Shadows in Sorrowtown(written may 2013)

Little did the concierge know that the tall, handsome man that had shook his hand, greeted him upon retrieving his room key card was about to kill another person in the following 24 hours. The man, 33 years of age, called Kefentse, was part of the Military Forces,and held the rank of Warrant Officer 1st Class. He had entered the establishment dressed as a civillian, not raising the clerk's suspicions as he watched him leave the entrance lobby, heading to the elevator. The hotel was the only 4star accomodation in this part of the country and it only guested businessmen in search of a cheap deal or politicians selling the country's diamond and gold mines to businessmen, thus enabling the cut-price transactions. Kefentse exited the lift on the fourth floor, the purple coloured corridors seemed to cloud his view and cause him headaches. The key card opened the door and he slid in. The room the government had paid for was equipped with everything a diamonds dealer would need: free wi-fi, international phone-calls and privacy. He wasn't in the branch, though, thus he saw every appliance and gizmo as useless. He smirked when he threw an eye into the bathroom, reminding himself of the cost of the room, several of his salaries. His military salaries. He took off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair and forced himself into bed. His budget had included clothing expenses, transportation, accomodation, but no extra fee for himself. These were official orders carried out in a hush voice, not a commando mission off the books. He'd been instructed to report only when the assignment was terminated. Laying there, on the bed, staring at the white ceiling, he wanted to sleep off the avalanche of thoughts. There were neither bad nor good ones, no black and white, not even grey ones, more like red, the colour of blood he'd spill the subsequent day. Yet, he felt no regrets. For as many reasons to go forth with the orders he'd been given he had twice as many not to. As the hours advanced, he lingered in his room, feeling sorry he hadn't passed by the hospital. To explain why, at least. At one time he clutched the phone and wanted to call the number his mind was draining into, but these were orders, nobody had to know about what he was doing. The streets beneath his window had woken up, as bars and cafées and even traditional restaurants had opened up, hoping they could make the investors travelling to this corner of the country part with some of their greens. The officer ordered his supper in and barely touched his sole meuniere. He wasn't hungry, but that didn't stop him from finishing the bottle of Malmesbury Steen that was paired with the fish. He'd feel much more prepared in the morning, he reckoned. He put his head on the pillow, hoping his migrene would be gone by the time he'd wake up. Two days before The tall man took his military cap off, knocked on the door and waited for the response. The voice inside had just told him to come in. It was the voice of the Afrikaaner Chief of Military, General Ruud van Kleest, a man of few but serious words, that bore his facial scars gotten during his years on the field with great pride. His tiny blue eyes stood guard on his freckled red face and his puffed up figure made him resemble a menacing and violent ogre. And indeed he was one. At 68 years of age, after declining to retire at his vineyard villa in the Paarl, he was still very active, as he still enjoyed torturing the ones opposing President's Nichols corrupt regime. As the officer entered his office, the old man put his spectacles down and rested his thick fingered hands on the desk. There would be no hand offered for a shake and he'd want to hear no but's or no's throughout the whole conversation. ' At ease, soldier! Kefentse, sit down please!' ' Sir! I prefer to stand if that's ok with You, sir!' The old man sighed. 'You've probably already heard of what happened to the president.' ' Yes, sir, I have! And I think it's tragic...' ' Look, the best doctors in the whole country are taking care of him, trying to get him out the critical zone. They say he's gonna make it, but it'll take some time till he'll reprise his duties fully. Thus....he's appointed me to run the country in his absence and.....to find the perpetrator that's behind the bombing. And just as I know who the bad guy is, and it's very obvious who he is, you do too. Now, the President has asked me to wipe out the cell once and for all, no matter the costs!!! He can't have this opposing mercenary-funded nonsense planting bombs and ambushing his speeches. It's on you, Kefentse, to take out the leader.' 'Yes, sir, I'll do the country proud.' ' I don't expect otherwise! One more thing. The President was visiting a school when the kamikaze acted....' The general stopped for a split second to capture the soldier's eye movement. Kefentse's heart started quivering. First, the news of his mission, now this. If only this wasn't what he was afraid he'd hear. ' ....your daughter's school. She's suffered traumatic amputations on both legs, above her knee. Her class was attending the speech on the left side of the President's tribune, withing the blast radius. Doctors have told me she's in critical condition. Another reason for you to take this mission personal.' ' Will I be allowed to visit my daughter before I leave for Upington?' ' Negative.' Kefentse turned to the door, ready to exit. The old man stood and pounded his fist into the desk. ' That's an order, soldier! Understood?' 'Sir, yes, sir!' 