We all have dreams. Most of us, though, dream small, focused on our own worlds. Going to Morocco or New York on holiday, say, or owning a little piece of heaven somewhere enviable. There are people that dream big, for their society or the world, such as Steve Biko, Mandela, Elon Musk, Ian Player the conservationist, for example, but they are rare, because a big dream is a heavy thing to carry. Then there are those who have dreams happen to them, who are, perhaps, designated. This is the case of Heinz Kohrs.
It’s 1968. It’s bedtime and the generators have just chugged to a halt. The night is heavy with darkness and heat and mosquitoes, as is usual in summer in this area we’ll call broader Jozini in northern…
