And now, all it took was a simple flick. A flick, flick here and there with a dirt-cheap cigarette lighter, and we could have left the rich white people who owned Gurfurritt mine, destitute and dispossessed of all they owned.
Straight out we should have been asking ourselves – Why are you not hanging your head in shame to the white man? We were supposed to say, Oh! No! You can’t do things like that to the, umm, beg your pardon, please and thankyou, to the arr, em, WHITE MAN.
Somehow though, everyone got carried along the humpteen tide of events, like, we must have swallowed one too many sour pills that morning for breakfast….It was finale time. Hands up. Who we got to follow? The white man or the Fishman? This was the ultimatum. Well! He made us that wild. Of course, we got no choice – we got to go with culture every time. We should have known he was leading up to all this destruction. But we? We were like following dogs, and we were happy to do it, not think, because we were acting solely and simply on pure rage.
P. 408-409
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