The girl looked at him in surprise. “It’s a poster, rra,” she said hesitantly. “We’re putting up posters for the election. I was going to put it on the tree here. It’s just a poster.”
Witness shook his head vehemently. “You’re too young to have sex!” he shouted at her. “You’ll die of AIDS! That man could be your father!”
Still holding the poster, the young woman backed away, turned, and ran to a couple of other women taking posters out of the trunk of their car. She pointed at him. They talked for a few moments, stacked the posters back in the trunk, and drove away, shouting something he couldn’t hear properly.
Witness leaned against the tree and closed his eyes, his mind swirling.
WHEN WITNESS EVENTUALLY PULLED himself together, he decided to go home, grab some lunch, and then call the hospitals again. And the morgue. If there was no information, he’d go back to the police and make them do something.
As he drove home, he noticed that each telephone pole had a poster, but not of Tombi. One poster read FREEDOM PARTY. PUBLIC MEETING. SATURDAY. MOTSWEDI JUNIOR SECONDARY SCHOOL. 11 A.M. The next showed a picture of the handsome man who had been with the young woman. He smiled down at Witness, teeth glistening. VOTE FOR FREEDOM was splashed across the bottom.
“There’s nothing to smile about!” he shouted. “My daughter’s gone!”
But the man continued to smile, and Witness felt his eyes following him down the road.
EIGHT
SAMANTHA HAD ARRANGED TO meet Lesego’s family on Saturday around six, when they all gathered before supper. Driving to Mochudi, she recalled Kubu’s advice and comments, and admitted to herself that she was a little nervous about how the meeting would go. But when she arrived at the house, her confidence returned, and she knocked firmly on the front door.
She was greeted by a man who introduced himself as Tole Tobogo. He was polite, but she disliked the appraising way he eyed her. A bitter-looking woman sat stiffly on the threadbare couch with a teenage girl next to her. The teen must be Dikeledi Betse, the missing girl’s sister, she thought. Two boys squatted on the floor. Tole introduced her to Constance Koma and told her the names of the others. He pulled up a rough-wood chair from the dining table for the detective.
Constance spoke for the first time. “So the police are interested in Lesego’s disappearance now. It’s a bit late. Nearly five months late.”
Samantha had talked to the investigating officer and agreed with the woman’s opinion. Not much investigating had, in fact, been done. The police had asked around the town and found nothing. They’d filed a missing-persons report, and then they’d lost interest. Nevertheless, she felt obliged to defend them. “The police have always been interested in the case, mma. There just hasn’t been a lot to go on.”
“So what makes you think you can do anything? You look very young.”
Samantha bristled but kept her voice calm. “I’m reviewing the case for the CID. To see if we can find anything that was missed.”
“And what do you think happened?”
“She was probably abducted and killed for muti.” But for Constance’s hostile tone, Samantha would have been more circumspect in her choice of words. The faces around the room registered shock. Only Dikeledi showed no reaction. In her heart she’d known this since Christmas.
For a moment there was dead silence. Then Constance put her hands to her face and started to cry. The expressions of surprise and disbelief on the faces of the others would have been almost comical in any other context. None of them moved; it was Samantha who went across to the couch and put her arms around the woman, but Constance pushed her away, then seemed to regain her composure.
“I’m all right,” she said. “What do you want with us after all this time?”
“Can each of you please tell me everything about the day Lesego disappeared? Anything at all that was unusual. Even if you don’t think it’s important. Let me decide that. Please try. Otherwise we may never find out what happened.”
Each member of the family described what they recalled of that day, but no one remembered anything unusual.
Then Tole spoke about the following week.
“I asked everyone I met. But no one had seen anything. At least that’s what they said. I think they were scared a witch doctor was involved.”
“The people you talk to only want to drink at the bar,” Constance interjected.
Samantha ignored that and spoke to Tole. “Did anyone seem evasive? As though they were hiding something?” Tole shrugged and subsided.
