When my brother hears about Kevin and the squatter camp, he suddenly says he knew about this story, we didn’t need Kevin. He’ll take us.

My producer is not happy about this offer, and nor am I, but on the morning in question, there is my brother sitting by the side of the damn pool and it is hot but it is early and so we are not drinking beer we are drinking coffee. And waiting for Kevin

Kevin has told the producer and me that he is also a DJ on a radio station and works nights, and one could tell that he took a few noxious substances as well as beer, so it was hardly surprising that he is late. In fact Kevin doesn't pitch at all.

The producer and I get into the car and we drive out towards a place called Zevenefontein. In order to do that we have to go through a little area called Sandton; Sandton is the kind of place Croesus is saving up to live in; my brother explains about this land and our family’s history there. Just beyond this area there’s a big plot of landthat was purchased by our grandfather for very little — he gave a stove for it in fact. There was so much land when our grandfather came there. And were there any people living on it?

My brother’s not a racist so he would not say, ‘Nobody was here, just black people.’ That’s not his style, it’s not his way. But the words do start pouring out in a rush now.

He is telling us about a bulldozing. He is talking about a farm in which a number of black people used to live. And he is saying that they were living there because a farmer - out of the goodness of his heart - used to let workers stay on his farm for a while, they'd pay him rent and everyone would be happy,

The problem was that more and more people came, and fewer and fewer of them had work, and so they couldn’t pay the rent. In the end his place had hundreds, perhaps thousands of people on it, paying him nothing. There were health risks, all sorts of problems and they wouldn’t go.

An organisation - not the police, a private company - had sent bulldozers through the camp. The people had been warned to get their families and animals and treasured possessions out first.

All those people, hundreds of them, were sent scurrying away from the farm on which they had been living. And they had to go somewhere. They had all ended up on the neighbouring farm, the next one along. My brother’s farm. Suddenly I get a jolt.

My brother is telling me of his connection.

This story, number two or one on the news in South Africa, this squatter camp is on my brother’s land.

Now he is talking figures, millions of rands. That is what the land would be worth; but it is worth nothing with people on it; the implication is that all around on the hills around that farm people do not want to drink their sundowners looking down on a farm full of poor people.

Well, most unfortunate. Powerful groups would be prepared to do a bulldozing if my brother would like. Really?

For the equivalent of about 10,000 American dollars they’ll come and bulldoze people off your land, any time, easy-peasy.