‘When darkness comes we leave our hiding place. The sheep stand like ghosts as we run past them, heading for the road. The rain has stopped but clouds block the moon, nyanga. It breaks through on and off like silver torchlight, but it doesn’t matter. We keep going. It’s almost midnight and these farmers are in bed. They’ve eaten well, from their Saturday afternoon braaivleis, and they’re sleeping. A dirt road outside of Bredasdorp, a quiet road, a late hour and all the world’s asleep. Except for the two of us – my older brother Sipho, and me.’