He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and beige linen pants. Maud thought he looked youthful and fit. His thick dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and crow’s feet were visible around his eyes when he laughed, but otherwise it was difficult to guess his age. To be fair, everyone under sixty looked young to Maud these days. She decided this guy was between forty and fifty. He looked nice.
“Hi, I’m Fredrik Ziander. I live in Gothenburg, but I’m originally from Vänersborg, so there’s no point in asking me to tell any Gothenburg jokes!”
He smiled at his little witticism, and the fine lines around his honey-brown eyes deepened. At least forty-five, Maud decided.
“I’m the principal of a high school in Mölndal,” Fredrik continued. “My dad and I had planned to come on this safari last year, for his seventy-fifth birthday. My mom passed away a while ago and I have no brothers or sisters, so it was just Dad and me. Unfortunately he died suddenly just a month before we were due to travel, so I had to cancel. I’m single too, and this year I still wanted to do the trip and felt ready. I think Dad would be pleased.”
There was a brief silence when he finished speaking, then Elisabeth raised her glass to him and said, “You made the right decision!”
The atmosphere lightened and everyone drank to Fredrik.
Next it was the turn of the Swedish couple, who were probably in their sixties. She was a little plump, with short gray curls. Her cornflower-blue sleeveless dress matched her bright eyes. Nothing gets past her, Maud thought. Her husband was tall and skinny; he was already on his second cigarette and drink. His white hair was cropped so short that he almost looked bald, and he was wearing thick glasses. Pieter nodded to him, but it was his wife who spoke up.
“We’re Susanne and Lars Håkansson, and we live in Skövde. We wanted to come on this amazing vacation because we’re both retired—plus we’ve been married for forty years. Two reasons to celebrate! Our three daughters are married, and we have five grandchildren.”
She looked encouragingly at her husband, who simply raised his glass and said, “Skål!”
How many times had Susanne used the word “we”? Those two are definitely one, Maud thought.
“Forty years! I was married for twenty-four, and that was at least fifteen too long!” Elisabeth exclaimed with a laugh.
The others joined in with the laughter and sipped their drinks. Their guide cleared his throat.
“So that just leaves me. As you know my name is Pieter Booth, and I was born and raised here in South Africa. Because my mother’s Swedish, I’ve spent a lot of time in Sweden. In fact, we lived there for twelve months when I was ten years old, but my parents decided not to stay there, so we came back here. My father is from Cape Town, and that’s where South Africa Grand Tours has its head office; we’re a family firm. I’ve worked as a guide for fourteen years; I started when I was eighteen. To begin with, my brother and I traveled with our father and learned as much as we could about the places we’ll be visiting on this tour. My brother is looking after the group that’s starting in Cape Town.”
Maud didn’t see how he could possibly have been a guide for fourteen years. No responsible parent would take a little boy on safari with all those wild animals! But then he informed them that he’d been eighteen when he began, so a quick calculation revealed that he was actually thirty-two. She felt a little put out that she’d misjudged his age so badly.
Pieter took a gulp of his yellow cocktail before continuing. “Because Christmas Day and December twenty-sixth are important holidays in South Africa, we’ll be spending an extra day in Johannesburg. We won’t be able to go anywhere on Christmas Day, but the hotel runs an excellent program of activities for guests. The details will be delivered to your rooms tomorrow; you’ve already been told about the excursions we’ve arranged.”
Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement. They’d received several pages of extensive information in advance; you’d have to be a complete idiot to miss a bus or a flight. It was lovely not to have to think about it. Just go with the flow.
“Now, some serious advice. There are muggers and pickpockets out there, but remember that the opportunity creates the thief. Don’t display valuable items such as jewelry, cell phones, or other devices. Carry your purse at the front of your body. It’s a good idea to have a thin wallet containing money and credit cards hidden beneath your clothes. It’s very important that you never go out alone after dark, and if possible avoid being alone during the day in more remote locations, or in the townships and suburbs. Stick to the tourist areas where there are plenty of people. We’ll be visiting most places as a group, which reduces the risk factor. However, if you are mugged, don’t offer any resistance. Simply hand over whatever your attacker wants. Report the incident to the police right away, and don’t forget to make a note of the reference number for insurance purposes.”