'On your way out, ask the secretary to supply you with the file with all the details. Give me the affirmative once eveything is done. You're dismissed.' ' Thank You, sir!' The officer left the office, his bile turning sour and bitter in his mouth, leaving the general making phone calls and lighting a cigar. Kefentse's first strain of thought was to assemble a small team and bring hail, thunder and storm on the bombing's group leader. He was given full command, after all. It'd be a swift mission and highly triumphant. But then he wouldn't have time to go face-to-face with that man. He knew him and for many years he respected him and looked up to him. Now, he desired to have more than just a few words with him, after he heard his daughter was one of the victims of this evil deed. He retrieved the checks and file info, called a cab and headed to the airport. There was not a second he wanted to waste. The next morning The headache had brought all its party friends by the time the sun had risen. He hadn't slept much, how could he? His head weighed a ton, when his eyes flashed around the room, the vessel his supper had come onto had vanished and instead of one empty wine bottle, there were three now enjoying their demise on the table. What the hell happened, he thought? Truth was he'd woken up in the middle of the night, had made a mess of all the dishes, then had called room service to have it cleaned and ordered a couple more Paarl wine bottles to keep him company in case sleep was out of town. He rushed to the toilet and threw his head into the bowl, puking his guts out. Not really the start of a good day he was expecting. Water splashed onto his face didn't do much to grab him out the zombie state he was in. For some minutes he didn't even raise his face to look in the mirror. He didn't want to see himself like that: red eyes and stubble. But the confrontation moment came soon. The image in the mirror wasn't him, he thought, no way he could become like that. It was a stranger that had lived inside him, hidden, unknown and now had roused from basically nowhere. A virus, a bug, an unwanted guest. The phone looked most inviting, yet he strained himself. His military education taught him to hide all feelings, lock them out of his reasoning. He was still a soldier, after all, acting out an order. If the order was in the very least going against his own personal logic, he was supposed to shut out his sentiments and ask no questions, just act. It was little over 9 am when he stepped out the elevator, saluted the concierge with the same nonchalant half-smile and placed the room card before him. ' I'd like to rent a car, please.' ' Certainly, sir. Please fill out this form. Your car will be here in half hour. We invite You to wait in the bar area and one of my colleagues will let You know of its arrival.' ' I'm in a bit of a hurry, though. My time of business is already stretched out as it is, I was hoping to be back in Tshwane by sunfall.' ' Certainly, sir, I'll try to cut the waiting time.' ' Very kind of you, here's the form, I'll be in the lobby.' ' Happy to be of help, sir.' The Pajero's 4WD system went like a charm with the rugged terrain as soon as he left the town. The country's wealth: vineyards and minerals mines were nowhere to be seen here, just dry,dusty, red soil, thickened by the various tribes that had clashed throughout the centuries for this infertile palm of land. He parked the SUV in the shade of a giant quiver tree, tucked his gun and continued on foot. This was one of the most remote villages in the country, near the Botswanian border, and probably the poorest, too. It would've given Joburg a run for his money. This was no ordinary shantytown, this was the blueprint for all shantytowns, as there was no electricity or running water. Kefentse even wondered how the hell had it made onto the map, as for the rest of the country these people didn't exist. They were mere shadows in Sorrowtown, forgotten by all but some corporations interested on experimenting with proptotype drugs and medicines before putting them on the Western markets. That's why most of the children had one or more ilnesses created in the laboratory that no doctor would know the cure for. One caramel for the kid and a sack of rice for the family in exchange for a vaccine. This was a place where AIDS reigned supreme, lived in a palace and owned a bar where it and all the other diseases gathered. As he entered the village, kids ran to him with their palms open, expecting a treat. Their mothers would try to prepare something to eat either outside or inside the window-less barracks. A few dogs barked, one even tried to bite him, the officer took out his gun and fired a shot in the air. Kefentse looked at the kids, none had ran away. Of course this wasn't the first time they'd see a pistol. Their fathers were for the most part mercenaries, acting over border in defenseless villages. Thus guns were no novelty. The few children that weren't malnourished or amputees and that would survive the viruses they'd been vaccined with, had all the chances to become contract killers. It was the only thing they knew, their homeschooling, their education; they had to embrace guns and violence otherwise there'd be no future for them. All the other males had gone the same route, they knew there was no escape. There really wasn't any other wide array of carreers to choose from. One of the smaller ones had an open wound, probably made with a blunt object, and had been left untreated. It looked like flies had deposited eggs inside and now maggots were feasting on flesh from inside. The sight of their small deformed bodies made him nauseated. He'd seen brutal scenes, lots, in his military years, some involving children, but this was topping them. Soon, he was left alone, as no sweets had made the encounter interesting. Finally he got to the house where the man behind the bombings lived. It was the only proper house in the whole village and the large pump-generator and sun-pannels provided it with both water and electricity. He removed the curtain that stood as a door and made his entrance. There was nobody in, at a first glance. ' Dingane, come out!' From behind another curtain, a man dressed in traditional Tswane clothes and whose ten fingers held as many colourful rings made his appearance and greeted Kefentse. ' Ah! So it was you that fired earlier, I should've known they'd send you after Pretoria. Here to bring me to justice?' ' Not really. You're not leaving this place anymore. Take a seat first, we'll talk a bit.' ' You're having remorses, haven't