Following on my previous 9 posts on the SADF, last night's chat with the Princess's boss did bring back some memories not so good.
a) The young Infantry man, shot in the face by his friend by accident. You don't survive an R1 bullet into the face.
b) My friend, DL, a Luit. with 32 battalion, shot in the back of the head by enemy fire. Dead
c) A family member, (on the Princess's side), a corporal, killed while protecting an injured member of his platoon during an ambush.
d) NB - lost an eye, and many friends when the chopper that was casavaking them got hit by an RPG.
e) A "noddy car" driver, the most careful and safest man I knew in SWA, who took the wheel of our "wolf", and whilst parking it under a tree had his legs blown off by a land mine. His last word to me were, "What the fuck happened?", and then he died.
To those who I can't recall right now, those who I don't know of, I say "Thank You!'.
Salagatle!
LIU - Look It Up!
Showing posts with label SADF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SADF. Show all posts
Friday, January 04, 2008
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Apartheid Atrocities
I got a call from the "Hunters". These are the people employed by the current regime to hunt down anyone who may be linked to apartheid atrocities.
They have found my website, and read about my military exploits. And somehow found my cellphone number. I think I may have a spy in my midst. I plead the 5th! (Can I?)
I fear that they may come for me in the night, when I am sleeping as they don't have the balls to come for me when I am aware. It's not over yet, in fact, it's only just begun.....
Salagatle!
They have found my website, and read about my military exploits. And somehow found my cellphone number. I think I may have a spy in my midst. I plead the 5th! (Can I?)
I fear that they may come for me in the night, when I am sleeping as they don't have the balls to come for me when I am aware. It's not over yet, in fact, it's only just begun.....
Salagatle!
SADF IX
After the blowing up of the guard tower and guard house, referred to in SADF VII, an enquiry of sorts was held by the SADF, but we denied any knowledge of what went down that night. We had uplifted camp and marched about 7 km east as soon as that tower had fallen, restored camp there, and called in on the radio that we were on our way to investigate what the noise was about! The final statement from the enquiry was that it was probably faulty equipment which the Russians had provided the other side which had caused the incident!
I’m not sure if we realised then what the impact of our plan was to be, but the total devastation was incredible. I had no idea what those claymores could do until that night. That is a piece of equipment that needs to be treated with utmost care and respect.
At times we would be sent out to fetch and sweep in an infantry “stick” (10 guys) that had been out in the bush fro 2 – 3 weeks, and had come across from another camp, either to the east, or the west of us. They would normally spend 2 – 3 days resting in our camp, refresh their supplies and then move back out, to return to their own camp. Sometimes I would meet friends in these sticks, guys who had been to school with me, or had started as apprentices with me, or even just guys I had met in clubs, pubs or disco’s! Then there would be much celebration (as much as can be had in the circumstances) and we would share stories, and they would get to sleep on one of the two extra beds we had in our two tents. (Tents were 6 sleepers; we had 2 tents for the 10 of us). As the guests for the night, they would have to pick up the drinks tab, a bit unfair as usually they would arrive without a cent in their pockets, but there was a facility in place where they could draw their salary / allowance at our camp, and the details would be sent on to their base for update. Handy.
There would be much story telling / swapping, probably even more lying than not, and feedback on news from back home. And the most popular subject was always discussing when we would be going home. At times, some sadness due to news of lost friends / acquaintances.
A dear friend of mine was killed one day while on a rescue mission. He was based with 32 Battalion, a group made up of ex-Swapo and Unita soldiers, as well as top South African soldiers. He was a Lieutenant with them. There had been an attack on a civilian settlement by the “terrorists” and our guys had gone in to assist them (the civilians that is). After pushing back the attackers, it was decided that the remaining civilians would be moved to a location closer to the army camp for their safety. They climbed on to the army trucks and assorted vehicles that had been part of the rescue, and my buddy sacrificed his seat for one of them, and found himself standing on the back of a Buffel (LIU), quite exposed, and as it happens, it was the last vehicle to leave. He collected an AK47 bullet in the back of his skull.
Another guy who had been at school with me, just a year or two ahead was caught up in an ambush. He was the “stick” corporal and quickly took command of the situation and started getting his boys out of there. A hand grenade was thrown between him and to other guys, one of whom was injured, and one was going with my buddy to help the injured one. He threw himself down onto the grenade, and absorbed the whole blast.
R.I.P. my dear, dear friends.
Salagatle!
I’m not sure if we realised then what the impact of our plan was to be, but the total devastation was incredible. I had no idea what those claymores could do until that night. That is a piece of equipment that needs to be treated with utmost care and respect.
At times we would be sent out to fetch and sweep in an infantry “stick” (10 guys) that had been out in the bush fro 2 – 3 weeks, and had come across from another camp, either to the east, or the west of us. They would normally spend 2 – 3 days resting in our camp, refresh their supplies and then move back out, to return to their own camp. Sometimes I would meet friends in these sticks, guys who had been to school with me, or had started as apprentices with me, or even just guys I had met in clubs, pubs or disco’s! Then there would be much celebration (as much as can be had in the circumstances) and we would share stories, and they would get to sleep on one of the two extra beds we had in our two tents. (Tents were 6 sleepers; we had 2 tents for the 10 of us). As the guests for the night, they would have to pick up the drinks tab, a bit unfair as usually they would arrive without a cent in their pockets, but there was a facility in place where they could draw their salary / allowance at our camp, and the details would be sent on to their base for update. Handy.
There would be much story telling / swapping, probably even more lying than not, and feedback on news from back home. And the most popular subject was always discussing when we would be going home. At times, some sadness due to news of lost friends / acquaintances.
A dear friend of mine was killed one day while on a rescue mission. He was based with 32 Battalion, a group made up of ex-Swapo and Unita soldiers, as well as top South African soldiers. He was a Lieutenant with them. There had been an attack on a civilian settlement by the “terrorists” and our guys had gone in to assist them (the civilians that is). After pushing back the attackers, it was decided that the remaining civilians would be moved to a location closer to the army camp for their safety. They climbed on to the army trucks and assorted vehicles that had been part of the rescue, and my buddy sacrificed his seat for one of them, and found himself standing on the back of a Buffel (LIU), quite exposed, and as it happens, it was the last vehicle to leave. He collected an AK47 bullet in the back of his skull.
Another guy who had been at school with me, just a year or two ahead was caught up in an ambush. He was the “stick” corporal and quickly took command of the situation and started getting his boys out of there. A hand grenade was thrown between him and to other guys, one of whom was injured, and one was going with my buddy to help the injured one. He threw himself down onto the grenade, and absorbed the whole blast.
R.I.P. my dear, dear friends.
Salagatle!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
SADF VIII
One of the funny things that happened in the army, and is probably common for most armies world wide, happens when the mail arrives!
