The streets were lined with bungalows, each sitting in its own plot. As she walked along the dusty kerbs, Lindi had realised she could see into the front compounds, which distinguished them from the homes in the rich northern suburbs, where the walls were designed to hide wealth, if not necessarily disguise it. Here there was nothing to feel guilty about. Those who’d managed to get a foothold in the area, Rockville, were proud of what they had achieved. Here, progress up the social ladder was something to proclaim, even flaunt. In the white suburbs to the north it was different. There, the high walls were designed to conceal the legacy of easy entitlement that apartheid had conferred on its white beneficiaries.

Lindi had walked to the bottom of the street, until she came to one of the ubiquitous spaza shops, the roadside stalls that sold everything from soap to salt. This one, painted a gaudy purple, had once been a freight container. Who knows where it had been before coming to rest here in Soweto? She’d asked for a carton of orange juice but was told there was none in stock.

‘But I’ve got a nice cool Coke,’ the man behind the counter said, smiling at her from behind an array of plastic sauce bottles, their sides criss-crossed with a glutinous trail of their contents. Lindi settled for a can of Liquifruit that claimed to be free of additives and crammed full of goodness. The shopkeeper wiped the can with a frayed and stained cloth, which he had just been using to clean the counter. Lindi held the can well below the counter and surreptitiously wiped the top with a pinch of her dress.

‘Will there be a lot of people here for the funeral?’ she asked.

‘Oh, many, many. A lot of people are feeling sad for that family. That Lesedi was going to be a good man, a big man.’

‘I heard he was murdered.’ She had learned the lesson of the taxi journey and was determined to keep her observations as neutral as possible.

‘Yes, those Mozambicans killed him. There are too many in Mpumalanga. That’s where they killed him.’

‘Well, I hope they catch the killer,’ she said, sorting through the unfamiliar ten-rand notes.

‘Oh, they will catch him. They have already arrested one. But they will not stop. They are going to catch all of them and send them back to Maputo.’