Zinzi frowned. “My mom says that movie is propaganda. That Mandela sold us out.”

Thando plugged in her cheap earbuds. The screen flickered to life. Grainy, but glorious. Leleti Khumalo as Sarafina, her face streaked with sweat and determination, stood on a makeshift stage. Behind her, the cast of students—no, soldiers —stood with clenched fists. The piano chords began, simple and haunting.

Tears slipped down Thando’s cheeks. Not because of the past. Because of the present. Tomorrow, she had a history exam. But today, her friend Kgomotso had been sent home because her family couldn’t afford the school fees. Tomorrow, the president would give a speech about “new dawns” while shacks still burned for electricity. The tomorrow in the song felt both ancient and unbearably near.