Day 183: Ventersdorp township

The trees rush by. Seventy-two-year-old AP is on his way to Rustenburg to help his bride-to-be with the move to her new home. His home. Klerksdorp recedes in the rear-view mirror.

He is a naughty old man. As he speaks, he puts his hand on my knee in a way that indicates he wants it to go higher. My backpack is on the floor in front of the back seat, my camera bag at my feet. I reach for it, pull it into my lap. I keep it there, unzip and unfold the top flap and thus double the covered area of my vulnerability.

The sign states ‘Ventersdorp 22km’. It has been four weeks since Eugene Terre’Blanche was killed. AP drops me off in town. He does not express any concern over me. Maybe it’s a token of the confidence he seems to have in me.

Mpho from Klerksdorp told me to phone Johanna. I do so now and she tells me where to meet her. Town is packed. I weave through the people feeling an ocean of resentment and frustration engulf me. My body is tense. This is only the second town in six months where I feel this kind of unhinged, unglued energy. I feel laden under the weight of whatever it is that is not here. My smile generates one or two others, but I sense distrust.

I meet Johanna at her place of work. We leave my bag there so that she can show me around. Town lies behind us, the township ahead. We pass through extensions five, six and more – Makwateng, Losi, Tshing. The names stir in me a desire to speak more of the liquid languages of our land, though my pronunciation does not quite sing with the promise of the beat within.

Johanna walks in that special way African women have. Hips swaying, counselling the wind itself on the art of movement.

We pass many people. Nods. Smiles. We pass through some homes, too. Friends who offer us tea. In one there is a young girl who just stares at me. Her gran reprimands her. ‘Sorry, we have never had a white person in our home.’

When her shyness passes, she plays with my hair. I drape my hair over her face and we take a photo so she can see what she would look like as a redhead! Her laughter almost makes me forget how tired I am today. It is the first time since I began my journey six months ago that I am this exhausted.

We pass an old man. He pauses, so we stop. He walks up to us and I can see that his eyes have a blue ring around the iris. Medicine calls it the corneal arcus, I call it wisdom. ‘Welcome,’ he says. ‘It is nice to have a visitor like you in our township.’

I want to take hold of his hand. Hold his stories for a while.

We pass a shebeen and arouse attention. Johanna says that we should just move along. We walk and talk until the man who has been following us from the drinking hole can no longer be ignored. He catches up with us and Johanna speaks with him. He is on his way to a wedding. Would we like to join?

I’m filthy and hardly dressed for the occasion but that doesn’t seem to matter. It also doesn’t matter that I wasn’t invited and know neither bride nor groom. So it is that we end up in the tent at the wedding ceremony. People come over to welcome me. I am thanked for my presence. The bride looks beautiful. Africa is a dance floor.

After the wedding we collect my bag from the home of Johanna’s colleague, who was thoughtful enough to bring it with her from town. The little gesture is a big friend on a day like this, when I am beyond tired.

Next Johanna introduces me to some youths who are hosting a service at their church that evening. The leader, who is a friend of Johanna’s, insists that I attend. Barely able to stand on my feet I decline politely. She seems to take offense, but I am too tired even to engage. I just want to leave. Now.

Johanna senses my desperation and takes me to the room she rents. ‘My friend can be a bit pushy,’ she says. And with that, I burst. At the confluence of so many conflicting emotions, there are so many tears. They may be pouring from my eyes, but it feels as if they come from an unlimited supply up in the sky somewhere. Johanna consoles me. When I have calmed she tells me that what I am feeling is normal.

She goes off to the church service, I shower and crawl into the bed Johanna is sharing with me tonight. Exhausted. Just before my day is extinguished, with half open eyes and mind, I hear the words again: ‘It is nice to have a visitor like you in our township.’