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Chapter 8

It was almost a done deal; there was every reason for Kimathi and his business partners to celebrate their achievement with Johnnie Walker Blue Label King George V whisky at six hundred and fifty rand a tot. Money was not the issue here, not with the multi-million rand government tender that they were about to land for their company, Mandulo Construction.

Since five o’clock that afternoon, Kimathi and his three business partners, Se­chaba, George and Ganyani had been drinking with Ludwe Khakhaza, the director-general of the Department of Public Works, in the bar of the Park Hyatt hotel in Rosebank.

“So, what’s my role in this whole thing?” asked Ganyani of his long-time exile friend Kimathi. Ganyani’s dark, round face and his big stomach gave him an aged look although he was only forty-seven.

“Relax, comrade, you don’t have to do much here, but I promise you that we’ll all make good currency.” Kimathi smiled, forking at his plate of grilled tenderloin strips served over greens and dressed with crumbled Gorgonzola and tomatoes.

“Com, you can’t call me all the way from Limpopo and book me into this expensive hotel for doing nothing much, as you say. Remember, I was also once a politician.” Ganyani paused and looked across the table at Kimathi and Ludwe. “I know when somebody is promising a bridge where there is no river. What inspired this kindness? That’s what I’m interested in.”

“But isn’t it great, chief, to be remembered when you are far away in sleepy Elim?” asked Kimathi after a short, mocking laugh. “All we ask of you is to bring your very sharp knife, not a sickle. The fat cow has finally fallen and we don’t want you to complain later when you only see its horns and skin. We are the ones who know the secret jungle where this fat cow is, but we require your expertise in skinning beasts. That’s all.”

They all laughed, except Ganyani, who looked up and cupped his chin in his hands. He gave his face a vigorous rub, as if he hoped it would help to clear the fog in his brain.

Ganyani Novela had been a member of The Movement’s military wing, although he had never held any prominent position. Like Kimathi, he was a comrade who’d got involved in business. He was not interested in running a company, but he had gained financially from doing so. Because of their strong political connections, both Ganyani and Kimathi had become successful businessmen upon their return to South Africa. In fact, when the ruling party promised to build one million new homes for the poor during its first term in office, Ganyani’s construction company, GAZA, had benefited by closing a thirty million rand deal to construct houses in the Elim area of Limpopo province. Ganyani had long forgotten his past as a primary school teacher in Elim; his huge stomach dominated the corner of the Hyatt hotel bar.

Kimathi put all three of his cellphones on the table, including the one he had just taken from his cream Dunhill jacket. Ganyani sipped his whisky without talking. Kimathi winked at him joyously, and held up his glass. “Relax and enjoy your whisky, com,” he said, studying the amber-coloured liquid before sipping it. “You Shanganese like to complain a lot, just like you did in exile.”

There was mild laughter from the others, including George, who was the only qualified engineer among them. George worked for TTZ, one of the country’s “big five” construction companies, which had in the past benefited from government tenders of more than one billion rand. Ludwe, Ganyani, Sechaba and Kimathi had known each other since exile days, but George’s link to this group of comrades was his company’s need for a recognised BEE partner in order to be considered for tender applications. This was the only reason TTZ was interested in Mandulo, which belonged to Kimathi and Sechaba.

“Point of correction, comrade,” interjected Ganyani after the laughter had subsided. “It’s actually Shangaan, not Shanganese. You mean to tell me that since you came back from Angola you haven’t learned anything about our country? You don’t even know how to pronounce the word ‘Shan­gaan’? You are pathetic, comrade.”

“You can’t blame me for being born in exile, com,” Kimathi said defensively. “It was not my choice, but the revolution’s. Anyway, there is only one language in this world, and that is what brought us together here. Currency, comrade! Money!”

There were nods of approval around the table at the mention of the word “currency”. Kimathi sipped from his glass again, popped an olive in his mouth, removed the pit and put it on the plate in front of him.

“All right, this is what your role is, Mr Novela,” said George to Ganyani.

George was the only white man in the group. A Greek-American, originally from Ames, Iowa, had grown up on the banks of the Skunk River, and had studied engineering at Iowa State University. He wore a cheap blue shirt, a beltless pair of old blue jeans and his beard needed trimming.

George retrieved a file from the table and opened it. He paged through to a map. “There are about thirty farms in this area of Soutpansberg Coal Reef in the Vhembe Region,” he said, running his finger along the map and pointing at an area around Louis Trichardt. “Your job will be to inspect them for us,” he paused, “and since we assume they know you there, you can talk to the chiefs and farmers about the possibility of buying them out. That is, if it’s necessary.”

“Is that all you want me to do?” Ganyani’s asked.

“Exactly that,” said George.

“Like we said, it’s nothing much,” emphasised Kimathi, after George looked at him for approval.

“And what’s my cut on this nothing much job?” asked Ganyani sarcastically.

“Comrade, this is not a big job, as you can see,” said Sechaba. “We are prepared to give you seven per cent.”

