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Contributor: Anonymous

The cashier was too busy to look up as she checked out my groceries, and because of my polished Afrikaans, she must have assumed that I was white. ?Thank you meneer. have a good day?, she said as she handed me my change. But in that very instant, she looked up and, to her horror, realised her mistake. ?You Kaffir, who do you think you are?? she yelled.
I tried to ignore her even as she continued to scream at me, but as I reached for my bag of goods, the guard arrived. He was a slight fellow, but probably felt he could do anything to me just because of the colour of his skin. Without asking any questions he twisted my arm and led me towards the back of the store. My temper flared. I dug my heel into his sheen and with my free hand grabbed his hair until he let go. I could have left it there, but by now I was too angry. I went at him with a barrage of blows that bloodied his face. This one zealous white was suddenly paying for all the offences that had been committed against me by his race....
Most whites in Namibia attach great importance to the way Africans address them and vice-versa. Every ?baas? and ?meneer? assures the white man that he is really the boss - and that we knew it. The less successful in life, the more he will insist, for he feels threatened by any signs of intelligence in Africans, particularly the ?cheeky? and educated ones like myself....

John Ya-Otto, Battlefront Namibia.
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