The problem, however, was that Ms van Niekerk – Afrikaans Ally McBeal – had sounded so convincing. Annamari had almost believed her assertion that Stefanus Strydom had undergone some kind of Damascene conversion and become an ardent supporter of ... no, an active participant in – the Armed Struggle. Almost. She was horrified to see Tutu-two and his panel – even the white woman member – swallowing it all, hook, line and effing sinker. They sat there nodding and smiling at the too thin, tarty lawyer as she spewed lie after lie after lie.
‘It was after living on Steynspruit for some years, and seeing at first hand just how badly the black workers were treated by the boers, that my client, Mr Strydom, came to understand why black people had embarked on the Armed Struggle.’
If Thys hadn’t grabbed her arm and held her down, Annamari would have jumped up and screamed at the smirking murderer to get the twisted grin off his filthy pockmarked face.
‘Mr Strydom then started making enquiries about how he could also make a contribution to the struggle. He was put in touch with members of APLA who ultimately introduced him to Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane. He assisted them to hide arms and ammunition on Steynspruit. It was ideal – no one would ever think to search a farm like Steynspruit for illegal arms caches, not with owners who were known to be fervent supporters of the AWB.’
Annamari felt Thys’ fingers dig into her arm. She swallowed the bile that had rushed into her mouth, burning her throat. Why didn’t Mr Venter do something, say something? Her parents had hated the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging with their militaristic parades and quazi-Nazi flags. Her father had called AWB leader Eugene Terre’Blanche an egotistical Hitler wannabe, a disgrace to the Afrikaner nation. And now Stefan Smit’s terrible, disgusting lies were being recorded for prosperity by a funny little woman in a lurid pink floral dress who was banging away on the strange recording machine. Annamari glared at Stefan Smit as he slouched in his chair, his fringe flopping down over his watery eyes, his dirty fingers picking at a sore or something on the side of his nose, nodding his head in agreement with every lie his anorexic lawyer professed.
‘Unfortunately, the son...’ Ally looked down at her notes: ‘umm...Christo Steyn...ja, Christo Steyn. Ja, well, he started spying on my client. He even broke into Mr Strydom’s house and stole some of my client’s personal belongings including letters and photographs. Mr Strydom was concerned that the young boer, Christo Steyn, would find the weapons and he alerted Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane. They decided to move the weapons off Steynspruit on the night of June 15, 1989. They planned to use the weapons to attack the Driespruitfontein Police Station in the early hours of June 16 in order to support APLA’s commemoration of the start of the Soweto uprising in 1976.’
‘What rubbish,’ Annamari whispered in Thys’ ear. ‘Why would anyone have wanted to attack the Driespruitfontein Police Station? There was nothing there. Probably just old Constable Reineke and one of the township drunks.’
‘It would have been more of a symbolic thing, I suppose, not really intended to inflict real damage. And it would have been a very soft target – if that was really what was intended,’ Thys muttered.
‘Well, why didn’t they just do that? Why did they have to murder my family?’
Afrikaner Ally was still talking, and referring constantly to her notes: ‘Unfortunately, while the three applicants were packing up the weapons, the young boer, Christo Steyn, appeared and, without warning, opened fire on them. The applicants returned fire and the boer retreated to the main house. The applicants, concerned that the boers would raise the alarm, followed and dealt with the threat.’
‘They murdered my parents!’ Annamari couldn’t help it. She was on her feet, screaming at the smug, stupid, over-dressed, skinny bitch of a lawyer, tears streaming down her face. ‘They killed my brother. How can you say they just dealt with a threat? My parents weren’t a threat to anyone. They didn’t even have anything to defend themselves with – just Pa’s old shotgun. They were murdered in cold blood...’
The chairman called for a short adjournment. Thys led her from the room.
***
‘Answer the question, please,’ Tutu-two told Stefan Smit.
‘Can he repeat it?’ the murderer mumbled, loosening his tie.
‘What happened to the dogs? Who poisoned them? And the little dog, Kaptein? Who slit his throat?’ Mr Venter asked.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t see that. Anyway, they were just dogs...’
