My language, Afrikaans, provides the first indication of where I am located because many things flow from language. My religious affiliation is another feature of my identity. As a bruin man (brown man) of Griqua and Afrikaner descent, I do not wish to have another “bruin man” telling who I am; or that I am nothing. On the contrary, I am something. I am a Griqua with Afrikaner blood.12
It is apparent from such a testimony that Griqua in the new South Africa was becoming an ethnicity around which to mobilize. The eventual political alliance of Griqua cultural chauvinists, however, is not a foregone conclusion. In the last chapter of the novel, Wicomb dramatizes this shift in perspective; the Griqua suddenly enjoy a more positive valence. Wicomb questions the politics of ethnicity as much as the rigid racism of apartheid.
RESPECTABILITY AND COLOR
At the heart of the ambiguity for coloured peoples are the implications of their mixed ancestry and two sorts of prejudice: prejudice against them because of color and prejudice against such women in particular as (presumptively) available for sexual liaisons. These markers are inflected differently across time and circumstance.
Mixing in the seventeenth century occasionally involved visible and highly placed persons. Detailed examinations are now being made of the life of the late-seventeenth century Khoikhoi woman Eva, the protégé of and interpreter for the first Dutch governor, wife of a company official, and, finally, a mother in reduced circumstances. Her Khoi name, Krotoa, is adopted by those who promote her as the foremother of the new South Africa.13 In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, some other marriages between white men and Khoi or coloured women were solemnized in church. A few descendants of these marriages became citizens, burghers, with full civil rights.14 For example, among the leadership in colonial coloured resistance was the Reverend James Read, Jr., the son of a London Missionary Society missionary and a Khoi-descended woman.15
That the Dutch East India Company imported and owned slave retainers whom it housed collectively in Cape Town, however, created a very different situation. Cape Town has been called “the tavern of the two seas,” the port where vessels bound for or returning from the Far East called for provisions and respite. The slave lodge became a place to find partners in casual sex and children were born with anonymous fathers, some of them European sailors. Toward the end of the eighteenth century, German soldiers brought in as mercenaries by the Dutch East India Company added to the mixture by making country marriages. By the time the British took over the Cape Colony in 1808, “free people of colour” were of many shades. There were a number of slaves of mixed parentage, and increasing ambiguity as to whether the “tame Hottentots”—Khoi within colonial society or grouped around mission stations — were melting into the same category. With the abolition of slavery and other degrees of formal servitude, the process of acculturation accelerated. In the Cape Colony, the civil rights of free people were equal. Contracts between masters and servants, however, put the servant in a weak position. And most coloureds were servants. On farms, with arrangements dating from the days of slavery, the domestic privacy of laborers’ families was minimal. The Cape Marriage Order of 1839 provided for the regularization of marriage and induced a flow of couples to the churches.16
An example of deep prejudice within colonial society has been given by Pamela Scully through the case of Anna Simpson, the wife of a laborer who in April 1850 brought rape charges before the circuit court. The defendant confessed and was sentenced to death, only to have the sentence commuted because of white citizens’ protests that Anna Simpson was coloured: “The woman and her husband are Bastard coloured persons, and that instead of her being a respectable woman, her character for chastity was very indifferent.”17 On the score of respectability, in the eyes of white moralizers, women of color were lacking unless proven otherwise.
The impoverishment of the majority of those considered to be coloured resulted from their lack of capital and ability to secure and retain land, their indebtedness, and the failure of wages to rise in real terms. It has been reckoned that pay for coloured workers did not improve relative to the cost of living between the 1840s and the interwar period.18 There may have been some real increases in the 1940s and 1950s, but they were stalled and reversed as the full effects of apartheid took hold. Coloured wages declined steeply relative to white wages. Declining real wages affected women as well as men in the formal economy; women had to work ever harder, by whatever means, to meet their household needs. The attitude of the canteen worker Tamieta at the University of the Western Cape in “A Clearing in the Bush” reflects many women’s aversion to the risk of lost employment, as well as compromises of respectability.
The Population Registration Act was one of the most painful measures for coloureds. Each person had to carry an identity card declaring her or his race category. Entitlement to educational facilities, to residential areas, to employment, to association all followed. When the Population Registration rubrics were dictated, “Coloured” subcategories distinguished “Cape Coloured,” “Cape Malay” (Muslims), “Griqua,” and “other Coloured.”19 These reflected potential fault lines to exploit in a policy of divide and rule. But the overarching categories “Coloured,” “European”(or “White”), “Bantu” (African), and “Asian” (or “Indian”) served as racial cyphers for juridical purposes. Members of the same families received different racial classifications. Assignments could be altered each year, unilaterally by officials or following appeal. In 1970, for example, the Ministry of Interior unilaterally reclassified seven persons from “Coloured” to “Bantu,” and acted favorably on petitions in twenty-two cases to be changed from “White” to Coloured,” twenty-three from “Coloured” to “White,” and fourteen from “Bantu” to “Coloured.” Race Classification Boards reclassified one “White” to “Coloured,” four “Coloured” to “White,” and twenty-nine from “Bantu” to “Coloured.” The report does not specify where in South Africa these persons resided.20 From Wicomb’s writing, readers will appreciate that consciousness of race and cultural status was sharply registered within the ranks of coloureds. Mrs. Shenton’s ironic reference to the chauffeur’s possible legal status as a “registered Coloured” bespeaks her uncertainty over the identity of the apparently white driver (4).
A case that drew great attention to the excruciating consequences of population registration was that of Sandra Laing. Laing was the daughter of poor but “respectable” whites, whose features did not conform to the Caucasian model. She was dismissed from her white school and reclassified “Coloured” by officials. On protest and following a court case, she was reclassified “White,” but never again settled into her privileged entitlements. She finally married an African.21
These notes will have underscored the irony of Wicomb’s title. You Can’t Get Lost in Cape Town comes from a confident statement by Frieda’s longstanding white boyfriend as she is about to go off to have an abortion in the white part of the city. Frieda Shenton, for her part, does not have a sense of direction, even though she ends up in the clinic and is able to deny that she is coloured in order to have the procedure. What is wonderful about this character is her unwillingness to follow in the tracks of others, her observance of the humanity of her own extended family and members of Namaqualand society regardless of her mother’s indoctrination and projection of them as dangerous, throwbacks to poor, uncultured antecedents. The important reconciliation that appears at the book’s end reminds us most tellingly of a general point of the work — that rehearsed, constraining histories can be transcended, at least momentarily.