The Long Journey of Poppie Nongena by Elsa Joubert

Author:Elsa Joubert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jonathan Ball Publishers
Published: 2014-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

44

With the new baby on her back, Poppie went to Native Affairs in Observatory.

As she walked from the station, keeping to the pavement of the narrow street winding through the white suburb, it started to rain gently.

Ahead of her she saw the big red building and the queues of people waiting. As they felt the rain, the queues started moving, people pushing to get under cover. The white window frames in the red brick building blurred in the rain, seeming to lose their outline. A nausea rose in her, she had difficulty in lifting her feet, in pushing on, she couldn’t force herself to go towards the red brick building, to the corridors where the people stood and waited, to the smell of wet human beings, the heavy stench of a child’s dirty nappy.

In her mind’s eye she saw the small empty office with the big desk and the window raised, and the skinny white man sitting behind the desk, swallowing, gulping down his spittle as he looked at the paper put down in front of him, his white fingers with the short yellow hair on the backs twitching at the pencil while he read, already groping for the stamp lying ready at his side. The dates, carved on the ridges of the stamp, can be turned by a twist of his fingers without his having to give it a glance, he knows the feel of the dates, extension for one month, two months, three months, a year. Or nothing.

What’s the matter? asked a passing white woman. She would have liked to help, but was unsure whether the black woman was drunk or not.

What’s the matter? she asked again. Poppie held on to a lamp post with both hands, spasms passed through her body, tearing at her, her legs were shaking, the spasm rose, pushed up from her belly, her mouth opened, colourless slaver dribbling out at the corners, then her gullet jerked uncontrollably, and she doubled up retching. Not much came out, mostly bile.

She leant her head against the lamp post to which she was still clinging, her eyes closed, her mouth wet with the yellow bile that was still dribbling out.

The white woman saw that Poppie was really ill not drunk, and she took a white tissue from her handbag. Here, take it, to wipe your mouth. She pushed the tissue in between the fingers clamped around the post.

Mr Stevens pointed to the map with a stick. Now you must choose, Rachel, there’s Hinge near Queenstown, and Dimbaza near King William’s Town, and Mdantsane also in the Ciskei but right next to East London.

I do not know these places, said Poppie.

Mr Stevens stopped her protest. Look, I want to help you. You have been used to town life since childhood, and I think it best that you go to East London. I’ve seen those other places, but let me be frank with you, you mustn’t take them.

Is there a house for me? I won’t be able to build a house like my brothers built me here in Jakkalsvlei.

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