The Wind that Stirs in the Kalahari
From The Rooinek in Mafeking Road
by Herman Charles Bosman
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Then, the year after the drought, the miltsiekte broke out. We all became very discouraged. Nearly all of us in that part of the Marico had started farming again on what the Government had given us. Now that the stock had died we had nothing. We couldn’t even sow mielies because, at the rate at which the cattle were dying, in a short while we would have no oxen left to pull the plough.
It was then that somebody got hold of the idea of trekking. In a few days we were talking of nothing else. Somebody mentioned German West Africa.
‘The blight of the English is over South Africa,’ Gerhardus Grobbelaar said. ‘We’ll remain here only to die. We must go away somewhere where there is not the Englishman’s flag.’
In a few weeks’ time we had arranged everything. We were going to trek across the Kalahari into German territory. Everything we had, we loaded up. We drove the cattle ahead and followed behind on our wagons. There were five families: the Steyns, the Grobbelaars, the Odendaals, the Ferreiras, and Sannie and I. Webber also came with us. I think it was not so much that he was anxious to leave as that he and Koos Steyn had become very much attached to one another, and the Englishman did not wish to remain alone behind.
The youngest person in our trek was Koos Steyn’s daughter, Jemima, who was then about eighteen months old. Being the baby, she was a favourite with all of us.
Webber sold his wagon and went with Koos Steyn’s trek.
~
We had got so far into the desert that we began telling one another that we must be near the end. Although we knew that German West was far away, and that in the way we had been travelling we had got little more than into the beginning of the Kalahari, yet we tried to tell one another lies about how near water was likely to be. But, of course, we only told those to one another. Each man in his own heart knew what the real truth was.
~
After a while there was no more weeping in our camp. Some of the women who lived through the dreadful things of the days that came after, and got safely back to the Transvaal, never again wept. What they had seen appeared to have hardened them. In this respect they had become as men. I think it is the saddest thing that ever happens in this world, when women pass through great suffering that makes them become as men.
~
So far we had followed Gerhardus through all things, and our faith in him had been great. But now that he had decided to turn back, we lost our belief in him. We lost it suddenly, too. We knew that it was best to turn back, and that to continue would mean that we would all die in the Kalahari. And yet, if Gerhardus had said we must still go on, we would have done so. We would have gone through with him right to the end. But now that he had as much as said that he was beaten by the desert, we had no more faith in Gerhardus.
That is why Paul Kruger was a greater man than Gerhardus. Paul Kruger was that kind of man whom we still worshipped even when he decided to retreat. If it had been Paul Kruger who had told us that we had to go back, we would have returned with strong hearts. We would have retained exactly the same love for our leader, even if we had known that he was beaten. But from the moment that Gerhardus said we must go back, we all knew that he was no longer our leader. Gerhardus knew that also.
~
Then we saw that Koos Steyn had become mad. For he refused to return. He inspanned his oxen, and got ready to trek on.
‘But, man,’ Gerhardus Grobbelaar said to him, ‘you’ve got no water to drink.’
‘I’ll drink coffee then,’ Koos Steyn answered, laughing as always, and took up the whip and walked away beside the wagon. And Webber went off with him, just because Koos Steyn had been good to him, I suppose. That’s why I have said that Englishmen are queer. Webber must have known that if Koos Steyn had not actually gone wrong in the head, still what he was doing now was madness, and yet he stayed with him.
We separated. Our wagons went slowly back to Malopolole. Koos Steyn’s wagon went deeper into the desert. I looked back at the Steyns. At that moment Webber also looked round. He saw me and waved his hand. It reminded me of that day in the Anglo-Boer War when that other Englishman, whose companion we had shot, also turned round and waved.
Eventually we got back to Malopolole with two wagons and a handful of cattle. We had abandoned the other wagons. Awful things had happened in the desert. A number of children had died. Gerhardus Grobbelaar’s wagon was in front of me. Once I saw a bundle being dropped through the side of the wagon-tent. I knew what it was. Gerhardus would not trouble to bury his dead child, and his wife lay in the tent too weak to move. So I got off the wagon and scraped a small heap of sand over the body. All I remember of the rest of the journey to Malopolole is the sun and the sand. And the thirst.
Until today I am not sure how many days we were on our way back, unless I sit down and work it all out, and even then I suppose I would get it wrong. We got back to Malopolole and water. We said we would never go away from there again. I don’t think that even those parents who had lost children grieved about them then. They were stunned with what they had gone through. But I knew that, later on, it would all come back again. Then they would remember things about shallow graves in the sand, and Gerhardus Grobbelaar and his wife would think of a little bundle lying out in the Kalahari. And I knew how they would feel.
Afterwards we fitted out a wagon with fresh oxen; we took an abundant supply of water and went back into the desert to look for the Steyn family. With the help of some Bechuanas, who could see tracks that we could not see, we found the wagon. The oxen had been outspanned; a few lay dead beside the wagon. The Bechuanas pointed out to us footprints in the sand, which showed which way those two men and that woman had gone.
