Prose

Maria Ramos feels stiff and wet with sweat behind the steering wheel of the 1970-model Peugeot; when she drives nearer tot the Cassinga camp from the direction of Lubango and stops in front of a gate manned by armed guards.

Maria wipes her long black hair from her classical beautiful face and both of the guards smile at her and one offers her a Russian cigarette while the other opens the gate.

The guards know her well as for the last two years she acts at the camp doctor.  After the Cuban military doctor died in a Unita-rebel skirmish, she had been told by the Mpla-government to temporary become the doctor of the military base.
 
She protested that she could not just leave the patients at the bush hospital, which is situated about a hundred kilometre west of the camp after which it had been agreed that she could act as doctor for both places.
 
Two times a week she travels to the military camp with the battered, but still roadworthy Peugeot and spends a day or two they’re in accordance to the nature of the care and number of patients that she has got to treat.
 
It is very dangerous to constantly travel between the military base and the bush hospital, as Unita-forces are still operational in the aria.


Although Maria secretly treats Unita-soldiers at the bush hospital and knows that the Unita soldiers in the aria had been commanded to retain from attacking her, every trip between the hospital and military base is a nightmare experience to her.
 
The reality of war in Africa where commanders do not always act according to commands and the fact that she knows very well what damage a landmine, hand grenade or machinegun can do and that she is a beautiful woman, causes her not to feel comfortable.

The two guards at the gate smile friendly and wave nonchalant at her, as if they are not doing guard duty, when the motorcar draws away and drives into the small town.


It feels as if her tongue is stuck to her palate, from the heat and thirst and like every previous time she first stops at the small Cuca-shop.  For the first time in years she wishes to have a bottle of the dark Cuca-beer to quench her thirst.

The Cuca-shop does not stock Cuca-beer any longer and Angola has changed radically from the world of her childhood days.  The shop exists out of a single chamber tin-plate building and the inside of the building is hot and dark when she enters and it almost feels like a sauna.  There is only one person in the shop and the massive black man smiles broadly at her.

”Hallo, doctor.  It is good to see you.  It must have been very hot in that car,” he greets.  “What about a cold bottle of Zamalek?”  He offers her a cold bottle of South African beer with a castle on the label, from where he had kept it cold in a big zinc bath.
 
She gladly takes the beer from him and opens the bottle before drinking the cold bitter liquid.  “From where do get this?”  She asks as if it is a miracle to get a bottled South African beer on an extremely hot day in the middle of Angola.

He smiles secretive at her and winks.  “With money everything is possible.”  For the first time she realizes that his esteem of her is really high, as probably he had kept the beer cold for her.
 
She thanks him and where another man might have used the opportunity to court her, he refrains from doing so.  They are like two people that are conspiring, where in secret they both sip at the South African beer.

”I have got to thank you doctor.  If it had not been for your care, by this time I would have been dead.”  His dark brown eyes burns into hers and suddenly she smiles at him.

”Roberto, you are exaggerating somewhat.  Your wound wasn’t really that serious.  You would have survived without me, but once again thank you for the beer.”  The man shakes his head.
 
“Wounds are inclined to get septic quite quickly in this climate.  It is nice to know that you can call on somebody when necessary,” and there is something more in his eyes than what the words are saying.

”Spoken of help.  Is the off-road motorbike ready at your shop on the Sà da Bandeira road,” she asks softly while she looks out through the shop’s open door, to make certain that nobody overhears them.

It was while she was treating the camp commandant for a light malaria attack, that he railed about a Unita attack where a Cuban scout had been killed and robbed of his motorbike.

 The Colonel was angry as he had to report about the incident to Lieutenant-general Arnaldo Ochoa Sanchez and while he was raving against Unita, Maria got the plan to help the South African prisoner escape.

Roberto Chipenda smiles assuring to her, almost as if he had taken the motorbike from the Cubans.  “You must mean the Lubago road, dear comrade?  The motorbike is ready and like you have requested its tank is full of fuel and it is in working order.  However something has happened, that will turn our plans upside down.  Yesterday a group of new officers and soldiers did arrived in the camp.”

As if not hearing him Maria says:  “They now call it Lubango, but to me it will always stay Sà da Bandeira.” But Roberto does not hear this remark and looks at her in a frightened way.
 
“What have they come to do here?”  She asks casually.


Roberto looks at her as if she is quite mad to be so calm at his news.  “You want to know what they have come to do, Maria?  Good grief, they are here as they know somehow that the South Africans have got a agent here, to help the South African prisoner escape.” 


