by Zakes Mda
‘I am not a coward, mama. I am a Young Tiger too.’
The Young Tigers form the youth wing of the political movement. The core group is usually made up of youths, both male and female, in their late teens and early twenties. However, there are some peripheral members who are much older, sometimes even in their thirties. Younger activists of Vutha’s age generally regard themselves as Young Tigers too.
The Young Tigers always praised Vutha for the strength of his throw. They said that if a stone from his hand hit a policeman, or a soldier, or a hostel vigilante on the head, he would surely fall down. Vutha was proud of this praise that came from older and battle-scarred cadres. It established him as a hero among his peers. Sometimes it went to his head, hence his practising his stone-throwing skills at Noria’s shack whenever she punished him for being a bad boy.
Often the Young Tigers gave the children political education. They taught them about the nature of oppression, the history of the movement, why it became necessary to wage an armed struggle, why it was recently suspended, why the tribal chief was doing such dirty things to the people, and how the government had been forced to unban the political movement of the people and to negotiate with its leaders. Much of this information floated above the heads of the children. This did not bother the Young Tigers. They knew that whatever little information the children grasped, it would make them committed freedom fighters, and upright leaders of tomorrow.
One night, when the settlement was deep in sleep, Battalion 77, supported by migrants from a nearby hostel, invaded. They attacked at random, burning the shacks. When the residents ran out, sometimes naked, the hostel inmates, uttering their famous war-cry, chopped them down with their pangas and stabbed them with their spears. The soldiers of Battalion 77 opened fire. They entered some shacks, and raped the women. They cut the men down after forcing them to watch their wives and daughters being raped. In one shack, a woman who was nine months pregnant was stabbed with a spear. As she lay there dying, she went into labour. Only the head of the baby had appeared, when it was hacked off with a panga by yet another warrior.
The whole exercise took less than thirty minutes, and in no time the invaders had disappeared into thin air. Those who had survived went to report to the police, who only came to investigate three hours after the bloody event.
The next morning, the entire settlement was dotted with smouldering ruins. Fifty-two people were dead, and more than a hundred others were in hospital with serious injuries.
Statements of accusation and denial were flying through the air. The residents and the political movement were pointing a finger at the hostel migrants and Battalion 77. The government was denying that Battalion 77 was involved, and the tribal chief was denying that his followers had anything to do with it. It was a terrible thing that had happened, he said, but anyone who wanted to blame his followers had to come up with evidence. It was not enough to say that someone saw the invaders coming from the direction of the hostels, and that they spoke the language of the tribal chief’s ethnic group. People had the right to speak any language they liked, and this could not, by any stretch of imagination, make them killers. Moreover, the tribal chief added, the residents of the settlement liked to attack the hostel inmates whenever they got the opportunity. Many of his followers had been killed and no one was saying a word about it.
Noria was fortunate in that her shack was untouched. So was ’Malehlohonolo’s. They went to help the unluckier families. In many cases, there was nothing they could do. The whole family had been wiped out. In other cases, there were survivors. They took new orphans to the dumping ground, where they were welcomed with open arms by Madimbhaza.
For many days that followed, a dark cloud hovered over the settlement. There was anger mingled with bitterness. People had lost friends and relatives. Husbands had lost wives, and wives had lost husbands. Children had lost parents, and siblings.
The funeral was the biggest that had ever been seen in those parts. The president of the political movement was there in person, together with the rest of his national executive. He, the consummate statesman as always, made a conciliatory speech, in which he called upon the people to lay down their arms and work towards building a new future of peace and freedom. He called those who had died martyrs whose blood would, in the standard metaphor for all those who had fallen in the liberation struggle, water the tree of freedom. He called upon the government to stop its double agenda of negotiating for a new order with the leaders of the political movement, while destabilizing the communities by killing their residents, and by assassinating political leaders. He further called upon the tribal chief to stop his gory activities, and to walk the democratic path.
The national president of the Young Tigers, however, was on the war-path. In his fiery speech he called upon his followers to avenge the deaths of their fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters.
‘We cannot just sit and fold our arms while they continue to kill us. The people must now defend themselves. Those who were in the armed wing of the political movement, who came back home when amnesty was declared and the armed struggle was suspended, must help our communities to form defence units. Our people shall not die in vain. Every death shall be avenged!’
After the prayers and the speeches, fifty-two coffins of varying size were lowered into the fifty-two graves. Fifty-two mounds of fresh soil were shaped with shovels and spades, and wreaths were laid. Some of the messages that were read came from presidents and prime ministers from all over the world. Ambassadors representing foreign countries were among the dignitaries who were at the funeral. There was no one who was not disgusted with the senseless killing. Indeed, the residents of the settlement saw that they were not alone in their hour of bereavement.
After the funeral, the task of rebuilding began in earnest. The people were determined to show the tribal chief, and the dirty tricks department of the government, that they would not be destroyed. Their will to survive, and to live to see the freedom that was surely coming soon, was too strong to be destroyed by any massacre.