In the end we found them.
Koos Steyn and his wife lay side by side in the sand; the woman’s head rested on the man’s shoulder; her long hair had become loosened, and blew softly in the wind. A great deal of fine sand had drifted over their bodies. We never found the baby Jemima. She must have died somewhere along the way, and Koos Steyn must have buried her.
But we agreed that the Englishman Webber must have passed through terrible things; he could not even have had any understanding left as to what the Steyns had done with their baby. He probably thought, up to the moment when he died, that he was carrying the child. For, when we lifted his body, we found, still clasped in his dead and rigid arms, a few old rags and a child’s clothes.
It seemed to us that the wind that always stirs in the Kalahari blew very quietly and softly that morning.
Yes, the wind blew very gently.
Die Wind Wat Roer in die Kalahari
Uit The Rooinek in Mafeking Road
deur Herman Charles Bosman
Toe het die miltsiekte ’n jaar na die droogte uitgebreek. Dit het ons baie ontmoedig. Amper ons almal in daardie gedeelte van die Marico het weer begin boer op dit wat die regering ons gegee het. Maar nou dat ons vee gevrek het, het ons niks oorgehad nie. Teen die tempo wat die beeste gevrek het, kon ons nie eers mielies saai nie, want binnekort sou daar geen osse oor wees om die ploeg te trek nie.
Dis toe dat iemand die gedagte gekry het om te trek. Binne ’n paar dae het niemand oor enigiets anders gepraat nie. Iemand het van Duits-Suidwes Afrika gepraat.
“Die vloek van die Engelse is dwarsoor Suid-Afrika,” het Gerhardus Grobbelaar gesê. “Hier sal ons bly net om dood te gaan. Ons moet êrens heengaan waar die Engelse vlag nie wapper nie.”
Binne ’n paar weke het ons alles gereed gehad. Ons plan was om deur die Kalahari na Duitse grondgebied te trek. Alles wat ons besit het, het ons opgelaai. Ons het die vee voor ons aangejaag en ons het agter hulle op die waens gevolg. Daar was vyf families: die Steyns, die Grobbelaars, die Odendaals, die Ferreiras en ek en Sannie. Webber het ook saam met ons gekom. Dit was nie soseer dat hy gretig was om die plek te verlaat nie, maar hy en Koos Steyn het heel geheg geraak aan mekaar, en die Engelsman wou nie juis alleen agtergelaat word nie.
Die jongste persoon in ons trek was Koos Steyn se dogter, Jemima, wat toe omtrent agtien maande oud was. Aangesien sy die baba was, was sy ons almal se lieflingskind.
Webber het sy wa verkoop en by Koos Steyn se trek aangesluit.
~
Ons het so ver die woestyn ingetrek dat ons mekaar begin wysmaak het dat ons na aan die einde moes wees. Hoewel ons geweet het dat Duitswes ver weg was, het ons nogtans aan mekaar leuens vertel oor hoe naby aan water ons moontlik kon wees. Op die manier wat ons getrek het, het ons nog nie veel verder as net aan die begin van die Kalahari gekom nie. Maar in sy hart het elke persoon geweet wat die waarheid werklik was.
~
Na ’n ruk was daar nie meer trane in die kamp nie. Sommige van die vrouens wat die verskriklike gebeure van die dae wat gevolg het, oorleef het, en wat Transvaal weer veilig bereik het, het nooit weer gehuil nie. Dit het gelyk asof dit wat hulle gesien het, hulle verhard het. In hierdie opsig het hulle soos mans geword. Ek dink dit is die treurigste ding wat in hierdie wêreld kan gebeur, dat vrouens wat hewige smart en ontberinge deurlewe het, soos mans word.
~
Tot dusver het ons Gerhardus as leier getrou gevolg, en ons vertroue in hom was onwrikbaar. Maar nou dat hy besluit het om terug te draai, het ons ons vertroue in hom verloor. En dit het skielik gebeur. Ons het geweet dat dit die beste ding was om om te draai, en om voort te gegaan het, sou beteken dat ons almal in die Kalahari sou sterf. Maar tog, as Gerhardus gesê het dat ons moes aangaan, sou ons so gemaak het. Ons sou saam met hom tot reg aan die einde aangehou het. Maar nou dat hy gesê het dat die woestyn hom verslaan het, het ons geen vertroue meer in Gerhardus gehad nie.
Dit is waarom Paul Kruger a groter man as Gerhardus was. Paul Kruger was daardie soort man wat steeds deur ons aanbid was alhoewel hy besluit het om terug te val. As dit Paul Kruger was wat ons beveel het om terug te gaan, sou ons met groot geesdrif teruggegaan het. Ons sou presies dieselfde liefde vir ons leier gehad het, hoewel ons geweet het dat hy verslaan was. Maar van die oomblik af dat Gerhardus ons aangesê het om terug te keer, het ons almal geweet dat hy nie langer ons leier was nie. En Gerhardus het dit ook geweet.
