Apartheid Term Analysis

A Coloured man—Boesman—walks on. Heavily burdened. On his back an old mattress and blanket, a blackened paraffin tin, an apple box…these contain a few simple cooking utensils, items of clothing etc., etc.
[…]
After a few seconds a Coloured woman—Lena—appears. She is similarly burdened—no mattress though—and carries her load on her head.

BOESMAN: Forget it. Now is the only time in your life.
LENA: No! ‘Now.’ What’s that? I wasn’t born today. I want my life. Where’s it?

BOESMAN: He’s not brown people, he’s black people.
LENA: They got feelings too. Not so, Outa?
BOESMAN: You’ll get some feelings if you don’t watch that fire.
[Lena is waiting for a word from the old man with growing desperation and irritation.]
LENA: What’s the matter? You sick? Where’s it hurt?
[Nothing.]
Hey! I’m speaking to you.
[The old man murmurs in Xhosa.]
Stop that baboon language! Waar kryjy seer?

LENA: […] And even when they’re down, when you’ve made your place and the fire is burning and you rest your legs, something stays heavy. Hey! Once you’ve put your life on your head and walked you never get light again.

BOESMAN: I had it!
It was you with your big mouth and stupid questions. ‘Where we going?’ Every corner! ‘Hey, Boesman, where we going?’ ‘Let’s try Veeplaas.’ ‘How about Coega?’All you could think of was those old rubbish dumps. ‘Bethelsdorp…Missionvale….’
Don’t listen to her, Boesman! Walk!
‘Redhouse…Kleinskool….’
They were like fleas on my life. I scratched until I was raw.