During basics (first 3 months of training) we were not allowed any mail for the first 8 weeks. For some this was very difficult, as they needed some contact with the family / girlfriend to help them cope. And on top of that we had no access to phones for the first 4 weeks!
Anyway, this didn't phase me too much as I had been out of the house and living alone for 18 months already before I was conscripted, and I was never one for letters, and my girlfriend then, well, I didn't think any letters from her would help me cope. She was a girl for heavens sake! What would she know?
Once the mail was released there was more fun then ever. For the guys the worst thing to receive was a letter from a "typical" girlfriend. Pink envelopes, covered in kisses and lipsticked lips, and smelling like a ho from the south! Covered in perfume and or perfumed talc. This was suicidal for the guys. As soon as such a letter arrived, the corporal would make the guy do push ups, run around the parade ground, buy him cigarettes, whatever he wanted would be done!
And as for parcels, they were opened there and then, and the recepient would have to share his biltong, rusks, sweets immediately with the corporal.
I had been warned (but then so did most of the guys, but they didn't listen), so made sure that my girlfriend didn't do the pink envelope, kisses and perfume bit. Plain white envelopes, with the address written by her little brother, and my little brothers return address on the back.
This meant I got my mail with no pain, even though the corporal thought I didn't have a girlfriend, and found it strange that my little brother wrote so often..... DOOS!
Once we got to the border, it was more of the same. Just there, not all the guys paid a penalty for their mail. There were some guys that the corporals knew better than to mess with, so they just dished it out. The "softer" ones however, still had to do something for their mail.
The big thing there was to get a parcel. One guy knew his mom was sending him regular parcels, but they never contained any biltong. And that's the one thing his mom was sure to send. The problem was that parcels were opened and inspected before issues. Don't know why, maybe looking for dagga. So he set it up that his mom would lace the next batch of biltong with some of the hottest peri-peri known to man at the time.
When the next parcel arrived, the "postman" said he didn't know who had taken the biltong, as he said each time. Only this time, by about 7pm that night he was in serious pain, in the medics tent, looking for some relief from the flames coming out of his mouth, and his backside at the same time!!
There was much laughter and teasing after that, and the biltong never dissappeared again.
For some, getting mail was great, for others very depressing, as per the "Dear Johnnys" I refered to in a previous post.
Salagatle!
During basics (first 3 months of training) we were not allowed any mail for the first 8 weeks. For some this was very difficult, as they needed some contact with the family / girlfriend to help them cope. And on top of that we had no access to phones for the first 4 weeks!
Anyway, this didn't phase me too much as I had been out of the house and living alone for 18 months already before I was conscripted, and I was never one for letters, and my girlfriend then, well, I didn't think any letters from her would help me cope. She was a girl for heavens sake! What would she know?
Once the mail was released there was more fun then ever. For the guys the worst thing to receive was a letter from a "typical" girlfriend. Pink envelopes, covered in kisses and lipsticked lips, and smelling like a ho from the south! Covered in perfume and or perfumed talc. This was suicidal for the guys. As soon as such a letter arrived, the corporal would make the guy do push ups, run around the parade ground, buy him cigarettes, whatever he wanted would be done!
And as for parcels, they were opened there and then, and the recepient would have to share his biltong, rusks, sweets immediately with the corporal.
I had been warned (but then so did most of the guys, but they didn't listen), so made sure that my girlfriend didn't do the pink envelope, kisses and perfume bit. Plain white envelopes, with the address written by her little brother, and my little brothers return address on the back.
This meant I got my mail with no pain, even though the corporal thought I didn't have a girlfriend, and found it strange that my little brother wrote so often..... DOOS!
Once we got to the border, it was more of the same. Just there, not all the guys paid a penalty for their mail. There were some guys that the corporals knew better than to mess with, so they just dished it out. The "softer" ones however, still had to do something for their mail.
The big thing there was to get a parcel. One guy knew his mom was sending him regular parcels, but they never contained any biltong. And that's the one thing his mom was sure to send. The problem was that parcels were opened and inspected before issues. Don't know why, maybe looking for dagga. So he set it up that his mom would lace the next batch of biltong with some of the hottest peri-peri known to man at the time.
When the next parcel arrived, the "postman" said he didn't know who had taken the biltong, as he said each time. Only this time, by about 7pm that night he was in serious pain, in the medics tent, looking for some relief from the flames coming out of his mouth, and his backside at the same time!!
There was much laughter and teasing after that, and the biltong never dissappeared again.
For some, getting mail was great, for others very depressing, as per the "Dear Johnnys" I refered to in a previous post.
Salagatle!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
SADF VII
A decision was taken that we (the 10 Sappers) had to have some form of leadership who could interact with the leadership of the camp, and so I was appointed as Lance Corporal. This was great, except it lasted all of 4 days. Even before I received the stripe to sew onto my shirt sleeves, I lost the rank, and another guy got the commission. We were travelling back from a sweep, and the driver of one of the trucks wanted to chill a bit, so I offered to drive.
At some point a cow ran into the road, and I swerved, a bit too violently, and managed to roll the damn thing! Anyway, I got a sever reprimand, a slap on the wrist, and my “stripes” taken away! It was crappy, as the Lance Corporal came with a salary increase, and heaven knows that I could have done with one!!
While I was there I started a cactus garden! It was something I didn't plan on, but often when out in the bush I would find different cactus plants I had never seen before. My Mom always had a lovely garden, and kept a large selection of cacti, but many of these I didn't know. So as I found samples I would dig them out, put it into my pack, and when I got back to camp, plant it into the “garden”.
We decided that as we were going to be stuck here for so long, we may as well be comfortable. So, on a weekend when things were “slow”, we booked out some chainsaws, and drove out of camp about 5 kilometres. We found a couple of big palm trees and cut them down. Then we shaped 10 “King chairs” and a massive table out of them. We had some infantry truck drivers go out to collect them, and set them up behind our tent. I must say they were a great success, and attraction to the others in the camp!
Once, we had been on a marathon sweep of the “Kaplyn” (no mans land) area. We had been there for a week, and had covered a vast piece of the country side, clearing land mines, including some very difficult to find anti personnel mines. We had also set up booby traps in some areas known to be common terrorist crossing points. We had used claymores and trip wires in this instance, and not the “pipe bomb” as previously described.
Our final overnight stop was in view of the old border control posts. Here we could see members of the Angolan forces who were guarding their side of the border. The funny part was we would tolerate each other, with the full knowledge that at some time they would come across the border and plant mines or worse. And they knew we could / would cross over to get them. But as long as we could see each other, across this no mans land strip, nothing happened.
On this day however, there had been some firing of mortars, seemingly not in our direction, but the message was clear. They were armed, and wanting to play games. And the fact that they dind't have a good control of the direction their bombs went in didn't make us feel too happy!
