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Contents:
The Old Chief Mshlanga /
No Witchcaft for Sale /
Little Tembi

The Old Chief Mshlanga
They were good, the years of ranging the bush over her Iather's farm which, like every white farm, was largely unused, broken only occasionally by small patches of cultivation. In between, nothing but trees, the long sparse grass, thorn and cactus and gully, grass and outcrop and thorn. And a jutting piece of rock which had been thrust up from the warm soil of Africa unimaginable eras of time ago, washed into hollows and whorls by sun and wind that had travelled so many thousands of miles of space and bush, would hold the weight of a sm all girl whose eyes were sightless for anything but a pale willowed river, a pale gleaming castle-a small girl singing: "Out flew the web and floated wide, the mirror cracked from side to side ... "
A white child, opening its eyes curiously on a sun-suffused landscape, a gaunt and violent landscape, might be supposed to accept it as her own, to take the msasa trees and the thorn trees as Iamiliars, to fee1 her blood running free 'lnd responsive to the swing of the seasons.
This child could not see a msasa tree, or the thorn, for what they were. Her books held tales of alien fairies, her rivers ran slow and peaceful, and she knew the shape of the leaves of an ash or an oak, the names of the little creatures that lived in English streams, when thewords "theveld" meant stranqeness, though she couldremember nothing else.
Because of this, for many years, it was the veld that seemed unreal; the sun was a foreign sun, and the wind spoke astrange language.
The black people on the farm were as remote as the trees and the rocks. They were an amorphous black mass, minqlinq and thinning and massing like tadpoles, faceless, who existed merely to serve, to say "Yes, Baas," take their money and go. They changed season by season, moving from one farm to the next, according to their outlandish needs, wh ich one did not have to understand, coming from perhaps hundreds of miles North or East, passing on after a few months-where? Perhaps even as far away as the fabled gold mines of Johannesburg, where the pay was so much better than the



Verlag: Diesterweg *
Jahr: 1961 *
Einband: Heft *
Ort: Frankfurt/Main *
Seitenzahl: 52 *
Format: 18,5x13cm

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