“It is good that you want us to bury our differences,” says Camagu. “I never had any differences with you in the first place. I merely expressed a different point of view about the water project. . after you had solicited my opinion.”
“Okay, maybe it was childish of me to take it personally,” admits Dalton, “but let’s talk about this imbhizo. Will you be able to attend?”
“Who will listen to me after what I did at the concert?”
Dalton laughs.
“I don’t know what came over you,” he says. “But this meeting is important. The whole future of the village depends on it. We cannot let your personal problems—”
“Okay, okay, I will go.”
The developers, two bald white men and a young black man, come early on a Saturday morning and insist that the meeting be held at the lagoon so that they can demonstrate their grand plans for the village. The young black man is introduced as Lefa Leballo, the new chief executive officer of the black empowerment company that is going to develop the village into a tourist heaven. He looks very handsome in his navy-blue suit, blue shirt, and colorful tie. The two elderly white men — both in black suits — are Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones. They were chief executive and chairman of the company before they sold the majority shares to black empowerment consortia. Now they act as consultants for the company.
Most of the villagers have gathered. When Camagu arrives they titter and point fingers him. He walks defiantly to the front, and to his consternation he finds himself standing next to the teachers of Qolorha-by-Sea Secondary School. Xoliswa Ximiya just looks forward and pretends that he does not exist. The history teacher who was the chairman at the concert smiles at him. He smiles back.
His eyes search for Bhonco, the most vocal supporter of the holiday resort project. There he is, surrounded by his supporters. The hadedah ibises have given him some respite and are no longer mocking him with their laughter. The abayiyizeli, the ululants, have also taken a break from slashing Zim’s eardrums with their razor-sharp ululation, and have assumed the role of ordinary citizens. Zim sits with his daughter and a few supporters. Both elders look tired and drained.
After the chief has introduced the visitors, Lefa Leballo makes a brief speech. He tells the villagers how lucky they are to be living in a new and democratic South Africa where the key word is transparency. In the bad old days such projects would be done without consulting them at all. So, in the same spirit in which the government has respected them by consulting them, they must also show respect to these important visitors, by not voicing the objections that he heard some of the villagers were having about a project of such national importance. He then gives the floor to Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith talks of the wonders that will happen at Qolorha-by-Sea. There will be boats and waterskiing and jetskiing. People from across the seas will ride the waves in a sport called surfing. This place will be particularly good for that because the sea is rough most of the time. Surfing will be a challenge. There will be merry-go-rounds for the children, and rides that go up to the sky. Rides that twist and turn while the riders scream in ecstatic fright.
“Right here,” says Mr. Smith, “we shall see the biggest and most daring rides of all roller coasters in the world. . over the rough sea. This will be the place for roller coaster enthusiasts who spend their lives traveling the world in search of the biggest and most daring rides.”
Bhonco and his supporters applaud. Except for people like Xoliswa Ximiya, none of them have seen a roller coaster before. But it does not matter. If it is something that brings civilization, then it is good for Qolorha.
“That is not all, my dear friends,” says Mr. Smith excitedly. “We are going to have cable cars too. Cable cars shall move across the water from one end of the lagoon to the other.”
“These are wonderful things,” says Bhonco. “But I am suspicious of this matter of riding the waves. The new people that were prophesied by the false prophet, Nongqawuse, were supposed to come riding on the waves too.”
Lefa Leballo explains that this has nothing to do with old superstitions. This riding of the waves is a sport that civilized people do in advanced countries and even here in South Africa, in cities like Durban and Cape Town. But the waves here are more suited to the sport than the waves of other big cities in South Africa. The waves here are big and wild.
Lefa Leballo then interprets Bhonco’s concerns to the consultants. They find this rather funny and laugh for a long time. The villagers join in the laughter too.
But Camagu is not impressed.
“You talk of all these rides and all these wonderful things,” he says, “but for whose benefit are they? What will these villagers who are sitting here get from all these things? Will their children ride on those merry-go-rounds and roller coasters? On those cable cars and boats? Of course not! They will not have any money to pay for these things. These things will be enjoyed only by rich people who will come here and pollute our rivers and our ocean.”
“Who are you to talk for the people of Qolorha?” asks Bhonco. “You talk of our rivers and our ocean. Since when do you belong here? Or do you think just because you run after daughters of Believers, that gives you the right to think you belong here?”
“Hey you, Bhonco! If you know what is good for you, you will leave my child out of this!” shouts Zim. “She did not invite that stupid man to follow her. Today this son of Cesane is talking a lot of sense. This son of Cesane is right. They will destroy our trees and the plants of our forefathers for nothing. We, the people of Qolorha, will not gain anything from this.”
“You will get jobs,” says Lefa Leballo desperately. Then he looks at Camagu pleadingly. “Please don’t talk these people against a project of such national importance.”
“It is of national importance only to your company and shareholders, not to these people!” yells Camagu. “Jobs? Bah! They will lose more than they will gain from jobs. I tell you, people of Qolorha, these visitors arc interested only in profits for their company. This sea will no longer belong to you. You will have to pay to use it.”
“He has been put up to this by that white man, Dalton,” says Bhonco. “He is Dalton’s stooge. Dalton is hiding himself and has sent this man here because he has a black face. Dalton wants us to remain in the darkness of our fathers so that he can grab our land as his fathers did before him.”
“You are a liar, Bhonco!” cries Zim. “You lie even in the middle of the night. This young man is talking common sense from his own brain. It has nothing to do with Dalton.”
“You have nothing to offer these people,” says Mr. Jones to Camagu. “If you fight against these wonderful developments, what do you have to offer in their place?”
“The promotion of the kind of tourism that will benefit the people, that will not destroy indigenous forests, that will not bring hordes of people who will pollute the rivers and drive away the birds.”
“That is just a dream,” shouts Lefa Leballo. “There is no such tourism.”
“We can work it out, people of Qolorha,” appeals Camagu. “We can sit down and plan it. There are many people out there who enjoy communing with unspoiled nature.”
“We are going ahead with our plans,” says Lefa Leballo adamantly. “How will you stop us? The government has already approved this project. I belong to the ruling party. Many important people in the ruling party are directors of this company. The chairman himself was a cabinet minister until he was deployed to the corporate world. We’ll see to it that you don’t foil our efforts.”
“Well, how will you stop progress and development?” asks Mr. Smith, chuckling triumphantly.