SUMMER OF 1987. ZULULAND. It was hot and noisy in the crowded school hall as the one-hundred-and-something kids jumped up and down shouting out the song of Father Abraham. We shook our right arms and left arms and our feet, we nodded our heads and spun around and sat down on the cool concrete floor. I wasn’t sure who this Father Abraham guy was. Apparently he had many sons, and I was one of them, which was news to me. But a little later the person with the mic was offering up