Bala was a small man with thick, black hair parted on the left, large ears, a large nose and thick lips. He had a particularly short neck which gave him the appearance of continually hunching his shoulders as if against a cold draft or an expected blow from behind. He always dressed neatly in his only thin, light-grey suit, white shirt and dark blue tie. His black leather shoes were cracked and had holes in the soles.
Because if his difficult upbringing, Bala was hesitant by nature, especially when away from his work environment. He felt inferior to white people and people who were taller than he was. But Bala loved his wife and daughter dearly and his love for them often enabled to overcome his inferiority complex and speak up boldly when he had to defend them.
Three weeks previously Bala had received a letter from a firm of attorneys in Johannesburg informing him that his uncle, Rajesh Dinat, had been killed in a motorcar accident and, according to his will, had left his small tailoring business as well as his tiny, tin house in the suburb of Pageview, to his nephew Bala Desai. The firm urged Bala to relocate to Johannesburg as soon as possible and take up the reigns of the business as the present clientele needed to be attended to and the expenses such as the shop’s rental and the municipal rates and taxes needed to be paid.
Bala had been terrified when he received the letter and his first thought was to reject his inheritance. But then it dawned on him that this was a chance of a lifetime and if he grasped it he could improve the lives of himself and the two people that he loved so much. Fatima had also been frightened of the unknown difficulties but she realised that she would have to face up to moving to Johannesburg and support her loving husband. She clutched Bala’s arm for support and assurance as he told her of his determination to take this opportunity and improve their lives. Together they began to make their plans, using each other’s presence to keep up their confidence.
The old tailor was saddened to hear that his hardworking, young assistant was leaving him but he saw the opportunity that had been given to the young man and so, he wished him well, knowing that situations like this tended to help his people in their fight to overcome the atrocities that the apartheid government had forced upon them.
After obtaining the required permits from the Department of Internal Affairs that allowed him and his family to move to Johannesburg and giving the landlord the necessary notice, Bala went to the Durban railway station and purchased the necessary tickets to travel to Johannesburg by bus. The cost severely depleted his meagre savings and he worried about how he would support his family in their new environment until the shop produced some income. Uncle Rajesh had obviously not been able to save much of the money that he had derived from his enterprise and Bala had no idea of what debts the old man may have accumulated and that he would be held liable for.
“Are we ready to go?” Bala asked as he closed and locked the big, leather suitcase that contained all their worldly possessions.
“Yes.” Fatima replied, her large, brown eyes wide and frightened. She pulled her thin, short frame upright in a determined effort to rid herself of her fear and trepidation. She resolved there and then to do everything that was humanly possible to help and support her dear husband in this frightening endeavour that they were embarking on.
Fatima was dressed in one of her two traditional Indian full-length pale blue dresses and a dark blue shawl covered her long, black hair. As Bala picked up the heavy suitcase she plucked at the sleeve of her dress with her slim fingers, her thick lips pursed into a straight line. As was her custom, Fatima was barefoot.
Fatima picked up Salona and rested her on her hip, her arm holding the little girl close to her. The child was also dressed in a traditional Indian dress and like her mother, barefoot. Her dark brown eyes were wide with consternation.
"Why are we leaving home?” she asked holding her head to one side and raising her eyebrows. Fatima stroked her short, black hair.
“We’re going to live in Johannesburg, my love.” Fatima said. “I’ve explained everything to you before. Father is going to take over his uncle’s shop that has been given to him. It means a whole new life for us.”
The little girl nodded her head but Bala could see that she didn’t understand what was happening.
“Don’t worry, my sweet little thing.” he said with a reassuring smile. “We are all three going into a new adventure together and it is going to be so exciting! So, let’s get started!”
The little family left the building, Bala locking the door and tossing the key through one of the broken windowpanes. It clattered onto the old, wooden floor. He smiled at Fatima and Salona bravely and picked up the suitcase.
“Let’s be on our way.” he said.
The three people moved onto the dark street and walked towards the city centre. The city was quiet with only the distant swish of cars travelling along the nearby freeway and the occasional blare of a ship’s foghorn to tell them that there were others who were also awake. Salona watched their shadows lengthen in front of them as they passed under the streetlights and gently fade away only to reappear as they passed under the next light. The family stopped repeatedly so that Bala could rest the hand that was carrying the suitcase and also for Fatima to rest. When she could, Salona walked next to her mother holding her hand for reassurance and carrying her rag doll. As they neared the city centre the traffic on the roads increased and the sky in the east changed from black to a pasty orange and then to a pale blue as the sun appeared above the horizon. More and more people appeared, all hurrying to their destinations and taking no notice of the scruffy Indian family walking wearily along the pavement. Eventually they arrived at the huge, face brick railway station. It was half past eight.
“We’ve made good time.” Bala said looking at the clock above the station entrance. “We’ve got half an hour to wait before the bus leaves. Would you like something to drink?"
