“Just don’t watch,” he responded curtly. His entire frame turned with a jerk and he tromped down the beach, his broad shoulders unmoving. I stared after him for a moment before I turned back to Warley to bid adieu.
David and Mary arrived at the wagon at the precise moment I did. I had seen my share of large carriages, but I imagined this cart could fit Mother’s entire chaise in its depths. It was enormous—a fact I would be grateful for in the coming weeks. It was driven by ten oxen, in two lines ahead of us. If I had any trepidation as to the size of the wagon, it was nothing in comparison to the size of the oxen. What large beasts they were! I had never been near one before, and the sheer mass of them was truly startling to me. Mary began to load Agnes into the wagon with Robert right behind her.
“Do you think,” I asked Robert as I ducked down to his level, “if that ox were to sneeze, and I were nearby, he would crush me as he would a dried leaf?”
Robert laughed in delight. “Oxen are nice, Anna! Look!” Without warning he ran up next to the closest ox and placed both hands on its belly in an attempt at a hug, although his little arms could not reach even a fourth of the animal’s waist.
“Oh yes, very nice. I see. Now come back,” I urged. He laughed at my nerves.
Turning around, we noticed a small group of individuals observing us in a peculiar way. There were three men, a woman, and a boy that had to be about Robert’s age. None of them were smiling. They stood with proud postures although their clothes suggested hard work and long hours in the heat. Their eyes were as frightened and hostile as I had ever seen. All of their attention was focused on us, contempt heavy in the air. I looked down at my dress, thinking maybe I had become immodest or unclean.
“Hello,” I ventured. In reaction to my greeting, there were several responses. Robert inched closer to me and buried his face in my skirts, Mebalwe took a step to place himself between us and the strangers, and Mary and David turned around at the sound of my voice. In the midst of the group of strangers, a man edged his way to the front, his face old and his thin fingers clenching his removed coat.
He was their leader, I was sure.
The strangers looked at me with anger. Even the child seemed hostile. They did not return my greeting. Instead, the leader turned around and they all followed suit, walking in the opposite direction. I stared after them. Mebalwe watched them with a cautious look. David hurried after them.
“Abraham,” he spoke loud enough for the man with the thin fingers to hear. He trotted a couple steps and tried to step in their way but they simply brushed past him. David stopped his efforts and sighed, then turned to us.
“It’s time to go.”
The children and I nestled in between pieces of luggage and supplies in the bed of the wagon, David and Mary sat up near the front lip of the vehicle, and Mebalwe walked alongside, encouraging and directing the oxen. I watched southern Africa slide by me like a picture. Immediately after the dock and the beach was the push and pull of the city. I was surprised to find ours was not the largest wagon in the area. Massive oxen and ever larger wagons squeezed in between aisles of buildings. The locals barely noticed the giant animals maneuvering their way around. When approached by one, they simply moved out of its way. It was not peculiar to them, but I admit I held my breath for fear they would be hurt by the beasts. Did they not worry that the ox would misstep and crush them instantly? Eventually, I forced myself to breathe evenly despite the panic I felt.
As the wagon went along, the sun was sometimes blocked by the shade of a large tavern or a place of lodging. No material covered the bare road, and the dirt swirled around us in patterns that would have been entertaining if they didn’t make breathing more difficult.
Then there were the women Lieutenant Warley had spoken of. I thought he had exaggerated when he spoke of the load they carried on their heads, but now I saw he had understated the truth. A young lady, who could not have been larger than me, and certainly looked my same age, was dressed in many colorful layers draped over her shoulders and across her hips. Beads dangled at her wrists and ankles above her feet, which were bare. On top of her black hair she held several giant bowls stacked in layers, each filled to the brim with produce. Their situation seemed so precarious. I waited to see the fruits and vegetables topple to the ground, but not a single article fell.
When we came closer, I could see she also had something strapped to her chest. For a few long moments, she released the bowls she had been holding upright with her hands, and allowed the tower to balance on top of her seemingly minuscule frame. She peered down to the package she held in front. A small mess of black hair appeared from under the folds of her blouse. A sweet child had been nursing while this extraordinary woman had carried a massive weight all balanced on top of her head. And she had kept walking while she performed all this! I could not balance a single volume of text atop my head, and here this woman, an industrious mother, surpassed the skill of every poise teacher I had ever had. As we passed directly in front of her, I realized too late that my eyes and mouth were wide open. Seeing my aghast expression, she mistook my meaning and self-consciously pulled and tugged at her colorful clothing. I attempted to smile to show her it was all right, but she had looked away from me. I felt sick with regret.
As the buildings started to spread and become sparser, we saw a large group of people assembled together with all kinds of knives, guns, and spears. In the crowd I saw the man David had called Abraham. He spotted me peering out the back of the wagon and ran the knife he held from the tip of his thumb to the tip of his longest finger. I moved the children deeper into the wagon so we could not be seen.
As soon as I was confident we were in hearing range of David I asked, “Why are they armed?”
“They are always armed,” he said. “But I believe today they go to fight Dingane.”
“And who is Dingane?” I asked.
