Брайс Куртенэ - The Power of One

While no more than a quarter of the prisoners were Zulus, they held the highest status in the prison. Work songs were mostly composed in Zulu and it was always a Zulu who called the time and set the working pace. Zulu is a poetic language and while many songs are traditional, the ability to create spontaneous new lyrics to capture a recent incident or pass information on was almost always handled by a Zulu prisoner whose gift for poetry was greatly respected.

Even among the old lags this method of passing on information was used. When a warder spoke an African language in this part of the world it was seldom Zulu, more likely to be Shona, Shangaan or Swazi and even these would only be spoken by warders who came from farms. Townsfolk do not learn an indigenous African language other than Afrikaans and sometimes a language developed for use in the mines, known as Fanagalo, which is a mixture of several African languages as well as Afrikaans and English.

I asked Geel Piet why the word ‘Angel’ was prefaced with the word ‘Tadpole’. At first he seemed not to know, or at least pretended not to, but I understood enough of Zulu naming to know that nothing is accidental and a name is chosen carefully so that it is a good description of status or of some characteristic which unmistakably belongs to the recipient.

For instance, Klipkop did not know that his nickname was ‘Donkey Prick’. This came about from his habit of using a long rubber truncheon which he used with the least excuse. Most warders used their fists on prisoners. Their logic for doing so was quite simple, punishment administered with the fist was unofficial or, as the warders called it, friendly persuasion, while the truncheon was used when reports needed to be made. Klipkop was the exception, as heavyweight champion of the lowveld he had to take good care of his hands, so he took to using the donkey prick for casual punishment. As he was also complaints officer it didn’t much matter. ‘A man like me can’t afford to break a pinkie or something on some stinking black bastard’s kop,’ he would explain defensively, for even outside the prison a man was expected to use his fists on a Kaffir, reserving the sjambok for serious misdemeanours.

I recall walking down a long winding passage in the interior of the prison administration building where half a dozen old lags could always be found on their knees, their kneecaps swathed in polish rags, as they shone an already immaculate corridor floor. Long before we even sighted them I could hear one of them sing out, ‘Work hard and keep your heads down, Donkey Prick is coming,’ and back would come the chorus, ‘Donkey Prick, Donkey Prick.’ As we passed, each prisoner would stop polishing briefly, and bringing his hands together in a gesture of humility would smile and say, ‘Good morning, baas, good morning, small baas.’

Knowing there was some reason for ‘Tadpole’ before ‘Angel’ I persisted in questioning Geel Piet about it. ‘It is like this, small baas. The professor is known as Amasele (the Frog), because he plays his peeano at night when the prison is quiet. To the Zulus the frog makes always the loudest music at night, much louder than the cricket or the owl. So it is simple, you see. You are the small boy of the frog, which makes you a Tadpole.’ It was a perfect piece of Zulu naming logic.

While Geel Piet was growing rich and even seemed to be getting a little pot belly, he had also become indispensable to the boxing squad. He maintained the gym, organised the laundry and even had the blue and yellow boxing singlets and white trunks made in the prison workshop. But most importantly his knowledge of boxing was encyclopaedic and he was a demanding and resourceful coach. The squad kids had been turned into clever boxers, our natural aggression combined with real skill. From the under fifteen division down to the under twelve, the Barberton Blues hadn’t lost a fight in two years.

How I got my first real fight was a matter of sheer luck. The championships in Nelspruit were in early August, only days before my tenth birthday, and I had tried to persuade anyone who would listen that ten was almost eleven and that one year wasn’t much to have to forfeit. But Lieutenant Smit wasn’t the sort of man who changed his mind and nobody, least of all me, was willing to petition him on my behalf. In fact the two under twelves, Snotnose Bronkhorst and Fonnie Kruger, were almost twelve and therefore two years my senior, and being Boer kids were much bigger.

Geel Piet claimed he saw intelligence and speed in me that more than made up for my lack of size. He was a fanatic about footwork. ‘You must learn to box with your feet, small baas. A good boxer is like a dancer, he is still pretty to watch even if you look only at his feet.’ He taught me how to position myself so the full weight of my body was thrown behind a punch, and despite my size and my speed my punches were capable of gaining respect from a bigger opponent. ‘If they do not respect your punch they simply keep going until they knock you down, man. A boxer must have respect.’

I longed to have a real fight against an unknown opponent. In two years I had never missed a day of boxing and I had worked with all my heart and soul for the moment when I could climb into a boxing ring with real people watching and an opponent whose every blow, unlike those of my sparring partners, could not be anticipated.

On the Monday of the week of the championships Snotnose didn’t turn up at the gym. After the session Lieutenant Smit called Geel Piet over and they talked earnestly for quite a time, every so often looking in my direction. Finally Geel Piet came over to me. He was trying hard to keep the smile off his face. ‘Ag man, I’m a heppy man today, small baas. You want to know why?’

‘They going to let you out of jail?’ I said.

He laughed, ‘No, never no more. I’m heppy here, man. I got my own stable of boxers, I got a good scam going. I will die heppy in this place.’

‘What then?’

He bent down so his face was only inches from my own. His breath smelt foul. ‘You got your first fight, man! Small baas, Bronkhorst he is sick with the yellow disease, you got his place.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. Snotnose had jaundice, which had been going around school. I went to hug Geel Piet, but he quickly sidestepped. ‘No, no, small baas, the lieutenant will come over and beat me.’ He grinned. ‘Today this black bastard is too heppy to have his nose busted. Better go over quick, man, and thank the lieutenant. Make quick or maybe he changes his mind, hey?’

I ran over to where Lieutenant Smit was talking to Klipkop and stood and waited. They ignored me for a long time and then the lieutenant said in a brusque voice, ‘What is it, Peekay?’

‘Thank you for the fight, Lieutenant Smit,’ I stammered. ‘I will try my hardest.’

He massaged his knuckles. ‘That won’t be enough, you’re going to get your head knocked in, but it will do you good. Nobody should win their first fight.’ He turned and walked away.

Geel Piet told me to bring my tackies in the next morning so they could be properly cleaned for me to wear at the fight. Using a piece of string he measured my chest and my waist. When I got home after school I told Dee and Dum my tackies should be put next to my school satchel so I wouldn’t forget them, as Geel Piet needed to clean them. Dum got up quietly from where she was sitting on the floor at my feet while I drank a cup of coffee. She returned a few moments later with my tackies. They had been scrubbed and were spotless. ‘Who does this yellow man think he is?’’ she asked. ‘Does he think we let our baas go around in dirty things?’ She and Dee were clearly hurt. I had to go to some lengths to explain that Geel Piet did all the things for the boxers and that now I was one of the squad he would do the same for me. ‘He will not wash your clothes or clean your tackies,’ Dee said. ‘It is a woman’s work and we will look after the clothes of him who belongs to our own kraal,’ Dum added.