“Seven what?” asked Ganyani, feigning surprise. “No ways, comrades! Why are you guys asking me to bring just a knife if you’re bringing machetes for the so-called fallen fat cow? I didn’t join the struggle and go into exile to be a poor man when liberation came. I cannot betray the spirit of our noble revolution by taking such a small percentage while you guys walk away with the lion’s share. I also have kids to feed, comrade.”

“We know, chief.” Sechaba’s tone was conciliatory. “Of course, the spilled blood of our 1976 student revolution has oiled the wheels of economic change. But we promise you that your kids will be well taken care of for the rest of their lives. Just imagine how much seven per cent is of nine hundred million? It’s a lot for doing nothing really. From today on, consider yourself a multi-millionaire, comrade. You can buy the whole Elim village and all of the surrounding villages with that kind of currency.”

They all studied Ganyani, but his dark face gave nothing away. Only a gold pen glimmered from the pocket of his navy Valentino jacket.

Kimathi picked the olive pit off his plate and rolled it between his fingers. “Comrade, perhaps let me tell you how we came to the seven per cent,” he reasoned, realising that Ganyani was not going to respond as quickly as they had anticipated. “First of all, you know that your construction company doesn’t have a level nine rating. So we –”

“What are you talking about, comrade?” interrupted Ganyani, his brows creasing. “I won a thirty million rand tender with my company nine years ago, and I had just formed it then. So, I don’t think there is an issue with my rating.”

“That’s true. But I guess that’s also the reason you abandoned the project, comrade,” answered Kimathi, using both his hands to emphasise the point he was making. “It’s clear that you didn’t have the capacity; what you had were the contacts. And now you’re in the bad books of the government in Limpopo.”

“He’s right,” affirmed George as if it was obligatory for him to speak.

Although TTZ was registered as a South African company, it was actually owned by PMB, its sister company in France. One of the first major tenders TTZ had scored from the government was for the resurfacing of the N3 between Johannesburg and Durban. Their formula for securing the job, then as now, had been to partner with small black-owned construction companies. To win the Soutpansberg tender, they desperately needed both Ganyani’s company and his contacts in government.

Ganyani began to think about what Kimathi and George had just said, but at that moment he saw a waitress appear at the far end of the bar and waved at her. As she approached the table, he emptied his glass in two swallows and ordered another drink. Kimathi, Sechaba and Ludwe also ordered more drinks as the waitress wiped their table and removed the empty dishes and the menu. The waitress left the table. Kimathi took out a toothpick from the small glass next to him and put it between his teeth.

“Maybe let me remind you of something, chief,” said Sechaba, adjusting his silk tie on his pink Fabiani shirt. “According to the Construction Industry Development Board you are at the lower rating level.”

“So what if I have a lower rating? Am I going to be discriminated against because of it?” Ganyani asked. There was arrogance in his tone.

“Obviously, comrade. You know for sure that out of the one hundred and eighteen contractors with the highest rating, only two are black-owned. You are not one of them, of course.”

“Bad, but what does all of this have to do with me, then?” asked Ganyani. “If I don’t have the right rating?”

“We will help you to get a higher rating from the board if you work with us,” Sechaba offered. “We have friends on the board.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks. There was a moment of silence as she put the glasses on the table. Kimathi smiled mirthlessly as she left.

“This is different, comrade,” said Kimathi, removing the toothpick from between his teeth. “We are talking here of a nine hundred million rand tender. Nine hundred million, comrade,” he repeated, lifting his whisky glass.

“I know, but –”

Kimathi would not let Ganyani finish his sentence. “You definitely need us and our level nine rating to win it, and of course we also need you.” He took a swig from his glass. “You can’t go it alone. Even if we gave you all the time in the world, I don’t think you’d ever reach the requirement. Not because we’d undermine you, but because there is a serious lack of engineers and other professionals in this country.” He pointed at George and Sechaba. “We have been around for a long time now, and we have all the necessary skills.”

“We’ll see about that when the tender is announced,” said Ganyani, unconvinced.

“May I remind you again, chief, that you need a minimum of seventy million yearly turnover, eighteen million employable capital and at least two qualified persons,” said Kimathi. “You need an engineer or architect, and a quantity surveyor or project manager on your payroll. Where are you going to get that kind of money and the necessary skills if you don’t join us in this venture?” He opened his eyes wide. “We have already secured the personnel from PMB in France; that’s why we’re in partnership with them.”

Ganyani remained quiet for a while, obviously trying to make some sense of Kima­thi’s speech. It seemed the words had passed through his ears without being digested properly, and had brought his mind into disorder. A faint sweat forced itself out on his forehead.

“So, what are you saying, chief?” probed Sechaba.

“I’ll have to think about it.” The words had fallen from Ganyani’s mouth before he was even conscious he had said them.

“All we are saying is that you must never bite the hand that is trying to feed you, com,” said Kimathi, with exaggerated concern. “If you join us, we will supply all the skills necessary to do the job. Comrade Ludwe here has strongly recommended that we make a joint venture with a company from the Soutpansberg area to make our bid even stronger.” He cleared his throat, smiled and glanced at Ludwe. “As you are aware, he is the director-general of Public Works and has the final say in the matter. That is the reason we chose your company. We are fully aware that you are also interested in the tender, but you have to make a choice now. Otherwise, you will lose the bid to us. We want to empower your area through you, you know? We just want you on board, comrade.”

