Guest editor’s introduction:

“Zukiswa Wanner’s story drops us into an off-kilter, unstable world, and the voice that guides us through—wise, witty and unflinching—refuses to let us look away from the many consequences of racism and colonialism. This is the world that violence creates and at the center is a young girl, Paulina, trying her best to hold on to all that matters. The enormity of what Paulina confronts in a South Africa steadily growing more oppressive for her is what makes ‘Broken Endings, Uncertain Geneses’ so devastating. This is a South Africa where the Dutch and the English have declared war on each other, yet find a common enemy in the indigenous people on whose land they fight. Wanner’s story depicts the brutality of the apartheid system in South Africa, and in its narrative we can hear echoes of the current catastrophe ongoing in Gaza and the West Bank. It was my honor to guest edit ‘Broken Endings, Uncertain Geneses.’” —Maaza Mengiste

—

A month before the end of what correspondents in faraway lands mistakenly called ‘a war.’ But really two European tribes fighting for shiny stones underneath the ground of a land that did not belong to them. There in that land where some of their children and women, and a lot of natives to the lands died. In concentration camps that their ‘civilised’ selves created. A month, then, before these fighting men made ‘peace’ to even the worst detriment of many, Paulina’s Tannie Sallie died. 

Yet another of the many losses for Paulina, which began with the death, or the killing, of her mother. 

When one of Herbert Kitchener’s khakis fatally shot Paulina’s mother for not knowing her place and answering back in defence of her sister, Sallie Kruger. The woman Paulina knew as Tannie Sallie. 

Two sisters. 

One Boer. One African.

The Boeremeisie, the younger. The African, the elder. 

Sisters. 

The African, kidnapped by a Boer man. Raised in an upper middle class Boer family as one of their own and yet not quite, always not quite. 

An oorlamse kaffir. 

A Clever Black. 

Looking like the majority of the people in the land, but meant to uphold the interests of the pale-looking minority because she had been raised as one of them. 

Educated. 

Cultured. 

Would not allow even her ankle to show except to her husband because, was she a trollop? Or walk out of the house without a hat to protect her skin from the punishing African sun. She, who would upbraid her then five year old daughter Paulina and her niece, Elsie, for exhibiting common behavior if they ran in joyous abandon as children are wont to do instead of acting like ‘ladies.’ 

Paulina’s mama: Married off to a Griqua prince because the Boers sought to own part of the lands of the Griqua chief in lands bordering the Orange Free State. Except they gave it a diplomatic term. ‘Alliance.’ Married to the son of a Griqua chief, although if she had been younger and had her own way, she would have preferred that dashing, Cambridge-educated lawyer, Jan Smuts. But it wasn’t to be, and she wasn’t to know that as genteel and courteous as he was, a gentleman like Jan Smuts would never look at her, even if she had been young enough. She was just not the right colour. Too dark.

When Kitchener’s khakis came, Paulina’s mama was with Tannie Sallie, Tannie Sallie’s son, Theunis, and daughter, Elsie and Paulina. 

‘What are you still doing here? Why aren’t you in the camps with everyone else? Busy feeding the enemy?’ the soldier had asked, looking at Tannie Sallie.

Before Tannie Sallie could answer, Paulina’s mother had spat, ‘there is only one enemy we know. You. It’s you who are killing our brothers, sons and fathers because you won’t leave our land. A barbaric race. Go back to England.’

The khaki had been too stunned to say anything at first and that is the only way everyone who was within earshot could explain why he had allowed her to rant until the very end. Stunned because why would this African woman identify herself as a Boer when she was clearly African? The Boers were uncultured Europeans, but among them were a few who spoke English and had some civilisation. But an African who spoke English, identified with the Boer, and dared not to know her place and speak directly to him?

This infuriated him. 