That night there was some serious decision making taking place, and at about 3 am 4 of us moved out, carrying claymores and tripwire, detonators, and side arms. R1’s would be too cumbersome, and whilst we swept roads we normally carried side arms anyway.
We crossed over the border under cover of darkness, quite as possible. The rest of the team, with the infantry, would get our backs if required. We managed to get up to the guard house, which served at the sleeping quarters of the opposition guards. Here we planted a claymore directly in front of the door, facing the building. Two more were strategically placed facing the two windows in the building. Trip wires were connected to the door handle, and just off the window sills. Then another two were placed at the foot of the guard lookout tower, with a trip wire across the last step. Four blocks were linked to this setup and placed one on each leg of the tower. There were two guys up on the tower manning a radio and a search light. This had a powerful beam, used to scan the no man’s land area for up to about 300 meters! There were at least 8 guys in the guard house, 6 if 2 were doing rounds up and down the wire, which that night they were not, or they might have run into us, our spoor.
We set off back towards our side of the fence. At some point, probably about 20 meters from safe ground, one of the sleeping guards came out of the hut, probably to take a pee. He stopped in the doorway and shouted at the two in the tower, who shouted back and then laughed. And the guy in the doorway took a step, and disappeared!
The tower suddenly came to life, the search light came on and started to sweep the immediate area around their site, quickly moving out towards where we leopard crawled for safety. Someone came out of the window, and somehow both the other two claymore went off. There must have been a faulty cross over with the trip wires. That blew both windows and a large part of the walls away. One of the guys from the tower then started to scream. They had spotted us moving at lightning speed to get to cover. One shouted something which probably meant “Shoot the bastards” but the other one started off down the stairs. That didn't work, whatever he was planning to do, and I think it involved getting to their mortars or “Bren” style Russian machine gun.
The claymore and the 4 blocks of plastic went off simultaneously. The guard on the bottom stair just disintegrated. The one on top screamed as the tower first seemed to lean over slowly, and then crashed down to the ground, killing both the soldier, and the search light. And then silence.
Salagatle!
At some point a cow ran into the road, and I swerved, a bit too violently, and managed to roll the damn thing! Anyway, I got a sever reprimand, a slap on the wrist, and my “stripes” taken away! It was crappy, as the Lance Corporal came with a salary increase, and heaven knows that I could have done with one!!
While I was there I started a cactus garden! It was something I didn't plan on, but often when out in the bush I would find different cactus plants I had never seen before. My Mom always had a lovely garden, and kept a large selection of cacti, but many of these I didn't know. So as I found samples I would dig them out, put it into my pack, and when I got back to camp, plant it into the “garden”.
We decided that as we were going to be stuck here for so long, we may as well be comfortable. So, on a weekend when things were “slow”, we booked out some chainsaws, and drove out of camp about 5 kilometres. We found a couple of big palm trees and cut them down. Then we shaped 10 “King chairs” and a massive table out of them. We had some infantry truck drivers go out to collect them, and set them up behind our tent. I must say they were a great success, and attraction to the others in the camp!
Once, we had been on a marathon sweep of the “Kaplyn” (no mans land) area. We had been there for a week, and had covered a vast piece of the country side, clearing land mines, including some very difficult to find anti personnel mines. We had also set up booby traps in some areas known to be common terrorist crossing points. We had used claymores and trip wires in this instance, and not the “pipe bomb” as previously described.
Our final overnight stop was in view of the old border control posts. Here we could see members of the Angolan forces who were guarding their side of the border. The funny part was we would tolerate each other, with the full knowledge that at some time they would come across the border and plant mines or worse. And they knew we could / would cross over to get them. But as long as we could see each other, across this no mans land strip, nothing happened.
On this day however, there had been some firing of mortars, seemingly not in our direction, but the message was clear. They were armed, and wanting to play games. And the fact that they dind't have a good control of the direction their bombs went in didn't make us feel too happy!
That night there was some serious decision making taking place, and at about 3 am 4 of us moved out, carrying claymores and tripwire, detonators, and side arms. R1’s would be too cumbersome, and whilst we swept roads we normally carried side arms anyway.
We crossed over the border under cover of darkness, quite as possible. The rest of the team, with the infantry, would get our backs if required. We managed to get up to the guard house, which served at the sleeping quarters of the opposition guards. Here we planted a claymore directly in front of the door, facing the building. Two more were strategically placed facing the two windows in the building. Trip wires were connected to the door handle, and just off the window sills. Then another two were placed at the foot of the guard lookout tower, with a trip wire across the last step. Four blocks were linked to this setup and placed one on each leg of the tower. There were two guys up on the tower manning a radio and a search light. This had a powerful beam, used to scan the no man’s land area for up to about 300 meters! There were at least 8 guys in the guard house, 6 if 2 were doing rounds up and down the wire, which that night they were not, or they might have run into us, our spoor.
We set off back towards our side of the fence. At some point, probably about 20 meters from safe ground, one of the sleeping guards came out of the hut, probably to take a pee. He stopped in the doorway and shouted at the two in the tower, who shouted back and then laughed. And the guy in the doorway took a step, and disappeared!
The tower suddenly came to life, the search light came on and started to sweep the immediate area around their site, quickly moving out towards where we leopard crawled for safety. Someone came out of the window, and somehow both the other two claymore went off. There must have been a faulty cross over with the trip wires. That blew both windows and a large part of the walls away. One of the guys from the tower then started to scream. They had spotted us moving at lightning speed to get to cover. One shouted something which probably meant “Shoot the bastards” but the other one started off down the stairs. That didn't work, whatever he was planning to do, and I think it involved getting to their mortars or “Bren” style Russian machine gun.
The claymore and the 4 blocks of plastic went off simultaneously. The guard on the bottom stair just disintegrated. The one on top screamed as the tower first seemed to lean over slowly, and then crashed down to the ground, killing both the soldier, and the search light. And then silence.
Salagatle!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
SADF VI
One day the Sergeant Major approached us for assistance in the camp. Every 4 months or so, the mortar guys would shoot away their stock, and replenish with fresh ammo. This got rid of the old stuff, and gave then some target practice and training. However, this time they had noticed that some of the mortars had been leaking, and so they were a bit scared to move them.
We did an inspection, and saw that we could move most. We carried them, one at a time out of the camp site to large hole in the ground (I think that was where they got the sand for building the walls around the camp originally. We packed them on top of each other, put half a kilo plastic on top, and set it off with an electronic detonator. There were 4 bombs we could not move, and these we had to explode inside the camp.
At first the Sgt. Major didn't want us to, but on explanation of the “secure” methods we would use, he agreed. We put about 100 grams of plastic on each one, interlinked with electronic detonators so as to explode simultaneously, packed a few sandbags on top, and let it rip. Damn, there was such a big hole they had to truck in two loads of sand to fill it before they could rebuild the mortar pit!
