Death in africa - ColdType

FRED BRIDGLAND
From the time in 1980, when Tito telephoned me from
Morocco, until 1987, when my book on Savimbi and his movement
was published, Tito stayed frequently at my homes in
London, Edinburgh and Brussels as we worked on the project.
He became close to my wife, Kathryn, and my three children.
He was particularly fond of my youngest daughter, Rebecca.
He gave her teddy bears and, in the evenings, as he sat discussing
religion and family life with Kathryn, Rebecca would
stand behind him and run her fingers gently through his
African peppercorn hair for long periods at a time. I took him
also to my parents’ council house home, where my mother
fussed around him and plied him with her fabulous roasts.
Tito and I shared many adventures: I made major journeys
on foot with Savimbi’s guerrillas, following them into battle
against Cuban troops and soldiers of the country’s Marxist
government. On one occasion we were together in a plane that
crashed on take-off from the Angolan forest. The plane was
destroyed: miraculously, no one aboard was killed.
By 1988 it looked as though Savimbi would emerge triumphant
in Angola. He seemed the epitomy of a new kind of
African visionary: tough enough to prevail, yet idealistic
enough to favour pluralistic politics. Everything about him
was larger than life: the man radiated charisma. One senior
White House official trilled: “Savimbi had a world-class strategic
mind. It was difficult not to be impressed by this Angolan,
who combined the qualities of warlord, paramount chief, demagogue
and statesman.”
But, as everything began to look rosy for Savimbi’s people, I
PAGE 16