Bloodlines (57 page)

In October of that year, Chief Buthelezi, the president of Inkatha, along with the Zulu King, Goodwill Zwelithini, was invited by the Inkatha Youth Brigade to speak at the University of Zululand in Ongoye, in commemoration of King Cetshwayo.

This was in the heart of Zululand, the center of the homeland, and the area from which Inkatha had come to expect the greatest loyalty. Inkatha supporters made clear that this was to be their day—but just prior to the event students boycotted classes in an effort to have the whole presentation cancelled. They were concerned that the royal entourage would enter the building carrying traditional weapons that were required in the presence of the king, and that Inkatha supporters would attend in great numbers. I knew that most of them would be enthusiastic students, but that among them would be some paid thugs—and I knew that student members of the ANC would be present to protest the agenda of Inkatha. It was a foregone conclusion that there would be bloodshed.

On the day of the event I waited at the farm with Miriam, expecting that I would receive a call as soon as possible after the end of the event letting me know what the fallout was, and whether I needed to do anything to contain it. But before it even began, in the early evening, Hlengiwe, the daughter of Miriam’s cousin, ran into the yard calling my name.

Hlengiwe was sixteen, the same age as the boys; they had all played together as children, and I knew that Thulani was close to her. She was a willowy, athletic girl with a pretty face and round cheeks. She kept her dark curls above her head with a colorful ribbon just above her forehead. It showed off her perfect skin. Usually she was quiet and composed around me, but on this day she was agitated; she had been weeping, and she was wringing her hands.

“What is it, Hlengiwe?” asked Miriam, ushering her into the kitchen and sitting her down. “What’s the matter?”

“Thulani went this afternoon to Ongoye. He said he wanted to hear Chief Buthelezi, and the King.”

“I told him not to go,” said Miriam, looking at me with guilt in her eyes, as though it were her fault that our son had disobeyed.

“He’s old enough to make wiser decisions than this,” I said. “You can’t blame yourself—just think hard about what you will do with him when he gets back.”

“I also told him not to go,” said Hlengiwe. “But he said it was time to stop all the violence.”

“My God,” said Miriam. “The boy thinks he’s gone to make peace! Is he mad?”

“How did he get there?” I asked.

“He went with some people in a car.”

“What people, Hlengiwe? Tell me what people he went with. Did he know them? People from here?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I saw him getting in the car, but he told me not to say anything. He didn’t want Simon to know, either.”

“Simon?”

“Yes. He knew Simon would come looking for him, and he did, but I wouldn’t tell him where Thulani went; I didn’t want him to go. He was so cross with me. But he asked everyone, and someone told him where Thulani went, and that he was going to see if he could prevent any violence.” She burst into tears. “Khabazela, Thulani will be in real trouble if they find out he’s your son. Simon said they don’t want the ANC there tonight; and that you told the two of them never to go anywhere alone. Now he’s taken Michaela’s car and followed, so that he can be there to protect Thulani. I don’t think they have any idea how dangerous this is. You have to stop them.”

“You did the right thing to tell us,” I said, rising and putting on my jacket. “Miriam, there’s going to be trouble tonight. I’m going to Ngoya.”

“You’re not going alone,” said Miriam.

“No. I’ll get Andrew to drive,” I said. “I hope we don’t need his doctoring—but he’ll get us through any police blockades, and he drives faster than I do.”

I didn’t say it, but Andrew could also legally carry a weapon, which I could not—and I knew that in the trunk of his car, along with his medical bag, he carried two rifles, a pistol, and several pangas.

I ran to the house to find Michaela and Andrew sitting on the front verandah. They had no idea that Simon had taken a car and gone off, and when I told them, Michaela was furious. She got up from her chair and started pacing.

“Thulani shouldn’t have gone, and Simon shouldn’t have followed him. What were they thinking?” She stopped suddenly and looked up at me, frightened. “How bad is it? Will they be all right?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I have to go to Ongoye.”

“Give me a minute to get the car keys,” said Andrew. “I’m driving.”

He didn’t have to tell me that his medical bag was in the car.

We had no trouble; Andrew drove fast, and there were no police on the road. I hoped that we would pass Simon in Michaela’s car, but he was travelling with as much urgency as we were, and we caught no sight of him. When we left the farm, the sun was shining; by the time we reached the campus an hour and a half later, it was raining hard, and darkness was minutes away. The area differed from the farmlands we had just left—it was at a lower elevation, received much more rainfall, and as a result the vegetation was thicker, and the area around the campus was almost like rainforest. There was a permanent staff employed to keep it at bay, but beyond the parking lot and the sloping grassy mall leading to the main entrance, the forest had encroached on the campus and taken over all but a few yards around the buildings.

The parking lot was full; the police were milling around in their wide black police hats and black raincoats shiny with the rain, watching, waiting for something. There were three ambulances on the grass, emergency technicians visible in the light streaming from their open doors. A half dozen people stood or lay on stretchers outside each ambulance, waiting for attention.

“The blood-letting has begun,” said Andrew grimly. “We’re already too late.”

“We need to find my boys,” I said. “Fast. Then we can try and stop it before it gets out of hand.”

The royal convoy was not in evidence, and the security entourage that usually accompanied the king and Chief Buthelezi were nowhere to be seen. Before we locked the car Andrew opened the trunk, loaded two pistols and gave me one. I shoved it into the inside pocket of my jacket. He gave me a flashlight which I tested and then put into the outside pocket of my jacket. He did the same.

