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Mr Venter carefully replaced his mug on the coffee table and waited while Annamari and Thys, who were sitting on the couch opposite him, pored over the documents he had brought with him.
‘What does this mean? I don’t understand,’ Annamari said.
Thys got up and put another log on the fire. He always did that when he wanted more time to think. Annamari wiped her face with a tissue. It was hot in the lounge. There really was no need for a fire in the middle of the day – even if it was July – but Thys had said it would be cosy and cheerful, especially if Mr Venter was bringing bad news. She’d had this really sick feeling ever since the lawyer had phoned them two days before, saying he had some important information for them but he’d prefer to discuss it with them in person.
‘I think we might be in trouble,’ he’d said.
‘I don’t get it. Why do you think we might be in trouble?’ Thys asked, straightening the family portrait slightly, turning back to the lawyer.
Mr Venter cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘As you know, the cut off date for land claims was 31 December, 1998. This claim was apparently lodged on that day, but there are some anomalies that indicate it was lodged later, and then backdated.’
‘They can’t do that!’ Annamari said. ‘Surely the claim should just be thrown out because of that.’
‘Of course. And that is certainly going to be part of our submission. However, I’m concerned about the people behind the claim.’
The fire crackled and spat as Thys poked it, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
‘What do you mean? Who are they? There’s nothing about them in the report,’ Thys said as he settled back onto the couch and took Annamari’s hand.
‘That’s because what I’m about to tell you cannot be part of the official record. At least, not yet. Look, Mr van Zyl, Mrs van Zyl. It seems incredible. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. My investigator really battled to find out anything about the claimants, and that, in itself, was unusual and raised all kinds of red flags. I mean, it really shouldn’t have been difficult to find out something, anything about Thabiso Hadebe – but we really had to dig around. Here, this is the confidential report our investigator put together.’
Mr Venter handed them a neatly typed document headed “Thabiso Hadebe – Connections”. Annamari glanced at it. It was long and complicated; there were flowcharts and diagrams with arrows and names she had never heard of. She looked at Thys who was frowning as he read the first page, then the second. Then he put the document down on the coffee table.
‘Okay, Mr Venter. Please explain,’ he said.
‘It’s actually quite simple really,’ Mr Venter said. ‘Thabiso Hadebe is the son of one Sehlolo Moilmo. You probably know Sehlolo better as Johannes, Johannes Moilmo.’
Annamari gasped. Of course she knew Johannes. She had known him since she was a child. He had always lived on Steynspruit, like Petrus and Rosie, dear, dear Rosie. He still lived on Steynspruit; he was a member of Steynspruit Kibbutz. His children had grown up on Steynspruit too and...and then Annamari remembered. Johannes’ oldest son was Thabo. Thabo the Troublemaker, they’d always called him. He was a few years older than Arno and Beauty. Annamari had always found it hard to like him. A sullen boy, he had rebelled against being forced to leave the Driespruitfontein township like the other children and move to Steynspruit at the height of the troubles and violence there. He had run away several times, and Johannes had gone after him and brought him back. Except that once. She remembered. Johannes had came back, shattered. He told them that Thabo was in jail. He’d got caught trying to hijack a Mercedes in Bloemfontein. He got five years, Johannes said. So it wasn’t really surprising that when he got out of jail and wanted to come back to Steynspruit, the kibbutz members voted – almost unanimously – not to accept him as an adult member.
‘Steynspruit was never good enough for him. Why should we take him back now?’ Petrus had asked.
‘He has nowhere else to go. He is sorry for what he said. He is sorry for ... for everything. He has learned his lesson. He will work hard... I will make him work hard,’ Johannes had pleaded.
So the kibbutz members agreed to allow Thabo to come back and live on Steynspruit for a trial period of three months and then, if he proved himself, they would allow him to become a member. But he hadn’t stayed for even two months, Annamari recalled. One night, he just disappeared. Johannes didn’t say anything and as far as Annamari knew, he had never looked for him either.
‘I don’t understand,’ Annamari told Mr Venter. ‘Johannes’ son is Thabo Moilmo.’
‘It looks like it. But he uses the name Thabiso Hadebe now. Hadebe is his mother’s name. And that’s the name that’s been used to file the claim against Steynspruit.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Thys spluttered. ‘Thabo doesn’t have a claim... if anything, his father might but Johannes is a Kibbutz Steynspruit member. He wouldn’t support a claim from his son – would he?’
‘No. As far as we have been able to find out, it doesn’t look as if Johannes knows anything about this.’
‘So what is Thabo up to? Why is he doing this?’ Annamari couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘We – my investigators – don’t think Thabo, or Thabiso, is the real instigator of the claim. We think he is being used. As a front.’
‘A front? For whom? For what?’
‘We’re not sure. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. We are pretty sure but we don’t have any proof – yet. But if it is as we suspect, well, as I told you, I think we could be in trouble.’
Mr Venter leaned forward and flipped open the Thabiso Hadebe document. He jabbed his finger at one of the flow charts. Annamari tried to follow his explanation, but it was just so complicated. There were so many names she had never heard before.
‘So you see,’ Mr Venter said, ‘Thabiso’s uncle on his mother’s side is Solomon Tumelo Hadebe; Solomon Hadebe is married to Lerato Schekoera. Lerato’s brother, Mohapi Schekoera, is said to be very close to those who are very close to President Mbeki as well as to the Free State Premier. From what I’ve heard, these guys are something of a law unto themselves, and now that the President has fired the Vice President, Jacob Zuma, they’ve become virtually untouchable.’
Annamari stared at Mr Venter, horrified. This couldn’t be happening. She really had no interest in the seeming never-ending power struggles that Die Volksblad said were white-anting the ruling African National Congress. She’d never had any interest in politics – not like Thys who devoured stories about the goings on of those in power, tut-tutting and saying the media was terribly biased and really should give the ANC more of a chance to settle down and turn the country around. He never shifted his position; not even when his father, the dominee, thundered against the “new” South Africa from his chair at the head of the long dining room table every Easter. Not even, a mere two months ago, when the ANC’s solution to turn the country around had finally driven their son to seek a new life thousands of kilometres away; not even when she wept in the International Departure hall at OR Tambo International Airport as De Wet hugged her and hurried away and Thys put his arms around her and held her close... not even then would he blame the ANC. No, he said as he always did, it was unfortunate... unfortunate! She choked on the word. It wasn’t unfortunate – it was a tragedy, a disaster. But no, Thys wiped his eyes and insisted that what had happened to De Wet was unfortunate; but no one could expect change, which was absolutely critical to the future of South Africa, not to result in some people being hurt. That De Wet was one, was the unfortunate; but in the greater scheme of things, it was understandable. Annamari had pulled herself out of his arms and stared at him in disbelief.
‘It’s politics, liefie. It’s not personal. We have to look at the bigger picture and learn to forgive them as they have forgiven us,’ he’d said.