****
Shami glared at the comrade seated in front of him. The man was tied to a chair. They had received a tip from one of his moles in the police force that this man had passed on sensitive information that compromised the success of a recent mission. Besides the wasteful disbursement of the anti-apartheid movement’s resources, it had cost them immensely with regard to a loss of key personnel. Lives had been lost due to this comrade’s betrayal. These were the martyrs who gave their lives for the struggle. But betrayals such as this needed to be dealt with severely. A simple punishment of death will not do. They needed to establish how much the comrade in question had divulged to his handlers in the security force.
The man sobbed in pain as one of the other comrades punched him brutally across the face. He body was swollen and bleeding and his face beyond recognition. They managed to scrape together useful information from the man during their interrogation of him and before long realized that they had hooked a big fish.
Shami glowered furiously at their prisoner. ‘Comrade you know very well that we look after our own. Therefore it’s very disheartening when one of our own betrays us. From what you’ve just told us, a lot of damage has been done to us my brother.’
The man whimpered as Shami spoke. ‘Please my Comrade. I have learnt my lesson, I will not do such a thing again... you have my promise,’ he pleaded.
‘No Comrade, you should be familiar by now that we don’t forgive traitors easily. We can’t let you off the hook so that other traitors in our midst think that we have gone soft.’ Shami looked at the other men irritably and signaled to take the prisoner away. He abruptly turned his back on them and walked away from the site.
‘Please my Comrade, forgive me. Please...’ the man hollered as he was dragged away. His cries echoed through the abandoned farmland.
Over the years life had hardened Shami. He was immune to any sense of pity. He had grown up within the anti-apartheid movement; and as a part of the young blood pulsating through the movement he played a vital role within it.
VI
Shami was given a desk in the huge open plan offices of the real estate firm. He was placed opposite an older white man in his late fifties, by the name of Jacques du Toit. Jacques was of French Mauritian descent, and played the role of Frenchman very well. He relentlessly exaggerated his accent whenever he spoke to younger, good looking females. Jacques was infamous for pinching their butts as they waltzed by.
He had a sense of humor that could be offensive to some, until you really got to know him well.
Shami’s first conversation with Jacques was a peculiar one that prompted Shami to be cautious of him at the time. Jacques had bellowed, “Hullo you coolie! You want to sell houses!”
Shami took offense but chose to overlook the remark. The word coolie usually had derogatory connotations especially when countered by an individual of another race. Shami’s active involvement with the liberation struggle usually made him weary of any interaction with whites. But in time, Shami was able to observe that Jacques possessed a heart of gold, though no one was safe from his sarcasm.
Jacques offered to mentor Shami, and the duo made the perfect tag-team. Shami’s zest also invigorated Jacques own enthusiasm.
Within a short span of time, Shami concluded his first real estate transaction under Jacques mentorship. This initial success spurred Shami into achieving further feats. Whenever his team mates heard his familiar line, “No, I can’t tell you what price to offer the seller. Put you best offer in writing and we’ll start the ball rolling”, they knew that the deal-maker was in action. Eventually other agents and agencies took note of the new kid in the block. The machinery of apartheid still plodded along strongly, confident that their way of life would last forever. Some of the agents decided to ignore him, deciding that nature would eventually cull things back to normal. However, Shami’s personality was such, that even if they wanted to ignore his existence, the choice was simply not theirs to make.