When I was young, 10-13, Dad wasn’t overtly religious. He was a ‘measured’ Anglican. But he always read his bible. When I declared myself an atheist at 13 and challenged him to ‘convince me’, Pops, quoted that bible. One weekend, debate (argument) went on until early hours...

He didn’t do well without ‘5 hours’. I did fine. So, 1am he’d ask for a break. 6 am, the argument resumed...In the end, he admitted ‘defeat’. Saying he couldn’t prove God’s existence. But he believed because for him, it’s about faith. Nonsense! Said 13 year old me.

When I was 18, police vans and TDF tanks drove to my village looking for me. I was arrested at home, in front my parents and cousins. When Dad tried to intervene, a soldier pushed him, in his own living room! Mr. G pushed back...at 18, I stepped in and made the decision to go...

Mama “How do we know you are going to book her in and not kill her on the roadside?” They didn’t answer. My parents and cousins walked me to the police van. It was already dark, after 7pm. After hugging me, wiping his tears & mine, dad whispered ‘faith’, hugged me & walked away.

As he walked away, for the first time, I noticed a bald patch on his head. As we drove away into the dark, my family was standing under the ‘pole light’ from our generator. They all did a strange group hug, standing in a straight line, their arms linked behind their backs...

I learnt later that they stood like that until all the vans and tanks were out of the village. The drive entailed many unscheduled stops that evening. Police pulling me into the dark of the night to ‘ask’ questions.

I’ve always been interested in clothes. So, naturally when I had to get dressed, I went into my parents bedroom, picked mom’s suede boots and looked at her. She nodded. When I had to choose shoes for going to jail, I chose Ma’s suede boots - greyish beige, lace up.

Fashionable ankle boots are not meant for jail. That night, I had to fight rats that wanted to get cosy in those boots . I also nursed lots of bruises from beatings. When I had settled down and the prison was silent, in its own way, prison does get silent. I thought about faith

I thought about ‘faith’. I didn’t quite know what my father meant but I knew that they would look for me. I also knew that my comrades some of whom were also arrested would not desert me.

PS. The following morning, they took the shoe laces of those boots. As for the boots, my mother burnt them with the rest of my clothes when I returned home. Ja, until the final moment when she threw them into the fire, I pleaded for those boots...I’m still learning about faith...