66. South Africa: Pretoria Shoshanguve Winterveld

This is a somewhat long post about a stay in Pretoria with contacts that we had lined up before leaving the US.  Richard Hatfield had gone to University with our sister Ann, and is from the same part of southern Kansas as our mother. He was an Anglican Priest in a white suburb of Pretoria, but through his contact we were able to visit townships and homelands in a way we would not otherwise be able to do.  The post is longer than ideal, but contrasts the “normal” White lives being lived in close proximity to two kinds of townships. People were watching the mini-series of Shogun and looking forward to “Dallas” on one hand.  On the other hand a “guided view” of Apartheid which it is still hard to believe.

 

A map of our route (yellow) through South Africa when Apartheid still existed and much of the Black population was assigned to various "independent" and "dependent" homlands

As you can see in the map of homelands above, they were created in such a way as to be away from the main highways, rivers and fertile farm land. Some of the homelands had only “become independent” in the previous year or two. The idea was to have as many black people as possible as citizens of these “independent” areas rather than in South Africa, but at the same time make sure that “South Africa” had all of the natural resources.

Dan got sick again.  We know in retrospect that this and the bout in Zimbabwe were the first signs of what turned out to be filariasis, better known as elephantiasis.  We assume that he contracted it in Gabon, where it seemed most common, or the Congo.

We had just had a very long hitching ride from the Zimbabwean border, and spent the night in our driver’s empty flat.

Johannesburg - Pretoria, South Africa, Tuesday, 5 July, 1983

(HELENA) We didn’t hurry to get up, but I suppose we must have only gotten four hours of sleep. The plan had been to see Kaseem this morning (he has a room upstairs, whereas James sleeps in a caravan at the trucking office), have a cup of coffee, leave Kaseem the key, and go to the main train station. He did not appear to be in so we just slipped the key under the door.

Just as we shut the door behind us, a middle-aged man saw us and called, “Hey, what are you doing here?” It was the “super” and he questioned us closely as to who had let us into the room. “There are quite a few valuables in there.” We explained and he finally seemed satisfied. Rather embarrassing to not be able to say James’ last name.

Outside it was sunny, but wintry-feeling. Luckily there was a bus stop opposite, and we soon learned our next lesson: there are white buses and black buses. We got ours (a double-decker) without any problem. Both of us sat beside older women who definitely gave the impression they were looking down their noses at us, but people were friendly enough in telling us where to get off. We were dropped just a short block from the Jo’burg Station. The next train for Pretoria was to leave in 15 minutes. We had no choice but to buy first class tickets and then follow the “whites only” signs to our respec­tive platform. Naturally there were separate waiting places, and when our train came, we saw there were four types of coaches: first class - whites, first class - whites - non­smoking, first class - non-whites, and third class - non-whites. It seems strange they’d not have any sort of second class.

Sneaking a picture of Helena getting on our "Whites Only" railway car.

 We didn’t see much of the scenery in the two-hour milk-run train ride because both of us kept nodding off to sleep. What little we did see was pretty drab and industrialized. Especially at first we saw a lot of the ugly slag heaps (mountains) left from gold mining.

At each little station where we stopped there were entrances and waiting benches in duplicate. Our coach was quite empty, but I’m pretty sure the “non-whites” coaches were full. We sat across the aisle from two men who talked very animatedly in Afrikaans. It sounded funny because every once in a while they’d tell some punch-line in very (to us) British English. So far we’ve heard more Afrikaans than English, but the signs are in both languages and we haven’t come across anyone who can’t speak English.

We arrived in Pretoria at 12:45, settled ourselves on a nice sunny “whites-only” bench, and had cookies, fresh milk, cheese, and an apple until we could decently contact the Hatfields. Dan talked to Shelley and she said she’d come to pick us up in half an hour. Richard was teaching at the Diocesan School for Girls (DSG, where he works 16 hours a week) and their ten-year-old son, Jason, was at school, so she came in the VW Bug with their almost-a-year-old son, Sean. She’s very vivacious and friendly, so we immediately felt welcome. Garsfontein is a new suburb of Pretoria, so it was a ways out to their home. It is pronounced Harsfontein and is Afrikaans for fountain of wheat. It’s built on the site of a former (since bulldozed over) “coloured” neighbourhood and looks like any upper-middle class suburb in the USA. One difference is that the house next door to Hatfields is the old farmhouse for this area, white-washed, thatch roof, complete with a nice little guest house. Neat!

First thing we did (after accepting a cuppa) was drown ourselves in a soothing bath of letters. Thank you, thank you, just about everyone. We had to laugh because, in spite of the stacks of mail, we still weren’t satisfied. There were 58 letters counting ones forwarded from Mommy.

