Tuesday, 03 September 2013 11:02
Don't Talk About ThisBy Norbert Herrmann
“My friend,” Lebo claims “every morning way before dawn my friend has to pass this area.” Lebo points at the shacks, the rubbish, the neglect. “My friend, my dear friend” with her naked hand Lebo rubs her eyes “preventatively, every morning before leaving home she puts on a female condom, that's what she does. She is afraid.” Lebo's hands are shivering. “Those condoms are expensive, pretty expensive.” From her coat Lebo unbags a box of female condoms, a caring smile flashes up and then disappears as if it never was there. “But my dear dear friend says, I could use each of those female condoms several times.” Lebo ultimately hides her face behind her hands, she needs to sit down. Lebo breathes.
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