At last, the most infamous latecomer in all of literature has arrived – not in the flesh, but in South Africa’s Afrikaans language. Irish playwright Samuel Beckett’s best-known drama, Waiting for Godot, now also lives as Ons Wag vir Godot.
Published and staged in 2024, the translation was inspired by the official centenary of Afrikaans in 2025.
As a Beckett scholar, I think it’s worth asking why Afrikaans is so late on the scene – and why it matters.
Godot in many tongues
First written in French, En attendant Godot was published in 1952 and debuted on stage the next year.
The action involves two tramps, Vladimir and Estragon, who have a series of absurd conversations and encounters as they wait for a man called Godot who never arrives. Beckett would self-translate the drama into English in 1954, calling it “a tragicomedy in two acts”.
Since then, translations of the play have exploded. By 1969 – the year of Beckett’s Nobel Prize for Literature – Waiting for Godot could already be read in dozens of languages, including Albanian, Marathi, and even Icelandic.
Samuel Beckett and South Africa
Beckett’s connections with South Africa are surprisingly varied. As a young man, he unsuccessfully applied for a lectureship at the University of Cape Town. His 1951 novel, Molloy, was translated from French into English with the help of a South African student, Patrick Bowles. And in 1968, Beckett made a donation to the then-banned resistance party, the African National Congress, in the form of a manuscript for auction.
This gesture was unprecedented for the Irish writer, who was wary of political causes. Yet not only did Beckett feel strongly enough about apartheid’s injustices to make this donation, he also refused to let anyone perform his plays before South Africa’s racially segregated audiences.
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Already in 1963 Beckett had signed the petition Playwrights Against Apartheid. He would continue to refuse performance rights in South Africa until 1980, when the Baxter Theatre was allowed to stage Waiting for Godot with a racially integrated cast.
Nevertheless, unauthorised Godots materialised before this. Athol Fugard, the South African playwright whose own dramas were influenced by Beckett, directed one of the earliest South African productions in 1962. Featuring an all-black cast, it testified to the play’s political charge, which Fugard emphasised:
Vladimir and Estragon … were at Sharpeville or the first in at Auschwitz.
It’s reasonable to think that Beckett would have supported this protest performance. But he would probably have denounced the first and unofficial Afrikaans version, Afspraak met Godot, translated by Suseth Brits and performed in 1970 at the Potchefstroom University College (now North-West University) behind closed doors.
For different reasons, Beckett would also have frowned on the substantial “borrowings” in Afrikaans novelist Willem Anker’s 2014 novel, Buys.
Domesticating a European classic
Fully sanctioned by Beckett’s estate and beautifully translated (from the French and English) by now-retired professor of French at the University of the Free State Naòmi Morgan, Ons Wag vir Godot arrives at a different moment altogether.
The translation retains the gallows humour of the original while adding local flavour. For instance, where Vladimir originally names the Eiffel Tower as a picturesque site to commit suicide, his Afrikaans counterpart nominates Van Stadensbrug, a bridge over a ravine in the Eastern Cape. The slave-like Lucky once entertained his master with European dances: “the farandole, the fling, the brawl, the jig, the fandango”. These now become a South African mix: “volkspele, die riel, die pantsula, selfs die horrelpyp” (folk games, riel dance, pantsula dance, a hiding).
In translation-speak, Ons Wag vir Godot is therefore fully “domesticated”: the play’s universality comes through even though – and perhaps even more so because – it’s anchored in a particular place and time.
This struck me when I attended the play’s limited-run production, expertly directed by Dion van Niekerk, at the 2024 Vrystaat Kunstefees (Free State arts festival). Its set managed to thread together subtle South African roadside details: a toppled rubbish bin, pylons on the horizon, a (broken) picnic bench.
In the text itself, we encounter familiar place names, sayings and cultural clues. Consider how Beckett’s abstract phrase “the essential doesn’t change” is grounded in African mythology: “Jakkals verander van hare, maar nie van streke nie” (The leopard doesn’t change its spots). Then there’s the charming touch of the dog in Vladimir’s song snatching “’n stukkie wors” (a piece of sausage particular to South Africa) rather than a measly “bone”.
Godot and the Afrikaans canon
Ons Wag vir Godot achieves its most profound tribute to Beckett and Afrikaans through its intertextual richness. Both the French and English originals are highly allusive texts: they invoke other works of literature to increase their range of meaning and subtlety. Morgan is attuned to this subtlety and to the parallels to be found in Afrikaans literature. There are references to works by canonical Afrikaans writers like Eugène Marais, Totius and C.J. Langenhoven, each adding its own resonance.
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Yet the dilemma any translator faces is not so much in bringing in the new, but in striking a balance with the old. Consider the judicious swapping of a line from Percy Bysshe Shelley for a line from C. Louis Leipoldt.
In the English version, Estragon looks up forlornly at the moon and half-quotes the English Romantic poet: “Pale for weariness … Of climbing heaven and staring on the likes of us.” In the Afrikaans, he gives us a fragment from the wistful poem, Die Moormansgat: “ek kyk na die lig van die volle silwermaan” (I behold the light of the full silver moon). At face value, this lacks the detached, woeful quality of Shelley’s line. But read in the context of Leipoldt’s poem, it is every bit as poignant.
The virtue of waiting
“Vladimir would agree,” Morgan concludes in the preface to her translation, “that a century is a decent amount of time to hone a language for the translation of one of the best-known dramas in world literature”.
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And indeed, the riches of the Afrikaans language are on display in this sensitive, witty and allusive rendering of Beckett’s European classic. But it’s also true that a certain amount of political baggage had to be shaken off before such a feat could be realised – not just in the right words, but in the right spirit. Of course, if Beckett’s play teaches us anything, it’s the virtue of waiting.