‘Of course. Just dogs. Now, I wonder if you would clarify something else for me. When exactly did you join the PAC?’
Annamari wiped her eyes and stared at Mr Venter in surprise. Up to then, he had focused on details of the “alleged arms cache” – and every time he mentioned the arms that Stefan Smit had said were hidden on the farm, Mr Venter had conveyed the word “alleged” in a tone of deep scepticism. Annamari wanted to applaud. He had also focused on the actual shooting and killing of her family. Stefan Smit had made it sound like an episode of The A Team. Mr Venter had made a point of referring to her parents and brother by their names, rather than “the deceased,” or – worse – “the boers” – a name which Afrikaner Ally conveyed in a tone of deep contempt. Now, the rapid and unexpected change in the direction of Venter’s questioning caught Annamari by surprise. It had clearly also thrown the murdering pig off balance too.
‘The PAC? I didn’t ... I wasn’t ... I was APLA, I already told you that.’
‘But the Azanian People’s Liberation Army – APLA for short – was the military wing of the PAC. Surely, as an APLA member you knew that?’
Stefan Smit shuffled in his seat and didn’t answer.
‘Mr Strydom, you did know that, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And so, as an APLA cadre, did you support APLA’s rallying slogan?’
‘Of course. I told you. I supported everything APLA did and stood for. I was one of their most loyal cadres.’
‘And you were an APLA member?’
‘Ja, of course. I told you. But I never got a membership card or anything. It would have been too dangerous, the way the boer, Christo Steyn, was always snooping around.’
‘I understand,’ Mr Venter said. Annamari wondered why he was smiling. ‘So, Mr Strydom, what was APLA’s rallying slogan?’
‘I can’t remember. It was a long time ago. Why are you asking me all these stupid questions? I’ve told you everything. I’ve told you the truth. And the truth is that the boers had to die because they were going to betray us. If Christo – I mean the young boer – if he hadn’t come snooping...’
‘Let me remind you, Mr Strydom. The APLA slogan you say you supported wholeheartedly was “One Settler, One Bullet”. Does that ring a bell?’ Mr Venter asked.
‘Ja, well, so what?’
‘So what did it mean – One Settler, One Bullet?’
Stefan Smit looked up at the ceiling and cleared his throat. Annamari’s anger rose again. How could Stefan Smit – even a slimy bastard like that – how could he have supported that?
‘Mr Strydom, are you telling us that you, a white man – a so-called “settler” in APLA terminology – that you were a member and fervent supporter of an organisation whose rallying cry was a call to murder every white person in South Africa – or did you think that didn’t include you?’
Stefan Smit looked frantically at his lawyer, but Afrikaner Ally was biting her lip and examining her long red nails.
Chapter 30
2000
‘Why didn’t he just say he was a member of the ANC or MK? They had quite a lot of white members,’ Thys said as they waited for their hamburgers and chips at the Wimpy down the road from the Cathedral.
Mr Venter took a sip of his coffee before responding: ‘The ANC and MK kept pretty good records. Throughout these hearings, many applicants have claimed to have been carrying out MK orders when committing so-called human rights atrocities, or just plain old criminal activities. Most have been caught out when they were unab
le to prove their MK membership. APLA was – and remains – more obscure and less organised. So Mr Strydom – and I have no doubt his fellow applicants – probably thought it would be prudent to claim affiliation to that organisation.’
‘Why would they lie about it? What possible difference would it make? They killed Annamari’s family – that’s murder, plain and simple. That’s why the court in Bloemfontein sentenced Smit to life.’
The waitress arrived with their food. Mr Venter waited until she had put the plates down and left before answering. ‘In order to be granted amnesty for a specific crime – a killing, a bombing – even, in some instances theft and fraud,’ he said, sprinkling vinegar onto his chips, ‘the applicant has to meet fairly strict criteria, the most important of which is the fact that the actions in question must have had a clear political objective and were not merely criminal in nature, or motivated by revenge.’ He cut through his hamburger, put a piece in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“I have found that the most obvious – and common – tactic during amnesty hearings is for the applicants to claim that the events for which they are applying for amnesty were effected on behalf of one of the liberation movements. In this case Mr Strydom has opted for APLA. It will be interesting to see what line Mr Naidoo takes for the co-applicants.’
