The Burning Land

by George Alagiah

  ‘I don’t buy that,’ Sharmi said. ‘This thing is older than the Land Collective. It goes all the way back to Cape Town.’

  ‘You’re right. It goes all the way back to that night. You remember?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘I mean the party, not what happened afterwards. You were there because you’d earned your place there. I was there because – I can’t even remember her name now – because I was brought there. I was tagging along. I’m good at that.’

  ‘That’s kak, man, rubbish.’

  ‘How would you know, Sharmi, you with your self-belief, your family’s history in the struggle? You’re the real thing. Me, what am I? You think you’re the only one who’s looked at me and thought, I know his type – black skin, white brain? Be honest, that’s what you think, isn’t it? You thought that from the first time you laid eyes on me.’

  ‘Did François tell you that?’

  ‘He did but he didn’t have to. You made it pretty plain all on your own. Don’t worry, you weren’t the first. Oh, no. By the time I met you I’d got pretty used to it. It’s what happens when people – our people, black people – find out the only reason I was at a decent school was because some white folk paid the fees. It explains everything for them. If you see both sides of an argument – oh, that’s the white thing again. If you look for compromise – Jeez, he’s been brainwashed. You just happened to be the person who made me want to hit back, Sharmi. That’s all. It wasn’t that I didn’t want you, it wasn’t that I didn’t like you, it was just that I didn’t stack up against you.’

  They stared at each other. They were like old warriors who’d fought themselves to a truce, looked at the damage they’d caused, the bodies piled high on the battlefield, and wondered how it could have come to that.

  Kagiso broke the silence. ‘I’m not sure what you expect me to do now.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to do anything.’

  ‘Am I supposed to persuade you not to hand yourself in, pretend I don’t care that Lesedi is dead and that his killer is still free and that you played your part in his murder?’

  ‘I’m not here to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, Kagiso. I’ve made up my mind. It’s up to you to decide what your next move is. You’ve just been talking about acting on your conscience. Maybe now you’ve got your chance.’

  The phone rang. It was Two-Boy. ‘It’s me. It’s not good. There’s nothing on the laptop.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’ve checked and I’ve rechecked.’

  ‘What about his papers?’

  ‘There weren’t any.’

  ‘A back-up drive, a phone, an iPad. Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m as certain as I can be. Did Les – did he give you any idea what he had?’

  ‘Not exactly. He just said …’ He paused.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kagiso said. ‘Maybe I misunderstood him, or maybe it was just talk.’

  ‘What the fuck you saying, Baba? All this was just a hunch or what?’

  ‘I need time to think. I’ll call you.’ He put the phone back into his pocket.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  Kagiso realised Sharmi could not have known, and still didn’t know, what Lesedi had been trying to do. ‘He was on our side.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lesedi Motlantshe.’

  ‘Give me a break.’

  ‘It must have been more or less the last thing he did before your – your people dealt with him. He was ready to stop his father’s Mpumalanga deal and told me he had the money trail and he was ready to go public. That was Two-Boy just now. We thought the evidence would be on Lesedi’s computer, which we managed to get from his mother. But Two-Boy says there’s nothing.’

  Sharmi had been standing more or less where she’d entered the room. Now she shuffled towards the adjacent wall and leaned against it. ‘But I don’t understand, Kagiso. You could have said something.’

  ‘First, I didn’t know till he came to Soil of Africa. Second, even if I had said something you’d have accused me of being naive. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Maybe I was. Maybe it was just big talk from Lesedi. Maybe you were right, after all. I don’t know where else we could look. It was our only chance. It’s over. It’s time to call it a day.’

  ‘You’ve still got time to get out. You could make Zim or Mozambique this evening, or at least be well on your way.’

  Kagiso’s phone rang again. ‘I told you I’d call when I’d decided what to do.’

  ‘No, no, you don’t understand. Lesedi has come good. We’ve nailed them, man. It’s all here, just like Lesedi told you.’

  ‘I thought you said you couldn’t find anything.’

  ‘I was looking in the wrong place. Priscilla Motlantshe gave us a box of Lesedi’s things. It was there all the time!’

  ‘Where? What do you mean?’

  ‘His key-ring. A real fancy thing. You know personalised and what-what. His car keys, keys to his apartment, they’re all hanging off this silver … What you call it?’

  ‘Fob, whatever. What about it?’

  ‘It’s got a memory stick inside it. It’s all there, Kagiso. It’s dynamite. There are bank numbers, everything. Willemse is in it up to his neck. But he is not the only one. All the names are here. There’s even someone in the president’s office. It goes right to the top.’

  ‘That’s good, Two-Boy, very good.’

  ‘What do you mean good? This is everything we’ve been fighting for.’

  ‘No, we didn’t fight for this. Lesedi died for it. Okay, let me call Lindi.’

  ‘She already knows.’