There was a flurry of activity in the settlement. Street committees met, and planned strategies on how to defend the community. The Young Tigers formed neighbourhood patrols, and interrogated every stranger they saw loitering around the settlement. They stopped cars and demanded identification from the drivers and the passengers. A few stubborn drivers who did not want to co-operate were beaten up. Sometimes their money and watches were confiscated as well, although the leaders of the Young Tigers strenuously denied that they were responsible for such actions. They said it was not the policy of the organization to rob innocent motorists. The agents of the state were responsible for these nefarious activities, in order to sully the name of the Young Tigers.
Each afternoon, the local leadership of the Young Tigers called a meeting in which strategies were discussed. Vutha, Danisa, and other children of their age who had already established their reputations as political activists, always attended these meetings. They might not have understood everything that was happening there, but everyone took their presence quite seriously, as they were the leaders of tomorrow.
After school, the children of the settlement used to play in the marshlands that divided the settlement and a township where some of the hostels were located. In fact, the hostels were on the edge of the township, and faced directly over the marshlands. Vutha, and some of the children of his age who were waiting to be seven so that they could go to school, sometimes played there during school hours. They improvised fishing lines and caught frogs and old shoes in the mosquito-infested ponds.
Noria did not like the children to play in the marshlands because she said it was too dangerous. When it had rained heavily in the past, children had drowned in those marshlands, since the ponds turned into small lakes. She preferred to keep an eye on Vutha and Danisa at all times. They accompanied her to the dumping ground whenever she felt Madimbhaza needed her help. When she drew water for the shebeen queens the children tagged a
long to the communal tap, and to the shebeens as well.
One day a shebeen queen came to ask Noria to draw water for her. She needed many buckets of water because she was going to brew a lot of beer for the weekend. Noria called Vutha to follow her to the tap. Danisa was at home, since ’Malehlohonolo had not gone to do washing that day. She walked a few steps and turned, only to find that Vutha was not there. He had remained behind.
‘Hey wena Vutha! Didn’t I say you must follow me?’
‘I am coming, mama. I’ll find you at the tap.’
But Vutha didn’t come. Instead he went to the marshlands to catch frogs and punish them for being frogs by punching holes in their bodies with a safety pin. There he found a friend from the neighbourhood, an eight-year-old boy who did not like going to school. He had left home pretending he was going to school, but had gone to fish in the marshlands instead.
While they were playing together, three men approached them. They tried to run away, but the men were too fast. They caught them, and asked them who they were. They wanted to know the names of their parents, and where they lived. The children knew immediately that these men were hostel dwellers. They screamed and begged for mercy.
‘Don’t cry, my children. We are not going to do anything to you. Come with us.’
They dragged them screaming and kicking their legs across the marshlands to the hostels. Here they took them into one of the hostel dormitories, where there were men sitting on cement beds. Some were joking and laughing, while others were playing their guitars, singing of faraway valleys and beautiful maidens, and cattle that were dying because of drought. Others were cooking on primus stoves, and the smell of meat filled the room. The men took the children to their own corner of the dormitory. There they fed them quantities of meat and steamed bread. They gave them the fermented maize drink known as mageu to wash down the food. The children had never feasted so much in their lives. After a banquet fit for a king, the men told them to go home.
‘You see, we are not as bad as you squatters make us out to be. You can come for more meat tomorrow. You’ll find us here. But don’t tell your parents about this. They won’t allow you to come if they know.’
The children went back to the settlement with their secret. The older boy did not trust Vutha. He thought that he would burst out and boast to his friends about his illicit adventure. The friends would in turn tell their parents, and that would be the end of their feasting on meat.
‘Hey wena The Second, if ever you tell anyone about this, I will beat you up, and cut off your ears, and feed them to my dog.’
When Vutha got home, Noria was very angry. She demanded to know where he had gone when he had promised to follow her to the tap.
‘I went to play in the marshlands, mama.’
Noria threatened to give him a thorough hiding. He cried and asked for mercy. Noria decided not to punish him. At least he had not gone there with Danisa. She did not want to answer to ’Malehlohonolo if the children drowned, or if anything terrible happened to them. Things of that nature spoilt friendships.
That afternoon, Vutha went to the usual political meetings. His marshlands friend was there. So was Danisa. After the lessons, the children participated in the usual democratic forum where the older Young Tigers discussed strategies for self-defence. There was going to be a rally of the followers of the tribal chief at the big central stadium the following Saturday afternoon. Buses were going to transport his followers there from all over the country, since it was essential that the rally should be a very big one. This would show the hostile media that the tribal chief had a lot of support. The Young Tigers’ plan was to ambush one of the buses from the hostel at a particular spot on its way to the rally, and to mow down all the passengers with semi-automatic rifles. This would be a fitting vengeance for the massacre.
The next day ’Malehlohonolo brought Danisa to Noria’s shack, and left for the city. Noria carried on with her chores while the children played their usual games. They tagged along when she went to the dumping ground, and to draw water for the brewers, But after some time Noria noticed that only Danisa was tagging along. Vutha was not there.
