Open Writing

The gilt-framed mirror hung at the end of reception area. Put there to reflect anybody approaching the security gate, it also created an illusion of space in the narrow room. Staff, and especially the lady owner, loved to take a quick peep into its depths every time they passed, and it had become a focal point of the downstairs office.

“Tandi, come here!” the imperious voice called. Leaving the filing, Tandi hastily moved towards the inner office. Hereere Herh Moira - the boss - reigned. Although it would have been more sensible for her to have an upstairs office where there was air-conditioning and less noise, she preferred to be downstairs where she could listen to the staff and keep an eye on everything that went on.

“I thought I told you to clean and polish this mirror every morning?” the harsh questioning began. “Why don’t you do as you are told, girl - you know perfectly well what your duties are, and also how I demand the highest standards of behaviour and efficiency at all times”.

“Yes, Mrs Crabbe - I mean Moira,” the young black girl stammered, obviously terrified and dreading yet another confrontation. Relenting slightly, Moira continued, “Well, if I catch you forgetting again, I’ll have something to say, but in the meantime, you can bring my tea. Set a tray as I showed you, and be quick about it”.

When the tea arrived her sudden flash of ill-humour seemed forgotten, and it was not long before she was engaged in conversation with the young girl. One of Moira’s failings was the need to impress, and she took every opportunity to indulge herself. It was not long before she was regaling Tandi with a detailed description of the charming and exclusive complex where she lived. With her usual insensitivity she presumed the subject was as interesting for the black girl as it was for her.

Tiptoeing a delicate line, she described it to her black listener. It must be grand enough to impress the girl and give status but she must be careful not to make it sound so good that the blacks would consider it a suitable area where they could live. Couldn’t have anything like that … blackies living in a luxury white complex, whatever next!

A detailed description followed, ending with …”lots of lovely trees, and 24-hour security, especially important near an area occupied by blacks, don’t you think, Tandi? Free electricity and water” Moira boastfully continued, not waiting for an answer. “But of course, with your wonderful government, you blackies get that anyway, don’t you?”

Ignoring the insensitive question, the girl interjected “And you can grow vegetables in your garden?”

“Oh, no,” (visions of township gardens flitting through her mind) …drooping plants, diligently kept alive with a water filled plastic bag pinched between finger and thumb; the careful dripping of a few scarce drops of used washing up water onto each shrivelled leaf …“the garden’s too small, only a few flowers”. Never do to admit to the luxurious plants flourishing in assiduously fertilised soil; the hours of work by the well paid gardener, or the large expenditure every three to four months to keep it looking good.

“But, who lives with you?” Tandi persisted. “Your sister, or your brother? Or maybe your sister and her children?” basing her questioning on the usual family structure of black families. Overcrowded rooms, forced sharing of toilet and washing facilities, pooled finances and shared labour.

To Tandi it was inconceivable that one old woman either could afford to, or even worse, should wish to live entirely on her own without friend, family or impoverished kin moving in to ‘help’. To live with her and share directly and indirectly in the largesse that the whites took so much for granted and which to the blacks was an unattainable luxury, whilst offering in exchange nothing but their company and assistance in the daily tasks, was something which Tandi felt would be worth the veiled insults and insensitivity of her employer.

Working towards a suggestion that Moira might wish her to come to live with her as a ‘helper’, Tandi then asked “You’ve got a spaza shop nearby, just on the corner perhaps?” basing her question on her experience of township life. “No, dear, of course not” with a shake of the expensively coiffed grey head, “I always shop at Thrupps in Illovo, or if I’m in a hurry I just pop into Woollies, their stuff is always nice and fresh”.

Continuing with her lesson on how to spend your money with ease she resumed. “Of course, it’s easy to just phone and order on-line. That’s what I do if I’ve got a really big order, it saves having to walk up and down those horrible aisles pushing a trolley, and the bore of unloading the goods”.

“On-line shopping is all the rage at the moment, you know. All my friends are doing it, their kids have taught them how to use the Internet and e-mail and now they all have their own computers. With children or grandchildren overseas, a computer’s become an absolute necessity, same as a car these days. Grocery shopping as well as nearly everything else can be bought on-line; bit expensive, of course, but it’s so easy, you must learn to do it yourself … saves loads of time!”

Seeing the bemused expression on the young girl’s face, and realising that perhaps her remarks carried little meaning for Tandi who had so little, especially considering the pittance she was paid, Moira stopped her chatter and dusted her lips. “Yes, you can take it away now” she said, as Tandi gathered up the delicate cup and saucer and carried away the daintily laid tray. Turning back to the girl she ended vaguely “If there’s anything I can do to help you …” not wanting to commit herself. Tandi so evidently needed everything that Moira took so much for granted, but which she had absolutely no intention of helping her acquire.

Walking towards the small kitchen Tandi gave up any thoughts of inching her way into Moira’s affections and bettering herself or living in more comfortable circumstances. Moira was far too shrewd to allow anybody to get anything for nothing, she made certain that she squeezed every drop of work from her abject slaves, making their lives an absolute misery until she felt she had received everything that was her due.

Meanwhile, straightening her skirt and walking towards the gilded mirror, Moira regarded herself approvingly. “Never a good idea to get too involved with these people, give them an inch and they took a mile, everybody knew that,” she mused, smoothing an eyebrow and tweaking a curl into place. “Not too bad for sixty-eight” she thought “still able to give those young ones a run for their money when it comes to a pretty figure and nice legs”.

But if she didn’t hurry, she would be late for her lunch date at the country club. The girl would just have to manage on her own until she got back to the office, although any mistakes and she would be in for the high jump - no mistake about that.

“After all charity begins at home, doesn’t it?” she thought, popping another expensive handmade chocolate into her delicately rouged mouth whilst searching for her French lipstick in the handmade crocodile handbag. A sudden thought struck her. “And don’t forget to save those soap scraps in the cloakroom” she shouted as she walked briskly to the door, “I don’t want you using them for yourself, you know, we mustn’t waste anything. They can always be boiled down and reused for the others in the factory!”

Then she made a mental note to call in at the parfumiers to buy more of that imported toilet water and matching soap. She always loved to give her guests the very best, and that French perfume was subtle yet distinctive, no mistaking where it came from, her guests would be sure to recognise it!

* * *

For any reader who does not know:

* "mokhukhu" is a tin shanty,
* a "Spaza Shop" is a all-purpose shop found in the townships. They are usually tiny, with a barred window through which transactions take place, and they keep small stocks of nearly everything the township dwellers are likely to need - candles, paraffin, sugar, bread, sweets, cigarettes, mealie meal and so on - nothing expensive, and nothing luxurious.
* "Thrupps": Johannesburg's most expensive grocers, stocking an enormous range of imported and local goods of the very best quality, including many luxury items not seen in other food stores.
* Gogo: the generic name for “grandmother”. Used as a term of endearment and respect. On occasions though, it can be a term of contempt, carrying an underlay of disgust for the over-privileged, lazy, incapable white women who cannot look after themselves, and who demand service from those they still so obviously consider their social inferiors.
* “Woollies” slang name for the countrywide chain of stores, the South African equivalent of Marks & Spencer which stocks an upmarket range of very good quality food, clothing and homeware.