Bogdan and Julia Vodnik were at first unsure of where to sit but then decided to sit directly behind the driver. Tiaan Botha went directly to the back of the compartment and took the seat next to the window and directly in front of the small black man with the deeply furrowed forehead sitting on the other side of the partitioning. The only other passengers in the “white” section of the bus were a young couple who huddled together three rows behind Bogdan and Julia.
The bus driver finished filling in the form on his clipboard, turned to see that all the passengers were seated, and then pulled the lever that closed the doors of the vehicle. He revved the motor again and, with a loud hiss of pneumatic brakes being released, the huge, brown vehicle roared out into the morning traffic.
The bus powered away from the coast, climbing steadily through the foothills that fronted the mountains that separated the low-lying land from the high-lying part of the country known as the “Highveld”. The scenery changed from the lush, untidy tropical vegetation of the coast to the bright green of the sub-tropical lower mountain region. Patches of mist blurred the distant mountain peaks and gradually the air became dryer.
The big vehicle moved into the flatter, dry farmlands of maize and grazing cattle, stopping every now and then to pick up or disgorge passengers in the towns and villages that it passed through. Just after midday the bus entered a larger town and pulled off the main road and stopped next to a well-known fast food outlet. Most of the passengers disembarked, stretched luxuriously in the thin, dry air and went in search of food and drink.
While Bala and Salona went to find a “non-European” toilet, Fatima remained in the bus, opened the big suitcase and took out a plastic container filled with the spicy chicken and rice meal that she had prepared the previous evening. There was also a large bottle of water. When they returned, the little family ate the warm meal with their fingers, as was their custom.
Bogdan and Julia went to the restaurant and ordered hamburgers and coffee which they ate sitting at a small table in the sun in front of the building. Isaiah went to a small café nearby and bought a small plastic container of porridge and meat stew as well as a bottle of Coke. He sat on the curb of the pavement and ate hungrily. Shadow stayed in the bus, his mouth watering as the smell of the chicken meal that the Indian family sat eating behind him, wafted over him. Tiaan Botha bought a slab of chocolate at the fast food counter and then took a brisk walk around the business area of the town. Half and hour later the bus roared back onto the main road.
As the day wore on the surrounding countryside grew dryer and the flat grasslands more tinged with yellows, reds and browns. The sun dipped towards the horizon, forcing the driver to pull down the large sun-visor above his head and squint into the harsh glare in front of him. The scenery changed more dramatically and the first gigantic mounds of white sand signifying the presence of the notorious but fabulously wealthy gold mines of the Witwatersrand became visible to the southwest.
To the north of these huge monuments miles and miles of small houses, office buildings, shopping centres and apartment blocks spread out across the flat land while to the south of the dumps, the drab smoke-covered black townships spread out as far as the eye could see. The white suburbs were filled with trees, green lawns and neat, clean, tarred roads while the black townships were bare with dusty stretches of sun-baked bare land between the suburbs and dirt roads that were deeply rutted and littered with discarded papers and plastic shopping bags.
Finally, the city of Johannesburg slid into view, the tall, gleaming spires of its commercial and business district silhouetted against the orange and yellow sunset. Heavy traffic filled the neat, tarred roads as the population headed home after the day’s work. The bus pulled into the parking lot of the South African Transport Services at Park Station, the powerful motor that had roared and growled all day came to a shuddering stop, the passenger doors hissed open and the weary, stiff travellers stepped down onto the concrete pavement. The luggage hold was emptied and the passengers left for their individual destinations.
Once Tiaan Botha had retrieved his suitcase he walked away in a south-westerly direction towards the South African Police headquarters, John Vorster Square. The traffic was thinning and the streetlights were brightening from a dull grey to a bright white. The surrounding buildings became more dingy with brown cheap brick replacing the shiny glass facades. The majority of people walking along the pavements were blacks, either walking home or to their nightshift jobs.
When Tiaan reached the entrance to the blue and white police headquarters, he showed his identification card to the guard at the steel, revolving gate and, after waiting for the card to be verified, headed for the Security Police section on the 10th floor. After again showing his I.D. Tiaan went to the office of Brigadier van Tonder, head of the counter-insurgency unit in the South African Police Force.
“Welcome back.” the Brigadier said, shaking Tiaan’s hand. “Sit down. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Tiaan sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of the brigadier’s desk.
“There are a lot of rumours doing the rounds,” the Brigadier said as he scratched his bald pate, “and we’ve pieced them together as best we can. The evidence, at this point in time, points to an immanent attacks on some major targets that will not only attract the attention of the outside world but also create uncertainty amongst the population. Hopefully, with your contacts, you can find out what’s going to happen. We have to work fast, though. I’ve already had a call from the Minister’s office.”
“I’ll get onto it straight away, sir.” Tiaan said.
The two policemen spent the next hour discussing and formulating a plan of action that would hopefully lead to the uncovering of the plot that was threatening the stability of the country. Tiaan then went to the temporary sleeping quarters and, after being allocated a room, unpacked his suitcase. A uniformed policeman brought him a meal of two cheeseburgers, chips and coffee. After the meal Tiaan took a long, warm shower and climbed into the small, steel-framed bed. He was still staring at the ceiling when he fell asleep.
