*
The following Saturday Denzil again had ‘stuff’ to do and everybody else was busy as well. Julie had taken the kids to a birthday party, Ludwig was in the book shop and Kim and her clan were spending the weekend in Durban, mainly because Grandpa wanted to go to the races there.
The house was empty, except for Nohandbag, who was cleaning the kitchen. Alpheus had got himself arrested again, for drunken vagrancy; this time he had pinched one of Ludwig’s special bottles of mampoer. Julie said it was about time to fire the guy for good, and, in an outburst of anger, Ludwig agreed with her – for about half an hour. Then he said this was Africa after all, and that Alpheus worked quite well on the boat when he put his mind to it, and to start all over again to teach a new guy naval terminology and how to use a saw just wasn’t worth it, because there was no guarantee that the next guy would be any better. “That’s why these blacks get away with their crap,” Ludwig mumbled. “Because chances are that the next guy is just the same or even worse than the one who is causing you all the trouble.”
I wrote a letter to Friederieke and put a newspaper article about muti murders in it. Several corpses had been found around Tzaneen. Some of their organs and body parts were missing, a sure indication of muti murders because witchdoctors used organs and body parts to make medicine.
Before I closed the letter I contemplated for half a minute mentioning Denzil to Friederieke, but then I didn’t. In a way Denzil was my secret, even Kim didn’t know much about him. Talking about Denzil would be like revealing a side of me that I didn’t quite know myself yet.
There were no stamps in the house so I got my bike out of the garage to go to the post office. A fresh breeze was blowing in from the sea. A tinge of autumn lay in the air. The days were shorter now and the dazzling glare of the summer had changed to a silvery light, which was still a lot brighter than the strongest German summer sun. The post office near the Chinese shop was closed for renovations. Shit! Now I had to go all the way to the main post office in town – and the wind was getting stronger by the minute. I nearly turned round but then I thought, what the hell it’s only downhill and I can catch a ride back with Ludwig in the car. I took the Old Ontdekkers Road, which went in several huge curves down the hill. Some of V.B.’s affluent suburbs were sprawled at my feet, roofs of various colours and the blue eyes of swimming pools shining between the shades of green of a million trees. In the location between the airport and the railway line there were hardly any trees, only rows upon rows of identical little houses and stacks of people going about their business in the sandy streets. The poor white suburb on the other side of the airport didn’t look much better. Round the bend V.B.’s futuristic looking sports stadium came into sight – and the wind hit me with full force. I could see the CBD at the bottom of the hill. Somewhere, in amongst its ugly concrete towers was the main post office.
Hells bells, with this wind I’ll never make it there.
I struggled on but it was absolutely pointless. A heavy gust nearly blew me into the vegetation.
Phhhh
I got off the bike and pushed. A bit further down a road turned into some kind of industrial area. It didn’t look very inviting with its unkempt warehouses and heaps of rusty junk, but the road pointed roughly into the direction I wanted.
Mebbe it’s a shortcut.
I decided to take it.
The area looked quite deserted. Lots of the sheds seemed to be locked up. Maybe because it was Saturday. I couldn’t see anybody else in the road, but then, I couldn’t see so well anyway, because the wind was whipping sand and dust into my eyes. The CBD was still miles away and I wished I had stayed at home. I trundled on past a mosque, which looked completely out of place in these surroundings. Suddenly I felt moisture between my legs.
Du lieber Himmel. This is not my lucky day.
A lorry rumbled past and I waited until it was out of sight before I stuck my hand in my brooks.
Phhhh
My period had started. The only good thing was that I had had the foresight to put a tampon in my bag. I looked around for a place where a person could have some privacy. I wanted to stick in that tampon as soon as possible and especially before I hit the more crowded parts of town again. There was a dead dog in the gutter and no spot with a guarantee that one couldn’t be caught with one’s pants down. God only knew who was hiding in the bushes or glancing through the windows of empty looking warehouses, or when the next lorry would materialize. There was only one thing to do: keep on pushing.
I was already half way down the hill and a little trickle of blood had started at the top of my thigh, when the door of a building opened. A middle-aged lady carried a miniature Doberman down some steps and put him on the ground. I shot towards the lady and asked, if there was a toilet I could use.
