January 1977
The room was whitewashed, and a pleasant breeze swept through the open window. The heat, which had clung to everything in the last few days had begun to dissipate, though the dust which had plagued them for the last few days remained a minor hazard.
Reaching for a cigarette, Andrew glanced warily around, taking note of the veteran guerrillas and boy soldiers who eyed him uneasily. Johan, the photographer was pacing the room they were in lost in thought muttering to himself.
“Can you stop that mate? It’s tense enough here without you making it worse” Andrew called out to his colleague, stubbing out his cigarette as he did so. Johan didn’t reply but he stopped all the same.
The trip had been long. London to Paris, then to Durban where he had met Johan the agency photographer assigned to him. The building was part of the liberated anti-communist territory now under the control of Jonas Savimbi the man they were here to meet.
They had been preparing for the interview for months, ever since Andrew had had a chance meeting with Antonio da Costa Fernandes in Zambia. Both he and Johan knew that Savimbi’s head was coveted in both Moscow and Havana, hence the security measures. That knowledge didn’t make them sit any easier. The interview was only to be for half an hour to an hour. They didn’t have enough time.
The estate they lay in belonged to one of Savimbi’s many friends. The interview would not be with him alone of course. The leading lights of UNITA, Savimbi’s personal army were there. Chitunda, his representative in the States and da Costa Fernandes stood idly in the reception room.
“It’s time” Johan said, checking his camera had enough film before clicking it shut. “You ready?” He smiled wryly at Andrew who grimaced back.
“Sure.”
They entered the room. Savimbi was seated, dressed in combat fatigues. He seemed relaxed Andrew thought.
Jonas Savimbi, Leader of UNITA
“Please be seated gentleman. Can I get you anything? Water, something stronger?”
He spoke perfect, slightly accented English. No doubt a product of his time studying in Lausanne.
“Just water, thank you.” Andrew adjusted his collar. Despite the breeze he was sweating furiously.
Savimbi gestured and one of the men brought them two glasses of water.
“Are you ready to begin Mr Savimbi?”
“Certainly.” He smiled, though it didn’t extend much further than his mouth.
Andrew clicked on the tape recorder.
“Mr Savimbi, how would you characterise the conflict in Angola at the moment?”
Savimbi paused, considering the question.
“The situation is delicate. However, despite their help from new troops, troops from Cuba, from the DDR, from Russia we remain firm. Despite all efforts to crush our resistance, our people, our soldiers have endured because they know that history backs them up, no foreign invasion can succeed, whatever the means employed because imperialism, colonialism, are doomed to failure. That’s why we have to resist the communists, and why we are optimistic that this year and the next will bring us success.”
Andrew nodded as he sketched brief notes.
“Is peace possible between yourselves and President Neto?”
Savimbi scowled at the word “president.” He adjusted in his seat slightly before answering.
“There will be no chance for peace until all the imperialists of Russia and Cuba, who are essentially acting as Russia’s guard dog in this war, withdraw. If Neto can accept those terms than yes there is a chance for peace.”
Johan glanced at Andrew with a quizzical expression. Andrew ignored him.
“And what of your relationship with South Africa? There have been rumours of extensive collabo-”
“There is no relationship between UNITA and South Africa. Our troops are trained by us, the South Africans play no role in our movements or indeed in our plans. I can say this however. I have fought for the independence of my country and the dignity of the black man in Angola for the last fifteen years. Like all of my brothers I am opposed to apartheid.”
Andrew continued scribbling, the slight whir of the tape recorder jolting him along. He took a sip of water.
“You have stated many times your opposition to apartheid. However how do you explain reports from the fighting two years that South African troops were captured fighting alongside your men?”
Savimbi glowered.
“These reports have no substance, given that the South Africans were working on their own initiative. I know nothing of their plans or motives, and I can only assure you that they were not captured with my men. And I believe that this ends the interview.”
Andrew glanced at his watch. Half an hour had indeed passed.
“Thank you very much for your time Mr Savimbi.”
