In
South Africa, when one had big gardening projects to do-it was possible
to hire convicts from the prison authorities to do the work.
A gang of ten prisoners with a warder would march from the prison at approximately
eight o’clock in the morning, and work till four o’clock in
the afternoon. For this, we paid ten shillings a day.
The prisoners would all be dressed alike, in white canvas shorts and shirts.
The Warder would be in semi-military uniform. He was armed with an assegai-or
spear-sharpened to a point-quite useless, really, to defend himself, or
anyone else, but it was a badge of authority!
Two prisoners would carry food-in large cans- We had a very steep section
to our house, and wanted it terraced, so we hired a gang for a week.
Absolom, the warder, came and told me they had arrived, found out where
the nearest tap and toilet were, told me that under NO circumstances was
I to talk to the convicts, offer them food,, cigarettes or money. In fact,
I was to ignore them completely.
I showed him where we wanted the terraces to be built and went inside.
Each man
had brought either a pick or a shovel. Absolom marked the places were
the terrace's to be built, and they started work. I watched from my
windows. Apparently they were allowed to stop work and have a drink
from the tap, or to go to the toilet, but I noticed that Absolom watched
very carefully, and if he thought they were slacking, or taking too
long in the toilet, he would bang on the door with his assegai and shout,
and they would almost FALL out! My soft heart was sore. At morning tea
time I asked, “Could they not have a billy of tea?””NO!”,
said Absolom.
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It was
hot, about thirty degrees. The convicts sweated and wiped their faces
and I fretted more and more! After about three days, you can imagine
my feelings. By this time, Absolom had relented sufficiently towards
me so that he would speak to me. I asked, “Did he HAVE to be so
strict?”
He sighed, and said, :Madam, you do not understand!
Look, THAT one” pointing to one of them, “is a three time
murderer”!- “That one”, pointing to another-is a rapist
murderer”, and so on,through all ten of them. Then he said, “ALL
of them are a disgrace to the Zulu nation-if I had my way, I would hang
them all by the neck till they were dead!”
What could I say? I went indoors. On the Friday, I noticed one of them.
He kept looking at the sky, and the trees of the Botanic Gardens just
below us. In his language-I asked, “Why do you look so?”
the answer. “I am storing it up in my mind to last me over Saturday
and Sunday when I will not be able to see any of it”.
I wanted
to weep. Our garden was finished, and they marched back to jail, but
from then till now I have conflict in my soul.
Which is the better way?
A death for a death-or jail and hard labor?
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