Sinterklaas

As I mentioned previously, the hospitality at our Mokopane guesthouse was outstanding. The place is owned by a tall, retired Afrikaner with a white-brimmed knit hat and wispy white chin beard whom Bill almost immediately dubbed "Sinterklaas." The resemblance is certainly there, though neither the beard nor the gut is as robust. And the real Sinterklaas doesn't wear sweat pants and Crocs, I am told.

Sinterklaas is a self-described "Bushvelder," meaning he is originally from the area around Mokopane in what is now officially called the Limpopo Province in northern South Africa (formerly the Northern Province). The guesthouse represents an investment he made a few years ago after retiring from his career as an accountant in the mining industry and convincing his wife to move with him from Johannesburg to Potgietersrus. Sinterklaas says he needs the extra income because his pension is "modest." Moreover, he likes people and figured the guesthouse would be a perfect way to meet them. He really does seem to take a personal interest in all of his guests, taking it upon himself to wake up at all hours to check in late arrivals and personally cook breakfast for early risers.

Sinterklaas gave us a peak into old-school South Africa. As I'm sure is common in his cohort, he continues to use the Afrikaans place names: he lives in Potgietersrus and took us to the game in Pietersburg. The very cold weather was not what he is used to, so he drank hot coffee while waiting for us at the game in a Pietersburg coffee shop. On the way home, when another driver swerved in front of our van on the highway, Sinterklaas half-jokingly lashed out at "another baboon with a license." Awkward, nervous laughter. Upon arriving back at the guest house, he invited us to join him for late night sips from his beloved Sedgwick's Old Brown Sherry--which he had been talking up ever since we'd arrived. When she visits, his daughter supplies him with refills from the Eastern Cape Province.
Over sherry, we asked him whether or not he had traveled much outside of South Africa. He told us that, "officially," no, he had never been outside of South Africa. Not letting a qualifier like that pass, we asked, "And unofficially?" He explained that "as a younger man under the old system," he was a member of the Citizens' Active Force (or something like that), an organization similar to our National Guard. In that capacity he had gone on missions in the neighboring countries Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Mozambique. "What sort of missions?" we asked. He replied, "We were looking for members of the...um...current government." Wow! So he participated in the Apartheid regime's efforts to capture and jail political dissidents, particularly the members of the ANC. Okay! Reflecting on how times had changed, he made the interesting observation that the National Party actually had developed a lot of respect over the years for their black counterparts in the ANC, and that was an important factor in the peaceful transition of power in the early 1990's. The years of plotting each others demise ironically led to peace.

To Bill and me, the conversation epitomized the immediate nature of history in South Africa. The defining events of the nation's struggle are very recent, so you get a chance to ask questions of real people rather than reading about it in a book. You also get to hear the language they use, whether stubbornly using the Afrikaans names or calling Apartheid "the old system." Such a description seems to absolve whites of their part in perpetrating a horrible regime, like, "Hey, it was just another system of government that didn't work out too well, so now we're trying a new system." It avoids having to talk about all of the baggage that went it.

Sinterklaas could have invested a little more of his nest egg in some insulation for his guest house rooms. As the temperature dipped to freezing or below that night, it was just as cold inside. I didn't take off my jackets from the game, slept under a blanket, and stilled shivered all night. After the restless night, Bill and I wolfed down a home-cooked Sinterklaas breakfast and headed out back to the N1 for the ride down to Johannesburg. We were tired but psyched for USA-Slovenia that afternoon.