On the Doorstep of the Civilized

Into the Heart of the Interior

The sun rose pale and weak, barely breaking through the heavy mist that clung to the hills. Pieter and Koen led the caravan along narrow paths winding between rugged hills and dense bush. The wagons creaked under the weight of supplies, and the cattle snorted, uneasy on the uneven ground. The further they traveled from the Cape Colony, the wilder the land became, and with it, the challenges multiplied.

“Keep the wagons close,” Pieter instructed, his voice steady despite fatigue. “The paths narrow here. A loose wheel, a slipping horse, and we risk losing everything.”

Koen rode ahead, scouting the track. “The terrain is unforgiving. Streams have swollen from recent rains. We must cross carefully, or we risk disaster.”

Anika, riding beside Pieter, sighed as she watched the children cling to each other in the wagon. “They are tired, Pieter. The journey has already taken its toll.”

Pieter nodded. “Yes. But the hardship is part of the freedom we seek. The veld demands courage and endurance. It does not coddle those who expect ease.”

By mid-morning, smoke curled on a distant ridge. Pieter squinted. A small party of British soldiers had caught sight of them again, sending riders to observe. Koen reined in his horse and whispered, “They follow, but do not approach. Perhaps they hope we will falter before the mountains.”

“Let them watch,” Pieter said. “Their threats are empty. They cannot tame men who have chosen their own path.”

Despite Pieter’s determination, the British presence weighed on the caravan. At every ridge, every bend, they were reminded of the authorities left behind—officials who had mocked, merchants who had laughed, even fellow Cape Dutch who had called them fools.

That afternoon, the wagons entered a small clearing near a Xhosa settlement. The herders eyed them cautiously, whispering to each other in their tongue. Pieter dismounted and approached, raising his hands in peace.

“We seek only passage,” he said. “We travel with families, with livestock. We mean no harm.”

One of the elders studied Pieter, then shook his head. “The land is free, but those who pass must respect it. You carry your lives like burdens. Will you respect the rivers, the hills, the fire of the veld?”

Koen stepped beside Pieter. “We will. We are not conquerors. We are travelers. We honor the land and those who dwell upon it.”

The elder nodded slowly, then motioned them to a nearby ford, where the river could be crossed safely. Pieter felt a flicker of relief. Even in the wild, guidance existed if one approached with humility.

But danger waited further along. By evening, a group of Cape Dutch travelers appeared, their wagons laden with goods. They eyed Pieter and Koen with disdain.

“Van der Merwe,” one sneered, spitting onto the ground. “You truly venture into the unknown? The mountains, the rivers, the Xhosa beyond—they will teach you humility. Perhaps the British have a point after all.”

Pieter’s hands clenched on the reins. “And what point is that? That a man must bow to those who neither understand nor respect him?”

The other laughed, shaking his head. “It is not understanding you lack, Van der Merwe. It is wisdom. You risk everything for pride. Your family, your livestock… all for the sake of defiance. Courage, yes, but also folly.”

Koen’s voice was sharp. “Folly is obeying those who mock and threaten your freedom. You may call it pride, but we call it life.”

The travelers rode off, leaving Pieter’s group in silence. Pieter exhaled slowly. Even among their own people, respect was scarce. The choice to leave the colony had made them outsiders everywhere—mocked, doubted, and questioned.

That night, the caravan camped on a ridge overlooking a valley. Pieter studied the stars, tracing constellations that reminded him of his childhood nights on the farm. Koen, sharpening his knife, glanced at him.

“They will not understand us,” Koen said. “British, merchants, even kin. But the interior will judge only our actions, not our lineage or our manners.”

Pieter nodded. “Yes. We will be tested, but by the land, not their tongues.”

Before dawn, the first real challenge appeared. A swollen river blocked their path, its currents swift and dangerous. Pieter dismounted, examining the ford, testing the stones for stability. “We cross carefully,” he instructed. “One wagon at a time. Horses first, then cattle, then the children. Step by step, we cannot rush.”

The crossing was slow and tense. One wagon wheel slipped into the water, soaking a bundle of supplies. Pieter cursed quietly but kept his composure, rallying the men and children. By midday, all wagons and livestock had crossed safely, though wet and weary.

Later, while scouting a ridge, Koen spotted movement. British soldiers had followed them, hidden behind a hill. “They are close,” he whispered. “Perhaps hoping we tire, or make a mistake.”

Pieter’s lips pressed together. “Let them watch. Their law ends at the colony. Beyond that, they can only see. They cannot command.”

Yet, even as they moved onward, the constant scrutiny weighed on them. British patrols, merchants, and skeptical neighbors all left a shadow of doubt in their path. Each night, Pieter gathered his family, reminding them: “We travel not for their approval. We travel for life. For freedom. Every step we take is a victory over their mockery.”

The journey’s hardships intensified. Torrential rains turned paths to mud, wolves prowled near the camp at night, and the constant motion wore down horses and children alike. Pieter found himself waking in the dark hours, checking the wagons, coaxing water into the troughs, ensuring every animal remained safe.

One evening, Koen approached him, worry lines on his face. “They may yet try more than observation. Reports to the Governor could mean soldiers at the next ford, perhaps even attempts to seize livestock. We must be ready for confrontation, Pieter.”

Pieter nodded solemnly. “And we will meet it as we have met every trial so far—with care, courage, and unity. Our families are our shield; the land, our guide. Let them come. They cannot break our resolve.”

By the fourth day in the interior, the landscape began to change. Hills became mountains, rivers became torrents, and the path was so narrow that wagons moved single file. The children grew quiet, eyes wide with awe and fear. Anika whispered encouragements, while Pieter and Koen scouted constantly, adjusting the route to avoid cliffs, fallen trees, and treacherous mud.

That night, as the fire flickered against the darkness, Pieter gazed at the silhouettes of the mountains. “We have come far,” he said softly. “They mocked us, doubted us, and threatened us. Yet here we are, still moving, still alive. Tomorrow, the interior deepens, but so does our resolve.”

Koen nodded. “And one day, the mockery of Cape Town and the merchants will be nothing but whispers. We will look back, and they will see—those who mocked us had no understanding of courage or freedom.”

Pieter smiled faintly, feeling the weight of their journey but also the promise of independence. The British may follow, the Cape Dutch may mock, and the merchants may scoff—but the land judged no man for his origins, only for his endurance and respect.

And in the heart of the interior, Pieter felt that the true test of their freedom was only just beginning.