“Certainly. Go straight down the passage into the back yard. It’s there on the right hand side, you can’t miss it.”
I put my bike in the passage, came past some deserted offices and a little kitchen and opened the back door. The toilet was there all right with LOO painted in big blue letters on its wall. I sprinted some paces towards it…and stopped dead in my tracks. Denzil’s Chev was standing on the far side of the yard next to a clapped out 4 poster bed. I instantly forgot about my period.
What on earth is Denzil doing in this weird place?
I had to find out. I looked around me. There was no living soul in sight, except for some pigeons sitting on the roof of the huge warehouse on the other side of the yard.
Mebbe he’s in there.
I took a deep breath and slowly crossed the yard. For the life of me I couldn’t imagine what to expect, and I wasn’t too sure if Denzil would be pleased to see me. There were no windows on this side of the warehouse, only a big roll up gate. It was locked. I went around the corner, onto a dilapidated concrete path squeezed in between a high wall with barbed wire on top and the long side of the warehouse. There were some burglar-barred windows. I hesitated.
Will Denzil believe that this is all one huge coincidence? Mebbe he’ll think I’m snooping.
The pigeons took off from the roof with a mighty flutter. I nearly had a heart attack.
I can still turn around and just walk away.
But I knew that I wouldn’t. I wanted to know what Denzil was up to every Saturday when he had ‘stuff’ to do.
Why the hell has he got secrets from me in the first place? I’ve got a right to know.
The windows hadn’t been cleaned for years. Dust and grime covered the paint-splattered panes and generations of spiders had left their webby traces. I stuck my nose against a pane and saw a dim, cave-like space divided by decks into different levels, without any recognizable system. The decks were of various shapes and sizes, connected by rickety metal stairs and landings. The joint looked like one humongous labyrinth and was filled up to the rafters with furniture of all imaginable styles.
A furniture depot!
No trace of Denzil. Another 6 windows to the end of the wall. I moved on cautiously – there could be people around who wouldn’t be pleased to see a stranger. There was more furniture all over the show, second hand stuff, kitschy, ugly and cheap, with a goodly lot of fitness contraptions thrown in and a whole range of wheelchairs that looked like invalids themselves. At window number 3 it looked like someone was moving between 2 rows of bar stools. I jumped back behind the wall.
Jeepers creepers.
When I felt brave enough to look again, the only things in motion were particles of dust glittering in a lonely sunray. At the second last window I was sure I heard voices. I strained my ears – silence.
Phhh. I’m going bloody bonkers. One more window and I’m out of here. Looks like Denzil isn’t here anyway. He’s probably lent the Chev to somebody to haul furniture around.
The thought that this expedition would be over in a couple of minutes gave me some spring back into my step. For some reason window number 6 was a bit cleaner than the others. I took a closer look… and
froze. In amongst piled up chests of drawers, rusty bedsteads and other junk stood, like a little island, a group of non matching tables, and sitting on just as unmatching chairs, about 20 black kids were bent over books.
Gosh. They are running a school here!
A black lady wrote something on a blackboard…and there was Denzil, his back turned towards me, getting a box out of a shelf.
This school must be totally illegal. That’s why Denzil never wants to talk about what he is doing on Saturdays.
Nobody had spotted me – yet.
I better get away, chop chop.
I shot a last glance at this unexpected scene when Denzil turned round and looked straight at me.
Oyoyoy. Too late.
Denzil came down the path with a frown on his face. “Mathilda, what are you…” Suddenly his chin dropped and his face turned pale. I thought he had seen somebody coming up behind me and looked over my shoulder. There was nobody.
“Good heavens, Mathilda. What happened to you?”
I followed his eyes down to my shorts. They were stained with blood. Denzil looked highly worried.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s only my period.”
“Oh…okay,” Denzil grinned with relief. “I’ve got my swimming trunks in the car. You can put them on.”
He gave me a hug and then his frown reappeared. “Mathilda, what on earth are you doing here? How do you know about this place?”
“Denzil, it sounds crazy but until 15 minutes ago I didn’t know anything about this place. I was on my way to the post office…” I told him the whole story.
