Edit Book Page

Title: Content: Two years. That�s how long it had been since Samkeli Zungu came home�a home he had vowed never to return to, not for good. Visits, maybe, but to settle..? That was a war he�d fought in his mind for decades. Forty years in exile does strange things to a man. He had vanished into Tanzania at the height of the struggle, slipping in and out of South Africa only for missions that left no footprints. When freedom came, he didn�t rush back like the others. Tanzania had become more than a refuge; it was a life he built with his own hands�a second home, maybe even his first. In Arusha, he�d carved out a modest existence, running a small restaurant with a local Sheikh. He poured everything into it, as if his life depended on the venture. Maybe it did. Maybe he thought the hum of a busy kitchen and the heat of stoves could cook away the loneliness, could replace the family and comrades he�d lost. Apartheid had stolen much from him�years, blood, laughter�but he tried to swallow the bitterness, to buy into that dream they called the rainbow nation. He watched the Truth and Reconciliation Commission from afar, its hearings broadcast like theatre. They called it healing. He called it hollow. How do you heal a wound that never scabs over? He believed the whole country was bleeding, and if every soul told their story, the TRC would still be sitting today. But the truth? Sam wasn�t ready to forgive. Not then. Not now. He hadn�t forgiven those who twisted his life into something unrecognizable, those who pushed him into a war he never wanted but fought with everything he had. They�d cost him everything�friends, family, a future�and for that, Sam carried one thing in his chest like a live round: revenge. The TRC offered amnesty. Sam wanted justice�his kind of justice. So when freedom came, he came too, like so many exiled fighters, heads high, hearts raw with hope. A new dawn, they said, a new beginning. Sam laughed at the idea. How do you start over when you�ve buried everyone you loved? There was nothing left for him here but ghosts. And yet, two years ago, he found the courage�or maybe the madness�to pack up, sell his shares to the Sheikh, and head back to face his demons. Settling wasn�t easy. Yes, the chains of apartheid had been broken, but the locks of poverty still held tight. The faces of power hadn�t changed. The same men who owned the country before still owned it now�except this time, they had company: old comrades turned new elites, Page Number: Update Page