Nightfall ushers in its own set of terrors. With every external light ablaze until dawn, I find solace in the illusion of visibility. But every creak, every rustle throws me into high alert, compelling me to scour the house for signs of the looming threat. The dining room becomes my vantage point, a silent sentinel observing the outdoors from three angles. The very shadows that were once familiar now become menacing.Surprisingly, I find myself longing for the weighty presence of the .357 Magnum, an army relic from my days in Military Intelligence. That very tool I once detested, aware of the devastation it could unleash, now symbolized security. Its potential for destruction was a deterrent I yearned for, a beacon to ward off any audacious intruders, and shield my family from the unknown horrors that lay beyond our walls.
Peter Steyn was raised in a white, working class suburb in Johannesburg, a city housing some 5 million people, at a time when South Africa was in the grip of apartheid, often teetering on the brink of civil insurrection. His life seemingly normal, his father an Afrikaner, his mother an English South African, in a country still bearing the scars of the Anglo Boer War, evident in the toxic rift between English and Afrikaans white South Africans. Racism was the norm amongst most white South Africans, as a small child he submitted to the thinking at the time. His views changing radically, he later harboured a loathing of racism, a vocal supporter of the first true democratic elections in South Africa which saw the ANC become the first ‘black’ government of the country. Disappointment set in when the ‘new improved’ government showed its hand, corruption and racism of a different hue taking hold. He now lives on the north shore of Auckland, New Zealand, with his family.
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