‘It’s from something called the Land Collective. They monitor land sales. Every time there’s been an incident on a farm there’s an entry about it. Look at this. It was written the day after a warehouse fire in Graskop, I checked the dates.’
He read the entry:
We want to salute the BRAVERY of our BROTHERS and SISTERS for what they did at WORLD’S END FARM. It takes COURAGE to stand up for what you believe. That farm was going to be SOLD but nobody asked the WORKERS. There was no CONSULTATION. The PRESIDENT says he is on the side of farm workers but he stays QUIET while FOREIGNERS try to STEAL our land. The workers have buried their FATHERS and MOTHERS on this land but nobody talked to them. Now someone has spoken for the workers and they have SPOKEN with FIRE.
‘Whoever is writing this stuff is pointing to the real land issue, not the one the journalists obsess about,’ Anton continued. ‘It’s not about whether the land is owned by a black man or a white man. It’s whether it’s owned by a South African or a foreigner. He’s challenging the government and he’s taking a huge risk.’
‘It could be a woman,’ Lindi butted in.
‘Whoever it is, he or she is a link to all the incidents. He knows what’s happening on the ground. It’s as if he’s organising the whole damn thing.’
‘You think this Collective group is behind all these incidents?’
Anton shrugged, part admission, part exasperation. ‘All I know is that they’re trying to make damn sure everyone knows about them.’
‘So have they written about Lesedi’s murder?’
‘Yes, it must have been posted late last night.’
‘And?’
‘They condemn Lesedi’s killing, say it’s nothing to do with the campaign against land sales.’
‘Christ, Anton! And you go on air making it sound as if there was a link.’
‘Like I said, they must have posted it very late: it wasn’t there when I went to bed, well after midnight. Anyway, my point still stands. There’s some sort of a link. Motlantshe junior visits a land-reform outfit in Mpumalanga and the next thing he’s dead. Somebody didn’t like him mixing with those guys.’
‘Yes, but who didn’t like him mixing with those guys? It could be the government that was upset about his visit. That’s the point. It all depends on what Lesedi was doing there.’
‘Look, this is my country, I know some of these people, I feel it in my guts. You need to get down there.’ He took off his spectacles and placed them with uncharacteristic care on his desk. He looked straight at Lindi. ‘In the old days you’d get a bunch of protesters and they’d sing revolutionary songs and raise their imaginary Kalashnikovs in the air, do a bit of toi-toing in front of the farmer’s house and then it would be lunchtime and they’d wander back home or to the shebeen. Big business, the police, the government know how to deal with that kind of thing. They cut a deal with the union bosses, offer a little bit of extra pay, which is eaten up by inflation, and then everybody goes back to what they were doing before – pissing on the little man. This is different. Lesedi’s killing is a game-changer. We may be seeing the start of something much bigger.’
Anton’s phone rang again. This time it was the landline.
‘Hello. Yes, this is Anton Chetty.’
‘It’s Mbali Modise here from the South African High Commission.’ Anton put his index finger to his lips and pressed the speaker button. ‘We haven’t met but I feel as if I know you.’
‘Oh! How’s that?’
‘Well, like they say, your reputation goes before you.’
Anton raised an eyebrow at Lindi.
‘Now would that be in a good way or a bad way? What can I do for you?’
‘We heard your interview on Today a few hours ago. I was just … we were just wondering if you’d like to come in and talk to the High Commissioner about your concerns.’
‘No, I wouldn’t like to come in.’
‘It’s just that Lesedi Motlantshe’s death has shocked us all and we, the government, we’re obviously as keen as anybody to find the culprit and you seemed to suggest there was a link with the government’s land-reform programme.’
‘Is that what it’s called?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Selling land to foreigners, that’s land reform, is it?’
‘Getting back to your interview. We were just wondering whether you had any thoughts on who might be responsible for Lesedi Motlantshe’s murder.’
‘I have plenty of thoughts, my friend, but I’ll keep them to myself. As you know, we’re a neutral organisation.’
‘You didn’t sound very neutral this morning. Anyhow, if you do have second thoughts, maybe you’ll come to us first.’
‘Oh, you know me. I wouldn’t make a move without talking to you all first. Have a good day, Ms …?’
‘Semenya.’
‘Ms Semenya, that’s right. Thanks for your call.’ Anton slapped the phone back into its cradle. ‘Patronising bitch! That was the High Commission.’
‘They must be getting twitchy in Pretoria. The High Commission wouldn’t have made that call off its own bat. And what did she mean come and talk to them first?’
‘They’re frightened by the publicity,’ said Anton. ‘I’d say they’re more worried about their precious land-sales programme getting a bad name than worrying about Lesedi. Listen, I’ve got a board meeting, another four hours of listening to the great and good pontificating. Let’s thrash out what we should do. Where were we?’
‘Whether I should go or not. The thing is, we never get involved unless we’re invited and both sides want us to intervene. But who’s inviting us in this instance?’
Normally he would find it hard to argue with her logic, but Anton was in full flow by now.
‘The most important rule of all is that we are here to prevent conflict, not wait till it happens and then start picking up the pieces. Let’s leave that shit to the cotton-frocked aid workers.’ Anton stopped himself. If he hadn’t, Lindi would have done it for him. She knew that particular rant inside out. She thought it was mostly unfair and bordering on misogynist. In Anton’s world, the aid workers were never men in jeans.
‘Find these people,’ Anton said, ‘the Land Collective, you know, whoever is writing this stuff for them, and you have one side. As for the other – well, it’s the big farmers, it’s the government, the greedy bastards right here in this city, it’s the Arabs, Chinese, it’s the unions – the whole lot of them.’
‘I think you’ve just about covered all bases.’
‘So you’ll go?’
Lindi’s mind drifted back to the call she’d received earlier that morning from Missenden and then even further back to the way he’d treated her at the Foreign Office. Just the thought of it was like being humiliated all over again. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d told herself that she’d moved on. She knew now that she hadn’t. It wasn’t so much what Missenden had done but her failure to react, to stand her ground, to call him out that left her feeling, well, less than the woman she wanted to be.
‘I’ll go,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll need a couple of days to get ready.’
‘Sure? You don’t want to think about it?’
‘I have thought about it.’
5