He got red in the face, as Elsie and Paulina, who had been close to Paulina’s mother, moved away clinging to each other, and yelled, ‘you cheeky kaffir. Who do you think you are speaking to me like that? This should silence you.’ Then he fired at her three shots in succession. Her death came quicker because she attempted to refute that she was not a kaffir. But the blood bubbled through her mouth. And she died believing that though they were those who were mistaken when they saw her (and her daughter) and assumed she was a kaffir, she was not. To her, kaffirness was more than skin deep. It was in the mind.

There was a quick burial of Paulina’s mama under the sole lemon tree in the orchard, with Kitchener’s khaki’s as witnesses. Then the four survivors, like cattle into a kraal at sunset, except this was still morning, cloudy, but morning nonetheless, had been herded to one of the Boer concentration camps. 

As they left the farm, Tannie Sallie held the children’s heads so that they wouldn’t look back to see the farm that the khakis were burning. They may have been young but they knew. They could hear the crackling of the dry grass in the background, could feel the heat as they walked towards the concentration camp. 

On arrival after a day’s march, bringing Paulina into the camp was contentious. 

‘That little girl will have to go elsewhere,’ one of the guards had said while using his gun to point at Paulina. 

Paulina looked at the gun and wondered whether she too, like her mother, would get shot. She looked down, wanting to shrink, to disappear so she wouldn’t get killed. 

‘No she won’t. Where would you have her go?’ Tannie Sallie had answered.

The guard had seemed surprised to hear Tannie Sallie speak English. And not just any English. The English of the educated, unlike his own. She could teach English to the English, the way she spoke it.

He had tipped his hat, ‘I can’t really say ma’am and I am sorry but…’

Before he could finish, her Tannie Sallie had stood straighter and answered the guard, this time speaking through her teeth, ‘my niece is staying with me.’

He looked perplexed. ‘Your niece?’

‘Yes, my sister’s child. My niece.’ Then, turning to Paulina, instructed, ‘Paulina, curtsey and say “good day” to the gentleman.’

Paulina had let go of Elsie’s hand and mumbled, ‘good day, sir,’ although everyone standing by that gate knew that there was nothing good about the day. They were about to go into a camp and  looking up at the sky, the pregnant clouds that had been released as they walked had regathered. It looked like it was about to rain again. 

The guard had shrugged his shoulders, ‘if you say she’s your niece I guess you can go in.’

They had gone in and found themselves sharing a tent with a Mrs Marais and her five children all under ten. And it was because they shared a tent with her and her constant mean comments to Paulina that Tannie Sallie took to going to the river with the children. Here, they would play games, wash the clothes they had and wash themselves with Bushman’s soap, a plant that Tannie Sallie said they used to play with but which now became a necessity given the absence of some necessities for their ablutions. 

It was here that Paulina, previously shy around Theunis (who was four years older than she and Elsie), warmed up to him. It was here too that she showed them a grass to wade away hunger in the absence of sufficient rations from their jailers. The modicum of freedom at the river earned them opprobrium from Mrs Marais every evening when they returned to the tent. ‘You think you are better than us? A sellout. Speaking English instead of Dutch like normal people,’ she would mumble loudly enough for them to hear. 

Tannie Sallie told the children to ignore her. She would get tired.

Except, Mrs Marais did not tire. But only served to make Paulina dislike her more.

And then a second loss.

Dysentery.

That’s what had killed Elsie five months after they entered the camp. There were a lot of ways that she could have got it in that filthy place. It did not stop Mrs Marais from gloating though. 

‘A ha. The clean English who wash themselves every day and speak through the nose fwee fwoo fwuuh are dying of our own common diseases?’ This time she did not whisper. Perhaps expecting Tannie Sallie to keep quiet as usual. What happened next was unexpected. 

Tannie Sallie walked up to her and klaaped her. Mrs Marais returned fire by punching her in the stomach. Tannie Sallie clutched her stomach and fell and Mrs Marais followed her fall by pushing her back and sitting on her. Seeing what was happening to her beloved tannie, Paulina had jumped on Mrs Marais’s back and bit her shoulder just as she was about to punch Tannie Sallie. For some reason on this day, Mrs Marais’ children had not been around because Paulina believed afterwards that she, Paulina and her Tannie Sallie, would have been moered. 

