The Colour of Gold
By
Oliver T. Spedding
© Copyright 2015 Oliver T. Spedding
Smashwords Edition
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Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes
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CHAPTER 1
The little grey lizard warmed itself in the rays from the early morning sun. Broken dry leaves and small pieces of dry grass were scattered across the surrounding sandy soil. Several small stones, gigantic boulders to the tiny creature, lay clustered behind it. The fragile fragments of the white shell that the lizard had emerged from only a few hours earlier lay discarded nearby, their stark whiteness unnaturally bright in the early light. Birds twittered in the nearby bushes and in the distance the dull murmur of waves crashing against huge brown rocks washed through the still, warm air.
With infinite patience a dark shape moved slowly and stealthily from amongst the brown stones behind the tiny lizard. Two large, cruel pinchers, their black surfaces glistening in the sunlight raised themselves off the dry sandy surface on each side of the gross, black scorpion as it stared intently at its prey, its tiny eyes like small, unemotional camera lenses. Ever so slowly the creature moved out into the open, directly behind the delicate, grey reptile. With infinite care the deadly black brute edged closer to its unsuspecting victim. Slowly its black, segmented tail rose into the air, the vicious sting at its tip pulsing rhythmically as it prepared to inject its paralyzing contents into the body of its prey.
The baby lizard basked in the sun’s rays as its cold blood warmed and thinned in the heat. The joy of life filled the little body as it stared at the lush, green surroundings and the clear, blue sky. Suddenly its sense of well-being was shattered by some strange sense that warned of impending danger. But the warning came too late.
With a final lightning rush the scorpion reached the tiny lizard and grabbed it firmly by its right back leg with its one pincher and cruelly on the back with the other. The trapped creature kicked desperately with its other three legs as it tried to free itself, its tiny body wriggling frantically as it emitted short, faint whimpers of fear. The frenzied movement of its victim excited the glistening, black scorpion and its tail arched over its head and the needle-sharp point of its sting drove through the thin skin of the hopelessly trapped reptile. The death-bringing fluid flowed into the tiny body, driving the life from everything that it touched. The movements of the little lizard slowed into sporadic kicks as the so newly created life left its body. Its gentle, brown eyes lost their lustre and slowly closed as death came to it.
Suddenly the hideous, black monster tensed as it sensed something very large approaching. With its dead prey held firmly in its cruel pinchers the scorpion scuttled to the safety of its lair beneath a large, rough rock. The ground trembled as the unknown thing approached and the scorpion raised its tail as it prepared to defend itself. Just as suddenly as it had approached, the impending danger receded into the distance and the scorpion lowered its tail. It began to devour its prey.
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Isaiah Zuma hurried along the faint dirt path that twisted up the steep hillside and through the coarse, yellow grass that covered most of the valley. He didn’t notice the small, white pieces of eggshell that he crushed beneath the thickly calloused sole of his large, black bare foot. He glanced at the sun climbing into the sky to his left. It was going to be a scorching day. He hoped that once he reached the main road to Durban he would quickly get a lift from a passing truck. He didn’t relish the thought of walking all the way to the city. He reached the summit of the hill and paused to look back, realising that he was unlikely to see this part of the country again for some time.
The vast, shallow valley, typical of Zululand in South Africa, stretched out below him bordered on both sides by low, rolling green-brown hills. Scattered carelessly across the valley floor were a number of small, crude farms each consisting of a cluster of dome-like grass huts and a small field of yellowing maize plants. In between the small agricultural plots were stretches of pale green veldt. Two sprawling copses of dark green wattle trees broke the bareness of the landscape. Like fine cracks, pale grey footpaths connected the little homesteads through the thick grass in an intricate web of designed necessity.
Near the base of one of the distant hills Isaiah could just make out the little cluster of grass huts with its adjacent maize fields where he had spent most of his nineteen years. The three round grass hovels in which he and his father and mother had lived shimmered in the rapidly increasing heat. His mouth tightened momentarily at the thought of no longer being part of the little unit that had struggled year after year to survive in the harsh environment that was his homeland.
Isaiah’s ancestors had arrived in Natal from the North approximately 300 years ago as they searched for suitable land on which to graze their cattle. The small clan lived peacefully and grew in numbers until one of their offspring, Chaka, in a series of well planned and strategic moves came to dominate the people in the area. Many years of conflict and bloodshed followed until eventually, as more and more white settlers arrived from the South together with the British army, peace was established.
From the day that he was born, Isaiah lived on the little plot of family land in the vicinity of Eshowe and as the only child, helping his father till the soil and harvest the meagre crop of maize that formed their basic diet. The entire area survived on subsistence farming with small herds of cattle providing meat and a measure of wealth. On very special occasions cattle were slaughtered to appease the Gods but in general cattle were the most prized possessions of farmers in the area. A few cows provided milk and cheese. Families survived on the absolute minimum and often, in times of severe drought, had to beg from larger communities to avoid perishing.
