Most Recent Column: 17 Jan 16
|Title: Washing the dust from our eyes|
Back home after 15 months in Europe, I still marvel at the light. The
way it sets rooms alight like tropical blooms, slopes across the
curtains and on the floor, flames like fire in the dusk. Years ago, when
I was feeling trapped in this place juggling two small children, three
jobs, covering the carnage of road deaths, senseless murders, reading
Naipaul, I could not understand what people loved about this country.
I worried when I walked into marble or stilt homes with no books in
sight. I worried that people saw education or good manners as a threat.
I worried that people were so proud that they refused to serve you in a
shoe shop on Charlotte Street. I worried that the wining would never
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