Rainbow to Valhalla

By Frederic Roux

When eight post-graduate students from all over South Africa and abroad arrive at the GSB Breakwater Prison campus to do one-year master of business administration degree, the MBA, little do they realize that they are being thrown together in a boiling pot of deep-rooted ancestral irreconcilability and political intolerance. The castellated Breakwater Prison where inhumanity and cruelty was custom is located on the Cape Town V&A Waterfront, and is the most unique business school campus in the world.
Sitting side by side in class are the blue-eyed blonde Lizelle Liebenberg who grew up in a Protestant Afrikaans home where the bigoted and outspoken racist father dominates his family like a tribal chief, and the black Nobosuthu Mhangawani (Nobbie), a champion of the right of self-empowerment, a situation that lays the foundation for conflict. Thrown together in another class are six other students: Susan Douglas, English-speaking crown-princess of one of the leading companies on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange; Jan Smit, Afrikaans-speaking and an ultra-conservative yuppie; Deon Malherbe, Afrikaans-speaking and a more liberal wine farmer; Chelton Arendse, Afrikaans-speaking man of colour with a political chip on his shoulder; Emile de Chérisey, a French socialist who abhors capitalism; and Lady Caroline Chelmsford, British aristocrat who looks down on the proletariat and all colonists.
This is one of only a few business schools in the world where the MBA is crammed into a one-year programme and when such a dynamic and opinionated group of business people whose ages range from 26 to 33 are thrown together conflict and outbursts are more frequent than co-operation and consensus.
And while Lizelle and Nobbie have a racial barrier to cross, the lustful Jan sows his seeds, Emile his dissension, Caroline her airs, Chelton his resentment, Deon his dullness, and Susan her wisdom.
Then out of the thick walls the ghosts rise to claim another victim.
Cause of death is not immediately evident, but police suspect murder, for Chelton left notes incriminating each of the others. Prime suspects are Lizelle, fearful of a racist father’s reaction when he hears of her relationship with blacks; Nobbie because Lizelle dropped him for Chelton; Emile, because Chelton scoffed at his dream of a socialist-communalistic order for South Africa; Deon, who was sleeping with the beautiful Lazania who works in a boutique and who, as everyone is shocked to hear was Chelton’s former fiancé; and Lazania, out for revenge because Chelton forsook her when he decided to come to this élite school.
In order to try and establish what really happened, Susan, Deon, Jan, Emile, and Caroline stay behind after the other students leave for the June two-week break. They come across a poem written by Chelton and it dawns on them they had let conflict, strife and polarisation derail them from the purpose of them coming here ― to find his or her own Rainbow to Valhalla ― in their minds the bridge to the highest rung of Fortune’s ladder ― which was what the MBA course had been aiming to impress on them from day one. Guilt makes one and all look deep into their own souls. Yet questions, both asked and unasked, would only come later.
The Breakwater Prison
‘Yesteryear,
Natives lost their souls
When they were locked up within these walls;
This year,
Natives sell their souls
When they come here to learn in these halls;
And now that a ghost,
Domiciled in the third worst prison
Communicates with a manic-depressive mind,
It has become a host,
Intensely private of the worst persuasion
Filled with rancour of a manic-decisive kind.
And now I hear these voices,
Oh so many do I hear,
Telling me what I should do;
It leaves me but no choices,
No matter what I fear,
To do what I know I have to do.’
***
(In Scandinavian mythology the Rainbow to Valhalla, or Bifrost, was the bridge from Earth

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frederic Roux
• Release date: Dec 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463974605

Book preview

In 1888, pursuant to a mass protest meeting by the people of Cape Town in front of the Commercial Exchange on the Parade (now the post office), and subsequent petitions, the Committee on Convict Stations and Goals in England eventually concurred that it was appropriate for white prisoners to be separated from blacks. As early as 1820 the Commandant of the prison on Robben Island had already reported that ‘the present structure (on the island) does not allow European prisoners to be separated from people of another colour’.

Following this decision, plans for a new prison were drawn by the Committee on Convict Stations and Goals in England ― the date on these plans: 1895; and the caption: New Convict Station for White Men. The design of the new Breakwater Prison, peculiar to a French Foreign Legion fort with its four castellated towers and enclosed quadrangle, was based on that of Millbank and Pentonville, in England. Millbank had to make way for the new Tate Gallery, and so tons of steel (beams, stairs, doors and window-bars) were shipped to the Cape, where it had to be hauled up the slope by the prisoners.

