It was over two years later, since joining the industry that Shami tied up one of the biggest residential real estate deals for the area. In the days that the average property price was under two hundred thousand rands, he sold an upmarket home in Cowies Hill for just fewer than one million rands. The office was abuzz with this latest accomplishment. It was not surprising that almost immediately the local industry itself was pulsating with the news.
The client had been referred to him by an associate within his network. “We’re looking for a luxury home. We can spend up to a millions rands,” the client had advised.
Shami nearly fell off his chair, because his average sale was one hundred and eighty thousand rands per transaction. They viewed a few properties and finally settled on a property situated along the millionaires’ mile. This deal called for some tough negotiations. The buyers first came in with a ridiculously low offer. The seller threw a fit. “Don’t shoot the messenger, please,” Shami had requested. After a few days of back and forth quibbling, the deal was closed for just under a million. The funds were deposited into the agency’s trust account within forty eight hours.
Shami fended off a few calls from other agencies intent on poaching him. One distinct call was from a certain real estate principal. He attempted to entice Shami by pitching better splits of the fees amongst other benefits that his agency was prepared to offer. Attractive as this sounded, Shami recalled that this was the principal who had discouraged him from entering the industry, when he’d first explored the property industry and its possibilities.
The principal had brusquely informed Shami, as if he were speaking to a child, that the industry was still a white dominated one, and that Shami would struggle to find his feet. Shami’s upbringing and his contribution to the struggle against apartheid instinctively rebelled anything which preached that a specific race was a superior one. Like all other industries within the South African economy, the real estate industry was controlled exclusively by a specific section of the population purely because the laws of the land allowed it to be so. The apartheid regime stifled the economic growth of the majority of the country’s citizen’s by providing these sectors of the population with inferior education in addition to the other restrictions that it imposed.
It was therefore with a degree of deviant pleasure, that he informed the principal he was satisfied in his present environment. He divulged that he was loyal to his brand which had gambled tremendously in enlisting an inexperienced broker. They’d invested time and money toward his training.
Those who overheard the conversation commented on this to Shami’s manager, who looked upon him with renewed respect. Shami, the businessman, was here to stay.
VII
The small jubilant crowd of young supporters looked on as Shami addressed them. “Comrades, politics is not for the faint-hearted. Being an activist is beyond simply wanting to cast your vote. We must be prepared to engage our opponents either by protest action or creating awareness for our cause in some confrontational manner. It does not have to be violence, but yes if we’re met with violence then we will respond in kind. Viva, South Africa, Viva!”
The crowd echoed with one voice, “Viva!”
“Viva Nelson Mandela Viva!” he urged the crowd on. The energy was high as the crowd repeated his cry. Ngobese had been detained by the security police on a number of occasions; therefore it was imperative that he remained underground. Shami filled his shoes in his absence. Although an unknown player to the security police, he’d built his name over the years within the liberation movement. It was widely accepted that a directive from Shami was as good as coming from Ngobese. Ngobese was a firm leader. He showed no mercy. Whereas Ngobese was a militant, Shami was something of a strategist. He was ruthless in his own way but showed a softer side. Some saw this as a weakness. He understood this, so he hid behind this weakness, allowing people to let their guard down when around him. It was too late by the time they comprehended that it was all a ploy to see how they played their cards.
Shami had called for this clandestine late night meeting with the youth brigade members to discuss the pending release of political prisoners. A message had filtered down to the lower ranking leaders which included the likes of both Ngobese and Shami. They’d been instructed to be on high alert for a possible offensive by the extreme right wing, namely the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging. The right wing Afrikaners were contemplating a civil war to defend their way of life. Countrywide rallies were held in protest against the planned release of the imprisoned terrorists, as they made out the freedom fighters to be. Candle light vigils were held by the Afrikaner churches. For them, it all signified doom and gloom.
Shami stated in a commanding voice, “Our leaders in exile are concerned that these right wing activists may resort to dirty tricks.” Everyone in the hall was aware that right wing supporters were strategically placed within the different government departments. “They will exercise all their resources to dismantle what strides our leaders have made thus far. We know that the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging is expanding its militant force. Our leaders have requested that we convey a message similar to the one issued in 1961 by the leaders of the armed struggle. Dear comrades, our leaders in exile want us to remind South Africa that the armed struggle will continue because the situation still calls for it.” He lifted his hand in the air in a salute. “Viva!!!” he shouted.
The comrades echoed his cry and broke out into a song and dance. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and he could sense their thirst for the blood of the oppressors.
Recently reports had come in that some of the comrades from his cell had been involved in necklacing a black government worker with a rubber tire filled with petrol. The worker had been burnt alive. No matter how cruel and barbaric this may seem to an observer, the reality in the townships was a harsh one. This was war. Many black government workers seeking to gain favor and prestige with the white oppressors often became police informants, using their inside knowledge of the goings-on in the townships to spy on their neighbors and friends activities, then report these deeds to their controllers in the oppressive regime. It was a dog eat dog world in the townships and the comrades did not tolerate betrayals. Shami often did not agree with the techniques used to handle traitors but a message needed to be sent that betrayals will not be tolerated and that no mercy shall be shown to any traitor.
He nodded at two youngsters who carried a box forward. He opened up the box and pulled out a few leaflets. He threw these into the air and they fell at the feet of the pulsating crowd. He passed on a few flyers to some of the comrades next to him. It stated, “WE DON’T WANT WAR!!! But if you resist change, then we will fight!!! Our men are armed and trained freedom fighters not terrorists. We are fighting for democracy—majority rule—the right of the Africans to rule Africa. We are fighting for a South Africa in which there will be peace and harmony and equal rights for all people. We are not racialists, as the oppressors are. WE WANT FREEDOM FOR ALL!”
He screamed out to the crowd, “My comrades, if the right wing militants instigate us into taking a radical approach as our leaders did in the 1960s, then we shall do so! Our leaders say, ‘Don’t be afraid! The journey is nearing its end!!!’ ” The crowd cheered him on as he continued, “Our leaders don’t want war or any other form of violence, but if the right wingers show off a force to crush any process of transformation, then we will resort to violence!” The comrades cheered wildly.