~
Toe het ons gesien dat Koos Steyn van sy kop afgeraak het. Want hy het geweier om terug te draai. Hy het sy osse ingespan en reggemaak om aan te gaan met sy trek.
“Maar man,” het Gerhardus Grobbelaar aan hom gesê, “jy het geen water om te drink nie.”
“Dan drink ek koffie,” het Koos Steyn gesê terwyl hy soos gewoonlik gelag het. Hy het sy sweep gevat en langs sy wa begin wegstap. En Webber het saam met hom gegaan, seker omdat Koos Steyn goed was vir hom. Dis hoekom ek gesê het dat die Engelsman snaaks is. Webber moes geweet het dat Koos Steyn se kop bietjie aangekap het, en wat hy toe gedoen het malligheid was, en tog het hy by hom gebly.
Ons paaie het geskei. Ons waens het stadig teruggekeer Malopolole toe. Koos Steyn se wa het dieper die Kalahari ingegaan. Ek het teruggekyk na die Steyns se wa toe. Op daardie oomblik het Webber ook omgekyk. Hy het my gesien en met sy hand gewuif. Dit het my herinner aan daardie dag in die Anglo-Boereoorlog toe daardie ander Engelsman wie se kameraad deur ons geskiet is, ook omgedraai en gewuif het.
Ons het uiteindelik weer met twee waens en ’n handjievol beeste by Malopolole aangekom. Verskriklike dinge het in die woestyn gebeur. ’n Hele aantal kinders het gesterf. Gerhardus Grobbelaar se wa was voor myne. Op ’n keer het ek ’n bondeltjie gesien wat aan die kant van die watent uitgegooi is. Ek het geweet wat dit was. Gerhardus het nie die moeite gedoen om sy dooie kind te begrawe nie, en sy vrou het in die tent gelê, te swak om te beweeg. Ek het van die wa afgeklim en ’n hopie sand oor die lykie geskraap. Al wat ek van die res van die tog kan onthou, is die son en die sand. En die dors.
Tot vandag toe is ek nie seker hoeveel dae ons geneem het om terug te keer nie, tensy ek gaan sit en dit probeer uitwerk, en selfs dan sal ek dit seker verkeerd kry. Ons het teruggekeer na Malopolole en water. Ons het gesê dat ons nooit weer van daar af sou wegtrek nie. Ek het gedink dat selfs nie daardie ouers wat kinders verloor het oor hulle gerou het nie. Hulle was totaal verbysterd oor wat hulle ervaar het. Maar ek het geweet dat dit later sou terugkom. Dan sou hulle dinge soos vlak grafte in die sand onthou, en Gerhardus Grobbelaar en sy vrou sou dink aan ’n klein bondeltjie wat daar buite in die Kalahari gelê het. En ek het geweet hoe hulle sou voel.
Daarna het ons vars osse voor ons waens ingespan; en ons het genoegsame voorrade water saam met ons geneem om na die Steyn- familie te gaan soek. Met die hulp van ’n paar Bechuanas, wat spore kon sien wat ons nie kon sien nie, het ons die wa gekry. Die osse was uitgespan; ’n paar het dood langs die wa gelê. Die Bechuanas het vir ons voetspore in die sand gewys, wat vir ons die rigting wat daardie twee mans en die vrou ingeslaan het, aangedui het.
Uiteindelik het ons hulle gekry.
Koos Steyn en sy vrou het langs mekaar in die sand gelê. Die vrou se kop het op die man se skouer gerus. Haar lang hare het losgeraak en het saggies in die wind gewaai. Heelwat sand het oor hulle liggame gewaai. Baba Jemima kon ons nooit vind nie. Sy moes êrens langs die pad gesterf het, en Koos Steyn moes haar daar begrawe het.
Maar ons het saamgestem dat die Engelsman Webber verskriklike dinge moes ervaar het. Hy kon seker nie enige begrip oorgehad het om te verstaan wat die Steyns met hulle baba gedoen het nie. Hy het moontlik tot met sy sterwensoomblik gedink dat hy die kind gedra het. Want, toe ons sy liggaam opgelig het, het ons gevind, nog steeds vasgeklem in sy verstarde arms, ’n klompie ou flenter-toiings en ’n kind se klere.
Dit het vir ons gelyk of die wind wat altyd in die Kalahari geroer het, daardie oggend baie kalm en sag gewaai het.
Ja, die wind het heel sagkens gewaai.
Too Much Truth
From The Rooinek in Mafeking Road
by Herman Charles Bosman
It was in the first year of our having settled around Derdepoort that we heard that an Englishman had bought a farm next to Gerhardus Grobbelaar. This was when we were sitting in the voorkamer of Willem Odendaal’s house, which was used as a post office.