The new castellated Breakwater Prison, albeit not the first prison on the waterfront, was completed in 1900 and the first inmates were in fact white men ― Boer prisoners of war. This was during the South Africa War of 1899-1902. A picture of Boer prisoners at the Breakwater Prison learning to play football on Greenpoint Common and published in a British magazine on May 12, 1900, can be seen in the entrance to the Treadmill Club. The prison could accommodate 352 prisoners, and was the first of its kind in the country where industrial training was given.

It was most fitting that this fort, once destined for white men only, should be taken over by the University of Cape Town (UCT) in 1991 and converted into a campus for The Graduate School of Business (GSB) ― nearly a century after the last prisoner was locked up here ― because UCT has the proud honour of never differentiating between black and white students, threats by the apartheid regime notwithstanding. In fact, in 1972 Sam Zondi (later Professor) became the first black student to take a masters’ degree in business at a South African university (the inimitable MBA); and in 1984 Mamaria Maine of Botswana was the first black woman to do a programme for senior management at the GSB (The Programme for Management Development).

Today the castellated Breakwater Prison, reminiscent of a French Foreign Legion fort, towers over the yacht basin, the Two-Ocean Aquarium and the One and Only Hotel in Cape Town’s world famous V&A Waterfront. A prison that Lawrence Green in his book Tavern of the Seas described as the third worst prison in the world, after France’s Devil’s Island and America’s Alcatraz.

To this unique setting, where deep-rooted memories are ensconced in the thick walls and the ghosts of them who over centuries had to endure appalling misery still haunt, post graduate students come from all corners of the globe to attend the GSB’s internationally recognised one-year MBA programme.

***

Chapter 1

Emile de Chérisey was first to check into seminar room SR25 at the Breakwater Campus of the GSB. He was followed by Jan Smit, Deon Malherbe, Susan Douglas, and Chelton Arendse, with Caroline Chelmsford arriving last. For an instant, before Caroline arrived, the five studied each other like young roosters, cock-a-hoop yet not sure what would be the right thing to do.

Jan who had grabbed a seat at the top of the table, broke the ice and introduced himself. I’m Jan Smit. I’m 27 years old … and single. He stared at Susan when he said this. I have an accounting degree from Tukkies … He cast a quick look around the table. … that’s Pretoria University. And I am a director of companies in the ZARKOR group.

Susan reacted spontaneously. I’m Susan Douglas, 26 years old, and I’m engaged. I have a degree in social sciences from Wits University and I’m a director of companies in the Anglo-Rand group.

As all eyes turned towards Chelton, Caroline walked in and he waited for her to take her seat. A dark cloud shaded her face. She was fuming. She had had her doubts about coming here, because she knew it was inevitable that she would have to associate with colonials and the proletariat. But she had never dreamt that she would have to share her shower and toilet with a heathen, a Hindu or Buddhist, or whatever that creature may be.

In the meantime, Chelton carried on and introduced himself. I’m Chelton Arendse, 29 years old, and I’m not married. I have a degree in accounting from the University of the Western Cape. I work for the Western Cape government.

Next came Emile. "I am Emile de Chérisey. I am 33 years old and married. I have an économique degree from Sorbonne, and I work for one of the major trade unions in France."

Deon did not wait. I’m Deon Malherbe and I’m 31 years old and single. I have an agricultural degree from Stellenbosch University, as well as a B.Com. We produce wine and export to ten countries.

Finally, all eyes turned to Caroline. I am Caroline Chelmsford. Her accent was as broad as the English Channel, and the look she gave them was challenging, as if to say, do you know who I am? I am 26 years old, a British subject, and single, she said with a brief glance at Jan. I read history at Cambridge and … She hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words, afraid that she might reveal her status. … and I am in property, she ended feebly.

So, Jan immediately said. After all, he was sitting at the head of the table. The first item on our agenda is the nomination of a class president for the first six months.

