Being Chris Hani's Daughter
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Оглавление
Ferguson Hani. Being Chris Hani's Daughter
Being Chris Hani’s Daughter
Authors’ notes
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1. My name is Lindiwe Hani
CHAPTER 2. Less idyllic
CHAPTER 3. My fantasy Huxtable world
CHAPTER 4. Daddy
CHAPTER 5. Unbanned
CHAPTER 6. Dawn Park
CHAPTER 7. That day … 10 April 1993
CHAPTER 8 ‘It’s hard to say goodbye to yesterday’
CHAPTER 9. The silence after
CHAPTER 10. St Cyps
CHAPTER 11. The seeds are sown
CHAPTER 12. Falling in love
CHAPTER 13. Downslide
CHAPTER 14. Sister, sister
CHAPTER 15. After Khwezi
CHAPTER 16. Back with a bang
CHAPTER 17. Wasting time
CHAPTER 18. Rock bottom
CHAPTER 19. Checking in
CHAPTER 20. Rehab gets real
CHAPTER 21. Owning up, showing up
CHAPTER 22. The Gap
CHAPTER 23. Life in the real world
CHAPTER 24. Making the call
CHAPTER 25. Meeting Mr Mastermind
CHAPTER 26. After the visit
CHAPTER 27. Janusz Waluś – A killer at my table
CHAPTER 28. Second time around
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Отрывок из книги
Lindiwe Hani
& Melinda Ferguson
.....
One hears about how a day can change a life completely. The day Daddy died was to change mine forever.
As a result, we were very close to Mama’s family. One of my favourite places to visit was the home of our maternal grandfather, Ntatemoholo Sekamane. His garden was something out of a picture book, with a mini vineyard bursting full of plump grapes and the most amazing orange and peach trees. But heaven help you if you didn’t ask permission before picking the fruit. He was tall with very short hair and startling blue eyes. From the time I could remember, he walked with a cane due to the arthritis in his knee. Every time I asked him why he had such blue eyes he would glare at me and hiss ‘Voetsek!’, vehemently reluctant to discuss his lineage. Only later, through the family grapevine, I came to learn that his father was Scottish and his mother a Mosotho woman. In those early years, I resented the fact that I hadn’t inherited my mother’s green or his blue eyes. The home of my aunt Maseme – whom we affectionately called Sammy – was also a place of refuge for me; she too had a large luscious garden where I could lose myself for hours in a world of make believe.
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