Once a week the post-cart came up with letters from Zeerust, and we gathered at Willem Odendaal’s house and talked and smoked and drank coffee. Very few of us ever got letters, and then it was mostly demands to pay for the boreholes that had been drilled on our farms, or for cement and fencing materials. But every week, regularly, we went for the post. Sometimes the post-cart didn’t come, because the Groen River was in flood, and most of us would have gone home without noticing it if somebody hadn’t spoken about it.
When Koos Steyn heard that an Englishman was coming to live among us, he got up from the rimpiesbank.
‘Nee kêrels,’ he said, ‘always when the Englishman comes, it means that a little later the Boer has got to shift. I’ll pack my wagon and make coffee, and just trek first thing tomorrow morning.’
Most of us laughed then. Koos Steyn often said funny things like that. But some didn’t laugh. Somehow, there seemed to be too much truth in Koos Steyn’s words.
We discussed the matter and decided that, if we Boers in the Marico could help it, the rooinek would not stay among us too long. About half an hour later one of Willem Odendaal’s children came in and said that there was a strange wagon coming along the big road. We went to the door and looked out. As the wagon came nearer, we saw that it was piled up with all kinds of furniture, and also sheets of iron and farming implements. There was so much stuff on the wagon that the tent had been taken off to get everything on.
The wagon rolled along and came to a stop in front of the house. With the wagon there was a man who walked up to where we were standing. He was dressed just as we were, in shirt and trousers and veldskoens, and he had dust all over him. But when he stepped over a thorn-bush we saw that he had socks on too. Therefore we knew that he was an Englishman.
Koos Steyn was standing in front of the door.
The Englishman went up to him and held out his hand.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said in Afrikaans. ‘My name is Webber.’
Koos shook hands with him.
‘My name is Prince Lord Alfred Milner,’ Koos Steyn said.
That was when Lord Milner was Governor of the Transvaal, and we all laughed. The rooinek also laughed.
‘Well, Lord Prince,’ he said, ‘I can speak your language a little, and I hope that later on I’ll be able to speak it better. I’m coming to live here, and I hope that we’ll all be friends.’
He then came round to all of us, but the others turned away and refused to shake hands with him. He came up to me last of all. I felt sorry for him; for although his nation had dealt unjustly with my nation, and I had lost both my children in the concentration camp, still it was not so much the fault of this Englishman. It was the fault of the English Government, who wanted our gold mines. And it was also the fault of Queen Victoria, who didn’t like Oom Paul Kruger, because they say that when he went over to London, Oom Paul spoke to her for only a few minutes. Oom Paul said that he was a married man and that he was afraid of widows.
When the Englishman Webber went back to his wagon, Koos Steyn and I walked with him.
~
Webber and Koos Steyn became very friendly. Koos Steyn’s wife had had a baby just a few weeks before Webber arrived. It was the first child they had had after being married seven years, and they were very proud of it. It was a girl. Koos Steyn had said that he would sooner it had been a boy; but that, even so, it was better than nothing. Right from the first, Webber had taken a liking to that child, who was christened Jemima – after her mother. Often when I passed Koos Steyn’s house, I saw the Englishman sitting on the front stoep with the child on his knee.
In the meantime the other farmers around there became annoyed on account of Koos Steyn’s friendship with the rooinek. They said that Koos was a hensopper and a traitor to his country. He was intimate with a man who had helped to bring about the downfall of the Afrikaner nation.
Yet it was not fair to call Koos a hensopper. Koos had lived in the Graaff-Reinet district when the war broke out, so that he was a Cape Boer and need not have fought. Nevertheless, he joined up with a Free State commando and remained until peace was made; and if at any time the English had caught him, they would have shot him as a rebel, in the same way they shot Scheepers and others.
Gerhardus Grobbelaar spoke about this once when we were in Willem Odendaal’s post office.
‘You are not doing right,’ Gerhardus said. ‘Boer and Englishman have been enemies since after Slagtersnek. We’ve lost this war, but someday we’ll win. It’s the duty we owe to our children’s children to stand against the rooineks. Remember the concentration camps.’
There seemed to me to be truth in what Gerhardus said.
‘But the English are here now, and we’ve got to live with them,’ Koos answered. ‘When we get to understand one another, perhaps we won’t need to fight any more. This Englishman Webber is learning Afrikaans very well, and someday he might almost be one of us. The only thing I can’t understand about him is that he has a bath every morning. But if he stops that, and if he doesn’t brush his teeth any more, you’ll hardly be able to tell him from a Boer.’
Although he made a joke about it, I felt that there was also truth in what Koos Steyn said.