“A man,” was all he said.
There were no trails to speak of after we left the small town of Durban, only small footpaths that we followed. There were small hills all around, but nothing that would be too difficult to climb. Small shrubs came together in sparse bunches along the horizon, but would just as quickly disappear and leave nothing but sand. It was not uncommon for me to see several different types of ground in one day. The land changed its mind so frequently.
During the day, David, Mary, and Mebalwe would take turns walking. It would take us two weeks to reach the village of David and Mary’s good friend. His name was Sechele, Chief of the Bakwena.
“And what is he like, I wonder?” I turned to the children with a smile. “Does he have a broad chest like this?” I acted the part of a broad-chested chief. Their laughter was contagious. “A stern expression like so? Or does he possibly wear a giant headdress like this?” I spoke as I picked Agnes from my lap and sat her atop my head. She had no fear and gave a wide grin, which made her brother roar with giggles.
David and Mary were also smiling as they drove the slow oxen.
“Sechele is a very singular person to be sure,” David joined in on my banter.
“Sechele,” I repeated thoughtfully. “It is a very nice name.”
“He is a nice man,” David responded without hesitation. “He will have a great many questions to ask you, Miss Anna. He is fascinated by all things English.”
“Truly?” I asked stunned. I hoped that meant there was a greater chance of him finding me amiable and allowing me to stay in Kolobeng. “What else interests him?” I asked.
“Everything else interests him, Miss Anna.” He laughed, as did Mary. “He has a keen interest in learning. When I met him he had no knowledge of reading or the alphabet. He learned the alphabet in one day and has never relented! Mary’s father translated the bible into Sechuana for him, and his copy is so used and worn it is in desperate need of repair. He is my most eager student of the gospel, sitting at the very front of every sermon I give. He is in constant need of information. He is forever memorizing and quoting the
Old Testament!”
“And his character?” I probed.
“Excellent,” he responded instantly. “He is charitable and does his best to see to the needs of all his subjects, as well as any visitors.”
I was surprised, but pleased. However, my mind was still wound around the memory of that small band of grief-stricken souls we had seen earlier. If I had been in London, asking about a sensitive subject such as this would lead to instant censure. In a new country, however, I felt determined to form a new set of social protocol. Since I was curious, I asked, “David, who were those people? The ones who would not speak to us?”
He surveyed me over his shoulder for a moment, perhaps discerning whether I was sincere or merely morbidly curious. Finally, he relented. “They are the Boers,” he said. “They are of Dutch descent, born and raised in Cape Town far from here. They have just finished a grueling trek lasting many days to get here.”
“Boers,” I said, committing it to memory. “Why did they make the trek?”
“They do not agree with the British laws put in place in the Cape Colony,” he said matter-of-factly. “They had hoped to move into the interior of Africa and establish their own colony. It is not going well for them, I fear. They did not intend to end up here.”
He paused for a long moment.
“Where were they hoping to go?” I ventured.
“I suppose they were expecting to find a land of milk and honey,” he speculated. “One where they could have a peaceful existence of wealth and prosperity and not have to answer to any government but their own.”
“And does such a place exist?” I questioned.
I could sense a tragedy in his voice as he spoke. His tone brought an end to our conversation. “No, Miss Anna,” he said. “There is no such place.”
Chapter 8
Although we were destined to spend two exhaustive weeks in close quarters, we did not feel the effects of it that day. The children were happy to be reunited with David, as was Mary. And I was content to see them joyful. If Mary and the children felt the dizziness and nausea that I felt, they did not admit it. Transitioning from sea travel to land was proving difficult for me. I could not help but feel that the water was still beneath me, tossing me about.
We watched for any animals on the trail, and when we spotted any, Robert would ask David to give them details of the beast. I was very grateful for this because I had yet to see an animal I recognized. A small herd of what David called gnus leapt past the window in the back of the wagon, our temporary apartment. I jumped up and craned my head out the back of the wagon to survey them longer.
I had never seen a truly wild animal before. I had seen small squirrels and birds in the forest behind Mother’s house, to be sure, but the closest I had ever come to seeing a really wild animal in London were the stray dogs that wandered about the streets. To be sure, man needed to separate himself from large carnivorous animals as a means of survival. But why separate from the others? Without quite knowing why, it suddenly seemed to me this separation from nature had endangered a large part of man’s existence and identity.
I had imagined Africa as considerably more hot and uncomfortable than what I was accustomed to, even blistering. To me, though, the heat was actually quite manageable, even as the sun bore down on the fabric tent. I knew my health must have passed Mary’s mind, for she surveyed me from the corner of her eye at times. However, I had experienced the heat that comes as a result of twelve layers of clothing in a crowded ballroom, with every fire lit to boast the prominence of the host. In a small wagon, we at least had openings at the front and the rear to alleviate the warmth. I continued to wear my simple muslin dress, so the balance of temperature was fine in my mind. The swelter was much more feasible when it came from above instead of within.
