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This book happened because many people believed in it when I was deeply sceptical: my readers across the country who kept asking me to publish my columns; members of Parliament who regularly sent comments either endorsing or cursing depending on the party to which they belonged; my parents beaming proudly whenever they saw their daughter in print but who feared for her safety; my brothers, some who were supportive, and others who felt their careers were jeopardised by association; my daughter, Julia, ever trusting of her mother’s righteous indignation when others rebuked her; her boyfriend, Joel, one of my most loyal readers long before I knew him.

Milton Shain, Millie Pimstone, Marianne Thamm, Suzanne Vos, Anne Routier, Jeff Lever, Njabulo Ndebele, Tony Leon, my colleagues, and my beloved Helen Suzman encouraged me to keep on writing when I felt uninspired, tired, and bored with ANC politics, or wanted to opt out for fear of sounding repetitive. It was often the column I was most displeased with that got the most comments. Soon these friends became a necessary sounding board, highly valued when they were least aware of it.

My greatest mentor, the late Anthony Holiday, for whom writing was the product of blood, sweat and tears, shaped my thoughts through much teasing and laughter when I was most inarticulate. He made me appreciate the value of every word, every sentence, and every paragraph. Intolerant of sloppy thinkers, he agonised for days over one sentence and I marvelled over the results captured in some of the finest columns this country has ever seen.

The person who actually got me writing was Diana Russell, who spent a sabbatical in my house in the late 1980s, writing one of her many books. Whenever I returned from a UDF or UWCO meeting outraged at the Stalinism of the left, she would say, ‘Rhoda, write it down.’ ‘But I cannot write,’ I would complain, whereupon she would urge me to write it down as I speak. Thus began my struggle with writing. She, thankfully, undid the damage all the years of apartheid education inflicted upon my porous brain. She will probably be surprised to read this, and be even more surprised that her advice has been translated into a book!

The greatest disincentive to putting this book together was to wade through the hundreds of columns I had written since 1987. It was my colleague, Candice Jansen, who took the bull by the horns and eagerly volunteered to sort them, classify them, and sort the fan from hate mail. I shall never forget how she spluttered and gasped while reading through stuff she was too young to understand when they were first published. She made me realise that, for people like her who were too young to remember the cataclysmic political events that shaped our past and future, my columns were an ongoing chronology of events about people and issues. She was so excited about this book that her enthusiasm became infectious. Walking endlessly, always smiling, from our offices to those of NB Publishers in the raging southeaster, to convey messages to the publisher, she, more than anyone, deserves my heartfelt gratitude and thanks.

One friend in particular convinced me to publish my columns – referring to them as the ‘wet-market of ideas’ – so I finally gave in and am forever grateful to him for his persistence.

Finally, I wish to commend publisher Erika Oosthuysen and her team, always respectful and responsive to my dumb questions, for putting this volume together.

Rhoda Kadalie