The Delegation

From Great North Road

What the *#: (AT) !

On a tranquil summers evening in 1952, as my parents and I sat on the stoep watching the magnificant African sun set and started the ritual of sundowners, the tranquility of the moment was disturbed when Johnny, our faithful cook, advised Dad that there was a delegation of African women at the back door that wished to meet with him.

Dad immediately left to meet with the unknown delegation. Mum, continued to sip on her Scotch and water (just a splash, water that is) and I drank my Oris, when Johnny reappeared and requested that I join the multitude. I made my way reluctantly to the back door, where I found Dad, who had been dressed in a suit only a few minutes earlier, now dressed to the nines in his prison officers uniform and sam browne, talking with several irate African women. I knew I was in trouble when one of the women pointed a finger at me and said "dat his him, bwana" to be followed by a shrill chorus as the other women also identified me.

My immediate response was to deny ever having met the ladies, however realizing that my case was weak, I conceeded that perhaps we had met earlier in the day. After a brief interrogation from Dad, I finally confessed to having used language that would make a longshoreman blush when I had cheerfully greeted the ladies earlier in the day as I ran past the servants quarters at the back of our house. Dad, demanded, and I gave my humble apologies for my inappropriate choice of words. I was mistaken when I thought that this was the end of the matter, for Dad then ordered me into the vanette and we drove to the Police Station, where I was told to remain in the vanette, while Dad went inside.

Several long minutes later, Dad returned and I was told to follow him inside the Police Station. On recognizing the tall police officer with his distingushed handle bar moustache standing behind the counter, being the polite six year old that I was, I said 'Good evening uncle Barry" only to be admonished and told to refer to him as Inspector Ledger. I realised my troubles were not yet over. I confessed to my use of colourful words, and my statement was duly noted in the large book that was on top of the counter. Uncle Barry, sorry, Inspector Ledger, then lectured me on the folies of my ways, and reminded me that Dad, as Prison Officer for Kasama was held in high esteem within the community and that I had dishonoured the reputation of the family. I was dismissed with a warning that should I appear again at the Police Station that I would no doubt be incarcerated. Beating a hasty retreat Dad and I drove home.

Upon arriving at the house, my ordeal was still not over. I was ordered to go to the bathroom where I was joined by Dad, who proceeded to wash out my mouth with soap and water, and to add insult to injury, I received a walloping and sent to bed.

Contributed by Kenneth Miller.

October 2001