"We'll just have a drink of water from the fountain over there.” Fatima replied. “Once we’re on the bus we can have some of the food and cold tea that I’ve brought with us.”
Bala nodded and after they had slaked their thirst they walked to the bus departure area. The huge dark red vehicle stood silently beneath the curved roof of the depot as people of all description milled around. Luggage was being packed onto the roof of the bus and into the storage compartments in the sides. Neither Bala, Fatima or Salona noticed the dusty, black man with his colourful blanket draped over his shoulders standing nearby and anxiously eating a chunk of white bread and washing it down with an orange cold drink.
“We’ll take our suitcase on the bus with us.” Bala told the porter who was supervising the loading of the luggage. “It’s got our food for the journey in it.”
The old, black man nodded.
***
“Thanks, we’ll leave tomorrow.” Bogdan said. “Goodbye.”
The tall slim Yugoslav, his black hair brushed straight back from his forehead, put down the receiver. He wore a white open-neck shirt, black slacks and black slip-on shoes. He fiddled with his heavy black moustache and then scratched his thin straight nose. His thin lips twitched into a faint smile as he walked to the kitchen of the furnished apartment that he and his wife, Julia, were renting on a monthly basis. She glanced at him from the stove where she was standing preparing their lunch.
"I've got the job at Deep Reef Gold Mine.” he said with a small smile.
Julia shook back her long, black hair and looked at Bogdan, her thin black eyebrows raised. She wore a dark blue dress that showed off her well-shaped figure, and black high-heeled shoes. Her nose was thin and straight and her lips full. Her dark brown eyes flitted back to the contents in the pot on the stove.
“Obviously they don’t have any connections with Horizon Shipping.” she said.
"No.” Bogdan replied. “We have to leave tomorrow morning, though. The quickest and cheapest way to get out of here and up to Jo’burg is by bus so I’m quickly going to the station to buy tickets. I won’t be long.”
> “Okay. Lunch will be ready by the time you get back.” Julia said.
Bogdan lit a thin, brown cigar with his silver Ronson lighter and walked out of the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. Crime was the biggest problem in this country and nothing of value was safe, he thought to himself as he walked briskly along the pavement. The Durban station was less than three blocks away. Bogdan was soon bathed in sweat and he could feel the harsh sun burning down onto his skull through his thinning, black hair. He would be glad to get to a cooler, dryer climate, he thought.
Bogdan Vodnik had been born in Belgrade in the Republic of Serbia in Communist Yugoslavia in 1948. His father, Dobrica and his mother, Irene, had survived the 1945-1946 mass murders committed by the followers of the Yugoslav leader, General Tito, when they returned from exile in Austria after the civil war that ended in 1945, and had gone to live in Belgrade where Dobrica had found work as a labourer for a large construction company. The couple lived in a tiny apartment in the southern part of the city where many other Serbs lived and it was here that Bogdan was born.
Even as a small boy, Bogdan had an affinity for risk and during his school holidays he worked on the construction sites where his father laboured, learning all about building and the materials that were needed to create office blocks and apartment complexes. His main interest was the acquisition and disposal of these materials and as soon as he had completed his schooling he was eagerly taken up in the buying department of the company as an assistant buyer. As Bogdan gained experience in his job he saw opportunities to increase his income by dealing in materials that were either stolen from the company or for the company. He was not in the least averse to this practice and soon had a thriving second job that provided a useful income.
In 1968 Bogdan’s mother died of cancer and the father and son shared the little apartment as well as their grief. In 1970, a tall dark-haired young Serb girl named Julia started work in the buying department of the construction company. Two years later Bogdan and Julia were married. The young couple lived with Dobrica until he died of a heart attack in 1973. As they now had a spare bedroom, Julia's mother, who had lived on her own in a tiny one-bedroom apartment since her husband died five years before, sold her apartment and came to live with them.
When the government created a new decentralized constitution in 1974 Bogdan and Julia decided to leave Yugoslavia as it was becoming more and more evident that this new constitution would weaken the country both economically and politically and that it was likely that there could soon be a Muslim domination of the country. Because of their age and Bogdan’s zest for excitement and the unknown the couple made no definite plans except to leave the country. They would go where they could and face the consequences as they materialised.
Bogdan and Julia resigned from their jobs and handed the apartment, together with the furniture, over to Julia's mother. With all their worldly belongings in a large suitcase they set off for the port city of Dubrovnik on the Adriatic coast. They travelled through Bosnia-Herzegovina and then through the Republic of Montenegro by bus and in Dubrovnik they boarded a small cargo steamer that took them to the port of Pescara in Italy. From there they took a bus to Rome.
Bogdan wasn’t concerned about where they eventually settled so he visited all the embassies in the city and applied for work in a whole host of countries. Language was the deciding factor though, and as both Bogdan and Julia had a reasonable command of the English language, the job that the South African embassy found Bogdan as a buyer with a ship building company in the city of Durban appealed to both of them. The South African government was also very keen to bring in immigrant workers because of the huge outflow of skilled workers after the student uprising in Soweto and then the rest of the country just over two years ago. Neither Bogdan nor Julia knew anything about South Africa but the prospect of a life in a sun-filled country was sufficient for them to accept the opportunity. Two weeks later they stepped off the boat in the port city of Durban, South Africa.