Richard soon came home for a break. He too welcomed us, but he’s much more subdued and formal in his black suit and clerical collar. Jason came home at 1645; he is a friendly boy who is developing a neat South African accent. They’ve been here two years and their contract calls for one more.

Corpus Christi Parish is brand new, so they rent the place where they have Sunday services. Everything else takes place in the chapel here at the house which is what would nor­mally be the formal living room. The house is quite nice, but the Hatfields started out in a series of flats that apparently weren’t too pleasant.

During supper we watched a bit of TV and we were surprised to learn that South Africa has only had TV for five years. They were just too suspicious of what that outside influence could do. Just as in Bolivia, they only start broadcasting in the late afternoon and they have some things in Afrikaans and some in English.

Jason is sharing Sean’s room so we can have a room. Pretty nice to sleep under nice, light, warm covers. After supper Richard drove the two of us into town to see the Union Buildings, the seat of government for part of the year. They are huge red sandstone buildings with tiled roofs. Or maybe it’s just one building. Clear across town we could see the lights outlining the monstrous Vortrekker monument. According to Hatfields it is simply a huge empty building which houses the remains of an unknown trekker.

Pretoria, South Africa, Wednesday, July 6, 1983

(DAN) Most of the morning was spent finishing the first reading of our correspondence haul. One of the letters was from Martin and Cecily, the two South Africans that we met in Spain. They were supposed to have immigrated to Australia by now, but were informed they (now) had a very low chance of getting a job there, so they decided to stay here. They are living and working in Jo’ burg and have invited us to come visit them.

I called Martin up to let him know we were in the area. They invited us to spend part of next week with them and then ride down to Natal with Cecily and her younger sister the weekend of the 16th. This works out very well because one of the Hatfields’ parishioners has invited us to spend a week on a banana plantation in Natal province.

In the afternoon I rode downtown with Richard to the main post office and to visit the travel agencies. I walked into Thomas Cook and got the scare of my life. “These tickets are no longer valid; the date here is June 22!” What! Over 2000 bucks right down the drain! After all the planning, had I really made that mistake! Fortunately it turned out the year actually began the first of October, so we are in good time. However, I wanted to change a line in the itinerary, but they said only SA Airlines (SAA) could rewrite the ticket. We braved the traffic and went over to their office. Here I got sent to three different people before they knew what to do, but finally sorted it out.

The evening at home was pretty quiet. Richard said mass for a small group in the chapel and then they had a discussion period afterwards dealing with the “Oxford Movement”. This was/is a movement within the Anglican Church to return to the practice of celibate monks and nuns. Quite interesting.

Richard is very High Church and the ceremony was very similar to the Catholic mass. I’ll have to get a rundown on the difference.

Pretoria, South Africa, Thursday, 7 July

(HELENA) Today the big excitement for the day was a bush fire just a block away. Late in the morning we had gone shopping with Shelley and Sean. Since we’re in suburban Pretoria, that, of course, means driving a bunch of kilometers to a shopping center. We took advantage of the outing to buy paper and film and somehow managed to leave our package behind. We discovered it when we were already back at Garsfontein, so I stayed with Sean while Shelley drove Dan back for the package. We’re back in the land of the telephone, so they had confirmed its presence before setting out after it. On their way back they saw the fire truck (Shelley had already commented she’s never seen one here) and smoke, so they came back and we all walked out to see it. She thought we’d get a better view from her friend’s house up the hill, so we drove up there. It covered quite an area, but we never saw very big flames and no houses were affected.

One little tidbit Hatfields mentioned the other night is that the Afrikaaner children, no matter how cold it is, go to school barefooted. Richard also commented that Afrikaaners generally dress casually for work and get very dressed up for church on Sunday, whereas English-speaking South Africans go to work well-dressed and relax on Sundays in more casual clothes. Pretoria is “the” Afrikaans stronghold and Shelley says many of the people refuse to speak English to you. She’s resorted sometimes to using a very obvious southern drawl, and since Dallas is popular here, that goes over well, and they’ll open up.

Richard and Shelley Hatfield in front of their rectory.

 Dan went into town again with Richard. One of the things they did was to buy some wine for mass. Shelley had already told us that most stores are multi-racial, but not liquor stores. Richard made a mistake this time, and was asked if he would mind using the other door. I guess this particular store just had separate entrances.

Pretoria, South Africa,  Friday, 8 July

We all hit the floor running this morning because Hatfields were having the Altar Guild ladies (16 of them) over for lunch. We, in our ignorance, had to ask what that was. They take care of all of the washing and ironing of the altar linens, flowers, etc. We cleaned the house and prepared everything, or I should say Shelley did while Dan and I hung around trying to help.

