I was idly flicking through the local Knysna newspaper whilst waiting for my takeaway pizza when a headline caught my eye: SUSPECTED HOUSEBREAKER FOUND WANDERING ON MOUNTAIN ROAD IN STATE OF SHOCK. Well, that certainly sounded like an intriguing story, so I settled down to read the full article.
It appeared that a Zimbabwean illegal alien, Tariro Manyika, had been found wandering on a steep, forested mountain road in a severe state of shock. He was incoherent and babbling and was nearly run over by a local farmer. The farmer, who suspected Mr. Manyika of being intoxicated at the time and also of potentially being involved in several break-ins that had occurred in the area over the past few months, drove Mr. Manyika to the local police station, where he was placed in a holding cell for the night. Initial screening failed to find any alcohol or drugs in his bloodstream. The following day, the body of another Zimbabwean man, known only as Simba, was found by local children, lying beside the river, close to a popular swimming hole at the bottom of a steep, forested gorge. Significantly, this was over 300 meters directly below the road on which Mr. Manyika had been apprehended the previous day. It was unclear whether these two cases were linked, although Mr. Manyika had been known to be living with Mr. Cashmore Zimunya, who was the putative employer of Simba, at the time of his death. Both cases were still under investigation.
Over the next few days I followed the story, interviewing the farmer who had found the suspect, the arresting police officers, the detectives assigned to the case and several other landowners in the area who had been victim to housebreaks over the past few months. Eventually, due to a contact within the police department, I was able to interview Mr. Manyika himself in a holding cell, where he was awaiting deportation back to Zimbabwe. This interview provided the most intriguing detail of all. The story that emerged was strange, to say the very least and, due to circumstances, there remain several inexplicable details, which will probably never be resolved. Below is my attempt to create a coherent picture of what actually happened in the months leading up to the events described in the newspaper article. In places I have had to patch up the holes in the story with some creative narrative of my own.
***
Tariro Manyika illegally crossed the border between South Africa and Zimbabwe during the dry season of June 2014. As he did not have the money to bribe officials at the Beitbridge border post, he crossed the crocodile-infested Limpopo River and crawled through a gap in the border fence at night. Over the next few weeks he walked and hitchhiked where possible, eventually making his way to Knysna where his cousin, Tinashe Nandoro, had been living in an informal settlement on the outskirts of Knysna for several months and had married a local South African woman, which had granted him legal status.
Tinashe and Tariro had grown up together in the rural village of Nkalanje, in Zimbabwe’s arid South Matabeleland Province. The village had experienced severe food shortages due to an extended period of drought and Tinashe, who was two years older than Tariro and had always been bolder and more confident, decided to leave the village to seek his fortune in South Africa. Before he left, he promised Tariro that he would always provide a home and a living for his younger cousin. At the time that Tanashe left Zimbawe, the boys’ grandmother, who had always been a stabilizing influence on the family was still alive. But when she died ten months later and Tariro’s hopes of finding a suitable bride in his village were dashed due to the ever-increasing poverty of his family, he decided to follow his cousin to South Africa. He had received word that Tanashe had found work, a wife and a suitable place to stay in the small coastal town of Knysna and so it was that, with great hope, Tariro bid his family farewell and began the long journey to the land of milk and honey to the south of Zimbabwe. He was twenty years old, strong and healthy and full of hope and optimism that he would make his fortune in South Africa and return to his country a hero. After all, did his very name not signify hope and a belief in a brighter future?
When Tariro finally arrived in Knysna almost a month later, his optimism considerably dimmed, he was painfully thin, his clothes were ragged and filthy and his shoes were full of holes. To his great disappointment, Tanashe’s home in the settlement was no more than a shack built of rusty corrugated iron sheets and cardboard and his much-touted job was as a casual labourer in a local sawmill. But the cousins were overjoyed to see each other again and, after he had rested and regained his strength, Tariro set about trying to find a job. This proved to be extremely difficult, as he was an illegal alien without a valid work permit and most employers simply sent him away upon discovering this fact. He was able to find the odd day job here and there, doing hard labour, under poor working conditions, for very little pay. In addition, he experienced increasing hostility from South Africans who resented the fact that he, as an illegal alien, was taking jobs that should, by rights, be theirs, especially since employers were able to get away with paying the Zimbabweans and other aliens far less than the locals. A month in, and Tariro was barely making enough money to pay for his own food and a small amount of rental to Tanashe for the meagre accommodation provided by his shack.
