Going Home - Doris May Lessing [104]
I tried to get through to my hosts at the mining offices, but it turned out to be Labour Day and an official holiday. Therefore I went in search of Mr Katilungu, President of the African Mineworkers’ Union. The taxi-man knew at once who he was and where I might find him. ‘At this time of day he will be at his house.’
This taxi-driver was a Southern Rhodesian, come up to the Copper Belt in search of higher wages. But he did not like Northern Rhodesia, in spite of the wages. ‘They do not enjoy themselves here as well as we do,’ he said. But I think he was simply homesick.
He asked me spontaneously, ‘Why are these trade unions? What is the good of them? Why do you want to see Mr Katilungu?’
I explained the purpose of a trade union.
‘Yes, I know that is what is said. But our wages are still very low, and already trade unions have been here many years.’
And then, after listening politely to what I said: ‘Congress is good, yes. Congress makes white men frightened. But white men do not mind trade unions.’
Mr Katilungu has a little house in one of the townships. It was filled with people—a friend of his, a visiting Chief from the Northern Province, was there with his entourage of young men.
So there was a three-cornered interview.
The Senior Chief, a very dignified old man, expected and got homage from Mr Katilungu, and everything that was said was translated for his benefit.
Discussion about the trade union centred, of course, around the industrial colour bar, and about the attempts by the Companies to form a stooge union, the Salaried Staffs Association.
Federation: ‘Even the whites don’t like it,’ said Mr Katilungu. ‘All the Copper Belt money goes to Southern Rhodesia. Everything has gone up in price since Federation.’
And the Senior Chief joined in here to say: ‘They promised us complete social, economic and political equality. They have broken their promise.’
Capricorn: ‘They were campaigning here for Federation, trying to get us to support it. Now they want us to forget that campaign, and to believe they are for racial equality.’
During the discussion children were drifting in and out of the room, perching on the arms of chairs, standing by the knees of their elders. A tiny child came and climbed on my knee, sat staring with solemn interest into my white face. This touched me very much, though I told myself it was nothing but sentimentality that it should.
It was the Senior Chief who particularly interested me. The moment I began to ask questions about what was happening out in the country, he said: ‘I am glad the foreign journalist is interested in the people in the villages as well as the people in the towns.’ I think he was a little resentful because I had been asking questions mainly of Mr Katilungu.
I asked about the position of the Chiefs. He emphasized that the Chiefs were superior to the District Commissioners, that only they had the right to distribute land, and that because of their strength and authority the Northern Rhodesian Government had not been able to destroy the people’s cattle as had been done in the south.
As soon as he finished talking, one of his young men said in English: ‘Yes, but a Chief the Government doesn’t like is deposed. And the District Commissioners put what they call troublemakers into prison. We young men are always going to prison. And don’t forget to write in your articles that it is the District Commissioner who tries a man, as well as sending him for trial. The District Commissioner can do as he likes.’
I don’t think the Senior Chief understood these remarks. He said something in his own language, which sounded to me like a demand for them to be translated; but Mr Katilungu went on quickly, talking about something else.
That afternoon, in that small, hot room, I was seeing the clash between the two different kinds of African leadership: the traditional and hereditary, and the new leadership of the towns. It seemed to me that the great courtesy and deference shown