***
Shadow hobbled down the steps of the bus and onto the pavement, his dark blue knapsack slung over his left shoulder. He watched curiously as the white man in the grey safari suit walked briskly away. Something about the man made Shadow feel uncomfortable. He man hadn’t spoken to a single person during the entire trip but had constantly monitored the passengers on the bus in a very surreptitious way. He had also shifted constantly in his seat as if there was something uncomfortable that he was leaning against. Then it struck Shadow that the man was very possibly a plainclothes policeman with a gun in the small of his back that would make sitting for a long period of time very uncomfortable. Also, the way he had kept watching the other passengers, indicated someone who had been trained to do so. Shadow regretted that he hadn’t got a good look at the man’s face but he knew that he would recognize the man by his physique and mannerisms if he ever saw him again.
With a small shrug of his shoulders Shadow walked into the station building through the “non white” entrance and bought a ticket to Phefeni station in Soweto. He struggled down the stairway to the station platform. The majority of the black workers who lived in Soweto but worked in Johannesburg had already been moved out of the city centre by a constant stream of dirty brown trains so that the platform was almost deserted. An ugly brown train, its huge spotlight above the driver’s cabin sending out a shaft of dusty light, hissed into the station and screeched to a stop, filling the air with the smell of hot steel. People climbed off while others boarded. Shadow struggled into a compartment and took a seat at a window. Doors slammed, a whistle shrieked and the long, brown monster slid into the darkness.
The train rushed through the shadowy industrial areas of the city and then through the dark, tree-filled buffer zone that separated it from its black neighbour. The dreary, smoke-filled township of Soweto rolled into view. Shadow stared at the endless rows of
tiny houses lit from above by towering yellow floodlights, the only gadgets, apart from the government installations and offices that were powered by electricity in the entire area.
At Phefeni station Shadow limped along the platform and out through the wire gateway manned by a black South African Railway’s policeman. He limped along the rutted dirt road, stumbling in the darkness until he reached a small, dirty house with a faint light illuminating the small, curtained windows. He edged up to the unpainted, wooden door and knocked softly on the rough surface three times. He waited for five seconds and knocked again, twice this time. Again he waited five seconds and then knocked four times. Slowly the door creaked open and a black face peered through the gap. Then the door opened wide and Shadow entered the dimly lit house.
“Greetings, comrade.” a dark shape said from one of the chairs in the room. “We’re so glad that you have arrived. There is much important work to be done!”
Several shadowy figures appeared and Shadow shook hands with them.
“Come into the kitchen.” one man said. “We have some food and drink for you. Then you must rest. You’ve had a long day, no doubt. Tomorrow we will begin to plan the strike that will bring us closer to our freedom!"
Shadow's discussion with his fellow Umkhonto comrades lasted for several hours and it was close to midnight by the time he left. Fully aware of the danger from the gangs of child psychopaths who roamed the streets of Soweto at night, killing or maiming anything that moved, he slipped carefully through the darkness until he reached number 132 Malewa Street, Orlando East, the tiny brick shack that the A.N.C. had had arranged for him to stay in while he was in Soweto. Carefully he opened the door and entered the tiny dark structure. He closed and locked the door, took out his cheap plastic cigarette lighter and flicked it.
The shack was about the size of a single garage with a wooden front and back doors sided by two small barred windows and a rusty corrugated iron roof without a ceiling. Two larger windows had been built into the side walls. A kitchen table and four chairs stood at the back of the room next to an enamel basin fastened to the wall. A plastic bucket that Shadow could use to fetch water from the communal tap at the end of the street stood below the basin. A brass primus stove stood on top of a small wooden cupboard next to the basin and a wooden bed with two blankets folded on top stood in the one corner. A white steel kitchen cupboard that served as a wardrobe stood next to the bed. A packet of candles and several boxes of matches lay on the kitchen table.
Shadow lit one of the candles and placed it on the table top securing it with some melted wax. He removed his clothes, snuffed out the candle and crept onto the bed, pulling one of the blankets over him. Within minutes he was asleep.
***
Bogdan and Julia collected their suitcases from the hold of the bus and placed them on the pavement.
"Can you recommend a good hotel that’s not too expensive?” Bogdan asked the black luggage supervisor.
“The Polana Hotel in Hillbrow.” the man replied. “Do you want me to get you a taxi?”
“Please.” Bogdan said.
The black man gave out a piercing whistle at the same time raising his right arm above his head. Nearby the motor of a small car roared into life and drove to where the two white people were standing.
“Where you want to go, boss?” a short, fat Indian asked as he climbed out of the taxi.
“The Polana Hotel in Hillbrow.” Bogdan replied.
“Okay!” the taxi driver said and quickly hefted the two suitcases into the trunk of his vehicle. He opened one of the back doors and waved his two passengers in.
At the hotel Bogdan and Julia were led to a single room with an adjoining bathroom. Once they had unpacked their suitcases Bogdan picked up the telephone receiver and dialled a number.
