The death of Hendrik 'Buks' Kruiper
It was with great sadness that I learnt of the death of Buks Kruiper. He died Friday 26 April, 2013.
Of all the KhoeSan I have met and got to know there was something remarkable about Buks. He was a
man who was extremely engaging and full of spirit. He was something of a local Kalahari legend. There
were times when he did things that were challenging but people come in packages and at the centre of
Buk's package was a heart and spirit lived through an extraordinary life.
The first time I met Buk's was when I interviewed him, like so many other researchers. I always remember
how he wandered around the answers and, at one point, said to my Afrikaans interpreter: "Who is this
man. He lies on the sand. Look at him. I like him." It is true. I was relishing a moment of warmth on a
winter's sand dune. From that time on our relationship developed. He would always greet me with a hug
and it would not be long before we got the guitar out and just passed the time. It is true that my
Afrikaans is tiny and it was difficult talking to Buks, yet I like to think we understood each other. It is also
true that money invariably came into things and this could grow tiresome but such a statement only goes
to remind us of the inequality of such meetings. I like to think with Buks we had crossed that line.
At the funeral of his brother Dawid in June 2012 I remember Buks wandering around at the back of the
crowds looking lost with tears on his face. He came to sit with us and share some tobacco and to talk,
and he cried. At this point a large white bloke I had never seen before, sitting a little in front of us, turned
round and told him to shut up and go away. An act unthinkable at a family's funeral. It said so much. All
manner of people came out and made speeches littered with self interest. There was sincerity in some,
and some real friends joined in, but many people seemed there for themselves.
Of all the KhoeSan I have met and got to know there was something remarkable about Buks. He was a
man who was extremely engaging and full of spirit. He was something of a local Kalahari legend. There
were times when he did things that were challenging but people come in packages and at the centre of
Buk's package was a heart and spirit lived through an extraordinary life.
The first time I met Buk's was when I interviewed him, like so many other researchers. I always remember
how he wandered around the answers and, at one point, said to my Afrikaans interpreter: "Who is this
man. He lies on the sand. Look at him. I like him." It is true. I was relishing a moment of warmth on a
winter's sand dune. From that time on our relationship developed. He would always greet me with a hug
and it would not be long before we got the guitar out and just passed the time. It is true that my
Afrikaans is tiny and it was difficult talking to Buks, yet I like to think we understood each other. It is also
true that money invariably came into things and this could grow tiresome but such a statement only goes
to remind us of the inequality of such meetings. I like to think with Buks we had crossed that line.
At the funeral of his brother Dawid in June 2012 I remember Buks wandering around at the back of the
crowds looking lost with tears on his face. He came to sit with us and share some tobacco and to talk,
and he cried. At this point a large white bloke I had never seen before, sitting a little in front of us, turned
round and told him to shut up and go away. An act unthinkable at a family's funeral. It said so much. All
manner of people came out and made speeches littered with self interest. There was sincerity in some,
and some real friends joined in, but many people seemed there for themselves.
