My journey: an accidental activist

I wasn’t born to be an activist. Quite the opposite,

really. I was born to be the stereotypical “good, racist

Afrikaner” in Apartheid South Africa. My family

supported Apartheid and all of them worked for the

[5]  Apartheid regime at some stage in their lives.

I grew up in a home that did everything the Apartheid

government wanted us to do. We were part of the

Dutch Reformed Church; we watched rugby – the

sport of the white Afrikaner. I went to school at Paarl

[10]  Gymnasium – one of the best Apartheid schools in

South Africa. I attended the University of Stellenbosch

– the “brain trust” of the Apartheid policies and

politics. We read the Apartheid government approved

newspapers and watched their TV. I benefited from

[15]  the education they provided and the money they paid

my dad. I was made for a life supporting and working

for the Apartheid government.

I was well on my way to become one of them. I did

everything they expected me to do. I was a young racist

[20]  Afrikaner, ready to take my place in their world. Well,

at least the small world within the white community in

South Africa.

Somewhere along the line things didn’t work out the

way they planned. I became everything that Apartheid

[25]  was against – an activist with a social conscience who

loves being an “African” on the global stage. Instead of

being the man they wanted me to be, I became the man I

wanted to be. It hasn’t always been easy. It hasn’t always

been fun. But it always felt right. From Stellenbosch to

[30]  Seattle, Mali to Monterrey, and Lusaka to London – no

matter where the road took me, it always felt right, and

it always felt as if I belonged. That’s the beauty of life

– you can be who and what you want to be no matter

where you come from.