Karen Jennings
A thought-provoking tale of modern South AfricaSample Passages
Introducing the mayor
Outside it was dim, the sky lightening at the horizon and broadening over the waves. Already gulls were flying low, calling. The mayor rolled over in bed and pushed his face into the pillow, his knees brushing against those of his wife. He felt her body stiffen as he moved towards her and then the shifting of the bed as she turned from him, rising quietly, leaving the room. He did not lift his face from the pillow. He felt the warmth of his own breath on his nose and lips and went back to sleep.
When he woke again the day was light through the curtains. He stood slowly, placing each foot carefully on the ground. In the bathroom she had left the window open and the room was cool, his bare feet cold on the tiled floor. He went to the basin and ran the water until it was warm, washing his face and lathering it with shaving cream. Then he picked up his razor and slid it along his cheek, down to his jawline and below. There was no other noise in the house but for the razor on his face. He began again, further along his cheek, following a steady line. In the front room the phone began to ring. He stopped for a moment and listened, then putting down the razor, placed a hand on either side of the basin. He leaned heavily and sighed. Through the window came the smell of salt, of shrubs, and underneath, the thick smell of human filth. He cleared his throat, staring down into the white of the basin, his hands gripping its sides. When he looked up again he saw his face, grave in the mirror. To the left was the reflection of the open window, framing a small section of sea and sky. He looked at grey clouds, a grey sky. It was as though the world existed in that square alone. As though there were nothing else beyond the grey.
The houses of the lower town had been built on a steep sea-facing incline. Many were the holiday homes of farming or city families, but mostly the hill was dominated by retired couples come to live out their days with a sea view. Beyond, the hill flattened into shrublands, spreading out in long plains that touched mountains at the horizon. To the east, the lower town was flanked by a channel, dry since the 1920s when the river had chosen a different route to the sea. In the past elephants had lived there, rubbing smooth the rocks as they waded. Now the riverbed separated the lower from the upper town. Ending at high cliffs that overlooked the sea, the upper town had grown on flat land before sloping into a small bay where fishing boats mouldered on the shore. On the far edge of the bay stood the old fish factory, closed five years previously. Its long cement jetty, which had stretched out into the sea, now lay ruined; the uprights fallen into the waves below. The furthest section was still standing, and on it remained the height of a crane, its hook hanging like a gibbet.
Despite a week having passed since the fire, people were still living on the beach of the small bay, sleeping on newspapers and plastic bags. Cement-brick houses, built more than a decade before as part of a government scheme for reconstruction, now lay black and broken on the rise. For the rest, shacks were piles of burnt plastic and ash, indistinguishable from one another. Some inhabitants had returned, salvaging what they could from the rubble, moving into the deserted homes of others. They made roofs out of scorched zinc sheets, assembling their new homes amongst the piles of the old, using what remained. Many had taken what they could to the edges of the town, their homes spreading out onto the cliffs, held together by nothing. Parts of the upper town now lay uninhabited, left to the rummagings of dogs and rats. In the scattered landscape these heaps took on a sense of permanence.
Already complaints were coming to the mayor from the lower town: washing stolen from lines, tools and materials disappearing from garages, and worst of all, the smell of human faeces that made its way down with the breeze.
‘Civilised people,’ the mayor thought, ‘would have some pride. Civilised people wouldn’t live like that.’
Remaining before the mirror, he listened to the murmurs as the ringing phone was answered. Soon footsteps approached. He shifted so that he could see her in the mirror; part of her face, her shoulder.
‘Yes?’
‘It was Hannes Fouché from Doorn farm. He’s found a girl. He wants to know if you’ll come fetch her.’
He wiped his face, nodded. Then, abruptly, turning from the basin, he reached out to the window, pulling it closed.
If you would like to buy Finding Soutbek put it in your shopping basket.
