A Short Story on the beautiful country of Lesotho

Blood is thicker than Water

16 October, 1987. Tsietsi Mofokeng disembarked from the ramshackle he had boarded to Maseru and was welcomed by the chilly morning weather coupled with contaminated air, filled with foul ordour as if the whole place were a cauldron. It was a pity what industrialisation could do to the atmosphere. This was the culmination. The fresh clean air of his hometown Mokhotlong had indeed spoilt him in the last few weeks. He should have enjoyed it while it lasted.

The reason he had returned to Maseru from Mokhotlong was work. He had been assigned a classified assignment here. He received a call yesterday, at about midnight and was told that there had been attacks on key installations in the city. These were brutal times. Apartheid forces had struck a few hours ago. The bastards had bombed the newest fuel station east of the city and wreaked havoc in a certain Molefe residence. Why? This particular home was suspected to have been harbouring two terrorists that belonged to the African National Congress. The eldest daughter to the head of the household had been shot badly in the stomach after fear had got the better of her and she had tried to escape. One of the racist trigger-happy bastards saw her and opened fire. Funny part is none of the wanted terrorists were found.

There was no doubt that these tyrants had contacts and informers on the inside. The premier had just opened the new filling station. So hitting the country where it hurt the most was the most rational thing to do. It made Tsietsi’s blood boil to think that his fellow Sotho brothers were cooperating with the enemy. So much for black solidarity! His unit’s job here—his two partners and him—was simply to conduct a thorough and clandestine investigation on the attacks, and find out who these scumbag informers were. The dear Lord be with them, if found, because then they are in for a treat. One they have never experienced before. Their unit was one of the best units in Lesotho’s military intelligence. They went by the name ‘Litau tse tsabehang’. Trust me. You don’t want to know what that means.

Their unit had been to many missions all across Africa and now they were needed greatly here at home because of this apartheid onslaught. They just had to cut the pipe that supplied information about South African liberation movement operations in the country. This meant eliminating some of their own people of Sotho blood. They didn’t like it. It was just a tiny contribution they had to make for international relations. But you know what they say; desperate times call for desperate measures. This was an order from the top. Way up there.

Tsietsi had a huge duffle-bag with him that he carried over his broad shoulders. He was a relatively tall fellow with a muscular physique and white teeth that accentuated his dark-skin. He was also the one smooth with the opposite species too.

He walked towards the train station where he, Tsepo, and Molemo—his  partners—were going to meet, then go to the intelligence office where they would get a briefing on the issue at hand as a team. In a couple of minutes he got to the train station where Tsepo was already waiting, chewing violently on what turned out to be gum.

‘Hey, how do you do sergeant?’ shouted Tsepo, as he saw his partner approach. ‘You look different, man. I bet the women from the boondocks were taking good care of you,’ he ended.

‘Of course, man! I will always say this; if you want a true woman befitting to your needs, the rural areas is the way to go,’ he said in a rather serious tone. He then smiled and said, ‘good to see you man. And where exactly is Molemo?’

‘Late as usual,’ said Tsepo, with a little bit of agitation as he contemplated he possibility of Molemo making them late. They were intelligence officers. Military men, for that matter. If there was one thing they should do best was keep time—be punctual at all times. ‘I hope he shows up soon because the Lieutenant would be pissed if-.’

‘Speak of the devil,’ cried out Tsietsi. ‘Here he comes, and you’d swear he was on time! Walking so slowly like he owns the place.’

‘Girls!’ teased Molemo, ‘I’m sorry I’m late. You know that Mohaleshoek is far, and the transport is unreliable.’

‘Enough with the excuses,’ said Tsietsi, ‘we better get going.’ The three men hurriedly walked to the military offices which were a few blocks away.

‘Just on time chaps,’ exclaimed Lieutenant General Khaka of the Lesotho Armed Forces (Intelligence Department). ‘I will not beat about the bush,’ he continued. ‘As you have seen in the news, there have been bombings in the city of very important installations by apartheid forces. Key among these was the petrol station in downtown Maseru. Also these iniquitous acts have caused unnecessary harm on private citizens. In the light of this, gentlemen, your unit has been assigned to go and eliminate some of the unpatriotic elements (informers) in Mazenod—which is where we have confirmed they are hiding. This must be done swiftly, without causing any unnecessary din. There are two of these vagabonds, and I want them dealt with appropriately,’ the Lieutenant ended as he reached out for his mineral water bottle, to take a sip. His mouth was now dry.

‘Oh, I hear quite clearly sir,’ said Molemo, as he popped his knuckles vigorously, proceeding to stretch his arms as if he was ready for anything.

‘Well, I hope you other gentlemen are also clear, because this operation is tonight. This is a very urgent matter,’ Lieutenant Khaka ended.

‘Very well sir,’ the men answered in unison while saluting their superior.

‘And boys,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘you go to the place specified in the document that I’ll hand to you, and bring those bastards back. I trust you will do a commendable job. You’ve never disappointed in your past missions, it’d be a pity if your first screw-up would be in an assignment here at home.’

‘You know us better than that sir,’ said Tsepo, rubbing his calloused hands as if getting prepared for the job.

‘Consider it done, Lieutenant General,’ ended Tsietsi.

