An African Rebound

by Dan Doyle

  Twenty minutes later, after navigating the treacherous stone road that led to the Tangishaka dwelling, the jeeps parked a quarter of a mile from Leonard and Consolaté’s hut. Sergeant Rush motioned to White and McKeon to lead the way to the burial site.

  As the group began their short hike, McKeon said, “The two warriors told us that the burials would take place over there—in that open area between the cocoa trees.”

  Everyone picked up the pace. Within seconds after they reached the site, Sergeant Rush stated the obvious, “There are no bodies buried here.”

  “Let’s check the hut,” said Captain Audace Niyangabo, officer-in-charge of the Burundi contingent.

  The rest of the men followed Niyangabo to Leonard and Consolaté’s home, only yards from where the grave was reported to be. The hut was in disorder: chairs broken, a ceramic bowl smashed, even the mud walls bore the imprints of bodies crashing against them.

  Jim shook his head. “Looks like there was quite a fight here.”

  “Looks that way,” said Finnegan. “But it’s odd that there are no blood stains.”

  The Irishman’s training included several criminology courses he took during The Troubles at the University of Ulster at Jordanstown, just outside of Belfast. He knew what to look for at a murder scene.

  “In fact, a lot appears odd to me. It almost looks as if someone ransacked the hut to make it appear that a struggle took place. I mean, why would the chairs be broken but not the table, which is fragile at best? Why would the bowl be broken but none of the other crockery?”

  “I agree,” said Rush. “And it’s clear we have some major work to do here. Best thing now is to break up into four groups. We need to search the entire region; try to find the graves, try to find the two warriors, talk to people about clues.”

  “Captain Niyangabo,” continued Rush, “we’ll need help with translation. So please make sure at least one of your men who can speak English is in each group.”

  After Niyangabo nodded his agreement, McKeon said, “Let’s remember what I told Ambassador Foster—one of the two warriors was wounded.”

  “And it is likely,” added Mathias, “that he would have sought medical help from a healer in the region.”

  Rush handed Mathias a large map. “Okay, Mathias, you and the captain break it down for us. Where does each team go?”

  Mathias spread the map on the floor and, with Captain Niyangabo’s help, outlined the area each team should search.

  “The huts in Kayanza are one to two kilometers apart so it will take each party a good four to five hours—at least,” Mathias said.

  “Okay,” said Rush. “Meet back here when you’re done.”

  Five hours later, the four teams had all returned to the Tangishaka hut. Two startling facts were apparent: No one in the region claimed to know the whereabouts of the two warriors—or even their identities—and not one Kayanza healer had treated a wounded warrior in more than a month.

  But one additional piece of evidence was even more remarkable: No one knew that Leonard and Consolaté Tangishaka had been murdered.

  45

  The group decided to spend the night in Kayanza and continue their investigation the next day. Four squad tents were pitched. In front of the fire, kept low as a security precaution, Finbar assumed the role of discussion leader and raised some important questions.

  “Private McKeon and Private White—in light of what went on today, I must ask—are you both certain the dead bodies you saw were those of Leonard and Consolaté?”

  “Absolutely,” said McKeon. “We knew what Leonard looked like and we saw Consolaté in person the day before the murders. Plus, all of you saw the pictures. There’s no doubt it was them.”

  “Did you see the wounds on their bodies?”

  “No,” replied White. “The bodies were draped in what looked to me like a white tablecloth—you know, a light cloth, like linen. We were told by one of the warriors, and correct me if I’m wrong on this, Mathias, that covering the bodies like that is customary before a Tutsi burial.”

  Mathias nodded, and the Marine continued, “Like I said back in Bujumbura, we asked the two warriors when and where the burials would take place. They told us the bodies would be buried the following morning just a few meters west of the hut—exactly where we searched.”

  After a pause, White said, “I guess we should have asked more questions.”

  “No,” said Mathias. “You did the right thing. Neither of you could have known that they’d mislead you.”

  “Also,” said Finnegan, “I have a strange feeling that had the two of you done more than just take pictures, you might’ve encountered some real trouble.”

  Clive Rush, still burdened with having recommended Leonard’s visit home, felt that the Marines should have been more persistent. But he remained quiet, realizing this was not the place to question the judgment of McKeon and White.

  “Well,” said Finnegan, “let me ask you two one more question. Did the warriors seem surprised to see you?”

  “Tough to say,” said White. “They would have spotted us coming so they would have had time to compose themselves.”

  “Okay, then let me ask the whole group a question. Did anyone here feel that any person you spoke with today is hiding something?”

  After a chorus of no’s, Mathias said, “If they were murdered in the manner the two warriors described, it is surely possible that no one else would have seen it or known about it. There is a fair distance between huts, and, as we have seen, the women and children are so fearful that they are remaining close to their own huts. For my part, I am quite certain that if someone was hiding something from me today, I would have detected it.

  “But I must also say that of the many odd things about this situation, the one most surprising to me is why a band of Hutu guerrillas would pick out a mother and a son—indeed a boy with enormous strength—and not attack anyone else in the area. What was their motivation?”