Te Veel van die Waarheid
Uit The Rooinek in Mafeking Road
deur Herman Charles Bosman
In die eerste jaar waarin ons ons in die omgewing van Derdepoort gevestig het, het ons gehoor dat ’n Engelsman ’n plaas langs Gerhardus Grobbelaar gekoop het. Dit was in die voorkamer van Willem Odendaal se huis wat as ’n poskantoor gebruik is.
Toe Koos Steyn gehoor het dat ’n Engelsman tussen ons sou kom bly, het hy van die riempiesbank af opgestaan.
“Nee kêrels,” het hy gesê, “wanneer ’n Engelsman aan die kom is, beteken dit dat die Boer ’n rukkie later sal moet skuif. Ek gaan my wa pak en koffie maak en dan trek ek sommer môreoggend voor enigiets anders voorval.
Die meeste van ons het toe gelag. Dit het nogal baie gebeur dat Koos Steyn sulke snaakse goed gesê het. Op die een of ander manier het dit gelyk of daar te veel waarheid in Koos Steyn se woorde gesteek het.
Ons het die saak bespreek en besluit dat, as ons, die Boere in die Marico, dit kon verhelp, die rooinek nie vir te lank tussen ons sou bly nie. Omtrent ’n halfuur later het een van Willem Odendaal se kinders binnegekom en gesê dat daar ’n vreemde wa in die grootpad aan die kom was. Ons het deur toe gestap en uitgekyk. Soos die wa nadergekom het, het ons gesien dat daar allerhande soorte meubels daarop gepak was, en ook sinkplate en plaasgereedskap. Daar was so baie goed op die wa dat die tent afgehaal moes word om alles op te kry.
Die wa het aangerol gekom en voor die huis tot stilstand gekom. Daar was ’n man by die wa wat na waar ons gestaan het, aangeloop gekom het. Hy was net soos ons aangetrek, in ’n hemp en ’n broek en velskoene, en was oortrek met stof. Maar toe hy oor ’n doringbossie geklimloop het, het ons gesien dat hy ook kouse aangehad het. Daarom het ons geweet dat hy ’n Engelsman was.
Koos Steyn het voor die deur gestaan.
Die Engelsman het na hom toe opgeloop en sy hand uitgesteek.
“Goeie middag,” het hy in Afrikaans gesê. “My naam is Webber.”
Hulle het mekaar die hand gegee.
“My naam is prins lord Alfred Milner,” het Koos Steyn gesê.
Lord Milner was toe die goewerneur van Transvaal, en ons het almal gelag. Die rooinek het ook gelag.
“Ja wel, Lord Prins,” het hy gesê, “ek kan jou taal so ’n bietjie praat, en ek hoop om dit later beter te kan praat. Ek kom hier woon, en ek hoop dat ons almal vriende kan wees.”
Toe het hy na ons toe gekom, maar die mense het weggedraai en geweier om met hom hande te skud. Ek was die laaste een na wie toe hy gekom het. Ek het jammer gevoel vir hom; en hoewel sy nasie my volk onregverdig behandel het, en ek beide my kinders in die konsentrasiekamp verloor het, was dit nogtans nie juis dié Engelsman se skuld nie. Dit was die Engelse regering, wat ons goudmyne wou gehad het, se skuld. En dit was ook koningin Victoria, wat nie van oom Paul Kruger gehou het nie, se skuld. Want hulle sê dat toe hy London toe gegaan het, oom Paul net vir ’n paar minute met haar gepraat het. Oom Paul het gesê dat hy ʼn getroude man was en hy was bang vir weduwees.
Ek en Koos Steyn het saam met die Engelsman, Webber, terug na sy wa toe geloop.
Webber en Koos Steyn het groot vriende geword. ’n Paar weke voor Webber daar aangekom het, het Koos Steyn se vrou geboorte geskenk aan ’n baba. Dit was hulle eerste kind nadat hulle reeds sewe jaar getroud was, en hulle was baie ingenome met hulle kind. Dit was ’n dogtertjie. Koos Steyn het gesê dat hy liewer ’n seun sou wou gehad het, maar nogtans is dit beter as niks. Reg van die begin af het Webber ’n sinnigheid in die kind gehad. Sy is Jemima gedoop; vernoem na haar moeder. Dikwels, wanneer ek by Koos Steyn se huis verbygegaan het, het ek die Engelsman op die stoep sien sit met die kind op sy skoot.
Intussen het die ander boere in die omtrek hulle vervies oor Koos Steyn se vriendskap met die rooinek. Hulle het gesê dat Koos ’n hendsopper en ’n landsverraaier was. Hy was intiem bevriend met ’n man wat gehelp het om die Afrikanernasie se ondergang te bewerkstellig.