The directors of Horizon Shipping were very impressed with their new employee from Yugoslavia. Although his command of the English language needed improvement and he was clueless as far as the Afrikaans language was concerned, he quickly learned about the products that the company needed and how to get the most competitive prices for the best quality items. He was not prepared to compromise and was able to create a good balance between price and quality.
What the directors didn’t know though was that Bogdan had also quickly established which suppliers could be manipulated and also which employees at the company could supply stolen products at very low prices. Soon he was earning a handy income on the side and looking for other opportunities with regard to stolen goods.
Julia, however, had been unable to find work, but the ample salary that Bogdan was earning together with the extra income that his clandestine operation produced, enabled the couple to live comfortably and enjoy their adopted country.
The stolen materials that Bogdan bought and sold came mainly from a small Chinese gang that specialized in the theft and sale of items that were needed in the ship-building and engineering industry. Bogdan’s predecessor had also been buying from this source but after he was dismissed from Horizon Shipping for insubordination, he turned vindictive and reported the illegal dealings to the police.
The South African Police set a trap for the Chinese gang and Bogdan was caught in their net with them. The result was that the gang went to jail and Bogdan was fired. Bogdan’s lawyer pleaded that his client was new in the country and had been gullible and easily influenced by the thieves who had assured him that the materials that he was buying for the company were not stolen. The police and the court knew otherwise but had no absolute proof of collusion and reluctantly the magistrate had allowed Bogdan to go free. The police made it quite clear to Bogdan that they had not been fooled by his plea and that they would make sure that they had sufficient evidence to convict him if he ever fell foul of the law again. Bogdan had shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
Bogdan immediately began scouring the newspapers for job opportunities. He knew that without a permanent job the government would send him back to Yugoslavia and he had seen enough of South Africa to know that this is where he wanted to live. There were just too many opportunities here for someone who was prepared to take a little risk.
Eventually, much to his relief, Bogdan’s application for a job as a buyer for a gold mine in Johannesburg called Deep Reef Gold Mine was successful. The problem was that the mine needed him to start work immediately and this meant leaving the apartment without giving the landlord the appropriate one-month’s notice. Bogdan reasoned though, that his needs were more important than those of the landlord and so, under the circumstances, it wasn’t unreasonable to leave without giving notice. He had had to put down a small deposit when he first rented the apartment and this would reduce the landlord’s losses.
That evening Bogdan and Julia packed their clothes and a few articles that were of sentimental value, into their two large, red suitcases and went to bed, planning to leave early the following morning.
“If we leave here at eight tomorrow morning,” Bogdan said, “we’ll have plenty of time to get our luggage stowed and find good seats on the bus. I still haven’t got used to there being different classes in the busses and trains here that are all based on the passenger’s skin colour. We can’t sit with the blacks, even if we wanted to and they can’t sit with us. We have to sit in the section of the bus reserved for white people.”
“Yes.” Julia said. “Even the benches in the park are reserved for white people only. It’s very strange, isn’t it?"
The following morning Bogdan and Julia left the apartment carrying a suitcase each. Bogdan locked the front door and threw the key back into the flat through the partially open window.
Even at this early hour the air was hot and humid and by the time the couple reached the station they were uncomfortably hot and sweaty. They approached the black m
an who was standing next to the bus and supervising the loading of the passenger’s luggage, showed him their tickets and watched as he stowed their suitcases in the hold. They then went to the front of the big, brown vehicle to board and find seats in the “white” section. They took no notice of the Indian family of three who were standing nearby, anxiously waiting to board at the door to the “non-white” section of the bus nor did they notice the small black man wearing a colourful blanket over his shoulders and sitting on the ground with his back against the brick wall of the building.
CHAPTER 2
The naked black man lay straddling the long wooden bench, his hands and feet tightly bound to the legs of the sturdy piece of furniture with pieces of thin nylon rope. The harsh light from the fluorescent light on the ceiling flooded the tiny room. The bound man’s clothes lay in an untidy heap on the floor next to the wall. The ceiling and walls were painted a dull white and in several places the walls had been deeply scarred with graffiti depicting the desperate struggle that previous prisoners had experienced. The bare, concrete floor was splattered with old blood and urine stains.
The whip, made of rhinoceros hide, whistled down and bit viciously into the soft flesh of the black man’s buttocks. The man cried out in pain and tried to look over his shoulder at the person who was inflicting the excruciating pain on his body. His eyes were filled with fear, his lips pulled back in a terrified grimace.
“Please, baas!” the man cried, “Please don’t hit me! I am not with the A.N.C.! I’m telling you the truth!”
The white policeman raised the whip above his head, the slender tip clattering against the light fitting above.
The Colour of Gold Page 2