‘What happened to Vutha, Danisa?’
‘A big boy came and took him away. I think they went to the marshlands.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Danisa?’
‘The Second said he was going to beat me up if I told.’
Vutha and his friend had meanwhile gone to their hostel friends, who gave them plenty of meat and pap. They also stuffed their pockets with sweets. Then they asked them about the meetings. They wanted to know what the Young Tigers were planning. At first the children were reluctant to talk. But the men assured them that no one would ever know that they had divulged any information to them.
‘And we are going to give you some more meat, and sweets too.’
The older boy started blurting out the information about the planned ambush. He was vague about the details, since strategies of warfare are not easy for children to grasp. However, the information was enough to give the hostel dwellers an indication that something was being planned by the Young Tigers, and roughly what form it would take. They sent the children home with promises of more sweets and meat if they continued to visit them, and brought them any more information that they might have at their disposal.
Unfortunately when they left the hostel, school was out, and a lot of the settlement children were already playing in the marshlands. They were seen and questioned about what they were doing at the hostel. At first, they denied that they were ever there, but the older boys pressed them, and said that they were going to tell when they got back home. Vutha and his friend shared their sweets with them, in a futile attempt to buy their silence. When these children got home, they told their parents that Vutha and his friend had been at the hostel, and were given sweets by the hostel inmates. Some of the older residents said that maybe the hostel dwellers were trying to sue for peace with the settlement by bribing their children with sweets.
The Young Tigers, however, took a different view. They questioned the children sternly about their activities at the hostel.
‘The hostel dwellers are not your uncles. They cannot just give you sweets for nothing. What did you promise them? What did you tell them?’
The children had to confess that they told the hostel inmates about the planned ambush. The leaders of the Young Tigers were very angry. They called all the children to come and see what happened to sell-outs. They put a tyre around Vutha’s small neck, and around his friend’s. They filled both tyres with petrol. Then they gave boxes of matches to Danisa and to a boy of roughly the same age.
‘Please forgive us! We’ll never do it again. We are very sorry for what we did.’
‘Oh, mother! Where is my mother!’
‘Shut up, you sell-outs! Now, all of you children who have gathered here, watch and see what happens to sell-outs. Know that if you ever become a sell-out, this is what will happen to you as well. Now you two, light the matches, and throw them at the tyres.’
Danisa and the child who had been given the honour of carrying out the execution struck their matches, and threw them at the tyres. Danisa’s match fell into Vutha’s tyre. It suddenly burst into flames. His screams were swallowed by the raging flames, the crackle of burning flesh, and the blowing wind. He tried to run, but the weight of the tyre pulled him to the ground, and he fell down. The eight-year-old was able to stagger for some distance, but he also fell down in a ball of fire that rolled for a while and then stopped. Soon the air was filled with the stench of burning flesh. The children watched for a while, then ran away to their mothers.
Danisa also ran to her home. ’Malehlohonolo was not back from the city yet. So she ran to Noria’s.
‘Auntie Noria, I burnt The Second because he is a sell-out.’
Noria could not understand what the excited little girl was talking about. But she followed Danisa, who promised that she would lead her to where she had burnt the boy. By th
e time they arrived there, many people had already gathered. They had also heard from their children how sell-outs were set on fire on the instructions of the Young Tigers. The tyres were still smouldering, but the remains of the two boys were charred and shrivelled. Noria threw herself on the ground and wailed.
‘Oh, Vutha my child, you can’t die again!’
Noria was transformed into a madwoman. Throughout that night, she roamed around the settlement shouting that she wanted the bastards who had killed her son. She was prepared to kill them with her own bare hands, she said.
‘Where are you, you cowards? Why don’t you come out and face me? I will not rest until I expose you! Until I make you taste the same death!’
Towards dawn, her voice became hoarse. Although she was not yet tired of going from street to street, she could not yell her challenge to the killers anymore. She went back to her shack, only to find it a sheet of flame. She fled to Madimbhaza’s dumping ground.
The whole community was numbed by what had happened. Different views were proffered. Some felt that the Young Tigers had gone too far in their protection of the settlement. Others reserved their opinions. But one strange thing was that none of the children could say who was actually responsible for the atrocity. They just said it was the Young Tigers. Who in particular? Just the Young Tigers. Who had given the instructions to Danisa and the other child to light the tyres? The Young Tigers. Who among the Young Tigers? Just the Young Tigers.
‘Do you understand how I feel, Toloki, to be told that my child deserved to die like that, after I carried him in my womb for thirty months?’
‘Thirty months, Noria?’
‘I am not making a mistake, Toloki. The first time I carried him for fifteen months, which is a long time for any woman to carry a baby. He was born, and Napu fed him to the dogs. I carried him again for another fifteen months. He died for the second time when the Young Tigers set him on fire.’
Toloki wants to know if no one was arrested for this atrocity. Noria says that the police are still investigating. They have had great difficulty in finding witnesses, so they are unable to say who gave the order to have the boys set alight. They cannot arrest Danisa and the other child, since they are babies.
