(Author: Mary Kropman, Vol. 64, #1, Pesach 2009)
- Feature image: The old King Williams Town synagogue
After his barmitzvah, my Father worked in my Zeida’s trading store in Ngwenya, Eastern Cape. He mastered the Xhosa language and would converse with the customers about their health, their families and their needs. Dad delighted us with his ability to make up rhymes in Xhosa, using only words with clicks.
The shop had a steady flow of customers. The traditional Xhosa people, because they smeared their bodies and clothes with red ochre, were called Abantu ababomvu, meaning “Red people”. The Westernized women wore long dresses made from German print. The men wore European style clothing and in the winter, they wrapped themselves in heavy wool blankets to keep out the icy wind. The favorite blanket for formal dress was the Whitney blanket, which had six purple stripes with a large black stripe in the centre and the edge braided with red wool in a criss-cross fashion.
The Xhosa women cultivated beans, peas, pumpkins, potatoes, sorghum and mealies. They used what they needed and the surplus was sold to the storekeeper. A host of new foods hitherto unknown to them, such as tea, coffee, sugar and canned food were purchased. The shelves in the shop were filled with a variety of products, such as Old Dutch medicine, clothing and cooking utensils. The threelegged black pot was very popular. Huge galvanized baths and buckets hung from the ceiling. Traders helped customers through the lean years by giving them goods on credit.
Like most shop owners the family lacked nothing – they had a roof over their heads, food and clothing. However, there was little money left over to pay for schooling. Dad decided to leave school and find work elsewhere so that he could pay for his younger brother’s school fees. A trader in Newtondale was looking for an assistant, so he packed his worn brown leather suitcase and walked over the road to the railway station. The goods train steamed to a stop and loaded on pumpkins for the market in King William’s Town. Dad sat amongst the yellow, white and green pumpkins as the train chugged along its way, stopping at the small railway sidings until it reached King late in the afternoon. He spent the night with friends and at daybreak, took a lift with a delivery van filled with hot crusty bread.
On arriving in Newtondale, Dad introduced himself to the owners of the store. He was immediately welcomed by the thin, short, kindly Yiddishe Mama, “Kum arein, kum ziets mir esen friese bruit, mit eier” (Come in, come sit. We are eating fresh bread and eggs). Her husband added “You look a strong young man and I am sure you are not scared of work”.
The days were long and busy. Working in a trading store involved serving customers, weighing and packing goods. My Father could easily lift a bag of mealies weighing a hundred pounds and throw it on to his back. Flour mealies, mealie meal, tea, coffee and salt, had to be packed and weighed into small brown paper packets ready for sale. The smaller quantities were packed into handmade funnel shaped paper containers and the larger quantities were double wrapped in oblong parcels.
There was another assistant, and he and my Father shared a room and were company for each other. The owners made them feel part of the family. The days were busy and they were tired at the end of the day. One evening at closing time Dad swept out the shop, ate supper with the family and retired early. The next morning he was awakened by the sound of angry voices. Before he could jump out of bed the owner of the house yanked him out of bed saying,
“Shap, you were the last one in the shop and there’s five pounds missing. Take your bags and go”.
“I have never stolen anything”, Dad tried to explain.
“Not another world, take your case and go”.
Tears streaming down his face my Father left. He was deeply humiliated and knew it was all a mistake. He kept saying to himself, “What will I tell my Father? What will I tell my Father?” There wasn’t a car in sight. He walked barefoot so as not to damage his only pair of shoes. His feet were blistered and cut by the jagged stones in the road.
After many miles, he came across a black man with a wagon. The man was struggling to lift the heavy wagon wheel, which was lying in a donga. My Father helped the man lift the wheel back on to the wagon. The old man was very happy to give my tired sad Father a ride. They chatted easily in the clicking Xhosa language. With the setting of the sun they camped by the side of the road. The mare drank deeply from a stream nearby and grazed the sweet grass. The two men washed the grime off their hands and faces. They cupped their hands and drank the cool fresh water. The old man lit a fire to boil water and to keep away the animals. They shared his bread and coffee and later his sweaty dusty blanket as they slept under the wagon.
Dad made his way to Ngwenya with a heavy heart repeating “What will I tell my father?” His parents were sad but assured him that they believed him. However, after such an experience who would employ him?
The families met again in the King William’s Town Shul before Rosh Hashanah. The first words of the trader were:
“How will you ever forgive me, I made such tovis. I wanted to lock the money in the safe. However, a late customer arrived and I was nervous to leave the money in the till. I hid it in the back of a draw and I found it this week when a coin rolled behind the draw. Please forgive me and come back to work for me”.
However, by this time, Dad had made many important changes at Ngwenya. He realized that he could make their shop more profitable. Looking through the books, he saw there was a great deal of money owing to them. He saddled his horse, riding from hut to hut, farmer to farmer, asking people to settle their debts. In this way, he collected a substantial amount of money. The business became viable and what had seemed to be a misfortune became a blessing.
Mary Kropman matriculated at Kaffrarian High School King William’s Town. She holds an M.A. (Sociology) from the University of Cape Town and has been a researcher for the SA Friends of Beth Hatefutsoth Country Communities research project since 1995.
