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Cry, The Beloved Country
Alan Paton
(First published in 1948)
All roads lead to Johannesburg. If you are white or if you are black they lead to Johannesburg. If the crops fail, there is work in Johannesburg. If there are taxes to be paid, there is work in Johannesburg. If the farm is too small to be divided further, some must go to Johannesburg. If there is a child to be born that must be delivered in secret, it can be delivered in Johannesburg.
The black people go to Alexandra or Sophiatown or Orlando, and try to hire rooms or to buy a share of a house.
- Have you a room that you could let?
- No, I have no room.
- Have you a room that you could let?
- It is let already.
- Have you a room that you could let?
- Yes, I have a room that I could let, but I do not want to let it. I have only two rooms, and there are six of us already, and the boys and girls are growing up. But school books cost money, and my husband is ailing, and when he is well it is only thirty-five shillings a week. And six shillings of that is for the rent, and three shillings for travelling, and a shilling that we may all be buried decently, and a shilling for the books, and three shillings is for clothes and that is little enough, and a shilling for my husband's beer, and a shilling for his tobacco, and these I do not grudge for he is a decent man and does not gamble or spend his money on other women, and a shilling for the church, and a shilling for sickness. And that leaves seventeen shillings for food for six, and we are always hungry. Yes, I have a room but I do not want to let it. How much would you pay?
- I could pay three shillings a week for the room.
- And I would not take it.
- Three shillings and sixpence?
- Three shillings and sixpence. You can't fill your stomach on privacy. You need privacy when your children are growing up, but you can't fill your stomach on it. Yes, I shall take three shillings and sixpence.
The house is not broken, but it is overflowing. Ten people in two rooms, and only one door for the entrance, and people to walk over you when you go to sleep. But there is a little more food for the children, and maybe once a month a trip to the pictures.
I do not like this woman, nor the way she looks at my husband. I do not like this boy, nor the way he looks at my daughter. I do not like this man, I do not like the way he looks at me, I do not like the way he looks at my daughter.
- I am sorry, but you must go now.
- We have no place to go to.
- I am sorry, but the house is too full. It cannot hold so many.
- We have put our name down for a house. Can you not wait till we get a house?
- There are people in Orlando who have been waiting five years for a house.
- I have a friend who waited only one month for a house.
- I have heard of such. They say you can pay a bribe.
- We have no money for a bribe.
- I am sorry, but the house is full.
Yes, this house is full, and that house is full. For everyone is coming to Johannesburg. From the Transkei and the Free State, from Zululand and Sekukuniland. Zulus and Swazis, Shangaans and Bavenda, Bapedi and Basuto, Xosas and Tembus, Pondos and Fingos, they are all coming to Johannesubrg.
I do not like this woman. I do not like this boy. I do not like this man. I am sorry, but you must go now.
- Another week, that is all I ask.
- You may have one more week.
*
- Have you a room to let?
- No, I have no room to let.
- Have you a room to let?
- It is let already.
- Have you a room to let?
- Yes, I have a room to let, but I do not want to let it. For I have seen husbands taken away by women, and wives taken away by men. I have seen daughters corrupted by boys, and sons corrupted by girls. But my husband gets only thirty-four shillings a week -
*
- What shall we do, those who have no houses?
- You can wait five years for a house, and be no nearer getting it than at the beginning.
- They say there are ten thousand of us in Orlando alone, living in other people's houses.
- Do you hear what Dubula says? That we must put up our own houses here in Orlando?
- And were do we put up the houses?
- On the open ground by the railway lines, Dubula says.
- And of what do we build the houses?
- Anything you can find. Sacks and planks and grass from the veld and poles from the plantations.
- And when it rains?
- Siyafa. Then we die.
- No, when it rains, they will have to build us houses.
- It is foolishness. What shall we do in the winter?
Six years waiting for a house. And full as the houses are, they grow yet fuller, for the people still come to Johannesburg. There has been a great war raging in Europe and North Africa, and no houses are being built.
- Have you a house for me yet?
- There is not house yet.
- Are you sure my name is on the list?
- Yes, your name is on the list.
- What number am I on the list?
- I cannot say, but you must be about number six thousand on the list.
