THE VISIT OF FRIEDLAND NGWENYA

 THE PAST STAYS WITH US ...

Dear Franky

There's a pretty good chance that it was my dad who delivered you at the Booth - we lived about 300 metres away at that time, and the date is right.

You've read the story of the two Iranian brothers who he delivered at the Somerset Hospital, so we know that dad did deliveries at that time!

I haven't written a story about this, but one Sunday when I was a boy I was in the front yard of our house when a youngish black man came up to the house and asked if Dr Friedland lived there. I said yes so he asked if he could speak to him. I asked him his name and he said, "Friedland".

I thought he had misunderstood the question so I said, "no, what is YOUR name?" - and again he said, "Friedland". I said he must wait there and I went to call my dad.

"This is going to be fun", I thought.

"Dad, there's a black man at the gate who wants to talk to you. He says his name is Friedland."

Dad was drying a plate in the kitchen at the time. He dropped the plate, stepped over the shattered pieces and followed me out to the front gate. He had an expression of total mystification.

"Hello?" he started, cautiously.
"Hello Doctor - I am so glad to finally meet you!"
"I'm pleased to meet you, too" said dad, "what can I do for you?"
"Doctor, I come from Idutywa and my name is Friedland Ngwenya. When I was born, you were the doctor who brought me into the world. My mother was so happy that she called me Friedland. And I am happy too, and I am proud of my name because it has brought me good luck. And my mother said that she had heard that you had gone to the Cape and if I ever come here I must look you up to show you that I am well and healthy. So here I am."

It was true. My dad had spent the early part of his career as a government doctor in that area and the story could quite possibly - likely, in fact - be true.
My dad was visibly excited.
"Come in!" he said, "you must have tea!"

You must bear in mind that this story takes place during the plague of Apartheid. It would have been well-nigh unheard of for a white man to invite a black man into his house to have tea, but my dad was a very special man indeed and the laws of Apartheid never really got through to him. Not that he was a loudmouth rebel or anything - quite possibly it just never occurred to him that his neighbours might consider his behaviour to be inappropriate (or to call the police, which they could very well have done, if they had had the mind to do that!)

So Friedland and Matty had their tea, and then Friedland departed and was never heard from again.

But here's another thing: I have a photo somewhere of my son delivering a baby at the Somerset Hospital, many years later - but as far as we know, that baby was not called Friedland...

PS: Actually, this makes quite a good story. I might put it up on Facebook ...

(c) HARRY FRIEDLAND

MARIMBA - https://hjfriedland.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-visit-of-friedland-ngwenya.html 

2023 01 30