Jabana must Fall Episode 3
Created by: Mosimanegape Jabana.
Written by: Brian Makara.
Marry stepped out of her car, her tailored navy-blue suit immaculate, her posture exuding confidence. She glanced at the palace, its marble columns gleaming in the dim light, and squared her shoulders. This wasn’t just a meeting, it was a confrontation with the very embodiment of the inequality she had spent her life fighting against.
Chief Bethel appeared at the palace doors, his face a mixture of relief and unease.
“Madam President,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”
“Lead the way,” Marry replied curtly, her tone firm.
As they walked through the echoing halls of the palace, Marry’s sharp eyes took in every detail: the opulent chandeliers, the golden-framed portraits of past leaders, all men, of course and the heavy silence that hung in the air. It was a stark contrast to the vibrancy of her modest headquarters, where the people’s energy fueled her determination.
President Jabana waited in the conference room, his impatience evident in the way he tapped his fingers on the polished mahogany table. When the doors opened and Marry entered, his eyes narrowed. She met his gaze with a steady calmness that unnerved him.
“President Marry,” he said, standing. His voice dripped with forced politeness. “I trust the journey wasn’t too troublesome?” Marry didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Let’s skip the formalities, Jabana. What do you want?”
Jabana’s lips twitched, caught between a sneer and a smile. He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.” Marry crossed the room with deliberate steps, her heels clicking against the floor, and took her seat. The room was large, its walls lined with shelves of books that Jabana likely hadn’t read. A grand portrait of the president himself hung behind him, a constant reminder of his inflated ego.
Jabana leaned forward, his fingers steepled.
“The chaos in the streets must end. The protests, the violence it’s tearing this country apart.” Marry folded her arms. “The chaos began with your words. The people are demanding equality, and they won’t stop until they get it.”
Jabana’s jaw tightened. “Equality,” he spat. “A fantasy you’ve sold to the people. Women were not made to lead. They were made to nurture, to support.” Marry’s eyes blazed with anger, but her voice remained calm. “And yet here I am, challenging you. What does that say about your leadership?” The tension in the room was palpable. Chief Bethel, standing by the door, shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.
Jabana slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the room. “Do not mistake my patience for weakness, Marry. I have ruled this nation for years, and I will not let a woman, any woman to undermine my authority!” Marry didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned forward, her voice cutting through his bluster like a blade. “And I will not stand by while you drag this country into the past. The people are tired of your tyranny, Jabana. They’re tired of being told who they can and cannot be.”
For a moment, the two leaders stared at each other, the weight of their opposing ideals hanging between them. Finally, Jabana leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So what’s your solution, Marry? How do you propose we end this?” Marry’s gaze was steady. “Step down. Call for fair elections, monitored by an independent body. Let the people decide their leader without intimidation or corruption.” Jabana’s laugh was cold and humorless. “You truly believe I would hand over my power so easily? You’re more naive than I thought.” Marry’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I didn’t think you would. But I had to give you the chance.”
The conversation spiraled into heated arguments, each leader refusing to back down. Jabana’s temper flared as Marry countered his every point with logic and conviction. Finally, in a moment of fury, Jabana reached for his pistol, which sat holstered at his side.
The metallic click of the gun being cocked silenced the room. Bethel gasped audibly, his hands trembling. Marry froze, her heart pounding, but her expression betrayed no fear. Jabana aimed the pistol at the floor and fired. The deafening crack echoed in the room, and Marry instinctively jumped, her chair scraping against the floor.
Jabana sneered. “You see, Marry, this is what power looks like. It’s not words or ideals. It’s control. And you will never have it.” Marry stood slowly, her legs steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “You’re wrong, Jabana. True power isn’t fear, it’s hope. And that’s something you’ll never understand.” She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
“This isn’t over,” she said, her voice steady. “Not until the people of Makhubung have the freedom they deserve.”
As Marry walked out of the palace, Bethel caught up to her, his face pale. “Madam President, please be careful. He’s more dangerous than you realize.” Marry glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “I know, Bethel. But the people’s will is stronger than his threats. That’s what he doesn’t understand.”
Back in her convoy, Marry exhaled deeply, the weight of the encounter settling on her shoulders. She glanced out the window at the streets of Makhubung, where protesters still marched despite the dangers. “I’ll fight for them,” she whispered to herself. “No matter the cost.”
Back in the palace, Jabana poured himself a glass of whiskey, his hands trembling. For the first time, doubt crept into his mind. The woman he had dismissed as weak had stood her ground, and the resolve in her eyes haunted him. The battle for Makhubung was far from over, and both leaders knew it. But as the night wore on, it became clear that the real war wasn’t just for power, it was for the soul of a nation.
©Author Brian Makara, 2025
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