The uniforms we were supplied, “browns”, were not the most comfortable when new, material was a bit rough, but with wear and tear, use, and washing they did fade, and soften. Pride was if you could get hold of a pair of recce's boots. (http://www.recce.co.za/)
Much softer than the standard military issue. Also our bush hats were almost a trade mark. Each guy had, over time, manipulated his into the shape he preferred, and hand stitched their name on the band, and some, like me, even the year of conscription. Sewing was so easy after you had been doing it for yourself for a few months.
A bonus was getting your hands on new woollen socks. Now there was a treat, and much bartering went on when the post / ration truck arrived if the driver happened to have brought a couple of pairs along for sale!!
One of the funnier pastimes for us Sappers was minor booby traps. We’d take the powder out of bullets; wrap it in some paper, or tin foil. Using a thread from “goldilocks” (steel wool) for a “fuse” connected to a long piece of electric cable (2 core rip cord type stuff) and finally to a switched battery. The “bomb” would be planted inside the “go cart” (a pet name for those field toilets we had up north) and we would wait for someone to go and sit down. Just as you could hear they were comfortable, we would close the contact, and “boom” arse would be peppered with sand, and or any other foul product residing underneath that lid! We even managed to set some up so that when the lid was lifted, a contact would make and crap would come flying up out of the depths of the bog!
Much laughter, sometimes too much, resulting in the culprits easily being identified, and as such being chased around the camp by some seriously pissed off Infantry guy!
Once, after a similar prank, the Sgt Major decided we needed to be taught a lesson.He made us line up in threes ( 9 of us, 3x3) and drilled us up and down a 5 meter stretch for about 30 minutes, on the double, in the blazing Namibian sun. When the first guy looked like falling over exhausted I called a halt, and upturning my R1 rifle, planted it barrel first into the soft sand!
http://www.saaaca.org.za/links/SIG/fal/fal.htm
SACRILEGE! This was unheard off. That’s like your wife, the thing that will keep you alive!!
He was red, blue, and scarlet with rage. So much so I thought he was having a stroke, or better still cardiac arrest! As soon as he got his voice back he dismissed the rest of the group, and demanded I remain. Calling me to attention he looked as if he was about to sentence me to either hanging, or death by firing squad. I realised that I was in some serious crap, and called on the only thing I thought would get me out of this position. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he roared. “Sgt. Major, contrary to what you may think, we have been instructed that no one may cause any member of the SADF to be punished by drilling in conditions which could be adverse to their health, whilst in a war zone."
"As we are on the border, I thought it appropriate when I saw my fellow Sapper stumbling to bring this punishment to an end. I didn't think I could have got your attention in any other way!” (All of this relayed in fluent Afrikaans!) He just stared at me, and then, being unsure of what regulation I may have been referring to, he dismissed me with an instruction to present my cleaned rifle at his tent in 30 minutes. And I was out of there!!!
Salagatle!
We did an inspection, and saw that we could move most. We carried them, one at a time out of the camp site to large hole in the ground (I think that was where they got the sand for building the walls around the camp originally. We packed them on top of each other, put half a kilo plastic on top, and set it off with an electronic detonator. There were 4 bombs we could not move, and these we had to explode inside the camp.
At first the Sgt. Major didn't want us to, but on explanation of the “secure” methods we would use, he agreed. We put about 100 grams of plastic on each one, interlinked with electronic detonators so as to explode simultaneously, packed a few sandbags on top, and let it rip. Damn, there was such a big hole they had to truck in two loads of sand to fill it before they could rebuild the mortar pit!
The uniforms we were supplied, “browns”, were not the most comfortable when new, material was a bit rough, but with wear and tear, use, and washing they did fade, and soften. Pride was if you could get hold of a pair of recce's boots. (http://www.recce.co.za/)
Much softer than the standard military issue. Also our bush hats were almost a trade mark. Each guy had, over time, manipulated his into the shape he preferred, and hand stitched their name on the band, and some, like me, even the year of conscription. Sewing was so easy after you had been doing it for yourself for a few months.
A bonus was getting your hands on new woollen socks. Now there was a treat, and much bartering went on when the post / ration truck arrived if the driver happened to have brought a couple of pairs along for sale!!
One of the funnier pastimes for us Sappers was minor booby traps. We’d take the powder out of bullets; wrap it in some paper, or tin foil. Using a thread from “goldilocks” (steel wool) for a “fuse” connected to a long piece of electric cable (2 core rip cord type stuff) and finally to a switched battery. The “bomb” would be planted inside the “go cart” (a pet name for those field toilets we had up north) and we would wait for someone to go and sit down. Just as you could hear they were comfortable, we would close the contact, and “boom” arse would be peppered with sand, and or any other foul product residing underneath that lid! We even managed to set some up so that when the lid was lifted, a contact would make and crap would come flying up out of the depths of the bog!
Much laughter, sometimes too much, resulting in the culprits easily being identified, and as such being chased around the camp by some seriously pissed off Infantry guy!
Once, after a similar prank, the Sgt Major decided we needed to be taught a lesson.He made us line up in threes ( 9 of us, 3x3) and drilled us up and down a 5 meter stretch for about 30 minutes, on the double, in the blazing Namibian sun. When the first guy looked like falling over exhausted I called a halt, and upturning my R1 rifle, planted it barrel first into the soft sand!
http://www.saaaca.org.za/links/SIG/fal/fal.htm
SACRILEGE! This was unheard off. That’s like your wife, the thing that will keep you alive!!
He was red, blue, and scarlet with rage. So much so I thought he was having a stroke, or better still cardiac arrest! As soon as he got his voice back he dismissed the rest of the group, and demanded I remain. Calling me to attention he looked as if he was about to sentence me to either hanging, or death by firing squad. I realised that I was in some serious crap, and called on the only thing I thought would get me out of this position. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he roared. “Sgt. Major, contrary to what you may think, we have been instructed that no one may cause any member of the SADF to be punished by drilling in conditions which could be adverse to their health, whilst in a war zone."
"As we are on the border, I thought it appropriate when I saw my fellow Sapper stumbling to bring this punishment to an end. I didn't think I could have got your attention in any other way!” (All of this relayed in fluent Afrikaans!) He just stared at me, and then, being unsure of what regulation I may have been referring to, he dismissed me with an instruction to present my cleaned rifle at his tent in 30 minutes. And I was out of there!!!
Salagatle!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
SADF V
One of my buddies turned 21 up there. Shit place to celebrate your 21st. We slaughtered 3 goats, and drank about 10 dozen beers, between 10 of us! He might not want to, but he'll never forget it. We even had the mortar guys put 2 off their 1000m flares for him! Wonder what happened to him?
