Goodbye Bafana

Come on, you lazy Kaffirs. Come on.

Keep in line, man. Keep in line.

What are you looking at me like that for, you fuck?

What are you looking at? I'll fuck you up!

Move!

You men make sure that's tied down properly, you hear me?

Careful, man!

- Pa, why is it taking so long? - Go back to your mother.

Move your feet, move your feet, come on!

I said, go back!

Move!

Sergeant Gregory, Dannie Bosman, the old skipper for the crossing.

- Your first time to Robben Island? - I hear the fishing is excellent.

- You'll get bored with that soon enough. - Ah.

What prison are you from?

Kroonstad Maximum Security.

Well, Robben Island is a totally different ball game.

All prisoners below deck and secured, Captain.

Ladies and children, all aboard please!

- Where's your mum? - Busy putting on her lipstick.

We can board now, sweetie.

- How do I look? - You look great.

- As long as I don't get seasick. - It's only an hour.

- Will I be able to get my own bedroom, Pa? - Of course you will.

I don't want to share with Natasha again.

Who said I want to share with you?

You two stop fighting and behave yourselves.

Remember, first impressions are everything.

Are all the prisoners on the island black, Ma?

- All of them. - But at Kroonstad, they were white.

Now, we don't mix whites and blacks, not even in the prisons.

These are not just criminals, Brent. These are terrorists.

But what's the difference?

Terrorists are terrible people.

They want to kill all the whites and take our land away from us.

Which is why we lock them up on the island.

Sergeant Gregory.

Captain Devett, the personnel officer on the island.

How do you do, Captain? I'm Gloria...

I have a jeep standing by. This way. Your furniture will follow.

One, two.

All aboard, Captain.

This is it.

You can stand down for today, Sergeant.

This evening you're expected to attend an officer's braai at the OC's residence.

Missus included. Full dress uniform.

Gloria, I can't find my step-outs.

Ma is visiting next door, Pa.

Why the toilet outside, Pa?

These houses are old, boet. They were built during the war.

- What war? - Second World War.

But what happens if I need to go at night?

Then you'll go.

But there are bad people out there.

Boy, the only bad people on this island are locked up in jail, okay?

Okay, Pa.

James, are you decent?

Yeah, why?

Excuse all the boxes, but you know how it is.

This is my husband, James.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

Sannie's kindly offered to baby-sit for us.

Oh, that's very nice.

Well, Sannie's husband is head chef here.

So, if you ever need anything, eggs, flour, sugar, you know who to ask.

Just don't say where it came from.

- I can't find my step-outs. - Under the bed. I polished them.

- And you, James, what's your posting? - He doesn't know yet.

We'll probably find out this evening.

He must be something special,

'cause the NCOs are never invited to the Colonel's house.

Not unless they are in deep trouble.

- Serious? - We don't mix.

Officers here are all bloody snobs.

I've got dinner on the stove. Give me a shout when you're ready to go, Gloria.

All right. Thanks, Sannie.

Well, I'm starting to get a bit nervous now.

You get in with the officers and they'll nominate you for a commission.

You have to be a warrant officer first, Gloria.

This is not Worcester, James.

This is not Kroonstad.

This is Robben Island, the number one prison in the country.

You play your cards right and who knows,

in five years you could be at head office in Pretoria.

Dream on.

I think I'm going to give you a quick little haircut before we go.

Christ, woman, you never stop.

- Oh, come on. - Never.

You don't have to wait to go to the mainland.

I'm a fully qualified hairdresser.

- Really? - And I'm good.

Highlights is what you need. A bit of flair, then you'll see the heads turning.

Well, are we going to keep you busy, or what?

This is no holiday camp, Sergeant.

You got warders stuck out here for two weeks at a time.

It's a recipe for alcohol abuse, for prostitution...

Prostitution?

We've got married NCOs pimping their wives out to single warders

to supplementing their shitty salaries.

I hope Captain Devett is not painting too bad a picture of us.

