Ruth was missing Seretse badly. Their only means of contact was by letter: ‘Easter came and went. Still there was no news of Seretse being allowed to visit me.’31 She ‘paced the veranda of her home overlooking the Bechuanaland bush,’ reported the Sunday Express, ‘and said with anger in her voice: “When is this waiting for my husband going to end? It is torture.”’32 She could have gone to Lobatse, to join Seretse – and the Administration were keen for her to do this.33 But as Dr Moikangoa insisted, it would have been risky for her to make the journey. In any case, it would have been very unpleasant for Ruth to give birth in Lobatse Hospital, as she would be surrounded by hostility. She had been told that the hundred or so Europeans living in Lobatse had objected to the idea of Seretse living near them. They had made so many threats against him that Nettelton had even found a private farm several miles outside the town – so that if things got too bad, Seretse could be moved there.34
As she waited to hear whether Seretse would be allowed to visit her, Ruth prepared their home for the new baby. The women of the village watched anxiously as she drew closer to term, doing everything they could to help. ‘Ruth is our Queen,’ said one older woman to a reporter. ‘We and our children will stay with her and die with her. Her child will be our child.’35
Finally – and grudgingly – Baring decided to let Seretse visit Serowe. ‘I felt that given the anxiety of pressmen to be present at Seretse’s first meeting with his wife,’ he reported to London, ‘we would lose more than we would gain by withholding permission.’36 The visit was granted for five days: from Sunday 16 April to Thursday 20 April. The climax to Seretse’s long wait took place on 15 April in the High Court at Lobatse: Nettelton tip-toed into the tense atmosphere of a murder trial and handed Fraenkel, who was the defending counsel, a copy of the permit allowing Seretse to visit his wife. As soon as Seretse was given the news, he packed hurriedly and ran out to Peto’s lorry, planning to reach Serowe by midnight – so that he wouldn’t waste a single moment of the precious time he was allowed with Ruth.37
Seretse was followed by the inevitable pressmen and also by Monsarrat, who never forgot the journey:
The heat, the dust, the bumpy ride, and the sheer hard work of that drive have stayed in my memory until this day. The [car] left behind it a towering yellow cloud of dust, but the stuff was everywhere – eyes, ears, nostrils, hair, and neck-band… Towards dusk on the first day, I ran over an enormous boa-constrictor which was slithering across the road.
Then the car hit a bump and was thrown into the ditch: ‘There was no traffic; just the dust, the heat, a few vultures weaving overhead… I was stranded on the edge of the Kalahari. All I could think of was that boa-constrictor.’ He was eventually rescued by an old man driving an ox-cart, who ‘raised his bee-hive hat with great courtesy’ and then, without a word, pulled him out of the ditch and towed him the last nine miles to Serowe. ‘If anyone is making out an itinerary,’ added Monsarrat, ‘a span of eight oxen towing a 2½-litre Riley with no brakes and a broken transmission does 1½ miles an hour.’38
A few minutes after midnight, Seretse arrived in Serowe. ‘My wife was waiting up for me,’ he recalled later:
She must have spotted me first, for when I brought the truck I was driving to within 500 yards of where she stood, she began running toward me, stumbling, half-crying, half-laughing like an overjoyed child.
It was all he could do ‘to hold back the tears of knowing what she must have had to live through’.39 As the truck stopped, reported The Times, ‘she opened the door and flung herself into her husband’s arms’. She clutched at his sleeve in the darkness, sobbing, as he drove the last short distance to their home. As they arrived, there were joyful shouts of ‘Pula!’ from the men and women who had been waiting outside their house since early evening. Family and friends surged towards the door of the house to greet Seretse and he, with one arm closely embracing Ruth, joyfully shook their hands.40
He had accepted the conditions put on his visit: that he would not obstruct the Administration and that he would not hold or attend any public gatherings. Even so, he and Ruth had to endure constant observation by plain-clothes policemen from the moment of his arrival.41 Seretse had been instructed to report to the District Commissioner as soon as he arrived. But Ruth was his priority and he stayed with her. Next morning, he and Ruth arrived at MacKenzie’s office at 11.20 a.m. The DC was frosty. He had been very annoyed, he told Seretse, to hear that he had been seen talking to a group of men at Mahalapye.42 But as Seretse reasonably pointed out, he could hardly help people gathering round and greeting him.43 Then MacKenzie announced that the Kgotla in Serowe was strictly off limits. Seretse was now thoroughly exasperated. It was customary for men to go and sit there, he pointed out, as part of the daily routine of the village. But he was flatly forbidden to go anywhere near the kgotla.