  Jim Keating spoke up: “Wouldn’t they have heard about Leonard—a Tutsi—and all that he would do for his country? Maybe they had the type of hatred that would not allow them to think a Tutsi would be such a healing force.”

  “Unlikely,” said Terrence. A Hutu, he was feeling a bit uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “You must understand, Jim, that news travels very slowly in these parts. While people in Bujumbura might find out about a Leonard Tangishaka in a day or so—it is quite possible it would take several weeks—even months—for the word to travel out this far.”

  “Even though Finbar’s report went out weeks before the game and there were newspaper accounts as well?” Jim’s voice had a trace of frustration. He felt like he was listening to a scouting report fraught with key gaps.

  “Yes,” said Terrence. “It would certainly take more than just a week or two to plan something like this.”

  “Unless,” said Finnegan, “the plan came out of Bujumbura . . . or somewhere else outside the country. And the question, of course, is why?”

  “Why indeed,” said Mathias. “And I also think it is strange that no one in the region knows of the two warriors. Most people I spoke with said that all the men were off fighting. They expressed surprise that any warriors would be here in this region.”

  “Another question,” said Mathias, as he looked to White and McKeon. “What about the warrior who was wounded? How severe was it?”

  “Well,” said White, “his face was badly scratched, and he had a bloodstained bandage covering his left arm. Said it was grazed by a machete. But to be honest, I never actually saw the wound on his arm—just the bloody bandage.”

  Captain Niyangabo raised his own question, “And these two warriors claimed they lived in Kayanza?”

  “Yes,” said McKeon. “They said they were back in the region to check on their families—and to protect the other families, as well.”

  “Yet,” said Niyangabo, “we cannot find any families who belong to them.”

 
As several men shook their heads incredulously, Finbar had the last word before the group turned in, “Until we find the bodies—or those two warriors—we won’t know much else about what happened. And, if there is more to this than we originally thought, which now appears likely, my guess is that we’ll have great difficulty finding the bodies—or the two warriors.”

  Jim remained unsettled. But he was glad Finnegan had come along.

  The men arose at daybreak, and Rush laid out the plan.

  “Each team head back to the areas you searched yesterday and scour those areas for recent burials. And question everyone you see—again—particularly about whether anyone spotted those two warriors or anyone else new to the region. Meet back here at the campsite by no later than fourteen hundred hours—that’s 2:00 for you civilians—so we can get back to Bujumbura well before dark.”

  Before the four teams headed out, Jim quietly shared an observation with Mathias: “It’s interesting that the Burundian military men seem to defer to Sergeant Rush and the other Marines.”

  “Aaah, Jim,” said Mathias,”for the most part, we in Burundi look at any American with authority as our leader. Have you noticed the respect that our president accords Ambassador Foster?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it in that way. But now that you mention it, I certainly have noticed how President Buyoya often defers to the ambassador. You could see it at the press conference.”

  “Exactly, Jim. Most Burundians know little about America, and what they do know all relates to a core perception of power and wealth. Because we are by and large an illiterate country, our judgments are often based on views that can be inaccurate and fleeting. Plus, because of the poverty and despair in Burundi, those views often tilt toward the negative—which is why Ambassador Foster has been so effective in terms of how we Burundians think of America.”

  “As a result of her humanity,” Mathias continued, “many in the educated class, in particular, who might have thought of America as a country not only of power and wealth but, unfortunately, of arrogance, now look at your country quite differently. So, you can see what great and compassionate leadership can do. In the ambassador’s case, it is on a diplomatic scale; in your case, it is on a sport and youth scale— every bit as important.”

  Though uncomfortable with such praise, Jim wished the conversation could continue, for he knew such analysis could help him better understand the various cultures and classes within Burundi.

  “Mathias, could we pick up on this at a later stage?”

  “Of course, Jim. It would be my pleasure.”

  At 1:00, Rush’s team was the third of four to return.

  “Anything turn up?” asked Jim.

  “Nothing,” sighed Rush. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Same with our two groups,” said Jim, shaking his head.

  But fifteen minutes later, the last group appeared, and Finnegan reported an interesting development.

  “We’ve discovered that two fifteen-year-old boys—both friends of Leonard and both part of the basketball group— have gone missing since the day of the murders.”

  “We actually ran into their mothers during our revisit to the various huts,” added Mathias. “The mothers told us that for the last several days, they’ve been off looking for the boys with no success. That’s why no one spoke with them yesterday.”

  Mathias went on to explain that the mothers were fearful that any number of “bad things” might have happened to the two boys—including being carted off to war by Tutsi warriors passing through the region.

  “In fact,” said Mathias, “now that I’ve learned about these two boys, my theory is that the two warriors Privates McKeon and White spoke with came into Kayanza to force young men into the Tutsi guerrilla unit. My guess is that when Leonard resisted, they killed him, then found the other two boys and made them join.”

  Most of the group thought Mathias’s theory was reasonable. Finbar did not.

  “I can’t say exactly why, but some things still strike me as odd. Think about what these two warriors told John and Chris. First, they said they were from Kayanza, and that they were back to check on their families—but not one family in this region knows who they are. Second, they lied about where the bodies would be buried. And let’s also remember that, based on what the two privates described, the bandaged wound of one of the warriors could well be fake.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Mathias. “There are certainly many unanswered questions.”

