EXCERPT FROM 'BLACK PEARLS'
Germany 1967
Wiesbaden Hauptbahnhof, the central hub for trains going in the direction of Frankfurt, the financial centre and the international airport. Karl Hofmeister gazed long and hard at the departure board. His train was on track number seven, not far away from where he was standing. He chose an empty compartment, entered and sat close to the exit. His suitcase which now contained all his worldly possessions he placed beside him and settled in for the ride to the airport. In his backpack he carried his passport, important documentation and his camera. He looked at his airline ticket which read Frankfurt-London-Salisbury. He wondered if he was doing the right thing; leaving his homeland for such a long period of time and going to a country that he knew nothing about. He was doing the right thing. The greater the distance between him and his ex-wife, the better off it would be. In his head he was already in Africa. The train whistle suddenly blew bringing him back to reality and he looked up to see the last minute passengers scrambling onto the train.
“Stand back,” the train driver called out over the intercom.
They had just made it in the nick of time. The doors closed behind them forcing them to squeeze their bodies through the automatic doors. Clang. Chug. Chug. The train slowly crept through the dark tunnel and into the open. He looked up at the underground map located above his head. Frankfurt Airport Station would be his final destination. From there he would take a flight to London, England with a two hour stop over, and then a connection onto Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia. Along the picturesque route which took them along the winding Rhine River, he watched the barges go up and down, ferrying their heavy loads to the cities and towns dotted along the river bank. He saw the steeple of the famous cathedral, the streetcars which stopped and collected passengers, creeping along the tracks like big red caterpillars. His mind wandered to his daughter Eva-Marie whom he hadn’t seen in six months. It would be quite a while before he saw her or that magnificent river again.
**
Well-dressed people waited patiently in line at the airline counters while the staff sought to make their wait as short as possible. Receiving his boarding pass, he meandered to the departure gate and gazed out onto the tarmac. Finally the London bound passengers boarded the aircraft and luckily for Karl, he was seated next to a window where he gazed out on the scenery. It was a turbulent ride, so turbulent that nothing was offered on the way to London. He was starving, but there was enough time to have a meal before he boarded the next flight which would take him onto Southern Africa. He heard strange accents all around him. He listened intently trying to understand what each voice said. Some of the accents were harsh; others sweet and melodious. Voices so sweet, they could slit your throat, sop up the blood with a bit of bread, tell the world how delicious it was, and you wouldn’t even know you were dead. So sweet was the sound. He read the menu in the restaurant. Bangers and mash, Shepherds’ pie, Toad in the hole, Bubble and squeak and Roast Beef with Yorkshire pudding.
The only thing he recognised was the Roast Beef.
“Stick to what you know,” an inner voice said.
“Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding coming up. Gravy with that sir?”
He looked at the faces around him. Some were Middle Eastern, some African, but most of them looked just like him. He concentrated on his dinner for he was indeed hungry.
‘Wasn’t that bad,’ he thought, because he had heard the British were not known for their cuisine.
The Yorkshire pudding was good once he had allowed it to soak in the gravy.
His head nestled against the window of the British Airways aircraft, Karl closed his eyes and opened them again only when the captain pointed out the Nile River and the Pyramids. It was useless making such announcements he thought, for it was now dark outside and just a smattering of lights could be seen below.
Other points of interest were mentioned, but he was just too tired to investigate. It was indeed a long flight, and the sun had slowly started to rise, peeking out from under the clouds which hung like great balls of cotton in the sky. Ten long hours he had spent huddled in his corner but finally he could feel The British Airways Boeing707 bobbing and weaving through the lower level of the clouds. Staring out onto the lush green valleys and hills below, he could see movement, but from that height it was difficult to actually identify anything. This was his first visit to the African continent; the Dark Continent as his European colleagues had referred to it. He was pleased with what he saw. It didn’t live up to its reputation. Bright sunshine streamed in as the aircraft descended deeper and deeper for touchdown onto the African continent. The traffic and the figures moving around below, he could now identify. Passengers were now secure in their seats for the landing and then there was a thud as the captain brought it safely on to the runway. He had done it several times before it seemed. An experienced pilot! The machine sped past the terminal building and Karl was relieved when the captain threw the engine into reverse thrust, slowing it down and bringing it to rest in front of the long, narrow and brightly painted structure. The screeching noise of the engines died and a hive of activity started on the tarmac. He watched closely as the young black man in long khaki pants, slowly push the stairs to the aircraft, and with the same tempo he opened the aircraft door. The intense heat rushed in from the open door attacking the cool air from the overhead air vents causing smoke like conditions in the cabin. Those who had donned their jackets for disembarkation were now removing them and folding them neatly over their arms.