Wherever he went, Seretse was greeted by crowds of people, many of them weeping.44 As soon as his green Chevrolet was seen, people gathered around, some of them climbing to the tops of huts to get a better view. There were happy calls of greetings and many women danced around the car. Others touched Seretse’s arm and kissed his wife’s skirt.45 ‘The reception he got from his people,’ said Ruth,
was tremendous. Each day hundreds and hundreds of Africans trekked to our house. I saw them coming for miles in the distance. The women, especially, were wildly excited, dancing around weeping and making their traditional greeting of ululation.
After these demonstrations, she pointed out, ‘no one could possibly doubt Seretse’s popularity’.46 But Seretse was aware of the risks involved. On Monday, when a crowd of about 400 people collected at his house, he warned gently that if this were to happen again, his visit to Serowe would be immediately cut short.
On Wednesday afternoon, the head teachers of the five schools in Serowe brought their pupils to the Khamas’ house, ‘to greet the chief and to sing’. Irritably, Monsarrat watched the start of the event from a police truck; he then went to the top of a hill, to get a better view. Contingents from the various schools started to collect and to move along the route together; groups of adults also arrived, by car or lorry, by foot, or on horseback. By 3 p.m. everyone was assembled and Monsarrat estimated that, altogether, there were 1,200 children and 300 adults. At 3.05, he reported,
Ruth and then Seretse appeared from the side door of the house, and sat down in the centre of a row of chairs. The audience closed in round them, calling to them. At 3.15, after a number of short speeches, an entertainment began, the various groups of children taking it in turns to sing. Subsequent police reports, after I had left, indicate that at the close of the proceedings Seretse made a short speech, thanking the children for their efforts and for coming along.47
‘This seems to me,’ complained Monsarrat sourly to Clark, ‘like a press-promotion: it will have good photographs, a heart-rending story, and tears in Ruth’s eyes as she pats a tiny head. But it seemed to us that it could hardly be forbidden, except at the risk of making us look ridiculous.’48
Seretse went back to Lobatse on 21 April. The visit had been for only a few days, said Ruth, ‘but how precious those days seemed to us! We had been apart for two and a half months.’49 And now, once again, they were apart. This time, it was even more painful: they would have to wait separately for the birth of their baby at the beginning of June, just over one month away. The Administration heaved a sigh of relief when Seretse left Serowe and congratulated themselves on their success at controlling the situation.50 As far as Monsarrat was concerned, the visit had been ‘a series of pin-pricks, small in themselves, adding up to an annoying total’; for the full five days, he added, Seretse had been ‘an uncooperative nuisance’.51 In fact, Seretse had been remarkably cooperative – and it was this that had kept Serowe peaceful. If he had called for any kind of demonstration against the British, it would have happened at once.
In the early weeks of May, Seretse started to collect evidence for his lawsuit against Tshekedi. He went on a tou
r of his cattle-posts with Michael Fairlie, who had also accompanied Tshekedi. ‘I had not met him before,’ recorded Fairlie, ‘and, to my surprise, in view of the provocation he had suffered, I found him friendly and genial.’ They drove in a convoy, in two lorries: Seretse was in the lead, with a dozen or so helpers. A compassionate man, Fairlie felt ‘slightly embarrassed at having to supervise another person in the conduct of his private business’. It was ideal weather for touring: the start of the winter season, when the days were bone-dry and warm under a clear blue sky. In the evenings, Seretse chose a campsite for himself and his followers and Fairlie parked his lorry about fifty yards off. Some years later Fairlie wrote:
Although we were naturally polite to each other, there was no fraternization, for the racial barriers in Southern Africa were still high and we spent the evenings apart. One day I ventured to ask him for an evening meal in the bush and he accepted, but I did not dare tell Forbes MacKenzie of this grave social transgression.
