Early in the morning, just as the inferno began to subside, enormous waves of ocean water rolled across the lowlands and up into the hills, swallowing everything in their path. The water lapped at the edges of the city. For people used to living at a high elevation far removed from the sea, the flood was as incredible as it was terrifying. When the waves receded, it seemed as if everything that had existed below the high water mark was suddenly gone. Then came darkness and bitter chill. Suffering and delirium, Simon Kambule said, were beyond description.
Late on the third day, however, just when it seemed that the frigid night would be everlasting, heavy rain began to fall, the same downpour that the cruise ship passengers had experienced. The next morning, the sky lightened and the cold began to abate. Then the rainbows appeared, interpreted by many in Ulundi, as aboard the Queen of Africa, to be a sign of salvation.
The chaos and panic subsided. In this moment of crisis, tribal traditions provided a valuable support. The Zulus had a ready-made clan structure to fall back on, and the whites and the Indians also demonstrated remarkable resilience. Surviving family members gathered together, followed by spontaneous assemblies in each community. On the seventh day, several of the founding members of the Ulundi Indaba came together and established a rudimentary government center.
"Our first concern, of course, was medical care and food," Kambule said, "although we quickly learned that there were few medical facilities remaining. Strangely, it seems there were not that many injured who required care. Some people had been carried away by the floods—they were simply gone. The fire had been so fierce and—what is the word, idiosyncratic, perhaps?—that individuals had either been suffocated, totally consumed, or completely spared. For the relatively few who had been badly burned but not killed outright, there was little that could be done. They died within forty-eight hours." For all his apparent composure, it was clear that Kambule was tormented by these horrific memories. He shook as he spoke, and his voice wavered.
"As for food, enough of the farming lands have been spared, along with cattle and sheep, that our supplies are, for the present, more than adequate. Many open fields were unaffected by the fires, and though the brief frost has done damage, much of the crop survives. This was cause for great thanksgiving among my people, since a few more days of dark and cold might have finished us. We began to ration the food in a humane manner, making sure especially that the children were adequately fed.
"Then, when we seemed to have gained some control of the situation in the immediate vicinity of Ulundi, we decided to send out scouting parties, some on foot, some on horseback. Many of these scouts returned just hours before your arrival," he told Gustaffson. "As best we can tell, there is a circle around Ulundi, with a radius of about a hundred kilometers, where life exists. Perhaps— our estimate—twenty-five thousand people survived, along with a sizable number of animals. As I have said, many of the fields have also been spared, along with their crops. To our amazement and dismay, outside that circle—what we now call the Ulundi Circle— the earth appears to be totally scorched. And, of course, between here and the coast, below the elevation of about six hundred meters, everything but a few bushes has been swept out to sea. That is why one of our scouts was so amazed to see your camp on the beach. We were about to make plans to contact you; but you have come to us!"
—————
The following day, the Governing Council held an open session to report on the events at Ulundi, and to decide on the next steps to be taken. Nordstrom and Hardy presided, and young Wilson Hardy, Jr., scribbled away to record everything as best he could. It was comfortably dry and cool, with a breeze from the sea blowing inland. A large group of onlookers gathered around the canvas-roofed shelter, anxious to hear the news.
Nordstrom gave the most momentous information first. There was a surviving population concentrated in the area around Ulundi, and praise God, there was food. In the near future, the Inlanders— as he labeled the new neighbors—would be sending shipments of vegetables and fruit, and even meat. A great sigh of relief could be sensed among the listeners.
The captain then reported on other matters that had been discussed. Deck Officer Gustafsson and his hosts agreed that it was important to establish joint planning between the Ulundi Indaba and the beachside Governing Council. A Coordinating Committee was to be formed. But how was communication to be maintained after the radio batteries gave out? A community hardly more than a hundred miles across is not large in the scheme of things; yet carrying on a discourse across such a distance presents a troublesome problem.
"The short-term solution," Nordstrom said, "suggested by Hugh Russell, one of our men in the expeditionary party, is a Pony Express."
