But every evening at six, he opened his window just a crack. Not for the air. For Thandiwe’s radio. For Lucky Dube.
She invited him in. He sat on a wooden stool, while she returned to her pot. The battery-powered radio crackled to life, and Lucky’s voice filled the small kitchen, rich and pleading: Lucky Dube - Love Me -The Way I Am-
Outside, someone’s radio was playing Lucky Dube again. And this time, Sipho didn’t have to listen through a crack in the window. The music was already inside. But every evening at six, he opened his window just a crack
“Don’t try to change me… just love me the way I am.” But every evening at six