  “And they’re not gonna be answered here,” said Rush. “Anything else we should do before we pack up?”

  The men shook their heads, some training their eyes on the ground.

  “No? Okay, let’s load up and head back to Bujumbura.”

  Several hours earlier, while on search with his group, Jim had remembered something . . . something special. When he returned to the Tangishaka hut, he looked through the rubble for the item and found it. He carefully wrapped cloth around it and placed it in a safe place in the rear of the jeep.

  Finbar Finnegan appreciated the special access that Ambassador Foster had granted him. But as a journalist, he was duty-bound to report his findings. When he returned to Bujumbura, he sought out the ambassador to relate his intentions.

  “You’re right, Finbar,” she said. “You must report the facts. If anything, it will show that these murders might have been committed by someone other than Hutu guerrillas.”

  Finnegan’s CNN report explained that the bodies of Leonard and Consolaté were missing and that a smog of mystery hung over the deaths. “While the photo IDs leave little doubt that Leonard and Consolaté Tangishaka were murdered, many questions will remain until the bodies are found.” He placed particular emphasis on murdered.

  Finnegan’s piece concluded with a brief interview with Burundian President Peter Buyoya, who exhorted “anyone with information to contact my office. We have set up a special phone line for this purpose.” The number was listed at the bottom of the TV screen.

  Similar requests for evidence ran in the Bujumbura Gazette and in newspapers in Rwanda.

  For several days, hundreds of calls flowed into the special number. The Burundi National Defense Force, with the help of the US Marines, followed up on every lead. But when nothing new turned up, at Ambassador Foster’s urging, President Buyoya sent a thirty-two-man military unit back to Kayanza to search for more clues.

  Three days later, the unit returned empty-handed.

  46

  Two weeks passed and not one clue surfaced. Jim struggled to fill his days and nights with productive activities. He persuaded Bill Foster to join him on a morning combination jog and run that covered two miles and many topics. After breakfast, he would work on his Kirundi vocabulary and view basketball films of various sorts, including a particularly good one from years earlier by Red Auerbach on fundamentals. The rest of the day was occupied by reading, check-in calls to Jesse for search updates, periodic viewing of CNN, an afternoon nap, and a walk at dusk.

  Each evening, Jim would have supper with some-one—Mathias, Jesse, Terrence, Clive Rush, or the Fosters. Increasingly, he valued the companionship and camaraderie that arose from thoughtful dinner discussion.

  His day would end with more reading and, at times, watching a movie with Jesse Abbot on Jesse’s VCR.

  During the walk portion of one morning jog, Jim shuffled to a stop and turned to Foster. “Bill, I feel like they’ve got to put some zip into this search effort. It’s getting . . .”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Foster said, “You’re right, Coach. And Cynthia is frustrated, too. She asked me to tell you about a session she’d like to hold this evening with the two of us, Jesse, Mathias, Terrence, and Finbar.”

  When Jim arrived at the ambassador’s home that night, he found a pitcher of lemonade, some cheese and crackers, and a host eager to start the meeting.

  “Gentlemen, we must assume that we will never find the bodies of Leonard and Consolaté. We must also realize
that President Buyoya has limited resources, not to mention many other problems to deal with. He phoned me today to say that he must call off the investigation. While I was disappointed, I did tell him that I understood. I’m very sorry about this for, as much as all of you, I wanted to find the answers.”

  Several days before the meeting, Finbar had sensed that Buyoya would not take the investigation much further. He had called his bureau chief, Sid Hawkins, to relate his concern.

  “Sid, aside from just hanging onto his job, Buyoya’s confronted with issues that go far beyond finding those bodies. Yet I just know there’s a major story behind the murders. Would you consider sending a team of our investigators here to uncover more facts?”

  “We’re a news organization, not a guerrilla force, Finbar. I have no reason to think that our people—who’ve never trained in the jungle—would have any success. Plus, at least from what I know, their lives would be in great danger.”

  Finnegan had been disappointed with Hawkins’s reply. But as the meeting at the ambassador’s home began to break up, he finally came to terms with his boss’s position. He also laughed at the final comment made at the meeting.

  “We need help,” said Terrence. “You know, the forest god!”

  Jim, too, enjoyed Terrence’s suggestion. But, like Finnegan, he was disheartened that answers would not be found. On the front steps of the ambassador’s home, Cynthia Foster pulled him aside and asked the same question she had posed several other times in the preceding weeks.

  “How are you holding up, Jim?”

  Employing the same rote response he had used to answer her previous queries on this issue, Jim gave her a reply that was not entirely true: “I’m fine.”

  Bill and Cynthia Foster were mindful that a consequence of Leonard Tangishaka’s death could be Jim Keating’s plummet back into depression.

  “Barry Sklar sent me a fax expressing his concern about Jim,” Cynthia said to Bill. “Barry feels that we must keep him busy. I can think of two ways to do this. The first, of course, is to encourage Jim to get the team back together.”