One of the downers whilst on the border was the "Dear Johnny's", you know those letters that the guys get when they are away from home for a long time, and the girlfriend has found some other Romeo? Well, we made a point of watching each other whenever any mail came in. If the reaction on the readers face was not good, a point was made to keep an eye on him. There were many stories of guys who went off the deep end because of a "Dear Johnny" letter.
There was also a radio station that broadcast up to there for us, and I think it was every Sunday they ran a special program where they would play songs for the “troop on the border” based on requests they received from their listeners, who were either family or friends of the troops.
Every Xmas the Red Cross would hand out Xmas parcels to the troops, normally a bag containing a pen, writing paper, some envelopes, nail clippers, a “Thank you” card, and even a wooden shield / trophy with the SWA map embossed on it and the words “Border Duty – Christmas 19XX” (or something like that. They were always welcome though, probably because getting free envelopes and stuff meant we had more money for beer. That’s another thing. Access to beer was restricted. Only two per person per night (or something like that) ((I know I write that a lot, but time has deleted a lot of these little details)). However, there were ways and means. A little backhand could secure you a six pack, and then some of the guys didn't drink alcohol, so paying for their cokes would get you their beer!
Sometimes we would run out of cigarettes, and then the guys would smoke anything they could crush and roll into a paper. Sometimes we’d raid the local “kukka shop”, that’s what they called the informal shops where adds and ends were sold by the locals to the locals, and there we would get cigarettes, pipe tobacco, even beers (bad beer beats no beer).
Once we raided a known terrorist supporter kukka shop. In the false ceiling (is that right?) we found piles of those cardboard wine bottle sleeves packed with South African bank notes. Needless to say that was the last time he saw any of it. We didn't run short of funds for a while. Spoils of war, we called it.
Close to the actual border line was a missionary station, run by a bunch of Catholic nuns. It was well known that they would offer assistance to anyone who needed it. It was also suspected (and no doubt proven at some time) that they offered sanctuary, food and medical assistance to the terrorists. We couldn't touch them, or even get them to move, but the area around their station became almost a no go zone. Nights there would be infantry patrols and ambushes nearby, and by day, trackers would go around to see if they could pick up spoor.
Once we had information that some terrorists would be coming through there within the next week. We got a 6 meter section of PVC piping; 150mm diameter (used for water piping and sewerage piping) filled it with broken glass, bolts, rocks, and PE4! Man I loved that stuff. What we could do with half a kilo of plastic was incredible. What we did with 2 kilos in this pipe was scary. Anyway, we buried it across a well used usual pathway, where it passed between two tall palm trees which were about 10 meters apart. We rigged it up with a trip wire, linked to a couple of claymore set back about 10 meters, further into the bush.
Two days later it went off. We got there maybe 35 minutes after detonation. The devastation was incredible. There was a massive hole in the ground, Both the palm trees were blown out of the ground, and a mess to show that someone / something had been hurt real bad. There were marks to show that someone had dragged bodies away, and there were no guns and stuff left behind. Seems like it could have been a large group and not all had been hit, and so the survivors had taken away the dead / hurt, and taken them to the mission station. We were not allowed to enter their site, but we hung around for 5 days, not allowing anyone to leave either, except a nun who went to get food rations. Whoever was inside needing help either got it from the nuns, or they died.
More later
Salagatle!
One of the downers whilst on the border was the "Dear Johnny's", you know those letters that the guys get when they are away from home for a long time, and the girlfriend has found some other Romeo? Well, we made a point of watching each other whenever any mail came in. If the reaction on the readers face was not good, a point was made to keep an eye on him. There were many stories of guys who went off the deep end because of a "Dear Johnny" letter.
There was also a radio station that broadcast up to there for us, and I think it was every Sunday they ran a special program where they would play songs for the “troop on the border” based on requests they received from their listeners, who were either family or friends of the troops.
Every Xmas the Red Cross would hand out Xmas parcels to the troops, normally a bag containing a pen, writing paper, some envelopes, nail clippers, a “Thank you” card, and even a wooden shield / trophy with the SWA map embossed on it and the words “Border Duty – Christmas 19XX” (or something like that. They were always welcome though, probably because getting free envelopes and stuff meant we had more money for beer. That’s another thing. Access to beer was restricted. Only two per person per night (or something like that) ((I know I write that a lot, but time has deleted a lot of these little details)). However, there were ways and means. A little backhand could secure you a six pack, and then some of the guys didn't drink alcohol, so paying for their cokes would get you their beer!
Sometimes we would run out of cigarettes, and then the guys would smoke anything they could crush and roll into a paper. Sometimes we’d raid the local “kukka shop”, that’s what they called the informal shops where adds and ends were sold by the locals to the locals, and there we would get cigarettes, pipe tobacco, even beers (bad beer beats no beer).
Once we raided a known terrorist supporter kukka shop. In the false ceiling (is that right?) we found piles of those cardboard wine bottle sleeves packed with South African bank notes. Needless to say that was the last time he saw any of it. We didn't run short of funds for a while. Spoils of war, we called it.
Close to the actual border line was a missionary station, run by a bunch of Catholic nuns. It was well known that they would offer assistance to anyone who needed it. It was also suspected (and no doubt proven at some time) that they offered sanctuary, food and medical assistance to the terrorists. We couldn't touch them, or even get them to move, but the area around their station became almost a no go zone. Nights there would be infantry patrols and ambushes nearby, and by day, trackers would go around to see if they could pick up spoor.
Once we had information that some terrorists would be coming through there within the next week. We got a 6 meter section of PVC piping; 150mm diameter (used for water piping and sewerage piping) filled it with broken glass, bolts, rocks, and PE4! Man I loved that stuff. What we could do with half a kilo of plastic was incredible. What we did with 2 kilos in this pipe was scary. Anyway, we buried it across a well used usual pathway, where it passed between two tall palm trees which were about 10 meters apart. We rigged it up with a trip wire, linked to a couple of claymore set back about 10 meters, further into the bush.
Two days later it went off. We got there maybe 35 minutes after detonation. The devastation was incredible. There was a massive hole in the ground, Both the palm trees were blown out of the ground, and a mess to show that someone / something had been hurt real bad. There were marks to show that someone had dragged bodies away, and there were no guns and stuff left behind. Seems like it could have been a large group and not all had been hit, and so the survivors had taken away the dead / hurt, and taken them to the mission station. We were not allowed to enter their site, but we hung around for 5 days, not allowing anyone to leave either, except a nun who went to get food rations. Whoever was inside needing help either got it from the nuns, or they died.
More later
Salagatle!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
SADF - IV
South West Africa was a different world. The locals were both friend and enemy. They would co-operate with us during the day, and then support the enemy at night. Living in their primitive kraals, they were torn between supporting their families, and at the same time trying to appease what was in fact two aggressors.