The tour was pleasant and uneventful until they reached Mahalapye. They stopped at the police station, just outside the village, when Seretse said he wanted to visit the Kgotla in the village and to see his uncle, Manyaphiri. Fairlie told him he could not agree to this, because the Administration had expressly forbidden any kind of meeting. Then Seretse’s temper snapped. He shouted that he would go anyway – and jumped into his truck. Time stopped still for Fairlie as he waited to see in which direction Seretse would go:
Just ahead of the police station there was a fork in the road. One led to the village, the other to the Tuli Block. A lot happened in the next few seconds. Seretse considered the pros and cons of entering Mahalapye, while I prayed that he would resist the temptation.
Seretse did resist the temptation: he took the other road, to the Tuli Block, and Fairlie heaved a sigh of relief. He was immensely grateful to Seretse. A few days later, he received a note of congratulations from Sir Evelyn, on the way he had handled Seretse. But if any congratulations were due, thought Fairlie, ‘they belonged to Seretse for his mature bearing and good nature’.52
Seretse had just got back from his tour of the cattle-posts when – several weeks before their baby was due – Ruth went into labour. On the morning of Monday, 15 May, she lay in bed feeling restless. For four hours, from three to seven, she dozed, occasionally waking with a pain in her back. By seven she decided to see Dr Moikangoa. At first he thought it was a false alarm. But at nine o’clock she was admitted into the general wing of the Serowe hospital. ‘I could have gone in the European wing,’ she explained later, ‘but I chose the tribal wing because I wanted to encourage Bamangwato women to accept the new world of hygiene that medical progress had brought to their country.’53 Ruth wanted to set an example, as Seretse’s wife, because the maternal and infant death rates were very high in the Protectorate and many women were suspicious of modern medicine.
The news of Ruth’s confinement reached Seretse at lunchtime. He rushed off to find Peto and his lorry, which they quickly filled with fuel for the nine-hour drive to Serowe, 250 miles away. By 2.30 p.m. they were ready and went to collect the pass which local officials had arranged, giving Seretse permission to go home. At first, Seretse took the wheel. But after just five miles he drew to a halt and asked his uncle to take over. He was so anxious to get to the hospital and in such a state of excitement that he had been driving too fast and recklessly along the dirt roads. He knew that if he carried on, they would never get to the hospital at all.54
But Ruth had given birth before they even left Lobatse. At 1.25 p.m., after a quick and easy labour, she welcomed their daughter into the world – a healthy 7lb 4oz.55 Ruth was euphoric. But she desperately needed to see her husband and refused to go to sleep until he had arrived. Concerned that she should rest, Dr Moikangoa injected her with a powerful sedative. But she willed herself not to sleep. Fourteen hours later, when Seretse arrived, she was still awake. He was given the good news that mother and daughter were well and told that Ruth was sedated. But when he and the doctor looked in on her, she shouted out, ‘Seretse!’ He rushed over and clasped her in his arms. As he held her, she fell asleep.56
Seretse was overjoyed with his new daughter – ‘a little crinkle-faced baby,’ he said with pleasure.57 ‘Everyone said how like her father she was,’ said Ruth. ‘She had jet black hair and even her father’s snub nose.’ They named her Jacqueline Tebogo. Tebogo, meaning ‘thankfulness’ in Setswana, was the name of Seretse’s mother, and quickly became a popular name for girls born that year in the Bangwato Reserve, as people celebrated the birth of their Kgosi’s daughter.58
There was immense relief at the CRO and in the High Commissioner’s Office that the Khama baby was not a boy, who would then be next in the line of succession after Seretse. As early as January 1949, before Ruth had even fallen pregnant, Clark had referred to the damage that would be done if Seretse were to ‘produce a half-caste heir – a matter in which we are now powerless’.59
Seretse had been given permission to stay for a month in Serowe. For the first week, Ruth was in hospital and he went to see her and their baby three times a day. Then he brought them home. Life magazine described Seretse’s pride as he went to collect his family: ‘He took Ruth’s arm and supported her as she walked unsteadily to a car to be driven to the six-room bungalow which she and Seretse had expected to make their home.’60
