Memory Project: Heart of Darkness

I bought this book for 75 cents in 1969.

Conrad’s novella was published in 1899. It was based on his journey up the Congo River and his witnessing of the brutal exploitation of the local population by the European intruders.

At the Berlin Conference of 1884-5 King Leopold of Belgium had been “given” a huge chunk of Africa many times the size of his own country. Congolese chiefs were duped into signing treaties and concessions that resulted in the virtual enslavement of their people.

In Southern Africa the British were permitted to extend their sphere of colonial influence northwards. In 1888Cecil Rhodes sent emissaries across the Limpopo to meet the Chief of the Ndabele. Lobengula was tricked into signing treaties and granting mining concessions. As white settlers moved in the native population became aware of the danger they were in and began to resist. The conflict that resulted in the Matabele Wars of the 1890’s ended in their defeat by the better armed Europeans who were greatly assisted by Hiram Maxim’s recent invention, a gun that automatically reloaded and could fire 450 rounds a minute. The vanquished blacks were forced into Native Reserves and the ‘Suppression of Savage Customs’ began in earnest.

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This Little Piggy Went to Market

Taken in Bangkok, Thailand in 2019. (Credit: Jo-Anne McArthur/We Animals Media for The Guardian)

Farmers are practical people. In South Africa the expression ‘n boer maak ‘n plan means that a farmer will always be able to improvise a solution to any problem that he might encounter.

Okkie van Tonder of the farm Stinkvlei situated between Van Brakel’s and Caledon believed in diversity. He grew canola, wheat and barley, and he had over a hundred sheep as well as a small herd of cattle. He also kept some poultry and five pigs.

When one of his cows went missing, the suspicion that it had been stolen made him angry. His mood went from bad to worse when he discovered that his biggest pig was infested with tapeworm. That meant it would be rejected when he took it to the abattoir. He banged his fist down on the bonnet of a vehicle and cursed aloud in the Afrikaans language. 

The situation deteriorated further when a worker informed him that the cow had been found lying in the vlei. Because it had been dead for several days it could not be butchered and sold for human consumption. Close to despair, Okkie van Tonder fell to his knees and prayed to God for mental strength.

In the morning he awoke and knew what to do in order to salvage something from the disaster that had befallen him. He would slaughter the pig himself and sell the meat to the people in the African township near Caledon. The dead cow could be cut up with his chain saw and the meat could be used to fatten the remaining pigs.

He was aware of a pig’s right to be slaughtered in a humane fashion and agreed that the animal should be stunned before its throat was cut. However, he did not possess a captive bolt stun gun, which was an expensive item. Undaunted, he reasoned that the principle involved was to deliver a powerful blow to the animal’s forehead that would render it senseless but not kill it outright.

He instructed three of his workers to bring the pig to the barn. A large sow that had produced many piglets for him over the years, she was led in by her ears and tail, all the while squealing with pain and terror. Telling his men to stand back, he raised a pick handle on high and brought it down with force on the animal’s head. Unfortunately, his aim was not quite true, striking her on the neck and not the skull. She fell to her knees, her mouth and eyes open wide,  and the second blow hit her squarely on the top of her head.

After her throat had been cut and she had been bled, he sawed off her head and feet and left his men to butcher the carcass.

The following day he loaded the meat onto his bakkie, drove to Caledon, and was able to sell everything at the African market, even the head, trotters and entrails. After making some calculations, he felt pleased with the way things had turned out, and he congratulated himself on his resourcefulness and ingenuity.

(Taken from Fairy Tales and Nursery Rhymes.)

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Die oupa sit op die stoep

I was sitting on my stoep thinking about nothing of consequence while enjoying a glass of wine, when this fellow and two young women came into view. They were strolling up the road, probably on their way to Eluxolweni. The man looked in my direction and said in a voice loud enough for me to hear. “Die oupa sit op die stoep.”

“Die oupa sal jou gat skop, ou pel,” I called out, but he was too busy talking rubbish to the ladies to hear me.

I went inside for a refill and then resumed my seat on the stoep. Cheeky bastard! No respect for the elderly. I chewed on this for a bit and it occurred to me that this punk didn’t owe me or my generation any respect at all. I would probably continue to enjoy a decent standard of living until the day came to kick the bucket. But what did this guy have to look forward to? He was probably unemployed and would never find more than a few days of menial work in a month, if he was lucky.  I considered the challenges he and other young people were likely to encounter. A collapsing economy, civil strife, hunger, disease, the effects of climate change and environmental degradation, and the inevitable outbreak of wars as nations fought over dwindling resources on an overpopulated planet. The world I and my generation were bequeathing to the youth was in a horrible mess and we were responsible for it. Driven by greed, selfishness and stupidity, we had robbed future generations of a life worth living. Without predators to keep us in check, we had proliferated like rats, gorging ourselves on what nature had to offer and ignoring all the warning signs that our extravagant way of life was unsustainable.

No, I told myself, young people didn’t owe us oldies any respect. Far from it. Why should we be allowed to sit on the stoep drinking wine while the disastrous consequences of our irresponsible choices played out. I tried to find excuses for our deplorable behaviour and a way to shift the blame but got nowhere. We deserved to have our descendants hold us to account. Our worldly assets should be seized and we should be euthanised before any more resources were squandered on extending the last days of our parasitic old age. But I knew this would be unlikely, and I would have to resign myself to continue sitting on the stoep drinking wine while civilization collapsed and Homo sapiens headed for self-annihilation. 

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.