Bartlomeus Ridder lived a life filled with trouble and
turbulence of which his boyhood chum, Michael knew nothing of save that he had
always suspected that Bart’s future would not be promising or bright. Bart’s
life ended at forty leaving a shattered family and a lost brother somewhere out
in Namibia not knowing that Bart had died. Michael, who had found Bart through
Facebook and had just begun to recover the lost years since he had returned to
the States, did not realize the impact his friendship had made on Bart during
those brief years at Max Stibbe.
Michael had
already looked in returning to South Africa to meet up with his old friend and
look for others who made up his own past. His experiences with Facebook had
forced him to reevaluate his own interpretations of his life, but with Bart’s
sudden death had made it unavoidable for Mike to confront his own demons rather
than just consider them. Michael decided that it was time enough to return to
the Dark Continent, the land of his birth.
To those of
you, who have never been to Africa, know this, Africa is about land and this
fact has more impact on a person’s soul than most can possibly recognize. Once
in Africa always in Africa, the land is as inescapable as the promise of death.
There is something about the land that will never let you completely go. Sure
you can go somewhere else, live someplace else, even call it home and believe
every word of it in your hearts of hearts, but Africa still owns a piece of
that soul regardless. This was especially true for Michael.
Michael had
the advantage of being born there, so the part that belonged to Africa had
settled in his soul from the beginning. He considered East Tennessee his home,
did not long to live elsewhere and figured he would die there as well. But when
he would close his eye and let his mind run free it would return him to the
veldt of the Transvaal and he would run with the buck through the long grasses.
He could
not explain it to anyone who had never been to Africa, had ceased trying to
talk about how it was almost like hearing the mythical drums in the jungle when
his mind would wander. The drums had sounded louder and louder over the past
few days since the news of Bart’s death had reached him in a tearful phone call
from his estranged daughter Natasha. Michael knew that he would have to go and
help Natasha put the pieces together, never mind say goodbye to his old friend.
Michael’s
mother was from East Tennessee and his father was from the Transvaal. His
parent’s had met in Europe in the sixties and fallen in love and later married
after his mother came to South Africa. They settled down to life in the largest
city, Johannesburg. That was many years past and life had not gone quite what
it should seem, but Africa had gotten into his mother’s soul as well. Michael
had come along after another child and apparently was a bit of a surprise for
his father when he did.
Michael’s
parents had not remained in South Africa long; his father had dreams of
American living and persuaded his mother to return there. So an ocean crossing
by ship was arranged and they were bound for the promise land. American life
was very much a dream for Michael, a waking dream from which awakening as the
eventual return to South Africa seven years later. His parents could never
quite explain the reasons for going back, at least his mother had a firmer idea
of what she had wanted, but his father avoided the topic completely for many
years following.
Michael
first met Bartlomeus Ridder in the spring of 1981 at a school out in the middle
of nowhere in the veldt east of Pretoria, the capital city of South Africa. Max
Stibbe School was a boarding school on farm outside of a small town (someplace)
east of Pretoria about two hours northeast of Johannesburg.