***
Mr Yusif Naidoo rose to his feet and hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.
‘Please,’ Annamari begged silently, ‘tell the truth. Tell me what really happened that night. Tell me why my family was murdered.’
‘My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane,’ Mr Naidoo intoned sonorously in a strong Chatsworth accent, ‘are applying for amnesty on two separate counts. One, of course as my charming colleague has related, relates to the incident at Steynspruit Farm on the night of 15 to 16 June, 1989. Like their fellow applicant Mr Strydom, my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, were charged and found guilty on three counts of murder relating to this incident. They were sentenced to life imprisonment. My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, are currently serving their sentences at Pretoria Central Prison. However, before I deal with this most unfortunate incident, I must – with your indulgence, Mr Chairman – I would like to deal with the second application that has been brought before this honourable Commission by my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane.’
‘Is that really necessary? Wouldn’t it make more sense to finish with the Steynspruit incident and then to move on to the second application?’ Tutu-two asked.
‘Not at all, Mr Chairman. Not at all. The two incidents are intimately related as shall quickly become apparent.’
‘Well then, please proceed, Mr Naidoo.’
Mr Naidoo flashed a gleaming smile at Tutu-two, and glanced fleetingly at some papers on the table in front of him. ‘My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, are applying for amnesty for their indirect involvement in an incident on a farm – a very small farm, fittingly described as a smallholding – located some 10 kilometres west of Warmbaths. This incident took place on the evening of the fifth of May in 1983.’
Annamari stifled a shocked laugh. She glanced at Thys. He looked as stunned as she felt. Stefan Smit half rose to his feet, and then shrivelled back onto his chair, his fringe a grey curtain over his eyes. He leaned over and whispered frantically in his lawyer’s ear. Afrikaans Ally jerked her head away and brushed at her sleeve.
‘In this incident, a white woman, one Wilhelmina Botha and her thirteen-year-old daughter, Sara Botha, were shot and sadly died at the scene. My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, have applied for amnesty for their very, very peripheral role in the events leading to the deaths of Mrs Botha and Sara Botha. I must inform the Committee that neither Mr Buya nor Mr Xlongwane has been charged with any offence relating to these deaths and may not be, but they have applied for amnesty in the spirit of reconciliation and in order to ensure that truth, the whole truth, shall prevail.’
Afrikaans Ally tottered to her feet. ‘Mr Chairman,’ she appealed, ‘this incident took place hundreds of kilometres away from the incident for which all three applicants have applied for amnesty. The one has nothing to do with the other; nor for that matter is it of any concern to my client. Can we please finish the original application so that we can...so that my client can... so that we can just finish what we started this morning, otherwise we will have to come back tomorrow.’
‘Guess who hasn’t been properly briefed,’ Thys whispered. Annamari just nodded, too stunned to respond. She glanced at Mr Venter, who was staring at them, eyebrows raised. Thys gave him a discrete thumbs-up.
Mr Venter jumped to his feet. ‘Mr Chairman, I have no objection to the application for the two incidents being heard simultaneously. Indeed, my clients – and I – are extremely curious to find out more about this other incident.’
‘I agree, Mr Venter. Proceed please, Mr Naidoo,’ Tutu-two said.
Afrikaans Ally slumped back into her chair and resumed her examination of her nails. Stefan Smit glanced furtively at Annamari and Thys, and looked away. Mr Naidoo picked up his papers, and resumed.
‘My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, were born, raised and grew up together in King William’s Town in the Eastern Cape. Well, not King William’s Town itself, obviously, that being in the apartheid era and all. In Ginsberg, a township next to King William’s Town – the black township, of course. Yes. Well. Anyway. In September 1977, when they – my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane. When they were just eighteen years old, Mr Steve Biko – who also hailed from Ginsberg, the township you know – well, Mr Biko was brutally murdered by the South African Police while he was in their custody.’
