SOUTH AFRICA: As part of a series to mark 10 years since apartheid ended, Declan Walsh visits the white-only town of Orania which residents say preserves their culture
It could be anywhere in small-town South Africa. A sleepy attendant mans a single-pump petrol station. Barefoot children shelter from the heat of the sun on a rickety porch. A tractor rumbles by, ruddy-faced labourers hanging off the trailer.
Except that, in Orania, there is one striking difference: no blacks. Only conservative, God-fearing Afrikaners live in this dusty town on the edge of the Karoo desert. They speak Afrikaans, fly the Boer flag and do all their own work. A large sign by the grocery store heralds their aspiration. It reads "Orania - Afrikanertuiste", which means "Afrikaner homeland".
"This is a laboratory," said Prof Carel Boshoff, a former university lecturer and one of the town's founding fathers. Orania, named after the nearby Orange river, is the last redoubt of a people under siege, he says.
The new, democratic South Africa threatens to swamp Afrikaner tongue and traditions. So since 1991 he has led the retreat to this small racial corral, halfway between Johannesburg and Cape Town, where the colours of the "rainbow nation" bleach into one, freckle-speckled, white.
"It is necessary to protect our culture, our language, our religion. Otherwise it will be assimilated and die," he said.
His many critics say otherwise. Whites make up 4.3 million of South Africa's 45 million people, of which about 60 per cent are Afrikaners. The tiny community of 600 Oranians is at best an affront to the national spirit of reconciliation, they say; at worst it is a racist holdout from the separationist past.
Dr John Strydom, a chatty, moustachioed man is Orania's official tour guide. He sells a jumble of herbs, leather shoes and key rings with the slogan "Orania: Live the Dream" from his "winkel", or provisions store.
He easily anticipates the obvious questions. "A lot of people think this is a refugee camp for people who can't live under a black government, or who yearn for the apartheid years," he said. "But it's not." The town is run on an ethos of strict morals and self-sufficiency, he says.
A six-person committee vets potential residents - who come from across the country - for religious and moral beliefs. Cohabiting couples are forbidden, and attendance at the Calvinist churches is encouraged. Excessive drinking and premarital sex are frowned upon, he says.
Farmers grow melons for export to Europe, pecan nuts and some olives. Light industry includes a coffin manufacturer, whose clients are mainly the families of AIDS victims in the nearest town, 40 kilometres away.
Eco-friendly innovations are common - some residents shun artificial fertilisers and pesticides; one woman turns the soil in her garden using chickens instead of a plough. The private school has its own curriculum.
And unlike elsewhere in South Africa, there are no maids, gardeners, drivers or cooks. Instead, former army officers and university professors mow their own lawns, cook dinner and scrub toilets. "In a certain sense we are liberating the blacks," said Dr Strydom. But that's not how the neighbours see it.
Orania refuses to come under the local authority, and residents boycotted the last municipal elections in 2000. Black delivery men from nearby Hope Town need written permission to enter a residential area. "They are just racists," said Peter Demas of Thembehle municipality. "We thought we had abolished apartheid, but it is still there."
Tensions were heightened some years back when a group of young white men opened fire on a passing bus late at night, wounding a black passenger. The case went to court but there were no convictions.
The looming presence of Hendrik Verwoerd, the "architect of apartheid", bolsters the charges of racism. A diminutive statue of the former prime minister, who was assassinated by a deranged messenger in 1966, stands on a rocky hill over the town. His last suit, complete with stab marks, is on display in the Verwoerd museum. Sculptures and busts litter the garden, hastily donated by public buildings in the post-apartheid clean-out.
"They are trying to get rid of these things as quickly as we can say thank you," lamented Dr Strydom.
Verwoerd's widow, Betsie, lived in Orania until her death three years ago. In a famous gesture of reconciliation, Nelson Mandela once visited, quipping at the Verwoerd statue: "I didn't know he was so small". Her daughter, Anna, is married to Prof Boshoff and manages the local school. She remembers her father as a good man. "We only know that he did his best for this country," she said.
Although small and isolated, Orania reflects a broader crisis in Afrikaner identity. Torn between the loss of power and their tainted apartheid dominance, many feel marginalised and lost in what they wryly call "the new dispensation".
Elsewhere, extremists such as the Boremag group have made farcical attempts to overthrow the ANC government. Oranians prefer comparison with the Voortrekkers, their hardy forebears who fled English domination on cattle wagons in the 19th century.
Boer independence was once an international cause, they like to remind visitors, pointing to a monument commemorating Irish volunteers who fought on their side in the 1899-1902 Anglo-Boer war. Today the English language is the enemy.
"We must keep Afrikaans alive for the next generation," said Roelof Stols, a 17-year-old schoolboy, in faltering English.
For many, however, the attraction is less philosophical - the prospect of safety and quiet, far from the violent crime and security fences of the big cities. And some are clearly drawn for reasons of naked racism.
As we leave the Verwoerd museum, an elderly couple pulls up. From out of town, they look like a sweet old pair on a Sunday drive.
"It's wonderful here, but how do you manage to have no blacks?" the grey-haired man marvels to Dr Strydom. "I thought you would need guards to keep them out."
"He has no idea about Orania. He thinks it is an all-white town," said Dr Strydom afterwards. But is that not exactly what it is? "Incidentally, yes," he retorts testily. "Just as almost all Germans are white and all Zimbabweans are black."
The 10 young men working at the melon farm come from poor white city backgrounds. The pay is poor - just 50 rand (€6) a day - and the conservative Oranians complain they drink too much, but it is better than the outside world, they say. Tienes Martines (17) came in response to a newspaper advert. He dropped out of school in Newcastle, a mining town in Natal province, because "the blacks were taking over," he said.
Asked if he had any black friends, he replied: "No. A kaffir's a kaffir, isn't he? It's a dirty thing." But most Oranians are at pains to stress they are not racists. They argue that Afrikaners need their own patch of land to consider home, just as Zulus and Xhosas have theirs. Prof Boshoff dreams of a new "volkstaat", stretching across the arid Northern Cape plains to the Atlantic Ocean.
Willem Botha, a jolly 70-year-old former weapons engineer, sat over a glass of wine in his living room. "I have excellent relations with blacks, and I'm no racist. But I favour race differentiation." Next month the town will introduce its own currency, swapping rand for local vouchers, in an attempt to keep money in the local economy. But it may be no easier than forcing the people to remain. The town has a high turnover of residents. Some leave because of the lonely rural life, others for the strict moral code or simply the hard work involved.
For Antje Kroc, an award-winning Afrikaans novelist and poet, Orania represents a futile attempt to fossilise a living, breathing culture. "In 50 years time it will be a marvellous museum to visit," she said from her home in Cape Town.
"But things change all the time, and that's the way it should be. And if a culture is incapable of adopting, it will die."