The six looked at each other and waited. Six strong personalities, each a leader in his or her field, and each with a personal vision. They were here because this was one of the few business schools in the world that offered a one-year MBA course. A further important criteria was the holistic approach of the Graduate School of Business (GSB) concerning all their courses. And a post graduate student had to have worked for at least five years, which meant that most people on the course held senior posts in business or the public sector. After one year of monastic life he or she could return to his or her business.

***

Chapter 2

Except for the brief introduction, the six knew nothing about the others and even less about his or her vision. Research by social psychologists have found that this is the perfect recipe for group polarisation. When a group of people with strong personalities gather, egotism surfaces as each person imagines he or she knows better, and each and every one experiences a disquieting disillusionment when he or she discovers that others think their ideas are better. And because of their personalities, none is willing to give way. More often than not this leads to excessive or even fancy ideas which is a blueprint for disaster.

A number of research reports on the subject have appeared in various authoritative magazines, in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in particular. In these studies, a clear distinction is made between personality psychology and social psychology. The former focuses mainly on character, temperament or attitudes, whereas the latter concentrates on the role of external factors.

Their work showed that social behaviour is readily influenced by manipulating specific contingencies and by changing the consequences or reinforcement (rewards) to which behaviour leads in different situations. Changes in those consequences can modify behaviour in predictable stimulus-response (S-R) patterns. Likewise, a wide range of emotions, both positive and negative, may be acquired through processes of conditioning and can be modified by applying the same principles.

Disastrous decisions in South Africa that could most likely be ascribed to group polarisation was inter alia the decision by the National Party government at the time to enforce apartheid on the peoples of South Africa; the decision to introduce forced removals; the decision in the fifties to deprive the Coloured people of their constitutional voting rights; and the decision in the sixties to make Afrikaans compulsory in all black schools, which led to Sharpeville (today the police are blamed, but decision-makers should carry the blame).

Similar disastrous decisions by the present government that could most likely now be ascribed to group polarisation has inter alia been the decision to let strikes and mass protest gatherings get out of hand, to the point where the country is burning and xenophobia is a frequent occurrence; the decision to ignore the non-payment for electricity by ANC-controlled municipalities leading to the near-bankruptcy of ESCOM; as well as decisions concerning the railways, the armaments developing corporation, and the South African airways that are technically also bankrupt.

***

Chapter 3

Having carefully evaluated the group around the table, Deon came to the conclusion that a situation of group polarisation was developing. Therefor he quickly said, I propose Susan.

All eyes quickly turned to her.

Nominations should be properly motivated, Jan sardonically stated. What are your grounds?

Like in a tennis match all eyes swung back to Deon.

For a few seconds Deon was bowled over, before he managed to gather his wits. The person chosen will not only represent the class but also the school. For those who don’t know it, he said giving Caroline and Emile a glance, she is the daughter of Edward Douglas of Anglo-Rand … she has ample experience …!

And status, was Jan’s snide interjection.

That too.

Should everything always be in the hands of the capitalists? Emile demanded, giving everyone a challenging stare, before settling on Chelton.

With the exception of Chelton, whose face showed no expression, yet whose eyes bounced from one face to the next, the rest all looked at Emile with a measure of surprise. This was a business school, offering a course for businessmen, in other words capitalists.

Maybe I should …! Susan started, but Jan quickly cut her short.

"The Frog is talking rubbish. Capitalism is not at issue here. As Deon rightly said, the class president will represent both this year’s class and the GSB, and for that we need a person of standing, which Susan is. I second the motion."

Totally indifferent, Emile shrugged, but he had laid the foundation for conflict, and this could only lead to group polarisation.

After that altercation the group were remarkably quiet. No further nominations were made and Susan thanked them for their confidence. She then said that the next item on the agenda was nomination for a spokesperson.

I propose …! Deon started but he was interrupted by Prof Zave Yaar from Haifa. The bear of a man filled the doorway, and with his big moustache and rough hands he looked more like an Afghan warrior than an academic.

***

Chapter 4

I hope I’m not interrupting something important, Yaar said as he sat down. From personal experience I know that the nomination of a president can be a contentious issue. With a grin he added, Like whether Israel should recognise an independent Palestine State or not.

No problem, Jan said, the matter has been settled.

That was quick.

Not if you have the perfect candidate.

Oh?

Susan Douglas, daughter of the Chairman of Anglo-Rand.

Thoughtfully Yaar stared at Susan for a moment. An unassailable choice.

