Awiti stood at the gate, her slender fingers gripped the iron as she peered through at the impressive building of the school she wished she could go to. She watched the white Afrikaan girls talking and laughing in the large courtyard. They didn’t notice her, of course, and even if they knew she was there, they ignored her. After all, she was just a poor, uneducated black girl. Her mouth tightened at the thought. This was her country too but they were treating her like the outsider–as the one who didn’t belong there. She should be on the other side of the gate, getting the same quality education as they were. It wasn’t poverty that stood in her way, it was her color. It was 1993 and she was living under the Apartheid system of racial segregation.
She started when she realized that someone was behind her and she swung around. It was a tall, attractive man, dressed in a suit, wearing glasses. His hair was the color of chestnut and his skin was slightly tanned as though he spent a lot of time in the sun. He looked to be in his early forties. His green eyes scrutinized her. “Who are you?” he asked. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
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