“Mr. Moore?” he asked. “It’s Bogdan Vodnik speaking. We have arrived in Johannesburg and are staying at the Polana Hotel.”
Bogdan listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
“Okay.” he said. “We’ll wait for you outside the hotel. Thank you. Goodbye.”
Bogdan put down the receiver and turned to Julia who was sitting on the end of the bed.
“I've just spoken to the mine manager, Mister Gavin Moore. They’re sending a car to fetch us at seven tomorrow morning.” he said. “We’re on our way again. Now, let's find something to eat. I'm starving!"
***
Isaiah was the last passenger to leave the bus. He stepped down onto the pavement and stared at the towering buildings that surrounded him. He was surprised at how unconcerned he was about being in an environment that was so different from the one that he had come from. He had expected to be frightened and uncertain but now that he was here he felt strangely confident that he could cope. If thousands and thousands of others from similar backgrounds to his could succeed here then so could he. What he had to do was learn, and learn quickly. Mistakes would be time-consuming and costly. And the only way to learn was to ask questions. If you didn’t know, ask. Don’t ever pretend to know, he warned himself.
The small Indian family was standing nearby looking about them uncertainly. Isaiah walked away, his blanket draped over his shoulders. It was a lot cooler here on the Reef than he was used to. He saw a small black boy washing a car at the side of the street.
“Hello.” Isaiah greeted the youngster. “I’ve just arrived from Natal. I’m going to look for work on the mines. Where can I stay tonight?”
“Have you got a pass to be in Jo’burg?” the boy asked.
“No. I'll get one when I get a job on one of the mines.” Isaiah replied.
“Well, you’d better be careful not to get caught by the police before you get work on the mines.” the boy said. “Without a pass or mine employment they’ll put in jail and then send you back to where you came from. What you should do is find an alley to sleep in tonight and then go to the mine recruiting office tomorrow morning early and apply for work. If they give you work they’ll also arrange a pass for you.”
“Thanks.” Isaiah said and patted the small boy on the back before walking away looking for a café where he could buy something to eat.
After he had finished his meal of porridge and chicken-feet stew while sitting on the pavement beneath a streetlamp, Isaiah began to search for a place to sleep. Eventually he came to an alley between two office buildings. Warily he entered the dark lane, stepping around the discarded boxes and papers that littered the ground. Isaiah’s heart leapt as a small, dark shaped rushed towards him and then streaked past him. At the entrance to the alley the black cat stopped and glared back at him before slinking away next to the wall of the building.
At the end of the alley was a locked wooden gate and piled up next to it were several large cardboard boxes. Working mainly by feel, Isaiah flattened two of the boxes and placed them on the ground and lay down on top of them. He was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable a mattress they made. He flattened a small box to use as a pillow and tucked it under his head. He pulled his blanket over his body and relaxed, staring upwards, the walls of the buildings on each side of him soaring up to the dark grey sky. He yawned and closed his eyes. Soon he was fast asleep, snoring softly.
Silently the black cat returned to the entrance to the alley and stared at the sleeping man, its tail twitching, peeved at having lost its regular stamping ground to something that just wanted to sleep.
The following morning, after eating a meal of porridge and stew while sitting on the pavement, Isaiah noticed that the young boy he’d spoken to the previous day was now selling newspapers to people hurrying to work. It suddenly struck him that there appeared to be many opportunities for work in the city. He waited until the boy had sold his stock of newspapers before approaching him.
“Before I go to seek work on the mines,” Isaiah said to the boy who was sitting on the curb counting his takings, “are there many work opportunities here in the city?”
The boy pocketed his money and stood up.
<
br /> “Yes there are but there’s always the danger of being arrested by the police for not having a pass.” he said. “You won’t be able to get a permanent job if you don’t have a pass though, but there are many young men in the city who manage on temporary jobs like packing and unpacking trucks, washing cars and some even work as gardeners.”
“Where should I start looking for work?” Isaiah asked.
“Everybody who comes to Jo’burg goes straight to Hillbrow.” the boy replied. “You see that big tower? That’s in the middle of Hillbrow. When you get there just ask around and you’ll soon find someone to help you.”
Isaiah thanked the boy and began walking towards the distant tower.
***
Bala Desai placed the suitcase on the pavement. Fatima stood close to him, almost as if seeking protection from the unfamiliar surroundings. Salona stood in front of her mother, her thumb in her mouth and her eyes wide with wonder mixed with uncertainty.
“We must find out how to get to Pageview.” Bala said. “I hope it’s not too far from here."
"Ask that boy washing the car." Fatima suggested. "I saw that Zulu man who was in the bus with us ask him for directions.”
Bala nodded and walked over to the boy.
"Excuse me.” he said. “Please can you direct me to Pageview?”
The boy straightened from wiping a hubcap and pointed in a westerly direction, his cleaning cloth dangling from his hand.
“Go down Rissik Street until you get to Bree Street.” the boy said. “Turn right and go about three kays. You can’t miss it. It’s the suburb just after you cross the railway line"
The Colour of Gold Page 4