Herman
Johannesburg – mid nineties.
by Marijke Hillmann
Herman, my assistant, enters data on a user-unfriendly computer system.
He swears in Tswana.
I look up and notice that his complexion seems very dark today and then I look him in the face.
His eyes glisten.
I shiver – down to the depths of my core.
“What’s up, Herman” I ask.
“I am sick, Em”
“How sick, Herman?”
“The doctor says I am very sick, Em – I am positive”
I put my hand on his shoulder.
“But you told me you do not have a girlfriend”
His eyes glisten.
“My white friends, Em. The men who buy me shirts and give me money for the taxi – they do not use protection”.
His eyes are blank.
###
Born in the Netherlands, I left for Africa with my husband, a mining engineer, where we spent 40 years in different countries. We returned to Europe a year ago and now live in Germany. I am a translator by profession (Dutch-English and German-English).
Africa is still very much in my blood and so many memories wanting to be told, hence the story. See more of Marijke’s work on her featured page.