African Stories

by Doris Lessing

  He goes into the back of another house, and this time the woman there asks him what work he knows. He says, “Everything.” She asks him: “Are you cook or houseboy?” And now he is silent. She asks: “What money did you earn before?” And when he is still silent she asks to see his situpa. As soon as she looks at it, she says angrily: “Why do you tell me lies? You are a raw boy.” And so he goes out into the sanitary lane, angry and sore, but thinking of what he has learned, and when he goes to the next house and a woman asks what he knows, he puts on a humble look and says in a cringing voice that he has not worked in a white house before, but that he will learn quickly. He is thinking: I look so fine in my clothes, this woman will like a smart man like me. But she says she does not want a boy without experience. And now, as Jabavu walks away, his heart is cold and unhappy and he feels that no one in the whole world wants him. He whistles jauntily, making his fine new shoes stamp, and says he will surely find a good job with much money soon, but in the next house the woman says she will take him for rough work at twelve shillings a month. And Jabavu says he will not take twelve shillings. And she hands him back his situpa and says, pleasantly enough, that he will not get more than twelve shillings without experience. Then she goes back into the house. This happens several times until in the afternoon Jabavu goes to a man chopping wood in a garden, whom he has heard speaking his own language, and he asks for advice. This man is friendly and tells him that he will not earn more than twelve or thirteen shillings a month until he has learned the work, and then, after many months, a pound. He will be given mealiemeal every day to make his porridge with, and meat once or twice a week, and he will sleep in a small room like a box at the back of the house with the other servants. Now all this Jabavu knows, for he has heard it often from people passing through the village, but he has not known it for himself; he has always thought: For me it will be different.

  He thanks the friendly man and wanders on through the sanitary lanes, careful not to stop or loiter, otherwise a policeman may notice him. He is wondering: What is this experience? I, Jabavu, am the strongest of the young men in my village. I can hoe a field in half the time it takes any other; I can dance longer than anyone without tiring; all the girls like me best and smile as I go past; I came to this city two days ago and already I have clothes, and I can treat one of the clever women of the town like a servant and she loves me. I am Jabavu! I am Jabavu, come to the white man’s town. He dances a little, shuffling through the leaves in the sanitary lane, but then he sees dust filming his new shoes, and so he stops. The sun will soon be sinking; he has not eaten since last night, and he wonders whether he should return to Betty. But he thinks: There are other girls, and he goes slowly through the sanitary lanes looking over the hedges into the gardens, and where there is a nanny hanging up clothes or playing with children, he looks carefully at her. He tells himself that he wants just such another girl as Betty, yet he sees one with her look of open and insolent attraction, and though he hesitates, he moves on, until at last he sees a girl standing by a white baby in a small cart on wheels, and he stops. She has a pleasant, round face, and eyes that are careful of what they say. She wears a white dress and has a dark-red cloth bound round her head. He watches her for a time and then says, in English: “Good morning.” She does not at once answer, but looks at him first. “Can you help me?” he asks again. Then she says: “What can I tell you?”

  From the sound of her voice he thinks she may be from his district, and he speaks to her in his language, and she answers him, smiling, and they move close and speak over the hedge. They discover that her village is not more than an hour’s walking from his, and because the old traditions of hospitality are stronger than the new fear in both of them, she asks him to her room, and he goes. There, while the baby sleeps in its carriage, they talk, and Jabavu, forgetting how he has learned to speak to Betty, treats this girl as respectfully as he would one in the village.

  She tells him he may sleep here tonight, having first said that she is bound to a man in Johannesburg, whom she will marry, so that Jabavu may not mistake her intention. She leaves him for a time, to help her mistress put the baby to bed. Jabavu is careful not to show himself, but sits in a corner, for Alice has said that it is against the law for him to be there, and if the police should come he must try and run away, for her mistress is kind and does not deserve trouble from the police.