“Do people traveling with you often get robbed?” Susanne Håkansson asked, sounding worried.
“It hasn’t happened so far. Our bus was broken into once, but now we have our fantastic driver, Luhandre. He never leaves his vehicle, I can promise you that.”
The group sat and chatted on the terrace until it was time for dinner. Pieter took his leave and wished them a pleasant evening. He hadn’t exaggerated; the food in the hotel restaurant was outstanding. French cuisine meets Africa, with a slight emphasis on France. The meal was accompanied by excellent wines. Full and happy, Maud retired to her room. None of her fellow travelers appeared to notice her departure.
After a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, Maud was full of energy and keen to see everything she’d missed on her previous all-too-short visits. A tour of Soweto was on the morning agenda, but she’d decided to skip it. She’d seen townships in cities all over the world and saw no charm in them. Slum tourism just didn’t appeal to her. Build modern housing in good locations, subsidize the construction costs, and provide the poor with decent accommodation. Maud would like to see the townships flattened by giant bulldozers, obliterated forever. The program also included lunch in a traditional shebeen. She had no intention of eating in a bar in Soweto, however hospitable the locals might be. She knew from experience that there were plenty of good restaurants in Johannesburg.
After breakfast she followed the others outside. Luhandre was at the wheel of their minibus, and Pieter was counting them on, which didn’t take long. When Maud told him that she wouldn’t be joining the group, he looked worried. However, he didn’t press the matter; he could see that she’d made up her mind. Or maybe he thought the old lady was worn out and needed to rest. She smiled to herself about his confusion.
Before setting off into the hustle and bustle of the city, Maud went back to her room. She took out her thin money belt and transferred a few notes from the safe. Four hundred rand would be enough, she decided. She picked up her stick; it was a perfectly ordinary stick with a straight handle. She’d acquired it on a visit to a clinic about twelve months earlier. The owner had left it behind in the waiting room, and it had occurred to Maud that you never knew when a stick might be useful. She’d opted to bring it with her on this trip at the last minute—not because she needed a walking aid, but because she thought it might be of use when she was out and about on her own.
The Hop-On-Hop-Off tourist buses stopped just outside the hotel. Maud bought an all-day ticket and chose a seat near the front. She got off at the Market Theater, made sure to look both ways before crossing the street, then went straight into the Museum of Africa. Luckily she was able to join a guided tour in English. The exhibition showed the development of Johannesburg from a makeshift gold mining camp to a cosmopolitan metropolis, pulsating with entrepreneurial spirit. It was very interesting, and Maud was pleased with her choice of activity.
When she reemerged into the sunshine, she paused on the top step to orient herself. Let me see . . . There’s Bree Street, so I need to go another
two blocks. She set off, gripping the stick firmly. She stayed in the middle of the sidewalk, among the flow of people. She turned down Simmonds Street, then onto Diagonal Street, where she stopped and absorbed the atmosphere. It was just as she remembered it. The old buildings from the end of the nineteenth century with their wrought-iron balustrades in front of the balconies and their ornate facades were still there, as was the twenty-story apartment block that looked like a gigantic multifaceted diamond. Not surprisingly, it was built by a mining company. However, it was the small stores that Maud really liked. Plus there were a number of good restaurants nearby.
