Yeah, that’s me – Dennis Smith – a man with a plan! And what a brilliant plan it is.

I just know my plan will work. It will teach my friend Attie an important lesson. A lesson he will never forget, I reckon. Come this Friday, Friday the thirteenth, his whole world is going to change – all because of my plan.

OK, so first I must explain something about myself, something specific. Normally I don’t like talking about this stuff – it makes me feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. But if I don’t tell you, my story won’t make sense.

Weird – if I was on a street corner with you, explaining, I wouldn’t need to mention it. Or if I was making a film, then also I wouldn’t have to tell you.

But since I am writing this, I will have to tell you in words.

The thing is: I am white. Or, like they say in America, I am Caucasian. (That’s a silly word because it sounds like I come from the Caucasus which is somewhere in Russia, I think. And I definitely don’t come from Russia. I was born right here in the good old R of SA. In Germiston. On Primrose Hill to be exact.)

Anyway, to help this story make sense, I am white. My friend Attie van Tonder is white also. He grew up on Primrose Hill too, just the street below mine.

Most of the time, I don’t like to think about my skin colour. I hardly ever think about it normally. Well, except when my other friend and neighbour Samson shouts there in the passage outside my flat: “Hey, Dennis! Hey, honkie-boy! Come share a beer with your black brother!”

I know honkie is another American word for white. I think it means that we smell. But I never take offence. Samson jokes about everything – he just finds the whole world and everyone in it very funny. And he always has this huge, kind smile so you know he isn’t trying to hurt your feelings.

But anyway. I don’t like to think about race. I just want to be a proud rainbow-nation South African. Living in our beautiful country with all my proud rainbow-nation brothers and sisters. Yeah!

Sad to say, my friend Attie van Tonder doesn’t feel this way. It hurts me to tell you, but my friend Attie is a racist.

Sometimes he tells awful jokes about the other races that share our country. It makes me cringe. Especially when he tells them at work, there in the office cubicle we must share.

You see, Attie and I grew up together and now we work together, processing invoices and receipts, with our desks squeezed into the same cubicle. I worry that someone will hear his awful jokes. And then they will think that I am a racist too.

The minute he starts, I say, “Stop it, Attie! What if Mr Naidoo comes in? What if Mr Dlamini is walking down the passage?”

See, Mr Naidoo is our shift supervisor. And he’s Indian. And Mr Dlamini is our floor boss, in charge of our section. And he’s Zulu, I think.

But Attie just laughs. “Lighten up, Dennis. Can’t you take a joke?”

***

Tell us: As a South African, how do you feel about discussing race? For example, is it uncomfortable, or important, or annoying to you?