There was a warm smell of tropical heat. It was a new smell, but he liked it. It was quite different from that of Europe. Kerosene smells and human sweat entered his nostrils. Pungent yet not offensive, and one by one the passengers made their way down the steps and into the sunshine; then in the direction of the door which led to the arrivals hall. Karl followed, absorbing everything in sight. His feet were now firmly planted in Africa.
Two men of European descent greeted them as they passed through the doors to Immigration. They were both dressed in freshly ironed khakis and stood like guardsmen before the portals to heaven. Both men nodded as he passed by to join those passengers, mostly Europeans already waiting in line. He studied them closely and wondered what was bringing them all to Africa. Were they white Rhodesians? Were they Europeans bringing Christianity to the native people or were they just like him longing for escape? It was difficult to tell. This was a country under colonial rule and there were no black faces in positions of authority anywhere.
“Good morning sir,” said the immigration officer with a very crisp London accent. “You will be spending five years with us?”
“Yes,” answered Karl, his tall frame towering over the little man who was scrutinizing his documents.
“Everything’s in order sir. Enjoy your stay with us here in Southern Rhodesia.”
Carefully tucking his documents back into his backpack, he wandered over to the baggage area. It seemed like hours before the suitcases finally arrived and one by one, they were placed in neat rows against the wall in the baggage hall. Karl watched as his fellow passengers collected theirs and departed, but his had still not yet shown.
“Verdammt!” he muttered.
He was not the only one. There were about twelve others who with the patience of Job, waited and wondered if they would ever see their belongings again. A bit of scurrying around by the airline employees brought the rest of the bags to those still waiting. Karl collected his brown leather bound case and waited in the queue.
“Anything to declare,” asked the custom’s officer.
“Nothing,” he replied.
With a wave of the hand, he walked out without having to open his case for inspection. A sea of black faces greeted him as he stepped through the heavy wooden door. There were no black passengers on board and he couldn’t imagine who they were all waiting for. One of them he knew was there to meet him, but which one? He saw a sign held high which read ‘Mr. Karl.’ He fought his way through the crowd until he was next to the bearer of the sign.
“I’m Karl Hofmeister,” he said to the man.
“Good morning sir. Mr. Karl for Salisbury Trinity School?” asked the man with a very heavy African accent.
“That’s right,” said Karl just being able to pick out his name and the name of the school. “Is it a long way to the school?” he asked watching the man’s lips closely for a reply.
“Thirty minutes sir.”
The driver opened the trunk and placed the suitcase neatly on its side, then proceeded to the back door and waited, but Karl jumped into the front passenger seat, leaving the dumb-struck driver standing at the open door. The man scratched his hair which was protruding from the back of his cap, closed the back door and drove off.
“It’s only nine thirty but it’s quite warm, isn’t it,” said Karl turning down the window completely to let the fresh air in.
“Always hot here in Africa sir,” answered the driver whose name was Joseph.
Even the breeze which wafted through the car window was hot and humid. Beads of perspiration which had settled on his face now ran down to his neck like a river. He wiped it away with a handkerchief which was neatly tucked away in his breast pocket. It was not easy to converse with Joseph, because he received one word answers to almost every question he asked. Maybe he was shy. As the car wormed its way through the countryside, he looked on with great amusement as the children, after spotting them, shouted and waved from the roadside. Some of them even tried to keep up with the car, running alongside and peeping in.