Susan was accustomed to compliments and accepted it with a smile.

Only Emile was not happy with the choice, Jan said incapable of resisting the taunt.

Oh? Yaar turned an inquisitive focus on Emile.

I questioned the nomination on the grounds that it conflicted with the changes that had taken place in this country over the past two decades. The 1994 election quite clearly ordained that this was now a nation of consensus, therefor I find it strange that capitalism still rules.

Yaar smiled broadly. But was the decision not reached through consensus?

Emile met the challenging smile. That may be. But the motivation for the nomination was based on the power of capitalism.

Heaven forbid, Jan groaned.

Did you not make another nomination? Yaar quietly asked.

Emile shrugged his shoulders. As you said, consensus was reached.

Would you like to nominate someone as spokesman for the group?

Realising that he had been outwitted, Emile gave Yaar a hard stare. Then he slowly looked about at the expectant faces. I propose Chelton.

I second that, Susan quickly endorsed.

Before you finalise this matter, permit me to make a recommendation? Receiving no reaction Yaar continued. There are no fixed rules, but I recommend that you regularly alternate this position. It gives every member of the group when making a presentation the experience to argue your case. And since no two people have the same approach you will learn from each other’s modus operandi.

What term do you recommend? Jan asked.

That I leave for you to decide. But for the next five months you have class every day before you go over to electives and a real life project in a company. If everyone had a chance to be spokesperson in this time it will be so much easier to decide who your spokesperson or spokespersons will be when you have to do the presentation of your project to the representatives of the company concerned. Students don’t always realise how important that can be. I once had the privilege to attend a presentation where at the conclusion thereof the Chairman of the company stood up and tore the presentation to shreds. Incidentally, the man was an advocate. However, the spokesperson of the cell-group did not blink an eye. And when the Chairman sat down and the spokesperson’s colleagues crawled in under their seats, this spokesperson stood up and gave back as much as he had been forced to swallow. Obviously there was no winner, since this was a case of two different interpretations based on the same facts. Fact is, no-one could fault the cell-group for their analysis of the data supplied by the company, and they received high marks for their presentation. Which ironically enough was endorsed by the company Chairman.

In silence the group stared at the table in front of them.

Perhaps we should give that serious consideration? Deon suggested.

Any further nominations for spokesperson? Yaar asked, but he received no reaction. Congratulations Chelton, you will have to broach the first barrage.

***

Chapter 5

I take it that it is the responsibility of the spokesperson to present our nomination as class president for the first six months to the class, Jan said.

Correct.

Chelton gave Susan a quick, concerned look, before turning back to Yaar who was watching him with a cynical smile.

Susan decided to change the subject. What recommendations are we expected to make concerning recreation?

Anything, Yaar said. A project to raise funds for some or other charity. Or simply a Saturday night jam session. Who, what and how rests with you.

Forgive me, but to come back to spokesperson, Deon asked, how does it work in practise?

Each lecturer … or wait, let’s take my case as an example. I’ll start my class by discussing with you the role of financial strategy in a company. Before the end of my class, based on what I had been discussing, I will quote an example of a factual case where a company was facing a situation that could mean a loss of millions of dollars. When you retire to your seminar room, your cell-group will discuss all the case studies that all the lecturers have dished out that day. Your next class will start with the spokespersons of each cell-group presenting the case of their cell-groups to the class. An open debate then takes place in class.

Is there an answer, a solution, or is it like the story you told us where there could be more than one interpretation? Jan asked.

Sometimes, but not always. More important is how the matter is approached.

Consensus? Emile asked with a grin.

Is that not the essence of decision making?

The United Nations is a model of consensus, Jan said with sneer, a bulldog without teeth that is incapable of achieving anything.

You’re wrong! Emile hastily retorted. When you take into consideration what the various agencies of the UN have achieved in recent years you must admit that the UN has become a global force that has really made a difference.

Granted. The UN agencies have become a global force. But the balance of their consensus rests with the populace who are entirely unproductive, and …!

"Imbécile! On ne peut pas tout avoir! Emile furiously shouted in French. You … you want to eat your cake! You are …!"

The vast majority of the populace are unproductive! Do you deny it?

Simply because they have never been given the opportunity. Colonial powers have been exploiting them since time immemorial.

