From book blurb:

2 Concert in Sewefontein: photoraphed on Friday, 11 November 1988 during a two-week stay at Vaalrand Farm, Bloemhof. 

Early-morning, late-afternoon and evening commuters preach the gospel in trains en route to and from work. The train ride is no longer a means to an end, but an end in itself as people from different townships congregate in coaches - two or three per train - to sing to the accompaniment of improvised drums (banging the sides of the train) and bells. Foot stomping and gyrating - a packed train is turned
into a church. This is a daily ritual. This sudden religious ecstasy struck me as odd. These office cleaners, clerks, factory workers and general labourers enjoined in a cacophony of song and prayer, a catharsis of spirituality in a moving landscape.

3 Funeneral: Photographed on 21 November 1990 at Vaalrand Farm, Bloemhof

Miriam Maine, like many people then and now, lived an obscure life, living it simply and admirably. She embraced the more demure of cultures to help her wade through life with humility. She lived quietly and without complaint, and had nothing to defend herself with, for she had nothing against which to defend herself. She had little or no education as far as I could tell.
She opened and offered her house to me during my early trips to Bloemhof-more than 300 kilometers from Johannesburg-where I traveled to do photo-documentary work for the African Studies Institute at the University of the Witwatersrand. Its then-director, Professor Charles van Onselen, was interested in doing research on labour tenancy, especially on the life of Kas Maine and his erstwhile peers and competitors, people who eventually became his bosses.
Miriam was married to Kas Maine's younger brother Sebubudi, also called Jakobus or Oom Koos. She perished without much fanfare, except to those who knew her.

4 24 April 1994: Photographed over a few days between 16 and 29 April 1994 in Bloemhof

In 1994, under the auspices of the History Workshop at the University of the Witwatersrand, I went to Bloemhof to observe and record the elections and the ushering in of democracy. What struck me was the mixture of confidence and apprehension. This I gathered from my hosts (the Maine family), the manager of the Commercial Hotel and from conversations overheard between members of a police bomb squad at the Magistrate's Court and at taxi ranks and taverns.
An uneasy sense of euphoria pervaded the atmosphere
—a combination of anticipation and dread, excitement and anxiety. Rumours abounded. I heard wild stories about results being rigged; passengers being bundled out of taxis and sjamboked in Boitumelong (from where I'd just come; bombs going off in the distant Boer strongholds of Dela-reyville and Christiana; and National Party posters being taken down at night. I guess one way the brain operates in a state of anxiety is to deviate towards invention, fantasy and paranoia. One thing was certain though: people were determined to vote for a new democratic order.
On the question of democracy, I cannot help but recall the old National Party slogan that resounded across the country when Prime Minister Verwoerd was laid to rest:
Lat die blikke en die sappe raas, die wit man bly bass' (Let loudmouths and the opposition shout, the white man remains boss). This is still true in Bloemhof, which is feudal but in name.