Samantha turned to Dikeledi. “The police at the station said you were very concerned. Very loyal. That you came back several times. Did you find anything? Is there anything else you can remember that might help me?”
Dikeledi looked down at her feet. After a few moments she shook her head.
Constance stood up and put a pot of pap on the stove to cook. Samantha realized it was a signal for her to leave, but she had noticed Dikeledi’s hesitation.
“Would you show me the route Lesego would’ve taken to school, Dikeledi? Would you drive with me? It won’t take long, and I’ll bring you right back.” The girl hesitated again, but then nodded. She jumped up and left the room, reappearing a few minutes later with a jacket, despite the warm evening.
Samantha gave Tole her business card and thanked them all for their help. Constance just nodded and concentrated on the pap.
DIKELEDI DIRECTED HER DOWN the hill to the town; there was only one way to go. Then she described how Lesego might have reached the hill from the school via the shops she needed to visit. Samantha stopped the car at the deserted school and turned to the girl.
“You were close. It must be terrible for you. I’m so sorry.”
Dikeledi nodded but didn’t reply. She fought back tears.
“You wanted to tell me something at the house, didn’t you? But not in front of the others. Won’t you tell me now? I really want to find out what happened.”
Dikeledi turned away from her and stared out at the afterglow of the sunset. “Why do you care? I suppose it’s your job, but no one ever listened to me. Now it’s too late.”
Samantha wondered how to reach the girl, knowing she couldn’t take too long. Dikeledi was expected home.
“I grew up in Mochudi as well. Did you ever hear of a girl called Segametsi Mogomotsi? She also lived here in Mochudi. She disappeared, too, when she was about your age. Segametsi was one of my best friends.”
“What happened to her?”
Samantha didn’t want to talk about the details. She didn’t even want to recall the details. “They never found the men who did it. I vowed I was going to, but I didn’t, either. She was murdered for muti.”
Suddenly Dikeledi was sobbing in her arms. All the tears held back over the past months came flooding out. Samantha just held her and let her cry.
Almost as quickly as they’d come, the tears stopped, and Dikeledi wiped her eyes and nose with her hand. She dug in a pocket of her jacket, pulled out a piece of paper, and offered it to Samantha. “I found this at the bottom of the hill. You remember where it turns into the town? Exactly there.” Samantha examined it. It was a handwritten list of items, obviously a shopping list. She noticed the exaggerated loops on the g’s.
“It was Lesego’s, wasn’t it?”
Dikeledi nodded. “I’m sure. And she dropped it there when they took her. I know that’s what happened, but the policeman didn’t believe me. They didn’t do anything.” The tears were close again.
“I believe you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Next week I’m going to ask at every house close to the bottom of the hill. I’m going to tell them that’s where Lesego was abducted. Perhaps someone will remember something. I’m going to find out what happened. And then I’ll come and tell you.”
D
ikeledi digested this without comment. At last she said, “Can I have it back? The list? She left it for me.”
Samantha hesitated but, after all this time and handling, the chance of finding any prints on the list was remote. She passed it back to the girl.
“I need to go home now, please. My aunt will be cross if I’m late.”
“Of course,” said Samantha, and started the car.
NINE
THE HOSPITALS HAD NO news for Witness, nor had the morgue. Witness didn’t know which way to turn, what to do. So he sat in his house and did nothing.
Late on Saturday afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Witness flung it open, hoping. But it was a police constable.
“I have come about the report of your missing daughter.”
Witness waved him to a chair and sat down opposite.
“Rra,” the constable began, “please start at the beginning.”
For the next twenty minutes, the constable asked questions and made notes.
“Thank you, rra. We’ll send your daughter’s photo to all police stations and ask them to keep a lookout for her. And on Monday morning, we’ll send some men to search the area around the school.”
“We’ve already searched there!” Witness snapped. “We found nothing. You’re too late. You should have been here this morning.”