It is as if a bomb had exploded in Maria’s face and she gets the almost unstoppable urge to jump back into her car and drive all the way back to the safety of the bush hospital.  She forces herself to be calm.  “How do you know this,” she wants to know urgently while her hands clap around Roberto’s wrists and her finger cut into his arms.

 “It’s not difficult to recognize well known intelligence service officers and they are accompanied by Puma-soldiers.  They say that they are here to inspect the standard of the training of this military base.  I know that they are here to catch an enemy agent.  There are two suspects, of which one is your friend Brigadier Gololo.  I bought the beer from one of the Puma soldiers, after which we drank some together and later he started talking.”

Maria does not know how to react.  She does not want to and cannot flee and that it is almost impossible to help Dumisani is quite clear.

Roberto offers her another beer which she drinks though struck, while she looks at a poster of Agistino Neto, where it is pasted skew against one of the walls of the tin-plate building.  She salutes the poster mockingly.  “Neto, you lot will hear nothing form the mouth of Gololo, as he knows nothing,” she remarks still busy thinking.

”Well doctor, a beer must be quite delicious in this heat,” a voice says suddenly behind her and Maria almost chokes on the beer.  “Good morning comrade Shipanga,” she greets the camp’s political commissar and feels her heart beating anxiously.

”What did you say about comrade Gololo,” he wants to know suddenly.  It feels to Maria if her breath suddenly is burning in her throat and fear is almost causing her to be speechless.


“That man is so full of himself and cannot keep his hands to himself,” she protests and Shipanga starts laughing and its clear that he did not hear much of what she was saying and while he buys some of the beer from Roberto, she uses the opportunity to leave the shop.

Like she usually does, she drives to the sickbay where she parks her motorcar.  Maria still feels stiff when she leaves the car and hits the dust off form her kaki colour blouse and skirt before she walks into the direction of the office of Colonel Dino Mahambo, the camp commandant.

At the office complex she walks down a long passage, before stopping in front of a closed door.  She gives a light knock against the door of the adjutant, but there is no answer.

For just another moment she waits, before she opens the door and walks right through the adjutant’s office and knock on the Colonel’s door.  It is extremely hot in the concrete building and she feels her blouse clinging from sweat against her back.
 
It’s strange that there is no sign of Major Laranja and that Mahambo’s door is closed.  One of the drawers of Laranja’s desk is open and she can see a piece of paper sticking out from it.  She noiselessly draws the drawer open, see an official document that looks important and pushes it into her blouse, against her breasts.


 “Come in,” she hears a deep voice commanding and from fright she almost closes the drawer with force.  She opens the door quickly and when she enters, it feels as if she is walking into a refrigerator.

Against the one wall the brand new air conditioner is set at full strength and it makes a slight droning sound in the office.

 When Mahambo notices her, he quickly rises to his feet.  “I am so happy to have you back, my dear doctor.  What do you think about my new toy,” he wants to know while indicating at the air conditioner.

”Good morning Colonel,” Maria greets formally and smiles.  “With this air conditioner the camp must be liveable,” she remarks and shakes his massive hand that he reaches out to her.

”Is eleven o’clock too early for a drink?” He inquires looking at the golden watch on his wrist.  “No thank you.  Nothing for me,” she protests.  “I still have many patients waiting.”

”That’s just as I know my diligent doctor,” Mahabo says jovially and invites her to sit in the chair opposite his desk.
 
Mahambo’s eyes clings to Maria when her skirt rises exposing her slim legs and suddenly she feels hot in the midst of the cold room and a red blush rises on her face.

For only a moment there are dreams in the black man’s eyes, before he again is his business-like self.  “It will be much better if you could stay permanently here in the camp,” he says suddenly.

 
This argument they have had several times before and Maria measures his eyes for a moment, before she reacts on his words.  “Maybe it will be better, Colonel.  But there are other people outside of this camp, who also need my care.
 
She is surprised when Mahambo smiles obliging.  “Always the eager doctor.  I will not keep you longer from your work, you are free to leave.”
 
”May I see the South African,” she wants to know when she rises from the chair.  “I do not know why I do not let him die from his wounds, but Luanda wants him to be healthy at his trial and when he appears in front of the world press.  Yes you can examine him, but to me he seems fit.  I will instruct the chief warden to allow you to see him.”

