The lounge of the Khalipa family home in Stockholm in 2000. AYANDA is dozing on the couch with the lights out. The door opens and ANNA comes into the room. She is wearing a traditional Xhosa outfit.

AYANDA [turning on the lights]: Oh, you're back? Where's Daddy?

ANNA: He's parking the car.

AYANDA: Mom, Karl is pushing for the wedding date. I am running out of excuses.

ANNA: That man! I am so angry.

AYANDA: What's happened now?

ANNA: Don't ask.

AYANDA: I don't know why you go together to these functions, you always come back fighting.

ANNA: Everything I do or say is ‘not acceptable’. As soon as we see the South Africans I have to slip into wife mode, take one step back, cast my eyes downwards and, when introduced to the men, I am expected to curtsy as one would to the queen. And the way I'm dressed!

AYANDA: But Mom, you look great!

ANNA: I'm not comfortable in this. I'm his wife, dammit, not something to exhibit or show off, like this is my house, my shirt, my car. [She fiddles with her headscarf.] This doek doesn't even grip my Swedish hair!

AYANDA: How was the function?

ANNA: The usual. The South African ambassador was there. You can imagine how your father felt. You know he expected that post to be given to him as he was the head of the ANC office in Stockholm. Oh, and Peter Tshabalala turned up on a flying visit from South Africa. Swaggering around, self-important now that he is a minister. Gone is Daddy's devoted assistant. He's coming around for a drink later, your father likes him a lot.

AYANDA: Oh.

ANNA: There was also a small delegation of business people from South Africa and some from London. It's the old days again. Same stories we've heard a thousand times before. Oh, and of course the UN Special Representative was there too. Your father saw me talking to him. He pulled me away and demanded to know what he was saying to me.