A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  Without waiting for Cecil’s reaction, Angus broke in over the speaker phone. “Mr. Mpau has summarized the situation very well. I think we need new leadership, but also the expertise and experience of our current management team. We also need a champion for sustainable development and the long-term environmental issues associated with our business.”

  “Exactly what I think,” said Mpau. “I propose we achieve this neatly without embarrassment to any party by separating the role of chairman and chief executive officer, as recommended by best corporate governance practice in any case. Specifically, I propose that Mr. Cecil Hofmeyr become CEO of the company, and that Mr. Angus Hofmeyr become the chairman. Under his new leadership we will be able to address these issues of concern properly.”

  Cecil was dumbfounded. This was crazy! How could anyone imagine that he would give up his dictatorship of BCMC to a thirty-year-old playboy with no experience? Anyway, Angus hadn’t even suggested that. Had Mpau gone mad? Again his delay cost him momentum, for Angus was speaking again.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I really must decline. I know I’m regarded as a bit of a dilettante, and although I hope my intervention here today has indicated I am a bit deeper than you may have believed, I have no illusions that I have the ability, background, or even commitment to chair this company, even with my uncle’s invaluable help. However, I believe I can suggest someone who has all three of these qualifications, as well as my unqualified support.”

  “I think we are running ahead of ourselves.” Cecil tried to regain control of the meeting. “We need to consider what—” But Angus’s voice cut across him, either on purpose or as a result of the imperfect teleconference communication.

  “I propose we offer the chairmanship to my sister,” he said, and went on for several minutes, summarizing her impressive CV. As he finished speaking, Dianna came back into the room.

  Dianna sensed the change immediately. The mood was no longer one of quiet confidence, almost boredom. Now there was tension, uncertainty, even a hint of fear. She resumed her seat next to Cecil, offering an almost inaudible embarrassed apology. But she felt exhilarated. My God, she thought, it’s actually going to work.

  “Is Di back?” Angus asked.

  “I’m here, Angus. It was a call about Mother. She’s all right. She had a dizzy spell—her blood pressure wasn’t right—and she fell. But she’ll be fine now.”

  Angus ignored this. “Di, we’ve been discussing the leadership of this company. We feel it needs new direction and new blood, as well as the experience and support of our current management. We want you to be the new chairperson, with Cecil continuing as chief executive.”

  Dianna made herself look surprised. The timing has to be right, she thought. She counted silently to ten. Then she said, “Uncle Cecil, what do you think about this?” Cecil thought that perhaps he was being offered a way out.

  “Well, I could see a longer-term—” But Angus’s voice cut across his.

  “We are agreed on this, Sis.”

  Mpau nodded. “I believe the board supports this.”

  Dianna lowered her eyes. “In that case, thank you, Mr. Mpau. I will be honored to accept the chairmanship, assuming that my uncle is willing to support the new structure you propose, which will lead to what is really only a token change in his position.” And she looked directly and inquiringly at Cecil. A bland look, but her eyes were already triumphant.

  Now the board was looking to Cecil for his decision. If he wanted to fight, he knew he would win here easily. Most of the board would back him if, for example, he asked for a postponement to allow him to regroup and fight another day. But what would be the point? Angus would just call a special general meeting and vote him out. And if things got nasty, there were areas where he was dangerously exposed. He thought again of Mabaku. He kept them all waiting for several long moments, while he brought himself to accept that these two near-children had outmaneuvered him with no apparent effort. Oh, but there was some! He wondered what Roger Mpau’s payoff was going to be.

  “I’m willing to resign as chairman effective immediately, and accept the new position of chief executive officer, if the board creates such a position,” he said at last.

  For a moment there was silence as the men and women around the table digested Cecil’s decision to give up without a fight. Then Dianna said formally, “Angus and I have always known that Uncle Cecil’s commitment to this company was absolutely paramount, ahead of his personal interests. He has just demonstrated that again.” She began to clap, and all the members of what had been Cecil’s board less than half an hour ago joined in one by one. For the first time Cecil felt fear. My God, he thought, do Angus and Dianna actually hate me? Can they possibly suspect the truth about their father’s death? But how? When the clapping stopped, it was replaced by a jeeringly rhythmic bleep from the telephone. Evidently they had lost the connection.

  Dianna collected her papers and rose. With all eyes on her, she walked around the table to her father’s chair. She sat down facing Cecil. He found it hard to meet her eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, his assistant lifted the receiver and replaced it. The noise stopped. No one suggested trying to reconnect to Angus.

  The formalities were soon concluded. The necessary motions were proposed and seconded, and the board coopted Dianna and Angus Hofmeyr as directors until the next annual general meeting. It then elected Dianna as chairman, and Cecil to the newly created position of CEO. Finally it appointed Roger Mpau to head a task group to look into sustainable development issues. Dianna then adjourned the meeting, pleading the need for time to inform herself on the company’s businesses and strategies. She asked Cecil and Roger to join her in the small committee room next door to prepare a press statement. The rest of the board members stood up and wandered out in near silence, all concerned about their own positions as much as the new direction of the company.

