Read Online Muti Nation by Monique Snyman - Free Book Online
Authors: Monique Snyman
Tags: BluA
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no language on earth has ever produced the expression, “As pretty as an airport.” The O.R. Tambo, even with its shiny surfaces and top-of-the-range technology, doesn’t come close to being described as “pretty.” I’ve seen worse in better-off countries, sure, but an airport is an airport is an airport. Each one looks identical to me. Even the customs officers, wearing their spotless uniforms and feeling oh-so protected in their bubble of self-importance looks the same as any other country’s custom officers.
Déjà vu.
I know the drill by now.
Find the supervisor. Beg for a few minutes alone with my grandfather. Convince Gramps I will somehow retrieve whatever it is he tried to smuggle into or out of the country. Then pay the fine. Sometimes fluttering my eyelashes helps lessen the fine. Other times a bit of cleavage does the trick. This time I see customs officers glare and sneer as I’m led to the holding room. One has a recently broken nose and droplets of blood still stain his collared shirt. Another one sporting a scar across his upper lip has been scratched viciously on his forearms.
My usual wiles won’t work.
I hear Gramps long before I see him. The sea couldn’t wash him clean from the obscenities he spits to no one and everyone. The supervisor clucks his tongue as he unlocks the door but otherwise he’s quiet.
When I enter the office I say nothing.
What can I possibly say to explain my grandfather’s actions? Should I tell them how Christiaan Snyders is a brilliant man? How he’s a self-made millionaire (in British pounds instead of South African rands)? Should I explain how he’s a beloved eccentric, respected by academics and police across the world? Or would it be better to say he’s a collector of weird and wonderful items which gives the Warrens Occult Museum in Virginia a run for its money? I could divulge how he’s the best in the business where the occult is concerned. I can even go so far as to announce how Christiaan Snyders is the best grandfather a girl could ever want. This violent maniac is not who he really is.
But attributing any of the above mentioned achievements to the red-faced grim reaper look-alike breathing expletives from the corner of the small office wouldn’t do anyone any good.
My grandfather looks up at me with narrowed eyes, his jaw clenched, before he straightens in his seat like a proud peacock.
The door slams shut and the key turns in the lock leaving me and the old man alone in the office.
His fisted hand moves to hover above the desk, then he drops a human tooth dangling from a leather cord onto the smooth surface. I look at the necklace, an intricate knot tying the human molar to the leather thong, and divert my stare to the speckles of blood on my grandfather’s knuckles.
Our gazes meet.
He seems unfazed by whatever retribution might come his way.
“In my defence,” he says gruffly, “there’s always been a method to my madness.”
Never has he spoken truer words.
Chapter 10
POLICE REPORT
Case Number: 010147858
Date: 22 June 2008
Reporting Officer: Deputy Clarence White
Prepared By: Tshabiso Hadebe
Incident Type:
Aggravated Assault / Attempted Murder
Address of Occurrence:
77 Semenya Street, Atteridgeville, Pretoria, 0006
Witness(es):
Lebo Jacobs: Neighbour. Male, 43
Evidence:
Fingerprints (taken from counter)
Footprint (size 10 Nike Air, found in mud outside point of entry)
DNA (collected from underneath the victim’s fingernails)
Weapon/Objects Used:
Panga / Kitchen Knives / Iron
Summary:
On June 22, 2008, at approximately 20:38, two unidentified males broke into the residence of Lucky Zingithwa in Atteridgeville, Pretoria (through a bedroom window with no burglar proofing) and went on to assault, torture and mutilate the victim with sundry weapons.
The victim, Lucky Zingithwa, was overpowered by the first intruder in the kitchen. He attempted to fight back with a kitchen knife, but the second intruder came up from behind, and
Déjà vu.
I know the drill by now.
Find the supervisor. Beg for a few minutes alone with my grandfather. Convince Gramps I will somehow retrieve whatever it is he tried to smuggle into or out of the country. Then pay the fine. Sometimes fluttering my eyelashes helps lessen the fine. Other times a bit of cleavage does the trick. This time I see customs officers glare and sneer as I’m led to the holding room. One has a recently broken nose and droplets of blood still stain his collared shirt. Another one sporting a scar across his upper lip has been scratched viciously on his forearms.
My usual wiles won’t work.
I hear Gramps long before I see him. The sea couldn’t wash him clean from the obscenities he spits to no one and everyone. The supervisor clucks his tongue as he unlocks the door but otherwise he’s quiet.
When I enter the office I say nothing.
What can I possibly say to explain my grandfather’s actions? Should I tell them how Christiaan Snyders is a brilliant man? How he’s a self-made millionaire (in British pounds instead of South African rands)? Should I explain how he’s a beloved eccentric, respected by academics and police across the world? Or would it be better to say he’s a collector of weird and wonderful items which gives the Warrens Occult Museum in Virginia a run for its money? I could divulge how he’s the best in the business where the occult is concerned. I can even go so far as to announce how Christiaan Snyders is the best grandfather a girl could ever want. This violent maniac is not who he really is.
But attributing any of the above mentioned achievements to the red-faced grim reaper look-alike breathing expletives from the corner of the small office wouldn’t do anyone any good.
My grandfather looks up at me with narrowed eyes, his jaw clenched, before he straightens in his seat like a proud peacock.
The door slams shut and the key turns in the lock leaving me and the old man alone in the office.
His fisted hand moves to hover above the desk, then he drops a human tooth dangling from a leather cord onto the smooth surface. I look at the necklace, an intricate knot tying the human molar to the leather thong, and divert my stare to the speckles of blood on my grandfather’s knuckles.
Our gazes meet.
He seems unfazed by whatever retribution might come his way.
“In my defence,” he says gruffly, “there’s always been a method to my madness.”
Never has he spoken truer words.
Chapter 10
POLICE REPORT
Case Number: 010147858
Date: 22 June 2008
Reporting Officer: Deputy Clarence White
Prepared By: Tshabiso Hadebe
Incident Type:
Aggravated Assault / Attempted Murder
Address of Occurrence:
77 Semenya Street, Atteridgeville, Pretoria, 0006
Witness(es):
Lebo Jacobs: Neighbour. Male, 43
Evidence:
Fingerprints (taken from counter)
Footprint (size 10 Nike Air, found in mud outside point of entry)
DNA (collected from underneath the victim’s fingernails)
Weapon/Objects Used:
Panga / Kitchen Knives / Iron
Summary:
On June 22, 2008, at approximately 20:38, two unidentified males broke into the residence of Lucky Zingithwa in Atteridgeville, Pretoria (through a bedroom window with no burglar proofing) and went on to assault, torture and mutilate the victim with sundry weapons.
The victim, Lucky Zingithwa, was overpowered by the first intruder in the kitchen. He attempted to fight back with a kitchen knife, but the second intruder came up from behind, and
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