Mrs Marais then howled and stood up in an attempt to dislodge Paulina, but Paulina would not let go of her shoulder and had her small legs clamped around the older woman’s bust. 

Mrs Marais ran out of the tent screaming and it took three guards to remove Paulina from her shoulder. 

For many in the camp, the story of Paulina biting on tight to Mrs Marais’ shoulder served some laughter every now and again in this place of death. Because, what type of mother was Mrs Marais if she could laugh at another mother for losing a child, they asked? 

And over at the river when it appeared as though Tannie Sallie was looking sad, Paulina and Theunis’ bond became stronger as Theunis would give Paulina piggyback rides and they would enact the incident with Mrs Marais. It never failed to ensure that Tannie Sallie would laugh, so as not to cry for her last child, buried in a concentration camp.

And then a month before the end of the war of two European tribes in the southernmost geographical place on the African continent, Paulina had one more loss. She was six when her Tannie Sallie died. 

Tuberculosis.

It started with complaints of having the chills. 

It was getting to winter. Everyone had the chills. 

Then there was the weight loss. 

No-one noticed. Everyone was hungry and all were losing weight. 

It was when she started refusing to go with Paulina and Theunis to the river and complaining of tiredness that the children began to worry. 

Theunis went to tell the khakis, while Paulina remained behind holding her Tannie Sallie’s hand. Mrs Marais smirked every time she saw the other woman she shared the tent with groaning and coughing. 

When the medics came, they immediately worried about everyone else who had been in the tent. 

Tannie Sallie had to be quarantined. 

Despite their attempts at dislodging Paulina from her side, Paulina refused to go. And Sallie too, held on to her hand. In the end they decided, if the little native mite wanted to die too, they couldn’t be bothered. There was not enough food in the camp for everyone anyway. The boy, Theunis, was more reasonable and agreed to stay behind. 

The medics changed how they felt about Paulina once they got to the infirmary. 

In those final days of Sallie Kruger’s life, the medics seemed to see the young African girl they had chosen to ignore for all the months she had been in the camp, save for when they dislodged her from the shoulder of that angry Mrs Marais.

Only a rock would have failed to be touched by the mutual devotion between Paulina and her Tannie Sallie. 

They gave her something to cover her face. She was surprised but then decided since they were all wearing it when inside, maybe she should wear it too. The medics on their part hoped that if she had not already been affected, this would save her from the bacteria. It certainly would not do for the British Army to be reported for deliberately exposing a child to illness, even if it was just a black child. They were a moral army. And there was bound to be some do-gooder Emily Hobhouse type who would make a noise about it. 

‘Loyal little puppy. Watching them is heartbreaking,’ one of them commented. 

‘The affection of the little munt is adorable. She’s pretty cute for one of them,’ another responded. 

‘And she is a clever and polite little thing. She speaks English very well,’ the first replied.

It was the first time that Paulina was hearing kind words spoken about her in the camp, beyond her family circle. Even if, in adulthood, she would sometimes wonder whether there would have been any kindness if she did not speak English very well.

The first time they offered her tea and biscuits, she responded politely, ‘no thank you.’ 

So certain was Paulina that this offer was being made to taunt her, and then it would be withdrawn. She could not deal with cruelty right now. Coupled with her Tannie Sallie being ill, her mama and Elsie’s death and everything that had happened in this camp, her little mind was so sure that more cruelty would kill her. 

‘Come on now, have some. Try,’ the medic who offered her insisted. 

She looked at him. Really looked at him. He had kind eyes.

Maybe…maybe he really meant it?

So she took the biscuits and the tea offered, removing the cloth covering her face to eat.

The tea was not rooibos but it had milk and was sweet and she held the metal cup with both hands briefly to warm herself. 

