‘Yeah. He doesn’t do subtle.’
‘I’d say he’s got his eyes on you.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt that. Minister Jake Willemse doesn’t like people who interfere in his business. After today I’d say he’s got his eyes on you too, Lindi. Whatever you’re up to – and I assume that stuff about family and friends was bullshit – I’d be careful who you talk to and what you say in public. In fact, being seen hanging around with me probably hasn’t done you any favours.’
‘Since you mention it I think they’re already watching me.’
Kagiso frowned. ‘Really?’
‘Well, they took me aside at Immigration and gave me a warning about working. I’m on a tourist visa.’
‘How did they know to take you aside? It’s not like they could have known you were coming.’
‘Good question. Could be a couple of reasons,’ Lindi mused. ‘My boss, South Trust’s director, gave an interview the morning after Lesedi’s killing saying it was all linked to the land question. Not that he had any evidence, more of a gut thing. Anyway, after that we got a call from the South African High Commission in London. So they certainly know about us.’
‘I heard the interview. They had a clip on the BBC website. What was the other reason?’
‘Maybe I’m being paranoid but the morning after Lesedi’s murder I got a call from an old colleague of mine, from the days when I used to work for the UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office.’
Kagiso raised his eyebrows in mock horror. ‘Harry Seaton’s daughter worked for the colonial masters!’
‘Very funny. If it’s any consolation, it was a train crash and I left in disgrace. Anyhow, this guy now works for something called Africa Rising Investments. They’re private-equity turnaround specialists, though from what I can make out the only thing they’re really good at turning around is the money they make. He called me that morning – it was three days ago, maybe four, I’ve lost track – and warned me, or South Trust, about meddling.’
‘Let me guess, Africa Rising is involved in land purchases?’
‘You go to the top of the class. Yes, they’ve done stuff all over the place – Sudan, Ethiopia and loads more.’
Kagiso looked surprised. ‘We – I mean Soil of Africa – we keep an eye on people like that but I haven’t come across Africa Rising doing anything here.’
‘They don’t exactly shout about it. They stay under the radar. That’s the way they like it and that’s the way their clients like it – the Chinese, the Gulf countries, whoever’s paying them.’
‘And Lesedi headlines are not good for business.’
‘Exactly. Judging by this guy’s call to me, I’d say Africa Rising must be knee-deep in some land deals here.’
‘If that’s the case you can assume they have a hotline to the government and your ex-colleague has surely been onto them,’ said Kagiso. ‘It’s going to make your mission here pretty tough.’
‘It’s not really a mission. I’m sort of under the radar too. If I get anywhere South Trust will come here officially. For now, I just need to find out who’s who.’
‘How do you mean?’
Lindi looked around. The last time they’d done this, had a picnic, they’d been children watched over by Maude. She remembered the photo in her parents’ hallway, the family portrait with Kagiso and Maude included. It had always seemed forced, contrived, but sitting next to Kagiso now she accepted there had been a truth to it. Lindi checked they weren’t being listened to. Reassured by the distance between them and the rest of the gathering, she continued: ‘The way we work is to bring opposing sides together. You know, try to get community-level talks going, influence the media, see if third parties can be brought in to mediate. But for any of that to start we need to know who the opposing sides are.’
‘Well, Soil of Africa has probably done more to shed light on this filthy business than anyone else.’
‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’ Lindi tried to keep a note of scepticism from creeping into her voice.
‘We’re right there working on the ground, which is more than you can say for most.’
‘What about this Land Collective?’
‘What about it?’
‘Come on, Kagiso. Look, I’m not making a judgement or anything, but I’d say it’s their campaign of sabotage that’s made people sit up and listen. That’s how it seemed to us in London.’
‘Okay. Say you’re right – you certainly aren’t the first one to say that. But you want to talk to people, and that rules out the Land Collective. Talking, as you’ve seen, is not what they do.’
‘You’re not telling me you have no idea who they are? You can’t help me?’
‘Right now the best help I can give you is to stay away from you – and vice versa.’
‘You sound quite spooked, Kagiso. Is there something I should know?’
Kagiso leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘All you need to know is just how high the stakes are. One man has been killed, and not just any man. Lesedi is like royalty here, you’ve just seen that. Whoever did it, if they’re willing to take him out, there’s no telling where they would stop.’
There was an air of finality about what he said next, standing up and brushing himself down. ‘The last thing I need right now, I mean Soil of Africa needs, is to be seen helping you. We don’t need any more scrutiny than we’re under already.’
Lindi got to her feet, and together they started walking back towards the church. On the other side of the yard, the ‘special guests’ who’d been invited to the burial were just coming back from the cemetery. Some were milling around, others already piling into the leathery comforts of their limousines. There was only so much of this township thing they could take. Their chauffeurs had kept the cars running with the air-conditioning on. In the melee Kagiso spotted Willemse again. He was talking to Josiah Motlantshe.
‘Look at them.’ Kagiso gestured to where the two men were standing. ‘Lesedi’s father is mixed up in this whole thing. He’s the one offering the sweeteners to the farmers. It’s made to look like a government initiative but he’s the main man. I’d love to know how much he gives Willemse and all the other hyenas.’