Shelley is considered a bit of a rare bird here because she has no domestic help. They’ve told us stories of servants who are fed in the unwashed dog’s bowl. A woman came to help them while Shelley was pregnant and she refused to eat off of the Hatfields’ plates. They had to buy her a set of tin plates.

(DAN) The women kept saying “I don’t know how you do it.” (Ed. note: sounds like a conversation at any tea in Bolivia; always get down to discussing the help, its deficien­cies, etc.) In reality, there are all the conveniences of the US available to whites, all the labor-saving devices, etc. The supermarkets here are nearly indistinguishable from those in the US.

Suburban (white) and downtown Pretoria are nearly indistinguishable from a US city. (Richard says it reminds him a lot of Topeka.) There are, of course, all the bilingual signs, but you have to look closely to see such differences. Yesterday Richard and I went to buy something in a great mall and went to a “Juicy Lucy’s”. This is an establishment which is decorated and advertised just like Hardee’s in the US. Except this one, aside from serving hamburgers, cheeseburgers and chili, specializes in natural fruit juices. They are very good, in fact they are declared “super values” by the signs. There are some differences. This particular JL was multi-racial, but depending on where others are located, they can be whites only or coloureds only.

We spent a quiet night at home; the Hatfields had a prior invitation to go to see “The Return of the Jedi” with another Anglican priest’s family. They got their tickets about 2 weeks ago and the show is sold out for at least another week. At least the white theatres have a computerized ticket system. This system has terminals in all of the main shopping centers so you just get your tickets there.

We stayed home and “watched” Sean, but he didn’t wake up once.

You may be gathering by now that living or staying in suburban Pretoria one would never guess whites are “outnumbered” 5-1 in South Africa. Come to think of it, we have not talked directly with a black person since we arrived in SA. I don’t think we mentioned that for some reason, our visit to the homeland of Venda is off for reasons we don’t completely understand.

Pretoria, South Africa, Saturday, 9 July, 1983

(HELENA) We’ve talked about wanting to buy gifts to take back, so Richard and Shelley thought it would be interesting to go to the zoo. We could then see the animals and take advantage of our being there to see what the Ndebele women have to sell in the way of bead work. We would rather have taken a bus into town, but didn’t have a bus schedule. Richard drove us into town (he said he had some business he needed to do anyway) and we arranged for him to pick us up three hours later.

As far as we could tell, it was a multi-racial zoo, although the bath­rooms were very clearly marked. We didn’t go on this outing with great enthusiasm (especially since Dan wasn’t feeling very well), but we went because it was a good idea to get out of the house for a while; after all, we’re here to see the country. You may also remember that we’ve said we’d much rather see wild game in a reserve or in a museum stuffed than all ratty, fat and miserable in a zoo.

The different --and nice-- thing about the Pretoria Zoo is that it truly is a zoo­logical garden. We walked along garden-lined paths, or rather we “strolled” along them to go from section to section. We most enjoyed the colourful pink flamingos and the hilarious antics of the monkeys. The latter had plenty of space and seemed pretty happy.

Dan got to feeling worse as time went on, and threw up for the first time in 5 years, 2 of which he has spent traveling. We hadn’t been able to find a bathroom, so he simply had to find a discreet corner. People were very kind and simply ignored him. After that we really took it easy and sat and watched the monkeys until time to meet Richard.

Once again we were total flops on the shopping. We had thought about buying a fly switch for Pappy (made from a horse tail and with a beaded handle), but we managed to per­suade ourselves that the idea --and the beadwork itself-- was rather gaudy and untasteful. As people here say, “sis, man!”

At 15:00 we went with Richard to the Anglican nuns’ school where the Corpus Christi parish has their Sunday masses. They use the school auditorium, so Richard, a couple of Altar Guild women, and a couple of men go on Saturday afternoons to set up the altar and chairs. We helped some, but mainly went along to talk to Professor Howell, a veterinarian who had offered to show us around a bit. He didn’t show up at first because (as his wife informed us) their daughter had come in crying just as they were leaving the house. He’d stayed with her because her husband had just been “called to the border”. In other words he’s been called to serve in the army for a time. From what I understand, men up to the age of 50 --including permanent residents with other nationalities-- are under the obligation of serving four months every two years. If they’re called, that is.

Mr. Howell finally came and we arranged to go on a drive Monday.

Pretoria - Bophuthatswana - Pretoria, Sunday, July 10, 1983

The household got an early start as Richard says the first mass at 0700. We went with Shelley, Jason and Sean to the 0830 service. For the first time on the trip we wondered if we wouldn’t be underdressed. (Both of us were in khaki pants and boots.) Shelley lent us some nice warm sweaters and as it turned out, a good number of people were there in pants and “casuals”.