He waved back. He wondered if any of those children could be his pupils. What he had seen only in magazines and newspapers had now become a reality. Stalwart women with heavy baskets on their heads walked and chatted with each other as though their burdens were as light as feathers. Sometimes a domestic animal, a donkey or a goat, would lumber across the street, at which point
Joseph would wait at a respectable distance and allow it to go on its merry way. Chattering monkeys screamed and ran for cover whenever the car approached. He found it particularly amusing when they were stuck behind a horse cart and its driver, the latter never turning his head in spite of the honking of the car horn. The roads outside of the city were in excellent condition. It was not at all what he had expected, for after all, this was Africa. Beautiful flowers cascaded from trees onto the roadside and the air was filled with the scent of other trees which seemed to line almost every street. Jacarandas. The more he saw, the more excited he became at the prospect of life in Southern Rhodesia. True to his word, and in spite of delays along the way, the driver made it to the school in just about thirty five minutes.
“Thank you Joseph,” he said as he took his case and walked up the steps, visibly devouring everything in sight.
It seemed more like a church than a school. It was so still. There were no children and no ringing of bells as should been the case at that time of the morning. They were all still on their summer vacation. He gently pushed open a door and looked inside. It smelled like old polished wood, and the furniture looked like that which he had left behind in Europe. Same desks with inkwells located on the upper right hand side of each desk, accompanied by the similar wooden chairs which did seem a little worn. Perhaps used by generations of children who had gone on with their lives and had probably moved miles and miles away. He wondered if he would be able to understand them. Did they all speak like Joseph? Would he like them? Would they like him?
In one corner there was a blackboard prostrate on its easel. ‘Until September’ was scratched across the surface. He continued to look around, but it seemed as if the school was deserted. His body ached. It had been a long journey and the tropical heated had sapped every ounce of energy from it. Still he continued to explore his new home. The gardens were beautifully kept. Everything was lush and green as if it had been painted. Flowers he had never before seen had turned the grounds into a profusion of colour. He had lost track of time. In the distance, he could see some additional buildings. Perhaps dormitories or teachers’ residences. Why wasn’t there anyone there to meet him? He was reaching the Point of exhaustion but continued to drag his case along which now seemed to weigh twice as much as it had weighed before.
Germany 1967
Wiesbaden Hauptbahnhof, the central hub for trains going in the direction of Frankfurt, the financial centre and the international airport. Karl Hofmeister gazed long and hard at the departure board. His train was on track number seven, not far away from where he was standing. He chose an empty compartment, entered and sat close to the exit. His suitcase which now contained all his worldly possessions he placed beside him and settled in for the ride to the airport. In his backpack he carried his passport, important documentation and his camera. He looked at his airline ticket which read Frankfurt-London-Salisbury. He wondered if he was doing the right thing; leaving his homeland for such a long period of time and going to a country that he knew nothing about. He was doing the right thing. The greater the distance between him and his ex-wife, the better off it would be. In his head he was already in Africa. The train whistle suddenly blew bringing him back to reality and he looked up to see the last minute passengers scrambling onto the train.
“Stand back,” the train driver called out over the intercom.
They had just made it in the nick of time. The doors closed behind them forcing them to squeeze their bodies through the automatic doors. Clang. Chug. Chug. The train slowly crept through the dark tunnel and into the open. He looked up at the underground map located above his head. Frankfurt Airport Station would be his final destination. From there he would take a flight to London, England with a two hour stop over, and then a connection onto Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia. Along the picturesque route which took them along the winding Rhine River, he watched the barges go up and down, ferrying their heavy loads to the cities and towns dotted along the river bank. He saw the steeple of the famous cathedral, the streetcars which stopped and collected passengers, creeping along the tracks like big red caterpillars. His mind wandered to his daughter Eva-Marie whom he hadn’t seen in six months. It would be quite a while before he saw her or that magnificent river again.
