want to raise me and my brothers alone.
Snippets of memories from a childhood I hadn’t thought about for twenty years.
I wanted to know more; to find out what had really happened in my hometown all those years before.
I put my job in London on hold, got on a plane and went back to Knysna to find the truth.
What I found was a story much bigger than my mother. It was a story of a whole community, black, white and brown, torn apart and brought together by apartheid.
For the People is that story.