‘I am Captain Peter Winterbottom,’ he said to Paulina. ‘And what is your name?’

Paulina giggled and covered her mouth.

He smiled kindly. ‘Yes. Yes. That’s really my last name. Winterbottom. But you can call me Peter so that you don’t laugh every time you call my name.’

When she finished giggling she said shyly, ‘Paulina.’

And an unlikely friendship in an infirmary was born.

Paulina felt terrible that she had forgotten to share her biscuits with Theunis. How could she forget Theunis? If Captain Winter…(she giggled again to herself), Peter gave her more, she would make sure she saved some for Theunis.

As it was, she got more again.

Peter and the other medics shared their rations with her.

And she, in turn, would share whatever she got with Theunis whenever she took breaks from her Tannie Sallie’s side to walk to the river for her ablutions. She could not recall whether she had ever tasted chocolate before then. But Theunis assured her that they had eaten chocolate before the war. ‘You were too young though.’

Back in the infirmary, Paulina would speak to Sallie as she held her hand. She felt that if they kept on having conversations, she would be able to keep death at bay and her Tannie Sallie would be with her fully and they would go walking again. 

‘Tannie Sallie, what does oorlamse mean?’ she asked one day, hoping to distract Sallie from whatever pains she was going through.

‘My liefe, ask the medics for a small piece of paper and a pencil,’ Sallie said amid coughs.

Paulina rushed to Peter who was on duty, ‘Please Mr Peter. May I get some paper and a pencil?’

He thought she wanted to draw or undertake some childhood pursuit. So he gave her the whole book.

She was happy to have it and took it back to her Tannie Sallie.

Then in a raspy voice Sallie spoke, ‘write this down on a very small piece of paper.’ Paulina did as instructed and proceeded to take down the information. When Paulina was done writing, Sallie requested that she tie the paper in plastic and place it in the locket that she had given her some time ago.

‘Never ever let anyone near that locket until you are grown and you can share the information with Theunis, promise?’

Paulina nodded solemnly, ‘I promise Tannie Sallie.’

Then Tannie Sallie continued still as earnestly, ‘Your ma was my very own sister, Paulina. Had  she not been at the farm that day, she may still be alive,’ then she coughed for a while before continuing, ‘you and Theunis must look after each other with…’ then she coughed some more. She appeared to have more to say but she never said it. She died that very hour. And with her, the answer to the question on what an oorlamse was. An answer that Paulina would only get answered much later from powerful people who had decided to call her land their own.

Sobbing, Paulina went to find Theunis.

Paulina’s Tannie Sallie, known as “mama” to Theunis, and “Sallie Kruger” to the English officials of the concentration camp, was buried that same day. 

How the children survived, Paulina who had been most exposed to the tuberculosis bacteria in particular, remained a mystery to the khakis.

The medics, feeling kind, took in the two children that Sallie left behind. No one could blame young Theunis Kruger for his misguided parents. And besides, Peter Winterbottom justified to the others, here now was a chance to civilize a young Boer mind in the great British tradition. He could be the next Jan Smuts, just less misguided.  

In the last week of June, some good news came. 

The war, named after the English and the Boers though it had taken just as many African lives, ended. The war, that, when started on 11 October 1899 had been expected by the British public to end by Christmas of the same year, but ended with thousands of deaths for the British, the Boer and the Africans who were collateral damage of a European tribal war in Africa. A war over which of the two European tribes would control the shiny gold stones under the ground on the southernmost African tip of the continent.

Two men, one African and another British, rode into the camp on their horses. 

The white one, a khaki. 

They got off their horses. 

The British staff at the camp all stood to attention. 

After saluting the man in charge of the camp, the white man who had just arrived instructed, ‘gather all the families here, captain. I have an important announcement to make.’ 

Captain Winterbottom saluted smartly and did as instructed. As he gave orders, Theunis whispered to Paulina, ‘I guess he is now the khaki-in-charge.’ Paulina giggled.

