A late night hanging out in South Africa had me sitting across from the odd couple, Steve on the left, Eneas on the right. These two guys had worked together as the MCs for a music festival where I'd performed, but they were as different as day and night.
Eneas and I constantly made fun of the white people's notions that they would be instantly attacked if they visited the black townships. Steve and I dreamed about filling the world with art, music and poetry.
Every time I saw them an underlying tension came out in their conversations. They argued about little things, big things, everything. It wasn't hatred, but rather an ability to be comfortable with and like each other despite rarely ever agreeing. They were close. They didn't flinch. All I could think about was my brother.