Because of the family’s extreme poverty Isaiah had had very little access to formal education and it was only during the few years of abundance that he was able to attend the outdoor school at the nearby village. Here he had been taught the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic. His mother, Rebecca, had encouraged Isaiah to read and write in the evenings by the faint light of the short candle that stood on the rickety table in their hut and he had been fascinated by the logic of arithmetic and the beauty of the written word. He had practiced diligently but the abject poverty that prevailed severely stifled the young boy’s progress. While watching over the cattle during the day, Isaiah practiced his arithmetic using small stones and pieces of wood. He divided the stones into groups to help him understand multiplication, addition and subtraction and wrote letters and words in the dry sand with a stick to improve his understanding of the written word. Often he got into trouble with his father when the cattle strayed into neighbouring fields because they had been neglected by the young shepherd who was trying to educate himself. His father, James, understood though, realizing how important it was for his son to have an education. Poverty was like a wall that prevented his son from achieving anything academically and he encouraged Isaiah to improve himself constantly.
Realising that an education was an essential ingredient for financial success, Isaiah made a vow to himself that he would one day have sufficient means to educate himself properly and earn an income that would enable him to provide for his father and mother in their old age. They had endured so much in their efforts
to survive and provide for him that he was determined that they should not have to endure any more of the difficulties that had made up their lives to date. He would see that they spent their last days in comfort.
When Isaiah’s father died after being bitten by a snake, the only hope the two remaining members of the family had of surviving was for Isaiah to seek employment on the gold mines in Johannesburg and send whatever money he could to his mother so as to provide her with sufficient income to live comfortably and also pay the taxes that were owed on the smallholding to the clan’s chief. The money also had to be sufficient to purchase fodder for the livestock. It was with a heavy heart and a great deal of trepidation that Isaiah took leave of his mother and headed out into the unknown.
There’s a common misconception that all Zulu men are tall and well built. Isaiah proved that this was a myth. He was of medium height and, due to the constant malnutrition that he had been subjected to, considerably underweight. His head was noticeably big for his thin body, with coarse, black, tufted hair, protruding ears and a slim, pointed chin. His nose was large and flat and his big brown eyes set well apart. His most noticeable facial feature though, was the large gap between his two front teeth. Nobody could help but notice this flaw but Isaiah was totally oblivious to this abnormality. His feet were comically large for his thin legs as were his large, rough hands for his thin arms. His complexion was a dark brown colour that accented the whites of his eyes and his large white teeth. He walked with a plodding gait that was unusual for someone so young but the rest of his movements were those of a man still to reach his prime and who was seeking to achieve important goals in his life.
Isaiah wore worn, patched khaki trousers and a thin white T-shirt. Over his narrow shoulders he had draped his thick, colourful blanket that he hoped would protect him from the cold winter winds that were so loathed in the part of the country where he was headed. Rebecca had urged him to wear his father’s old leather shoes but Isaiah was so used to going barefoot that he knew that he would discard them after a very short time and so, had left them lying on the dirt floor of his mother’s hut. If he really needed shoes, he reasoned, he would buy a more suitable pair when he had secured a paying job.
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Because of the destitute situation that he had experienced for most of his childhood, Isaiah had learned that it paid to please people and, as a result, had cultivated a friendly, almost servile attitude to help him through life. Deep down however, he had a steely determination to get his own way when and if he felt that it was his right.
Isaiah continued steadily along the dry, sandy path running parallel to the coastline and towards the main road. The intensity of the sun’s heat increased as the day wore on and the thick blanket over his shoulders became more and more uncomfortable. He considered removing it but realized that carrying it under his arm would be even more of a problem. It was better to simply endure the discomfort. Once he reached the main road he would remove it and put it on the ground next to him while he waited for a truck to give him a lift to Durban.
Rebecca had given Isaiah as much as she could of the precious savings that the family had managed to accumulate over the years. It didn’t amount to much but it would get Isaiah to Johannesburg by bus and pay for his accommodation and food for a week once he arrived there. Isaiah realized that it was imperative that he find work on the mines within that time. If he didn’t he would be in big trouble as unemployed people from outside the Johannesburg area were quickly sent back to their original areas if they were discovered by the police. Only black people with permits allowing them to be in Johannesburg were allowed to stay there and Isaiah had to find work on a mine to acquire such a permit or “pass”.
As Isaiah got closer to the main road he detected the unmistakable smell of the sea and as he crested a low hill, the flat turquoise ocean spread out before him. He stopped to take in the beauty of the scene in front of him. The azure stretch of water had a strong calming effect on Isaiah and he felt his trepidation about the future slip away. His confidence rose and he walked on with a new spring in his step.
By the time Isaiah reached the main road going south to Durban it was mid afternoon. The heat was stifling. Gratefully he shrugged his blanket from his shoulders, folded it carefully and placed it on the ground at his feet. A faint breeze wafted over him and he felt the sharp chill of his sweat evaporating. He sighed with pleasure and stomped his feet on the grass to rid them of the red dust that they had collected.