It was mid-morning. Most of the camp residents who had survived the war and were not in the dispensary were either performing their ablutions or eating their meagre rations. 

Paulina and Theunis were the lucky ones. Courtesy of Peter, they had eaten a decent breakfast of oats, porridge, and some tea. English tea, Peter called it. Both Paulina and Theunis didn’t know whether there were any tea plantations in England but they were happy to get the tea with powdered milk and sugar. 

The residents grumbled as they made their way to the only open place that could be found near this crowded camp. Outside the gate. What did the khakis want with them now?

When all the residents were gathered, the man who had just arrived spoke. 

‘Good morning,” the khaki-in-charge spoke. ‘My name is Colonel Barrett.’ 

‘Goeie more,’ the native man translated. ‘Sy naam is Colonel Barrett.’

Colonel Barrett continued. ‘I am here to let you know that the war between the Englishmen and the Dutchmen has ended.’ The native man translated again.

There was mumbling from his audience. 

Could it be true that the war had ended? And what did it mean for them? Since an Englishman was communicating to them, did it mean they would now be under the governance of the English? But they couldn’t continue with their chatter. 

Colonel Barrett put up his hands to silence them. He would answer all the questions they had, he told them. But first, they needed to listen to the terms of the peace treaty.

The peace treaty had been signed in Pretoria on May 31st, he told the gathered crowd, with the South African Republic and the Orange Free State on one side and the United Kingdom on the other.

To impress upon the residents of the camp that the war was really over, Colonel Barrett felt it important to mention who had signed the document. 

‘For the United Kingdom, the treaty was signed by His Excellency, Lord Milner and the High Commissioner, Field Marshall Horatio Herbert Kitchener…’ 

The crowd did not give the native man a chance to translate. There were already loud boos at the mention of Kitchener’s name. How could their Generals have smoked a peace pipe with the man who had put so many of them in these camps? 

Colonel Barrett yelled for silence. The khakis pointed their guns at the crowd. The crowd cowered. He read out the names of those who signed the treaty.

‘For the Government of the South African Republic, Mr Schalk Burger, Mr F.W. Reitz, Mr Louis Botha, Mr L.J. Meyer, Mr J.C. Krogh and Mr J.H. de la Rey.’

There were murmurs from everyone gathered. There was now no hope that de la Rey would come and rescue them. 

There was a smirk of satisfaction from the native man. 

But seeing the guns, they shushed each other.

‘And for the Orange Free State, Mr C.R. de Wet, Mr. C.H.Olivier, W.C.J. Bebner and Mr J.B.M. Hertzog.’

A woman near Paulina and Theunis spoke loudly, ‘This means we lost the war. More of our Generals were summoned to sign that treaty and among them, the brave de la Rey. And this man doesn’t even call them Generals. He calls them Mister.’

The African man whispered to the Khaki-in-Charge who turned to her as though she could understand English. ‘Let it be known that there are no winners and no losers in this war. We are one people. We will work hand in hand to make this land a better place for all of us. Englishmen and Dutchmen. All of us.’

No one will ever know whether Paulina’s loud coughing bout was a result of the last statement or whether she genuinely was feeling unwell. Theunis patted her on the back until she stopped coughing. 

After she stopped coughing, the native man did not immediately translate. The Colonel paused and looked at him and then the translation came. They did not miss it that he added Asian and Africans in his translation. 

The residents of the camp were given the terms of the treaty that Colonel Barrett felt were relevant to them and not the full twelve commandments. 

They had to swear allegiance to the British Crown. 

Loud boos. 

[Guns pointed. Silence.]

There would be no death penalties dealt out and there would be a general amnesty.

[Cheers until the crowd silenced themselves.]

The use of Dutch would be allowed in schools and courts.

[Louder cheers.]

Eventual self-government of South African Republic and Orange Free State.

[Sighs. Whispers. What would this entail?]

