"Are you talking about stealing explosives?" Solomon asked. "Because, if you are, I don't think that I want to do that. Explosives are very dangerous. What if they go off while they're hidden up your backside?"
Isaiah smiled. He pointed to the red metal box lying on the floor of the tunnel near to where they were sitting.
"If dynamite was so dangerous the mine wouldn't leave it lying around in big boxes like that one." he said. "You see, Solomon, Explosives like dynamite can only explode if the receive a charge of electricity. You've seen the wires that the white miner puts into the dynamite in the holes in the rock face. Well, those wires go to an electrical generator and only when the electrical charge from the generator is sent to the dynamite does it explode. The dynamite cannot explode without the electrical charge so it's quite safe to put it into your backside to get it out of the mine."
Solomon looked dubious.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked.
"In the time that you've been here at the mine have you heard of anyone being blown up by explosives that they were carrying?" Isaiah asked. "In fact, have you ever heard of anyone being blown up by dynamite that wasn't connected to an electrical source?"
"No, I haven't." Solomon replied. "I've often wondered why the white miners put those pieces of wire into the dynamite and why it only explodes when there's nobody in the mine. But now that you've explained it to me I would be prepared to steal explosives for more money."
"Okay." Isaiah said. "We won't start just yet. I need to make a few more arrangements but that won't take long. It's very important though, that you don't say anything about this to anybody."
Isaiah went to speak to Paul.
"I'm thinking of approaching the other dealers with a plan to form some kind of alliance." he said. "That way we can share the market and control the price."
"You're crazy." Paul told him. "Why should these guys share their market with you?" It would be easier for them to kill you. Besides, what about our deal? Rather sell explosives to me and find another market outside the mining world that's not so dangerous?"
"Where?" Isaiah asked. "Who else uses explosives and are prepared to buy them illegally?"
"I've heard that Umkhonto weSizwe, the military wing of the A.N.C., is looking for explosives." Paul said. "They're having great difficulty bringing in explosive devices from overseas and are keen to make their own here. However, they are reluctant to deal with the known illegal explosives dealers because many of them are known to the police. Perhaps, as a new-comer, they would talk to you and you could become their exclusive supplier."
"That sounds like a good idea." Isaiah said. "I'd then also be helping to free our people from the white government. Do you know how I can get in contact with them?"
Paul shook his head.
"I'm only a simple gold miner." he said. "I can't help you with that"
***
Isaiah had no success in trying to make contact with Umkhonto wiSizwe or with any organisation related to it. The fear of him being an agent of the South African government was too strong and as he had no references or any record of supporting the A.N.C. in any way he was viewed with extreme suspicion. But Isaiah also had to be very careful himself. By trying to make contact with the organisation Isaiah also laid himself open to attracting the attention of the security police who were constantly on the lookout for people trying to become part of the struggle for freedom. It eventually became obvious that the only way that he could make contact with the liberation movement was to approach them directly in one of South Africa's neighbouring countries where the A.N.C. had training bases. He decided that the country that would suit him best would be the tiny enclave of Lesotho, a mountainous independent country completely surrounded by South Africa. As he wasn't looking for military training he believed that he was more likely to get a quick response here than in the other countries such as Botswana, Mozambique or Swaziland.
As Lesotho was about five hundred and fifty kilometres South by road from where he was in Johannesburg Isaiah calculated that he would need two weeks to make contact with the A.N.C. personnel, come to a satisfactory arrangement regarding his supplying them with explosives and return to Johannesburg. As he needed his job on the mine for his plan to work he arranged for a literate miner to write a letter purporting to come from his uncle saying that his mother was desperately ill and that he should urgently return to Natal before she passed away.
The mine management was very sympathetic towards Isaiah's supposed plight when he produced the fake letter and granted him the two weeks compassionate leave that he requested. He withdrew most of the money that he'd saved from selling explosives to Paul and also managed to get a small advance from the mine against his pension fund contributions. He packed his clothes into a small brown cardboard suitcase and set out for Lesotho.
***
Isaiah realised that it wasn't simply a matter of taking a bus to Lesotho. The mine had given him a letter explaining that he was employed by them and was travelling to Natal on compassionate leave for two weeks. His passbook stated that he was born in the Eshowe and had permission to work in the Transvaal at the Deep Reef Gold Mine. If the police found him anywhere else in the country he would be arrested and jailed. Isaiah was also aware that the closer he got to Lesotho the more vigilant the police would be. Hundreds, if not thousands, of would-be freedom fighters were travelling to Lesotho and crossing the border at night in the hope of receiving military training that would allow them to return and fight for their freedom.
With the letter that he'd received from the mine Isaiah went back to the literate miner who had created the letter from his "uncle".
"Can you make a copy of this letter and change the names from Eshowe to Ladybrand?" he asked.
The man studied the document.
"Yes, it's possible to do that." he said. "I will have to cover the body of the letter so that I can make a copy of the letterhead. Then I'll type in the new wording and forge the signature. It's going to cost you fifteen Rand though."
"That's okay." Isaiah said.