  Cecil left as soon as he could without appearing to be running away. He drove home with his mind in neutral. Only when he settled into his favorite armchair, with a large helping of his favorite twenty-year-old Lagavulin with just a few drops of water, did he start to analyze the events that had just occurred. He wondered what had been offered to Mpau; he wondered if he might still get the government to intervene; and he wondered about Dianna’s oh-so-convenient exit when Angus was ready to sing her praises and put her case. He particularly wondered about that. He thought that he had neglected his sister-in-law. He should phone her in the morning and find out if she was quite recovered.

  Chapter 44

  Peter Tiro did not fit the usual perception of a policeman, let alone a detective. He was introverted and very quiet, hardly ever volunteering an opinion. Few people got to know him well. But Tiro was amazingly adept at asking questions that encouraged people to open their hearts to him. He listened carefully and asked more questions. When a conversation was over, people felt there had been a very meaningful exchange. In reality, Tiro had learned a lot more about the other person than the other way around.

  It was children who made the hidden Tiro emerge. His only child had been killed by a drunken teenager who lost control of his car and swerved off the road onto the dusty sidewalk. Tiro’s nine-year-old son was walking home from school when he was hit by the car. Perhaps the only blessing was that he died instantly. The loss of his son had intensified Tiro’s love of children, as did the fact that he and his wife were unable to have more.

  Detective Tiro had been assigned to scour the mall for clues to the murder of the unidentified huge black man. Late in the afternoon, he had walked slowly up the mall away from Parliament House toward the National Museum and talked to the many women street vendors packing their wares for the night. None had seen anything the night of the murder. As he neared Independence Avenue, a filthy street urchin had run up to him, begging for money or food. The child was dressed in a variety of tattered garments, some male, some female, and was covered in the ever-present Botswana dust. Even in the open, Tiro flinched a
t the bitter smell of weeks-old sweat. Despite his appalling lifestyle and living conditions, the boy’s smile melted Tiro’s heart.

  “Dumela,” Tiro said gently in Setswana. “Hello. My name is Peter. What’s yours?”

  The boy looked at him with uncertainty. He was not used to being spoken to politely. He was used to being shouted at, or kicked, or chased if he grabbed something from a street stall. But an adult saying hello and asking his name made him very suspicious. He looked around to see if this was a trap, but there was nobody else in sight. He decided to take a chance—perhaps this man would give him a few thebe.

  “Dumela,” he replied, alert for an attack. “My name is Happy. Some of the women call me Sethunya, but I don’t like that.”

  “The old women call you Sethunya because you light up their day like a flower. I will call you Happy.” Tiro paused. “How old are you?”

  Happy relaxed a little. “Thirteen,” he said with a smile.

  Tiro shook his head, knowing full well that this was at least two years too high. Ten was closer to the mark. “Where is your mother?” he asked.

  Happy’s smile disappeared. “I have no mother. All those ladies are my mothers,” he said, pointing at the street vendors.

  “Where do you live?” Tiro’s voice was soft.

  Happy pointed at an alley.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Tiro asked, pointing at a small shop that provided inexpensive takeouts.

  Immediately, Happy was suspicious. Tiro continued, “You look hungry, and I need to eat too. Let’s go.” He walked over to the counter and ordered two hamburgers and two Coca-Colas. When they were ready, he took them over to a bench and gestured to Happy, who had stayed some distance away. Happy didn’t move. “Come on Happy,” Tiro shouted. “I’m hungry.”

  Cautiously, Happy came over and wolfed the food down. Tiro watched with pain in his heart. How can we let children live like this? he asked himself.

  When Happy had finished a second burger and was sucking large gulps of Coke through a straw, Tiro asked him how long he had been living in the area. Happy was not sure, but it was a long time. Before that he had lived in a very poor area whose name he did not remember. Tiro asked him about his friends, where he slept when it rained, where he found his food, and so on. Soon Happy was talking freely. Even though he was by nature very cautious when dealing with adults, he felt safe with this man who had bought him food. The man asked lots of questions and teased Happy, making him laugh. The man also laughed, but quietly. It was his eyes that laughed rather than his mouth.

  After half an hour, Tiro said that he had read in the paper that someone had been killed on the mall a few days before. He wondered whether Happy had seen or heard anything.

  “Oh, yes!” Happy said. “I saw him and his friend. They were talking.”

  Tiro asked, “Weren’t you scared? I would have been.”

  “No,” answered Happy. “It was dark, and they didn’t see me. If they saw me, I’d hide. Know plenty of places to hide.”

  Now Tiro had to make a decision. Happy might be a witness, or at least able to provide information about the two people. He had to handle this carefully. Happy could disappear forever if he felt the slightest threat.

  “Will you come with me to my house? I want my wife to meet you. She likes little boys with big smiles. I think you will like her. If you want to, you can spend the night in my son’s room. He’s away.”

  At once Happy looked anxious. But he liked this quiet man, so he said he would, hoping that the man’s woman had more food. Perhaps he could take something while they were not looking and sell it.

