Some believe that Afrikaans, a language spoken in South Africa and Namibia, is so close to Dutch that every Dutch speaker should be able to understand it. Interestingly enough, this belief is particularly popular among some Afrikaners.

Early in March I traveled to South Africa. I was going to a literary festival in the university town of Stellenbosch, about 30 miles east of Cape Town. I was told that Stellenbosch was the very center of Afrikaans. The director of the festival, a lovely lady named Dorothea, had even sent me all of the information about the festival in Afrikaans. With some effort I could understand most of it, but some uncertainties remained.

The driver who picked me up at Cape Town International Airport late at night also thought that, as a Dutch person, I must be fluent in Afrikaans.

It was about midnight when we arrived in Stellenbosch. The city was deserted. “Stellenbosch is safe,” the driver told me. It sounded like he meant to say: as opposed to the rest of the country.

The festival, named Woordfees, was a fusion of literature, food and music. It was the first literary festival I’ve ever been to where food played such an important role.

Some of the events took place at vineyards. One reading began with lots of wine and ended with a huge barbecue. It was a lovely summer night in Stellenbosch; people were sitting outside at tables set with linens. In the line for sausages, a lady with a huge hat whispered in my ear: “Nice reading, young man.” I had the feeling that I had been a performer at a wedding party.

One afternoon, the director of the festival took me to a stadium where an event had been organized for children. The director explained to me that this was an event for so-called “brown kids,” which meant those who were of Malaysian descent and who were the most disadvantaged. Black kids, and obviously also white kids, had a better chance of going to university.

It’s probably naïve of me, but I was surprised to hear this distinction in South Africa in 2011.

The last night of my trip, I did a reading in Cape Town that was attended mainly by immigrants from the Netherlands. South Africa, after all, is especially popular among Dutch retirees.

Following the event the young woman who had helped organize it told me, “As a white person in South Africa, I need to perceive the black man as an enemy. Not because I’m racist, but in order to survive.”

I was completely shocked. I had just had an intelligent, thoughtful conversation with this woman about literature. If that’s “survival,” what’s the difference between survival and racism?

Fifteen years after the end of apartheid, the wounds obviously haven’t healed yet. I guess it’s naïve to believe that wounds can heal so quickly.