***

Chapter 6

An amused Yaar looked on. He always enjoyed such interaction. This is exactly what his country has had to deal with in regard to the Palestinians since 1948. With the possible exception of Emile and Chelton, the average income of the remaining members of this cell-group placed them in the top 20% in this country, but that was where any semblance ended. The backgrounds, religious denominations, and political views of all six were continents apart. He could foresee cataclysmic fireworks, and it would be most interesting to see how they developed as a group. They would either make a roaring success of it, or they would annihilate each other. The only pity was that he was here for a short time only and would not be around to see the end product.

Seeing Emile as a typical obstreperous trade union leader they so often had to deal with, Jan, Deon and Susan were cynical about the future. Emile on the other hand regarded them as the enemies of the proletariat, the multitude that he represented, and he wondered how to disparage them one-by-one.

Chelton was not certain what had been dumped in his lap. Success to date had come through him paying attention to his lecturers and carefully studying the prescribed books, but from now on his progress would depend entirely on whatever contribution he made. Three affluent and two world-wise students. Would he succeed in being their spokesman?

Up to this point, Caroline had deemed it infra dig to say a word. Like all members of The House of Lords she knew well enough what the man in the street thought of the aristocracy. How often had the rabble not tried to close down The House of Lords? And for no other reason, that they did not have access to it.

Therefor she knew full well what Emile’s comments would be if he knew who and what she was. This was why she had deliberately kept her background a secret. But she was not that stupid to know that it would leak out at some stage. This was why she first wanted to carefully reconnoitre the lay of the land before she opened herself up to attacks.

Susan felt honoured to be nominated, but knew that a difficult task awaited her ― that is, if the class elected her.

Jan regretted the fact that he had not been first to nominate Susan, but at least he had seconded the nomination. Having given her the once-over, he had no doubt that he would be inside her pants and bed before long.

Deon was happy that he had managed to stave off an explosive situation in time.

***

Chapter 7

Meanwhile, in seminar room SR8 on the Table Bay side of the lecture halls, underneath the Breakwater Lodge, the 26 year-old Lizelle Liebenberg studied the five members in her cell-group. Their income too was well above the average, but the differences in their backgrounds were even bigger, notably religious denominations and political views.

Nobbie in particular, sitting next to her. With his clean-shaven head and dark piercing eyes, what unnerved Lizelle most was the intense way he stared at her.

Dad, can you still remember how often your father blazoned forth the slogan, ‘Vote for the National Party, vote Nat, or do you want your child to sit next to a black on the school benches?’ Well dad, now I’m sitting next to one. And do you know what dad, maybe grandfather was right, because it does feel stigmatic dad.

Lizelle came from Bloemfontein, where she lectured in sociology at the University of the Free State. Her plan was to study further, but first priority was a thorough business knowledge. Her eyes were blue and she wore glasses. She had a sharp face and nose, was fair skinned and a natural blonde, her hair worn mostly in a ponytail. Her breasts were medium and round, and her build slender, but her hips were well formed, and her legs long and shapely.

Her father, Sarel, was a surgeon, a world leader in bone transplant. He was also the major shareholder in what was deemed to be the largest and best private hospital in the Free State Province. Lizelle was here in spite of Sarel’s heated opposition. The elderly Sarel was old-fashioned and narrow-minded, a bigoted Afrikaner and an outspoken, intolerant racist. He could not understand why his only daughter should not go to the local university. Disregarding her mother Sarah’s plea, he point-blank refused to assist Lizelle financially. Brought up in a strict Calvinist-Protestant environment, Lizelle however, wanted a wider perspective of life, and the English language business school was this 26 year-old’s silent protest against a dominating, autocratic ‘tribal chief’ whose rule in their home was absolute.

Before she departed for the Ingelse Sodom and Gomorra, Sarel delivered a fiery sermon of condemnation, throwing in the Ten Commandments, a Confessional, and whatever else he could think of. ‘Was it not in that liberal cesspool,’ he charged, ‘where a National Party Cabinet Minister delivered a speech that finally sold out the Boerevolk, the Afrikaner?’ For according to a report in the Patriot of 20 May 1983, he reminded her, that speech spelt out details of the proposed three-chamber Parliament which was the National Party’s first step towards equal rights for all, irrespective of race or colour!