**
Well-dressed people waited patiently in line at the airline counters while the staff sought to make their wait as short as possible. Receiving his boarding pass, he meandered to the departure gate and gazed out onto the tarmac. Finally the London bound passengers boarded the aircraft and luckily for Karl, he was seated next to a window where he gazed out on the scenery. It was a turbulent ride, so turbulent that nothing was offered on the way to London. He was starving, but there was enough time to have a meal before he boarded the next flight which would take him onto Southern Africa. He heard strange accents all around him. He listened intently trying to understand what each voice said. Some of the accents were harsh; others sweet and melodious. Voices so sweet, they could slit your throat, sop up the blood with a bit of bread, tell the world how delicious it was, and you wouldn’t even know you were dead. So sweet was the sound. He read the menu in the restaurant. Bangers and mash, Shepherds’ pie, Toad in the hole, Bubble and squeak and Roast Beef with Yorkshire pudding.
The only thing he recognised was the Roast Beef.
“Stick to what you know,” an inner voice said.
“Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding coming up. Gravy with that sir?”
He looked at the faces around him. Some were Middle Eastern, some African, but most of them looked just like him. He concentrated on his dinner for he was indeed hungry.
‘Wasn’t that bad,’ he thought, because he had heard the British were not known for their cuisine.
The Yorkshire pudding was good once he had allowed it to soak in the gravy.
His head nestled against the window of the British Airways aircraft, Karl closed his eyes and opened them again only when the captain pointed out the Nile River and the Pyramids. It was useless making such announcements he thought, for it was now dark outside and just a smattering of lights could be seen below.
Other points of interest were mentioned, but he was just too tired to investigate. It was indeed a long flight, and the sun had slowly started to rise, peeking out from under the clouds which hung like great balls of cotton in the sky. Ten long hours he had spent huddled in his corner but finally he could feel The British Airways Boeing707 bobbing and weaving through the lower level of the clouds. Staring out onto the lush green valleys and hills below, he could see movement, but from that height it was difficult to actually identify anything. This was his first visit to the African continent; the Dark Continent as his European colleagues had referred to it. He was pleased with what he saw. It didn’t live up to its reputation. Bright sunshine streamed in as the aircraft descended deeper and deeper for touchdown onto the African continent. The traffic and the figures moving around below, he could now identify. Passengers were now secure in their seats for the landing and then there was a thud as the captain brought it safely on to the runway. He had done it several times before it seemed. An experienced pilot! The machine sped past the terminal building and Karl was relieved when the captain threw the engine into reverse thrust, slowing it down and bringing it to rest in front of the long, narrow and brightly painted structure. The screeching noise of the engines died and a hive of activity started on the tarmac. He watched closely as the young black man in long khaki pants, slowly push the stairs to the aircraft, and with the same tempo he opened the aircraft door. The intense heat rushed in from the open door attacking the cool air from the overhead air vents causing smoke like conditions in the cabin. Those who had donned their jackets for disembarkation were now removing them and folding them neatly over their arms.
There was a warm smell of tropical heat. It was a new smell, but he liked it. It was quite different from that of Europe. Kerosene smells and human sweat entered his nostrils. Pungent yet not offensive, and one by one the passengers made their way down the steps and into the sunshine; then in the direction of the door which led to the arrivals hall. Karl followed, absorbing everything in sight. His feet were now firmly planted in Africa.
Two men of European descent greeted them as they passed through the doors to Immigration. They were both dressed in freshly ironed khakis and stood like guardsmen before the portals to heaven. Both men nodded as he passed by to join those passengers, mostly Europeans already waiting in line. He studied them closely and wondered what was bringing them all to Africa. Were they white Rhodesians? Were they Europeans bringing Christianity to the native people or were they just like him longing for escape? It was difficult to tell. This was a country under colonial rule and there were no black faces in positions of authority anywhere.
“Good morning sir,” said the immigration officer with a very crisp London accent. “You will be spending five years with us?”
“Yes,” answered Karl, his tall frame towering over the little man who was scrutinizing his documents.
“Everything’s in order sir. Enjoy your stay with us here in Southern Rhodesia.”
Carefully tucking his documents back into his backpack, he wandered over to the baggage area. It seemed like hours before the suitcases finally arrived and one by one, they were placed in neat rows against the wall in the baggage hall. Karl watched as his fellow passengers collected theirs and departed, but his had still not yet shown.
“Verdammt!” he muttered.
