Moshe (Last Part: 5)

As the weeks and months wore on, Moshe’s work became ever more complicated as his battles with the Bophuthatswana civil service began to grind him down. He threw all his energy into his passion for service to the Taung community, and was determined to make a difference amidst the pervading poverty that he viewed as a root cause of many of the ailments he had to treat. It weighed heavily upon him that he began to unearth evidence not only of astounding bureaucratic incompetence, but a growing threat posed by corruption, lack of supervision and accountability and what he viewed as a breakdown of the very fabric of society.

His treasured “time-out” over weekends became a necessity as Bophuthatswana began to sink into a venal bog. It was a time to clear his mind as he substituted his lab coat and stethoscope on a Friday evening with casual attire and headed off to Hartswater, the only nearby town with some degree of entertainment. It was a refreshing change of pace when he coaxed his old Pontiac along the thirty kilometer, narrow regional road, to this little town. He usually had a few passengers in this American “tank” on wheels – housemates who also gladly joined him on these Friday and/or Saturday evening jaunts. He was becoming a master at double declutching – the only way gears could be shifted with the dodgy synchromesh cone in the transmission. This was likely to remain an affliction of the old car, because Pontiac had long since left South Africa and this part was not stocked – certainly not in the deep rural hinterland.

He and his new housemate buddies piled into the cavernous interior and stretched out on the front and rear bench seats. Despite the iffy mechanical state of the Pontiac, its drive comfort was second to none. The seats were like giant plush sofas in a suburban lounge, so became their preferred mode of transport. The interior design had the added advantage that four fellows could easily fetch some of Hartswater’s delightful young ladies for an evening at the movies. Eight people could readily fit into this old clunker – especially if half of them were not too shabby looking young ladies. The outing to the movies involved pulling up to a loudspeaker at the town’s Drive-in Theatre. These were the days before Drive-ins streamed the sound track through car radios. The makeshift speakers were converted army “dixies” (tin food receptacles) that the local entrepreneur had improvised. 

The Drive-in had a stall where, at interval, “vetkoek” and curry/jam, sweets, burgers (with ‘slaptjips’) and sodas, were sold. It was also a great meeting place for townsfolk in a truly relaxing atmosphere. Most of the films shown on the gigantic screen after darkness descended on the town, had already done the rounds on the urban circuit, and it was now the turn of rural folk to catch up with the movie scene. The movies normally ended at around ten o’clock and it was a rush to get the girls back home before the blokes had to run the gauntlet of irate fathers.

The roller skating rink was the other public entertainment in those days in Hartswater. It was also a good meeting spot for youngsters – although usually within earshot and line of sight of the girls’ parents. Nevertheless, it was a carefree and safe area for all to socialise. The fast food outlet run by the proprietor did a roaring trade over weekends. On the evening that a local farmer would hold a “sokkie-jol” (dance) the owner of the skating rink closed down his operation. These dances were all the rage with a local Boere-orkes outfit playing up a storm with their banjos, concertinas and “trekklaviere” (accordions). Whereas the Drive-in sold no strong drinks, as was the case also at the skating rink, these dances on the farms were open season and “brandy and coke” found willing and eager throats to make their way down. These turned out to be raucous occasions. 

Although Moshe enjoyed cavorting with the fair young lasses of the town, both he and they knew that this would go nowhere. He was becoming an ever more devout Jewish man and, the more he witnessed Jeff (the secular Jewish Vet) turning his back on his culture and faith, the greater became his own affinity with Judaism. His enjoyment of the relaxing and refreshing weekends, the company of fair young maidens and letting his hair down, was all well and good, but he was a serious, studious and stable young man who didn’t overstep the bounds of propriety.

Mondays came to be approached with trepidation as he increasingly had to deal with the likes of the Bophuthatswana (un)civil service. This would become a burden that weighed heavily on the young medical practitioner as the rules began to change – despite the jot and tittle of the “contract”. Whereas he had been provided a vehicle for his duties, had requisitioned supplies for the consulting room and acquired medicines without much difficulty upon his arrival, things began to change as the months wore on. Bophuthatswana had been granted “independence” by South Africa in 1977 and a President installed. All was good for a short while, but by mid-1978 things began to sour. The chasm between the politicians (some upright and honest, others not so much), and the civil service started to widen as officials spotted loopholes in the chain of command. 