We would be kind to those who assisted us, but absolutely cruel to those who didn't. There was no place to hide once you had crossed the thin line, and many times families would have to move south to escape the wrath of the "terrorists" or north, to hide from the SADF. For many of them, this was a war they didn't understand or care for. They were stock farmers, and fishermen, and didn't want for, or need much. For some even the prospect of independence from the white oppressors was a non event.
The women were, as far as I can remember, as ugly as sin! Not their fault I suppose, but the hard life, and harsh weather didn't do them much good! They made a mean "beer" of sorts, and many a thirst was quenched drinking the stuff, which we received in exchange for a small packet of military issue biscuits, or a tin of mixed vegetables! What was always a amazing was that they managed, out there in the bush, to keep it cool. I think I remember they used to dig a hole in the ground, probably near the base of a tree, and keep it wet. Anyhow,it worked for them, and the beer.
We also did a lot of medical assistance work among the locals, were we would take the medics out to the various hut settlements, and for the day the locals would come with various ailments, and receive free treatment from the SADF. Typically, we would take advantage of some of the younger men, because any of them would at some stage or other be aligned to SWAPO. Mostly when they came for headache tables, we would give then an "S"bit!! These were the paraffin based tablets used to cook our food with!! Apparently the side effect was a vicious workout of the stomach! Well, at least it took their minds off their headaches!! No harm done though!!
Often the fresh food rations wouldn't come through, and after a few weeks of eating prepacked ration packs, the need for fresh meat was overwhelming. That's when we would go out and trade some goods for a goat or two! Can be very tasty to a very hungry soldier. I even had the opportunity to eat snake meat, which had been prepared by one of the black trackers.
Photographs / cameras were a no-no. However, most of us seemed to manage to take a camera with us, and spools of film. Getting the film out was another problem, as whenever you returned to South Africa, all your kit and stuff was thoroughly searched for films, and any other banned stuff. One idiot was caught with a "cheese mine" in the bottom of his hold all!!! I'm sure he's still behind bars!
Ingenious ways were found to smuggle through the films. One was in tooth paste tubes. You had to open out the bottom, insert the film which was safely sealed in plastic, or even a condom, and then the tooth[paste put back, and the tube re closed. But, at all times you had to work carefully to ensure that the tube looked original. Split bars of soap, hollowed out, filed, and rejoined. Man, the guys pulled every trick in the book.
Even our outgoing post was inspected / read and censored. Our post we refused to allow the local guys to read and censor, electing rather to have this done by our own officer based in Ondangwa. Then we got clever. We would seal the envelopes, I would sign the back as Lt. Viljoen, a buddy in the ops tent would stamp it with the Infantry stamp, and we would send them off to Ondangwa, where the "postmaster" would assume they had been precensored, and forward them with the rest. So our local authority thought we were having our post censored in Ondangwa, and our officers in Ondangwa thought we were having it done by some Lt. Viljoen in Eenhana..... Soooo Sweeeet!
I have quite a few photos from my "visit" North, but not sure where they are now since we moved house, some of my favourites are the sunsets, always spectacular. One of my best is one taken of me. I was lying in the middle of a sand road, on my stomach, clearing and lifting my first landmine!! The road typically is white sand, but the area around me is a darker colour, from my sweat. Took me at least 3 hours, and once you are down you don't move till finished. Water bottles are slid across the ground to you as required. Cigarettes, and even food if you want, but no moving till you are done.
The problem was that 2/5 times the damn mines were booby trapped. The most logical thing to do was find the handle (if the mine had one) hook on a pull rope which was about 50/70/100 meters long, tie it to the back of the vehicle and drag it out. That way if it was booby trapped it would go off without injury to anyone. But your first mine... well, everyone made a point of lifting it. There is such a feeling of achievement then. Makes all the training and sweat and tears that came before worthwhile!!
One mine we lifted, which I assisted in clearing had a double booby trap (hence my assistance was required). It took the two of us 5 hours to clear, and we recovered approximately 30 kg's of Russian explosives! Much drinking took place that night.
Road sweeping was our main priority. Every time a convoy was moving, there would be Sappers walking in front to sweep the road for landmines. The infantry would give us cover from the sides of the road, walking deep in the bush. I had, on some occasions, met guys I knew from back home, and then much story swapping and chatting would take place. It was always exciting to see them, as then you knew that at least they were still alive!
Our guys (my lot) also managed to set the record at the time for the fastest sweep. I'm talking in excess of 10 km/hour! A mean feat if you consider the conditions, heat, and risk.
The amazing part was how, over time, we learned to recognise the "signs". Typically, if mines had been laid on a stretch of road, the planters would, along the road, leave some sign to warn the locals of the danger. A coke can hanging on a branch, 3 stones piled up in a specific manner, the top bar of an impromptu soccer field up, or down. After 12 / 13 months we were so in tune with this system, that ofter when we went out we would drive the route, and stop when we spotted one of the "signs" start to sweep and the n find the mine! Luckily we never got it wrong, and some guys even worked out the distance to the mine from the marker!
One thing we stopped doing quickly was assume that all the locals knew of the signs. Many times while we were sweeping the road, a local LDV (mostly old Ford F100 / 250) would come flying past us fully laden on the back with up to 16 passengers. Then we would simply all get onto our vehicles, and follow in their tracks!
On one such occasion, we were following the LDV at about 60 km/h, we were not mote than 1200 meters behind, and it hit a landmine. There was this almighty blast, followed by a flash of fire, the LDV took off like a cumbersome Concorde, and then smoke and dust! We immediately stopped, disembarked, and started to sweep towards the incident site. On arrival the sight was frightening. There was a 6 meter wide crater in the road, with a secondary crater, (the booby trap) overlapping the first of about 4 meters diameter. Both were about 1.5 meters deep. The LDV was lying on its roof in the veld maybe 10 meters away. There were bodies everywhere. The front right wheel had detonated the mine, and it had blown away most of the front of the vehicle, as well as most of the cab. Of the driver there remained nothing that we could find / identify.
Some of the other passengers were torn apart, but we could match the pieces, this arm here, this leg with this body with this head.... Some were whole. All were dead! While waiting for the recovery vehicles, one to move the LDV, and one to remove the remains, we sat down next to the road in the shade of a tree and had lunch. Around us lay scattered pieces of bodies. No matter, we were beyond caring.
Salagatle!
We would be kind to those who assisted us, but absolutely cruel to those who didn't. There was no place to hide once you had crossed the thin line, and many times families would have to move south to escape the wrath of the "terrorists" or north, to hide from the SADF. For many of them, this was a war they didn't understand or care for. They were stock farmers, and fishermen, and didn't want for, or need much. For some even the prospect of independence from the white oppressors was a non event.
The women were, as far as I can remember, as ugly as sin! Not their fault I suppose, but the hard life, and harsh weather didn't do them much good! They made a mean "beer" of sorts, and many a thirst was quenched drinking the stuff, which we received in exchange for a small packet of military issue biscuits, or a tin of mixed vegetables! What was always a amazing was that they managed, out there in the bush, to keep it cool. I think I remember they used to dig a hole in the ground, probably near the base of a tree, and keep it wet. Anyhow,it worked for them, and the beer.