Life among the Namaqua
In the days that followed, the explorers began to feel stronger and well fed. As guests to the kraal, they did no work, and so they spent their days sitting in the sun outside their huts, watching the activity going on around them. They slept much of the time, for they were still tired from their journey, and the luxury of having nothing to do soon encouraged laziness. It became common practice that some of the senior men of the tribe would come and join the men outside their huts to partake in tobacco and brandy. The explorers had not forgotten their search for the wealthy Monomotapa, and so they continuously asked the Namaqua elders the origin of their ‘‡ei’ (copper) and ‘/urib’ (iron). These questions the Namaqua pretended not to understand, or answered evasively. Van Meerman and his men determined that it would take some time to win the tribe’s complete trust.
A week after their arrival at the kraal, van Meerman caught a Namaqua man in his hut, trying to steal the last of their Spanish wine. Furious, he took the man to the chief, who reprimanded the man soundly and told van Meerman, ‘Khoikhoi tamab, Sab ke’ (He is no Khoikhoi, he is Sa). This is as much as saying, ‘He is no gentleman [Khoikhoi meaning men of men], he is of low extraction or a rascal.’ Akembie said that he had had much trouble with this man, named !Guŋbee, for he did not wish to do any work and was insubordinate. However, not wanting to cause trouble, van Meerman requested that the man go unpunished, and that he be given another chance. Akembie agreed to this, saying that van Meerman had the makings of a great chief, for the worst thing a chief could be was ‘gei-//are’ (greatly left-handed or stingy).
After this, !Guŋbee became devoted to van Meerman. He followed the Dutch man wherever he went, and began sitting at the edge of the circle of elders which formed around van Meerman each day. With time it appears that the two men became friends, and van Meerman found !Guŋbee to be a bright and entertaining man. !Guŋbee was soon able to converse in broken Dutch, and explained to van Meerman that he was looked down upon by his fellow tribesmen because he had no cattle. The Dutchman replied that he understood well what !Guŋbee’s situation was, for he himself had come from a place where he was looked down upon for having little.
The two men sat together most days, talking and waiting for the women to bring them food. Mostly the women brought ‘χurina’ which is the collective word for roots, berries, honey and bulbs gathered in the veld. Van Meerman developed a taste for the ‘!naras’ fruit, a type of melon the size of a newborn baby’s head. The custom was to eat the flesh raw and then keep the seeds to be eaten in the dry season. He ate these seeds by the handful, claiming that they tasted much like almonds. Steadily, van Meerman and his men could feel their stomachs expanding and their bodies filling out.
Among the women who brought the travellers food every day was a girl named !Urisis. Van Meerman was utterly spellbound by this girl with her nut-brown skin, round breasts and dark eyes which she lowered every time she came before him. He began concocting errands she could run for him, merely to spend some time in the happy anticipation of her company. He would ask her to take gifts of tobacco and beads to the chief and she would always reply, ‘Goreb !na ta ni tani’ (I will carry it in the palm of my hand). His agitation whenever !Urisis came to his hut was evident, and the old Namaqua men would laugh at him, for they knew the signs of love, which were the same in all men no matter what their colour. Van Meerman asked !Guŋbee about the girl and was told that she was the daughter of Akembie’s son, !Urisib, who had died in a battle with the Numaqua a number of years before. The old men, sitting nearby, teased van Meerman and asked him why he was so curious about this girl, and he replied that there was no reason. ‘Heitse!’ they warned him. ‘She may have a body like a cow’s body now [that is, a beautiful, fine, fat body], but look out because a woman cannot be quiet for as long as it takes sweet milk to turn sour! And once you’re married, Heitse!, you get scolded all day long. You can’t even put your hand in the food pot without getting shouted at!’
It seems that after some time, at van Meerman’s request, !Guŋbee approached Akembie and asked what van Meerman should do in order to be granted !Urisis’s hand in marriage. Akembie’s reply was that she was ‘Gei khoits õase’ (a great man’s daughter) and therefore she could not be married to a man who owned no cattle other than a single pack ox which was barely alive. No, he could not let it happen. Van Meerman was devastated by the news and began to brood.