Sarel’s vehement rhetoric notwithstanding, her Christmas gift was a cheque to pay for the one-year full-time MBA course, plus accommodation. To all and sundry he proudly insinuated that his daughter was doing an MBA to one day take over the management of ‘his’ hospital.

***

Chapter 8

Nobbie, or Nobosuthu Mhangawani, was 29 years old, and he had a degree from the University of the Witwatersrand. He worked for a powerful black empowerment group in Gauteng Province. After he had made out a case to be sent to the GSB, the group agreed to pick up the tab.

With his clean-shaven head and dark piercing eyes Nobbie had a strong Yul Brunner-like personality, and the same stocky way of walking. Of medium height, he was slender and muscular, a narrow face, a reasonable nose which was not too flat, and well-formed lips. He was not married but had two daughters with different women. For Nobbie was popular among the women, as his biggest asset was that which the girls of the Province of Gauteng were so ecstatic about.

He grew up in Soweto, and his mother frequently reminded him of one of the bloodiest and blackest periods in the history of this country. Her eldest brother was one of the victims when police opened fire on students on 16 June 1976 when Soweto students marched in protest against the compulsory use of Afrikaans as instruction medium in black schools. His father was frequently beaten up by agents of the white regime, and when they carried him off the family did not see or hear from him for nearly two years.

In due course this champion of the right of self-empowerment would prove to be an archetype for an explosive situation.

***

Chapter 9

Jan Hendrik Smit chuckled as he stared at the narrow cot. Not the easiest place to pin a girl down on her back with her legs pointed at the ceiling, he mused. It would be touch and go, since he was a big man. But such a trivial issue had never troubled him before.

The fair haired and crew-cut Jan was tall and hefty and had played lock for the Tukkies rugby team (Pretoria University). Only an ankle injury, that has dogged him since his teens, kept him from playing for the Blue Bulls, one of the big five in South African rugby. Yet not once had it proved to be an impediment when he had to dig his toes in, and he knew he would master this confined space easily enough. All he had to do sometimes, was to massage the blood flow back into the calf muscles.

However, little could he dream what the initiation of this bed would lead to. This small room with its small cot which would now be his monastic domicile for the next ten months, for he had come to do an MBA.

Two decades earlier they would have laughed him off the Pretoria campus if he had told fellow students he was coming to Moscow on the Hill, as the University of Cape Town was then labelled in Afrikaner circles. They had associated this institution with the liberal/socialist utterances made by so many of its intellectuals, and naturally, in those days, anything liberal or socialist was communist. This in spite of the fact that for ages academics the world over had acknowledged UCT as one of the foremost universities.

But since 1994 many things had changed. Not only had Clifton Beach’s sun worshippers turned a shade darker (blaming it on the ozone layer), the people in the government benches had become even darker. Why even that most secret organisation of select white Afrikaner intellectuals had taken on a tan. Nevertheless, Jan was proud of the fact that his great-grandfather had been a founder member of this organisation in the early twenties, and that both his grandfather and father were members. But then, his ancestors were Voortrekkers, of which he was even more proud.

English had become the spoken language in all government forums, in business, all the universities, and of course, on the internet, and since the GSB had such a world-wide reputation, he had decided to come here. Another important consideration had been that this was one of the few business schools in the world that offered a one-year MBA course. After one year of monastic life he could return to his family business. A further important criteria was the holistic approach of the GSB concerning all their courses. And a post graduate student had to have worked for at least five years, which meant that most people on the course held senior posts in business or the public sector ― his equals.

Jan’s great-grandfather, the first Jan Hendrik, had been a farmer. But when that most secret organisation of select white Afrikaner intellectuals decided to establish an exclusive Afrikaner insurance company and bank, the wealthy Jan did not hesitate to invest capital in this ugly duckling. That had been the start of ZARKOR, the first Afrikaner business, now a giant on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange. Jan’s grandfather, Jan Hendrik II, expanded the business by investing in packaging, printing and newspapers, and motor industry.

Jan’s father, Jan Hendrik III, was the present CEO. Farming remained important, and since the twenties Smit Boerderye (Pty) Ltd had grown into the largest farming enterprise in the country. As a matter of course Jan Hendrik IV would one day take over the reins at ZARKOR, which was why he had chosen to add an MBA to his accounting degree from Pretoria University.

