Some years later, I would go on a trip to Namibia to visit Tom, when he was then working for the newly independent government, and I would also meet Mandela after he became South Africa’s first black president. But in 1989, I had no idea what my future would be.

When Mandela died on 5 December 2013, I thought a lot about meeting him and the energy he gave us. It was sad that he died, but he had lived a very long life and had been through so much. He emerged a man not soured by experience but someone who tried his absolute best to bring his people some power and some dignity, without anger, death or retribution. I’m glad he spent his later years in happiness at home with his family. But the damage apartheid did was so heinous and deep, I feel it will take many more decades to heal.

“My father would always tell me, “Mokgadi, a White man will always be a White man.” As I got older and came into contact with more people from around the world, I would tell him that the world had changed. That there were plenty of good White people, that Mandela had helped change our world and that things were moving forward. And my father would just repeat himself, “Maybe so, my child. But you must never forget. A White man will always be a White man.

“I traveled the next morning to my see my maternal grandmother. This is the grandmother I am named after. It is our custom that when we are to embark on a long journey, we must seek the blessing of our living elders as well as our ancestors. My grandmother and I prayed together. I could feel the joy, anticipation, anxiety, and hopes of my family. I was carrying the dreams of our people.

Chapter 13: Homecoming: The Return

“It is hard to explain what it is like to go from feeling different from everyone around you to feeling so connected to everyone in your world. In England, my parents and I had been alone, like limbs detached from their body. In South Africa, I caught glimpses of myself in the way my aunts and cousins laughed or moved their hands, as if I was looking into little mirrors on a beautiful embroidered cloth. But it was with Fumane that I saw my fullest reflection. I don't mean in the physical sense, although we have the same cheekbones and generous lips. It was in the way I could feel her emotions by just looking into her eyes, like we were made from the same material, the same cloth. We were cut to slightly different patterns, but the fabric of us responded the same way to heat, light, movement and life. I had never met anyone like that before.