Afrika (18 page)

“How did he do that?” Kim was anxious to keep her mom talking.

Riana kept her eyes on the road. The rain was so heavy she was having trouble seeing. The windows were fogging up. She wound her window down a crack and then reached across and opened Kim's.

Kim watched a few drops bounce on her arm. “You were talking about Hendrik,” she reminded her mom.

Riana nodded.“He showed me things about the country that I was blind to,” she continued.“Hendrik
had the kindest way of doing that. He never blamed me personally, always the system. He said we were all victims of apartheid, no matter what color our skin. I fell in love with his kindness. But at first I would not admit it to myself. He was so frighteningly different from me. I judged him as my parents would.”

“What changed your mind?” asked Kim.

“One day on campus we tried to protest the racist laws. We were tear gassed. Because it was a predominately white university we were only shot at with rubber bullets, but some were arrested. Hendrik was one of the few who was. They chose him because he was not white, and they detained him for a couple of weeks. I was frantic. He came back to me with three cracked ribs, a split eyebrow, broken teeth. I nursed him and fell in love with him.”

Kim tried to memorize every detail that Riana gave her.“Why didn't you ever tell me about Hendrik?” she asked. “I mean that he wasn't white. Why leave out that little fact? Did you think I would care? Were you ashamed of him?”

“I loved him.” Riana said quickly “I really did.”

“And you never felt embarrassed by the color of his skin?”

“No,” Riana said looking Kim in the eye. “I just wanted to leave all that behind. I didn't want to think it mattered.”

“But it does matter!” cried Kim. “I can't run away from it like you. And I don't want to. It's part of me. Part of who I am.”

For a moment they drove in silence. They came to a small town, slowing down as they passed a church and corner shop. At one end of the town it was raining. The other end was dry. The car passed through the town in a few seconds.

“Why didn't Hendrik go with you to Canada?” Kim asked.

“I wanted him to come,” Riana said. “I begged him to come!”

“He said no?”

Riana turned the car onto the highway changed gears, and accelerated. “Hendrik was very politically involved. People in his organization advised him against it.”

“And he listened to them?”

“Yes,” Riana said. “When I became pregnant I gave him an ultimatum. I told him that I couldn't be married to the struggle. I couldn't be married to the movement. I needed him to come with me, or that would be it. His child would have no father.”

Riana slipped her sunglasses over her eyes and continued. “When I first arrived in Canada, I wanted to call him. So many times I wanted to. But I needed a clean break. It was the only way I could stay strong and leave my country. Eventually we fell out of
contact.” Riana took a deep intake of air. “It was Themba who tracked him down.”

Kim was astonished by this piece of news. “Themba found him?”

Riana nodded yes. “The other morning Themba called me on my cell. He couldn't reach you at the farm. Last week in a bookstore in Cape Town, Themba found a book that Hendrik had written. He left a message for him at his South African publisher's office. When Hendrik rang, Themba told him I was covering the hearing at Lion's River.”

“Why didn't Themba mention this when I spoke to him?” Kim asked.

“He wanted to wait until he made contact. He didn't want to get your hopes up.”

Kim thought about the day she had phoned Themba from the farm. It must have been hard for him not to share his discovery with her. He didn't tell her that he had found Hendrik's book because he was protecting her from disappointment. She had never had such a loyal friend.

“I am glad you have decided to meet with him again,” Riana added after a moment. “For the real questions that you have, Hendrik is the only one who can give you the answers.”

Kim sat beside her mother in silence. She couldn't tell if they had driven for one hour or four. Her head was spinning. Every piece of information
led to a new question. Maybe it was Hendrik who was ashamed! Maybe he was ashamed of his daughter.

Kim asked, “I wonder why he never wrote to me – never sent me a single letter?”

Keeping her eyes on the road, her mother answered. “You'll have to ask him that.”

T
he parking lot outside the building where the Cape Town Truth and Reconciliation Commission Hearings would be held was filling up fast. At the same moment that Riana spied an empty parking place, Kim noticed Themba standing on the entranceway steps. “Let me out,” she said. “I want to talk to Themba while you park.”

Kim got out of the car and crossed quickly to where Themba was.

“So, I made it,” Themba said in his half mocking voice. His dark eyes met hers. “Good to see you.”

Kim nodded. It was wonderful to see him again. But today was not going to be easy. They had spoken the night before on the phone and, even though he was still threatening not to attend the hearing, Kim suspected that deep in his heart Themba wanted to go.

Kim shielded her eyes from the bright sun. “Where is everyone?” she asked. She knew that Grandfather Khanyisa, Ntombi, and Sophie had all planned to be there.

“Inside,” he said.

Kim studied his face and saw that he was trembling.

“What would you do?” he asked her.

“I don't know,” said Kim. “I guess I'd go in. To back up my mom.”

Themba's response was barely audible. “I will see him,” he said. “I will see my father's killer. And then he will walk free.”

Kim almost touched Themba's shoulder but before she could do so, her mom joined them.

“Hello, Themba,” Riana said. “Let's hurry and go inside. These hearings have a reputation for starting on time.”

Riana ushered them up the stairs to the entrance. As they entered the building, Themba followed.
Maybe he's been waiting for me to arrive
, Kim thought.
Or maybe he just needed a gentle push to go in.

“Do you want to sit with us?” Kim asked as they came to the large room where the hearing would take place. Themba shook his head and whispered that he would sit with his family.

Kim waved as he crossed the room. She watched him slip into a seat with his grandfather on one side, and Ntombi, and his sister, Sophie, on the other. Kim hardly recognized Ntombi: she was dressed formally and her brown face was expressionless. Grandfather Khanyisa kept swallowing and
touching his Adam's apple as if something was stuck in his throat.

