Now that the war was over, it was a particular pride of hers that she had managed to defeat it and its determined disturbances by continuing to deliver the post throughout a countryside regularly traversed by both the guerrillas and the security forces. Dikeledi thought herself so much the unvanquished victor that when she heard and then saw a beige bakkie coming down the dusty road she was travelling on, she did not pay it much attention.

When the beige bakkie, driven by a white man, drove past, covering her in dust, she did not think much of it. When no sign of apology came her way, she did not think much of it. When the beige bakkie suddenly came to a stop … she did not know what to think. When the driver did not make any other move, Dikeledi decided to stop cycling towards the car and came to a halt at the side of the road.

For a long moment, as the dust settled, the bakkie and the bicycle were engaged in a standoff, before the driver’s window slowly rolled down. For probably the first time in her life something truly surprising – something that Dikeledi potentially could not handle – happened. Out of the window peeked a face that was familiar: Emil Coetzee, The Head of The Organisation of Domestic Affairs. Was he going to do the unexpected and apologise for covering her with dust? And if he did speak to her, what was she supposed to say in response?

Thankfully, Emil Coetzee did not say anything. He just looked at her and looked at her and looked at her, as though seeing something that had him disbelieving. Not one to retreat, Dikeledi looked back at him and was very surprised by how very sad his eyes were. What business did such a powerful man have with having sad eyes?

The thought belatedly came to her that perhaps he was looking at her and seeing not a postman in uniform, but the softness and gentleness of womanhood – the softness and gentleness that her mother, Daisy, had leaned towards men so readily and so casually. Was that what Emil Coetzee was waiting for her to do? To lean readily and casually towards him? Well, she, Dikeledi Moyana, would never lean.

Emil Coetzee opened his mouth as if to speak, and she was terrified of what he might say. But he shook his head, chuckled mirthlessly to himself, and then, as abruptly as he had started it all, ended it all by driving away and leaving her engulfed in a cloud of dust, for which he did not apologise. Not knowing what else to do, Dikeledi shook her head, chuckled mirthlessly to herself, and continued on a journey that had already begun.

It had separately occurred to the two mujibhas – as one was perched on the gnarly branches of a tree and the other was balanced on the smooth surface of a koppie – that now that there was a ceasefire, they were without what the boys from the bush had called a raison d’être. During the war, they had acted as spies for the villagers, and had alerted them when the boys from the bush and the security forces were approaching. They had also acted as the eyes and ears of both the boys from the bush and the security forces, as that was the nature of war. Although their lives had not been filled with many opportunities, they had been filled with purpose.