He was not the only one. There were about twelve others who with the patience of Job, waited and wondered if they would ever see their belongings again. A bit of scurrying around by the airline employees brought the rest of the bags to those still waiting. Karl collected his brown leather bound case and waited in the queue.
“Anything to declare,” asked the custom’s officer.
“Nothing,” he replied.
With a wave of the hand, he walked out without having to open his case for inspection. A sea of black faces greeted him as he stepped through the heavy wooden door. There were no black passengers on board and he couldn’t imagine who they were all waiting for. One of them he knew was there to meet him, but which one? He saw a sign held high which read ‘Mr. Karl.’ He fought his way through the crowd until he was next to the bearer of the sign.
“I’m Karl Hofmeister,” he said to the man.
“Good morning sir. Mr. Karl for Salisbury Trinity School?” asked the man with a very heavy African accent.
“That’s right,” said Karl just being able to pick out his name and the name of the school. “Is it a long way to the school?” he asked watching the man’s lips closely for a reply.
“Thirty minutes sir.”
The driver opened the trunk and placed the suitcase neatly on its side, then proceeded to the back door and waited, but Karl jumped into the front passenger seat, leaving the dumb-struck driver standing at the open door. The man scratched his hair which was protruding from the back of his cap, closed the back door and drove off.
“It’s only nine thirty but it’s quite warm, isn’t it,” said Karl turning down the window completely to let the fresh air in.
“Always hot here in Africa sir,” answered the driver whose name was Joseph.
Even the breeze which wafted through the car window was hot and humid. Beads of perspiration which had settled on his face now ran down to his neck like a river. He wiped it away with a handkerchief which was neatly tucked away in his breast pocket. It was not easy to converse with Joseph, because he received one word answers to almost every question he asked. Maybe he was shy. As the car wormed its way through the countryside, he looked on with great amusement as the children, after spotting them, shouted and waved from the roadside. Some of them even tried to keep up with the car, running alongside and peeping in.
He waved back. He wondered if any of those children could be his pupils. What he had seen only in magazines and newspapers had now become a reality. Stalwart women with heavy baskets on their heads walked and chatted with each other as though their burdens were as light as feathers. Sometimes a domestic animal, a donkey or a goat, would lumber across the street, at which point
Joseph would wait at a respectable distance and allow it to go on its merry way. Chattering monkeys screamed and ran for cover whenever the car approached. He found it particularly amusing when they were stuck behind a horse cart and its driver, the latter never turning his head in spite of the honking of the car horn. The roads outside of the city were in excellent condition. It was not at all what he had expected, for after all, this was Africa. Beautiful flowers cascaded from trees onto the roadside and the air was filled with the scent of other trees which seemed to line almost every street. Jacarandas. The more he saw, the more excited he became at the prospect of life in Southern Rhodesia. True to his word, and in spite of delays along the way, the driver made it to the school in just about thirty five minutes.
“Thank you Joseph,” he said as he took his case and walked up the steps, visibly devouring everything in sight.
It seemed more like a church than a school. It was so still. There were no children and no ringing of bells as should been the case at that time of the morning. They were all still on their summer vacation. He gently pushed open a door and looked inside. It smelled like old polished wood, and the furniture looked like that which he had left behind in Europe. Same desks with inkwells located on the upper right hand side of each desk, accompanied by the similar wooden chairs which did seem a little worn. Perhaps used by generations of children who had gone on with their lives and had probably moved miles and miles away. He wondered if he would be able to understand them. Did they all speak like Joseph? Would he like them? Would they like him?
In one corner there was a blackboard prostrate on its easel. ‘Until September’ was scratched across the surface. He continued to look around, but it seemed as if the school was deserted. His body ached. It had been a long journey and the tropical heated had sapped every ounce of energy from it. Still he continued to explore his new home. The gardens were beautifully kept. Everything was lush and green as if it had been painted. Flowers he had never before seen had turned the grounds into a profusion of colour. He had lost track of time. In the distance, he could see some additional buildings. Perhaps dormitories or teachers’ residences. Why wasn’t there anyone there to meet him? He was reaching the Point of exhaustion but continued to drag his case along which now seemed to weigh twice as much as it had weighed before.