“The station commander had no one available this morning. And may not have anyone tomorrow, either. That’s why we may have to wait until Monday.”
“The police are useless,” Witness growled as he showed the policeman to the door. “I’ll phone the station tomorrow to see what you’ve done. And it better be something.”
THAT EVENING, AFTER WAITING well past suppertime in some vague hope that Tombi would return, Witness walked to the BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL shebeen, a favorite of his friends. This local bar was named after its proprietor, accurately reflecting her size, her knowledge of local gossip, and her willingness to dispense advice. It was in a small house in the middle of a residential area of sandy streets and few trees. The front rooms had been converted into a single large one, with a few cheap tables and a counter that groaned every time someone leaned on it. On the wall was a pinup, undressed to within a hair of Botswana’s laws, and a few faded posters featuring St. Louis beer. The fluorescent lights weren’t designed for romance.
None of the neighbors had ever complained about the shebeen—there were rumors that Big Mama was a witch doctor. In fact, she was a traditional healer, whose potions were sought after from near and far.
As he walked through the door, Witness was grabbed by Big Mama and lost his breath to a huge hug. “Have courage, my friend,” she whispered in his ear. Then, almost deafening him, she yelled out, “Get Witness a beer! Right away! On the house!”
As the evening passed, Witness’s friends plied him with several more cartons of Chibuku Shake Shake beer, the cheap local favorite, to cheer him up. But it only made him maudlin.
“What will I do if Tombi doesn’t come back? I’ll be all alone. There won’t be anything to live for.”
His friends slapped him on the back and told him to be optimistic—that the police were probably right, and she’d be back on Sunday evening, embarrassed because she’d fallen in love or some such thing and had forgotten to let him know.
“What have I done to anger the spirits?” he wailed. “First my wife, and now my daughter.”
“Have another beer,” they said. And he did.
Witness had been drinking for several hours when a group of young men and women marched through the door chanting “Vote for Jacob Pitso. Vote for freedom!” They spread out and put pamphlets on every table. Witness grabbed one, angry at the smiles and happiness. He didn’t recognize the one face, but where had he seen the other? He’d seen it recently. He grimaced, trying to squeeze the memory into the open. Who was it? Who was it? Then the fog of alcohol lifted for a moment. It was the man outside the school with the girl who had pretended to be Tombi! This was that man, the smiling man. Witness stood up, a little precariously, and pointed to the photo.
“He’s evil!” he shouted. “I saw him with a girl this afternoon. He was in her arms. She was just a baby. Like my Tombi!”
One of the young men walked over. “Oh, shut up. You’re drunk. Rra Marumo was in Lobatse today, and he’ll only be back tomorrow.”
“No, he wasn’t! I saw him at the school this afternoon. With a girl. He was smiling as though they’d just made love. Then I saw him on the street—still smiling. He should be flogged at the kgotla.”
“Go home,” a young woman said. “Go and sleep it off.” She pushed him, and he staggered against the wall and fell to the floor.
Witness pushed himself to his knees and screamed, “He’s the Devil! You are all evil!”
Two of his friends lifted him to his feet, dragged him to his car, and threw him on the backseat. One friend drove Witness’s car home; another followed. When they reached the house, they lifted Witness, found his keys, and dropped him on the sofa in his living room.
“He’ll be okay,” the one said.
“He’s not going to feel good when he wakes up,” said the other. “I hope Tombi doesn’t come home and find him like this.”
IT WAS SIX IN the morning when Witness woke up. It took him a few minutes to work out where he was. He was shivering from the cold, so typical of Gaborone nights at that time of year, and felt awful all over. A furry substance lined his mouth, and his head pulsed out a monotonous rhythm of pain. Surprisingly, he was not nauseous.
After several cups of strong tea and a couple of thick slices of bread, he showered, changed, and set off for church. He wanted to be early so he could ask the pastor to say a special prayer for Tombi.