There was a smattering of laughter among members of the Council and observers, but Nordstrom, in his commanding way, obtained silence and continued with his presentation.
It turned out that Russell, a mining engineer from Utah, was also an amateur historian of his home state, and had many facts and figures about the Pony Express ready at hand. When that fabled institution was founded in 1860, Utah, then a territory, contained twenty of the 190 Pony Express stations established between Missouri and California. The celebrated mail service featured riders who typically covered 75 to 125 miles in a single run. The key element was that way stations were established ten to fifteen miles apart, and at these stations the riders were given fresh mounts. In KwaZulu Natal, an ordinary horse could be counted on to gallop at an average speed of twelve miles per hour; so with four or five changes of mount, a message could be carried from Ulundi to the beachfront camp, in about six hours. Of course, racehorses—on a track—can run more than three times as fast; but roads in the African hills were far from racetrack quality. And, unhappily, the province's prime thoroughbreds were destroyed when the tsunami engulfed the Greyville Racecourse at Durban.
"We will also investigate the possibilities of a semaphore system," Nordstrom said, "but as a start, the Pony Express it will be." Seeing that several of the engineers were continuing to smile and shake their heads, he continued: "Scientifically ingenious solutions will be happily accepted, gentlemen. But they have to be workable— now! Right now! And while you're snickering about America's Wild West, be advised that we will also borrow from South African frontier history. We have agreed with the Inlanders that we will assist them in trying to resurrect the ox-wagon, the symbol of the Great Boer Trek, which was used during many generations of pre-machine age commerce. Fortunately, the basic roadbeds for railways and highways are in pretty fair condition, even though rails and paving have been swept away by flood or destroyed by fire. Wheeled vehicles may be salvaged; others can be assembled from odd parts. The oxen have survived upland and can be rounded up and put to work."
Suddenly the captain sighed, took a sip of water, and sat down heavily on a wooden bench. He was exhausted from the almost ceaseless activity and strain of command, and the flippant attitude of some of his high-tech passengers was obviously grating on his nerves.
The momentary silence was broken by John Hertzler, who spoke in a loud voice but clearly was sensitive to Nordstrom's annoyance.
"We want to be helpful, Captain," he said. "And we recognize that right now we have to rely on primitive ways of doing things. But at the same time, we want to move to higher technological levels as soon as possible. And in order to do this, we have to know what materials are available for us to work with. When we met the other day, one of our South African engineers was telling us about the area's natural resources; but his presentation was limited to agriculture and animals."
At this point, Hertzler turned to Dr. Wilson Hardy for help. "You know, Wilson, you promised us that this fellow Marshall was going to fill out the picture for us. How about it? What are our prospects of working our way out of the horse-and-buggy age?"
"You're right, John," said Hardy. "Pieter Kemm gave us his report, and said that Kelvin Marshall would fill us in on the mineral resources." Then, turning around to look
for Marshall, he said, "I guess this is as good a time as any. Assuming Captain Nordstrom agrees."
The captain wearily waved his assent.
Kelvin Marshall was a tall, heavy, ruddy-faced man with thin, graying hair, who rose with difficulty from where he had been sitting in the sand. The manufacture of chairs was not yet a high priority among the survivors.
"If you're looking for mineral resources," he began, "you've come to the right place. We have it all, and in huge amounts: coal and iron, copper and nickel, lead and zinc, tin and platinum, silver and gold, and on and on. Also everything you need for building: lime, clay, gypsum, and different kinds of stone. You may not want rare and strategic metals right away, but for those materials we are numero uno, a veritable global headquarters. I have the figures right here." He referred to a sheet of paper on which he had scribbled some notes. "Manganese—eighty-one percent of the world reserves; chromium—sixty-eight percent; vanadium—forty-five percent; zirconium—twenty-six percent; titanium—seventeen percent; and more.
