Hong Qiu turned to look at the entrance to the tent, which was flapping gently in the breeze. She caught a glimpse of Shu Fu standing outside, a few soldiers, but no sign of Ya Ru.
The president spoke very briefly. He welcomed the Chinese delegation and said a few introductory words. Hong Qiu listened intently in order to understand what was going on around her.
She gave a start when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Ya Ru had slipped into the tent unnoticed and was kneeling behind her. He slid aside one of her earphones and whispered into her ear.
‘Listen carefully now, my dear sister, and you will understand something of the major events that are going to change our country and our world. This is what the future will look like.’
‘Where have you been?’
She blushed when she realised how idiotic the question must sound. It felt like when he was a child and was late coming home. Hong Qiu had often taken on the role of Mum when their parents were away at one of their frequent political meetings.
‘I go my own way. But I want you to listen now and learn something. About how old ideals are exchanged for new ones, without losing their content.’
Ya Ru placed the earphone back over her ear and hurried out through the door of the tent. She caught sight of his bodyguard Liu Xan and wondered once again if it really was he who had killed all those people Birgitta Roslin had spoken about. She made up her mind that as soon as she got back to Beijing she would speak to one of her friends in the police force. Liu Xan never did anything without having been ordered to do so by Ya Ru. She would confront Ya Ru eventually, but first she must find out more about what actually happened.
The president handed the podium over to the chairman of the committee that had made the preparations for this meeting on the Mozambique side. He was strikingly young, with a bald head and frameless glasses. Hong Qiu thought they said his name was Mapito, or possibly Mapiro. He spoke enthusiastically, as if what he was saying really inspired him.
And Hong Qiu understood. The circumstances slowly became clear, what the meeting was all about, the secrecy surrounding it. Deep in the Mozambique bush a gigantic project was getting under way, involving two of the poorest countries in the world — but one of them a great power, the other a small country in Africa. Hong Qiu listened to what was being said, the soft Chinese voice translating after each pause, and she understood why Ya Ru had wanted her to be present. Hong Qiu was a vigorous opponent of everything that could lead to China being transformed into an imperial power — and hence, as Mao used to say, a paper tiger that would be crushed sooner or later by united popular resistance. Perhaps Ya Ru had a faint hope that Hong Qiu would be convinced that what was now going on would bring advantages to both countries? But more important was that the group Hong Qiu belonged to did not frighten those in power. Neither Ke nor Ya Ru were scared of Hong Qiu and those who shared her views.
When Mapito paused to take a sip of water, Hong Qiu thought that this was precisely what she feared most of alclass="underline" China had reverted to a class society. Even worse than what Mao had warned against; it would become a country divided between powerful elites and an underclass locked into its poverty. And worse still, it would allow itself to treat the rest of the world as imperialists always had done.
Mapito continued speaking.
‘Later today we shall travel by helicopter along the Zambezi River, as far up as Bandar, and then downstream to Luabo, where the huge delta linking the river to the sea begins. We shall fly over fertile areas that are sparsely populated. According to the calculations we have made, over the next five years we will be able to accommodate four million Chinese peasants who can farm the areas currently lying fallow. Not one single person will be obliged to move. Nobody will lose his livelihood. On the contrary, our fellow citizens will benefit from big changes. Everybody will have access to roads, schools, hospitals, electricity, all the things that have previously been available to very few in rural areas and a privilege for those living in towns.’
Hong Qiu had already heard rumours about Chinese authorities, working on the enforced removal of peasants because of the construction of huge dams, promising those affected that one day they would be able to live the life of landed gentry in Africa. She could see the large-scale migration in her mind’s eye. The fine-sounding words conjured up an idyllic image of the poor Chinese peasants — illiterate and ignorant — immediately settling down in this alien milieu. There would be no problems, thanks to the friendship and will to cooperate; no conflicts would arise between the newcomers and those already living on the banks of the river. But nobody would be able to convince her that what she was now listening to was not the first stage of China’s transformation into a predatory nation that would not hesitate to grab for itself all the oil and other raw materials needed to maintain the breakneck speed of its economic development. The Soviet Union had supplied weapons — often old, outdated ones — during the drawn-out liberation war that led to the withdrawal of the Portuguese colonisers from Mozambique in 1974. In return, the Soviets had asserted the right to overfish in Mozambique’s teeming fishing grounds. Was China now about to follow in this tradition based on the one and only commandment: always put your own advantage before everything else?
So as not to draw attention to herself, she applauded with everybody else when the speaker sat down. Then Minister of Trade Ke began to address the delegation. There were no dangers, he assured his audience: everything and everyone was uncompromisingly conjoined in equal and mutual advantage.
Ke’s speech was brief. Then the guests were ushered into the other tent, where a buffet table had been prepared. Hong Qiu was handed an ice-cold glass of wine. She looked around for Ya Ru, but could see no trace of him.
An hour later the helicopters took off and headed north-west. Hong Qiu gazed down on the mighty river. The few places where people lived, where the land had been cleared and cultivated, were in sharp contrast to the huge areas that were totally untouched. Hong Qiu wondered if she had been wrong after all. Perhaps China really was doing something to help Mozambique that wasn’t based on the expectation that China would put in far, far less than what it would take out?
The sound of the engines made it impossible for her to marshal her thoughts. The question remained unanswered.
Before climbing into the helicopter she had been handed a little map. She recognised it. The two men from the Ministry of Agriculture had been studying it during the car journey from Beira.
They reached the most-northerly point, then turned eastward. When they reached Luabo the helicopters made a short diversion over the sea before returning and landing at a place Hong Qiu identified, with the aid of the map, as Chinde. There new cars were waiting to take them along new roads made from the same tightly packed red earth that was everywhere.
They drove straight into the bush and stopped when they came to a small tributary of the Zambezi. The cars pulled up to a space that had been cleared of bushes and undergrowth. Some tents had been pitched in a semicircle facing the river. When Hong Qiu left the car, Ya Ru was waiting to greet her.
‘Welcome to Kaya Kwanga. That means “My Home” in one of the local languages. We’ll be spending the night here.’
He pointed to the tent closest to the river. A young black woman took her suitcase.
‘What are we doing here?’ Hong Qiu asked.