He sighed and didn’t seem too happy, but he only said: “Ok, let’s get you out of here. I’ll take you home.”
While I got changed in the loo Denzil loaded my bike on the Chev.
“That looks better,” he said when I joined him again. “I’m just quickly going inside to organize things. You can wait in the car.”
No ways!
“Can’t I come with you?”
“Mathilda,” he sighed exasperated. “It’s not safe for you to be here. The less you get involved the better.”
“But I am here anyway, and I’ve seen that you run some kind of school. Why can’t I go in there with you for just 5 minutes to have a closer look? Hell, do you know what Saturdays have been like for me since we met? All I knew was that you had always ‘stuff’ to do. I’m sick and tired of all this secretiveness.”
Denzil, completely surprised by my outburst, said: “You don’t realize how dangerous this is. We are in South Africa, a totalitarian state. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“We are sharing so much and this thing is part of your life. Don’t you think I’ve got a right to know?” I was getting worked up. “I’m not stupid. I’ve put 2 and 2 together. That brick through the window at your house was a serious warning…and I guess there is some connection between this school and Victoria and the guy with the dead cat. Can you imagine what it is like to have weird stuff going on around you without anybody ever telling you anything? Just put yourself in my skin for a moment. If this school is at the bottom of everything I want to see it.”
Denzil sighed again. “I sort of feel responsible for you,” he said finally. “I’d rather keep you out of this.” He bit his lip. “On the other hand…if it really eats you up…”
I grabbed his hand before he could change his mind.
Denzil shrugged his shoulders. “All right.”
We entered the warehouse through a fire door. There was a smell of dust and mildew and it was even more chaotic than it looked from the outside. The roof was rattling in the storm, some birds’ nests sat on the rafters, a mouse ran across a pile of drawers and disappeared in the cushions of a rattan chair. Denzil led the way through the labyrinth without hesitating once. We stepped through a gap between several old fashioned cupboards…into the ‘classroom’. All the kids turned their heads towards us. Most of the younger ones smiled, but I got the impression that some of the older pupils scrutinized me with mistrust. Denzil made a thumbs up sign to the black lady I had seen from the outside. She said something full of clicks and the kids returned to their work. The lady looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place her. She came over to us and Denzil said to me: “This is Agnes. You’ve met before.” Suddenly the penny dropped. She was one of the 3 blacks who had been at Denzil’s place when the brick came flying through the window. I looked at Agnes’ face. She had a scar across her cheek. She greeted me with an enormous smile and then turned to Denzil. “I’m telling a story to the little ones. Your group is still busy with the experiment.”
“Ok,” Denzil nodded. “Mathilda, I guess you don’t mind if I finish the experiment before we go.”
“No no, not at all. Can I watch?”
On one of the tables stood a cardboard model depicting houses of various sizes. It looked like straight out of Denzil’s architecture department. Also on the table was a wooden block, with a broomstick pointing vertically to the roof set in it. Fixed to the broomstick was a transparent pipe running all the way from the top down to the ‘street level’ of the model. From there the pipe branched out and each branch went up along a wall to the top floor of a house.
“All right,” Denzil said to his pupils. “Have you put the colouring into the water?”
“Ja,” the kids nodded eagerly.
They were quite a mixed group, boys and girls between the ages of about 10 to maybe 18 – some older than myself – dressed in their every day garb of well worn, non matching, ill fitting clothes.
Denzil grabbed a funnel and stuck it in the transparent pipe. “Hlubi, do you want to pour?” One of the bigger girls nodded. Denzil gave her a mug and she carefully poured the reddish water into the funnel.
“Ok guys,” Denzil said. “This is our water tower. What can you see?”
“The water, she is running down the pipe,” a tall thin boy observed.
“That’s right,” Denzil said. “What else?”
“The water, she is running fast,” a girl with beads in her hair said.
They went on for a while until one of the girls hit the jackpot. “That water, she climbs to the same height in all the houses.”
“Very good Nomonde,” Denzil said.
The girl beamed.
“Now let’s talk about why the water rises to the same level everywhere.” Denzil began to explain the principles of pressure and gravity. The kids hung on his every word.