"Ready for atomic energy? Well, when you are, we have six percent of the uranium known to be in the earth. We also have proven reserves of natural gas. The only thing that we do not have—and I'll be the first to admit it—is petroleum. But that's where my company, Sasol, comes in. We are—or were—the only people in the world to have developed an economical process for converting coal into liquid fuel. Thanks to the international boycott that deprived us of petroleum imports during the apartheid days, we solved our problem through technology. At the moment, our factories are doubtless burned to cinders like practically every other structure on the face of the globe. But the knowledge is preserved in our plans and manuals, many of which I brought with me for the seminar—and up here," he said, smiling, tapping the side of his head with his index finger.
"Let me add," he continued, "that in addition to petroleum, we have ethanol. We make it from sugar cane, and for years we've been adding two to four percent ethanol to all our petrol. Until about 1970, we used ethanol—with the trade name Union—as an alternative fuel. Speaking of sugar, we also make an alcoholic drink called Cane Spirit. Sort of like vodka. If your car runs out of fuel, and you've got a bottle of that stuff with you, no problem. You pour it in your tank, and it's sure to get you home."
General White of the Army Engineers stood and asked to be recognized. "You know, Wilson," he said, addressing Dr. Hardy, "I can see that you and Hertzler and a few others are having a good time planning the world of the future, complete with skyscrapers, computers, and airports. But let me remind you that we are scrambling around on this beach trying to provide some shelter for twenty-five hundred needy people, and we're working with turned-over lifeboats, odd pieces of driftwood, some blankets, a few patches of canvas, and just about any bit of useful debris we can find. It doesn't do us a damned bit of good to know that there's a whole bunch of coal in the ground when it's not next door, and all we've got to dig with is a few sticks."
"I take your point, General," Hardy replied. Even-tempered by nature, he had promised himself not to allow difference of opinion and dissent to make him angry when he was presiding with Captain Nordstrom over these discussions. "Pieter and Kelvin, what do you think our prospects are for actually getting at all this wonderful stuff that lies underground? As the general says, we do have immediate needs to balance against hopes for the future."
"I can tell you something about the coal," said Marshall, "since that's a big part of my business. It's true that South Africa's largest deposits are far to the north; but there are several productive collieries right here in KwaZulu Natal—at Dundee, Glencoe, Vryheid, Newcastle, and Utrecht, just to name a few. These mines may be a couple of hundred kilometers inland, but they all used to be linked by train and highway to Richards Bay, which happens to be where we are right now. I dare say that with a little fixing up these roadbeds will do nicely for ox-drawn wagons."
As the discussion turned to details of mining and transport, the crowd that had gathered to hear the news from Ulundi began to disperse. But Marshall continued his dissertation undeterred.
"Two hundred kilometers too far, you say? How about the Zululand Anthracite Mine, right near Ulundi? Or better still, look near Heatonville, just north of Empangeni, which is just a few kilometers up the hill from here. Coal was actually mined there for a short period in the 1980s. Most South African coal is fairly near the surface, which should be good news for anyone starting out with limited labor and primitive tools. Of course, if you don't want to dig at all, just go to Nongoma. It's a bit more than one hundred kilometers away, but the outcrop seams are right there at the surface, ready for the picking. Local folk come with their wheelbarrows and take home some very high-quality pieces.
"So, don't worry about having access to coal, now and practically forever. We have all that we need, some of it is not that hard to get to, and the geologists tell us there is lots more. They've identified a seam parallel to the coast, starting not far from here and running for hundreds of kilometers up into Mozambique.
"As you know, once you have coal, you have the beginning of your industrial revolution. Not only can we burn the coal for power, but we can also use it to make oil, and all the things one can make from oil, for example, acrylic fibers, explosives, fertilizers, ammonia, phenols, waxes, paints—our company made more than one hundred twenty products." Marshall's voice was growing louder and his motions more animated.