Ganyani looked at Ludwe and smiled, exposing his gums. He folded his arms as if he was letting the words sink in. He was fully aware that Ludwe had an interest in the whole tender, but was not yet sure how. He had only seen the name of Ludwe’s niece, Sindi Yeni, on Kimathi’s company profile. She had been given an executive chairmanship, although Ganyani knew that she was only twenty years old and hadn’t even passed matric.

Ganyani was not aware that Ludwe was to receive a ten per cent cut from the project. Sindi, meanwhile, would earn five hundred thousand a year, although with no medical aid, car or cellphone allowance. She would not receive any dividends from her shares, though she owned twenty per cent of the company according to the company papers registered with the Department of Trade and Industry.

For the first time, Ludwe addressed Ganyani directly. “Our people need electricity as soon as possible,” he began in a concerned tone of voice, his eyes pleading with Ganyani. “You have built houses in Elim, so you know what our people’s burden is without electricity. Our power at Eskom is very bad, comrade.”

Ganyani cast his eyes down briefly as a sign of respect to Ludwe. “I’m with you, comrade. We just had a black Christmas with no electricity at Elim,” he said.

“Exactly my point,” Ludwe said. “This 2007 is already showing that our country is facing a power crunch, with the demand for electricity having begun to outstrip the supply.”

“I fully agree.” Ganyani nodded, his Adam’s apple rising and falling.

“There is a major shortage of electricity,” Ludwe said, with a look of deep contentment on his face. “That is why our government is ready to increase the supply of this cheaper electricity from coal.” He paused. “So far, as you know, only Eskom, which is government-owned, supplies this cheaper electricity. Billions of rand are set aside to construct new power stations to meet soaring demand.” He looked around the table.

“I hear you, comrade.” Ganyani nodded again.

“A proposal that sets out deliverable targets by teaming up leading companies like George’s TTZ, which has a great history and valuable connections in France, with local companies that can create jobs for our people will convince the department that you are the right people for the job. I can guarantee it. As for the department, we’ll not only give you the coal tender but also resources for infrastructure development, upgrading of railway lines and dams,” concluded Ludwe, searching everyone’s face for signs of mutual understanding.

Ludwe looked at Ganyani’s amused expression and smiled. It was not because he felt there was anything worth smiling about; it was simply a tactic he always used to buy the confidence of people he wanted on his side.

“Well, it seems I don’t have any option, do I?” said Ganyani, smiling as if it was obligatory to do so. “I guess the seven per cent that you are offering is final.”

“We are afraid so, chief,” confirmed Kimathi. “Sometimes in life you have to surrender before you win.”

Kimathi pulled at his jacket sleeve to look at the Rolex Yacht-Master II on his left wrist. It was twenty-five minutes before midnight, South African time. The Breitling on his right wrist showed New York time. According to him, it was necessary to wear both watches at all times so that he knew when to call his American business partners. He was definitely not showing off.

“I have to go, comrades,” Kimathi said, yawning. “I haven’t slept properly since I came back from my New York trip a month ago.”

“I’m playing golf in Kyalami tomorrow,” said Ludwe as he stood up. “So I should also get some rest.”

“Oh, before I forget, here is your parcel,” said Kimathi, handing a large brown A4 envelope to Ludwe. “It’s exactly a hundred grand.”

“Thank you very much,” said Ludwe, smiling as he took the envelope. “I’ll make sure that everything is in order.”

Kimathi grabbed the keys to his X5 and wove his way out of the Park Hyatt bar. He ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek several times to remove pieces of food stuck there. Realising that the action was unsuccessful, he looked around before inserting his forefinger into the corner of his mouth. Having removed the food, he licked his finger and swallowed. In the lobby, he stopped and exchanged a few words with the receptionist, who was wearing large silver earrings. Pulling a wad of rolled-up banknotes out of his jacket pocket, he gave her a generous tip before he exited. The receptionist smiled broadly at the unexpected gift.

“With that smile, baby, I’m sure you won’t sweat finding a rich man like me,” Kimathi said in a self-satisfied tone as he staggered towards the door like an overfed penguin.

It had started to rain while Kimathi had been in the hotel, and the air outside smelt of wet soil, probably from the construction site for the Gautrain. Kimathi inhaled deeply, enjoying the moment, but as he did so, the streetlights went out and the whole neighbourhood was enveloped in darkness. He had completely forgotten the announcement he had heard on the radio earlier that day about the power being cut off from sometime around midnight for about four hours.

Kimathi limped towards the parking lot. Although it was drizzling, he decided not to run to the car. His left leg had been weaker than the right ever since he had been injured while fighting UNITA rebels near the Kwanza River in Angola.

As he pressed the “open” button on his car key, Kimathi heard an owl hoot from the top of a nearby tree. The sound scared the breath out of him. Since child­hood, Kimathi had hated owls, as they were regarded as an omen of witchcraft in his culture.

As he started the car, his headlamps picked up the bird as it flew away. In his whisky-addled brain, he was sure that the owl’s eyes looked straight through him as he drove out of the parking lot.