Koors. Deon Meyer

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СКАЧАТЬ die naam op hulle tonge toets. Iemand begin hande klap. En dan klap almal skielik hande. Wanneer dit bedaar, sê Pa: “Welkom in Amanzi.”

      Niemand sê wat dit beteken nie, daarom is ek te skaam om openlik te vra. Ek vra fluisterend vir Pa, eers wanneer ons later huis toe stap – “huis” is en sal vir die volgende klompie jare die Orphanage wees wat ons deel met Beryl en die kinders, Melinda Swanevelder en haar hoopvolle vryer Hennie Flaai Laas, Domingo en Nero Dlamini.

      “Dis Zoeloe én Xhosa vir ‘water’,” sê Pa.

      Ek herkou daaraan, maar kan nie die water-kloutjie by die ovasie-oortjie kry nie. “Nou hoekom het almal so hande geklap?”

      “Omdat dit perfek is.”

      * * *

      Nkosi Sebego

      Soos opgeteken deur Willem Storm. Amanzi-geskiedenisprojek.

      I was the founding father and pastor of the Grace Tabernacle Church of Christ in Mamelodi. I kept the church open, through it all. It was very difficult, because I knew it was God’s way of telling us to change our ways. God sent the Fever, because the whole world had lost their way. But you cannot tell that to the people who are suffering so much, who are dying.

      I thought I wasn’t dying because I was a God-fearing man, a righteous man. But then I saw that God was taking my wife, and she was a better Christian than I was. And he was taking babies, and little children, nobody was being spared the Fever. So then I did not understand, and I was very angry at God. I shouted and I swore. But I think God knew that it was because of the pain of all the loss and the suffering.

      The strange thing was, Mamelodi was a safer place, during and after the Fever, than a lot of the white neighbourhoods. I think most of the black townships were better, because the black people, the poor people, we were used to helping one another, we were much more used to loss and suffering and standing together, and sharing.

      Three months after the Fever we were twenty-nine people in Mamelodi who had survived, who were living together at the church, who were helping each other, taking care of each other. And then during that time, I went to Silver Lakes Golf Estate, and Faerie Glen, where all the rich people lived, mostly white people. I went there to look for food. There were no groups, nobody working together. Just a few people shooting at everything that moved.

      Domingo

      Ek is in Abbotsdale gebore. Dis die coloured township van Malmesbury. Ek het daar skoolgegaan. My ma het by die Sasko mill op die dorp gewerk. Ma’ ek was daar naby Swellendam toe Die Koors kom. Soort van paramilitary occupation gehad. Nee, ek gaan nie elaborate nie. No need. Useless information.

      Nkosi Sebego

      There is one sight I will never forget. It was when the Fever was at its worst. It reminded me of those black and white films about the atrocities during the Second World War.

      I woke up in the morning, and I heard this engine. You have to remember, this was when the Fever was … when it was really bad, so Mamelodi was much more quiet than usual, and I heard this big engine. I walked in that direction, it was coming from the open ground between Khutsong and the Pateng Secondary School. This was about one kilometer from the Mamelodi Hospital. The engine was a bulldozer. It was pushing people into this mass grave.

      It is a terrible thing to see. People. People who laughed, who loved, who lived. And there they were, just rag dolls. Pushed into a hole in the ground. Like rubbish.

      24

      Nero “Lucky” Dlamini

      Kyk, ek was ’n dandy, a very snazzy dresser, make no mistake. Ek was die best-dressed psychologist in the greater Johannesburg metropolitan area. I know, I know, not a difficult achievement, but nonetheless …

      Ek kan nie stry nie, my lifestyle was ’n reaction gewees, to the poverty of my youth.

      My pa het net vier jaar by die skool gehad. Hy was ’n labourer, hy het gewerk by ’n auto electrician plek in Braamfontein, en hy het private auto electrical werk gedoen in ons agterjaart in Orlando East to keep the wolf from the door. My ma het gewerk by Baragwanath, die hospitaal, die Chris Hani-hospitaal. Sy het graad tien darem gehad, sy het administrative werk gedoen by die Paediatric Burn Unit, so baie aande dan kom sy by die huis, dan huil sy oor wat sy gesien het by daai hospitaal, die township-kinders wat so gebrand is. Injury by poverty, that is what she called it.

      My pa het gedink Nero was a great Roman emperor, classic case of a little knowledge being a dangerous thing. So he insisted on christening me that. But he meant well, and he was a wonderful man, he never left my mother, so I have forgiven him long ago.

      Anyway, I was a clever boy, I matriculated in 1999, ek het bursaries gekry, ek wou gaan psychology doen, because I wanted to make sense of the world, really, everybody was so … so angry. Ek is Wits toe. In 2006 toe het ek ’n practice begin in Sandton, I treated all these nouveau riche black businessmen, and after two years I thought, is this as good as it gets, is this going to be the difference I am going to make in my world? So I took a sabbatical for six months, I gave it a lot of thought, and I changed course …

      Long story short, I have always been fascinated by how we absolutely need to be in a relationship. Ek meen, it consumes us, that need, that terrible need to be loved, to be with someone. The disease of the last decades BF was loneliness, lack of being loved. To be with someone, dis waaroor alles gaan, movies, books, TV, Facebook … Ek het al hierdie pasiënte gehad, rich people, Willem, very rich, highly successful. And so very unhappy. If you cut through all the crap, all they needed was love.

      Toe specialise ek in couples therapy. Oh, the stories I could tell.

      * * *

      Ek hou baie van Nero. Ek noem hom “oom”, en hy sê: “Nee, asseblief, nooit nie. Jy sê vir my Nero.”

      My pa hou van die eerste dag af baie van Nero. Omdat hy ’n “raconteur” is. (Toe ek die eerste keer vra wat dit beteken, sê Pa dit is ’n “baasverteller”, die woord kom uit die negentiende-eeuse Frans, raconte beteken “om te vertel”.) Maar ook omdat hy Pa se intellektuele skermvennoot word, omdat hy ’n goeie klankbord is, dikwels van Pa verskil, en later saam met Pa die oorweldigende geestelike aanslag van pastoor Nkosi probeer teenstaan.

      In die raconteur-weergawe van sy besluit om na Amanzi te reis, sê hy dit was noodsaak, en die vreugde van die fiets:

      Dis nie dat ek competitive fietsgery het nie. Ek was ’n weekend mountain bike warrior, dit was my fitness regime, my way of staying slim to fit in all those snazzy clothes, did I tell you I was a real dandy? I never liked jogging, it is such an inelegant pastime, so much sweating and jiggling … Anyway, my big hope was to one day do the holiday cycling routes in Europe. In die era BF. Before the Fever. En toe, first months AF, toe dink ek nie aan fietsry nie, dis net survival. Ek het in Sandton gebly, ek het in die oggend vroeg gaan scavenge vir groceries, want dan was dit die veiligste, all the dangerous people stayed up late. And it was so damn inelegant to run from the dangerous people … Ek het geweet ek sal moet trek, die resources raak min en die dangerous people meer, maar waar gaan jy heen? And how? Ek het nie geweet waar en hoe sal ek petrol kry nie. I’m not technically minded, despite what my dad did.

      Toe kry ek julle pamphlet in die straat, Hennie Flaai se airmail pamphlet, en ek dink, maar kom ek vat ’n fiets. Of course there was a certain risk, maar ek het net gedink, who is going to rob a black man on a bicycle? Daar’s hierdie fietswinkel, the Cycle Lab Fourways СКАЧАТЬ