Agnes came over and asked me if I could help with the little ones. The little ones, aged between about 6 and 10, were as mixed a group as the big ones.
“I’ve just told them one of our Xhosa stories. It’s about how the monkeys got long tails and the dassies got no tails at all,” Agnes explained. “You know Mathilda, these children are taught nothing about their own culture in the state schools. How can they ever be proud of who they are when they don’t even know where they come from.”
The kids were now busy drawing wavy lines with crayons on pages of old newspapers.
“You know Mathilda, most of these children have never seen a crayon or used a pair of scissors before they came here. They are not like the white children who grow up with these things.”
We distributed scissors to the kids and Agnes explained to them how to cut along a wavy line.
“Just help them a bit, will you?” Agnes said to me. “We are trying to familiarize the children with these basic things to make it easier for them to catch up with the rest of the world.”
I helped to thread small thumbs and index fingers through scissor handles and watched a little boy so fascinated by a crayon, that he kneaded it until it was soft with the warmth of his hands. When everybody had cut their wavy lines, I rejoined the big ones.
Denzil was saying: “…and that is why water always finds its own level.”
“In the location we haven’t got a tap in the house,” a boy observed. “The women go and fetch water at the tap in the street.”
&nbs
p; “I’ve seen a tap in the kitchen of my mother’s Madam,” a girl said. “Hot and cold water! When I’m grown up I also want a house with taps and hot and cold water, and I want a green car and a husband who wears a suit and works in an office like my mother’s Master.”
“I want as much pap and vleis as I can eat and a bottle of coke every day,” a skinny boy said.
“I want 100 fat cattle and 4 wives and a lot of children.”
“I want to be a soccer star.”
“I want to be white.”
“And I want my freedom.”
I wondered if any of these kids would ever get their freedom. Probably not. Except if the lid blew off the pressure cooker within the next couple of decades.
I suddenly realized how little I knew about black people. As a white person one only ever saw them as maids, gardeners and labourers, out of their own environment.
The closest I had ever come to something like an African context was the black village on the Saida farm, and even there the white guys called the shots. It was always them and us.
I looked at these kids and tried to imagine what lay ahead for them – lives as underdogs supplying cheap labour, kept apart in townships and homelands. I looked at Denzil totally on fire for teaching these kids and a wave of admiration for him hit me.
What a great guy! One of the few who do something really meaningful with their lives. Kick the Nats in the knaters! Give a black kid a chance!
Suddenly I could understand.
It’s worth it even if it means bricks flying through your windows and dead cats on your drive way.
I couldn’t’t wait to join him and become part of it.
To get out of the warehouse yard, Denzil and I had to wait until the lady with the dog had checked the street for Special Branch guys. “I don’t think they are watching us,” Denzil said. “But one never knows.” He told me to sit on the floor of the Chev and to keep my head down. “It’s better nobody sees you.”
The car seat pressed into my ribs and my left shoulder banged on the underside of the dashboard. It was the most uncomfortable ride of my life – and also one of the best. I pressed Denzil’s calf and he grinned at me; he had shared his secret with me and I had a new purpose in life. We hadn’t discussed it yet but I knew we would do fantastic things together.
My host family was still out. Nohandbag had gone to her room for her lunch break. The dogs greeted us wagging their tails and Doodles, stretched out on the kitchen table, opened a sleepy eye when we walked in. I gave Denzil a beer out of the fridge and took a mango juice for myself. We went to my room. I sat on the bed with my feet on Denzil’s lap. He was sitting in an armchair opposite me. We took some sips in silence. Denzil caressed my feet.
“Now you’ve seen our…school,” he said finally. “We call it iSkolo…Xhosa for school. So, what do you think?”
“Gee Denzil, I think it’s absolutely amazing. Who are those kids? What do you teach them? How many teachers have you got?” I was bursting with questions.
Denzil put his beer down. “Before I tell you anything you must promise me to never ever mention a word about this to anybody.”
“Of course not.”
“Not even to the Winters or your friends or your family at home.”
“I won’t.”
“All right,” Denzil said stroking my feet. “Iskolo was started about 3 years ago by people you don’t know. They organized courses on African culture – music, painting, history, literature – to give black kids from the townships a sense of identity and also the opportunity to express themselves. You know Mathilda, the townships are places that are generally not exactly conducive to creativity, although fantastic artists have come out of them, and some of these youngsters just shrivel up and die inside.”