Dit was nogtans nie regverdig om Koos ’n hendsopper te noem nie. Koos het in die Graaff-Reinetse distrik gewoon toe die oorlog uitgebreek het, en was dus ’n Kaapse Boer, en dit was nie nodig vir hom om te veg nie. Nogtans het hy by die Vrystaatse kommando aangesluit en daar aangebly tot vrede gesluit is. En as hy deur die Engelse gevang sou word, sou hulle hom as ’n rebel doodgeskiet het, net soos hulle met Scheepers en van ander Boere gedoen het.
Gerhardus Grobbelaar het dit op ’n slag genoem toe ons in Willem Odendaal se poskantoor was.
“Jy doen nie die regte ding nie,” het Gerhardus gesê. “Sedert Slagtersnek is die Boer en die Engelsman vyande. Ons het hierdie oorlog verloor, maar eendag sal ons wen. Dis ’n plig wat ons aan ons kinders verskuldig is om teen die rooinekke gekant te wees. Onthou die konsentrasiekampe.”
Dit het vir my geklink of daar waarheid gesteek het in Gerhardus se woorde.
“Maar die Engelse is nou eenmaal hier, en ons moet saam met hulle lewe,” het Koos geantwoord. “Wanneer ons sover gekom het om mekaar te verstaan, sal dit miskien nie nodig wees om meer te baklei nie. Die Engelsman Webber is besig om Afrikaans goed aan te leer, en eendag sal hy amper soos een van ons wees. Al ding van hom wat ek nie mooi verstaan nie, is dat hy elke oggend bad. Maar as hy ’n einde daaraan kan maak, en as hy ophou om sy tande te borsel, sal jy dit moeilik vind om hom as iemand anders as ’n Boer aan te sien.”
Hoewel hy ʼn grap daarvan gemaak het, het ek gevoel dat daar ook waarheid gesteek het in dit wat Koos Steyn gesê het.
Psycho-Analysis II
by Herman Charles Bosman
‘It’s very funny,’ Jurie Steyn said, ‘but all this talk of yours fits in with what Minnie Nienaber said in her letter. That’s the reason why, in the end, she decided to go and get herself psycho-analysed. I mean, there was nothing wrong with her, or course. They say you’ve got to have nothing wrong with you, before you can get psycho-analysed. This new kind of doctor can’t do anything for you if there’s something the matter with you …’
‘I don’t know of any doctor that can do anything for you when there’s something the matter with you,’ Oupa Bekker interrupted. ‘The last time I went to see a doctor was during the rinderpest. The doctor said I must wear a piece of leopard skin behind my left ear. That would keep the rinderpest away from my oxen, he said, and it would at the same time cure me of my rheumatism. The doctor only said that after he had thrown the bones for the second time. After the first time he threw the bones, the doctor said …’
By that time we were all laughing very loudly. We didn’t mean that kind of doctor, we said to Oupa Bekker. We didn’t mean a Shangaan witch-doctor. We meant a doctor who’d been to university, and all that.
Oupa Bekker was silent for a few moments.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said at last. ‘Because all my cattle died of the rinderpest. Mind you, I’ve never had rheumatism since that time. Perhaps all the witch-doctor could cure was rheumatism. From what Jurie Steyn tells us, I can see that that witch-doctor was just old-fashioned. It seems that a doctor is of no use today, unless he can cure nothing at all.
‘But I still say, I don’t think much of that doctor who threw the bones upward of fifty years ago. I was more concerned about my cattle’s rinderpest than about my own ailments. All the same, if you want a cure for rheumatism – there it is. A piece of leopard skin tied behind your left ear. The skin from any ordinary old leopard will do.’
With all this talk, it was quite a while before Jurie Steyn could get a word in. But what he had to say, then, was quite interesting.
‘You don’t seem to realise it,’ Jurie Steyn said, ‘but you’ve been talking all this while about Minnie Nienaber’s symptoms. The reason why she went to get herself psycho-analysed, I mean. It was about the awful dreams she’s been having of late.
‘Chris Welman has mentioned his prize cow, that got chased out of the Rand Show, and At Naudé has told us about his silver-medal bull, and Oupa Bekker has reminded us of the old days, when this part of the Marico was all leopard country. Well, that was Minnie Nienaber’s trouble. That’s why she went to that new kind of doctor. She’d had the most awful dreams – Koos Nienaber told me.
‘She dreamt of being ordered to leave places – night clubs, and so on, Koos Nienaber said. Also, she dreamt regularly of being chased by wild bulls. And of being chased by Natal Indians with long sugar-cane knives. And lately she’s been having nightmares almost every night, dreaming she’s being chased by a leopard. That’s why, in the end, she went to have herself psycho-analysed.’
~
We discussed Minnie Nienaber’s troubles at some length. And we ended up saying that we’d like to know where the Afrikaner people would be today if our women could run to a new sort of doctor every time they dreamt of being chased by a wild animal. If Louis Trichardt’s wife had dreamt she was being chased by a rhinoceros, we said, she’d jolly well have had to escape from that rhinoceros in her dream. She wouldn’t have been able to come to her husband with her dream troubles the next day, seeing that he already had so many Voortrekker problems on his mind.