The following day Isaiah collected the forged letter allowing him to go to Ladybrand and went to the South African Railway's booking office where he purchased a ticket to Ladybrand.
"The bus leaves at six o'clock this evening." the clerk behind the counter told him. "You should get to Ladybrand at three o'clock tomorrow morning."
This suited Isaiah perfectly. As Ladybrand was just over twenty kilometres from the Lesotho border be reckoned that he could easily walk from there and cross the border before daylight. He would then make his way to the capital, Maseru, and make contact with the A.N.C.
Just before six that evening Isaiah climbed into the "non white" section of the huge dark red Railway's bus carrying his brown cardboard suitcase and took a seat in the back corner. He planned to get as much sleep as possible during the trip so that he would be fresh and alert when he walked to the Lesotho border. He had no doubt that there would be police patrols in the area and he would have to be quick to react if he encountered any of them.
The trip was uneventful until the bus was ten kilometres past Bloemfontein on the road to Ladybrand. Isaiah was just beginning to doze off when he noticed the bus beginning to slow. He peered through the front windscreen and saw a number of flashing blue lights in the road ahead. As the bus neared the flashing lights its headlights picked up five yellow police vans, a number of blue-uniformed policemen and several men dressed in camouflage uniform and carrying automatic rifles.
The bus came to a halt with a harsh burst of compressed air from the brakes. The door to the "non whites" section swished open and two white policemen and an armed soldier entered.
"This is a police roadblock!" the lead policeman shouted. "Get your passbooks out for inspection!"
Passengers began scrounging in their luggage and their clothes for their identity documents. Isaiah took out his passbook and the forged letter. The policemen moved slowly along the aisle inspecting the pa
ssenger's documents and making notes on a clipboard. Eventually they reached the back of the bus. The policeman glared at Isaiah and held out his open hand. Isaiah handed him his documents. The angry white man studied them intently.
"Your passbook says that you come from Eshowe. What is your mother doing in Ladybrand?" the policeman asked, still glaring at Isaiah.
Isaiah had been expecting this question.
"My mother was visiting her sister when she had a heart attack." Isaiah replied. "As she is dying she could not go back to Eshowe."
The policeman stared at Isaiah, his eyes narrowing as he assessed what he had been told. Isaiah stared back at him expressionlessly. He made a note of Isaiah's name and identity number as well as several other details before dropping the documents onto Isaiah's lap. He turned and with the other two officers, left the bus. He signalled to the policemen blocking the road and the moved away. The bus driver revved the engine and the massive vehicle moved off. Isaiah took a deep breath. Now, all he had to do was get from Ladybrand to the border.
***
Isaiah left the brightly-lit bus depot and walked out into the street. As he walked he watched his shadow lengthen as he passed each streetlamp. He knew that Lesotho lay to the south of the town so he began to walk in that direction, constantly alert for approaching vehicles and pedestrians. The small town was quiet. In the distance he heard a dog barking. He reached the edge of the town and stared into the darkness. He guessed that the area between the town and the border was all farmland and that, apart from the possibility of meeting a police patrol, he was unlikely to encounter any other people. He took a deep breath and walked out into the gloom.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness Isaiah began to distinguish trees, bushes and rocky outcrops. He walked as quickly as the conditions would allow, watching the ground in front of him intently and, although he stumbled frequently, he made good progress. He came to a small stream, the water rushing noisily over the rounded rocks. He stepped into the cool water, stopped to drink several handfuls of the fluid and waded further. The water level rose to mid-calf before dropping. He reached the sandy far edge and continued walking.
***
Isaiah estimated that he had covered about three quarters of the distance to the border when he heard voices ahead of him. He looked around quickly and notices a small clump of bushes nearby. Quietly he moved into the thicket and sat down. The voices grew louder and he recognised the hated Afrikaans language. Fearful that the whites of his eyes would betray him he stared fixedly at the ground at his feet. He heard the invisible men approaching. They appeared to be walking in single file. The footsteps grew louder, the dry grass crackling as the men's feet moved over it. Suddenly, in the periphery of his vision, a dark shape loomed out of the darkness.
Isaiah held his breath, his whole body rigid with fear. Had he come all this way only to be caught by a roving police patrol? he wondered. The dark shape of the leading man moved past him, so close that he could smell the man's body odour. Another dark shape appeared and moved past and then another. Altogether six men passed Isaiah and, as each one did, he expected to be seen. His lungs were bursting from holding his breath. Slowly he exhaled and then carefully drew in fresh cool air. Finally no more shapes appeared out of the darkness but Isaiah remained in the bushes as he tried to calm himself.
Finally Isaiah felt relaxed enough to move. He was just about to stand up when he heard stalks of grass breaking nearby. He sank back onto the ground and waited. The sounds of breaking grass moved slowly closer accompanied by a strange swishing sound. Isaiah stared at the ground at his feet, waiting for the approaching man to appear. The sounds grew louder and suddenly a huge shape emerged out of the darkness.