you, little one? I can see it in your eyes. If it were you, you'd be somewhere else. Tell me...' ' You shouldn't have done it, Dingane, lots of innocents died!' ' You think I care about those wealthy, corrupt innocents? Who cares about mine, Kefentse, who? Your president? Your general? I don't think so. I'm giving people a choice. This is a God-forsaken place, that's why I've lasted so long here; nobody wants to get 50 miles close to this place for fear that they'll get HIV or any other illneses. You've seen the kids. There is no future for them, not here, not anywhere else. And neither for their families. They can't even have children, the government has dumped so many chemicals in the air that every child born on a 80 mile radius is prone to birth defects. They've been lied to, spat on, deceived and experimented on for too long. You see in what inhuman conditions they live!' ' Yet you have water and electricity here!' ' You're missing the point, Kefentse! How long are you gonna be a puppet for van Kleest, how long are you gonna live as a guided machine, a soldier?' ' You were a soldier too, Dingane! You've taken orders just like I do, you've killed people too, we've done that together, don't think that dressing up as a shaman and talk against the government will erase your past. You're killing people now, those bombs that your fanatic group are using as a tactic are no better than my direct orders.' ' I'm not a soldier, I'm a truth seeker. And the truth I find, I distribute it. The people need the truth.' ' Your truth? Bombing the places where Nichols is going? Killing innocents?' 'Like you care, Kefentse! You never looked back before when you had to pull the trigger.' ' Kefilwe is in the hospital. Nichols visited her school during his tour. She's lost her legs.' The shaman's visage changed and he took a deep breath. He stared into nothingness for a few moments. ' I'm sorry, Kefentse, I didn't know. I don't pick the persons around the target when the blast happens.' ' Sorries won't do! You've taken away her right to walk! What about other children, who's gonna feel sorry for them?' ' Please, don't start a WWF speech, it's not you. I care about Kefilwe, not the world. What about my village, who's thinking about these lost kids, with tumours hanging from their tiny bodies. Do you think the same pharmaceutical companies that are placing men in the parliament as we speak are sorry for what they've done here or in other parts of Africa? No, they don't. Actually, for allowing them to drug our youth, the government paid them extra, giving them properous vineyards and mines. That's what your government does, sending a soldier to kill any thorn that's in their path. Nichols and van Kleest don't care about me and care less about you, we're both kaffirs to them and you know that. White men are sending a black man to kill one of its own, what's there to understand and see other than the fact the whites in power, and they'll retain the position, unless we do something, will always keep us, blacks, down.' The ''white men are the devil'' speech. Kefentse expected to hear it. He and Dingane had lost endless nights discussing over it. For him, there was no white or black,or any other colour; only the red blood that he had seen in every person dead, no matter the ethnicity. He'd heard this speech since childhood, when it was his dad telling it, a man that had lived all his life between caucasians. Where all the hate from? Yes, he'd been sent by a white man to kill his brother, black, but the reasons couldn't be that simple. Maybe whites had indeed been the devil at first and with time they had let it loose and the black population had embraced it so much that they became it. There was more violence ongoing within the black majority, it was the only thing the whites had given and taught them, he thought. ' Dingane, spare me!' ' Why, cause you know it yourself? Yes, the white men are the devil; they came here, they stripped our freedom, they hanged our leaders, they erased our voices. And what did they give us instead? Apartheid? Mandela? By the time Nelson was in charge, all our land was gone. Then they gave us the land and took the crops. Then they gave us the crops, taking our children, brainwashing them, drugging them, experimenting on them. Oh, yes, it's a vicious cycle, alright! And they're afraid of me, cause I want to speak against their injustices?' ' Life's always gonna be unfair, brother. It's useless to use violence just cause you don't agree with the government.' ' Brother? I'm not your brother. The fact that your dad raped my mom before you were born and left me a bastard son for 18 years before he finally accepted me and gave me his name just cause he was getting a promotion in the military does not make me your brother. All the respect he's showed me since and all the education he's paid for me won't cancel my hate and disgust for that man. You have no idea what me and my mom had to go through. I'm anything but your brother,brother! Thus, don't feel any remorse for killing family, just feel sorry that a white bread has sent you to end a kaffir's life and you obliged.' The discussion didn't go Kefentse's way, the two brothers were like rams, going at each other harder every time. This had to end. Kefentse pulled the trigger twice, without flinching; the bullets hitting Dingane in the head and heart. He kneeled in front of him, kissing his hand. 'I'm sorry, brother...' The brief he'd gotten on the mission asked him to take pictures of the leader once he'd succeed. He did so and then called the general's office, notifying him of the ok assignment. ' Always a man I can trust, Kefentse, your dad would've been proud. There's a medal of valour awaiting you when you get back to Pretoria. You and your family will be taken care of' said the old Afrikaaner. Some time after, Kefentse had left the shantytown deal with the multitude of problems the rest of the world didn't want to know about, thinking of the children and their God-given right to become anything else but mere shadows in Sorrowtown. The End.