  Jabavu sits quietly, looking at the little room, which is the same size as Betty’s and has the same brick walls and floor and tin roof, and sees that three people sleep here, for their bedding is rolled into separate corners, and he tells himself he will not be a houseboy. Soon Alice returns with food. She has cooked mealiemeal porridge, not as well as his mother would do, for that needs time, and it must be done on the mistress’s stove. But there is plenty of it, and there is some jam her mistress has given her. As they eat they speak of their villages and of the life here. Alice tells him she earns a pound a month and the mistress gives her clothes and plenty of mealiemeal. She speaks with great affection of this woman, and for a time Jabavu is tempted to change his mind and find just such another for himself. But a pound a month—no, not for Jabavu, who despises Alice for being satisfied with so little. Yet he looks kindly at her and thinks her very pretty. She has stuck a candle in its own grease on the door-sill, and it gives a nice light, and her cheeks and eyes and teeth glisten. Also she has a soft, modest voice, which pleases him after the way Betty uses hers. Jabavu warms to her and feels her answering warmth for him. Soon there is a silence and Jabavu tries to approach her, but with respect, not as he would handle Betty. She allows him, and sits within his arm and tells him of the man who promised her marriage and then went to Johannesburg to earn money for the lobola. At first he wrote and sent money, but now there has been silence for a year. He has another woman now, so travellers have told her. Yet she believes he will come back, for he was a good man. “So Johannesburg is not all bad?” asks Jabavu, thinking of the many different things he has heard. “It seems that many like it, for they go once and then go again and again,” she says, but with reluctance, for it is not a thought she enjoys. Jabavu comforts her; she weeps a little, then he takes her, but with gentleness. Afterwards he asks her what would happen if there was a baby. She says that there are many children in the city who do not know their fathers; and then she tells him things that make him dizzy with astonishment and admiration. So that is why the white women have one or two or three children or none at all? Alice tells him of the things a woman may use, and a man may use; she says that many of the more simple people do not know of them, or fear them as witchcraft, but the wise people protect themselves against children for whom there are no fathers or homes. Then she sighs and says how much she longs for children and a husband, but Jabavu interrupts her to ask how he may obtain these things she has spoken about, and she tells him it is best to ask a kind white person to buy them, if one knows such a white person, or one may buy them from the coloured people who traffic in more things than liquor, or if one is brave enough to face a snubbing, one may go and ask in a white man’s shop—there are some traders who will sell to the black people. But these things are expensive, she says, and need care in use, and . . . she continues to talk, and Jabavu learns another lesson for life in the big city, and he is grateful to her. Also he is grateful and warm to her because here is a girl who keeps her gentleness and her knowledge of what is right even in the city. In the morning he thanks her many times and says goodbye to her and to the two other men who came in to sleep in the room late at night, after visiting, and while she thanks him also, for politeness’s sake, her eyes tell him that if he wished he could take the place of the man in Johannesburg. But Jabavu had already learned to be afraid of the way every woman in the city longs only for a husband, and he adds that he wishes for the early return of her promised husband so that she may be happy. He leaves her, and before he has reached the end of the sanitary lane is thinking what he should do next, while she looks after him and think
s sadly of him for many days.

  It is early in the morning, the sun is newly risen, and there are few people in the streets. Jabavu walks for a long time around the houses and gardens, learning how the city is planned, but he does not ask for work. When he has understood enough of the place to find his way without asking questions at every corner he goes to the part of the town where the shops are, and examines them. Never has he imagined such richness and variety. Half of what he sees he does not understand, and he wonders how these things are used, but in spite of his wonder he never stands still before a window; he makes his legs move on even when they would rather stop, in order that the police may not notice him. And then, when he has seen windows of food and of clothes, and many other strange articles, he goes to the place where the Indian shops are for natives to buy, and there he mixes with the crowds, listens to the gramophones playing music, and keeps his ears attentive so that he may learn from what people say, and so the afternoon slowly passes in learning and listening. When he grows hungry he watches until he sees a cart with fruit on it, he walks quickly past and takes half a dozen bananas with a skill that seems to have been born in his fingers, for he is astonished himself at their cunning. He walks down a side-street eating the bananas as if he had paid money for them, quite openly; and he is thinking what he should do next. Return to Betty? He does not like the thought. Go to Mr. Mizi, as Mrs. Kambusi says he should? But he shrinks from it—later, later, he thinks, when I have tasted all the excitements of the town. And in the meantime, he still owns one shilling, nothing else.

