Saturday, 6 December 1986: Musings while Waiting for My Train to Cape Town

Kimberley, South Africa

My overnight train from Mafikeng just arrived, and I have to sit here in the Kimberley station waiting all day for my train to Cape Town.  I hadn’t planned on this wait, but the schedule was changed and one train was dropped since I made the reservations.  So perhaps I can spend the day remembering how to write again.  I’ve been avoiding writing lately with the excuse that I had classes and school work to do during the day and was too lonely to go over to the computer room to write in the evening.  Now I have no excuses. 

My two-day 1500 km trip from Gaborone to Cape Town involved two train changes (in Mafikeng and Kimberley) and an all-day layover in Kimberley.  Base map: Railway Map of South Africa and Neighbouring Territories, South African Railways, 1985.

 

Speaking of being lonely, I finally had an erotic encounter two nights ago after a six-month drought.  I will refer to her as Carol – not her real name as I don’t want to embarrass her by publicizing her connection with a shameless slut like yours truly.  I met her several weeks ago at a U.S. Embassy T.G.I.F. party in Gaborone.  It wasn’t exactly lust at first sight, but I guess we kind of grew on each other after a couple dates.  She works at the embassy:  a career U.S. Foreign Service officer, 33, ex-school teacher, well-travelled, fluent in Spanish, North Carolina native without the accent, liberal politics, intellectual, pretty face, red hair, pleasantly plump, thick glasses, and oh yes, a very ample bosom.  Too bad that bra size doesn’t make that much difference to me one way or the other.  Carol comes with some nice side benefits like a late-model Toyota with aircon and diplomatic plates as well as a large, nicely-furnished, air conditioned home complete with VCR/TV, king size bed, brandy in the liquor cabinet, and a security guard.  Actually, the security guard isn’t of much importance to me but thought some readers might be impressed.  Her biggest liability is that I probably will never fall in love with her as her personality isn’t what I’m looking for in a Ms. Wonderful.  Also, she will be transferring to another post sometime between March and June but I need a quick fling and so does she.  I’ll try to enjoy it while it lasts.

I have moved from the train station to a downtown park.  Interestingly, it a multi-racial park.  A coloured family is seated at a bench next to mine chattering away in Afrikaans.  Since I can’t understand what they are saying, it doesn’t distract me from my writing. 

Perhaps I should write a few words about what I hope to accomplish on this trip besides chasing skirts in Stellenbosch (my friend, Helize, gave me three names and contact numbers), drinking my way through the Cape wineries near Paarl, catching a few late spring/early summer rays at the beach, and doing some hiking in the Cape mountains.  It will be interesting to see how people respond to an American now that the U.S. Congress has passed sanctions on South Africa and American companies are starting to pull out.  Will they still be friendly or will I be the object of their frustrations?  And how will I respond to racist bullshit now that I’m a resident of a black African country?  (Yes, it’s official.  I’ve received my temporary Botswana residence permit.)  I’ve learned to appreciate African people, especially the Batswana even with all their idiosyncrasies.   While I have no interest in going “native” (they have their culture and I have mine), I feel there is generally good will and respect between the Batswana and me.  Botswana is generally a very tolerant society.  I never feel that I’m treated badly because I’m white.  The inefficiency of the Batswana tends to drive me nuts sometimes, but their reserved warmth tends to make up for it.  “Oh well, this is Africa” is the refrain I often repeat to myself.

My point is that many white South Africans don’t seem to have the same appreciation and respect for the black people in this country.  In a way, I can understand why.  It may be easy to shrug off inefficiency as a temporary resident, but quite another to have to deal with it in the place one calls home.  So, on this trip, I want to see how I feel about the differences between black-white relations in the two countries now that I’ve been in Botswana for a while.

I am already reminded of the little differences.  The blacks here address me as “master” or “baas” (Afrikaans for “boss”).  I detest both terms (particularly the former) because they denote subservience.  In Botswana I am addressed as “Rra” (which roughly translates to “sir”, but is literally the Setswana word for “father”.  In return I address the men as “Rra” and the women as “Mma” (“madam” or “mother”).  These are terms of great respect, but the fact that both the Batswana and I can use them to address each other denotes mutual respect in my opinion.  It would, of course, be totally ludicrous for me to address a South African black as “master” or “baas”.  So, this morning at breakfast, when my black waitress started “master”-ing me, I “Mma”-ed her.  I don’t know whether the blacks here in Kimberley use the term though there must be some Setswana speakers around here.  At any rate, once I started using “Mma” she warmed up considerably. 

In dealing with white South Africans now, I’m going to have to re-remind myself to do a lot of listening and watch my anger and hostility.  I don’t feel as nervous or paranoid in South Africa as I did when I first arrived here eight months ago.  Thus, I need to be careful not to let my guard down and get too cocky. 

I’ve had a few interesting interchanges today.  The hotel owner where I had breakfast after my train arrived came over and talked with me for a few minutes.  He soon got around to telling me how sorry he was that Reagan was getting “the knife in the back” in reference to Congress overriding his veto of South African sanctions.  Many white South Africans seem to love Reagan.  Later, when I was sitting in the park, a black guy (or was he coloured?) told me how he had been laid off from the diamond mines about two years ago.  He is unable to find anything more that some temporary jobs here and there.  He had come downtown this morning to look for work, but there was none.  Now he would have to walk home because he couldn’t afford a cab.  The bank was threatening to take his home because he can’t make the payments.  I wondered if he was trying to shame me into giving him some money.  Another guy was less subtle in his request for money so I moved on.  Presently, I’m in an air conditioned hotel bar freezing my ass off.  Outside, it’s a hot (close to 100°F, I’d guess), sunny, late spring day.  I’ve just finished my Castle Lager and suppose I’ll get something to eat before heading back to the station to catch the Trans-Karoo Express for Cape Town.