I am prisoned on a craggy rock high in the desert. I go for a walk with my fellow inmate and he asks me why I am so angry about Mandela. I tell him how when Mandela was imprisoned on Robin Island he held secret meetings with mining companies and then when president he reversed the ANC’s position on nationalizing all mines and spent much of his time tying to comfort white people. We are back to the prison and I have visitors from Scandinavia. I suggest to them a ride through the gulch below or a tour of the prison complex. The woman lifts up her shirt and shows me scars across her back. “This is what the fragrance of the flowers does to us in our country,” she says. “They don’t tell you these things.”