‘So whose side was Lesedi on?’
‘He and his father were polar opposites. All that kak in the church about the two of them being like friends and colleagues! Lesedi told me they did nothing but argue.’
The police sirens were wailing.
‘That’ll be the president on his way,’ said Kagiso.
‘Just one last thing,’ pressed Lindi. ‘Why would the Land Collective switch from sabotage to murder?’
‘Who says they have?’
‘Isn’t that the assumption?’
‘That’s what Willemse and his cronies want you to think but it doesn’t stack up. No one with a cause to promote would kill Lesedi. And why would they film the whole murder and stick it on YouTube, something they’ve never done with any of their previous acts of sabotage? The only thing that makes sense is that it creates an atmosphere of such revulsion that people are ready to give the government carte blanche to retaliate in any way it wants.’
‘So you think the government sanctioned Lesedi’s murder?’
‘Have you got a better theory? There’s billions riding on these land deals. Look how desperate they are, arresting one of the Mozambicans. They are the poorest of the poor, who will work for practically nothing because it’s better than they can get at home. Why would they risk it all by killing one of the most popular men in the country?’
Lindi nodded. ‘Shall we share a cab? I’m going into town.’
‘No, it’s better if we … Sorry. As I said, it’s better if it doesn’t look like we’re working together.’
‘Okay. Did I tell you I’m planning to spend a couple of days in Mpumalanga? I’m seeing the Catholic bishop in Nelspruit. And then I thought I’d go to Malelane. Couldn’t we meet there?’
He sho
ok his head. ‘Least of all in Malelane! Look, I’ve got some things to do before I catch my lift back there. And I want to spend a couple of minutes by the graveside – I didn’t qualify for an invitation.’
‘So is Willemse right? You were close to him?’
‘Hardly – we had only just met – but I believe he was a good man.’
‘We are going to see each other again, aren’t we?’
‘I’ll be in touch once I know what the next few days look like.’
The crowd of mourners had thinned out. The limousines were gone. The marquee was already being taken down. A few children were rummaging through the catering boxes, stacked up and ready to be taken away, searching for anything that hadn’t been eaten.
Kagiso walked towards the cemetery. As he approached it, he saw a small group of people near the grave, and one lone figure next to it: Lesedi’s mother. Her eyes were shut. He moved towards the grave but hesitated. Priscilla Motlantshe looked up at the noise, and beckoned him over. The two of them stood in silence on opposite sides of the grave. Neither had met the other before but they were joined together in this most intimate act of farewell. After a few minutes Kagiso walked over to her side of the grave and took her hand. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs Motlantshe,’ he said.
Priscilla thanked him. It seemed to her that those were the first genuine words of sympathy she’d heard all day, and all the more touching because they had been uttered in private. She asked him if he was a friend from university days.
‘No, we only really met recently,’ he said. She asked where. ‘In Malelane, I run a charity there.’
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Kagiso. Kagiso Rapabane.’
She nodded in recognition. ‘He called me from Malelane. It was one of the last times I talked with him. Lesedi told me about his visit. He told me about the good things you are doing there, he spoke very well of you,’ she said.
‘And the people there liked him,’ Kagiso added.
‘And you, what did you think?’
‘Well, yes,’ he responded, thrown by the direct question. ‘I liked him. I was surprised. He was not what I expected.’
‘Oh. And what did you expect?’
‘I’m not sure, except that, well, he is … was a Motlantshe.’
‘You mean like his father.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘It’s what you meant, though.’ Her gaze was direct but not confrontational.
‘I suppose so. I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to upset you.’
She shook her head briskly. ‘You are not the first one to think like that. Lesedi was different. He wanted to be different.’
Kagiso glanced at his watch and made a gesture of apology. ‘I have to go, but there is something I …’
‘What is it?’
‘I want you to know … Well, I want you to know that we, I mean the charity I run, we oppose your husband’s way of doing things, but it is not personal.’
‘You have to do what you think is right. And if Lesedi said he wanted to help you, then I will try also. When all of this is over, come and see me. A friend of Lesedi is a friend of mine.’
12
After the funeral, Kagiso went back to his mother’s house in Diepkloof, on the northern edge of Soweto. After much fussing over him by Maude, there was a great deal of reminiscing about life with the Seatons. Maude wanted a description of Lindi, scolding her son for not remembering every detail of her appearance. Then she berated him for not bringing her over that very evening. All this while she cut up a couple of chickens and prepared them for the pot. The son of a poor relative who stayed with her had been sent out for groceries and condiments the minute Kagiso had walked through the door.
Word of Kagiso’s presence spread through their section of Diepkloof, aided by a couple of well-chosen calls from Maude. Before too long, Kagiso found himself in the middle of an impromptu party. There was plenty of talk about the ‘prodigal’ son. His auntie, no doubt prompted by Maude, wanted to know if he’d found anyone special and his nephews wanted to know what the country girls were like.