And then the rains arrived. Knysna is one of the highest rainfall areas in South Africa and it can often rain for days, or even weeks, on end. The constant drip of water and the icy winter winds howling through the gaps between the corrugated iron sheets of Tanashe’s hut made life miserable for all three inhabitants of the little shack. After a month or two, Tanashe’s wife, Innocence, who was four months pregnant at the time, began to complain that Tariro was taking up too much space in their small shack and that the rental he paid did not even cover the cost of his food. The situation was dire and Tariro really didn’t know what he should do. This was not at all what he had envisaged back in Zimbabwe and he seriously considered leaving South Africa to return home.
Tariro’s optimism was at its lowest ebb when he met Cashmore on a Sunday afternoon at the local shebeen. He was not in the habit of frequenting the shebeen, nor did he have the money to pay for much beer, but Innocence’s complaints had finally started to sway Tanashe’s opinion in her favour and, for the first time ever, Tariro felt that his cousin would actually prefer it if he were to return to Zimbabwe. He decided to spend the afternoon away from the shack, and so he entered the local drinking place with the intention of nursing a single beer for a couple of hours so as to give Tanashe and Innocence some time alone together.
Upon entering the shebeen, Tariro noticed a very sharply dressed man, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women, hanging on his every word. Tariro knew that he was beneath the notice of such an important man and was, therefore, extremely surprised when the man approached him a short while later and introduced himself as Cashmore, the owner of the shebeen. Tariro had heard of Cashmore Zimunya, who was notorious in the informal settlement and rumoured to be involved in various nefarious and illegal activities. But the man that Tariro met that day was really friendly and welcoming and he provided Tariro with a constant supply of free beer and introduced him to the beautiful women in his entourage, who also went out of their way to make Tariro feel welcome. This was balm to the soul of a lonely, homesick village boy.
By late afternoon Tariro was nicely tipsy and had regaled Cashmore with his life story. Cashmore insisted that Tariro stay rent-free on the sleeper couch in the back room of his shebeen, which sounded like a fantastic deal, as the shebeen was properly built and did not leak in the rain. Tariro slept warm and dry that night for the first time in several weeks, and the following day his spirits were raised even further as Cashmore told him that he had a small job for him to do. All he had to do was to accompany one of Cashmore’s men to collect some money owed, and for the afternoon’s work he would be paid the equivalent of two day’s normal wages.
Tariro did experience a small twinge of concern, especially when he met Simba, the man he was to accompany that afternoon. Simba was a very large and muscular man who communicated only in grunts, monosyllables or quick, impatient gestures of his head and hands. But Cashmore kept smiling at Tariro and so he pushed his worries aside and climbed into the back of Cashmore’s car. Cashmore drove several kilometres up a steep, mountainous dirt road and then dropped Simba and Tariro off a couple of hundred meters before the first homestead of a small settlement high in the mountains at the edge of the forest.
“Now, listen boys,” warned Cashmore, “Get in-and-out as quickly as possible. Split up when you’re done and make your own way back down the mountain, staying out of sight. Tariro, do exactly what Simba tells you to do and you’ll be fine.” With a final wolfish grin at Tariro, Cashmore slammed the car door shut, turned the vehicle around and sped off down the mountain. Tariro felt a sharp spike of fear. He was now sure that he had made the biggest mistake of his life, but a quick glance over at Simba’s scowling face and menacing bulk informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he had no choice but to go through with the job and hope for the best.
