Monday, December 31, 2007

2007. Apartheid, late 1950s - early 1970s, Fraser's Durban North Schooling


1958. Elandspruit, New Hanover. Back: Neil Wolhuter & Paul Esslemont. Front: Fraser, Mark, Valmai Esslemont.


Here follows brother Fraser's donkey-wagon song-sheet, with my choruses: While Fraser and I were boys we trekked through Pietermaritzburg many times. Mom had spent four happy varsity years there. Her nephew Dr. John Cosnett lived there, and he devoted his life to doctoring Zulus at Edendale. His son also became a doctor, doctoring Fraser's meningitis in Maritzburg, then emigrating to Ireland. We trekked through Maritzburg whenever we visited aunt Dorothy in Bloemfontein, and whenever we visited the Wolhuters near New Hanover.

Whenever mom invited her lady friends to tea at 22 Chelsea Drive, Durban North, she often compared Fraser with me: "You know Mark got four A certificates at the Speech and Drama festival? Fraser got two... Sugar cubes?"

"Thanks dear," clucked mom's spinster friend.

"You know Mark got three silver cups at the Durban North swimming gala? Fraser got one... Milk?"

"No thanks dear," clucked spinster. Fraser and I resented mom's comparisons. As I got older, I bollocked mom about it. Mom just chuckled. Fraser struggled through early schooling, copying and catching up with me. Although I was two years older than Fraser, he was three years behind me at school. When he started Sunningdale Drive Infants School, he battled, as he could hardly speak. Mom taught him to read - many tears - then got him to repeat class one at Our Lady of Fatima Convent, Northway. Fraser didn't stay long there, and went to Mrs. Jones's Halcyon Days class one, Chelsea Drive, to get him right.

1958. Fraser Esslemont, Sunningdale Drive Infant School, Durban North.


At Fraser's first Durban North Primary day, big boys mocked Fraser's spiky, brown fringe: "Daily News! Daily News!..." called bullies, apeing street-corner Indian newspaper boys. I couldn't stop their bullying. Fraser just grinned while boys chanted, "Daily News!..."

Years afterwards, mocking boys still called Fraser, "Daily News!"

While Fraser and I drifted through primary school, mom had a series of tenants in our Chelsea Drive home. While mom taught at local schools she had nervous breakdowns, and joked about madness: "Neurotics have their feet on the ground and their heads in the sky darlings. Psychotics have their feet off the ground and their heads in the sky darlings."

Mom disliked her fat Jewish boss at Red Hill Primary and called him, "that swine..." Mom befriended Jehovahs Witnesses, who put the fear of hell into mom. One, an artist, made brother Paul's death mask after Paul's cycle accident. Mom taught for many years at Northlands GH, where her old MA varsity friend and bridesmaid Netta Manning was headmistress. Before retiring, mom taught at Durban North Primary, next door to our home.

1959. Fraser Esslemont, Durban.


1967. Durban North. When Fraser joined me at Northlands BH, I was already in standard nine. I excelled as a body-surfer, rugby player, cadet-band bugler, warrant officer, jogger and stage actor.

Due to hard rote-swotting, Fraser came first in his standard six class, getting into A stream standard seven. His standard seven class, bad bunch, mocked teachers, stuffed around, and had competitions to see who could be caned most by headmaster RC.

Fraser and I sang in the Durban North Methodist choir. We joined Trafalgar Sea Scouts, playing wide-games in Old Mill Way bushy valley, and camping at Mr. Russel's Rosetta farm. To aunt Dorothy's chagrin, mom deserted the Methodist church. Mom, Fraser and I were confirmed at Saint Martins Anglican church, down Chelsea Drive. Fraser and I donned cassocks and surplices and sang in the choir.

During Easters, we holidayed at Elandspruit, New Hanover, where Fraser and I learnt to drive. We continued our Somerset East treks, visiting tannie Beattie and tannnie Winnie. Beattie's death preceded Winnie's by some years: both were buried in the dorp cemetery in their Hendrikz family plot.

We regularly trekked to Bloemfontein, visiting aunt Dorothy. After her hubby died, Dorothy sold her cottages, retired to an East London old-age-home, and died.

Fraser found girls during fantasies at Broadway Rex Cinema. He was in Northlands BH cadet drill squad. He played rugby, acted in school plays, became Student Christian Association chairman, and failed standard nine. A Stream academic subjects were too hard.

1972. Fraser Esslemont, Northlands BH, Durban North.


"To pass matric," said headmaster RC, "you must drop to O Stream."

"No way!" said Fraser. "I want to do A Stream matric." Fraser repeated A Stream standard nine. The iniquity about A and O Streams was that white boys had to do all subjects either O Stream or A Stream. Fraser was loath to do O Stream as it was considered dumb. Apartheid Aryanism didn't want whiteys doing kaffir work.

During his 1972 matric, eighteen year old Fraser did Comrades Marathon with me, from Durban to Maritzburg - over 80 kays away. Fraser beat me. But failed matric.

By then, I was teaching at Virginia Primary near home. During my four Virginia years, I was general-science specialist, taught general subjects to standards four and five, coached soccer and cricket, produced plays, and was house-master for galas and athletics.

I was a reluctant Commando conscript, doing army camps during holidays against swart gevaar.

I read my part-time BA at Natal University for whites. One evening, Fraser switched on our lounge radiogram, while I swotted for varsity exams. I ended up on the carpet throttling Fraser, while he banged my head on the floor. As we both did Kudokwai karate, we were capable of killing each other. We never fought again.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

2007. Post Apartheid: SA Dispatch December 2007

December 2007. Alleman's dispatch: "Our Xmas is good. We're holidaying at Langebaan at a private swimming pool / beach resort. The big ANC meeting in Pietersburg (now renamed Polokwane) in Northern Transvaal (now renamed Limpopo Province), to choose a new ANC leader, who would become the new SA president, is an African, faction-forming scenario.

President Mbeki refuses to stand down, as only he can 'save' SA. He can't be SA president for a third term. He's extremely unpopular with the plebs and their reps, the SA Communist Party, COSATU (trade unions), the ANC youth league (very radical), and the ANC women's league (plain silly). He wants to be elected ANC leader, then have a puppet president ruling SA who he can dictate to. He nominated our female minister of foreign affairs, Zuma's ex wife, as vice president. (She of the, 'sigh... we might... sigh... possibly... sigh... have a problem... in... sigh... Zimbabwe.')

In the other corner for president we have Zuma (who only achieved grade 5 at school, and whose theme song is, 'bring me my machine gun,') who has to appear in court for R4 million fraud / bribery.

At the meeting our police chief is prominent. (He goes to court next week for having mafia connections). At the meeting is Yengeni, ex ANC chief whip in parliament. After being gaoled for fraud, he was released on parole. Two weeks ago he was arrested in Goodwood for drunken driving. Our new minister of health (alcoholic and kleptomaniac) gives new meaning to 'incompetent.'

SA's probably in a bigger crisis than in 1994. Millions are watching this crisis for different reasons: For those who stayed in SA, it'll show they were stupid staying. I get emails from ex South Africans ('have you noticed in the newspaper the last horrific murder / crime?') who secretly hope SA will go down the drain, as justification, I presume, for their emigration sacrifices. We'll see what the future brings: more good life, or renaming SA, 'Titanic?'"

Zuma was elected leader of the ANC, defeating Mbeki.