I don’t know how much time passed in the waiting room at the police station. There was no clock. It was some hours at least. The police woman returned finally. She looked through the crowded room for my father. My father waved to her and we tried to push our way through. When we got there she told us to follow her.

“I’ve found your son. You can speak to him for a few minutes before we take him on to lock-up,” she said.

“What has he done?” my father asked.

“Maybe you can ask him. You should advise him too, that it would be best if he cooperates. We want to get to the bottom of all of this as quickly as possible. As you can imagine there will be political fallout and likely revenge attacks. We want to put all the fires out as quickly as possible. We want to limit any more damage.”

“But what is he charged with?” my father begged.

Her face changed. She seemed unwilling to say what she had to. “He’s charged with murder, Rre Ofentse. I’m sorry, but it looks like your son killed a man.”

* * * * *

Masego was sitting in a tiny room at the end of a hall. Another police officer was with him. He was still handcuffed. When my mother saw him, she cried out and ran to him, to hug him, but the police officer stepped between them.

“No touching,” the police officer said. “You’ve only got five minutes and then the transport will be taking him out.”

My mother and father sat opposite him and I stood at the back. Masego looked at me and quickly looked away.

“So what is it? Is it true? Did you do this? Did you kill a person?” my father asked.

“It’s not that simple. We were many. It was all a rush. I don’t know. I don’t know what I did and what I didn’t do.”

“Masego,” my mother begged, “you must tell them everything. The woman told us if you help them they’ll help you. You must tell them everything.”

Masego began to cry. “Mama, I don’t know what I’ve done. I don’t know what I’ve done! We were in a crowd. The man was begging us to stop, but we couldn’t. If one of us stopped the other would start. People were pushing me forward, wanting me to be part of it. Did I kill him? Was it my kick that killed him? Is that what they’re saying?”

“No, son,” my father said. “You must calm down. That’s not what they’re saying. You must just tell them what happened. That’s all.”

The police officer moved forward. “We need to go.”

He pulled Masego to his feet. Then Masego looked at me. His face was a mess with tears. “I’m sorry, Kenalemang. I’m so sorry.”

* * * * *

We left the room and walked down the hall to the entrance. Just when we were about to leave I thought I saw something from the corner of my eye.

“Wait a minute,” I said to my parents.

I ran back inside and in an office made of glass I saw José sitting with the woman police officer who had helped us. I went to the front of the glass office and knocked on the door. The woman opened it.

“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.

“That boy … that boy is my friend. Can I talk to him for a minute?” I asked.

“He’s your friend?” she asked. She seemed confused by that, as if what I said could not be possible.

“Yes, José … he’s my friend.”

She moved to the side and let me pass. Now that I was inside I could see that José was crying. I suddenly became scared. Why was he at the police station? Why was he crying? Where was his father?

I sat down next to him. “What happened, José? Why are you here?”

It was only when I spoke that he noticed me, he was so upset. He’d been crying hard into his hands. He looked at me without wiping the tears from his face.

“It’s my father … they killed him!”

“What do you mean?”

“We were at home, sleeping. He heard the noise and he looked out the window. They were going through the shacks, one by one, knocking them open and pulling people out. Beating them. My father unlocked our door to go outside. I begged him not to go, but he would not listen. He said, ‘What kind of man watches as his neighbours are beaten?’ He went out and tried to stop them and the crowd turned on him. They beat him until he was dead. I watched it and could do nothing.”

I didn’t know what to do so I took José in my arms and held him. He didn’t stop me. I couldn’t believe such a terrible thing had happened and that my brother had been part of it all. It made everything worse. How could my brother have been part of killing José’s father?

“We were leaving,” José said. “We were going home. My father had decided. He told me last night. We were going to be fishermen again. But now my aunt is coming from Maputo. She will take me with her. She will take my father’s broken body home to be buried. Not to fish, but to be buried.”

* * * * *

I never saw José again. In a way maybe that was better.

Masego spent five years in prison along with eight other people. Willy, MmaWilly’s son was among them. For Masego, it had been us and them, but after this horrible tragedy we were all the same. In the end, that action, that one action, changed all of us, and connected us for the rest of our lives. How strange is that? Now we were together. Finally. Sadly, we were one.

* * *

Tell us what you think: Why does Kenalemang say, “I never saw José again. In a way maybe that was better”?