by John Coetzee
Mr Khumalo, smartly dressed in a navy-blue suit, a white shirt and a yellow tie, came out through the front door of the office block and briskly walked up to the teacher, who introduced himself as Mr Singh. The two men chatted for a few moments, and when Mr Singh gave the signal, about two dozen boys and girls, looking smart in their maroon and grey uniforms, filed out of the bus in an orderly way. They stood listening politely while Mr Khumalo gave a talk about safety regulations that would have to be obeyed and some information about the intricate workings of a power station. Then he led the group, including Sipho and me, toward the heavy steel doors of the big, grey building.
As we stepped inside, the usual steady whine of the huge turbogenerators turned into an ear-shattering roar. We were amazed to see how spotless everything was inside the power station. The row of turbogenerators, other machinery and copper piping everywhere gleamed brightly. We were led past a place where lump coal is ground to a fine powder, mixed with preheated air and blown into a furnace under a boiler. The boiler is lined with well insulated steel tubes in which water is turned to steam under high pressure; the steam drives the turbogenerators that produce the electricity. “And that”, Mr Khumalo said, “is what lights up our lives and makes so many things work for us.” I found it all very interesting, but there was so much to see in there that my poor head couldn’t take in everything in one go.
Then we were taken through the main control room, with its array of computers and gauges for checking on the level of power being generated, the pressure in the boilers, the quantity of water being used for cooling purposes and other important data. At the end of the tour we were led into a big room, where the noise level inside the power station became considerably lower once the doors were closed behind us.
Mr Khumalo started by recapping everything we had seen, and then proudly announced: “Even though this is one of the oldest power stations in the country, it still plays a very important part in supplying electricity to thousands of homes in this wide area, whose occupants would otherwise still have to rely on candles for light and paraffin stoves or wood fires for cooking their food.”
After Mr Khumalo had said a few more things about the importance of thermal power generation, I noticed that everyone except Mr Singh applauded politely. Then, quite unexpectedly, with a grim look on his face, the teacher stepped forward and challenged the manager in a high-pitched voice.
“But surely there are less harmful ways to produce electricity, Mr Khumalo. Surely you must be aware of what all coal-burning power stations, with their destructive greenhouse gases, are doing to this planet of ours at this very moment. Why aren’t you people using solar power or wind power or any other types of power generation that nature can provide us with in abundance?”
Mr Khumalo gave the teacher a startled look and adjusted his spectacles. “Mr Singh, surely you must be aware that the sources of power you have just mentioned simply cannot supply the enormous amount of electricity that is required to satisfy the needs of a big town or city or a huge area like this part of the Highveld. This country has more than enough coal, which is relatively inexpensive to get hold of, and that is why thermal power stations are the only affordable option we have for producing electricity.”
Mr Singh shook his head and his voice climbed a few tones higher, so that it sounded almost like a shriek. “I don’t agree with you there, sir! What about the big wind farms in different parts of the world, where hundreds of massive wind turbines are already supplying thousands of homes with electricity?”
Mr Khumalo shook his head. “Mr Singh, I can only tell you again that coal-fired power stations are the only option we will have in this country for many years to come.”
Mr Singh carried on regardless. “And what about the deadly carbon dioxide and other gases that coal-fired power stations here and all over the world have been discharging into our atmosphere over the years, Mr Khumalo? Those gases are the major cause of global warming, which, in turn, is causing the level of the oceans to rise at an alarming rate.”
I saw glistening beads of sweat gathering on Mr Khumalo’s forehead as he replied in a steady voice. “There are many theories about that, Mr Singh. And I know for a fact that not everybody believes in the theory about man-made global warming you are trying to defend. And some people are now even using many of the world’s desperately needed food products, such as maize, sugar cane, soya beans and goodness knows what else, to produce those so-called biofuels for vehicles to run on. Maybe you should rather talk to those food-wasters instead, Mr Singh.”
Ignoring Mr Khumalo’s words, the teacher shook his head and continued with the fiery argument he had started. “Even as we speak, massive cliffs of ice in the Arctic and in the Antarctic are breaking loose from the ice packs and tumbling into the sea. Global wind patterns are changing, causing global currents to alter their course. This causes catastrophic droughts to occur in huge areas of the earth and catastrophic floods in other areas. All over the world, huge glaciers on many of the mountains are melting. Just think what could happen if Greenland’s thick covering of ice should melt: sea levels could rise as much as seven metres, and this would be enough to swallow up all the low-lying countries of the world. Even now entire islands and villages are disappearing under the waves, Mr Khumalo.”
I began to feel very uncomfortable, and many of the Grade 12s started fidgeting and mumbling among themselves. Mr Khumalo suddenly got up and said: “Thank you, Mr Singh, that will be all now… please!”