For only a moment there is something sinister in Mahambo’s eyes but she plays her role as doctor masterly.  If Mahambo should know that she is also a South African, he will have no mercy for her, she realises.  For another moment she wonders if Mahambo is aware of her and Dumisani’s plans to help the South African escape?


She removes the thought from her mind.  “To later then Colonel,” she greets and realises that he is caught by his own thoughts when she leaves the office and walks in the direction of the prison.


It was after her father had been shot by the MPLA-government as a traitor, after her mother had been raped that she had fled to South Africa.

She was living with family and with time it was as if her life in Angola had become unreal, as if it had not happened with her and she had become another person with the passing years.  Time did nothing to her hatred for communism and the MPLA-government.
.
While studying at the University of the Witwatersrand BOSS (the Bureau for State Security), recruited her as an agent, to spy on the leftwing students on the campus.


In her university holidays Maria received training and when she did complete her studies, she had the desire to be rather a spy than a doctor, but here in Angola it is one and the same thing.

It had taken years for her to win the trust of the MPLA-government and now Major Joanna Lerdo codename she-wolf; alias Maria Ramos is the controlling agent of MPLA Brigadier-general Dumisani Gololo, codename wolf.
 
After her visit to the prison, it takes willpower to calmly continue with her work at the sickbay and about an hour after lunch there is a hard knock on her office’s door.
 
When she opens the door Brigadier Dumisani Gololo faces her and she notices immediately that two men are accompanying him with the one looking like a Russian and the other like a Cuban.


Dumisani Gololo’s face is somewhat grey and to Maria he looks deadly ill.  For only a moment there’s uncertainty in her eyes, but she is calm when she invites them into the office.


”Good afternoon Dumisani.  You look quite ill.  Come in that I can examine you,” she says and looks questioning at the two men with him.  Dumisani Gololo smiles at her and invites the two men into the office.


“It must be something that I have eaten.  I have told my friends about the most beautiful doctor in the whole of Angola and when I became ill, they could not wait to meet you,” Dumisani explains and turns to the two men.
 
“Let me introduce you.  This is Colonel Petrof Petrofski,” he says while indicating into the direction of the Russian “and this is Colonel Tomàs Ybarra.  They are here to inspect the training and the facilities of the camp.”

She asks both of the men to excuse them and quickly examines Gololo in the surgery.  He indicates to his ears and she realises that their conversation perhaps are been listened to and nods her head in affirmation.


“Please undress that I can examine you further,” she commands.  When he lies in his underclothes on the hospital bed, she presses on his stomach and a groaning sound escapes from his lips.  “Does it hurt when I press here?”
 
”Yes comrade doctor.  It’s very sore,” he answers and winks at her.  “What did you eat this afternoon?”  She asks caring.  “Fish from a tin,” he answers and again winks at her.  “Did you leave that fish in the sun for some time,” she wants to know anxious.
.
”Yes, comrade,” he answers and she explodes:  “Dumisani you idiot.  You have got food poisoning!  Good grief, are you a child?  Do I have got to watch what you are eating?”

”When she is washing her hands at the tap at the basin, he walks right up to her.  “Report,” she commands.  “I drank some gunpowder from some bullets, to appear ill.  I am in a red sector.”
 
“I am aware of it.  Do you think that they know about our plans with the South African?”  Dumisani shakes his head.  “No.  If they were certain of anything, they would have acted differently.”  His voice does not sound very convincing.
 
“Who are those two?”  “The one is from the KGB and the other from the DGI.  There’s another man from the PJI as well and a number of PUMA soldiers.”
 
It will only be a matter of time for one of the intelligence services to realise that Dumisani is enemy agent, Maria realises.  That the Russian KGB, the Cuban DGI ("Direccion General de Inteligencia”) and the Angolan PJI ("Policia Judicial de Inteligencia") have arrived along with the feared PUMA ("Policia Unita Mobila di là Armada") at the camp do not suggest anything good.

”Where is the PJI man?” She wants to know frowning.  “He is watching Major Laranja,” Dumisani remarks and also frowns.  “Thus things are not hopeless?”  She asks and watches him carefully.


“It’s just a matter of time before they will really know,” he answers and for the first time she realises that he is really scared.
 
“I know but UNITA’s intelligence service and I if possible, will make sure that some evidence is planted against Laranja to give us opportunity to get you out of here,” she says more to encourage him than believing that it will be possible.

Two days later when she drives away from the camp, it feels as if she is abandoning Dumisani and she knows that it is just a question of time before he will be arrested.