We also did a lot of medical assistance work among the locals, were we would take the medics out to the various hut settlements, and for the day the locals would come with various ailments, and receive free treatment from the SADF. Typically, we would take advantage of some of the younger men, because any of them would at some stage or other be aligned to SWAPO. Mostly when they came for headache tables, we would give then an "S"bit!! These were the paraffin based tablets used to cook our food with!! Apparently the side effect was a vicious workout of the stomach! Well, at least it took their minds off their headaches!! No harm done though!!
Often the fresh food rations wouldn't come through, and after a few weeks of eating prepacked ration packs, the need for fresh meat was overwhelming. That's when we would go out and trade some goods for a goat or two! Can be very tasty to a very hungry soldier. I even had the opportunity to eat snake meat, which had been prepared by one of the black trackers.
Photographs / cameras were a no-no. However, most of us seemed to manage to take a camera with us, and spools of film. Getting the film out was another problem, as whenever you returned to South Africa, all your kit and stuff was thoroughly searched for films, and any other banned stuff. One idiot was caught with a "cheese mine" in the bottom of his hold all!!! I'm sure he's still behind bars!
Ingenious ways were found to smuggle through the films. One was in tooth paste tubes. You had to open out the bottom, insert the film which was safely sealed in plastic, or even a condom, and then the tooth[paste put back, and the tube re closed. But, at all times you had to work carefully to ensure that the tube looked original. Split bars of soap, hollowed out, filed, and rejoined. Man, the guys pulled every trick in the book.
Even our outgoing post was inspected / read and censored. Our post we refused to allow the local guys to read and censor, electing rather to have this done by our own officer based in Ondangwa. Then we got clever. We would seal the envelopes, I would sign the back as Lt. Viljoen, a buddy in the ops tent would stamp it with the Infantry stamp, and we would send them off to Ondangwa, where the "postmaster" would assume they had been precensored, and forward them with the rest. So our local authority thought we were having our post censored in Ondangwa, and our officers in Ondangwa thought we were having it done by some Lt. Viljoen in Eenhana..... Soooo Sweeeet!
I have quite a few photos from my "visit" North, but not sure where they are now since we moved house, some of my favourites are the sunsets, always spectacular. One of my best is one taken of me. I was lying in the middle of a sand road, on my stomach, clearing and lifting my first landmine!! The road typically is white sand, but the area around me is a darker colour, from my sweat. Took me at least 3 hours, and once you are down you don't move till finished. Water bottles are slid across the ground to you as required. Cigarettes, and even food if you want, but no moving till you are done.
The problem was that 2/5 times the damn mines were booby trapped. The most logical thing to do was find the handle (if the mine had one) hook on a pull rope which was about 50/70/100 meters long, tie it to the back of the vehicle and drag it out. That way if it was booby trapped it would go off without injury to anyone. But your first mine... well, everyone made a point of lifting it. There is such a feeling of achievement then. Makes all the training and sweat and tears that came before worthwhile!!
One mine we lifted, which I assisted in clearing had a double booby trap (hence my assistance was required). It took the two of us 5 hours to clear, and we recovered approximately 30 kg's of Russian explosives! Much drinking took place that night.
Road sweeping was our main priority. Every time a convoy was moving, there would be Sappers walking in front to sweep the road for landmines. The infantry would give us cover from the sides of the road, walking deep in the bush. I had, on some occasions, met guys I knew from back home, and then much story swapping and chatting would take place. It was always exciting to see them, as then you knew that at least they were still alive!
Our guys (my lot) also managed to set the record at the time for the fastest sweep. I'm talking in excess of 10 km/hour! A mean feat if you consider the conditions, heat, and risk.
The amazing part was how, over time, we learned to recognise the "signs". Typically, if mines had been laid on a stretch of road, the planters would, along the road, leave some sign to warn the locals of the danger. A coke can hanging on a branch, 3 stones piled up in a specific manner, the top bar of an impromptu soccer field up, or down. After 12 / 13 months we were so in tune with this system, that ofter when we went out we would drive the route, and stop when we spotted one of the "signs" start to sweep and the n find the mine! Luckily we never got it wrong, and some guys even worked out the distance to the mine from the marker!
One thing we stopped doing quickly was assume that all the locals knew of the signs. Many times while we were sweeping the road, a local LDV (mostly old Ford F100 / 250) would come flying past us fully laden on the back with up to 16 passengers. Then we would simply all get onto our vehicles, and follow in their tracks!
On one such occasion, we were following the LDV at about 60 km/h, we were not mote than 1200 meters behind, and it hit a landmine. There was this almighty blast, followed by a flash of fire, the LDV took off like a cumbersome Concorde, and then smoke and dust! We immediately stopped, disembarked, and started to sweep towards the incident site. On arrival the sight was frightening. There was a 6 meter wide crater in the road, with a secondary crater, (the booby trap) overlapping the first of about 4 meters diameter. Both were about 1.5 meters deep. The LDV was lying on its roof in the veld maybe 10 meters away. There were bodies everywhere. The front right wheel had detonated the mine, and it had blown away most of the front of the vehicle, as well as most of the cab. Of the driver there remained nothing that we could find / identify.
Some of the other passengers were torn apart, but we could match the pieces, this arm here, this leg with this body with this head.... Some were whole. All were dead! While waiting for the recovery vehicles, one to move the LDV, and one to remove the remains, we sat down next to the road in the shade of a tree and had lunch. Around us lay scattered pieces of bodies. No matter, we were beyond caring.
Salagatle!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
SADF Part III
The trip to Grootfontein was, well, scary? We flew in what was affectionately referred to as a Flossie, and these planes were very old, well worn favourites. Sitting inside, along the side walls on long benches, with all our kit loaded in back, and held down with netting, you could see the plates moving around the rivets with which the thing had been built 100 years ago!
Overnight in Grootfontein was eerie. We knew we were on the "border", but didn't really have an idea where or how far away the "action" was.We were issued with live ammunition, 6 mags a piece (80 bullets). We were trained in the use of an R1 rifle. To this day I still maintain it is the best weapon ever made for military purposes.
Anyway, the next morning we were loaded onto the back of long trucks and driven north to the zone. Some guys were dropped off in Ondangwa, some in Ojivarongo. Others in other obscure places. Me and my section, 10 of us in all, were taken to Eenhana. We didn't know it then, but this was to be our home for the next 18 months!!!
On the way up, we spotted a PB (plaaslike bevolking - local citizen) walking along the road with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He came within 10 seconds of being blown away by at least 10 over eager Sappers! Luckily the corporal managed to warn us that he was on our side! Seems that a lot of the 'Locals' had sided with the SADF as a means to protect their families and livestock. Many of these guys had been issued with old generation R1's, (FN's), called G3's!! (His lucky day it was!)