Simba and Tariro walked past several homesteads, staying out of sight of the occupants of two cars that passed them on the dirt road. Finally, they reached a smallholding that appeared to be their destination. There was a small, wooden house a couple of hundred metres away, at the end of a long, winding driveway. Simba indicated, with a jerk of his head, that Tariro was to approach the house. When they reached their destination, Simba told Tariro to wait outside, keep watch and to alert him if anyone approached. The door to the house was unlocked and Simba entered whilst Tariro waited outside, his knees knocking and his heart pounding with fear. What on Earth had he gotten himself into? He cursed and berated himself but remained waiting outside the door and, within ten minutes, Simba emerged with two small, opaque plastic bags, one of which he gave to Tariro, with instructions to put it inside his shirt and to close his jacket. Then the two men rapidly departed down the driveway. Simba told Tariro to walk back down the mountain the way they had come, keeping out of sight of any vehicles or people he might encounter and then to go straight to the shebeen and hand the packet over to Cashmore. “Don’t open the packet and don’t fuck this up,” was his parting shot, delivered with a menacing scowl. Tariro hastened away, not lingering to see which direction Simba would take down the mountain, but rather feeling extremely grateful to remove himself from the other man’s presence.
The trip down the mountain was uneventful and, within two hours, Tariro was back at the shebeen where he handed the package over to Cashmore, who pocketed it without giving it a second glance and then instructed one of his women to pour a beer for “my young friend”. He handed Tariro a roll of banknotes, which Tariro pocketed, thinking as he did so of the many, many hours of hard labour that he would have had to have endured to have earned the same amount of cash.
Two weeks, and several small jobs, later and Tariro was far less reluctant than he had been before. He had started to become accustomed to having a bit of cash and was enjoying the warm, dry accommodation and the company of Cashmore’s ever-willing and hospitable lady-friends. He told himself that he wasn’t really stealing, just running extremely well-paid errands for his new friend, Cashmore. Tanashe, who had encountered him outside the shebeen, had warned Tariro that he was getting himself into big trouble. “Cashmore is a snake, cousin. You are getting into some deep waters here. Be very sure that you are able to swim,” he cautioned. But Tariro laughed off his concerns and told him to worry about his wife and his unborn son instead.
The following morning Cashmore told Tariro that he had another job for him that would be worth double what he had been paid up to that point. He and Simba would be returning to the mountain settlement to, “settle a debt”, as Cashmore put it.
That afternoon Cashmore dropped the men off at the same point as before. This time their destination was a large, modern farmhouse right at the edge of the settlement and bordering on the indigenous forest. The road curving into the property was demarked by a low retaining wall at the very edge of a steep, forested gorge. Just outside the farmhouse, Simba reached into his jacket pocket and handed Tariro a sharp-looking knife and grabbed from his other pocket a gun. Tariro gasped in fear and surprise, but a fierce glare from Simba informed him that he should shut up if he valued his own life. Simba cautiously opened the back door of the farmhouse (Tariro wondered if everybody in this neighbourhood left their doors unlocked!) and stepped inside, gesturing at Tariro to stay behind him and to watch his back. They entered a large, comfortably-appointed living room and Simba headed straight for an open door leading off of this room. Following in his wake, Tariro discovered that the door led to a home office, but noticed, to his horror, that there was a man sitting at a desk reading some papers, his back to the door.
Simba slipped silently in through the door, gesturing to Tariro to follow him and to quietly close the door behind him. Tariro watched Simba grab the man around the neck from behind and whisper fiercely in his ear in English, “Shut up and do exactly as I say if you want to live!” The man nodded in terror and Tariro watched in horrified fascination as Simba got the man to unlock the safe and remove several large wads of cash and numerous gold coins, as well as a couple of thin folders. Simba placed the coins and cash in a plastic bag, which he pocketed, and then handed the folders to Tariro, who tucked them into his shirt, as he had been instructed to do in the past. Then Simba handed Tariro several cable ties and told him to securely tie the man’s hands and feet to the arms and legs of his chair. Simba himself stuffed a large wad of fabric into the man’s mouth and taped his mouth shut with duct tape. Then he grabbed the man’s hair and pulled his head back. The man’s eyes widened and rolled back in terror as Simba whispered into his ear again, “Just stay here quietly for a little while and your wife and children will be fine. Cause a fuss and we’ll be back for them next, OK?” The man briefly nodded his head, perspiration rolling down his cheeks. Giving another sharp yank to the man’s hair for good measure, Simba indicated that Tariro should leave, and within ten minutes they were back on the road again. “You know what to do. Don’t you dare fuck up!” he spat at Tariro and turned to leave in the opposite direction.