‘Who’s Steve Biko? What’s he got to do with all this?’ Annamari whispered.
Thys shrugged.
‘I must inform the honourable committee, and you Mr Chairman, that Mr Biko’s horrifying death had a most enormous impact on my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani. A most, most enormous impact. Shortly thereafter they – my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani– joined the PAC and fled South Africa. They were just eighteen years old and they were sent to Tanzania where they underwent military training. Rigorous military training. Most rigorous. Over the next few years, my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, became most seasoned APLA cadres. Most seasoned and brave. They returned to South Africa several times over the years to carry out various missions, very dangerous, very important. They were very brave. Very very brave. They were risking their lives to free those of us who were still in chains as it were. You do understand, Mr Chairman.’
‘Yes, Mr Naidoo. Please proceed,’ Tutu-two said.
‘In 1973, while my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, were both in Mamelodi Township – that’s a township just outside Pretoria, Mr Chairman. Perhaps you know it? Yes, there were my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, preparing for another dangerous APLA mission, when they heard about a white man who had a strange, a most strange proposal for APLA. That’s when my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, met the co-applicant, Mr Stefanus Strydom for the first time.’
Stefan Smit stared at the table top. Afrikaans Ally looked up briefly, and then carried on looking at her long, red nails. Annamari looked back at Mr Naidoo. ‘My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, had heard that Mr Strydom was urgently looking for someone to carry out a “terrorist attack” on a farm near Warmbaths.’
‘That’s a lie. That’s a fucking lie,’ Stefan Smit snarled.
Mr Naidoo ignored him. ‘My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, were naturally and obviously most curious about this very unusual request and arranged to meet Mr Strydom that same day. Mr Strydom offered my clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, R500 to attack this farm which, he told them, was his very own farm.’
Annamari closed her mouth and squeezed Thys’ hand. Thys squeezed back. Stefan Smit slouched in his chair and ran his dirty forefinger over his lips.
‘My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, discussed their meeting with Mr Strydom with their APLA comrades. Most obviously, they were v
ery, very concerned that it was a trap. So they told Mr Strydom that no, they most definitely could not do what he, Mr Strydom, had requested and Mr Strydom said because it was so urgent, he would carry out the “attack” himself but he would most obviously need a “terrorist” weapon to do so. My clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwani, therefore supplied Mr Strydom with an old AK47 for which Mr Strydom paid one thousand Rand in cash.’
‘Are you fucking crazy? I never bought an AK47. I never met your fucking clients back then... You are lying,’ Stefan Smit screamed.
Afrikaner Ally tottered to her feet, objecting and shrieking that she was being blindsided and demanding an adjournment to confer with her client. Tutu-two granted a short adjournment.
Chapter 31
2000
‘Do you think they were telling the truth? Any of them?’
‘No liefie. They were all lying – or at least, not being totally honest. But I think Mr Venter did a great job. Don’t you agree?’
Annamari nodded slowly. ‘Ja, maybe.’
She leaned her head against the seat and gazed at the shadowy landscape flashing by. Lulled by the monotonous hum of the tyres, she stifled a yawn.
‘Sleep if you want, it’s been a really emotional day. It’ll be after midnight by the time we get home,’ Thys said.
Annamari closed her eyes and tried to make sense of the afternoon’s dramatic events. So much for the so-called Truth Commission. After all the shouting and questions and probing and still more questions, the truth, the real truth, about why and how her family had been slaughtered remained shrouded in a thick haze of lies and evasions. That disgusting little murdering rapist had insisted through numerous high-pitched objections and interjections from Afrikaner Ally that he had won the freedom struggle almost on his own and killing the boers on Steynspruit had been a vital element in that struggle and that was the honest truth so help me God.
The smarmy Indian lawyer, Mr Naidoo, had continued to speak over Afrikaner Ally’s objections, insisting that his clients, Mr Buya and Mr Xlongwane, had once again done nothing more than obey instructions from their APLA commanders.
When Time Fails Page 16