  And so he begins to dream. It is strange that when he was in the village and made such dreams they were far less lofty and demanding than the one he makes now; yet, even in the ignorance of the village, he was ashamed of those small and childish dreams, while now, although he knows quite well what he is thinking is nonsense, the bright pictures moving through his mind grip him so fast he walks like a mad person, open-mouthed, his eyes glazed. He sees himself in one of the big streets where the big houses are. A white man stops him and says: I like you, I wish to help you. Come to my house. I have a fine room which I do not use. You may live in it, and you may eat at my table and drink tea when you like. I will give you money when you need it. I have many books; you may read them all and become educated . . . I am doing this because I do not agree with the colour bar and wish to help your people. When you know everything that is in the books, then you will be a man of light, just the same as Mr. Mizi, whom I respect very much. Then I will give you enough money to buy a big house, and you may live in it and be a leader of the African people, like Mr. Samu and Mr. Mizi . . .

  This dream is so sweet and so strong that Jabavu at last stands under a tree, gazing at nothing, quite bewildered. Then he sees a policeman cycling slowly past and looking at him, and it does not mix well with the dream, and so he makes his feet walk on. The dream’s sad and lovely colours are all around him still, and he thinks: The white people are so rich and powerful, they would not miss the money to give me a room and books to read. Then a voice says: But there are many others beside me, and Jabavu shakes himself crossly because of that voice. He cannot bear to think of others, his hunger for himself is so strong. Then he thinks: Perhaps if I go to school in the Township and tell them how I learned to read and write by myself they will take me in . . . But Jabavu is too old for school, and he knows it. Slowly, slowly, the foolish sweetness of the dreaming leaves him, and he walks soberly down to the road to the Township. He has no idea at all of what he will do when he gets there, but he thinks something will happen to help him.

  It is now early in the evening, about five, and it is a Saturday. There is an air of festivity and freedom, for yesterday was pay-day, and people are looking how best to spend their money. When he reaches the market he lingers there, tempted to spend his shilling on some proper food. But now it has become important to him, like a little piece of magic. It seems to him he has been in the city for a very long time, although it is only four days, and all that time the shilling has been in his pocket. He has the feeling that if he loses it he will lose his luck. Also there is another thought—it took his mother so long to save it. He wonders that in the kraal a shilling is such a lot of money, whereas here he could spend it on a few boiled mealies and a small cake. He is angry with himself because of this feeling of pity for his mother, and mutters: “You big fool, Jabavu,” but the shilling stays in his pocket and he wanders on, thinking how he may find something to eat without asking Betty, until he reaches the Recreation Hall, which has people surging all around it.

  It is too early for the Saturday dancing, and so he loiters through the crowd to see what is happening. Soon he sees Mr. Samu with some others at a side door, and he goes closer with the feeling: Ah, here is someone who will help me. Mr. Samu talks to a friend, in the way in which Jabavu recognises, as if that friend is not one person but many; and Mr. Samu’s eyes move from one face near to him to another, and then on, always moving, as if it is with his eyes that he holds them, gathers them in, makes them one. And his eyes rest on Jabavu’s face, and Jabavu smiles and steps forward—but Mr. Samu, still talking, is looking at someone else. Jabavu feels as if something cold hit his stomach. He thinks, and for the first time: Mr. Samu is angry because I ran away this morning; and at once he walks jauntily away, saying to himself: Well, I don’t care about Mr. Samu, he’s nothing but a big talker, these men of light, they are just fools, saying Please, Please to the Government! Yet he has not gone a hundred yards when his feet slow, he stops, and then his feet seem to turn him around so that he must go back to the hall. Now the people are crowding in at the big door, Mr. Samu has gone inside, and Jabavu follows at the back of the crowd. By the time he has got inside the hall is full, and so he stands at the back against the wall.

  On the platform are Mr. Samu, the other man who was with him in the bush, and a third man, who is almost at once introduced as Mr. Mizi. Jabavu’s eyes, dazed with so many people all together, hardly see Mr. Mizi’s face, but he understands this is a man of great strength and cleverness. He stands as straight and tall as he can so that Mr. Samu may see him, but Mr. Samu’s eyes again move past without seeing, and Jabavu thinks: But who is Mr. Samu? Nothing besides Mr. Mizi . . . And then he looks how these men are dressed, and sees their clothes are dark and sometimes old, sometimes even with patches on them. There is no one in this hall who has as bright and smart clothes as Jabavu himself, and so the small, unhappy child in Jabavu quietens, appeased, and he is able to stand quietly listening.