  ‘I was meant to do that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t go straight to her office. She was here when I found the stick.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She’s on her way – should be there any minute now. Waiting for your call. We going to jol tonight, bru.’

  ‘Sure. Check you later.’

  Kagiso got up and went over to the window. He stood there, oblivious to everything else.

  ‘I said, who’s this Lindi?’

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away. Lindi? She’s from London. She’s been helping me.’

  ‘She the one who called you that night, at the last meeting?’

  ‘Yes. She’s the daughter of the family my mom worked for.’

  ‘So she obviously turned out okay. I’m sorry – I was so mean about them, her family.’

  ‘Well, that’s a new tune.’

  ‘I’ve had time to think, I’ve been doing a lot of that the last few days.’

  ‘Apology accepted. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to say. Anyway, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.’

  ‘I think I was jealous.’

  ‘Jealous? Of Lindi, you mean? You don’t even know her.’

  ‘I don’t mean her as a person. I mean the whole set-up, the way you were so close to them. Not the white-family-black-servant thing but … you really liked them and they really cared for you. I’m probably not making a whole lot of sense …’

  Even as she searched for the words, Sharmi knew where she was heading: an admission she should have made a long time ago. She used to accuse Kagiso of being naive for taking his relationship with the Seatons at face value. Now she knew it was a strength, not a weakness. She was incapable of doing that. The baggage of history had weighed her down, got in the way and conditioned her reactions. It was the prism through which she saw everything. It looked like ‘certainty’ – that was how Kagiso had just described it – but it was nothing of the sort. It was a prop. If anything went wrong, blame history.

  ‘What I’m trying to say … I’m not as strong as you think. I’m tough, that’s for sure. I’m good at fighting, but I’m not so good at the other stuff.’

  ‘Stuff?’

  ‘At …’ she hesitated ‘… at love.’ Even using the word she felt as if she had laid herself b
are.

  A phone rang again. It was the one Ma Khethiwe had bought. Kagiso knew it would be Lindi. He moved back to the sofa.

  ‘Is everything okay? I’ve been waiting for your call. You’ve heard, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I have, and, yes, everything is fine, Lindi.’

  ‘You don’t sound like everything’s fine, Kagiso. Come on. You’ve won. This is everything you’ve worked for. You’ve bust open this thing.’

  ‘I don’t feel like a winner. We haven’t bust open anything, Lindi. We made a lot of noise. But one man did bust it open and he did it quietly – and now he’s dead.’

  ‘Jesus. What’s brought this on? Look, I understand how tired you must be, how difficult these last few days have been. But we’ve got to finish this thing. When are you going to get here? We’ve got to prepare a statement, I’ve got to talk to Anton, and presumably you’ve got to talk to the rest of your people. There’s a lot to organise.’

  Kagiso paused.

  ‘Kagiso! You still there?’

  ‘I’m not coming, Lindi.’

  ‘You’re not coming to the press conference?’

  ‘I have to think things through.’

  ‘What’s there to think through? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I can’t tell you now. We’ll talk later.’

  ‘And I’ll just twiddle my thumbs till then, shall I?’

  ‘Do what you have to do. Take care, Lindi, hamba kahle.’

  Kagiso ended the call. He looked up at Sharmi. Something clicked into place. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. ‘What now?’

  ‘I have stuff to do,’ she said. ‘I’m going to call Two-Boy, you call François. You’ve got about five, maybe six hours before the shit hits the fan.’

  Kagiso stood up and walked over to Sharmi. They embraced, perhaps the only real act of intimacy they had ever shared.

  Anton’s phone rang. It was Lindi’s usual number.

  ‘So did it work? Did Lesedi Motlantshe’s mother show up?’

  ‘Yes, it worked.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Did you get my email? I’ve sent you a file attached to it.’

  ‘I checked my inbox a few minutes ago. There was nothing from you.’

  ‘I didn’t give it a subject and you won’t recognise the address. Check your junk mail – it will have ZA for South Africa.’

  ‘Hold on, let’s see, I’m looking, still looking … Yep, here it is.’

  ‘Open it, make sure it’s all there, and you can read it.’

  ‘Christ! There’s a lot of stuff – it’s massive. Letters, looks like bank accounts. There must be dozens of pages.’

  ‘Good, you’ve got it. Now let me explain. That’s the evidence Lesedi had put together on the land deals. When you look at it you’ll see how the deals were done, how the farmers got paid off, and how the foreign buyers were going to split the money with people here. Motlantshe, ministers, probably the president, they were all in it.’

  ‘Girl, this is fantastic. You or whoever, the Land Collective people, you’ve handed this stuff to the police?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘What? Look, we’re not a detective agency. This is evidence of corruption, possibly criminal. We’ve got no business sitting on it.’

  The tables had turned: Lindi was skirting round the rules; Anton was urging caution.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ she said. ‘There’s a strong possibility the authorities might try to suppress all this. I had to make sure you had it.’