Isaiah was so shocked and surprised by the size of the object that he looked up in astonishment and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness the shape turned out to be a black and white cow, unconcernedly grazing on the grass as it walked. Relief flooded over him and he let out a short nervous laugh. The cow lifted its head, stared at the man hiding in the bushes and then went back to grazing. Slowly Isaiah stood up, picked up his suitcase, and continued on his way to the Lesotho border.
Finally Isaiah heard the dull roar of the Caledon River which defines the north-western border of Lesotho. He hurried on until he felt his feet sink into the sandy soil at the river's edge. He took off his shoes, tied the laces together, and hung them around his neck. Holding his suitcase above his head he waded into the swiftly flowing water. The water level rose and Isaiah struggled to keep his balance as he stumbled over the rounded rocks that covered the river bed. The roar of the rushing water drowned out all other sounds.
Isaiah felt his strength begin to drain away as he struggled against the vicious current. He staggered and almost fell. He knew that if he did fall, he would likely drown as he had never learnt to swim. He gritted his teeth and stumbled on. The level of the water slowly began to drop and finally he felt soft sand under his feet. The current lessened and finally he reached the far bank of the river. He clambered up the steep bank and sank down onto the rough grass, exhausted. In the eastern sky a distinct grey tinge signified the coming of a new day.
***
CHAPTER 7
Bala Desai had just finished taking measurements and instructions from a well-dressed black man who needed a pair of expensive slacks altered. As the man left the little shop a middle aged white man in a pale blue safari suit and grey leather shoes entered. In his right hand he held a brown cardboard folder.
"Good morning, sir." Bala said, smiling. "How can I be of assistance to you?"
The white man ignored Bala's greeting and stared at him, a surely expression on his face. He continued to stare at Bala as he opened the file in his hand. He glanced down at the documents in the folder and then looked up.
"Are you Mister Bala Desai?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm Bala Desai." the Indian tailor replied.
"My name's Viljoen from the Department of Community Development." the man said. "I'm here to tell you that that your enterprise "Desai Family Tailors" is hereby ordered to vacate these premises and move to the Oriental Plaza.This is in accordance with the Group Areas Act that states that this area is reserved for white people and people of colour are forbidden to live or do business here."
Bala felt the anger rise in him.
"Firstly, I'm not a "person of colour!" Bala said angrily. "I was born in this country. I'm a South African citizen! Secondly…"
"I don't care where you were born." Viljoen interrupted. "According to the laws of this country you are classified as a "person of colour" and you may not do business in this area. The Department and the South African Police are aware of your defiance of the law. Your presence at the unlawful demonstration outside our offices several weeks ago was observed and recorded."
"What if I refuse to move?" Bala asked his anger rising even further. "The Oriental Plaza is a failure. Nobody goes there to do their shopping! My business will collapse if I move it there."
"If you refuse to move, Mister Desai, you will be moved forcibly." the white man said. "You won't be the first business to be forcibly moved. As for the Oriental Plaza being a failure, that's absolute nonsense. The government has spent sixteen and a half million Rand building the complex. They wouldn't spend that kind of money if the enterprise was likely to be a failure."
"Spending a lot of money on something doesn't make it a success!" Bala said. "I've heard of a large number of businesses that have moved that are now in serious financial trouble because the rentals are too high and not enough people visit the centre to support them."
Viljoen shrugged his shoulders.
"Mister Desai." he said. "I haven't come here to argue with you. I'm telling you that if you don't give my department permission to move your business to the Oriental Plaza it will be moved forcibly."
"I will not move!" Bala said angrily. "That's all there is to it! Now please leave my shop!"
"I'll leave your shop when I wan
t to." the white man replied insolently. "You can't order me around. You're a trouble maker and we know how to deal with your kind. I can promise you that we'll move your business to the Oriental Plaza with or without your consent."
Viljoen took a piece of paper out of his folder and tossed it only the glass counter.
"Here is your relocation order." he said. "Our men will be here to move your business in two weeks time and we will not be held responsible for any damage done to your belongings and equipment, especially if you refuse to co-operate with us."
The white official smiled at Bala contemptuously, turned, and walked out of the shop, leaving the door open.
***
"Bala, my dearest." Fatima said, her forehead creased with a worried frown. "This is not like you. Why are you so determined to defy the government? You have always been so law-abiding."
Bala and Fatima sat at the kitchen table in their little house in Pageview. Salona had already gone to bed. It was the evening before the government was to forcibly move their little tailoring business to the huge, but virtually unknown, shopping centre known as the Oriental Plaza in Fordsburg.
"My darling." Bala said taking his wife's hand in his. "There comes a time in everyone's life when he or she must make a decision that defines their beliefs and their sense of justice and challenges them to prove whether or not they are true to their beliefs. What the government is doing to us, not only the forceful removal of our business and our forceful removal of us as a family to Lenasia, but to all people who are not white, is wrong and all the people affected must oppose them. If we don't then we are in effect recognising them and accepting them as being right and then we are no better than they are."
"But they are much too big to fight." Fatima said, her voice desperate with fear. "They could easily destroy us."
The Colour of Gold Page 11