Fifty years ago, Michael le Cordeur was in matric and reflects on that day, 16 June 1976, and how it irreversibly changed the landscape of South African history.

I remember it as if it were yesterday: that grey winter's day, 16 June 1976, when all hell broke loose in Soweto. I was only 16 years old and in matric (I started school at age five). Most of our school at the time consisted of temporary wooden structures, which we nicknamed "dovecotes." We hated them. In summer, Wellington became "Hell-ington." In winter, those classrooms felt like freezers.

We were in the middle of the June matric examinations. At night, it was eerily quiet. Not a single learner was in sight. They were either engaged in secret meetings, studying in hiding, or evading the police who patrolled the streets at night. Woe betide you if you were out after dark - you would most probably spend a night in a cell without your parents knowing.

It was a struggle to get through the nights. Some worried about the exams; others wondered when the police would knock on the door. I tried to study, but your mind was elsewhere. As if he had a premonition, the principal decided that we should write the exams immediately. When the first bomb exploded in Soweto (literally), we were already at home.

For the rest...