Wednesday, 1 October 1986: Heading to the Heart of “Afrikanerdom”

Gaborone, Botswana, 18 May 1987

I changed my mind about getting a car.  My drinking buddies, David and Gordon, introduced me to an Englishman, Richard George, who had worked with them but was returning to England as his contract in Botswana had expired.  He had a 1978 VW Passat that he was willing to let go of for 500 pula under book value.  A mechanic looked at it and told me it was OK.  So I bought the baby blue bitch for P1450 (US$700), a big mistake as I was to learn a few days later.


A spirited student choir participated in the dedication of the new university library.

 

We had a mid-semester break at the university from 27 September to 5 October.  I attended the dedication of the university’s new library on the 29th and Botswana’s 20th Anniversary of Independence festivities the following day.  On 1 October, I took possession of the Passat, did the paperwork for my insurance and registration, threw my camping gear in the car, filled her up with petrol, and by afternoon, I was off on a five-day trip through the northern Transvaal, the heart of right-wing Afrikaner society. 


Crowd outside the national stadium during celebration of Botswana’s 20th Anniversary of Independence (from the United Kingdom), 30 September 1986.

 

Crossing the border at the Tlokwane/Kopfontein post 18 km east of “Gabs”, I headed south 100 km to Zeerust, had a bite to eat, turned east and drove 125 km to Rustenburg.  It was now dark and time to find a campsite.  The first campground where I stopped had a “slegs blankes” (whites only) sign at the entrance gate.  That made my blood boil, but suspected this might be a good place to rub elbows with some racists and get some good material to write about.  When the black caretaker at the entrance gate told me the fee was 11 rand (about US$4.50), I tried to explain that I’d be sleeping in a tent and would not be using the water and electrical hook-ups for caravans (camping trailers).  No, the fee would still be R11.00, he replied.  So I got mad, mumbled that it would be inappropriate for the employee of a black African university to stay in a “whites only” campground, and drove off to another camping spot down the road.


                   My counterclockwise route:  northern South Africa and eastern Botswana, 1-5 October 1986.


The second campground was next to the Ananda Hotel.  There was no “slegs blankes” sign at the gate which made my conscience feel a little better.  The fee here was also R11.  When I explained to the old manager that I was alone and would be sleeping in a tent, he said I could stay for R3.00.  The price included use of the showers with hot water.  It was early spring, and the nights were still chilly.  So I decided to lay my air matrass and light-weight bivy sack diagonally across the back of the station wagon rather than pitch my tent.  

It was still early, so I walked over to the hotel bar where I ordered a Castle Lager and watched the patrons.  It was a drab, brightly-lit men’s bar (or so I assumed, as the two dozen or so patrons were all males).  Noisy young Afrikaner working class types shot pool while some other guys watched.  The smoky atmosphere wreaked of terminal boredom. Everyone ignored me, and after two beers I went back to my new old car for some sleep time. 

 

 


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