The Ostrich
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If I find a way to live here forever, he says, if only I could get a work permit. I can't imagine I could go back, back to the petrol queues, books in the library that are years old, computers that don't have electricity to work on or paper to print on. Teach dim-witted students who memorised their way into university, who never held a calculator in their hands before. And a salary, a monthly salary that is less than what an unemployed person gets here in a week, calculate it if you don't believe me.

He had answers to all the objections I raised. Morality, what morality do we have when our politicians are corrupt, when we buy arms to fuel a civil war instead of feeding the hungry? And don't talk of racism! We are more racist than the British, how have we Northerners always treated the Southern Sudanese?


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Intangible