Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

“I know,” retorted Ruffin, “but exactly where in Africa, and what can we expect to find here other than a bunch of angry elephants?”

“We are in the Republic of South Africa,” said Captain Nordstrom. Then, after a slight hesitation, he elaborated: “The province in which we find ourselves is called KwaZulu Natal.”

KwaZulu Natal! Wilson Hardy, Jr., who up to that point had been dutifully recording the minutes in his own makeshift shorthand, looked up from his notepad. The announcement evoked in him a thrill of excitement and apprehension. The word “Zulu” is the embodiment of heroic ferocity, the incarnation of Africa’s bold resistance to colonial adventurers. KwaZulu, he knew from a lecture he had heard on shipboard, meant home of the Zulus, whereas Natal was the Portuguese word for Christmas, a name selected by Vasco da Gama when he sighted this coast on Christmas Day in 1497—512 years before the fateful Christmas just past. And, from the part of the lecture that dealt with modern South Africa, Wilson had learned that this was the area where disorder and violence had reigned just half a generation earlier, during the transition to a new government after the end of apartheid.

For excitement, mystery, and symbolic implication—along with the hint of new dangers—the fates could hardly have made a more fanciful choice.

“Who do you propose for this exploration team?” asked John Hertzler, a blue-jeaned computer genius from Seattle. He had been included on the Council at Dr. Hardy’s suggestion not only because of his technical brilliance, but because he had been the designated representative of Bill Gates and the other financial sponsors of the trip. Even in death, Hardy thought, they deserved to have a voice.

Nordstrom had a ready answer. There were several South African engineers on board and the captain had recruited two of them for the scouting party. They were fluent in Afrikaans, one of the official languages of the nation, and familiar with the territory to be explored. One of them was also conversant in Zulu. The expedition was to be led by the senior deck officer, Carl Gustafsson, accompanied by the security officer, two of his masters at arms, and six seamen. In addition, Hardy had asked two prominent agricultural engineers to go along, as well as a half dozen specialists in mining, construction, manufacturing, and metallurgy. “Of course, our first interest is food,” he said to the assembled Council. “But assuming we find a world in which we can live, we will quickly want to make it as comfortable a world as possible.”

There was general agreement with the plan, and with the composition of the scouting party. So Nordstrom turned to the next item on the hurriedly prepared agenda, a discussion of governance. Wilson Hardy, Jr., who had scribbled down the details of the expedition plan as best he could, expected a debate about political organization, chains of command, lines of authority, or possibly a constitutional convention… but this was not to be.

Again it was Hertzler who interjected his opinion. “Governance be damned,” he said emphatically. “As we say in Seattle, let’s not waste time allocating parking places in the company lot. The product comes first.” He had the group’s attention. “We’ve got to provide our people with food and shelter, a feeling of security, and expectations of improved living conditions. Later, if we draw up a political plan—a rational plan—everybody will be with us, and administration will take care of itself. On the other hand, if we begin by debating bureaucracy and fail to hold out hope for material progress, people will lose faith in the future and discontent will breed chaos. We’ll be in Lord of the Flies territory. So let’s talk facts and figures. Where exactly are we—to reiterate the previous question—and what do we have to work with? I mean physically, not philosophically. Let’s be engineers today. We can be Thomas Jefferson tomorrow.”

A murmur of agreement and smattering of applause came from the engineers in the council. This was an approach to the politics of survival that they could endorse: Let’s get to it, not the talking, but the real work. Let’s consider what materials are available to us and how we can put them to use.

The secretary, Wilson Junior, had an almost irresistible impulse to speak up. This strategy struck him as somewhat simplistic. Who says that good technology is an adequate safeguard against bad government? Well, he considered, I’m simply the scribe for this gathering of sages. He picked up his pencil, and kept his mouth shut.

His father, having anticipated that the group would be eager to assess the area’s resources, was prepared to address Hertzler’s challenge. With Nordstrom’s consent, he had asked two of the native South African engineers to make themselves available. They were Pieter Kemm of the Richards Bay Minerals Company and Kelvin Marshall of Sasol Limited. These men had originally been invited to join the seminar not only because of their personal talents, but also because of the unique technologies in which their respective companies were engaged. The Council would learn more about those technologies presently, but for now Hardy called upon the men to provide a general overview of the survivors’ new surroundings.

Both Kemm and Marshall had been traveling with their wives and children, and so, like most of the passenger group, were spared the ultimate calamity of losing those dearest to them. Still, they found it difficult to look out at their devastated homeland at the same time that they were trying to describe it. They carried on, however, and their spirits seemed to lift as the session progressed.

“Look at this nation of ours,” Kemm said, pointing to a map that hung from a makeshift easel of tree branches lashed together with nautical ropes. He was a slim, youngish-looking man of average height with red hair, and he paced back and forth as he spoke. “Let me tell you about it. We cover the bottom of the African continent, reaching from our westernmost point—where the Orange River flows into the Atlantic Ocean forming our border with Namibia—to where we are now, almost fifteen hundred kilometers—more than nine hundred miles—directly to the east, on the shore of the Indian Ocean. It’s about the same distance from the Cape on the south to the farthest point in the north, where we abut Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Mozambique.

“You may have heard that this land is blessed with natural resources, and it is. But believe me, these resources are not uniformly distributed. Far from it. Two thirds of the country, running from the Atlantic coast inland, is either desert or semidesert. This bleak landscape is largely caused by the cold Benguela Current that runs north along the Atlantic shore. Near Cape Town, where the Atlantic meets the Indian Ocean, there is a narrow coastal area that has what we call a Mediterranean climate, with hot and dry summers and cool and wet winters. But the truly fertile part of the country, fa vored by ample rain—thanks to the warm, south-flowing Agulhas Current of the Indian Ocean—is along the east coast, and that is exactly where we find ourselves today. This coastal strip, which is fairly narrow, and runs inland only twenty to fifty kilometers before the land begins to rise, has a humid, subtropical climate. The soil will support many types of vegetation, and much of the area was committed to growing citrus produce, bananas and various tropical fruits, eucalyptus, and most of all, sugar cane, of which more than two million tons per year were produced, half of it for export. We sure as hell won’t have use for all that cane; but it’s good to know that we can cultivate many different crops in these conditions.

“When I was a boy, living in Durban, just down the coast from where we are now, we would raise avocados, mangos, guavas, pineapples, whatever, merely by scraping the ground and then putting the seed or pineapple cutting in the hole. In no time we would have a plant. In other words, we can grow food here without fancy irrigation systems, or fertilizers, or sophisticated agricultural techniques. You have to admit that’s an advantage. All great civilizations are born where crops can be grown readily. I don’t say that this coastal strip is paradise. During much of the year, it is hot and uncomfortably muggy. Farther north along the coast—closer to the equator—malaria can be a problem. Although maybe the recent events have disconcerted the mosquitoes. That would be nice. Taking it all together, however, it’s my opinion that if one is going to be shipwrecked, this is a pretty good shore on which to set up housekeeping.”