This life, by means of oxen travel, was not altogether disagreeable. From my perspective, we were on a long ride with occasional picnics. The children and I, and at times Mary, would doze in the bed of the wagon while David drove for long hours. I had my fair share of smiles, hugs, and games from the children. When we stopped, only once a day, to prepare and consume our rations, I helped Mary in whatever way I was able. While Mary prepared lunch, David would hunt whatever he could find. Occasionally he would take Robert with him, the latter so proud of this high honor that he would strut back into camp as if they had caught an elephant, when in fact they mostly came with birds.
I came to think of Mebalwe as a warrior. He never came into the shade of the wagon, even when he spent the most time working. He remained in the sun while he herded oxen, hunted game, set up camp, and a myriad of other duties I did not understand. All the while, sweat poured from his brow and he would brush it away, unaffected.
When the sun began her descent into rest, David would stop the wagon at last. This first night, we made a small camp in a large, empty space. I was continually amazed at how open this land was. It was not cluttered with buildings as London was. The large empty spaces called to me to throw off my shoes and run as fast and long as I was able.
It was then that Mary confronted me. Suddenly she was next to me with a determined face.
“Miss Anna,” she began, “if you are going to make your way here, it is time you took on some responsibility.”
I was surprised.
“Mary,” I gasped, “haven’t I been helping you?”
“Oh, you have been helping,” she agreed, “but I need you to be independent of any other person. Being self-sufficient will take much more than the simple chores you have been conducting. It is time to learn how to take care of yourself.”
I had never been so shocked in my life. Had I not been taking care of myself, eating those foods that were good for me and looking after my own safety and hygiene?
“What else is there?” I asked her, bewildered.
Mary actually laughed.
“Oh, Anna,” she said, true pity and foresight in her voice.
I had always felt independent from any other person. I always told myself that I didn’t need another soul to survive. The reality of it, as I came to know in time, was that I didn’t know what independence truly was.
“We will begin with fire making,” Mary declared, “then move straight into cooking and baking. It will do you no good to catch or receive food without the knowledge of how to prepare it. David and Robert are out hunting now. You and I will be the ones to prepare the animal for the fire.”
“Prepare … the animal?” I said hesitantly.
“You will see,” she replied tersely. “Now, building a fire is a critical skill for all individuals. How do you suppose we will make the fire, Anna?”
Of course, I knew the answer. And yet I didn’t. Wood was involved, I was sure. But how did it ignite?
“I don’t know,” was all I could say.
“Friction, Miss Anna. We will need friction to begin the fire with some light material like grass, then the fire will move to the wood, if it can be found. We will burn whatever can be burnt. We’ll use wood today, but for example, buffalo chips make excellent fires.”
“Chips?” I asked, puzzled.
“Buffalo droppings, Anna,” she elaborated.
“We’re going to burn the droppings?” I asked. “Why?”
“Because they can burn,” she said without a smile.
I stared at her, dazed.
Mary picked up a bundle of wood that she’d gathered from a stop earlier in the day, and handed me two long pieces of wood, obviously whittled to some specific use.
“These seem special,” I guessed.
“Yes. They are the tools we are going to use to build your fire.”
We moved some distance from the wagon, and then without a moment’s hesitation Mary knelt down in the dirt. I looked around bewildered. I crouched down beside her awkwardly in a subtle attempt to keep my dress clean.
“Now,” Mary began, “we start with the hand drill.” She gestured to the two pieces of wood she had me holding. “Take the thicker piece
, the board, and place it on the ground. There you are. Now you are going to take the spindle, like this, and roll it between your hands while pushing down.” She demonstrated this for me proficiently, the drill obeying her every gesture. She made it look easy. This would be simpler than I had imagined!
“All right!” I spoke, enthusiastic, “I believe I can do that!”
Mary smiled at me knowingly. “Try to start slow,” she advised, “there’s no need to use all of your energy at once.”
I nodded, but her warning was unnecessary. This would surely be the easiest thing to learn.
“When you can get some sufficient smoke, we will place your coal in this.” She displayed a small pile of leaves and dry grass, like a pillow, she had collected.
“Thank you, Mary,” I said dismissively.
“Don’t thank me just yet.” She patted my knee and stood to tend to her children.
I looked down at my newly acquired spindle and board. This is what stood between me and independence.
I began to roll the spindle between my palms, as instructed. I started slowly, following Mary’s advice, and my hands slowly moved downward as hers had done. I could then move my hands to the top of the spindle and begin again. I was lucky the wood was soft and was not rough on my skin, because the wood did not obey me as it had with Mary. The pieces felt awkward and uncomfortable. Where Mary had simply rolled the rod between her hands, I had a difficult time of keeping the rod straight and in the same position. The board at the bottom would shift and my hand drill would slip to another unblackened section where it would do no good. All too quickly I began to sweat and breathe heavily.
I was beginning to worry that there was no smoke or fire as of yet. I looked up to Mary in slight confusion.
“Continue,” she advised.
Again and again I placed my hands at the top of the spindle and rolled them down to the center of the rod, but it did not seem anything was happening. I was sure I had mirrored Mary’s movements exactly.
In Spite of Lions Page 8
