A. V. RACHKOV

Veteran of TASS

The recent first trip of the head of our state to the countries of Southern Africa reminded me, as a former TASS correspondent, that this now peaceful part of the continent, until relatively recently, was the site of fierce battles between participants in national liberation movements for the independence of their countries.

At that time, I had the opportunity to personally meet the leader of one of these movements, Sam Nujoma, President of SWAPO (People's Organization of South - West Africa), who later became the long-term president of independent Namibia (from 1990 to 2004).

I first met him back in Somalia in the early ' 70s.

...On a sultry January evening, I came out of a stuffy room where a Somalian banquet was being held with representatives of the diplomatic corps in Mogadishu, and in the gathering dusk I bumped into a short, stocky boy I didn't recognize. We talked. It turned out that he was not a Somali, but a native of South-West Africa (later called Namibia). I asked for his name:

"Sam Nujoma," he said softly.

"Nujoma?" I took a closer look at the modestly smiling "kid". Indeed, he was much older than I first thought (he was already over 40, but looked youngish).

The 1st secretary of our embassy approached us.

"Who is he?" "What is it?" he asked with mock severity in Russian, pointing at my companion.

"I'm from Southwest Africa," Nujoma said, understanding the question.

"So what are you doing here?" Our gallant secretary joked gruffly, switching to English. "Go home and fight for your freedom.

"It's Nujoma, the SWAPO leader," I whispered. The diplomat was not at a loss:

- Ah, well, then recruit a platoon here, write down the correspondent and me, and let's move together - to fight... - he famously turned out of the situation.

Later, while working in the Zambian capital of Lusaka, where several liberation movements had their headquarters, I met Nujoma many times - at diplomatic corps receptions, rallies, and even at our embassy. I interviewed him several times. Now he was already a world-famous figure.

At events that gathered fellow refugees, he always appeared with a guard. The situation in the South at that time was dangerous and alarming. There were bombs in the packages sent to the leaders of the liberation movements. Explosive packages, the newspapers wrote, were sent at the direction of racists from South Africa and Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).

Once, when I came to one of the SWAPO meetings, I got into an awkward position. Sam Nujoma performed in front of his fellow countrymen, surrounded by his closest associates. At the end of the rally, I decided to approach an old friend and greet him. I started toward it, and immediately felt the white man's guards stiffen as he approached. I was already regretting my rash decision, but at that moment Sam held out his hand, grinning broadly, and his guards immediately relaxed.

I particularly remember another incident. In Lusaka-

at the airport, after meeting a delegation, I stayed a little longer and went out to the parking lot when no one was around. As soon as I opened the door of the car where my wife was waiting for me, I heard a soft voice from somewhere: "Tvarsh!" I looked around and saw no one. Did you hear something? And suddenly again the muffled mysterious voice: "Ta-va-rish!" Then I noticed a man crouching slightly behind a pillar, his hat pulled down over his forehead. He beckoned, and it took me a moment to recognize him-Sam Nujoma!

He asked for a ride to the city. My wife moved to the front seat, and I offered the back seat to our famous traveling companion. "This is the leader of the people of South-West Africa," I popularly explained to my wife.

It was only when the car started to move that the bearded man with the broad, kind face finally straightened up and settled back into his seat. Smiling benignly, he explained that he had flown in from Europe (I knew from the newspapers about his visits to different countries), but for some reason his people were not notified and did not come to meet him.

His wife, who had already heard his name, asked about his family. I translated the request. And all the way to the capital, he talked about his family: about his wife, who stayed in Windhoek (now the capital of Namibia), and about three sons - the eldest died fighting against racists for the liberation of the motherland, the second is still fighting there, and the third, the youngest, is studying somewhere near Moscow... "Taking military training courses," I guessed. I wanted to ask a few questions, write down the details, but my hands were full, and time was running out.

We entered Lusaka. Our companion paused, looked around uneasily, asked to slow down in a back alley, and slid out of the car, crouching low again and pulling his hat over his forehead, hiding behind its wide brim.

"Why didn't he come on with us?" My wife asked.

It was a mystery to me, too. He wanted to hide from me where the Center of his movement was, so that he wouldn't accidentally tell anyone? Have you forgotten that I've been to this high-fenced and well-guarded place before? Or maybe there was another hideout that it was better for no one to know about? In general, I understood then why this famous leader appeared at rallies of his own supporters in a dense security environment. Yes, it was a worrying time on the border with the racist South.

...Much later, when I was retired and saw Sam Nujoma's name in the newspapers, I often thought about writing a letter to the President of Namibia and maybe asking for an invitation to visit his now independent and free country. I don't know what would have happened, but now I admit that I sometimes regret that I never dared to remind my old friend of me...

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