for
their lonely lives by high wages, good houses ("You'll find 'Housing'
engraved on my heart after I'm dead," said a disgruntled manager), and
as much in the way of recreation as can be supplied: organized sports,
movies, a clubhouse, company parties. There were about two thousand
Europeans when I was there, which makes a respectable town. The general
store is kept by a man whose pride it is that many of the women have
lately abandoned their old custom of ordering direct from mail houses
in Cape Town because they like his stock better. "Only one piece of
each pattern for dresses," he assured me. "That way you avoid trouble."
There are also an abattoir and butcher's shop, all run by the company
on a non-profit basis. There is, of course, all the electricity you can
use. As for wire fencing, they don't use it. Where would you go to,
even if you managed to elope with a sack of rough diamonds? Desert
surrounds Oranjemund, and without a caravan of camels or a plane the
theft wouldn't be feasible.
The
men who used to swelter and suffer behind the fences of Alexander Bay
might wonder why anybody should mind living at Oranjemund, but there
are drawbacks, chief of which is the climate. Though it's not true that
it never rains—in fact there were fine showers in the morning during my
stay—the endless stretches of sand, the occasional fog, and the
glaring, metallic sun that drives away the fog can become
nerve-racking. Worst of all are the sandstorms, "whirling and driving
in all directions," if I may again revert to Cornell, "penetrating
every house, every room, every orifice, choking and blinding one." A
resident told me that he once started out from Lüderitz for Oranjemund
in a brand-new car. He ran into a sandstorm and took shelter until it
was over. When he came back he found
