Prologue

First recording:

Interviewee: Lentswe Lechuti

Interviewer: Boruma Lechuti

Date of Interview:

Location:

Could you please state your name for the record?

My name is uh Brian Phiri…well no. I am Lentswe Lechuti. I was given the name Brian during my time in Mozambique.

Do you think you were held hostage in Mozambique?

It’d be untruthful to say I was held hostage, as I did not know any better. I don’t know how I got here. I was only told that my name was Brian Phiri, and I lost my family.

When you say family, who are you referring to?

I was told my mother and father had died during the Mozambique civil war.

Did they tell you how they died and how you ended up in Mozambique?

Well, it was all bits and pieces, but I had no idea that I was a South African citizen first and foremost. All I knew was that my parents had helped out in the Mozambique civil war and had unfortunately been assassinated, a case of being at the wrong time and the wrong place.

So, no siblings? And what language did you speak?

Look, I had a family, an uncle and his son. We generally spoke English and Setswana. I was told we were originally from Botswana.

Can you talk us through the first time your uncle and cousin found you?

Found me? You mean my time at the hospital?

And what age do you think you were at the time?

Ok. Let me gather my thoughts…

I remember waking up in a daze. I felt I had been sleeping for a long time. I was in a hospital with a drip in my arm. My brain was foggy, and it felt as if I had a concussion. A nurse came into the room and ran out again when she saw that I was awake. I became restless as it felt like she had been gone for a long time. As I was about to get up from the bed to get myself a glass of water, a man, an old man, who introduced himself as my Uncle Peter, came in. The first thing he asked, which I found strange, was if I knew who I was, where I was and what year it was.

Of course, I knew who I was. I was…But I could not recall. I tried to think, but nothing came out of my brain on who I was, where I was and what year it was. He then showed me a photo of two young men. He asked me if I recognised who was in the photo, and I said no. He told me it was a photo of my cousin Pule and me.  I had no idea what I looked like; that’s how much I had lost my memory.

Did that scare you, that you could not recognise yourself?

I actually laughed! It was crazy how I was not able to recognise myself.

And so, what happened next?

We spoke on things I don’t remember now, but after he left, I walked about the hospital corridors and outside. Looked at myself in the mirror, trying to remember how old I must be. My head was still aching, and I noticed I had a bandage around my head, and the nurse told me I had a massive fall that caused me a concussion. She said I had been in a coma for seven days, and they were surprised I made it.

When did your uncle Peter come back? And where did he take you?

The following afternoon, as I was being discharged.  

Home, I guess.

You guess? Why do you say that?

I don’t know. It looked homely. Like a normal house. Uncle said that was his house where I grew up. That is when he would tell me about my parents that I supposedly had lost during the civil war, and he had to stay with me and his son, my cousin Pule. He came home from SA every 3 months

How old did they say you were?

17, turning 18 that year. They said it was 1994. My parents had died sometime in 1992. I was 16 years old.

Was it not odd to you that you could not remember anything? And what about school?

Sure, but they made it sound like I was meant to die. I had a bad fall.

I was told my high school records would be sent to me soon. I still don’t have them. My ID came a few days later – never thought to ask. I was Brian Phiri from then until now.

My cousin Pule was supposedly studying in SA as he got a scholarship. I lost out because of my accident.

Uncle got me a job in his trucking business, to deliver things. I guess it was instinct that I was able to drive, but I did get my driver’s license the following year. 

Oh yeah, we did go to Botswana – that’s where I met your friend Charles.

Charles said he showed you photos of Letang and me, and your family.

At first, I couldn’t recognise or remember them, we all have twins somewhere in this world.

But he kept pushing, insisting that I look like his best friend, even pictures of my pops didn’t ring a bell.

But my picture did?

Yeah, but not necessarily. I’ve been following your news website. When I saw your picture, I just recognised you from then.

But then I listened to your video, and your voice sort of juggled something in my mind. It was how you laughed. I instantly had a flashback of you giggling as a little girl. That started the whole thing – I assumed you to be a relative or even closer, my younger sister.

We are in the year 2013. What have you been doing for the past 19 years?

I’m 37 now, right,  and have lost all 19 years of my life because I saw something that I shouldn’t have. I should not have told them about what I saw. Perhaps I would be sharing a different story now.

What story do you think would have been?

I don’t know Bo. I believed in making a difference and fighting for it. I wanted to better for our students’ lives better. Have liberated minds to think better and do better. I completely believed in the decolonisation of the mind. I believed in Biko, I believed we could achieve that.

What made you think our education system was not good for us back then?

Look at the school you, I, and my little brother – your husband – attended. We got a better education simply because it was multiracial, while others didn’t. We avoided corporal punishment and never lacked extracurricular activities.

We had it good.

But what about schools in the villages, or the outskirts of Mafikeng? Did they give kids the right education? The ideologies to think critically? To envision economic freedom?

In hindsight, do you think it was all worth it? Considering what you know now?

To reduce it to mere cause and effect misses the point entirely. It’s much more than that; the reality was far more nuanced than the stark ‘for or against’ it appeared to be from the outside. My decision to join emerged from a visceral conviction, driven by a deep sense of urgency and connection to the cause.

I lost 19 years of my life because of a few rotten apples, right? And I lost the future I fought to witness: How did it end when we finally tore down the Bantustan regime? I longed to see freedom dawn beside my comrades – to experience it with them. That was stolen from me. And that rage? It still burns. 

Where to from now?

I’d say avenge my past, but I’d rather fix what was never meant to be broken in the first place

Like what? Reclaim your past

More like getting justice for the present. I want to use my voice as a weapon against those who betrayed me, us. And expose the garbage in what was supposed to be a good thing