THE VUVUZELA MURDERS

THE VUVUZELA MURDERS

By ARYAN KAGANOF

Tsunami Lou has flown to Durban in order to track down Skaface Cupido. The Private Investigation business has changed a lot since Tsunami Lou got into the game. Between Google and Facebook and closed circuit tv cameras everywhere it’s hardly necessary to pay informers for information anymore. The pornographic transparency of the information culture peeves Tsunami Lou but he must admit that he did get a shock of delight when he landed on Skaface Cupido’s Facebook page and found that the Bell Ringer of Pollsmoor was currently residing in Durban’s finest five star hotel.

            Tsunami Lou could have kicked himself for not bothering to phone and confirm before flying 1Time from Cape Town to Durban and checking in to this vulgar, overpriced monstrosity of a Hotel.

            “I’m sorry sir, the computer tells me that we don’t have anybody by the name of Skaface Cupido checked in at this moment, nor in fact, have we ever had such a person as a guest.”

            Tsunami Lou is disgruntled, “But his Facebook page says that he lives here.”

            Desk manager Eugene, a massive fellow with a huge bull head dressed in traditional Zulu regalia,  shrugs his shoulders and quips, “the computer never lies sir.”

            Tsunami Lou scowls and points to Eugene’s name tag, “So Eugene are you family of Terreblanche?”

            The Zulu desk manager is unphased by Tsunami Lou’s silly question and comes back without missing a beat, “No sir, De Kok.”

Forty five minutes later Tsunami Lou is sitting in the back seat of a minibus cab about to take the Kwa Mashu turnoff from the N1. Lou is furious with himself for having been so stupid as to use Facebook for information. Facebook is for disinformation. At least the trip to Durban is an opportunity to look up his old MK buddy Inhloli Uhlanya. Tsunami Lou and Inhloli Uhlanya were both double agents during the struggle; Tsunami Lou was in the Bureau of State Security (BOSS) but actually working for MK while Inhloli Uhlanya was in MK but actually working for BOSS. After ’94 it didn’t really matter anymore which side you were on before and the two of them became great friends. Double agents are not very talkative because anything you say gives too much away. So the both of them were perfect fishing buddies. They would sit on the banks of the Umgeni river saying nothing and catching nothing either because all the fish had died when the water was poisoned the day the tide came in too high.

            The driver announces that they’ve reached their destination. Tsunami Lou jumps out and is impressed by the large colourful building covered in bright murals and signposted Ubuntu Cultural Centre. The gate is not locked and Tsunami Lou walks in to the compound aware that he’s a stranger but surprized that none of the locals are taking any notice of him. Then he remembers of course that he’s got dreadlocks now and skin as black as any native’s. It’s a perfect diguise, Tsunami Lou chuckles to himself, a camouflage of sheer guerilla genius.

            “Tsunami Lou!”

            “That’s me!” Lou shouts and then he’s being warmly greeted with a hug and a handshake that you’d need a PhD to decipher so complex it is.

            Inhloli Uhlanya takes Tsunami Lou on a tour of the “Cultural Centre” which is in fact a training camp for a new generation of dissident troublemakers who will be sent to infiltrate anything that’s working in order to make sure it backfires and therefore increase the need for more double agents. Security is a self-perpetuating mobile perpetuum.

            The Deportment Department is an amazing sight, scores of short fat Zulu kids are stretched into shape and emerge looking as skinny and dainty as Sothos. “These guys are going to go far,” Tsunami Lou thinks, but he is most astounded by the National Film and Video Department (NFVD) where the kids are taught to make documentaries exposing how happy everyone is and feature films which all tell the story of how happy everyone is. It’s a course called Nation Building in Africa South South (A.S.S.) and all who successfully graduate are known as A.S.S.holes.

            The film being studied today is The Vuvuzela Murders, written produced and directed by the country’s least well-known under-Underground film maker Citizen Kohen. Tsunami Lou and Inhloli Uhlanya watch for a few minutes while a couple of scenes are analyzed by the lecturer but Tsunami Lou is on urgent business and hasn’t got time to waste on transparent state propaganda disguised as freedom of speech.

            In Inhloli Uhlanya’s office his old MK comrade cuts to the chase.

            “Tsunami Lou what’s the real reason for your visit?”

            “I need your help Inhloli.  I’m stuck.”

            “Give me details my friend, give me details.”

            “I’ve been hired to find Skaface Cupido, the Bell Ringer of Pollsmoor, but he doesn’t hang out where his Facebook page says he does.”

            “So you’re stuck.”

            “Yes Uhlanya, that’s what I am. Stuck. I need a lead.”

            “Tsunami Lou we’re comrades from way back it’s true. But times have changed. Nothing is mahala anymore.”

            “Air is free. Time is free.”

            “Yes but airtime you must pay for.”

            “How much.”

            “Because you are who you are Tsunami Lou I’ll be reasonable and say give me all of your cash.”

            “Inhloli Uhlanya that’s preposterous, firstly we’re buddies, you should cut me some slack, secondly I’m carrying an awful lot of cash, way to much cash for one measly lead.”

            The nine mil appears as if from nowhere and the sound of its being cocked is a very clear and definitive sound, one that does not really allow for much discourse of the overly nuanced variety. The gun is pointed directly at Tsunami Lou’s face and the hand holding the gun belongs to Inhloli Uhlanya who is teaching Tsunami Lou by dint of this treachery that old friendships are not necessarily to be relied upon in the new Africa South South (A.S.S.).

            Tsunami Lou hands over all of his cash. Inhloli Uhlanya is delighted with the bundle of high denomination notes. He hands back a solitary, forlornly crumpled ten rand note to Tsunami Lou, “Because of who you are Tsunami Lou, here is your taxi fare back to the obscenely expensive hotel where you’re holed at.”

            “How do you know where I’m staying?”

            “It doesn’t matter where you’re staying Lou, all Durban hotels are obscenely expensive.”

            “And Skaface Cupido? Where will I find Skaface Cupido?”

            “The only person who knows that is Jihad Rashoon.”

            Tsunami Lou is perplexed. “But that’s preposterous. It was only a few days ago I was sitting having breakfast with him on Kloof Street. I could have saved myself this entire trip.”

            “No Lou, you’re wrong,” Inhloli Uhlanya continued, putting down his gun and handing Tsunami Lou a rolled up document, “if you hadn’t come to Durban you would never have received this...”

            Tsunami Lou held out his hands and gingerly took the proferred document from Comrade Inhloli Uhlanya, “What is it?”

            “It’s the script of Citizen Kohen’s singular masterpiece, The Vuvuzela Murders. We give it to all our students who want to go undercover, it’s something of a set work.”

            “You think it will help me?”

            “Dip into it sometimes Lou, it’s that kind of script. Whenever you’re not sure where you are, or if ever you lose the plot.”

            “One more thing...”

            “And what is that?”

            “Where will I find Jihad?”

            Inhloli Uhlanya’s eyes narrowed and he replied in a whisper, “Jihad is now. Jihad is everywhere. Jihad is in... Valkenberg.”