Her first port of call was KwaZulu Muti. It was quite a walk—almost to the end of Diagonal Street. It could best be described as a drugstore specializing in natural remedies. The concoctions it sold were not based on herbs, but could contain animal parts such as skin, horns, and claws. Not to mention dried snakes, bats, amphibians, and insects. Traditional medicine was still important to many South Africans, and on her previous visits to the continent, Maud had developed a great respect for these ancient customs. Admittedly some of the shopkeepers’ claims were a bit embellished, but she thought the same could be said of modern practices and products elsewhere. The beauty industry is especially prone to exaggerating the benefits of all those creams and supplements, she thought to herself. But they won’t stop you from aging. That’s for sure. She’d been to KwaZulu Muti once before, ten years ago, and knew exactly what she wanted for the upcoming safari and the visit to the Victoria Falls.
The shelves were lined with glass jars, all containing different-colored preparations. A tall man in a full-length robe in a traditional African pattern stood behind the small counter. When Maud walked in, he gave her a friendly nod and came over to her. He looked young, but Maud could tell from his attire that he was a sangoma, a highly respected natural healer.
“Good morning, madam, what can I do for you?” he asked with a warm smile.
“Good morning. I’m taking anti-malaria tablets, but do you have something that will keep the mosquitoes away?”
He nodded and selected a small jar containing a bright yellow ointment. “Rub this on your wrists and ankles, plus a small amount around your neck. It has a faint, not unpleasant aroma, but mosquitoes hate it.”
“I’ll take it, thank you.”
“Anything else, madam?”
“Yes please. I need a . . . tonic of some kind. I’m going on a safari, and I’m a little older than my fellow travelers, so . . .”
She left the sentence unfinished, but he nodded. She thought she could see the hint of a smile.
“Power of Life, madam. One of our best-selling products.”
Power of Life indeed, Maud thought. She’d learned to appreciate the elixir’s properties on her first visit. It was a delicious liqueur, made from a wide range of herbs, and it contained 30 percent alcohol. There were also a number of secret ingredients that she chose not to think about. Not only was the potion invigorating, it also didn’t upset the stomach. The young sangoma placed her purchases in a paper bag and took payment: exactly one hundred rand. Cheap, Maud thought.
Feeling pleased with herself, she made her way to the Carlton Centre, which with its fifty stories is one of Africa’s tallest buildings. She was planning to pay to go up to the viewing terrace known as the Top of Africa, which she hadn’t had time to do on previous visits. But first she wanted lunch.
She found a small and very pleasant Indian restaurant with outside tables. The perfectly spiced tikka masala was every bit as good as what she’d had in Mumbai, and the ice-cold beer was exactly what she needed. Like the sensible, seasoned traveler she was, she also ordered a medium-sized bottle of water. The sun was high in the sky, and the temperature was soaring. It was important to keep up one’s intake of fluids in the heat, but it was lovely here on the shady side of the street. The rest of the gang were welcome to sit in some shebeen in Soweto; she didn’t envy them in the slightest. She sipped her second beer and watched the world go by.
Fortified by the excellent lunch, she entered the Carlton Centre and took the elevator up to the Top of Africa. The view was extraordinary; she could see the whole of the city. There was a refreshing breeze up there, so she lingered for quite a while before making her way back down to street level. Tired but happy, she took the Hop-On-Hop-Off bus back to the hotel. There was no sign of the others, so she went to her room.
It was lovely to rest her feet and have a little nap on top of the cool silk bedspread.
At about six o’clock, the group gathered on the roof terrace for pre-dinner drinks. Pieter was there, of course. He asked Maud if she’d had a nice day in the hotel. She gave him her sweetest old-lady smile and said yes.
“Will you be joining us tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she replied.
Pieter looked relieved. Maybe he was afraid that the trip was proving too much for her, but everything had gone just as she’d planned. And now she was sitting here with a G&T with plenty of ice and lemon, watching the sun go down over the city. The perfect end to a perfect day. Pieter got to his feet.
“My friends, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, but that’s not a holiday here in South Africa; the main event is Christmas Day, when most places will be closed.”
He paused to take a sip of his dark-red cocktail, then continued before everyone could start chatting again.