  Later that evening, Happy was unrecognizable. He was clean and wore clothes that had no holes or tatters. He was still barefooted because he said the shoes the Tiros had given him hurt his toes. Mma Tiro was not quiet like her husband. She was large and always laughing. She had taken one look at him, and helped him take a bath—his first. Then she threw away his rags. When he was dry, she gave him beautiful clothes from the cupboard in a big room that had pictures on the wall of people he did not know. He was overwhelmed by this lady and by all the money they must have to own such a mansion.

  When Tiro opened the door to the bedroom early next morning, he found Happy curled up on the floor. Happy had been uncomfortable with the soft bed and sheets over him and couldn’t sleep. Eventually he had crawled out of bed and slept on the floor with a blanket pulled over him.

  Happy got a fright when the door opened. He didn’t remember where he was, but when he saw Tiro, he remembered the kindness of the previous night. He smiled his glorious smile.

  “Come and have some breakfast, Happy,” Tiro said gently. “I have to go to work, and I want you to come with me.”

  Happy jumped up and went with Tiro to the kitchen. Tiro’s wife pointed to a chair and asked how he had slept. Happy told them how he had slept on the floor, a story that made the Tiros smile. Mma Tiro put a plate of bread covered with butter and jam in front of Happy, and told him to eat up. She also gave him a bag with fruit for later in the day.

  As he was eating, Happy asked Tiro what work he did. Tiro hesitated a moment and said, “I am a policeman.” Fear crossed Happy’s face. Tiro continued, “I am a detective. That’s a person who tries to find the bad people who commit crimes. Remember, you told me about the man who was killed on the mall the other night?” Happy nodded suspiciously. “Well,” Tiro continued, “my job is to find out who killed him. But it is very difficult because nobody knows who it is. Nobody saw him; nobody knows where he is.”

  “But I saw him! I told you I saw him.”

  Tiro pretended to be startled and surprised. “I forgot! You did tell me.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “Will you help me find that man? I need your help.” He looked directly at Happy.

  “What do you want me to do?” Happy asked cautiously.

  “Nothing much,” Tiro said. “Can I ask you some questions about it?” Happy nodded. “Tell me what you saw.” Tiro poured another glass of milk and gave it to the boy.

  “The man who was dead was a big black man. He was with a white man,” Happy said. “I saw them walking.”

  “Where did they come from?” Tiro interrupted.

  “They walked from the side of the football field.”

  That must be the National Stadium, Tiro thought.

  “I saw them,” Happy continued. “They stood under a big tree. I hear them talking. Then there was a big noise like a gun, and the white man walks back.” He paused. “I looked for the black man. I find him on the ground. Blood all over his face. I run and tell the man who cleans the street. Then the police come, and I hide.”

  “What did the white man look like? Did you see him?”

  “It was dark. All I know is he had a beard.”

  “How tall was the man?” Tiro asked.

  “Bigger than you.”

  “This big?” Tiro raised his hand four inches above his head. Happy shook his head. Tiro raised his hand even farther. “This big?” Happy shook his head. “You show me how big,” Tiro said. Happy just shook his head.

  “I don’t remember,” he said.

  “Did you hear what they were talking about? We’re trying to find the white man, so anything will help us.”

  “I hear them speak, but didn’t understand anything. Funny words. Never heard them before. Not English. Not Afrikaans. Not Setswana. Funny words. The white man was shouting.”

  Half an hour later, Tiro and Happy were sitting under a tree in the mall. Tiro had tried to persuade Happy to go with him to the police station where he worked. He wanted Happy to listen to some tapes in the hope of recognizing what language the two had been speaking. Happy had refused, saying it was a “bad place” for him. Eventually, Tiro located a portable tape player and took it to the mall. Tiro had been thinking about a black man and a white man speaking to each other in funny words that were not English or Afrikaans. Thinking of the European languages spoken in the neighboring countries
, he would bet it was one of three: German was still widely spoken in Namibia, French was common to the north, and Portuguese was the official language of nearby Angola.

  “Listen to this one,” Tiro said, putting a German tape in the player. He pressed play, and Happy heard a strange language that sounded rather like Afrikaans. He shook his head. Next Tiro tried French, but Happy shook his head again. But when Tiro played the Portuguese tape, Happy picked up his head. “Sh. Sh.” He made some sounds as though he was telling someone to be quiet. Tiro realized that Happy was trying to imitate the frequent “sh” sound at the end of many Portuguese words.

  Happy smiled and jumped off the chair. “Sounds like that. Funny words.”

  Chapter 45

  In sheer frustration at his lack of progress, Kubu set off for his office at 6:00 a.m. “I can’t sleep. My mind is racing. I’m upset. I might as well go to work!” he said to Joy as he leaned over the bed to kiss her good-bye. She grunted, muttered something about taking a piece of fruit or a yogurt for his breakfast, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  As he left the house, he felt the familiar urge associated with frustration: the urge that had welled up throughout his life; the urge he had never been able to resist. And that was hunger. Less than ten minutes later, he was sitting at the Wimpy at Game City. He despised fast-food joints, but the Delta Café upstairs didn’t open this early. Nor did Botsalo Books, where he could succumb to the alternative temptation to browse the shelves. Anyway, Wimpy did a good job of a steak-and-eggs breakfast.