Outside, the storm was shaking the leaves off the trees and raindrops hit the window.
“I joined iSkolo last year and now we are also teaching normal school subjects after hours.”
I was glued to Denzil’s lips. “Do you teach them stuff that is not in the Bantu Education Act curriculum?”
“Ja.”
“And who exactly are these kids?”
“Anybody from the townships is welcome. Some kids only come a couple of times, others have been there right from the start.”
“And I guess it’s completely illegal.”
“Ja,” Denzil admitted. “Since I joined we’ve already moved 3 times. We got tip offs that the Special Branch was hot on our heels, but we got away every time.”
“Hell Denzil, it must be totally nerve wrecking.”
“It sure doesn’t get boring,” he grinned.
Denzil didn’t seem too keen to tell me more about the school. He kept on talking about converting the Chev into a camper van and going scuba diving in Mozambique.
I still had lots of questions. “I see Agnes is teaching at iSkolo. Are the 2 guys who were with her at your place also involved?”
“We’ve got 5 sort of main teachers who take turns,” Denzil said evasively.
“Mmh. And where do you get money from?”
“Donations. We don’t need much. Everybody works on a voluntary basis and we don’t have to pay rent. We spend a bit on books, paint and beads and stuff like that. Our biggest expense is for food.”
“Food?”
“Ja, each child gets a peanut butter sandwich and a mug of milk every time they come. Some of them don’t get much else to eat.”
“I think you guys are doing a fantastic job.”
After that I went into the bathroom to wash my shorts and I had a shower – hot and cold water out of a tap! I dried myself wondering in what capacity I could be useful to iSkolo.
Mebbe teach geometry. I always liked geometry.
I went back into my room to put some clothes on.
“That’s what I like about you, Mathilda,” Denzil grinned from my bed. He was lying there without even having taken off his takkies, propped up with cushions, a few National Geographics strewn around him. “Any South African chick would wrap a towel around herself but you just walk around kaalgat…and you look absolutely gorgeous.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” I put my hands on my hips and pirouetted around. “You don’t look bad either even when you’re dressed.” I jumped on top of him shaking with laughter.
“Oh yes, come…come,” Denzil grabbed me.
“No no, one kiss and then I’ll put some clothes on. Julie and the kids or Ludwig can come home any minute.”
We shared a long embrace, breaking it up reluctantly before we got too stirred up.
“Would you make love to me when I’ve got my period?” I asked. Apparently some guys and girls got switched off by the prospect.
“Ja, of course I would. I haven’t got a problem with that. And you?”
“I haven’t got a problem either.” It was the first time I was confronted with the issue – with Denzil around I’d soon find out.
I put on some jeans and a sweatshirt. “Denzil, iSkolo is really a great place. It’s so different from other schools. One can see that the kids enjoy being there but there is one thing I found really weird.”
“What’s that?”
“While I was there none of these kids asked a question. I mean how can they learn anything if they don’t ask questions?”
“So you noticed,” Denzil said a bit astounded. He sat up on the bed and leaned against the wall. “It’s a cultural difference. In black society kids are not supposed to ask questions. If they do, they are regarded as disrespectful. We would like the kids to ask questions all the time, but we can’t teach them behaviour that will make them outsiders in their own society.”
“But how can anybody grow up without asking questions? Every child asks questions.”
“It’s just a different approach to bringing up children. The white man’s way is not the only way, and that’s the first thing we have to understand if we all want to live together in a free society one day.” He put the magazines on the f
loor and said: “Come.”
I snuggled up next to him.
If only we could stay like this forever…close…safe…
“Anybody at home?” Ludwig yelled through the house, interrupting my rêverie.
I let off a whistle, which after weeks of practice was nearly as good as his.
Ludwig stuck his head through the open door and greeted us with a hearty grin. “Saw your car outside, pal,” he said to Denzil. “If you guys want some grub there is fish and chips from the Greek.” He turned round to go, changed his mind and said: “If you guys need more condoms let me know.”
Zebra Horizon Page 45