But Mr Singh wasn’t quite finished yet, and by now his eyes were flashing like a pair of brightly sparking welding rods. “Cyclones and hurricanes! Who can forget the flooding of New Orleans in the USA or the floods in Bangladesh, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, and – much closer to home – the disastrous floods that are striking Mozambique again? And just recently parts of our own harbour cities and coastal towns were swamped by huge tidal waves. What’s more, we mustn’t think that being so far from the ocean, we are safe and sound up here on the Highveld. Oh no! Haven’t you seen what is happening to most of our country’s precious maize crop right now, Mr Khumalo? And what about …”
Sipho’s father began to look desperate. “That’ll be all, Mr Singh! Come everybody. Lunch will now be served in the restaurant in the office block. Walk along this way, please.”
While turning to follow the group, I glanced at Sipho and he gave me a pained look. “Wow, what a mouthful that was! How would you like it if we had a teacher like that, Rick?”
“No thanks, bro. He sounds ten times worse than my Uncle Bert!” I chuckled.
We both got the giggles then. Yet, mulling over some of the things Mr Singh had said, I felt distinctly uneasy. I thought about all those stretches of dead maize fields I had seen while we were on our way to Ashby. And when I looked into Sipho’s eyes, I could see that similar things were bothering him as well.
During the meal in the restaurant, nobody said a word – neither Mr Khumalo nor Mr Singh – who were sulkily sitting opposite each other at one of the tables. It was as if the harsh words between the two of them had put a real damper on the whole tour.
When the meal was over, Mr Singh again spoke loudly so that everybody could hear. “It really wasn’t my intention to give offence by saying what I said earlier on. I just wanted to make it very clear that, if only all the industrialised countries in the world would stand together and agree to take steps to reduce the deadly co2 and other harmful greenhouse gases that are causing our atmosphere to heat up the way it’s doing right now, a catastrophe of global proportions could still be avoided. There must be a way to reduce those gases, and I hope somebody will find out how to do it before it is too late. Mr Khumalo, I thank you for taking us on this very interesting tour of your power station. I am sure that everyone here has learnt a great deal from it.”
For a while, Sipho and I watched the bus winding its way back towards the main road and disappearing in the distance. Then Sipho suddenly said he had to go home to pack, as he and his p
arents were going away to visit some relatives of theirs for the weekend. I was disappointed, of course, as I would have liked to spend more time with him before going back to school on Monday.
To my surprise, when I walked up the narrow driveway leading to the cottage, I saw Uncle Bert’s bakkie standing next to the garage. By the look of the black plastic sheeting bulging on the back of it, it was obvious that he had again brought a big load from wherever he had gone.
“How was the tour of the power station, Rick?” my mom said as I stepped into the cottage.
“Not bad thanks, Mom.”
“Uncle Bert came back from Johannesburg about a half an hour ago. He looks exhausted and he’s taking a shower right now.”
I was so busy thinking about the mysterious load on the back of the bakkie that I just said ‘uh-huh’, absently picking up an orange in the kitchen. Going outside again, I casually strolled up to the bakkie and, first making sure that nobody could see me, I carefully lifted the plastic covering between the ropes tied around it and peeped into the semi-dark interior. Something that looked like a big machine stood among coils of plastic-insulated wire and some wooden boxes marked fragile, and what looked like three long, thick tubes wrapped in blue plastic sheeting protruded from the rear end of the bakkie.
Hearing Uncle Bert talking to my mom in the cottage, I quickly moved away from the bakkie and casually sauntered towards the greenhouse.
Susie’s thin voice suddenly piped up from the side of the greenhouse where she was playing with her doll. “What’s Uncle Bert got in the bakkie, Ricky?”
“You gave me such a fright, Susie!” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just teaching Polly some things she’s got to know about,” she said, pointing to her doll. “Don’t be so cross with me, Ricky. I just asked what’s in Uncle Bert’s bakkie, that’s all.”
“Shhh! Nothing, Susie.”
“But I saw you peeping into it, Ricky,” she said, picking up the doll and hugging it tightly against her chest while she suddenly looked scared. “Is… is it things Uncle Bert wants to blow up the pow-wowa station with?”
I was about to tell Susie to zip up and not to say things like that, when Uncle Bert came marching straight towards the greenhouse looking furious. “What did I hear you say, Susie?
Her blue eyes opened wide, and dropping her doll, she ran whimpering all the way to the cottage.
He turned to me in a rage. “What did Susie say to you?”
“Nothing… Nothing, Uncle Bert. Susie and I were just talking a bit, that’s all.”
“Just mind your own business and keep away from things that don’t concern you, see!” he barked.
I gulped. “Yes, Uncle Bert.”
Still red in the face, he turned round abruptly and marched to the garage and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Rick… Rick, where are you?” I heard my mom calling from the cottage.
“Here by the greenhouse, Mom,” I called back.
“Come here immediately.”
That sounded like a stack of trouble, so I quickly picked up Susie’s doll from the ground and ran to the cottage, where my mom was waiting for me.
“What have you been saying to upset Susie, Rick?”
“Gee, I haven’t been saying anything to her, Mom.”
“Well, she wouldn’t be crying for nothing, would she, Rick? Please go and talk to her and get her to calm down. I’ve got an awful headache that just won’t go away.”
Looking at my mom, I could see that she had been crying too, so I thought it would be better for me to chill out. “Okay, Mom.”