- Welcome to the island, Gregory. - It's an honour to be here, sir.

I see our wives are already making friends.

Thank you for inviting us, sir.

There's someone who wants to meet you. Excuse us, Captain.

This is Major Piet Jordaan, from the Bureau of State Security.

I believe you speak the Kaffir languages, Sergeant.

- I speak Xhosa, sir. - Where did you learn the language?

I grew up on a cattle farm in Transkei.

When you've got no brothers to play with, you end up playing with the Kaffirs, sir.

Shall we take a walk, Sergeant?

So, what do you think of the judgement handed down in Mandela's trial?

In my opinion, he should have got the rope, sir.

Oh, then we could have turned him into a martyr.

Perhaps he's more use to us behind bars.

That's a waste of taxpayers' money, is what I say. They all are.

All blacks?

Certainly the ones who took up arms against us. The communists.

Mandela denies he's a communist.

Well, they're all liars, aren't they?

You know, in the 1800s, this whole island was a leper colony.

Nothing's really changed then.

How do you feel about heading up the censorship office in B-section?

Excuse my ignorance, sir, but what is B-section?

That's where we keep Mandela and all his mates.

I need someone on the inside, someone who speaks their language.

I want to know what they think, how they think.

Anything you find odd in their letters or their visits,

you report directly back to me.

I want you to be my window into their soul, if they have a soul.

And here I was thinking

I was going to spend my first year working bloody night shifts.

- You can if you want. - No. Please, no, sir.

It would be an honour for me to run the censorship office.

I won't let you down.

You let me down, you let your country down.

- I would never do such a thing. - Of course not.

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm bloody starving.

Let's go and get something to eat.

- They asleep? - Finally.

Too much bloody excitement.

The Colonel's wife, Joyce, is coming over tomorrow for a cut.

She bakes so she'll pay with a cake.

And Hettie, you know that nice captain's wife?

Her husband dives for crayfish

so that's how she'll pay. And that woman with the gray hair...

- Gloria. - What?

They're putting me with Mandela and Sisulu and them.

No.

They want me in charge of the censorship office.

My God, James, why didn't you say something?

Wasn't going to blow my trumpet in front of all those bloody officers.

This is big, my boy. Mandela.

Never mind that, I report directly to Pretoria.

This is fantastic. Did they say anything about a promotion?

In due course, I was told.

No more discipline order for me.

From now on, I'm in charge of the worst terrorist this country's ever seen.

Do you know how many bridges he's blown up?

Do you know how many police stations

he and his Umkhonto we Sizwe have bombed?

Didn't I say this was going to be our island in the sun?

Didn't I say that, James?

You sure did, Booky.

Put your backs into it, you lazy Kaffirs!

Get up, you slack bastards!

Three days off rations for insubordination.

Attention!

I'm your new censorship officer!

If you want to post a letter, you do it through me!

One letter every six months, no longer than 500 words.

No reference to other prisoners, no mention of prison conditions.

And no bloody politics.

If you fail to adhere to these regulations, your letters will not be posted.

If you receive a letter, it comes through me.

Same story. One every six months.

Any mention of politics and that letter will be censored.

Is that clear?

You fuck with me and I'll make your life a lot more miserable than it already is.

And I'll enjoy doing so.

Which one is Mandela?

He's in solitary. Five days for talking in the passage.

Right! Back to work!

Let's see you breaking some rocks!

Last one on the right. It's nice and damp in there.

Hey, you.

I'm talking to you, man. Look at me!

I'll see you, Mandela

Mrs. Mandela, Sergeant Gregory. I'll be monitoring your visit.

- How do you do, Sergeant? - Follow me.

Vosloo, let's call prisoner 466I64 to Booth 3. Here, please.

You speak only in English.

And only about family matters.

Prisoner ready.

You have 30 minutes, starting now.

- How are you, Madiba? - Compose yourself.

We don't have much time.

How are our daughters?

They can't sleep at night.

Terrified the security will come and bash down our door.

That is political, Mrs. Mandela.