Whilst Jan had expected his father to object, to his surprise the older man had condoned his son’s decision. His father then told him that a good friend of his, a former dean of the commerce faculty at Tukkies, had done his MBA at Harvard in the late forties. Founded in 1636 and named after John Harvard in 1638, this is regarded as the doyen of business schools. George Busch was a Harvard MBA, his father told him, and the GSB’s MBA was one of the few recognised by this leading institution in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

***

Chapter 10

Caroline Chelmsford’s reaction to the small room and narrow bed was totally different to Jan’s. If the shock had not been so great, she would have burst out into tears. Dismayed she stared around her, for a moment too flabbergasted to think. On paper Breakwater Lodge on the Waterfront had sounded so imposing, inspiring even. Yet to her horror she saw that the space between bed and desk was too small for her two trunks to lie flat and be opened. And with the trunks standing upright it was impossible to close the door. Her room had a view out on the quadrangle, but this made no impression just then.

Caroline was tall for a woman, and anything but thin. Pear-shaped, she had a hefty bottom. Only her face was long and thin, reminding one of a certain crown prince’s girlfriend.

The first shock had come when she saw the layout of the rooms. From the passage one stepped into a small foyer, with four doors. The left front door was her bedroom, the right front a second bedroom. The door on her left was the toilet, with washbasin, and that on her right was a shower, with washbasin. This meant that she had to share these facilities with another creature.

And now this poky bedroom where she would have to spend nearly ten months, sleeping and studying. The last time she saw a room like this where anyone had to spend part of their lives was a dungeon in some dilapidated castle back home.

Caroline was in fact Lady Chelmsford, who had her own personal secretary (Bartlett Wolesley, an Oxford graduate) and enough servants to see to her every need. She was a blueblood, a descendant of a long list of nobles who centuries before had been honoured with a duchy. Her father had been the Duke of Rossendale, the highest honour that could be bestowed on any person of noble blood by the Crown. Now, for the first time in many generations, there was no son. And when her father passed away suddenly a year ago, a major thrombosis, the honour and title was bestowed upon her. And this included a seat in The House of Lords.

She not only owned vast farm lands and estates, one of her ancestors had been astute enough to invest in property in the City, with the result that Caroline now controlled an empire with a capitalisation of more than a billion pounds.

She had read history, languages and political philosophy at Cambridge, but her advisors (and she had many) had recommended that she take an MBA to assist her in managing such a big enterprise.

Four considerations had induced her to come to Cape Town. Top of the list was the magnificent Cape scenery, and, in contrast with the rest of the country, where violent crime was booming, the V&A Waterfront was fairly safe; the fact that the GSB had become an important player in the global village of international management education and that this was a one-year course; and a lessor consideration was that on average no less than ten Britons each year attend the MBA course at the GSB.

But she had not expected this. Not a blooming cell.

When eventually Caroline recovered from the shock she immediately called reception and asked if she could rent the adjoining room, in addition to her own. But on the line another shock awaited her.

Do you know who you are talking to? This is Lady Chelmsford! she demanded in a House of Lords voice ― a cold and sharp tone, used when addressing those beneath her, and that meant 90% of the British population.

"Dis okay lady, a friendly voice told her, all our clients are mos ladies. Maar unfortunately de allocation hes been made and dere is no more rooms in de prison. Because why, it’s like dis you see, we are full up. But if you like, you can try de receptionist at de Breakwater Lodge."

That was when the penny dropped and Caroline realised that to these rabble out here her title meant nothing. She was just another number. She immediately dialled London and told her personal secretary Bartlett Wolesley to rent her a double room at the Lodge, and to arrange to have her trunks taken across.

The dining room and Treadmill Club with a limited number of double bedrooms upstairs (where visiting academics were usually housed), was located in a building on the Waterfront side of the prison, whereas the building containing the bedrooms of the Breakwater Lodge was located on the Signal Hill side. She would not stay in the double room, she told him, but at least she could keep the bulk of her clothes there, and what’s more, it had a bath.

***

Chapter 11

For Chelton Arendse the size of the room or bed was standard. He grew up in a home on the Cape Flats where his room had been no bigger than this. His father was a lorry driver for the