Little Suns Read Online Free PDF

stonemasons. A man who worked at the home of the magistrate was likely to see bits and pieces of delicacies find their way into his stomach, courtesy of maids and nannies. Or to get tipsy once in a while if the master had been careless enough to leave his brandy lying around.
    And that was what had happened today. When Malangana walked into the courtroom followed by a Mfengu warder armed only with a baton, Hamilton Hope and Major Scott, a fresh-faced blond soldier in the uniform of the newly minted Cape Mounted Riflemen, were sitting at the desk of the Clerk of the Court in front of the bench. They were arguing spiritedly while drinking
Inyembhezi zikaVitoli
that Hope kept on pouring into enamel mugs from a hip flask.
    ‘You’ll change your tune when you’ve been here long enough,’ Hope was saying. ‘The natives will keep you on your toes and you’ll sing a different song, my friend.’
    The white men paid scant attention to him as he dusted the magistrate’s bench. The warder wandered away. Malangana belonged to that class of prisoners that didn’t need to be guarded all the time. Why, sometimes he was released early from his chores, walked all by himself back to prison and banged at the gate with his fists until the warders let him in.
    ‘Pacification in British Kaffraria is far from being attained,’ added Hope. ‘We must undermine traditional power.’
    ‘I do not dispute that,’ said Scott. ‘But I think the best way to undermine it is to win it to our side first and then subdue it.’
    That was the problem with these upstarts fresh from military academy. They thought they knew more than the faithful servants of the Queen who had years of field experience. Hope did not really like Scott but had to tolerate him because he was sent by the new prime minister and colonial secretary, Gordon Sprigg, to plan the development of suitable defence systems. Granted, he had been part of the team that led the militarisation of the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police into the more efficient Cape Mounted Riflemen. It irked Hope no end to admit how brilliantly that task was accomplished. What irritated the magistrate most was the young man’s lack of modesty about his academic achievements; he never forgot to write B.A. (Oxon) after his name, even after his signature. And here now he was impudent enough to argue with him on how to deal with the natives.
    ‘While suppressing insurrections against the Queen we need to address the insurgents’ legitimate concerns,’ said Scott.
    He took a swig from the mug and then grimaced as if he had just swallowed poison. Malangana kept stealing a glance at him and shook his head; this fire-water burned the throats of powerful men and made them wince, and yet they continued to drink it. He himself had become partial to it when he was still a free man. Oh, how he would like his throat to be burned by the tears of the great queen of the white man!
    ‘What legitimate grievance could there be when we have brought the native civilisation?’
    Obviously Oxford and Sandhurst had made Scott stupid.
    ‘Still we need to deal with these half-civilised races tactfully,’ he said.
    ‘These were wholly savage tribes,’ said the magistrate, pounding the desk with his fist. ‘Magistrates like me are responsible for that half-civilisation you’re talking about.’
    Who was he to teach him about tact? Malangana could see irritation written all over his face.
    Hope was an expert at dealing with the natives. That was why he was posted to Qumbu among the amaMpondomise from Lesotho where he had subdued Moorosi, the so-called king of the Baphuthi people – the natives reimagined their chiefs in the guise of kings, another important thing Hope needed to correct. He knew what he was doing and didn’t need lessons from someone who was in nappies when he started serving in the colonies. His expertise was born of hard-earned experience, not of some anthropology degree from Oxford.
    Tact? He was a master of