Chapter 7: Business in Namibia — With Pleasure Too

We had a small leased ranch outside of Windhoek, large enough to have a runway for the airplanes, with a nice modern house.

We only needed two official places in Namibia, one at the mine and the other for when we needed to stay close to the capital.

The house by the mine was fairly primitive; indeed all of the barracks for the men working there were primitive by modern standards. But by rural Namibian standards they were at least middle class: running water, showers, sinks, electrical power.

That the mine house was a bit rustic had never bothered Uncle Jack or me. We were used to roughing it in places far from civilization, so it was comfortable enough for us. Not a place for wives or girlfriends.

The house in Windhoek was much nicer, bigger, and more comfortable. This house was not just a place for us to stay, but was also a place for having social events for the Windhoek elites. We would also hold meetings in ‘The Big House’, as we called it. It allowed us privacy from the many eyes that would be watching the representative of The Trust.

Actually, The Trust rented several other houses in Windhoek as well, but they were neither as large or fancy as the Big House, and their purposes were more nefarious. In fact we kept it very secret that The Trust was connected to them. They were houses for our spies.

Our main spy was Saara Mbandeka. She was Netumbo Kawana’s secretary and personal assistant. She hated her boss and somehow Uncle Jack had found her. He paid her, cash, in U.S. dollars — eagerly accepted in all of the Southern African countries, and provided her with a decent house in a nicer area of Windhoek for her and her daughter. She loved Uncle Jack as much as she hated her boss.

Our second agent in Namibia was a rather slimy individual name François Martin, a refugee in Namibia, escaping one step ahead of the French authorities.

Frankie, as we called him, was about 5’ 10” tall, thin, and about 35 years old. He was also bisexual and had a thing for black men. We set him up in a small place, not as nice as Saara’s, in a shadier part of town, with video cameras hidden in virtually every room of the house — including the bathroom.

We also set Frankie up with a bar to run (he liked his booze, so we didn’t expect to see any profits!) and a stipend in addition. Frankie didn’t care about the cameras, and I think that after awhile, he probably forgot they were even there.

I arrived at the Big House just in time to welcome Saara and her 18-year old daughter as they drove into the driveway.

Saara was from a group in Namibia called the ‘Basters’ — a bastardized version of, well, the word ‘bastards.’ They were a proud group of mixed descendants of African women and European, mainly Afrikaans settlers.

Saara was a beautiful woman in her late thirties (I had noticed that Uncle Jack seemed to like employing good looking women!) and her daughter, Heather, was just staggeringly beautiful. From what I understood, Saara’s husband, and Heather’s father, was Afrikaans as well, and he had been killed in a mining accident where he worked. Saara was a young single mother, struggling to make ends meet, when Jack encountered her and brought her into The Trust fold.

I think one of the reasons that she hated Netumbo was his lack of respect for women in general and her in particular. But she was so efficient, organizing his office and work with such skill that he couldn’t operate without her.

When she saw me, she jumped out of the car and ran up and grabbed me in a fierce hug. She had tears running down her face. Heather was behind her, but much more reserved.

“Oh, Kevin! I heard about Mr. Jack! I am so sad. You know how much I loved him! He was so good to me and Heather. And now he is gone. What will we all do?”

I hugged her back, and patted her amazing bubble butt and said,

“We will continue on, just as Jack would have wanted us to.”

She looked up at me with eyes full of hope.

“So we can stay in the house?”

“Of course. And you will continue working for The Trust. In fact, come in, I need to tell you about my meeting with your other boss.”

“Oh, him!” she said with a sneer. “I have some photos and videos for you, in case you need them.”

I could see Heather standing behind her mother with a big grin plastered on her face.

“Well, lets go in and get settled!” I announced.

Inside we went into the kitchen and sat in chairs on one side of the large island.

“What can I get you girls to drink?” They both giggled.

“Could I have a Jack and Coke?” Saara had come to the U.S. with my Uncle several times and had fallen in love with Jack Daniels©, so we always kept a supply at the house.

“And you?” I asked Heather.

She looked at me rather shyly and asked, “Could I have a ‘Dew’”

She was referring to one of the American soft drinks that Uncle Jack had shipped in from South Africa. Almost everything had to be shipped in to Namibia, and I think that she was worried that it would be expensive. The Coke© that her mother was having was bottled in Namibia, so that was in endless supply.

“Of course, and as many as you would like.”

I went off and got the drinks; I think they were both surprised when I served them, instead of expecting the vice versa.

“Let’s put off business until after dinner,” I suggested.

I spoke with ‘cook’ and she went off to fix dinner.

Yes, by the way, we had a number of people working in the Big House. In Africa, there aren’t usually government social welfare nets for the people, so if you have money, you are expected to have a big, if not overpaid, staff. People to cook and clean; gardeners, people to wash your clothes, and so forth. I’m pretty sure that we had a couple of older women on the payroll whose duty was just to be there to advise the younger women who were working for us!

Anyway, our chef was Afrikaans and trained at one of the cooking schools in Cape Town, South Africa, so she knew what she was doing.

We had a filet mignon of Impala served on a bed of mashed potatoes with fresh green beans — I wish I knew how they were prepared and what was in them, because they were all excellent. A crème brûlée for dessert and we were sated for the evening.

Back in the living room, Saara reviewed what had been going on in the Ministry and I gave her the low down on what we had agreed to.