‘It’s not so long since I fought, side by side with our British neighbours, during the emergency years,’ Jan said. ‘They needed us Afrikaners then, but they’ve conveniently forgotten that now.’

‘We have to put those times behind us,’ Lottie said, her face tight. ‘We can’t live in the past, Jani. And Kenya’s future can be bright for all of us.’

Jan shook his head, silent and remembering. He had seen his brother die in a forest ambush on the Aberdare Mountains, during the Mau Mau uprising. Their unit had hidden for months in the freezing damp of the forests, short of food, faces blackened, bodies rancid as they tracked the terrorist gangs. They had crept on cold, black nights through the undergrowth, in pursuit of Kikuyu oath takers who threatened the farms of white families with destruction and fear and savage murders. Many of his British and Afrikaans neighbours had left then, gone to Rhodesia or South Africa, or back to England.

‘The Englishers don’t care what happens to us,’ Jan said doggedly. ‘We were always outsiders among them. Most Afrikaners trekked further north and west, up to the Usain Gishu plateau, where they formed their own community. Very few of us came to farm around here, where the land belongs mostly to the British. They never mixed with us from the beginning, and they won’t think twice about us when the Kikuyu try to take away our land.’

‘I think you’re exaggerating,’ Lottie said. ‘They’re fair-minded, for the most part. And we’re good farmers. Everyone around here will agree with that. I know it.’

‘Our kaffirs have housing, food, medicine, and education, yes,’ he said to his wife. ‘But deep down they believe that we are on their land, Lottie. Even though there wasn’t anyone here when we first came, and nothing grew but thorns. Now they can see the potential of the land. After we’ve done all the hard work, they bloody want it for themselves.’

‘We have title documents from the British, showing this farm has been ours since 1906. No one can question that.’ Piet leaned forward, rapping the table sharply with the back of his spoon. ‘I’m going to become a Kenya citizen after Independence, and then I’ll be just the same as Kipchoge or Mwangi or Kamau. With the same rights.’

‘Never be fool enough to think of yourself as one of them, Piet. Those are dangerous dreams.’

‘You’re wrong, Pa. I have true friends among our Africans. Kipchoge is like – well, we belong to a new generation. We respect each other and we’re going to do things together, but on an equal footing. In the spirit of Harambee, as Kenyatta says. I’m coming at this from a new viewpoint.’