Africa & Middle East > South Africa > Gauteng > Mahwelereng > Articles > A Township Evening

Extract from 'Happy Sad Land'
Just to the north of the little Transvaal dorp of Potgietersrus is the black township of Mahwelereng. I had come to P-P-rus, as the local blacks called it, to interview the white mayor, a key figure in the far-right Conservative party, but had taken up an invitation to spend the night in the township first. Before supper, my hosts were keen that I meet a distinguished friend of theirs....

Back in Mahwelereng we went to visit Geoffrey. "He is a good man,' said Lesetja, 'a very good man."

Geoffrey was tall and distinguished-looking. He wore light-sensitive tinted glasses and spoke with an altogether more sophisticated English accent. He'd been at Fort Hare with Buthelezi and Mandela, had taught in Zambia for eighteen years, now worked for the Government of a nearby homeland. Not Lebowa, but KwaNdebele, the tiny area south of Potgietersrus reserved for the Ndebele people.

We sat in his front parlour and drank beer, while in the room behind, his daughter supervised his grandchildren's supper.

"And from here," he said, "you're going straight to Jo'burg?" I decided to be honest.

"Well, in fact," I replied, "I've come really to interview the leader of the local Conservatives, Mr Van Tonder."

Through his half-dark glasses, Geoffrey fixed me with a long, penetrating look. The others turned in their seats. "I - I'm trying to get all points of view," I wittered. After five long seconds Geoffrey nodded slowly and chuckled. "Mr Van Tonder, eh! Whoh! How come you're seeing him?"

"I was given an introduction to him in Cape Town. So I made an appointment to see him up here."

Geoffrey shook his head and laughed. "I wish I could just make an appointment to see that bugger."

A little later there was a double knock at the door and two young white men walked in. They were clean-cut young Americans in grey suits, one dark, one blond.

"Good evening, how are you all?" they asked, giving careful African handshakes all round; until they came to me, sitting behind the door. I rather threw them; the dark one gave me the African handshake, the blond opted for something rapid and European. Geoffrey invited them to take a seat.

"We are missionaries," said the blond. "And we've come here tonight to share the word of our Lord Jesus Christ with you."

"I see," said Geoffrey, observing them closely through his dark glasses. "And what church do you represent?"

"We are from the Norman Bible Church," said the blond nervously. "We have a service here in Mahwelereng every Sunday at nine, and if any of you would care to join us you'd be very welcome."

"Nine o'clock," said Geoffrey. "Hm. That is unfortunate. Very unfortunate, as it clashes with our own Anglican services."

"So," asked the blond, as if talking to a collection of highly intelligent monkeys, "what do you all do -what are your jobs?"

"Well," said Geoffrey, with just a flicker of a smile, "Mr Chokwe here is a mechanic, Mr Mofomme is a teacher, Mr Mothapo is a retired policeman, and Mr McCrum is a journalist. Indeed we were saying earlier how unusual it was for us to have a white person amongst us, and now I am beginning to feel that this is my lucky day." The missionaries nodded seriously.

"And do you have a job?" they asked.

"Yes, I have a job," Geoffrey replied. "I work 130 kilometres from here. I was in education for a long while. Now I have retired, you might say, into an administrative position. You might say I am," he pursed his lips wryly, "a migrant labourer."

"A migrant labourer," said the missionaries, nodding.

With sincerity in his voice, Geoffrey now congratulated the missionaries on their efforts. "It is important", he said, "that the word of Jesus Christ is spread amongst us - so you are doing good work."

"But we can't expect to see you in church?"

"Well as I say," said Geoffrey, "it does clash with our own Anglican service. But you never know, one week perhaps you might see us."

The missionaries got to their feet. "May I ask you a question," said Geoffrey, as they turned to leave. D'you make a habit of knocking on people's doors round here at night?"

"Oh yes," said the missionaries. "Hmm," said Geoffrey. "Well, I wish you luck." We returned, Chokwe, Lesetja and I, to his house for supper. Again there was the hand-washing ceremony, grace, and we men ate alone: thin chicken legs, with a spicy sauce, thick white bread and thin potato cakes. I had brought in some beers from the car, so after Chokwe had left us, Lesetja and I sat drinking and talking.

"You see this," he said, pointing to the label on the bottle. "L-A-G-E-R. This stands for: Let Africans Get Equal Rights." We laughed.

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