“You want a panga?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. “I’ll take this instead.”

I picked up the tire iron from the bottom of the trunk and hid it beneath my coat, suspended from my belt. From my years working in garages I knew what a defensive tool it could be. It was also easier to conceal than a panga. Pangas were for cutting and killing, and we were not there to do either. I would have told any other man that he didn’t need one, but Andrew understood the issues as well as I did, and if he was more comfortable with a panga, I was not going to tell him he was wrong. But he didn’t want one. He put the pistol in his pocket and closed the trunk, and together we walked across the parking lot towards the main door.

Andrew knew the police officer in charge, Andreas Kurtz. He introduced me as a concerned parent, said we had come by in search of two boys, and to offer any medical help in case it was needed.

“It’s needed already,” said Kurtz wearily. “Nowadays it’s always needed, isn’t it?” He looked at me. “More parents like you should be here tonight, Mandla. Your young people are killing each other in such numbers that it makes the white people afraid. They say, these Zulus think so little of their own lives; how much less will they think of ours?” He shook his head. “It’s not good, all this angry killing. Has to come to an end.”

“My son Thulani came here this afternoon thinking to make peace,” I said, slowly and calmly, looking him in the eye. “So we’re in agreement about that, Officer Kurtz, and so are the boys we’re looking for. Do you have any idea where we might find them?”

“Who’s the other boy you’re looking for?”

“The son of a friend of mine,” said Andrew. “From a farm near my sister. Simon Michaels.”

The officer had been inspecting the campus buildings around us; now he looked sharply at Andrew.

“A white boy?” he said. “With dark hair?”

“You’ve seen him?”

“Young fool. I told him to go home—this isn’t his fight, and it’s dangerous for him to be here. He said he was looking for a friend who might be in trouble, and I told him I hadn’t seen any other white boys. He got angry and shook my hand off his shoulder—ran off into the crowd.” He stopped. “He wasn’t looking for a white boy, was he? He was looking for your son.” He hit his forehead with the back of his hand. “His friend, your son. And they were both coming to make peace. Ag, I’m so stupid. I should have seen it. How old are the boys?”

“Both sixteen,” I said.

He shouted to his men and they gathered around him quickly.

“You saw that white boy who ran inside about twenty minutes ago?” A few of the men nodded. “He’s here looking for his friend—what’s your son’s name?”

“Thulani.”

“He’s here looking for his friend, Thulani. This is Thulani’s father. Both boys are sixteen, and they think they’re here to make sure there’s no fighting. Let’s find them before they discover that this is not your average rugby match. Go! Go! Search every room in the place again! Carry rifles cocked—and be cautious. Some of these buggers are carrying pangas.”

The men headed off into the buildings straight ahead of us.

“We’ll take a quick look in the building first—if we don’t find the boys we can move outside,” I said to Andrew.

“You want to stay together or separate?”

“Let’s go in together until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“You’re not going in there,” Kurtz objected.

“We would rather do it with your permission,” I said, “but we’re going in to find the boys.”

Kurtz looked at us both, and I could see the confusion on his face—that we were actually going to go looking; that I was giving instructions and Andrew was about to follow them, and that I had the audacity to contradict him.

“We’ll be fine,” said Andrew.

“My men are trained, and they’re carrying cocked rifles,” he said. “Don’t be foolish, Doctor; you don’t want to go in there unarmed.”

Andrew smiled and withdrew his pistol. “I know these young men and their families as well as Mandla does,” he said. “I’m carrying this but I don’t think I’ll have any use for it.”

Something dawned on Kurtz as he realized that we were not simply a white doctor and a concerned black father. “Suit yourself,” he said. “You’re on your own.”

“Thank you,” I said as we headed off towards the building.

The rain had stopped, but the air was moist and warm. As we headed towards the entrance we passed small groups of young people—mostly men, a few women. Some were standing aimlessly; a few sat silently on the wet grass. The more seriously wounded had been carried or dragged to the ambulances—but many of those remaining had ripped clothing and were bleeding from wounds on their faces or arms. They were all in shock.

At the entrance to the building, protected from the rain, five bodies lay side by side, their faces covered by random pieces of clothing. I removed the coverings and glanced rapidly at each face. Children, all; not one over twenty. I had seen it all before, many times; and I had thought of each death as if it was the death of my own son or daughter—but this time I was searching for my sons, and I understood that it was not the same.

I recognized none of the faces—but all had been savagely beaten and hacked, and they were lying in their own blood. This was not the work of angry students or members of the Youth Brigade; this was the practiced slashing of professional killers, mercenaries who for a price would kill their mothers and sell their sisters for meat. I knew them; had watched them in action and seen their absence of anger and fury; witnessed only the cold pleasure taken in the act of dismembering, disemboweling, severing human life from the cord. Killing in cold blood is the most debased human act I have witnessed, and the most horrifying.

Inside, but for the running footsteps of the police, the building was silent. In the small vestibule, they had split into two groups—one group went off to search classrooms along the corridor to the left; the other group did the same on the right. Straight ahead was a short, unlit hallway leading to the assembly hall. Through the open double-door came sounds of muted conflict—struggle, and gasping, and the very particular sound of blows landing on flesh and bone. There were suddenly four policemen standing behind us, alerted by the sounds. We peered into the semi-darkened room. Halfway down and to one side of the hall four men bent over bodies on the floor, their arms rising and falling. I couldn’t tell whether they were holding weapons, or simply using their fists.