He went to work as a stevedore at nine shillings a day, loading and unloading the ships that came into the harbor. He learned that Banda and the other black stevedores received six shillings a day.
At the first opportunity, Jamie pulled Banda aside and said, “We have to talk.”
“Not here, Mr. McGregor. There’s an abandoned warehouse at the end of the docks. I’ll meet you there when the shift is over.”
Banda was waiting when Jamie arrived at the deserted warehouse.
“Tell me about Salomon van der Merwe,” Jamie said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Banda spat. “He came to South Africa from Holland. From stories I heard, his wife was ugly, but wealthy. She died of some sickness and Van der Merwe took her money and went up to Klipdrift and opened his general store. He got rich cheating diggers.”
“The way he cheated me?”
“That’s only one of his ways. Diggers who strike it lucky go to him for money to help them work their claim, and before they know it Van der Merwe owns them.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever tried to fight back?”
“How can they? The town clerk’s on his payroll. The law says that if forty-five days go by without working a claim, it’s open. The town clerk tips off Van der Merwe and he grabs it. There’s another trick he uses. Claims have to be staked out at each boundary line with pegs pointing straight up in the air. If the pegs fall down, a jumper can claim the property. Well, when Van der Merwe sees a claim he likes, he sends someone around at night, and in the morning the stakes are on the ground.”
“Jesus!”
“He’s made a deal with the bartender, Smit. Smit sends likely-looking prospectors to Van der Merwe, and they sign partnership contracts and if they find diamonds, Van der Merwe takes everything for himself. If they become troublesome, he’s got a lot of men on his payroll who follow his orders.”
“I know about that,” Jamie said grimly. “What else?”
“He’s a religious fanatic. He’s always praying for the souls of sinners.”
“What about his daughter?” She had to be involved in this.
“Miss Margaret? She’s frightened to death of her father. If she even looked at a man, Van der Merwe would kill them both.”
Jamie turned his back and walked over to the door, where he stood looking out at the harbor. He had a lot to think about. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
It was in Cape Town that Jamie became aware of the enormous schism between the blacks and whites. The blacks had no rights except the few they were given by those in power. They were herded into conclaves that were ghettos and were allowed to leave only to work for the white man.
“How do you stand it?” Jamie asked Banda one day.
“The hungry lion hides its claws. We will change all this someday. The white man accepts the black man because his muscles are needed, but he must also learn to accept his brain. The more he drives us into a corner, the more he fears us because he knows that one day there may be discrimination and humiliation in reverse. He cannot bear the thought of that. But we will survive because of isiko.”
“Who is isiko?”
Banda shook his head. “Not a who. A what. It is difficult to explain, Mr. McGregor. Isiko is our roots. It is the feeling of belonging to a nation that has given its name to the great Zambezi River. Generations ago my ancestors entered the waters of the Zambezi naked, driving their herds before them. Their weakest members were lost, the prey of the swirling waters or hungry crocodiles, but the survivors emerged from the waters stronger and more virile. When a Bantu dies, isiko demands that the members of his family retire to the forest so that the rest of the community will not have to share their distress. Isiko is the scorn felt for a slave who cringes, the belief that a man can look anyone in the face, that he is worth no more and no less than any other man. Have you heard of John Tengo Jabavu?” He pronounced the name with reverence.