Displacement

As I turned into Bowling Lane, a white man from a speeding bakkie (van) shouted something in a tongue I didn't understand. (I found out later it was Afrikaans) I didn't need to. Whatever was said there was no mistaking the contempt and hate. It was then realized that what Thandie said was ringing true. The route I took was lined with thick trees and soft turf that surrendered with each tread I made. As there was no pavement I decided to walk along the red path close to the huge houses. Each house I passed, German shepherds, Dobermans, Rotweiler's ran to me spitting and barking, with only the electronic gates separating us. Thandie's prophetic warning was now like massive bells ringing in my ears. At one party I attended, somebody told me that guard dogs had been trained to smell blacks and attack on sight. I pulled my blouse away from my neck, dipped my head and drew a quick breath through my nostrils. It was hot and the sun stood alone against the flat blue sky; a thick layer of sweat had already settled on my forehead but I could still smell the Dewberry body fragrance I bought from Body Shop in North London. The white froth dribbling from the corner of the Rotweiler's mouth with its programmed eyes scrutinising its mark, quickly told me that no amount of fragrance was going to make much difference if those teeth ever got me!

I have this thing about displacement that seems to put me constantly on the periphery of people's lives. Not finished but would like comments. Thanks