Psigoanalise II
deur Herman Charles Bosman
“Dis baie snaaks,” het Jurie Steyn gesê, “maar al hierdie gepratery van julle pas baie mooi in by wat Minnie Nienaber in haar brief geskryf het. Dit was die rede waarom sy uiteindelik besluit het om haarself gepsigoanaliseerd te kry. Ek sou sê, daar is natuurlik niks met haar verkeerd nie. Hulle sê daar moet niks met jou verkeerd wees nie voordat jy gepsigoanaliseerd kan word …”
“Ek weet van geen dokter wat jou kan help as daar iets met jou verkeerd is nie,” het Oupa Bekker vir Jurie Steyn in die rede geval. “Die laaste keer wat ek ’n dokter gesien het, was gedurende die runderpes. Die dokter het gesê ek moet ’n stukkie luiperdvel agter my linkeroor dra. Dit sou my osse teen die runderpes beskerm en terselfdertyd sou dit my rumatiek genees. Die dokter het dit gesê eers nadat hy sy dolosse vir die tweede keer gegooi het. Die eerste keer wat hy die dolosse gegooi het, het hy gesê …”
Teen daardie tyd het ons almal kliphard gelag. Ons het nie van daardie soort dokter gepraat nie, het ons aan Oupa Bekker gesê. Ons het nie ’n Sjangaanse toordokter bedoel nie. Ons het van ’n dokter gepraat wat universiteit toe gegaan het, en so aan.
Oupa Bekker het vir ’n rukkie doodstil gebly.
“Miskien is julle reg,” het hy uiteindelik gesê. “Want al my beeste het gevrek van die runderpes. Maar wil jy glo, sedert daardie tyd het ek nooit weer rumatiek gehad nie. Miskien was rumatiek die enigste ding wat daardie toordokter kon genees. Van wat Jurie Steyn ons vertel het, kan ek sien dat die toordokter maar net baie ouderwets was. Dit lyk vir my dat ’n dokter vandag nutteloos is, tensy hy in staat is om hoegenaamd niks te genees nie.
“Maar ek sê nog steeds dat ek nie veel dink van daardie dokter wat, omtrent vyftig jaar gelede, die dolosse gegooi het nie. Ek was meer besorg oor my beeste se runderpes as oor my eie kwale. Nietemin, as jy vir ’n middel soek teen rumatiek – daar het jy dit. ’n Stukkie luiperdvel vasgebind agter jou linkeroor. Die vel van sommer enige gewone ou luiperd sal doen.”
Met al hierdie gepratery het dit ’n hele rukkie geneem voor Jurie Steyn weer ’n woord kon inkry. Maar wat hy toe te sê gehad het, was heel interessant.
“Dit lyk nie of julle dit besef nie,” het Jurie Steyn gesê, “maar julle het die hele tyd oor Minnie Nienaber se simptome gepraat. Die rede waarom sy haarself gepsigoanaliseerd wou kry, bedoel ek. Dit het te doen gehad met haar nare drome in die laaste tyd.
“Chris Welman het gepraat van sy bekroonde koei wat by die Randse skou uitgeskop is, en At Naudé het ons vertel van sy silwermedalje-bul, en Oupa Bekker het ons herinner aan die ou dae toe hierdie deel van die Marico vol luiperds was. Nou wel, dít was Minnie Nienaber se probleem. Dít is waarom sy na daardie nuwe soort dokter toe gegaan het. Sy het die aakligste drome gehad – so het Koos Nienaber my vertel.
“Sy’t gedroom dat sy aangesê is om plekke te verlaat – nagklubs en sulke plekke, het Koos Nienaber gesê. En sy het gereeld gedroom dat wilde bulle haar gejaag het. En dat sy deur Natalse Indiërs met lang suikerrietpangas gejaag is. En in die laaste tyd het sy omtrent elke nag nagmerries gehad, deurdat sy gedroom het dat ’n luiperd haar gejaag het. Dít was hoekom sy uiteindelik gegaan het om gepsigoanaliseerd te word.”
~
Ons het Minnie Nienaber se probleme taamlik breedvoerig bespreek. En ons het opgehou om daaroor te praat deur te sê dat ons graag wou weet waar die Afrikanervolk vandag sou wees as ons vrouens, elke keer wat hulle gedroom het dat ’n wilde dier hulle gejaag het, na ’n nuwe soort dokter toe sou gehardloop het. As Louis Trichardt se vrou gedroom het dat sy deur ’n renoster gejaag is, sou ons kon sê, sou sy maar net eenvoudig in haar droom van daardie renoster moes weggekom het. Sy sou nie die volgende dag met haar probleme na haar man toe kon hardloop nie aangesien hy alreeds soveel Voortrekker probleme gehad het om mee te worstel.
