*
“Are you sure I won’t have to give a speech at that meeting?” I asked my host father again. Hannes shot an amused glance at me. “Calm down, Mathilda. There is no reason to be nervous. Today the Rotary Club only wants to see what its new exchange student looks like.
I hope to hell he is right.
Hannes turned into Marine Parade. Long, blue waves were rolling up the white beach and further out in the bay the sea shot silvery sparks of reflected sunlight into the cloudless sky. We parked in front of the Blue Dolphin Hotel, which sat like dignified mother hen in a nest of kikuyu lawns, flowerbeds and palm trees. It was painted mainly in red brown with brown red to set off the vertical corners, and pinkish brown to enhance the broad, rounded gables under the corrugated iron roof. A few polished red steps led up to the entrance. It took me a while to accustom my eyes from the dazzling sunlight to the dimness of the hall, where copious crimson curtains were drawn across all the windows. Some faint electric lamps illuminated heavy, dark brown furniture and a greenish carpet. Why anybody would shut the sun out on such a gorgeous day totally eluded me – but different strokes for different folks. Hannes and I climbed up a flight of stairs, went down an endless red carpeted corridor and arrived at a door, where 2 men were discussing something. The tall, thin one turned out to be Fred Collins, the president of my host club, and the tall fat one with the bald head Tom Warner, the secretary.
“Let’s go in,” Fred Collins suggested after Hannes had introduced us.
Nobody moved.
What are they waiting for?
Hannes cleared his throat and said: “Ladies first.”
I looked around and all of a sudden I realized: Heiliger Bimbam, the lady is me! I shot into the conference room in the most dignified manner possible. About 15 men were standing in little groups, talking. Green curtains shut out the sunlight and clouds of cigarette smoke rose to the lit chandeliers. I answered variations of the question: how do you like South Africa? and got invited to half a dozen homes before Hannes had organized a glass of juice for me.
Fred Collins hit a little silver bell. Somebody said grace and after the ‘amen’ Hannes pulled out a chair for me.
Gee, I’m not used to that lady thing.
I slowly lowered myself onto the green and red striped seat, looking out for other ladies from whom I could copy South African lady behaviour, but the only other female in the room was a coloured waitress, organizing things on a trolley. Fred hit the bell again and opened the meeting. I was asked to stand up so that everybody could welcome the new exchange student. I looked at the Rotarians, total strangers until 15 minutes ago; people who had made it possible for me to share a year of my life with them – to enable me to plunge into a whole new universe. Everybody should be so lucky as to be an exchange student; the world would be a better place.
While they were discussing how to raise funds for the old age home and other matters, the food was served, and by the time a guy called Chris started his speech about the gold mining industry in South Africa, everybody had got stuck into their ostrich steak. Chris said that the first gold finds of real importance were made in the 1870s in the Pilgrim’s Rest / Lydenburg area and in the 1880s prospecting was started on the Witwatersrand. First they mined deposits close to the surface but later they had to go deeper down, so they dug shafts and cross cuts and drives and raises, which are various kinds of tunnels that intersect the reef. Chris said that South Africa had the world’s largest gold refinery, but what astounded me most was that Johannesburg was only founded in 1886, when the first tents were pitched at Ferreira’s Camp. That meant my grandparents’ house in the Black Forest was older than any building in Jo’burg.
After the speech the meeting broke up quite fast. Everybody had to go back to work. I got some more invitations and then Hannes and I went to the bird park to look at their newly acquired Chaetops frenatus, also known as Cape Rockjumper.
Zebra Horizon Page 6