No discussion of native rights until self-government had been given.

[Here the translator seemed to hesitate with the translation. But then bravely went on resulting in cheers. They really hate us, Paulina thought.]

Boers would get three million pounds for reconstruction.

[Loud cheers.]

But the Colonel did not have the money with him then.

[Grunts.]

Property rights of Boers would be respected.

[Whispers. What property? They destroyed our property before herding us into camps.]

No land taxes would be introduced.

[Cheers on one side. Whispers of ‘you salted our land’ from others.]

Registered private guns would be allowed.

[Muted cheers. De la Rey was still alive. Maybe he could still lead them to true freedom.]

Then the speech continued to its conclusive end: ‘You are now free to leave the camp. May the good Lord bless you all and look after you on your journey back to your homes.’

Paulina did not know where her father or her brothers were. She had not heard from them since months before they got to the camp. She knew they existed or had existed only from chatting to Theunis. The only people she still remembered were Elsie, her playmate and Theunis’ sister, Theunis, her mother and Tannie Sallie. And memories of them were fast fading. 

She held on to her necklace with the locket and remembered the words of Tannie Sallie. She would never allow anyone to take it from her. And whatever happened, the message in the locket would, one day when they were old enough, be enough to buy her and Theunis freedom, in whatever way they wanted it. But she was never to share the message in the locket with anyone except Theunis when they were much much much much older. 

She wished she could tell him now that in the locket were directions to the farm where her mother was buried under the lemon tree. Directions to buried treasure. But she had promised Tannie Sallie that she would not and she was a solemn little thing, Paulina.

They went back to Peter but he too seemed to be packing up. 

They had no-one. 

Where would Theunis and she go?

It was then that two men came to where the two children stood with Peter. The Colonel and The Translator. They pulled Peter aside and talked to him for a long while. The children couldn’t hear what they said but they knew they were the subject of discussion. Or at least Peter was talking about them. He kept pointing to them as he spoke in a seemingly passionate manner. 

Then the adults returned to the children. 

‘Wat is jou naam?’  The Translator asked. 

Theunis answered for both of them, ‘My naam is Theunis en dit is Paulina.”

The two of them chatted to each other for a bit and then they informed the children that they would go with each of them. 

‘She is four years older than Sainty and he is younger than your daughter. It will be perfect.’

The Translator spoke in English, little did he know the children understood the language.

But then Paulina answered, ‘But I want to go with Theunis.’

‘You speak English?’ he said, smiling.

‘Of course we do. We are not stupid.’ Theunis answered. 

Paulina wished Theunis would have let her answer for herself. That’s exactly what she would have said. 

He knelt down and explained, ‘it would be difficult. You can’t stay together. You do not look the same.’

She knew she was different.

Many in the camp had never tried to hide their distaste at her difference to them.

But the war had ended. Surely that didn’t matter? 

It appeared it did. 

‘Look. We will keep in touch regularly so you know how Theunis is doing and so that he knows how you are doing and when you can write, you will write him yourself.’

‘I can write,’ she answered him indignantly. 

‘Clever girl,’ he said, smiling his approval. 

‘I think we are done here Colonel. You get the boy on your horse and I get the girl and we go?’

The Colonel nodded his head.

‘Wait,’ Theunis spoke, making the older men stop in their tracks. ‘We don’t even know your names. How will I know how to get Paulina?’

The Colonel slapped his forehead and smiled. 

‘I am David and this. This is Solomon,’ he answered.

Then Solomon added, ‘Colonel David Barrett and I, I am Solomon Plaatje. Not Colonel. You can call me Uncle Sol.’

A month after her Tannie Sallie died, little Paulina left a concentration camp with a stranger. She hoped he would not stop her from writing to Theunis. Because Theunis, too, needed to learn of the freedom in the locket that Tannie Sallie had promised. In a cursed land at the end of a European tribal war in Africa, there was freedom in a locket for the two children. Or so one of them believed.