‘We, the press, who had hounded this couple for nearly two years,’ recorded Monks, ‘were waiting at the bungalow to welcome them home. I have never seen Ruth look prettier, or happier, than on the day she brought Jacqueline home. The marriage that had rocked Africa seemed to be making out fine.’ Every day, the women of the Bangwato came to the house to see the baby and to pay their respects, bringing gifts.61
14
Together in Lobatse
When the time came for Seretse’s return to Lobatse, he and Ruth decided to go together – now that Jacqueline had been born, the prospect of separation was too painful to bear. ‘So we settled in Lobatse,’ said Ruth. ‘At times it seemed that we had hardly left Serowe, for so many of the tribe followed us down to camp near our new house.’1 This house was the ‘hovel’ – as Monks described it – that had been arranged by the Administration for Seretse. It was hardly suitable for a one-month-old baby. ‘In any decent community,’ said Monks, ‘the place would have been condemned. But the only hotel in Lobatse wouldn’t put them up, so they had to live somewhere…’2
Lobatse was very different from Serowe – it was a ‘European’ town like Francistown, where black people had to live in the ‘African location’. Whereas in Serowe the white traders had to be careful not to offend Seretse, there was no such constraint on the whites in Lobatse, who looked on the Khamas with loathing. A few weeks after their arrival in the town, a journalist called Weighton, who had come to Lobatse to do a story for the London Daily Express, telephoned Baring in Pretoria in a state of hot indignation. He angrily complained that the Lobatse Hotel had refused to serve him lunch because of his guest – Mrs Seretse Khama. The hotel proprietor, said Weighton, had said this refusal was ‘in accordance with British Government’s policy’.3
Baring, who was continually worried about publicity, ordered an immediate investigation and Richard Sullivan, the District Commissioner, went to see the proprietor. He discovered that Weighton, with his wife and another couple, had been staying at the hotel and, after leaving it briefly, had returned with Mrs Khama as their guest and had ordered a round of drinks in the lounge. A little later the proprietor anxiously noticed the group talking to the head waiter and went to investigate. When he discovered that they had reserved a table in the dining room for lunch, including Mrs Khama, he approached Weighton. It would have been more courteous, he told him, if he had come to see him about his wish for Mrs Khama to eat in the hotel – and then suitable arrangements could have been made. He could, for example, have arranged for them to eat in a separate room. This blatant endorsement of the colour bar made Weighton furious. He asked
for his bill and the party left the hotel.4
The fact that Weighton had stormed out of the hotel, Sullivan observed, had actually saved the proprietor. For it forestalled any need to refuse serving lunch to Mrs Khama – if he had done so, there would have been some justification for a charge of discrimination. For although segregation was practised freely by the whites, it was not allowed by law, as was the case in South Africa. Defending the proprietor, Sullivan said that he lived at Lobatse and had to consider the effect of his actions on his livelihood: ‘European feeling is still as strong as ever against Mrs Khama. Were she to be served once, she would expect to be served again and her presence in the hotel might expose her to unpleasantness if not to insults.’5
One morning in Lobatse, when Seretse and Ruth were in a shop, she noticed that people were staring and that everybody had gone quiet:
Seretse went up to an African standing by the counter, said ‘Hello, uncle,’ and turning to Ruth, called, ‘Come and meet my uncle.’ Ruth had met many uncles and thought, as she shook hands, that this was yet another, until, instead of greeting her with ‘Dumela Mma,’ he said ‘How do you do’. This, then, was Tshekedi Khama.6
Later that day, Tshekedi visited their home to see baby Jacqueline. Ruth said afterwards that she had found him ‘perfectly charming’.7 Until now, they had never met and he had appeared to be implacably opposed to her, but this was the start of a reconciliation between uncle and nephew, after nearly two years of acrimony. They reached an agreement about their cattle: that Tshekedi would hand over to Seretse the Sekgoma estate and that Seretse waived all claim to the Khama estate. This meant that the lawsuit and the hearing at Lobatse was off.8 The two men then spent many weeks riding round the vast, widespread cattle-posts together. ‘Seretse has been to me during our recent trip together my Seretse of old,’ wrote Tshekedi with heartfelt pleasure to his lawyer Buchanan.9
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