If you would like to buy Finding Soutbek put it in your shopping basket.
Introducing the mayor
Outside it was dim, the sky lightening at the horizon and broadening over the waves. Already gulls were flying low, calling. The mayor rolled over in bed and pushed his face into the pillow, his knees brushing against those of his wife. He felt her body stiffen as he moved towards her and then the shifting of the bed as she turned from him, rising quietly, leaving the room. He did not lift his face from the pillow. He felt the warmth of his own breath on his nose and lips and went back to sleep.
When he woke again the day was light through the curtains. He stood slowly, placing each foot carefully on the ground. In the bathroom she had left the window open and the room was cool, his bare feet cold on the tiled floor. He went to the basin and ran the water until it was warm, washing his face and lathering it with shaving cream. Then he picked up his razor and slid it along his cheek, down to his jawline and below. There was no other noise in the house but for the razor on his face. He began again, further along his cheek, following a steady line. In the front room the phone began to ring. He stopped for a moment and listened, then putting down the razor, placed a hand on either side of the basin. He leaned heavily and sighed. Through the window came the smell of salt, of shrubs, and underneath, the thick smell of human filth. He cleared his throat, staring down into the white of the basin, his hands gripping its sides. When he looked up again he saw his face, grave in the mirror. To the left was the reflection of the open window, framing a small section of sea and sky. He looked at grey clouds, a grey sky. It was as though the world existed in that square alone. As though there were nothing else beyond the grey.
The houses of the lower town had been built on a steep sea-facing incline. Many were the holiday homes of farming or city families, but mostly the hill was dominated by retired couples come to live out their days with a sea view. Beyond, the hill flattened into shrublands, spreading out in long plains that touched mountains at the horizon. To the east, the lower town was flanked by a channel, dry since the 1920s when the river had chosen a different route to the sea. In the past elephants had lived there, rubbing smooth the rocks as they waded. Now the riverbed separated the lower from the upper town. Ending at high cliffs that overlooked the sea, the upper town had grown on flat land before sloping into a small bay where fishing boats mouldered on the shore. On the far edge of the bay stood the old fish factory, closed five years previously. Its long cement jetty, which had stretched out into the sea, now lay ruined; the uprights fallen into the waves below. The furthest section was still standing, and on it remained the height of a crane, its hook hanging like a gibbet.
Despite a week having passed since the fire, people were still living on the beach of the small bay, sleeping on newspapers and plastic bags. Cement-brick houses, built more than a decade before as part of a government scheme for reconstruction, now lay black and broken on the rise. For the rest, shacks were piles of burnt plastic and ash, indistinguishable from one another. Some inhabitants had returned, salvaging what they could from the rubble, moving into the deserted homes of others. They made roofs out of scorched zinc sheets, assembling their new homes amongst the piles of the old, using what remained. Many had taken what they could to the edges of the town, their homes spreading out onto the cliffs, held together by nothing. Parts of the upper town now lay uninhabited, left to the rummagings of dogs and rats. In the scattered landscape these heaps took on a sense of permanence.
Already complaints were coming to the mayor from the lower town: washing stolen from lines, tools and materials disappearing from garages, and worst of all, the smell of human faeces that made its way down with the breeze.
‘Civilised people,’ the mayor thought, ‘would have some pride. Civilised people wouldn’t live like that.’
Remaining before the mirror, he listened to the murmurs as the ringing phone was answered. Soon footsteps approached. He shifted so that he could see her in the mirror; part of her face, her shoulder.
‘Yes?’
‘It was Hannes Fouché from Doorn farm. He’s found a girl. He wants to know if you’ll come fetch her.’
He wiped his face, nodded. Then, abruptly, turning from the basin, he reached out to the window, pulling it closed.
If you would like to buy Finding Soutbek put it in your shopping basket.