One morning the manager of the Mothusi complex where the consulting room was located, popped into Moshe’s office. Alarm bells rang as he was told that the rent for that month had not been paid. Grace was requested and extended as Moshe undertook to follow up the matter with the government. Later that day he attempted to locate the official responsible for payment, but was given the “run-around” at headquarters – the dodgy telephone system not helping to facilitate the discussion. Moshe persisted until he eventually elicited a promise that the issue would be investigated and sorted out expeditiously.

Later that week more bureaucratic bungles began to pop up. He had always procured medicines and medical supplies/consumables from firms in Kimberley – on the account of the “Bop” Health Department. Moshe was informed that these accounts had suddenly been closed as new suppliers had been given a tender by the Bophuthatswana government. Now a tad anxious, he attempted to solicit information about the changing state of affairs telephonically. That proved to be of little use, so a trip to the capital city of Mmbatho was called for and arranged.

Moshe hit the road in the state Land Cruiser and within three hours drove into the Health Department Head Office parking lot. He was adamant that he was not willing to be fobbed off by low ranking officials and wound up sitting across a desk from the Director General of Health, explaining his bewildering predicament. He was told that new suppliers had been awarded the contracts for medicines and supplies and he was put in touch with the appropriate procurement officer. Satisfied on that score, he demanded to know what the hold-up was with the rent that was owed. That, too, had an explanation that suggested something was “rotten in the state of Denmark” as it were. An agent (or middle man) had been appointed to channel the funds to the proprietor of Mothusi’s.

Moshe’s gut feeling was one of unease. Little did he know that he was witnessing what would, with hindsight, prove to be an embryonic trial run of that which many years later (in the 2000’s) be described as “state capture” in South Africa. Kleptocratic villains had begun to infiltrate the organs of the state and were setting up a system of lucrative “palm greasing” and “tenderpreneurism”. In the fledgling “independent” homeland they were practicing for a time that sticky fingers would be able to pilfer funds from the South African fiscus. This was not nipped in the bud, purely for political reasons. The Pretoria government turned a blind eye to the petty thievery that later became wholesale daylight robbery of truckloads of cash that the South African treasury was pumping into their figment of the nation state. South Africa would rue the day that the perception was created in those early days that state coffers could be looted with gay abandon by nefarious “officials” (and their political hacks).

As the months and years wore on, supplies became ever more erratic. Medicines arrived sporadically. Mothusi’s manager had to pay more visits to Moshe about the late rental payments. Eventually, the company leveraged their other assets and considerable economic clout in Bophuthatswana to stabilise the flow of rent. The bumps in the road grew ever more insidious for an honest, compassionate and passionate Jewish doctor merely trying his best to serve the community. The roads in Taung reflected the decay in the organs of the state – they, too, were becoming as potholed as the surface of the state treasury.

Moshe held out far longer than many others would have. He witnessed the biannual changing of the guard as other Vets and lecturers replaced SADF national servicemen when their tour of duty ended in anticipation of a new intake. He made some lasting friendships over the years with the housemates that came and went. 

Eventually, even Moshe was worn down by the venal state he had been contracted to serve. It was with a heavy heart that he resigned when he could tolerate the deception, theft and unbridled corruption no more. Moshe left Bophuthatswana in 1992. He had long since parted with his beloved Pontiac. The SADF had long since ceased their efforts to assist the homeland government in all areas except security/public order backup. The sluice gates of South African funding had become a trickle. His “so-called contract” was by then defunct.

Moshe is believed to have started his own practice in one of the major cities. Despite his discreet and sad departure, many a rural resident of Taung and many a madala remember him fondly.

©Paul M Haupt

Accessed from https://www.britannica.com/place/Bophuthatswana

No copyright infringement intended, hence the reference and acknowledgement. Articles in this blog are not monetised and merely written for enjoyment