The room was whitewashed, and a pleasant breeze swept through the open window. The heat, which had clung to everything in the last few days had begun to dissipate, though the dust which had plagued them for the last few days remained a minor hazard.
Reaching for a cigarette, Andrew glanced warily around, taking note of the veteran guerrillas and boy soldiers who eyed him uneasily. Johan, the photographer was pacing the room they were in lost in thought muttering to himself.
“Can you stop that mate? It’s tense enough here without you making it worse” Andrew called out to his colleague, stubbing out his cigarette as he did so. Johan didn’t reply but he stopped all the same.
The trip had been long. London to Paris, then to Durban where he had met Johan the agency photographer assigned to him. The building was part of the liberated anti-communist territory now under the control of Jonas Savimbi the man they were here to meet.
They had been preparing for the interview for months, ever since Andrew had had a chance meeting with Antonio da Costa Fernandes in Zambia. Both he and Johan knew that Savimbi’s head was coveted in both Moscow and Havana, hence the security measures. That knowledge didn’t make them sit any easier. The interview was only to be for half an hour to an hour. They didn’t have enough time.
The estate they lay in belonged to one of Savimbi’s many friends. The interview would not be with him alone of course. The leading lights of UNITA, Savimbi’s personal army were there. Chitunda, his representative in the States and da Costa Fernandes stood idly in the reception room.
“It’s time” Johan said, checking his camera had enough film before clicking it shut. “You ready?” He smiled wryly at Andrew who grimaced back.
“Sure.”
They entered the room. Savimbi was seated, dressed in combat fatigues. He seemed relaxed Andrew thought.
Jonas Savimbi, Leader of UNITA
“Please be seated gentleman. Can I get you anything? Water, something stronger?”
He spoke perfect, slightly accented English. No doubt a product of his time studying in Lausanne.
“Just water, thank you.” Andrew adjusted his collar. Despite the breeze he was sweating furiously.
Savimbi gestured and one of the men brought them two glasses of water.
“Are you ready to begin Mr Savimbi?”
“Certainly.” He smiled, though it didn’t extend much further than his mouth.
Andrew clicked on the tape recorder.
“Mr Savimbi, how would you characterise the conflict in Angola at the moment?”
Savimbi paused, considering the question.
“The situation is delicate. However, despite their help from new troops, troops from Cuba, from the DDR, from Russia we remain firm. Despite all efforts to crush our resistance, our people, our soldiers have endured because they know that history backs them up, no foreign invasion can succeed, whatever the means employed because imperialism, colonialism, are doomed to failure. That’s why we have to resist the communists, and why we are optimistic that this year and the next will bring us success.”
Andrew nodded as he sketched brief notes.
“Is peace possible between yourselves and President Neto?”
Savimbi scowled at the word “president.” He adjusted in his seat slightly before answering.
“There will be no chance for peace until all the imperialists of Russia and Cuba, who are essentially acting as Russia’s guard dog in this war, withdraw. If Neto can accept those terms than yes there is a chance for peace.”
Johan glanced at Andrew with a quizzical expression. Andrew ignored him.
“And what of your relationship with South Africa? There have been rumours of extensive collabo-”
“There is no relationship between UNITA and South Africa. Our troops are trained by us, the South Africans play no role in our movements or indeed in our plans. I can say this however. I have fought for the independence of my country and the dignity of the black man in Angola for the last fifteen years. Like all of my brothers I am opposed to apartheid.”
Andrew continued scribbling, the slight whir of the tape recorder jolting him along. He took a sip of water.
“You have stated many times your opposition to apartheid. However how do you explain reports from the fighting two years that South African troops were captured fighting alongside your men?”
Savimbi glowered.
“These reports have no substance, given that the South Africans were working on their own initiative. I know nothing of their plans or motives, and I can only assure you that they were not captured with my men. And I believe that this ends the interview.”
Andrew glanced at his watch. Half an hour had indeed passed.
“Thank you very much for your time Mr Savimbi.”
*
Back in his apartment in Lusaka, Andrew sent off the press release. He lit a cigarette and paused to examine the view from his window. He doubted it would be his last trip to Angola.
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