Riots were spreading. A man by the name of Nelson Mandela - a member of the African National Congress - had publicly burnt his passbook and called for countrywide protest strikes. Black activists were being detained and tortured at Marshall Square, while some simply mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again. Others were tossed from fast-moving vehicles, to lie like bloating sheep in the midday heat. ... And each day the knot in my stomach grew tighter. I didn't want trouble. This was the life I had been born into, the life I knew. Against a background of hardship, I had found a safe and comfortable corner. Change was frightening and promised nothing.