Life among the Namaqua
In the days that followed, the explorers began to feel stronger and well fed. As guests to the kraal, they did no work, and so they spent their days sitting in the sun outside their huts, watching the activity going on around them. They slept much of the time, for they were still tired from their journey, and the luxury of having nothing to do soon encouraged laziness. It became common practice that some of the senior men of the tribe would come and join the men outside their huts to partake in tobacco and brandy. The explorers had not forgotten their search for the wealthy Monomotapa, and so they continuously asked the Namaqua elders the origin of their ‘‡ei’ (copper) and ‘/urib’ (iron). These questions the Namaqua pretended not to understand, or answered evasively. Van Meerman and his men determined that it would take some time to win the tribe’s complete trust.
A week after their arrival at the kraal, van Meerman caught a Namaqua man in his hut, trying to steal the last of their Spanish wine. Furious, he took the man to the chief, who reprimanded the man soundly and told van Meerman, ‘Khoikhoi tamab, Sab ke’ (He is no Khoikhoi, he is Sa). This is as much as saying, ‘He is no gentleman [Khoikhoi meaning men of men], he is of low extraction or a rascal.’ Akembie said that he had had much trouble with this man, named !Guŋbee, for he did not wish to do any work and was insubordinate. However, not wanting to cause trouble, van Meerman requested that the man go unpunished, and that he be given another chance. Akembie agreed to this, saying that van Meerman had the makings of a great chief, for the worst thing a chief could be was ‘gei-//are’ (greatly left-handed or stingy).
After this, !Guŋbee became devoted to van Meerman. He followed the Dutch man wherever he went, and began sitting at the edge of the circle of elders which formed around van Meerman each day. With time it appears that the two men became friends, and van Meerman found !Guŋbee to be a bright and entertaining man. !Guŋbee was soon able to converse in broken Dutch, and explained to van Meerman that he was looked down upon by his fellow tribesmen because he had no cattle. The Dutchman replied that he understood well what !Guŋbee’s situation was, for he himself had come from a place where he was looked down upon for having little.
The two men sat together most days, talking and waiting for the women to bring them food. Mostly the women brought ‘χurina’ which is the collective word for roots, berries, honey and bulbs gathered in the veld. Van Meerman developed a taste for the ‘!naras’ fruit, a type of melon the size of a newborn baby’s head. The custom was to eat the flesh raw and then keep the seeds to be eaten in the dry season. He ate these seeds by the handful, claiming that they tasted much like almonds. Steadily, van Meerman and his men could feel their stomachs expanding and their bodies filling out.
Among the women who brought the travellers food every day was a girl named !Urisis. Van Meerman was utterly spellbound by this girl with her nut-brown skin, round breasts and dark eyes which she lowered every time she came before him. He began concocting errands she could run for him, merely to spend some time in the happy anticipation of her company. He would ask her to take gifts of tobacco and beads to the chief and she would always reply, ‘Goreb !na ta ni tani’ (I will carry it in the palm of my hand). His agitation whenever !Urisis came to his hut was evident, and the old Namaqua men would laugh at him, for they knew the signs of love, which were the same in all men no matter what their colour. Van Meerman asked !Guŋbee about the girl and was told that she was the daughter of Akembie’s son, !Urisib, who had died in a battle with the Numaqua a number of years before. The old men, sitting nearby, teased van Meerman and asked him why he was so curious about this girl, and he replied that there was no reason. ‘Heitse!’ they warned him. ‘She may have a body like a cow’s body now [that is, a beautiful, fine, fat body], but look out because a woman cannot be quiet for as long as it takes sweet milk to turn sour! And once you’re married, Heitse!, you get scolded all day long. You can’t even put your hand in the food pot without getting shouted at!’
It seems that after some time, at van Meerman’s request, !Guŋbee approached Akembie and asked what van Meerman should do in order to be granted !Urisis’s hand in marriage. Akembie’s reply was that she was ‘Gei khoits õase’ (a great man’s daughter) and therefore she could not be married to a man who owned no cattle other than a single pack ox which was barely alive. No, he could not let it happen. Van Meerman was devastated by the news and began to brood.
If you would like to buy Finding Soutbek put it in your shopping basket.
