Jackal's Dance by Beverley Harper Read Free Book Online

the minority and the family had been moved around a fair bit before he secured his current position in Pretoria with the African National Congress-dominated Ministry for the Interior. Kalila had always dreamed of going to university. She was bright, motivated and interested in biology. Her father, a traditional Zulu, believed it a waste of time. His daughter would marry, raise children and live in the new South Africa as an equal. But ever more preoccupied with his political responsibilities, and since Kalila showed no sign of giving up her ambition, he relented and she was accepted into a Bachelor of Science program at Wits University.
    She had a regular boyfriend who was studying to qualify as a doctor. Also Zulu, and from a prominent family, their parents hoped that the twowould marry. Maybe they would, but not yet. Kalila’s boyfriend encouraged her to pursue her studies. At the moment there was no room in either of their lives for a family.
    Kalila had been offered a place, which she refused, at the University of Zululand. She believed it was important to do well in an institution which had, up until fairly recently, been for exclusive use of the country’s ruling minority.
    This field trip was the first time in her life that Kalila had been the only African in the company of whites for any length of time. The experience was eye-opening.
    Professor Kruger was okay. Any criticism he made of her was made in equal amounts of the others. She’d looked carefully for signs that colour singled her out but found none. The team’s leader appeared to notice nothing outside his specialised field of academic interests.
    Fletch, aside from his pathetic excuse about why her tea was always delivered last, treated her as an equal. Well, she wasn’t. Her father was a chief. His grew grapes. They were poles apart. If a Zulu commoner approached his chief, or any of the first family for that matter, with such easy familiarity, he’d quickly be put in his place.
    Megan, too, insulted Kalila by assuming the same status. Okay, her father had been a doctor. That gave him an elevated status in Zulu eyes. But Megan was deformed, therefore inferior. That was the Zulu way. You’d think the girl would know. She was, after all, from Durban, the capital of KwaZuluNatal. Typical white arrogance. Or was it ignorance? It didn’t matter – Megan should have known.
    As for Troy and his stupid comments: ‘Hey, Kalila, is that a food store you’ve got behind you or is it something to hang onto?’ She’d joined in the nervous laughter of those who heard the near racist, definitely sexist remark, but inside, Kalila seethed. She’d been present when Troy made an unfortunate reference to Josie about
Kugels
but, without doubt, his insult over the size of her bottom was far worse.
    Josie had reacted with anger. Kalila with polite, although false, appreciation. Just one of the confusing differences between black and white. The Jewish girl, because she’d been singled out by Troy for her faith, was one Kalila thought she might befriend. But Josie remained distant. Kalila assumed it was because she didn’t like Africans.
    Angela seemed friendly enough with everyone, except Troy. There was something else though, which Kalila couldn’t quite put a finger on. Playacting perhaps, as though the surface was no reflection of her true self. The Zulu wrote Angela off as two-faced.
    So Kalila kept herself aloof and, as a result, was considered to be unfriendly. The others treated her with wary politeness. They knew her father was a politician and black politicians in the new South Africa were generally mistrusted. She was well aware of this attitude, due possibly to resentment, though the country’s Truth and ReconciliationCommission had proved that the previous powers were no different.
    Leaving her tent, Kalila zipped it shut and walked towards the fire, ready for another day of simmering