Tariro was in a state of absolute terror. Somehow he had been able to hide from himself the true nature of what he had been doing up to this point. But it had all suddenly become very, very real indeed, and he knew that Tanashe had been right – he was in extremely deep waters and he was no longer sure that he would ever be able to swim out. He sprinted all the way down that mountain and back to the shebeen, fortunately not encountering a single soul on the mountain road. Upon entering the shebeen, he just about threw the folders at Cashmore, and even the wad of cash that he received for his role in the afternoon’s activities did not make him feel any better. As soon as he could, he excused himself and went to his room to lie in his bed with his head beneath the covers, shivering as if in the grip of a fever.
Eventually, after some hours, the pounding of Tariro’s heart abated and he fell into a deep, disturbed sleep. He was plagued by dreams of monsters and demons, grabbing him and biting chunks out of his flesh. Then, an immensely tall, terrifying green woman, with blinding yellow light shining out of her eyes, pinioned him with her gaze and he discovered, to his horror, that his limbs were paralysed. As he watched, helpless, she snarled at him and he saw enormous, sharp, yellow teeth lengthening in her mouth. She lifted her hands and cruel, yellow talons split through the green skin and curved into claws. Then she bent forward onto all fours and he realized that the green woman had changed into a massive, tawny leopard, with muscles rippling beneath her spotted pelt, ready to pounce. It was Nehanda , who was possessed by the mhondoro or lion spirit, and she was absolutely furious with him. She wanted revenge. She wanted to kill him! And then she pounced…
Tariro awoke with a start, drenched in perspiration and screaming in terror. He was absolutely sure that the mhondoro would find and kill him to avenge the people he had harmed through his actions of the past few weeks. All of the stories that his grandmother had told him about the vengeful mhondoro during his childhood were about to come true. He was terrified and he felt more vulnerable and alone than he had ever been in his entire life.
Tariro kept a very low profile over the next few weeks, taking particular care to stay out of Cashmore’s way. This wasn’t too difficult as Cashmore was rather distracted. Simba had been apprehended on his way down the mountain after the last job he had done with Tariro, and the cash and coins on his person had been discovered by the police, which had led to his arrest and incarceration. Cashmore had had to bribe a police officer to secure Simba’s release and, during the time that it took to affect all of this, Tariro saw a completely different side to the erstwhile charming Cashmore. He screamed and shouted and raged about the shebeen, overturning furniture and smashing glasses and bottles. The verbal lambasting that Simba endured when he was finally released by the police was truly terrifying to witness. Tariro was sick to his stomach as he knew that what he needed to tell Cashmore would aggravate his employer’s mood even further.
But, when Tariro finally gathered his courage to tell Cashmore that he was leaving for Zimbabwe and that he could no longer work for him, Cashmore merely smiled a thin, cold and terrifying smile, “Don’t be a fool, little boy. Of course you aren’t leaving and of course you will still work for me. If you don’t, you will very quickly find yourself in prison, and the police in possession of all the evidence they need to put your sweet little black ass away for armed robbery for many years to come. Now, tomorrow you and Simba will finish the job you botched up last time. I need you to find certain items that you missed the last time round.”
And that, it seemed, was that. Tariro decided that he had no choice but to do the job the following day, as Cashmore would now be watching him very closely. But tomorrow night, after the job was done and Cashmore was once again sure of Tariro’s loyalty, he would sneak away and get back home to Zimbabwe as fast as he possibly could. He now realised that he was completely out of his depth and he longed for the simple, uncomplicated life that he had enjoyed back home in his village.