"Thank you, Kelvin," Wilson Hardy said, breaking in as diplomatically as possible. "But before we can rebuild your very sophisticated factories, we must have some very sophisticated equipment, and for that we'll need sophisticated machine tools, and in order to make those machine tools we'll need more rudimentary machine tools, and so forth back through several generations of tools, and before we can start that process we'll require something of a steel industry. So, assuming we can get the coal, where are we going to get the iron?"
"Pieter's the one to tell you about that," Marshall said, "and he'll probably tell you that all you have to do is look under your feet."
Pieter Kemm stepped forward. "What Kelvin means," he said, "is that my company, Richards Bay Minerals, mines the sand dunes right here in Richards Bay, just down the beach a bit. It's an extraordinary story: These dark sand dunes, two kilometers wide and seventeen kilometers long, have been found to contain concentrated amounts of titanium, zircon, and high-purity iron. Through the ages, these minerals, originating in our mountains, have been washed down to the sea and then redeposited by wind and waves in the form of dunes. Since the 1970s, the mining of these dunes has provided a large share of the world market in these valuable materials. I'm sure that, as the reconstruction of the world begins, our mining and factory operations will play an important role.
"In the meantime, although the largest iron deposits lie far to the north and west, six hundred kilometers away and more, I feel certain there is enough closer by to take care of our needs for a good long while. In Greytown, just one hundred kilometers distant, the very first commercial iron in South Africa was mined and smelted in 1901. The works were on a farm named Proclamation and were operated by a Mr. C. H. Green. The ore was of good quality, and although the mine was abandoned long ago, I don't see why it couldn't be reopened. At least that's what one of my geologist friends told me just last year. In the Dundee area, already mentioned in connection with coal, iron was mined back in the forties, and I'm sure there is more to be had for enterprising pioneers."
As Kemm paced back and forth under the canvas roof, which flapped occasionally in the breeze, a feeling of growing excitement could be sensed. The morning had started with good news about a surviving population in Ulundi, and food—precious, life-sustaining food. The thrill of these tidings of salvation was still making itself felt. And now the information about natural resources was almost an unbelievably fortuitous development. "The icing on the cake," as one engineer put it, rubbing his hands together briskly.
Pieter Kemm was almost finished, but n
ot quite, and nobody seemed about to cut him short. "Most interesting of all," he continued, "at least from an archeological point of view, is the laterite near Empangeni, which as Kelvin said, is right next door to where we are. This laterite is a weathered rock, rich in iron oxide, close to the surface, easily accessible. It is not a high-grade ore, but it was used by early native tribes in the manufacture of iron spears and other implements. Archeologists have long been interested in the entire Richards Bay area, where there are outcroppings of various porous stones rich in iron. Studies indicate that these materials were used by native ironworkers more than a thousand years ago. Incidentally, in the early days, charcoal rather than coal was used in the smelting process, and we've had a thriving charcoal-burning industry right in this very area. Black wattle wood grows all over the place—it's something of a nuisance plant really—but it's excellent for making charcoal.
"The point is, the iron is here, available in large quantities— inland in conventional mine settings, and right along the coast in the sands and stone deposits. The coal is here, and wood for charcoal. So, if our group is half as clever as it's supposed to be, we should have a thriving steel industry going in short order."
"Hey, Pieter," an unidentified voice called out. "You've got electrical people in your audience, and we're waiting to hear you say something about copper."
"Well, the copper is mostly up north, at Phalaborwa, five hundred kilometers away, and Messina, which is even farther. However, I know there's a small deposit near the surface at Nkandla, just seventy kilometers inland. It was mined briefly at the beginning of the last century, and then abandoned as economically unviable. But it should be enough to give us something of a start.
"Finally, when we talk about distances, let's not forget that when the Boers trekked inland from the Cape Colony to the northeast in the 1830s, they covered more than a thousand kilometers, taking cattle and all their possessions, fording rivers and traversing mountain passes, using ox-wagons. And then, for many decades, they carried on active trading between the coast and their inland domains, also using that same slow but steady mode of transport."
The Aftermath Page 9
