As I said I'd been writing my work-in-progress, I thought you might be interested in reading the first paragraph:
In those days when she had been young and credulous, Riette had believed her mother’s fairy story about her father—a heroic Boer farmer by the name of Pieter who had been killed by the British. She claimed he had been her lover, or in some versions of the story, her husband. As the years passed Riette learned from the taunts of the older children her father, whoever he was, would never have loved a black prostitute. That was not what a whore, or the daughter of one, was for.
And let's be clear, this really is the start of a Maliha Anderson story.
(The picture is "Marcella" by Ernst Kirchner, 1909.)