"That is you!" They were truly stunned now. "Did you write that book?"
"Now do you believer" Craig demanded, but Lookout studied the evidence o " are fully before committing himself.
His lips moved as he read slowly through the text of the articles, and when he handed them back to Craig, he said, seriously, "Kuphela, despite your youth, you are indeed an important book-writer." Now they were almost pathetically eager to pour out their grievances to him, like petitioners at a tribal indaba where cases were heard and judgement handed down by the elders of the tribe. While they talked, the sun rose up LA
across a sky as blue and unblemished as a heron's egg, and reached its noon -and started its stately descent towards its bloody death in the sunset.
What they related was the tragedy of Africa, the barriers that divided this mighty continent and which contained all the seeds of violence and disaster, the single incurable disease that infected them all tribalism.
Here it was Matabele against Mashona.
"The dirt-eaters," Lookout called them, "the lurkers in caves, the fugitives on the fortified hilltops, the jackals i who will only bite when your back is turned to them." It was the scorn of the warrior for the merchant, of the man of direct action for the wily negotiator and politician.
"Since great Mzilikazi first crossed the river Limpopo, the Mashona have been our dogs amahob, slaves and sons of slaves." This history of displacement and domination of one group by another was not confined to Zimbabwe, but over the centuries had taken place across the entire continent.
Further north, the lordly Masai had raided and terrorized the Kikuyu who lacked their warlike culture; the giant Watutsi, who considered any man under six foot six to be a dwarf, had taken the gentle Hutu as slaves and in every case, the slaves had made up for their lack of ferocity with political astuteness, and, as soon as the white colonialists" protection was withdrawn, had either massacred their tormentors, as the Hutu had the Watutsi, or had bastardized the doctrine of Westminster government by discarding the checks and balances that make the system equitable, and had used their superior numbers to place their erstwhile masters into a position of political subjugation, as the Kikuyu had the Masai.
Exactly the same process was at work here in Zimbabwe.
The white settlers had been rendered inconsequential by the bush war, and the concepts of fair play and integrity that the white administrators and civil servants had imposed upon all the tribes had been swept away with them.
"There are five dirt-eating Mashona for every one Matabele indo da Lookout told Craig bitterly, "but why should that give them any right to lord it over us? Should five slaves dictate to a king? If five baboons bark, must the black-maned lion tremble?"
"That is the way it is done in England and America," Craig said mildly. "The will of the majority must prevail-"
"I piss with great force on the will of the majority," Lookout dismissed the doctrine of democracy airily. "Such things might work in England and America but this is Africa. They dd not work here I will not bow down to the will of five dirt-eaters. No, not to the will of a hundred, nor a thousand of them.
I am Matabele, and only one man dictates to me a Matabele king." Yes, Craig thought, this is Africa. The old Africa awakening from the trance induced in it by a hundred years of colonialism, and reverting immediately to the old ways.
He thought of the -tens of thousands of fresh-faced une Enelishmen who for very little financial reward had YO come out to spend their lives in the Colonial Service, labouring to inst il into their reluctant charges their respect for the Protestant work-ethic, the ideals of fair play and Westminster government. young men who had returned to England prematurely ted and broken in health, to eke out their days on a. pittance of a pension and the belief that they had given their lives to something that was valuable and lasting. Did they, Craig wondered, ever suspect that it might all have been in vain?
The borders that the colonial system had set up had been neat and orderly. They followed a river, or the shore of a lake, the spine of a mountain range, and where these did not exist, a white surveyor with a theodolite had shot a line across the wilderness. "This side is German East Africa, this side is British." But they took no cognizance of the tribes that they were splitting in half as they drove in their pegs.
"Many of our people live across the river in South P Africa eking complained. "If they were with us, then things would be different. There would be more of us, but now we are divided."
"And the Shana is cunning, as cunning as the baboons that come down to raid the maize fields in the night. He knows that one Matabele warrior would eat a hundred of is, so w1en t we rose against dlem, usec die w-lite soldiers of Smith's government who had stayed on--2 Craig remembered the delight of the embittered white soldiers who considered they had not been defeated but had been betrayed, when the Mugabe government had turned them loose on the dissenting Matabele faction.
"The white pilots came in their aeroplanes, and the white troops of the Rhodesian Regiment-" After the fighting the shunting, yards at Bulawayo station had been crowded with refrigerated trucks each packed from floor to roof with the bodies of the Matabele dead.
"The white soldiers did their work for them, while Mugabe and his boys ran back to Harare and climbed shaking and snivelling under their women's skirts. Then, after the white soldiers had taken our weapons, they crawled out again, shook off the dust of their retreat, and came strutting back like conquerors."
"They have dishonoured our leaders,-2 Nkomo, the Matabele leader, had been accused of harbouring rebels and accumulating caches of weapons, and driven in disgrace by Mashona,dominated government into enforced retirement.
"They have secret prisons in the bush where they take our leaders," Peking went on. "There they do things to our men that do not bear talking of."
"Now that we are deprived of weapons, their special units move through the villages. They beat our old men and women, they rape our young women, they take our young men away, never to be seen or heard of again." Craig had seen a photograph of men in the blue and khaki of the former British South Africa police, so long the uniform of honour and fair play, carrying out interrogations in the villages. In the photograph they had a naked Matabele spreadeagled on the earth, an armed and uniformed constable standing with both booted feet and his full weight on each ankle and wrist to pin him, while two other constables wielded clubs as heavy as baseball bats.
They were using full strokes from high above the head, and raining blows on the man's back and shoulders and buttocks. The photograph had been captioned "Zimbabwe Police interrogate suspect in attempt to learn whereabouts of American and British tourists abducted as hostages by Matabele dissidents'. There had been no photographs of what they did to the Matabele girls.
"Perhaps the government troops were looking for the hostages which you admit you seized," Craig pointed out tartly. "A little while ago you would have been quite happy to kill me or take me hostage as well." "The Shana began this business long before we took our first hostage," Lookout shot back at him.