I was 22 years old when I had to leave my homeland, South Africa. I had no choice. I was living underground for a year by then, to avoid being arrested. This was 1987, in the midst of one of the most bloody and violent periods in the history of Apartheid South Africa. The green peaceful streets of Oxford, where I was lucky enough to end up, seemed like a cartoon to me. They seemed unreal, while the violence I left behind felt very real and near. I stayed awake at night thinking of friends and relatives left behind.