Number six thousand on the list. That means I shall never get a house, and I cannot stay where I am much longer. We have quarrelled about the stove, we have quarrelled about the children, and I do not like the way the man looks at me. There is the open ground by the railway line, but what of the rain and the winter? They say we must go there, all go together, fourteen days from today. They say we must get together the planks and the sacks and the tins and the poles, and all move together. They say we must all pay a shilling a week to the committee, and they will move all our rubbish and put up lavatories for us, so that there is no sickness. But what of the rain and the winter?
- Have you a house for me yet?
-There is no house yet.
- But I have been two years on the list.
- You are only a child on the list.
- Is it true that if you pay money--?
But the man does not hear me, he is already busy with another. But a second man comes to me from what place I do not see, and what he says bewilders me.
- I am sorry they have no house, Mrs Seme. By the way, my wife would like to discuss with you the work of the Committee. Tonight at seven o'clock, she said. You know our house, No. 17852, near the Dutch Reformed Church. Look, I shall write down the number for you. Good morning, Mrs Seme.
But when I make to answer him, he is already gone.
- Ho, but this man bewilders me. Who is his wife? I do not know her. And what is this committee? I know of no committee.
-Ho, but you are a simple woman. He wants to discuss with you the money you are willing to pay for a house.
Well, I shall go there then. I hope he does not ask too much, one cannot pay too much on thirty-seven shillings a week. But a house we must have. I am afraid of the place where we are. There is too much coming and going, when all decent people are asleep. Too many young men coming and going, that seem never to sleep, and never to work. Too much clothing, good clothing, white people's clothing. There will be trouble one day, and my husband and I have never been in trouble. A house we must have.
*
- Five pounds is too much. I have not the money.
- Five pounds is not too much for a house, Mrs Seme.
- What, just to put my name higher on the list?
- But it is dangerous. The European manager has said that he will deal severely with any who tamper with the list.
- Well I am sorry. But I cannot pay the money.
But before I can go, his wife comes into the room with another woman.
- There must be a mistake, my husband. I do not know this woman. She is not on the committee.
- Ho, I am sorry, my wife. I am sorry, Mrs Seme. I thought you were on the committee. Go well, Mrs Seme.
But I do not stay well. I do not care if they stay well or ill. And nothing goes well with me. I am tired and lonely. Oh my husband, why did we leave the land of our people? There is not much there, but it is better than here. There is not much food there, but is it shared by all together. If all are poor, it is not so bad to be poor. And it is pleasant by the river, and while you wash your clothes the water runs over the stones, and the wind cools you. Two weeks from today, that is the day of the moving. Come my husband, let us get the planks and the tins and the sacks and the poles. I do not like the place where we are.
There are planks at the Baragwanath Hospital, left there by the builders. Let us go tonight and carry them away. There is corrugated iron at the Reformatory, they use it to cover the bricks. Let us go tonight and carry it away. There are sacks at the Nancefield Station lying neatly packed in bundles. Let us go tonight and carry them away. There are trees at the Crown Mines. Let us go tonight and cut a few poles quietly.
*
This night they are busy in Orlando. At one house after another the lights are burning. I shall carry the iron, and you my wife the child, and you my son, two poles, and you small one, bring as many sacks as you are able, down to the land by the railway lines. Many people are moving there, you can hear the sound of the digging and hammering already. It is good that the night is warm, and there is no rain. Thank you, Mr Dubula, here is our shilling for the committee.
Shanty Town is up overnight. What a surprise for the people when they wake in the morning. Smoke comes up through the sacks, and one or two have a chimney already. There was a nice chimney-pipe lying there at the Kliptown Police Station, but I was not such a fool as to take it.
Shanty Town is up overnight. And the newspapers are full of us. Great big words and pictures. See, that is my husband standing by the house. Alas, I was too late for the picture. Squatters, they call us. We are the squatters. This great village of sack and plank and iron, with no rent to pay, only a shilling to the Committee.
Shanty Town is up overnight. The child coughs badly, and her brow is as hot as fire. I was afraid to move her, but it was the night for the moving. The cold wind comes through the sacks. What shall we do in the rain, in the winter? Quietly my child, do not cough any more, your mother is by you.