  Mr. Mizi is talking. His voice is powerful, and the people in the benches sit motionless, leaning forward, and their faces are full of longing, as if they are listening to a beautiful story. Yet what Mr. Mizi says is not at all beautiful. Jabavu cannot understand, and asks a man near him what this meeting is. The man says that the men on the platform are the leaders for the League for the Advancement of the African People; that they are now discussing the laws which treat Africans differently from the white people . . . they are very clever, he says; and can understand the laws as they are written, which it takes many years to do. Later the meeting will be told about the management of land in the reserves, and how the Government wishes to reduce the cattle owned by the African people, and about the pass-laws, and also many other things. Jabavu is shown a piece of paper with numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6, and opposite these numbers are written words like Destocking of Cattle. He is told this piece of paper is an Agenda.

  First Mr. Mizi speaks for a long time, then Mr. Samu, then Mr. Mizi again, and sometimes the people in the hall seem to growl with anger, sometimes they sigh and call out “Shame!” and these feelings, which are like the feelings of one person, become Jabavu’s also, and he, too, claps and sighs and calls out “Shame, Shame!” Yet he hardly understands what is said. After a long time Mr. Mizi rises to speak on a subject which is called Minimum Wage, and now Jabavu understands every word. Mr. Mizi says that not long ago a member of the white man’s Parliament asks for a law which would
make one pound a month a minimum wage for African workers, but the other members of Parliament said “No,” it would be too much. And now Mr. Mizi says he wishes every person to sign a petition to the members of the Parliament to reconsider this cruel decision. And when he says this, every man and woman in the hall roars out “Yes, yes,” and they clap so long that Jabavu’s hands grow tired. And now he is looking at those great and wise men on the platform, and with every nerve of his body longs to be like them. He sees himself standing on a platform while hundreds of people sigh and clap and cry “Yes, yes!”

  And suddenly, without knowing how it has happened, his hand is raised and he has called out, “Please, I want to speak.” Everybody in the hall has turned to look, and they are surprised. There is complete silence in the hall. Then Mr. Samu stands up quickly and says, after a long look at Jabavu: “Please, this is a young friend of mine, let him speak.” He smiles and nods at Jabavu, who is filled with immense pride, as if a great hawk carried him into the sky on its wings. He swaggers a little as he stands. Then he speaks of how he came from his kraal only four days ago, how he outwitted the recruiters who tried to cheat him, how he had no food and fainted with hunger and was handled like an ox by the white doctor, how he has searched for work . . . The words flow into Jabavu’s tongue as if someone very clever stood behind his shoulder and whispered them into his ear. Some things this clever person does not mention, such as how he stole clothes and shoes and food, and how he fell in with Betty and spent the night at the shebeen. But he tells how in the white woman’s garden he has been rudely ordered to the back, “which is the right place for niggers”—and this Jabavu tells with great bitterness—and how he has been offered twelve shillings a month and his food. And as Jabavu speaks the people in the hall murmur, “Yes, yes.”

  Jabavu is still full of words when Mr. Samu stands up, interrupting him, saying: “We are grateful to our young friend for what he has said. His experiences are typical for young men coming to town. We all know from our own lives that what he says is true, but it does no harm to hear it again.” And with this he quietly introduces the next subject, which is how terrible it is that Africans must carry so many passes, and the meeting goes on. Jabavu is upset, for he feels that it is not right the meeting should simply go on to something else after the ugly things he has told them. Also, he has seen that some of the people, in turning back to the platform, have smiled at each other, and that smile stung his pride. He glances at the man next to him, who says nothing. Then, since Jabavu continues to look and smile, as if wanting words, the man says pleasantly: “You have a big mouth, my friend.” At this, such rage fills Jabavu that his hand lifts by itself, and very nearly hits the man, who swiftly clasps Jabavu’s wrist and murmurs: “Quiet, you will make big trouble for yourself. We do not fight here.” Jabavu mutters in anguish: “My name is Jabavu, not Big Mouth,” and the man says: “I did not speak of your name, I do not know it. But in this place we do not fight, for the men of light have trouble enough without that.”