  ‘Okay, so we’ve taken care of that. What we’ve got to do now is get this off our hands and concentrate on what we’re there for. You know, how we use all this to get a debate going on a proper land-reform policy. You could be there for some time, months probably. Lucky you.’

  ‘Maybe not so lucky, Anton. I could be staying here for a while anyway.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I think the police here are going to want to interview me.’

  ‘What the hell you talking about, girl?’

  ‘Remember when we spoke on the phone after I had been to Lesedi’s funeral? You said Kagiso had to know more about the Land Collective than he was letting on. You were right. He’s one of them.’

  ‘Bingo!’ Anton crowed.

  ‘Don’t sound so smug. There’s more to come.’ She thought about how to say it. There was no way to sugar-coat this particular pill. ‘The Land Collective was involved in Lesedi’s murder.’

  ‘Christ! How long have you known about this?’

  ‘An hour or so.’

  ‘Your man Kagiso, was it him?’

  ‘No. He only found out himself a few hours ago. Apparently, it was organised by another member of the Collective. They just meant to teach Lesedi a lesson but it obviously got out of hand.’

  ‘And then some! We’ve got to act fast. We’ve got to distance ourselves from this.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’

  ‘What are you talking about? If you don’t want to … what?’

  ‘Distance myself.’

  ‘Lindi, if it ever came out we sat on this for a minute longer than we had to we’d be fucked. You, me, the Trust, all of us. We can just pack up and say goodbye. We don’t have a choice.’

  ‘I do have a choice. I want a choice.’

  ‘I’m not giving you a choice.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you of all people. It was your idea to try to reach the Land Collective!’

  ‘Don’t give me that bullshit. I didn’t know they were murderers.’

  Anton the firebrand no more. It was as if they had changed places, swapped roles.

  ‘All the time I’ve known you you’ve banged on about being with the little people, taking on the vested interests. I could give you the speech word for word. And now when we have a chance—’

  Anton interrupted: ‘Is this personal?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is this about your family’s relationship with the guy? White guilt and all that kak.’

  ‘How dare you? I’m not going to forget you just said that but, for the record, no, this is not personal. This is about following my instincts, doing what I think is right. The Land Collective are not murderers.’

  ‘What’s happened to being neutral? Gone, just like that.’ Anton’s frustration at being unable to get through to her was building.

  ‘On this I’m not neutral.’

  ‘The police will want to know what our links with the Land Collective are, how close we are to them. You’ve told me everything, right?’

  ‘I’ve told you everything you need to know.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘You have to do what you have to do, Anton. That’s the advice someone gave me just now. I guess it’s the same for you.’

  A few hours later, close to midnight in South Africa, Radio 702 broke the story. Within minutes every other radio station and TV channel was onto it. Police had arrested – that was what the press release said – and charged a suspect in the Lesedi Motlantshe murder case. The police released a mug-shot of Sharmi Meer. She was almost smiling. Defiant. The statement said the police were now looking for other members of what they called an ‘underground terror cell known as the Land Collective’. One, an employee of SABC, had already handed himself in. The identities of two others were known and police were searching for them. All border posts and airports had been alerted. The photos of François Nel and Kagiso Rapabane were grainy blow-ups of snapshots. Police were also keen to question a British national, thought to have had close links with the cell and in South Africa without a work permit.

  There was a quote from Lieutenant General Jackson Sibande, police chief in Mpumalanga Province. ‘This vile crime was an insult to the peace-loving people of Mpumalanga. We said we would find the culprits and that is just what we have done. Now justice will take its course, as it always does in our free and beautiful country.’

  The press attaché at the
British High Commission in Pretoria was woken up by a journalist. It was the first she’d heard of the story. A while later the High Commission released a statement: ‘The High Commission is aware of the arrest of a British national in connection with the recent disturbances. Consular assistance is being given and High Commission staff will, of course, be cooperating with the South African authorities.’

  Overnight in London, South Trust’s Twitter account announced a press conference at seven the next morning in connection with the recent disturbances associated with land sales in South Africa. There would be a statement from the Trust’s director.

  Anton Chetty didn’t expect the small conference room at South Trust to be quite so crowded. Not so early in the morning. He recognised Robert Whitaker and one or two more Africa hands. There were a couple of other correspondents he’d bumped into before. The usual suspects. But who were all the others? There were several TV cameras on raised tripods at the back of the room – they looked like a firing squad. He hated this. Hated what he was about to do. What he had to do – that was what he told himself. Anton felt the perspiration on his back. He removed his jacket. He was accompanied by a member of staff. As they sat down behind a table at one end of the room, he asked her if she knew who all these people were.

  ‘Over a hundred journalists follow us,’ she whispered, ‘so, no, quite a few of these faces are new to me. I think the business press are here in force, though – that’s the woman from the FT by the aisle in the front row. There’s bound to be questions about land reform so just stick to the bullet points we discussed earlier.’