The Governor’s Square, Cape Town
262 Words
The British had arranged a meeting with local farmers. Pieter rode in on a dusty bay horse. Koen walked beside him, steady and alert.
Captain Harrington (straightening his red coat):
“Good afternoon. You must be one of the Boer farmers from the interior.”
Pieter (raising an eyebrow):
“I am a boer, yes. A farmer. Pieter van der Merwe from Drakenstein.”
Harrington:
“Splendid. The Crown wishes to understand the people of this colony. Some of your folk live—shall we say—rather backward lives. Rude, uneducated, far from progress.”
Koen’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Pieter:
“You come here only weeks, Captain, and already you speak as if you know us. Our homes are built from our own hands. Our children read the Bible. We survive in places your soldiers fear to ride.”
Harrington (with a stiff smile):
“Yes, yes. Admirable. Yet London expects… refinement. Order. English law.”
Koen:
“English law?” He tilted his head. “The last law we knew pushed our people off our lands.”
Harrington looked at him more carefully.
Harrington:
“And you are?”
Koen:
“I am Koen. Some call us ‘natives,’ but we have names older than these mountains.”
Harrington (awkwardly):
“Indeed… Well, we intend to civilize the region. Bring improvement.”
Pieter:
“Civilize? I have heard that word before—from the Dutch, then from the missionaries, now from you. Each time the one who uses it ends up owning more land.”
Koen gave a quiet chuckle.
- Writer