Psycho-Analysis I
by Herman Charles Bosman
‘Koos Nienaber got a letter from his daughter, Minnie, last week,’ Jurie Steyn announced to several of us sitting in his voorkamer, that served as the Drogevlei post office. ‘It’s two years now that she’s been working in an office in Johannesburg. You wouldn’t think it. Two years …’
‘What was in the letter?’ At Naudé asked, coming to the point.
‘Well,’ Jurie Steyn began, ‘Minnie says that …’
Jurie Steyn was quick to sense our amusement.
‘If that’s how you carry on,’ he announced, ‘I won’t tell you anything. I know what you’re all thinking, laughing in that silly way. Well, just let one of you try and be postmaster, like me, in between milking and ploughing and getting the wrong statements from the creamery and the pigs rooting up the sweet potatoes – not to talk about the calving season, even – and then see how much time you’ll have left over for steaming open and reading other people’s letters.’
Johnny Coen, who was young and more than a little interested in Minnie Nienaber, hastened to set Jurie Steyn’s mind at rest.
‘You know, we make the same sort of joke about every postmaster in the Bushveld,’ Johnny Coen said. ‘We don’t mean anything by it. It’s a very old joke.’
~
‘It must be that Koos Nienaber told you what was in his daughter’s letter,’ Johnny Coen said. ‘Koos Nienaber must have come round here and told you. Otherwise you would never have known, I mean. You couldn’t possibly have known.’
That was what had happened, Jurie Steyn acknowledged.
Thereupon Jurie Steyn acquainted us in detail with the contents of Minnie Nienaber’s letter, as retailed to him by her father, Koos Nienaber.
~
‘Koos says that Minnie has been,’ Jurie Steyn said, ‘has been – well, just a minute – oh yes, here it is – I got old Koos Nienaber to write it down for me – she’s been psycho … psycho-analysed. Here it is, written down and all –sielsontleding.’
I won’t deny that we were all much impressed. It was something we had never heard of before. Jurie Steyn saw the effect his statement had had on us.
‘Yes,’ he repeated, sure of himself – and more sure of the word, too, now – ‘Yes, in the gold-mining city of Johannesburg, Minnie Nienaber got psycho-analysed.’
After a few moments of silence, Gysbert van Tonder made himself heard. Gysbert often spoke out of turn, that way.
‘Well, it’s not the first time a thing like that has happened to a girl living in Johannesburg on her own,’ Gysbert said. ‘One thing, the door of her parents’ home will always remain open for her. But I’m surprised at old Koos Nienaber mentioning it to you. He’s usually so proud.’
I noticed that Johnny Coen looked crestfallen for a moment, until Jurie Steyn made haste to explain that it didn’t mean that at all.
According to what Koos Nienaber told him – Jurie Steyn said – it had become fashionable in Johannesburg for people to go and be attended to by a new sort of doctor, who didn’t worry about how sick your body was, but saw to it that he got your mind right. This kind of doctor could straighten out anything that was wrong with your mind, Jurie Steyn explained. And you didn’t have to be sick, even, to go along and get yourself treated by a doctor like that. It was a very fashionable thing to do, Jurie Steyn added. Johnny Coen looked relieved.
‘According to what Koos Nienaber told me,’ Jurie Steyn said, ‘this new kind of doctor doesn’t test your heart any more, by listening through that rubber tube thing. Instead, he just asks you what you dreamt last night. And then he works it all out with a dream book. But it’s not just an ordinary dream book that says if you dreamt last night of a herd of cattle, it means that there is grave peril ahead for some person that you haven’t met yet …’
‘Well, I dreamt a couple of nights ago that I was driving a lot of Afrikaner cattle across the Bechuanaland Protectorate border,’ Fritz Pretorius said. ‘Just like I have often done, on a night when there isn’t much of a moon. Only, what was funny about my dream was that I dreamt I was smuggling the cattle into the Protectorate, instead of out of it. Can you imagine a Marico farmer doing a foolish thing like that? I suppose this dream means that I’m going mad or something.’
~
After At Naudé had said how surprised he was that Fritz Pretorius should have to be told in a dream what everybody knew about him in any case – and after Fritz Pretorius’s invitation to At Naudé to come and repeat that remark outside the post office had come to nothing – Jurie Steyn went on to explain further about what the new kind of treatment was that Minnie Nienaber was receiving from a new kind of doctor in Johannesburg, and that she had no need for.
‘It’s not the ordinary kind of dream book, like that Napoleon dream book on which my wife set so much store before we got married,’ Jurie Steyn continued. ‘It’s a dream book written by professors. Minnie has been getting all sorts of fears, lately. Just silly sorts of fears, her father says. Nothing to worry about. I suppose anybody from the Groot Marico who has stayed in Johannesburg as long as Minnie Nienaber would get frightened in the same way.
‘What puzzles me is only that it took her so long to start getting frightened.’
