Less exciting.
The animals of the floodplain were saved. So too, the Batawanans were told, were their lives and their immortal souls.
Leon had never been convinced of that. What his people had gained in security they had lost in independence. They had been given knowledge at the expense of wisdom; faith had taken the place of religion. They had secured life and surrendered living.
When he was eighteen, Leon left the village. He had read about a man in Gaborone, Sir Seretse Khama, whose Democratic Party was working to free his nation from British control. Leon enlisted in Khama's Democratic Army. It was a peaceful group of nearly three thousand men. Their job was to hand out leaflets and ensure the security of their leader. Leon did not enjoy that work. He was a hunter. Together with five men who felt the same way he did, Leon formed the Brush Vipers. They worked in secret to collect intelligence on key British officials. Among their discoveries was a plot to frame Sir Khama for embezzling funds from his Democratic Party.
Within days, the chief plotter vanished. Sir Khama never learned of the plan against him or of the counterstrike. But the English knew. Leon had made very certain of that. Despite the quiet demands of the foreign office, the Englishman was never located. Few outsiders who went into the Okavango Swamp alive were ever seen again. Men who went into the swamp and had their throats slashed from ear to ear were never found. Leon did, however, give the chief foreign officer the man's watch. The Batawanan told him he had no desire to start a collection of British timepieces.
The CFO got the message.
A year later, the British ceded control of the country. Bechuanaland became the Republic of Botswana, with Khama as its first president. The changes that had started were not undone. People liked the goods from Europe and America. But President Khama made it difficult for other groups to enter his country with new distractions and foreign ideas.
It was only then that Leon and his young colleagues realized what a huge responsibility they had won for themselves. They were no longer protecting one man.
Like Khama himself, they were looking after a nation. In a continent buffeted by ancient tribal rivalries and wars of land, water, and precious minerals, they were suddenly responsible for the security of nearly half a million people. Their own families depended upon their vigilance.
Leon was given a commission as second lieutenant and joined the Botswana Defense Forces. He served in the army's elite Northern Division. Among other regions, Batawana and the floodplains of Maun were under their jurisdiction. Seronga
helped to organize security along the border with war-ravaged Angola. He also instructed native Angolans on intelligencegathering techniques to use against the Portuguese. Like his brothers in Botswana and South Africa, he wanted to see the Europeans driven from Africa.
Despite the efforts of Leon and the president, the nation continued to change. Leon watched as his people became fat and eviscerated. Like the hogs Seronga and his father had hunted so long ago, the Botswanans were prey for hunters: men from Europe who came back with money. Botswanans sold the hard-won coal mines, the copper mines, the diamond mines. They had thrown off political control only to surrender to economic control. The revolution had been for nothing.
During this time, his greatest comfort was his own family. Lieutenant Seronga married when he returned to the north. He and his wife had four sons. In time, they began bearing him grandchildren.
It was for their sake, finally, that he left the Defense Forces. He retired on a pension for a time. But then something happened. He found a new cause, a new army to lead.
Leon and his men rounded a clump of high grasses. Some of his old soldiers had returned. They had done the legwork for this crusade. They had found and watched the deacon missionaries. They were supported by new and idealistic fighters such as Donald Pavant, his right-hand officer. Pavant was a little extreme, but that was all right. His youth and impulsiveness were balanced by Leon Seronga's age and wisdom. Other men had joined them, including a handful of white warriors Gaborone, men who believed in their cause. Or perhaps in the money to be made by driving the foreigners out. Regardless, they were here.
Seronga and his unit came upon a familiar pond. The watering hole was smaller than it used to be. Irrigation had changed the floodplains, and the pigs had been relocated. Only the field mice and a few flightless birds came here to drink. But it was still unmistakably the pond where he had begun his road to manhood. In the rising sun, Leon imagined^he could still see the long shadows of his father and the other men. He could still taste the blood of the pig on his lips.
And one thing more. Leon could still see his father's dark eyes, hear his father's words: 'Our people cannot survive without shedding blood. We cannot exist without risk. '
Fortunately, the other members of Leon's old Brush Viper unit felt the same as their former leader did. The men had remained in contact over the years. When one of the Brush Vipers heard Dhamballa speak, an opportunity presented itself to undo the mistakes that had been made. Leon went to hear the man in Machaneng, a village to the east. He was captivated by what he heard. He was even more impressed with what he saw: a leader.
They had to work with Europeans again, only this time they would do it right. They would take back what had been lost.
Distant structures appeared on the horizon, beyond the waving grasses. There were six of them built of logs with ceramic tile roofs. The sun glinted on the white satellite dish in a clearing. It played on the chrome of the cars and vans parked in the dirt lot.
Leon motioned for his men to stay low behind the grass. He knew that they should have come here in the dark, but it was important that he see the sun rise. Besides, the tourists inside the compound would not be up yet. Scouts had reported that the shutters remained closed until nearly eight A.M. The foreigners liked their sleep.
Saving the nation would not be easy. And it would not be bloodless. But that was to be expected.
Revolutions seldom were.
TWO
Maim, Botswana Monday, 5:19 AM.
Father Powys Bradbury opened his eyes a moment before the sun peeked over the windowsill. He smiled as he watched the white walls and ceiling brighten. It was good to be back.