The mass was enjoyable; quite a bit of the liturgy was sung. In spite of the temporary building, they had the full ceremony, including two robed attendants, three altar boys (with bells), etc. In fine Catholic style we were out in plenty of time to enjoy the day off.

For lunch the Hatfields really went out of their way and had a braai for us. They translated this Afrikaans word as “barbecue”, but it is closer to an all out South American parrillada. Richard fixed up the charcoal and cooked a big pork chop, a big lamb chop and a big sausage for each person. We had squash and fresh garden salad to complement it. Then for dessert we had hot apricot sponge cake (kind of a bread pudding). Wow!

It took us a while to recover from that, but about 1530 we took off on a drive that Richard has long been trying to arrange. Back when Time magazine was preparing its big “missionary” story (that came out around Christmas), they came to talk with Richard and he took them on this same whirl.

We were headed for two very different “African Townships” that feed Pretoria with workers every day. The first, Shoshanguve, is supposed to be the showplace of the South African Apartheid policy, and the second, Winterveld, about 5 km away, is quite the oppo­site.

Shoshanguve starts 28 km from the north edge of Pretoria and does not look too dif­ferent from, say, Ciudad Satélite (in La Paz). Most of the houses are very small, with two medium-sized rooms and pretty close together. However each place had a few square meters of space and some people had carefully manicured patches of grass. Blacks can’t own ground in South Africa, so these buildings were mostly put up by the government and leased to the people.

First we stopped at a small Anglican conference center to see if the area’s archdeacon could go with us. Just inside, there was a group of girls about 10 years old singing and doing a dance step. When Richard said we wanted to take a picture their singing switched to English, but kept the broad smiles and the RHYTHM. The archdeacon was occupied with two other men on the electrical system in the chapel, but after half an hour Rev. Jonah was able to come with us.

Anglican Girls Choir Shoshanguve Conference Center

 He explained quite a few things as we slowly drove around. The blacks within the township are divided by income range, and areas are divided by tribe. This particular town­ship is only for North and South Sotho, Nguni and Venda. Every now and then we’d come upon a large fancy house and Rev. Jonah would say, “that belongs to a doctor.” These houses were as large, rambling, and “modern” as a doctor’s house in, say, Winfield. After a while, we noticed that these fancy houses were adjacent to the street, while the more common small houses started at least a lot back from the street. “Good guess,” he said. The street-front lots are being reserved for these doctors’ houses. You can only get permission to build these if your house plans are sufficiently fancy. He took us around the teachers’ training college where his daughter studies. It had many new, modern buildings, including large dormitories for the students. Next we drove by the large modern high school and another very fancy institution that is for training in telecommunications. “Black people from all over SA will come here to prepare for working for the telephone company.” We also went by several large, new industries that are going up near the townships.

Example of a "Doctor´s house" on the street front in a model township.

By this time we headed to the infamous Winterveld. It is only 5 km away, but on the way you cross a big bridge over the railway that forms the “natural boundary” with the “Independent homeland of Bophuthatswana”. According to the SA government, we entered our 20th country. However there are no border posts, not even any signs indicating that you are entering a different “independent homeland”. What was visible was the dense smog hang­ing over Winterveld. It is by far the worst smog I have ever seen. Right over the border the housing was not too bad, but certainly not up to SA government’s specifications (sup­posed). Then the deeper we got, the worse the housing got: mud huts with patchy tin roofs. Richard wanted to stop at the Anglican church for a moment, and by the time he was through it was too late to continue. Farther on, Richard says, it gets so bad that people are living in abandoned cars. The main thing that impressed us was the black smoke pouring from each chimney. The area here has been deforested for years, so they burn “anything they can get their hands on”.

Winterveld scene

Theoretically we should have had a permit to visit Winterveld (pronounced Winterfelt), so that was one reason we did not want to get caught there after dark.

Another part of Winterveld

An issue with Winterveld is that it was a big problem “township” before Bophuthatswana was created, and then when the homeland was "liberated" they adjusted the borders to take in Winterveld. The Bop. government doesn’t want it, SA certainly doesn’t want it, so there it stands.

When we were dropping Rev. Jonah off, he asked us how Shoshanguve compared with the rest of Africa. We told him that in appearance at least, it compared favorably. He went on to say that that didn’t take into account the oppression and injustice that goes on. He said many people are so tired of living in slums that when they got to live in Shoshanguve they kept up what little lawn they had, etc., and didn’t realize they were play­ing right into the government’s hands.

On the way back we discussed (some more) how the racism extends to the schools. For one thing, vacations are staggered so that whites never go on vacation when blacks do, and neither with the coloreds. Private schools don’t even get out when white public schools do. Wouldn’t want economic miscegenation, would we?