‘Very well then,’ said Lieutenant Khaka, ‘take the document I just told you about.’ He handed each one of them the document and added, ‘Tsietsi, I’m putting you in charge of this operation and I want a full report tomorrow morning. Now, you scumbags get out of my face,’ he exploded, looking each and every one of them dead in the eye.

The men again saluted their superior and went out of the office. They went to get their weapons at the warehouse which was situated just half a kilometer from the main offices. It was just the basic stuff. They were going to deal with a bunch of informers that had no military background whatsoever, so they did not expect much of a confrontation. In fact, in their minds, and judging by past experiences, this was quite a straight-forward job. It was nothing compared to some of the operations they had undertaken in some parts of Africa, as assigned by the Lesotho government. Each of them grabbed an AK47; a common weapon, yet excellent. They also took pistols (commonly referred to as 9milimetres).

As soon as they had this sorted out, they got out of the military warehouse and went to a bar in downtown Maseru where they were to brain-storm and strategise, and wait for the right hour at which they were to execute their assignment.

Molemo puffed on a cigarette, exhaling the smoke in circular clouds as they planned their mission to the finest detail. ‘So when are we going in?’ he asked, turning to face Tsietsi who was sipping on a Lion lager rubbing his chin with his other hand.

‘In six hours’ time,’ answered Tsietsi, ‘at 2300 hours.’

Tsepo fidgeted on his stool. He looked out to the open space that led to the veranda at the back of the bar and said, ‘That’s fine. The sooner we do it the quicker we’ll get it out of the way and go back home. We are supposed to be on leave for crying out loud.’

‘Whatever man,’ barked Tsietsi. ‘This is what you signed up for. This is the life. You must be available at all times, man. You should’ve chosen to deliver pizzas or something. Maybe you’d be happier.’ Tsepo frowned and his brow corrugated into furrows as a sign of being annoyed. He did not answer that verbally. His facial expression was enough to show his sentiments. He downed the Heineken dumpie and took the paper they had been scribbling on and looked at its contents as if there was a hidden meaning somewhere there.

It was 2245 hours when these three men got to Mazenod. The engine of their Toyota Land Rover seemed to be unusually noisy because the night was now tranquil. The candles and kerosene lamps that usually illuminated the stone-brick houses of the township were now put off. The people were now asleep. Mist had covered like a blanket the hills that surrounded Maseru city to the east and the weather was quite chilly. Bullfrogs croaked in the swamps and ponds nearby as if complaining that the water was too cold.

Molemo drove the car off the main road into the short savannah grass just a few metres from the road. The engine went off. They disembarked from the car, each wearing a bottle-neck jersey, cargo-trousers, boots and beanies. All these clothes were black. Also, each had a duffle bag.

‘Ok guys,’ said Tsietsi, ‘these fools are lodging in a house two minutes away from here and we are heading north. It is just at the end of that street, on the left,’ he said pointing. ‘And ja, let’s keep it clean people,’ he ended.

‘Sure,’ Molemo and Tsepo nodded.

The house they had come to was a square shaped stone-brick house. It had a red stoep with a make-shift veranda at the front door. It also had four medium-sized windows, one on each side of the four walls. ‘You,’ Tsietsi pointed at Molemo, ‘go and take position at the back door. Then Tsepo and I will knock at the front door.’ This message was communicated through signs, not in actual words.

In a few seconds, the men had taken their positions. Tsietsi and Tsepo knocked at the front door and their pistols were already in their hands. They knocked again. Then someone mumbled something in  Sesotho, enquiring who it was at this ungodly hour. Tsietsi rambled on, how he had been robbed a few minutes ago, and needed help. The man inside approached the door, unlocking it from the inside in the dark.. No sooner had he opened than the two military men kicked the door that sent him flying off, landing recklessly in a corner that had pots that clanged loudly as he fell on them.

Tsepo waved his pistol frantically at the two men that were in the house. After verbally abusing the two men in the house, he instructed the one who had just woken up to go and open the back door, where Molemo had been waiting. The man did not object. He trembled as he walked half-naked to the back door. Tsietsi’s eyes were fierce and he waved his torch back and forth as he searched the place for anything that would be of use in as far as this case was concerned.

‘You bloody scumbags!! You have the guts to betray your own country, nhe?’ He roared, looking directly at the man who was still groaning on the floor,  his face covered with a huge enamel pot lid. The man did not answer. ‘Tsepo! Tie this bastard up; he will regret the day he was born. He is coming with us,’ he ended.

Tsepo charged at the man and hammered him with his gun on the head, sending him unconscious. ‘Where’s Molemo?’ he enquired, after dragging the half-dead body to the front door. ‘Haven’t seen him ever since that scumbag-.’

Tsietsi and Tsepo went to the back door and overhead Molemo talking to the man who had gone to open the door during the skirmish. Molemo said, ‘Uncle you must go. I will say that you escaped.’

Perhaps it was a reflex action, or an action at a subconscious level. Tsepo went out of the house, gun in hand. Tsietsi screamed, ‘No man! Don’t do anything crazy!’ The pistol exploded three times in the quiet night and the smell of gunpowder filled the thick cold air. The time Tsietsi knocked Tsepo out of balance, the damage had been done.

Molemo lay still on the ground, bleeding on the neck, while his uncle moaned and groaned,   holding his bowels. Tsietsi dragged himself up and ran towards Molemo and his uncle. He was horrified. It was his first time steering an operation and something so dreadful happened. Of course every assignment had its casualties, but this! This was a bit too much!