For almost an hour Isaiah stood at the side of the tarred road before a truck carrying a cargo of live chickens pulled off the road in response to Isaiah’s raised finger. He hurried to the driver’s side of the cab.
“I’m going to Durban!” Isaiah shouted above the roar from the truck’s engine.
“Get in!” the driver shouted back and pointed to the passenger’s side of the cab.
The trip to Durban was uneventful but it was almost three in the morning by the time the truck reached the main railway station. Isaiah shook hands with the truck driver and jumped down onto the concrete pavement. The huge vehicle roared away, leaving Isaiah to the silence of the sleeping city. He looked around at the desolate streets and shops. His stomach growled in protest at the lack of food. Isaiah grimaced. He would have to wait until morning to get something to eat. He walked to a small alley between two buildings, slung his blanket over his shoulders, sat down on the ground with his back to the wall and wearily waited for the morning. Soon he was fast asleep.
As Isaiah drifted into sleep, well to the South of the city, a small family of three was waking up.
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Bala Desai, his wife Fatima and their 5 year old daughter Salona, lived in one of six squalid, one-bedroom apartments that made up a dilapidated, old building in the area of Durban allocated by the government for Indian citizens to live in and named Chatsworth. The government wanted each non-white race group in the country to live in their own designated areas and the people living in these areas were issued with identity documents or “passbooks” that allowed them to live and work only in the areas where they were registered. People found outside their designated areas without special written permission were arrested and jailed, often without a fair trial. Chatsworth was one of the residential suburbs in the city of Durban where its Indian population was forced to live.
The apartment consisted of a small, dark living area with a small wooden table and three steel kitchen chairs and two torn and badly worn lounge chairs, a single bedroom with a large steel-framed bed and a broken wooden wardrobe, a bathroom and a tiny kitchen with a single cupboard and an old, electric stove. The only toilet serving the building was in the small backyard of the premises. The building itself was badly in need of repair but, as the landlord received very little income from his investment, he was content to leave the building to rot in the humid climate. Rats, cockroaches and flies infested the building and rotting garbage littered the backyard and the two lanes that ran on either side of the property. The walls were grey and scarred and the rusted tin roof leaked incessantly. The tarred road in front of the building was badly pot-holed and, because very few people in the area could afford transport of any kind, the City Council never considered it worthwhile repairing. Papers, empty plastic shopping bags, stones and other rubbish littered the area. As many of the inhabitants couldn’t afford electricity, a depressing pall of grey smoke from the thousands of coal and wood fires that were used for cooking and heating continually hung over the suburb like a symbol of doom.
Bala’s ancestors had come to South Africa in 1886 as part of the program in which indentured workers from India and other Hindu countries were brought into the country to work mainly in the sugarcane fields of the coastal province of Natal. These indentured workers were contractually bound to work for their British employers for five years and then return to their home countries or, if they worked a further five years, choose to receive a small portion of land on which they could live and work and become second class
citizens of South Africa.
Unfortunately, while Bala’s grandfather was working his second five-year contract, the government withdrew the free land offer to indentured workers and he had no alternative but to continue working for his farmer-master for the rest of his life. Bala’s father however, was not prepared to work as a farm labourer, and left the farm as soon as he could to seek work in the city of Durban, taking his wife and only son with him. For the rest of his life he worked at the Durban Indian market carrying crates of vegetables and other produce from the delivery trucks to the selling area and from there, to the trucks of the merchants who had bought the produce. His meagre wage enabled him to rent a small apartment for his family in Chatsworth, fourteen kilometres to the South and from which he left in the mornings at three o’clock and returned in the evenings at about six.
Bala’s father’s determination to see that his only child experienced a better life than that of a labourer saw him encourage the child to study and learn a trade that would always be in demand, thus ensuring him of a secure future. There were not many work opportunities available to young Indian boys in the early sixties and the only work that Bala could get was with an old Indian tailor who had a small shop in the commercial suburb of Berea. Every morning, well before dawn, the little boy left the sordid apartment in Chatsworth and walked through the dark, dank streets to the little shop where the old man taught him to make and repair clothes.
When Bala’s parents were killed in a train accident while travelling to Pietermaritzburg to visit friends, the devastated young boy, then aged fifteen, continued to live in the dirty little abode by himself until, three years later, he met and married Fatima, a young Indian girl who worked as a clerk in a large department store in Berea and who also walked to and from work at the same time as Bala. Eighteen months later, their daughter Salona was born.
Life was hard for the little Indian family and the future always bleak. There were no opportunities to improve their lives and they lived from day to day with little hope of a better life. The only joy in Bala’s and Fatima’s lives was their little girl, Salona. Both parents were determined to provide their daughter with a better life than they were experiencing.
The Colour of Gold Page 1
