The first sitting of the post-apartheid Government in Cape Town was, quite simply, unforgettable. There, before us, were the giants of the struggle, come at last to take their rightful place, some with pride, some with irreverence and some with passion. There was Joe Slovo in his red socks, promising his people one million houses within five years and Ronnie Kasrils ostentatiously yawning when a member of the National Party banged on a bit too long about something or other. And there was Kader Asmal, suited and precise, quoting Yeats in his maiden speech, following it with a courtly bow to the Speaker, as to the manner born.
The small town in the Eastern Cape, where I had worked during the lead-up to the election, had taken the whole thing quietly, the white population - cautious and resigned - waiting to see what might happen next, the black and coloured communities keeping their fingers crossed: they were making history and it all seemed too good to be true.
Last autumn, I returned there, looking forward to seeing big changes now that three years had passed. On the train down from Johannesburg to Burgersdorp, I saw plenty of new houses going up on the edge of the townships - nothing spectacular, mind you, simply rows of single-roomed dwellings with one window and a door but a vast improvement, nevertheless, on the tin shacks, timber lean-tos, cardboard shelters and old cars that were home to so many.
Few changes
When I arrived in Burgersdorp, however, I found few signs of change. There were more public phone boxes dotted round the township, the policeman's house was getting a new top floor, the local rugby club was on the way to getting a grant and, unbelievably, there was a black mayor. But new homes? More houses with flushing lavatories? Some things hadn't changed and, like a child expecting more, I must have shown my feelings. "It takes time", said Charlie, an old friend and ANC party worker. "There's a lot to be done and we're a young country. We don't have the same resources you have in Europe. Anyway, we don't want to build until we have the services like water and electricity already laid on."
The Minister for Water Affairs and Forestry, Kader Asmal, seemed to be on the radio constantly, talking about the water shortage and what he was doing about it. Some people couldn't see the connection between water and trees but the Minister could. It had all begun with the importation of alien trees, we heard - blue gums brought in from Australia for the production of pit props. These trees soaked up water the way indigenous trees didn't. Even the lovely delicate jacaranda was found guilty of being too thirsty.
"Alien trees must be rooted out", thundered the Minister in his quiet, polite way. He had a very strong point. Some of these large, exotic trees can drink up to 200 litres of water a day. His multimillion rand Working for Water programme caught on. Farmers and country people were exhorted to grub up vegetation that should never have been there in the first place and which, if growing in a catchment area, was interfering with the flow of water through the land.
Great grasslands
When he spoke of the land, Kader Asmal did so with a certain awe. During the apartheid years, he had been prevented from travelling freely around South Africa but since returning there he'd had the chance, he said, to see its potential and to marvel at the great grasslands that have provided pastures for South Africa's prime cattle.
There were no jacarandas in the township in which I was living. The house I was staying in had piped water - it was the local nurse's house - but this was turned off between 6 a.m. and 9 p.m. every day. At the nearby standpipe, there was always a queue. Joe Slovo's dream seemed a long way away.
And then, one day, I got an invitation from the Town Clerk to attend the official opening of a new water scheme. Foolishly, I wondered if the Minister for Water Affairs and Forestry would turn up for the great event but of course we were too small for such a thing to happen. Instead, we watched as the mayor flipped the switch which set the machinery humming.
Clean water
The old water system had been installed 40 years ago. Now, with two new boreholes and a large, concrete reservoir capable of holding nearly 2 megalitres of water, things would look up for everyone. All for half a million rand. Not too great a price to pay for clean water.
Plus there was more good news: "Now with the services in", announced the Mayor, "we can start our building programme". And there, as we drove back again en route for the celebratory finger lunch, were the foundations already dug: 400 houses in the black township and 100 hundred in the coloured township. We had become an important statistic, for had not President Mandela said only the previous week that somewhere in South Africa, building on 1,000 houses is completed or started every two and a half days?
There are still problems, of course. The water-scheme labourers were paid less than 50p an hour and 500 houses won't be nearly enough but that day, the town became another small piece in the jigsaw of South Africa's future. And if he'd known about Burgersdorp, the Minister for Water Affairs and Forestry might well have been pleased. Water, after all, is his country's most limited resource.