A fierce battle was being waged in a flat green field in an African country. Blacks were fighting whites, and the blacks far outnumbered the whites. Most fighting was concentrated in a tight cluster where the opposing forces had swarmed together.

I was standing removed from the main action; my only thought was escape. Thus when a cry went up that people could find refuge in Botswana, I immediately turned to leave. Hundreds of other people – mostly black – also began fleeing across the field away from the center of the battle. I only saw one white woman fleeing among the blacks and I thought for sure the blacks would kill her. But the blacks ran past her without bothering her. It seemed no harm was being done to anyone who was fleeing. I was relieved by this thought, because soon the blacks who were fleeing were all around me, and I joined in the rush to escape.

Another cry went up that refuge could also be found in Mali. Unfortunately, I heard that Mali was only available for blacks, so I discarded the idea of going there. Yet another cry went up that refuge was available in Libya, but I also heard that Libya was only available for Moslems, so I also erased Libya from my list of possible refuge countries.

Some of us soon reached the edge of the field and looked into the forest which surrounded the field. But before we could reach the forest, we were immediately faced with a dangerous obstacle. Between us and the forest sank a deep ravine. A log about a foot in circumference lay across the ravine. Crossing the log would be dangerous, but I thought I could do it. Since none of the blacks seemed willing to go first, I tentatively put one foot on the log, bracing myself for the dangerous walk across the ravine.

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