As he waited, he was approached by a man he recognized but didn’t know.
“Rra Maleng? I’m Tumiso Mikopi. I live near the Motswedi school. I was in Molepolole yesterday and only heard about your daughter this morning. I’m very sorry to hear that she’s missing. You must be very worried.”
Witness nodded and shook the extended hand.
“Rra Maleng, I know Tombi, because she sometimes plays with my daughter, Alice. When I was driving home from work on Friday, I saw her walking—”
“Where was she?” Witness was almost shouting. “Where did you see her?”
“She was on the road next to the playing fields.”
“Did she look okay? Was everything normal?”
“She looked happy—as though she was dancing.”
“Did you see anything else?”
“Well, I parked my car and got my briefcase from the trunk. I looked up the road, but she wasn’t there. I thought she must’ve gone into one of the houses. But I did notice a white car along the road going away from the school. It was too far away to see what type it was, and I’ve no idea if Tombi was in it. I didn’t give it any thought. Then I packed a suitcase and drove to Molepolole to see my sister. Only got back late last night.”
“Could you see the driver? Surely you could tell the make of the car?”
Mikopi shook his head. “It was too far. I couldn’t see it very well. I didn’t recognize it. They all look much the same these days. A few seconds later, and I wouldn’t have seen it at all.”
“Can you remember what time it was?”
“It must have been around half past five. That’s usually when I get home.”
“And Tombi looked fine?”
“Yes. She was skipping along the road.”
WITNESS WAS VERY RESTLESS during the service. He wanted to race to the police station and give them this new information. He sat near the back and gazed at the dirty stained-glass window behind the altar. As the service dragged on, he fidgeted, wishing for it to end. Normally he enjoyed the hymns, but today there seemed to be more than usual. Not one. Not two. But four! And each with more
verses than he remembered. He didn’t hear the resonant basses and soaring sopranos. His mind was elsewhere, thinking back on the good times he and Tombi had enjoyed, and the things he’d said that he wished he could take back.
Even though he was anxious to leave, he tried to pay attention and draw comfort from the sermon. Witness didn’t understand the prolonged and convoluted discussion of Exodus 21:22–25—“eye for eye, tooth for tooth”—and whether the pastor was for or against the concept. All he knew was that if he found the man who had taken Tombi, he’d chop him into little pieces.
After what seemed an eternity, the pastor ended the service by asking the Lord to give Witness strength and urging the congregation to pray for Tombi. However, it was nearly half an hour more before Witness was able to leave. Several of the parishioners wanted to talk to him, to console him, and, of course, to reassure him that Tombi would show up.
WHEN HE EVENTUALLY REACHED the police, a peeved duty constable raised his voice. “Rra Maleng, please! We’ll definitely start searching tomorrow morning. We don’t have the staff today. It is Sunday.”
“And my daughter is missing!” he yelled. “She may be dying! Don’t you care?”
“Rra Maleng—”
“She was fine after school. Rra Mikopi saw her. Then she disappeared in a white car! You’ve got to look for a white car . . .”
The constable came from behind the counter, took Witness’s arm firmly, and led him from the building. “Come back tomorrow at lunchtime, rra. We may have some information then.”
“You’re useless!” Witness shouted. “You do nothing while people are being murdered! Go to hell, all of you!”
WITNESS TOOK THE WEEK off supposedly to look for Tombi. In reality, he spent most of each day either walking up and down the road where she was last seen or moping at home, replaying memories of incidents where he could have been a better father. In the evenings, further depressed by a total lack of progress by the police, he visited BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and drank increasing amounts of Shake Shake beer. Sometimes he would go outside with Gordon Thembe and they would surreptitiously share a joint. Big Mama wouldn’t tolerate that in her shebeen. On other occasions he would go on drinking until he ended up picking a fight with someone and being taken home by friends, who were now worried about his state of mind.
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