In winter, the cold creeps into your bones. In summer, the heat can leave you a sweaty mess, like you're about to slip out of your skin. There are the drought years, when you wrestle with your god like a drunken man in a bar; and when it rains you stand with your hat in your hand and be thankful.
This is a landscape of extremes – and it is my home.
There are other extremes too, like the disparity between the few who have so much, and the many who have so little. There's the uncomfortable past and its ghosts, and the unsure hallucinations of whatever the future may hold.
I was born in 1963, in the village of Cookhouse, south of Cradock. I lived in Johannesburg for a…