I quickly went to the bedroom, sat down and told Susie a few funny stories and eventually managed to get her to laugh. That helped a lot, because afterwards I heard her chuckling while telling those same stories to Polly.
As I had expected, while lying in bed reading that night, I heard Uncle Bert drive off in his bakkie, and I guessed where he was heading for. Again I wondered what on earth he, Inez and Antonio were up to on the other side of the dam. Could it have something to do with drugs, as Sipho had suspected, or maybe with something else that’s illegal? Why was Uncle Bert being so aggressive and secretive about everything? I couldn’t help stressing about it, because if Uncle Bert were to lose his job, as Sipho had said, there would be nowhere for my mom, Susie and I to go to; that fear always lurked like a demon at the back of my mind.
Nothing much happened over that weekend or during the rest of the week, for that matter, because of the tests that were being written at school every day. There wasn’t even a moment to speak to my conscientious friend, Sipho. Not even during the breaks, because he always quickly disappeared to some quiet place where he could swot without any interruptions.
As for me, I did all my swotting at home in the afternoons until bedtime, so I didn’t have much time for anything else either. Apart from all the work there was to get through, the only thing that bothered me from time to time was the fact that Uncle Bert was becoming more and more agitated during the brief periods when he came home from shift, before he went off again in the empty bakkie. I was quite sure he must have offloaded its contents at Inez and Antonio’s place that Friday night, because a few times after that I could hear the grinding sound of the bakkie’s engine coming from the other side of the dam. And besides that, whenever a breeze blew from the opposite shore at night, a different sound sometimes also came over the water – a faint sound being made by another kind of engine running continuously.
It was only on the last day of the week after school and after all the tests had been written that Sipho arrived at the cottage, looking very excited. Grabbing me by the arm, he pulled me into the garden.
“Have you also seen it, Rick?” he said softly.
“What, Sipho?”
“That thick column of smoke that has been coming from the camping place on the other side of the dam. I have been getting up before daybreak every morning to swot for the tests, and every morning I’ve seen that blackish smoke rising until shortly before sunrise. As soon as the sun comes up, the smoke dies down and only the thin, blue column of smoke from the cooking fire nearby can be seen. So, curiosity got the better of me, and on the way to school this morning I decided to make a detour to the camping place to see for myself what’s going on over there. And guess what.”
“Come off it, Sipho. Stop stalling!” I called out impatiently.
He looked smug. “I happened to see your Uncle Bert there with the two campers. They were standing there looking at a brand new structure attached to the chimney – three long tubes forming a big triangle. And there’s wiring and all kinds of instruments with dials all around it as well.”
“Well, what do you think they’re making, Sipho?
“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that whatever is flowing through those tubes is as green as grass.”
“Hey! Then it’s probably from the bucketfuls of algae water that Inez has been carrying from the dam and pouring into those containers,” I said.
“And can you hear that sound of an engine running over there, Rick?”
I nodded. “I’ve been hearing it occasionally for a few days.”
“Well, I saw that it’s a diesel-driven generator they’ve got there now to supply them with electricity.”
“Then I’m sure it must be the machine I saw on the back of Uncle Bert’s truck when he came back from Johannesburg… and those long tubes and boxes and other things as well. Hey! Then he lied to my mom when he told her that the things he brought back were for the power station.”
Sipho’s mood suddenly changed. “It’s no wonder my father doesn’t trust your uncle.”
“I want to go and see what’s happening over there, right now, Sipho. Come, let’s go.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t. My mother wants me to dig some holes in the garden for the new shrubs she has bought. How about very early tomorrow morning?”
I thought it over for a moment. “Oka
y, Sipho. Tomorrow morning will be better. I happen to know that my uncle starts on morning shift again then, and he’ll be out of the way. He usually leaves for the power station at about ten to six. Let’s meet at the concrete block down at the dam at six.”
“Deal,” said Sipho.
I felt quite excited about the prospect of spying on Antonio and Inez to see what they were up to, but at the same time I felt like a traitor as well. It would mean that I thought that Inez was a liar about their studies and the other things she had told me about the so-called wonders of algae. And if they were really doing something illegal, I didn’t know whether I would have the courage to report them because so much would be at stake if I did. Once again I thought it could mean that Uncle Bert could lose his job at the power station, and it could even mean that he, Inez and Antonio could be put behind bars for a long time. But then I thought that maybe I was stupid to think about things like that and perhaps I was just making a huge mountain out of a molehill!
After Sipho had left, I was walking back to the house when I spotted Susie staring at me from behind an empty oil drum standing next to the cottage. From the dismal expression smudging her face again, I immediately thought Sipho and I had been talking too loudly once more and that she had been eavesdropping on us, and I noticed that she had been crying.
“What’s the matter, Susie?” I asked.
“When is Daddy coming home?” she sobbed.
“I don’t know, Susie.”
“I want Daddy to come back.”
“I’m sure he’ll come again sometime, Susie,” I tried to console her, although I’d already given up hope of him coming to look for us here in Ashby; I began to feel quite discouraged myself.
“I asked Mommy, and she says Daddy won’t come back … and … and I know I won’t ever see him again. Be … because Mommy and Daddy are not married to each other anymore.”
