“No charge,” he repeated. “We’re happy to serve you.”
It was luck we arrived when we did, for by the next week they could not have served us at any price. The pressure from the Suez crisis was beginning to be felt and every pilot was working almost around the clock. Even so, many ships were obliged to stand off and wait before they could be brought in for refueling, and their lights at night stretched along the coast like an offshore roadway.
Our next contact with South African officialdom was not so hospitable. I hit a snag when I reported to immigration officials and tried to clarify the position of the Japanese. There are few Orientals in South Africa, most of them transients aboard ships, who never leave the ports. Upon learning that we all planned to take a trip to Kruger National Park, the officials became disturbed and downright uncooperative. The Japanese were “urgently advised against” using public transportation; we were “strongly urged” not to travel as a mixed group. And, in any event, the Japanese could not leave Durban without permission. When I requested that permission, they said they would “take the matter under advisement” and that it would be necessary to “clear with Pretoria.” In the meantime Nick, Mickey, and Moto were restricted to the city.
A reporter got hold of the story and asked me about it. I pointed out that I had obtained, at a cost of £5 apiece, valid visas for these men and that no travel restrictions had been mentioned. I added that had I known of conditions here I would have entered at Portuguese Lourenço Marques and given Durban a miss altogether.
Since Durban is one of the largest holiday and resort centers in South Africa, this blast, delivered primarily to get a gripe off my chest, was given a big play in the papers. Just at this time the men received an invitation from the Japanese Ambassador to visit the Embassy in Pretoria. I was summoned back to the immigration office and told that a special pass would be issued (at the cost of an extra pound apiece) so that the Japanese could make a trip to Pretoria and Johannesburg, said trip to take no more than four days, including travel time. It was not until I got back to the boat that we discovered that the pass had been dated as of the day of issue and therefore the first day of the allotted time period had already elapsed. Since it takes twenty-six hours to get to Johannesburg—and an equally long time to return—it didn’t leave much time for visiting the Embassy or doing any sightseeing. Nevertheless, two of the three elected to go anyway. On their return they replied, briefly, to our questions, that they had had “a nice time,” whatever that means. They never elaborated except that once, many months later, Barbara asked Nick, “How did you like your trip to Johannesburg?”
Nick replied, “Terrible!” and that closed the conversation.
The situation for the three M’s throughout our stay in South Africa was anomalous in the extreme and the above is only a sample. The government itself seems confused as to who is who, and their definitions of racial categories do little to clarify the situation. The official definition of “European,” as stated in a government publication, is as follows:
“European” means a person who in appearance is, or who is generally accepted as a white person, but does not include a person who, although in appearance obviously a white person, is generally accepted as a coloured person. (A “coloured person,” under the same edict, is a person who is “neither European nor a Native.” “I guess that means us,” Jessica decided. “We’re American.”)
So confused is the terminology that one of our “European” acquaintances reacted with horror when I described a friend as a “native of New Zealand.”
“Oh,” she cried, “I didn’t think they allowed natives there!” To her—and to many in South Africa—“native” is synonymous with “black man”—nothing else. So accepted is this double talk that newspapers actually referred to a visiting diplomat from Ethiopia as a “foreign native”!