Honorary White by E. R. Braithwaite Read Free Book Online Page A

at John, but he refused to meet my eye.
    â€œWhere are you living?” James asked. He had been sitting all the while in a large overstuffed chair which seemed to hold his tiny body captive. In the deepest chair, in the darkest corner of the room, he’d become inconspicuous and now I could see little more than the narrow face. However, I was grateful for his intervention.
    â€œI’m staying at the Landdrost.”
    â€œThat’s the new hotel on Plein Street opposite the park,” John said.
    â€œBob Foster stayed there,” Molefe said.
    â€œDo you plan to write a book about South Africa, after your visit?” Obie asked, smiling his soft smile.
    â€œIt’s very possible.”
    â€œHow do you plan to see the country and the people? Will you just wander around by yourself or will you be shown, officially?”
    â€œWhichever way will help me see what I want to see,” I said. “I was told in New York that the Information Office would give me any help I need. I’d be very grateful if any of you can give me any leads.” Maybe I was missing something here. Could be that these fellows were trying to be helpful, in their own way. What was it Helen Suzman had said about them not trusting me? Maybe that was it. Perhaps they’d learned to be damned careful, even with other Blacks. Well, they had a perfect right to question my motives, but I wished it could have been done in a more friendly manner.
    â€œThe Information Office!” he exclaimed. “So you’ll be given the conducted tour and shown only what they want you to see. The white tour. Then you’ll go back to where you come from and say South Africa’s a lovely place.”
    â€œLook, I’m a stranger here. I don’t know my way around, so I’ll have to depend on someone to tell me things. If you don’t trust the official line, why don’t you help? Why don’t you show me what you think I ought to see?”
    â€œThe Landdrost is a far cry from the way Blacks live in this country,” Kebo chimed in.
    â€œI have no choice but to stay at the Landdrost.”
    â€œWhy don’t we cut the shit and tell our brother what it’s really like to be black in this place. If he’s willing to listen. After all, he’s come to see us, so let’s tell him what it’s like to be treated like shit in the land of his forefathers.” Kebo stood up, looking large and threatening as the light caught the shiny smoothness of his massive forearms. “I read your book, my brother. It hurt you when you couldn’t get the job you wanted, because of your black skin. You think that’s something? Here you won’t even be allowed to apply. Here, no Black would dare raise his ambitions that high. Any job higher than shit carrier is reserved for the white man. By law.”
    Reaching under his caftan into a pocket of his trousers he produced a flat, worn little book and flicked it open before my face.
    â€œThis is what every black man and woman is reduced to in this place. This thing. It governs our lives. Because of it, you’re nothing. Without it, you’re less than nothing. Man, you could leave your country thousands of miles away and come here, just because you wanted to see how we live! All you needed was a visa. We can’t move a single step without this thing, day or night.”
    I wanted to take a closer look at the thing he held under my nose, but thought it unwise to interrupt him. His anger was all the more powerful because it was so controlled.
    â€œListen, brother,” he said, “John got in touch with us today and told us you were in town. We wanted to meet you, to meet a black brother who can come and go as he pleases, write as he pleases, think as he pleases. But when we meet you, we realize how it is possible to live differently from the way we are. We give you some shit because we are angry at the difference between you and us.