African National Congress - How to Steal a City: the Battle for Nelson Mandela Bay, an Inside Account

How to Steal a City

Exile

Something is not right . I am at the end of a dingy corridor lit by a fluorescent strip, and Im facing a man. I know him. Hes dangerous. A former ANC official, ringleader of a corrupt faction, systematic liar and sociopath. A political thug. He is mumbling something that I cant quite understand. Something about what they have found out about me, why they dont trust me, why they have decided to bring me here. Im uncomfortable. There is something about this situation and what the man is saying that doesnt feel right, but I cant put my finger on it. Then the man starts talking in a strange falsetto voice. For the first time, I become aware of the room concrete walls, frayed carpet tiles, hollow and echoing. It reminds me of the ANC regional office in Nelson Mandela Bay, but it feels like we are underground. I feel claustrophobic. Then I notice two metal chairs facing each other at the far end of the room. As if set up for an interrogation. Why have I been brought here? I suddenly feel chilled, a cold and deep river of fear running through me. My pulse is racing. I turn to the man to ask him what we are doing here, but no words come out. Instead, I am startled by his eyes. They have turned pale green. These are my eyes, my face. I am looking at myself. A faint beeping echoes in my head. I feel like Im under water, the beeping just out of my reach, and Im swimming up towards the surface to reach it. Swimming, slightly breathless. Then the surface.

Oh damn. Its my cellphone alarm.

Jem leans over in the bed and prods me in the back. Im awake. The start of another day. I dont want this day.

Do you want tea, darling? I ask Jem.

Mmm, its 4.30 in the morning, he says, and pulls the pillow over his head.

I desperately want company, so I go and make tea for both of us anyway. As I stand, dazed, by the kettle, I realise I still feel sick to my stomach. This is the day I have been dreading, the day of reckoning. There is no escaping it. My usual morning rituals seem ominous today, mechanical, taking me closer to the moment I am dreading. I take Jem his tea, and he peeks at me from under his pillow. Shame, are you all right? He says I look pale, and he must be right. I feel pale.

I dress warmly. I dont want to shiver in front of my enemies, even if I am terrified. Jem is finally up as I head to the front door, and he rubs my back on the threshold. I put a memory stick containing all my forensic files into his hands, in case anything happens. I hope I am not being unnecessarily dramatic.

Im sure it will work out fine, he says as I open the bright orange door to our flat and step out into the cold corridor.

Im on my way. Theres no turning back now.

I slip into the passenger seat of the Uber taxi waiting downstairs. The driver shakes his head as we pass two traffic officers inspecting vehicles on the way to the airport. They are looking for bribes, he says. They are following our President, he has told them it is fine to use government money for themselves. I am in no mood for a discussion on the state of the country, and I wish him well with the day.