Riana and Kim took their seats beside Andries. Kim didn't want to sit with Andries, but they needed to be on the aisle and in the section reserved for the media. Earlier Kim had promised her mother that she would leave immediately if Riana told her to. It was the only way she would allow Kim to attend the hearing. Her mother did not want Kim to hear any grisly details of the murder.

The hearing was getting underway. The judge and the commissioners sat behind a long table, elevated slightly above the participants. Nearby sat the translators, provided for people who wanted to speak in their mother language and not English. There were two smaller tables, one on each side of the room.

Lettie sat at one of the small tables, dressed in a dark suit and beret. She took her glasses out of their case, set them on the table in front of her, and folded her hands in her lap, staring ahead silently while the lawyer beside her busied himself with some papers. At the opposite table sat another lawyer and a stocky white man in khaki trousers, shirt, and tie. Kim watched him shift his heavy body in the chair and whispered to her mother. Riana confirmed it. This was the former policeman who had abducted Themba's father from his house seven years ago.

The head commissioner rose, welcomed everyone, and began with a few sentences to set the tone for the amnesty hearing. “Mr. Chairperson,” he said, adjusting his microphone, “I want to thank all the people who have come forward in the name of truth to stand before this hearing today.”

Kim turned her attention away from the head commissioner and studied the man dressed in khaki.
This is what a killer looks like
, Kim thought. She had expected this man to have a thick, bull face and evil expression. Instead, the former policeman had a neat mustache, freshly cut hair, and pale skin. Kim was astonished to see that he looked ordinary.

The commissioner was finishing off his opening remarks. “What we hope to demonstrate by these hearings is the African principle of
ubuntu
, which means ‘reconciliation.’ The primary goal of these hearings is to lay bare the roots of apartheid so that this can never happen again. In the words of the Archbishop Desmond Tutu: ‘Without forgiveness there is no future, but without confession there can be no forgiveness.’”

Kim glanced across the room at Themba. He remained motionless.

The commissioner sat down as people shifted in their seats. The lawyer who was representing the ex-policeman stood and told the court his client's name. “Gert van Niekerk is seeking amnesty,” he
began. “It is to do with his part in the assault and death of Mr. Sandile Bandla.”

“Mr. van Niekerk,” said one of the judges. “Please stand and raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

“I do,” said the ex-policeman. He sat down and folded his hands one into the other.

“Proceed,” said the head commissioner.

“The date in question was March 30, 1990,” the lawyer began. “What, in your words, were the circumstances behind entering Mr. Sandile Bandla's house early in the morning of that day?”

The ex-policeman leaned his forearms on the table and spoke slowly into his microphone. “We were told that Sandile Bandla lived in that house. He was understood to be a leader in boycotts and anti-apartheid incidents. I was carrying out orders.” He looked at the lawyer and not at Lettie or her family. A muscle twitched in the side of his face. Beside Kim, Riana and Andries scribbled furiously in their notebooks.

A man in a navy suit, the lawyer who represented the commission, got to his feet to ask a question. “You were defending apartheid?”

The ex-policeman nodded. “It was my job to do so.”

“How many people did you assault per week?”

The ex-policeman took a quick sip of water. “About three or four.”

“How many of those whom you assaulted died each week?”

The ex-policeman's lawyer intervened. “Mr. Chairman, could we keep the questioning to the incident at hand?” he asked.

Again, Kim looked over at Themba; he sat stiff in his chair, his eyes boring into the face of the policeman. Beside Themba, Ntombi could not keep still, and she kept passing her hand across her mouth.

“Tell us what happened on that night,” the lawyer said.

“We entered the house by the front door,” Van Niekerk continued in a thick accent, very much like Riana's.“I did not take into consideration that there might be small children in the house. We wanted Sandile Bandla, he was the target, but I saw at once that there were youngsters hiding under the bed.” He paused, cleared his throat and continued. “I did not tell my superior officer, Captain van Rooi, about the children.”

“Go on,” said the lawyer.

Van Niekerk continued, “We found Sandile Bandla hiding in a shed-like structure attached to the side of the house.”

“Did Mr. Bandla struggle?” asked the lawyer.

The ex-policeman paused, as if trying to get his bearings. “I believe so, yes,” he mumbled. “Captain van Rooi instructed us to strike the terrorist with our sticks and fists.”

Lettie shut her eyes as if praying.

“Sticks and fists?” repeated the lawyer, pulling his eyebrows together. “What happened then?”

The man did not answer. Riana pressed her notebook shut and put her arm on Kim's.

“I recall that Sandile Bandla fought back,” Van Niekerk said. He paused, as if he was having trouble breathing, and then added:“I had to strike him quite a few times.”

The lawyer raised his voice. “What happened then?” he asked.

“I managed to get one of his bare feet in my hands,” the ex-policeman began and stopped. He blinked and added: “I pulled him into the back of the van. Then I tied a sack over his head.”

Riana nudged Kim. Kim gave in and silently and they slipped out. In the corridor, Riana took a drink from a water fountain and then moistened her temples. Kim felt sick. “
One of his bare feet in my hands”
repeated itself over and over in her mind.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did he hate him so much?”

“He thought that Sandile was a terrorist,” Riana explained. “He thought the Africans would take over
the country, make it communist, and run it into the ground.”

“Is that what Oupa and Oom Piet thought too?” Kim asked.

Riana paused and then looked off into space. “Yes,” she answered.

One or two of the hall doors were open and inside Kim could see many safes and filing cabinets. She wondered if it was in these cabinets that all the secret confessions of the hearings were kept.