'No,' I said. 'I'm not happy here because I’m between two fires. My own people on the one hand and the white staff on the other.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, it’s enough that I’m having so much trouble with the African customers. One can understand their attitudes. Obviously they are suspicious of anyone in a position such as mine. They think I’m just bent on squeezing money out of them to swell the coffers of my white boss. I can understand, too, why the men are usually offended when I ask to being subjected to unnecessary scrutiny. They can't stand that sort of thing, especially from a mere woman.'
'I see,' said Donald.
'But what I can’t stand,' I continued, 'is their attitude.' I pointed to the women on the other side.
'They just can’t live and let live. They want to push me out because they think I am here to compete with them. If only they could accept that I’m here only to do my work and earn my living.'
Muriel at metropolitan by Miriam Tlali tells a story of ordinary workaday experiences. With restraint and humor she tells us what it was like working for Mr Bloch and his people in a furniture and radio stores. There was no strongly dramatic moments in the narrative, no unbearable tensions leading to climatic peaks. There are tense moments of anger and anxiety such as we all suffer at work. And there are the usual moments of resentment which we all eperience when we feel we are being imposed upon, or overworked and underpaid.
But in 1970's South Africa, Muriels's story is strongly linked with apartheid.
'Well... I don't know... I would have to call in a builder to see whether we can build a toilet. And I will have to build a separate office for you. They said I could not use the same office as you. I told them, I told them I was in the workshop most of the time and not in the office. But the law...'
From beginning to end her narrative we witness the ignorance of the white workers on "the other side" of the office. Every day the whites inflict innnumerable petty insults on the blacks and ignore that the blacks are perfectly capable of feeling wounded.
'I can't stand those voices… those baboons there, sitting and talking.'
'But we are not making any noise, Mrs. Kuhn,' I said; 'Adam was just telling me…'
'Well I said shut up! I don't care what he's telling you. And don't you dare answer me back!'
I said; 'I'm just trying to explain that…'
'What are you, after all?' The woman was now standing and looking at me, shouting at the top of her voice across the bars.
'What do you mean, what am I? I am a human being, of course.'
The whites also ignore the fact that the blacks view and discuss their speech and behavior with a critical ability.
Mrs. Kuhn turned to Mrs. Stein.
'She thinks she's like us, you know, Mrs. Stein.'
'That's an insult, Mrs. Kuhn,' I replied. ‘I don't think I'm like you. I don't want to be like you. I am very proud of who I am. I don't envy you. You're too small, too full of hatred. You are always occupied with issues that do not really matter.'
The whites also take pride in not being able to cope with the African names of the customers.
'But I wish we filed the cards according to the customers' first names. They are easier to spell than those terrible surnames.'
But this story also enlightens, surprises, and even delights readers, both black and white, and perhaps it served as engouragement to more black South Africans, at that time in silence, to examine and express their lives.
'I began to feel a little amused. I remember how I had heard the whites remarking about how blacks suffer from very many types of diseases; that even the slightest physical contact with them can be very dangerous as most of them have unhygienic habits and are carriers of many infectious diseases. But avoiding physical contact with blacks won't immunize the whites. Can't they see that the only way to ensure that the air that they breathe and the food thatthey eat will not be contaminated by blacks is to raise the standard of living of blacks and give them adequate education? I wondered what the use was of living in fear.'