“So tomorrow is an all-day outing. We’ll be seeing lots of animals, moving freely within enclosed areas. We leave at nine. Luhandre will pick us up at the same place as this morning. Don’t be late!”
With those words, he sat down. Maud’s fellow travelers had plenty to say about their visit to Soweto. She heard comments like: “such a welcoming atmosphere,” “made the best of their situation,” and “a picturesque preservation of their ancient way of life.” Ancient way of life, Maud thought. Absolute nonsense! Soweto was created in the 1930s, when the government began separating Black people from white people. She didn’t join the conversation; she rarely did. Instead she sat quietly with her drink, watching the velvety African darkness descend over the city.
Everyone looked bright and alert when they boarded the minibus on the morning of Christmas Eve, with the exception of Morten Jensen, who fell asleep after only a few minutes. The Jensens were seated directly in front of Maud. Alise turned her head and looked at her husband; to Maud’s surprise, she took his hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed it gently, before pressing it to her cheek. He slept on peacefully. Maud could see Alise’s face in profile, tears glittering on her eyelashes. She’s no ordinary trophy wife, Maud thought. She really loves her husband. Once again she was forced to conclude that emotions and relationships weren’t her area of expertise.
Luhandre drove for just over twenty minutes, until they reached a sign welcoming them to the Walter Sisulu National Botanical Gardens.
“We’re going to stop here for an hour or so. The park is famous for having an abundance of bird species. You might also want to purchase a drink in the café by the entrance,” Pieter informed them. “Anyone who wants to walk around with me is welcome to do so, but feel free to go off on your own if you prefer.”
The Håkanssons immediately set off at high speed with their binoculars and bird book; apparently Lars was a keen ornithologist, and Susanne also seemed interested. Maud heard Alise quietly asking Pieter if she and her husband could stay on the bus since he’d had a bad night.
“Of course. Luhandre will be here. But may I ask: Is Morten ill?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
Alise swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears once more. “He’s getting better, but he’s not fully recovered. He’s undergone some very difficult treatments this year. He gets tired quickly and has to rest.”
“Are you sure this trip won’t be too much for him?” Pieter asked gently.
“His doctor gave him the all clear,” Alise said, then turned on h
er heel and got back on the bus, where Morten had begun to stir.
Pieter watched her pensively, then he noticed Maud and broke into that well-practiced smile. “And how is Miss Maud today? Can you manage a little walk with me?”
“Absolutely,” she responded with her own sweet-old-lady smile.
After a pleasurable interlude in the gardens, they traveled on to the Sterkfontein Caves.
“I have to warn you that the tour of the caves is physically demanding,” Pieter said to the group. “Luhandre will look after those of you who would prefer to sit this one out.”
Maud stayed on the bus with Alise and Morten Jensen. When everyone else had set off, she rummaged in the bag she’d brought and took out a small plastic bottle and two plastic cups, which she’d picked up that morning when passing the water fountain in the hotel lobby. She poured a generous measure of dark liquid into one cup and handed it to Morten. He was surprised, but accepted it and sniffed the contents suspiciously. Maud poured a smaller measure into the other cup and gave it to Alise, who also sniffed the contents.
“What’s this?” Morten asked.
“It’s called Power of Life, an elixir that will give you strength. It’s a local natural medicine.”
Alise sniffed again. “I can smell herbs and spices . . . and something else.”
The “something else” was the dried and ground up testicles of the gemsbok, an African plains antelope, but Maud decided to keep that to herself. You could never tell how sensitive or squeamish people might be.
“Some of the herbs are a secret,” she said with a reassuring smile.
Morten and Alise looked at each other, then shrugged. They cautiously sipped the thick liquid, smacked their lips, then took a proper drink.
“Delicious!” Morten exclaimed.
Maud nodded, then quickly clambered off the bus to catch up with the rest of the group. Their guide was a middle-aged woman who introduced herself as an archaeologist. She led the way toward the caves; before they went in, she gave them a short talk.
An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed Page 9