The following morning saw Simba and Tariro crouching behind the low retaining wall that separated the road to the farmhouse from the steep gorge below, watching the farmer and his family slowly disappear down the road in their SUV in a cloud of dust. As Tariro stood up, he noticed a flash of green light to his left and, turning in that direction, he was horrified to notice the green woman from his nightmare standing right behind Simba, who was facing Tariro. “What are you staring at, boy?” Simba snarled, “Let’s go, we’ve got work to do.” Gaining absolutely no response from the wildly staring Tariro and, following the direction of the younger man’s eyes, Simba slowly turned around, only to encounter the woman, who was growing teeth and claws, just as she had in Tariro’s nightmare.
“What the..!” gasped Simba, his eyes widening in terror as the woman crouched down, rapidly becoming a massive, powerful leopard, ready to pounce. “Whoever you are, just stay the fuck away from me!” Simba screamed, stepping backwards away from the beast, just as she finally pounced. And then Simba and the mhondoro became a blur before Tariro’s eyes as they rolled through the brush and then plummeted down the steep gorge, disappearing into the dense undergrowth hundreds of metres below, accompanied by Simba’s final, prolonged and agonised scream, which abruptly ended… to be replaced by a deathly silence.
Tariro then completely lost his grip on his sanity. He put his hands to his head and began yanking at his hair and making soft, keening noises as he sweated and blubbered, snot running down his face. He sank to his knees and clutched at the retaining wall as if it represented his only salvation. Then, suddenly, he jumped to his feet, leapt over the wall and began sprinting down the road at top speed for a few hundred meters, only to stop dead in the middle of the road and begin walking in circles, sobbing and keening again as he beat his fists against his head. At this point he was almost run over by the local farmer, who took him down to the police station.
As no incriminating evidence had been found on Tariro’s person, the only crime of which he could conclusively be found guilty, after several days of questioning and investigation, was that of being an illegal alien in South Africa. After some months of detention in various holding cells, both in Knysna and in the closest city, George, Tariro was eventually deported back to Zimbabwe. Within a few days of being dropped at the border post, he was back in his village, his thirst for adventure completely quenched, hopefully for good.
Some weeks after writing up this story, I was finally able to interview the farmer who had been robbed at gunpoint by Simba and Tariro. His cash and gold coins, which had been found in Simba’s possession, had eventually been returned to him by the police and his only loss had been copies of his will and a few other legal documents, which were of no value to anyone else. During our discussions, it transpired that Cashmore had, some years previously, worked for, and been fired by, this farmer, due to certain, undisclosed illegal activities, which the farmer chose not to report to the authorities. However, the farmer still held incriminating evidence on Tariro’s ex-employer. It was these incriminating documents that Cashmore had wanted to retrieve, as well as to exercise a desire for revenge upon his erstwhile employer.
Just as I was leaving, the farmer turned to me, a small smile curving his lips, and remarked, “I asked her for protection, you know.” Seeing my bemused look, he elaborated, “After the first robbery. I asked the Lady for protection.”
“The Lady? Have you encountered her before?” I enquired, a tremor in my voice betraying my excitement.
“Oh, yes!” he smiled again, clearly enjoying my response to his disclosure. “I’ve met her several times over the years, the frequency increasing as I started moving towards more organic farming methods and particularly when I installed some bee hives on my farm. She makes an appearance every now and then to offer me some advice or to acknowledge some improvement in my farming methods. After the first robbery I called on her to protect my farm and my family. And… I reckon she obliged!”
***
The mystery surrounding the Green Lady only seemed to deepen, the more stories about her I encountered. Now, more than ever, I wished that I too could meet her and discover who she was and what motivated her appearances and her actions.
FOOTNOTES:
A shebeen is an unlicensed drinking establishment, often found in informal settlements in South Africa. (click here to return to text)
Nehanda Charwe Nyakasikana (1840–1898) was a spirit medium of the Shona people, who was reputed to have been inhabited by the spirit of the lion, or the mhondoro. She inspired an uprising against the British colonisation of what is now called Zimbabwe. She was eventually captured and executed by the British. Clearly Tariro mistakenly identified the Green Lady as Nehanda, inhabited by the mhondoro. This was one of the many stories told to Tariro by his grandmother when he was a little boy. (click here to return to text)