Tonight I went to what is called a shebeen in Soweto. Now, the shebeen I went to wasn't anything like the one you see on this postcard. It was a small room, more like a speakeasy from days gone by -- found only by asking someone -- and hidden down back alleys and dark side streets. We wouldn't have found our way in (or out) without the help of a police escort, as a matter of fact. The shebeens are essentially illegal bars that locals drink in. There are so many of them and they are so profitable that the police turn a blind eye to them; the fine is usually less than one night's revenue. The proprietor was one of the most welcoming people I've encountered here. She had her photo taken with each of us (all eight) and asked us to sign our names on her pristine walls.
It felt like home.
I miss you all.