In the latter part of the evening, conversation inevitably turned to this ‘business’ with Lesedi. One of his mother’s neighbours, a retired railway worker, became quite exercised – and drunk. He ended a dramatic speech, laced with all manner of brandy-fuelled expletives, with the conclusion that he’d known all along that no good would come of all these protests about land. The irony was not lost on Kagiso. A nation that had been born of protest was now tiring of it. But he knew that the old man, the neighbour, probably spoke for many South Africans. Collectively, they were spent. A quiet life was what they wanted after the tumultuous achievement of freedom. Not for the first time he wondered if he was out on a limb.
The following morning, Kagiso woke up much later than he’d planned. By the time he shuffled into the living room, the only communal room, there was not a single trace of the previous night’s revelry. Maude was sitting at the table, a pair of spectacles pinched over her nose, staring at a pile of papers. She started to get up, pushing down on the table with both hands. Kagiso touched her shoulder and told her to stay seated. She seemed suddenly frail. He noticed her ankles were thick. He brought two mugs of tea to the table and sat down next to her.
The papers in front of Maude related to a pension the Seatons had set up for her before they left and which they had continued to fund years after they left South Africa.
‘They want to stop sending me the pension,’ she said weakly.
‘Who? Harry and Helen? That can’t be right.’ Kagiso frowned.
‘No! It’s the company.’
‘Let me see.’ He read the letter through and explained that the insurance company no longer wanted to send monthly statements by post automatically. It would be done online, unless customers expressly asked to stay on the postal system. He imagined some bright young thing coming up with the plan, oblivious to the pre-internet generation for whom this particular product had been designed. Maude sighed with relief, her mind put at rest by his confident assurances.
That matter concluded, Maude had a number of chores for Kagiso. Every time he finished one she seemed to have another waiting. He wondered if she was inventing them as she went along – a mother’s ploy to keep her beloved son close to her, even if only for a few more minutes. In the end Kagiso decided he would take the overnight train, via Pretoria. Maude beamed, like a child with an ice cream, when he told her. She immediately set about making a cake for him to take to Malelane. No amount of protest would stop her.
In fact, he didn’t regret the delayed departure. He needed respite. The meeting with the others in Hillbrow, his argument with Sharmi, the reunion with Lindi, bumping into Willemse again and the funeral itself, all of it had unnerved him. He needed the time and space to think, above all to understand how an idea hatched in the edifying glow of idealism had been transmuted into this uncontrolled and ugly sequence of events, like the scientific perfection of nuclear fission turned into the hateful vengeance of Hiroshima.
When they used to plan their sabotage it was only ever one operation at a time. Success or failure was judged according to whether or not that particular mission was accomplished. Kagiso realised he had never really stood back to look at the whole, or to see how each act had set off its own chain reaction. It was like knowing the ingredients in a recipe but never understanding what happened in the mixing and making. He – they – had wanted others to follow where they had led, but had assumed their new supporters would merely replicate their own actions. He’d never thought that some might want to reinvent the campaign, to go freelance.
But his biggest miscalculation had been to underestimate the lengths to which those who stood to gain most from the sale of land to foreign interests would go, their power and determination. He understood that now. Kagiso could see that he and the others had never tried to get inside the minds of the profiteers and middlemen, the financiers and farmers.
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Is that how it went? Einstein, Newton – he couldn’t remember. It seemed what was true in physics was truer still in the world of politics and money-making. Of course they were going to hit back. Of course blood would be spilled. How naive he’d been.
Back in her Greenside guesthouse, Lindi called Anton in London.
‘Hey! How’s it feel to be back home?’
‘The weird thing is that it does sort of feel like home – even after, what, twenty years.’
‘You know what they say. You can take the girl out of Africa, but you can’t take Africa out of the girl. How are you getting on?’
‘Did you tell anyone I was coming down here? Did the High Commission call back or anything?’
‘No – and yes. I mean, yes, the High Commission did call back. And, no, all I said was that at some stage we might want to get involved. No great secret, it’s what we do.’
‘When was that?’
‘It must have been some time on the day you left. What’s with all the questions?’
Lindi raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s just that they seem to know I’m here. A lot of questions at the airport. Then yesterday, here at the guesthouse, there was a taxi parked outside. The receptionist thought it was for me but I hadn’t ordered one.’
‘I told you, this is big. These people, whoever they are, they’re playing for high stakes.’
‘What – do you really think I’m being tagged or whatever they call it?’
‘It’s possible. You want me to come down?’ Anton asked, rather too eagerly for Lindi’s liking.
‘I’m not saying I need help. I’m just letting you know what’s going on.’
‘Okay, okay. But just say the word.’ Sensing her irritation, and eager to keep her on the line for a full report, he changed the subject. ‘What’s your take on things so far?’
‘Well, I’ve had a real stroke of luck. Turns out the son of our old housekeeper – I’ve told you the story – he runs an outfit in Mpumalanga that supports black farmers.’
‘What’s it called? I’ll look it up while we’re talking.’
The Burning Land Page 13