Eenhana was, well, in the middle of no where, dusty, dry, hot, surrounded by 3 meter high sand banks, a tent camp. It held 150 Infantry, 30 Horseback soldiers, and 10 Sappers.
We soon set ourselves up in out 2 tents, and established a contact with our immediate neighbours. We were introduced to the Infantry Sargent Major, who was in charge of the whole camp, but we would report in to our officers based in Ondangwa.
There were 4 guard posts, lookout towers about 12 - 15 meters high, placed at the four corners of the camp. There were 4 mortar pits inside the camp, kind of in the middle of each wall, buy 10 - 15 meters back from the wall. There was a central radio / comms. room, adjoining the ops room. A field kitchen, some form of first aid tent, a helipad.... usual bush camp stuff.
We were in camp for exactly 3 hours when I heard the first shot fired! I ran outside to see what the fuck was going on, thinking if I sprinted now I could probably get the pick of the horses, and could be out of here at a fast gallop before anyone even knew I was missing!!!! A soldier, infantry, came running past me in the general direction of the medics tent. His chest, hands and arms were dripping blood! "Oh great" I thought, dumb fuck has shot himself.
In fact, it turned out to be a bit more serious than that. No, it wasn't an enemy attack. This guy who came running past had just come off guard duty, had walked into his tent and found his buddy reading a western. He had pointed his R1 at him, said "Hands up" and pulled the trigger. He had forgotten to unload before coming down the guard tower. The 7.62mm high velocity bullet hit him in the middle of the face, fired from about 3 meters away. His head exploded like a watermelon.
It was fucking frightening. I had run to the tent to see if anyone else, other than the guy who ran past me who I thought had hurt himself, had been hurt, and I saw this mess splattered all over the back of the tent.
There was nothing to do other than turn away and throw up copious amounts of whatever was in my gut at that point in time.I cannot believe that that young man would ever be the same again. I remember he was sent back to South Africa, and I think I remember something around him having lost his head. I wouldn't be surprised.
My introduction to that war was over. I was knee deep in the stuff, and nothing would phase me going forward, and I mean nothing.
Salagtle!
Overnight in Grootfontein was eerie. We knew we were on the "border", but didn't really have an idea where or how far away the "action" was.We were issued with live ammunition, 6 mags a piece (80 bullets). We were trained in the use of an R1 rifle. To this day I still maintain it is the best weapon ever made for military purposes.
Anyway, the next morning we were loaded onto the back of long trucks and driven north to the zone. Some guys were dropped off in Ondangwa, some in Ojivarongo. Others in other obscure places. Me and my section, 10 of us in all, were taken to Eenhana. We didn't know it then, but this was to be our home for the next 18 months!!!
On the way up, we spotted a PB (plaaslike bevolking - local citizen) walking along the road with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He came within 10 seconds of being blown away by at least 10 over eager Sappers! Luckily the corporal managed to warn us that he was on our side! Seems that a lot of the 'Locals' had sided with the SADF as a means to protect their families and livestock. Many of these guys had been issued with old generation R1's, (FN's), called G3's!! (His lucky day it was!)
Eenhana was, well, in the middle of no where, dusty, dry, hot, surrounded by 3 meter high sand banks, a tent camp. It held 150 Infantry, 30 Horseback soldiers, and 10 Sappers.
We soon set ourselves up in out 2 tents, and established a contact with our immediate neighbours. We were introduced to the Infantry Sargent Major, who was in charge of the whole camp, but we would report in to our officers based in Ondangwa.
There were 4 guard posts, lookout towers about 12 - 15 meters high, placed at the four corners of the camp. There were 4 mortar pits inside the camp, kind of in the middle of each wall, buy 10 - 15 meters back from the wall. There was a central radio / comms. room, adjoining the ops room. A field kitchen, some form of first aid tent, a helipad.... usual bush camp stuff.
We were in camp for exactly 3 hours when I heard the first shot fired! I ran outside to see what the fuck was going on, thinking if I sprinted now I could probably get the pick of the horses, and could be out of here at a fast gallop before anyone even knew I was missing!!!! A soldier, infantry, came running past me in the general direction of the medics tent. His chest, hands and arms were dripping blood! "Oh great" I thought, dumb fuck has shot himself.
In fact, it turned out to be a bit more serious than that. No, it wasn't an enemy attack. This guy who came running past had just come off guard duty, had walked into his tent and found his buddy reading a western. He had pointed his R1 at him, said "Hands up" and pulled the trigger. He had forgotten to unload before coming down the guard tower. The 7.62mm high velocity bullet hit him in the middle of the face, fired from about 3 meters away. His head exploded like a watermelon.
It was fucking frightening. I had run to the tent to see if anyone else, other than the guy who ran past me who I thought had hurt himself, had been hurt, and I saw this mess splattered all over the back of the tent.
There was nothing to do other than turn away and throw up copious amounts of whatever was in my gut at that point in time.I cannot believe that that young man would ever be the same again. I remember he was sent back to South Africa, and I think I remember something around him having lost his head. I wouldn't be surprised.
My introduction to that war was over. I was knee deep in the stuff, and nothing would phase me going forward, and I mean nothing.
Salagtle!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Clarens - Free State
Our mission:- Princess was asked by a friend of ours to organise his whole wedding! Venue (he selected Clarens for the area), priest, decorations, invites, accommodation, everything. And as he's reasonable well off, it's almost a blank cheque arrangement. What he did say was he's not willing to accept anything but the best (within reason). 20 people, inclusive of the bride and groom.
Having left Mom at the hospital, and then popped in at the Nun's house, we eventually got on the road to Clarens at about 8.35 am. We travelled via Vanderbyjlpark, Sasolburg, Heilbron, Petrus Steyn, Reitz, some other obscure little towns, Bethlehem and finally Clarens. Took us just a little over two and a half hours! Damn but it's real farming country, flat, windswept, desolate. The Free State!
What was apparent in most of these little farming towns is that their reason for their existence, originally to support the big maize / wheat / cattle farmers is no longer the raison de existance! They are really struggling locations. What was also apparent was the explosion in size of every single location (previously black township) comprising of large ares of shack dwellers and large 'Low Cost" housing developments. I cannot imagine where these people are coming from (yes I do understand procreation), and cannot see where they could be finding any form of employment.
Basically they are a drain on the municipal and provincial structures, without actually contributing to the local economy. I know it's not their fault, and I'm not proportioning blame here, only pointing out the obvious, and one reason why the towns seem to be struggling economically. What we did notice was that in each of these little town there were at least 3 if not 4 funeral parlour / service outlets. Now, no matter how the government might deny the problem, but if there is one thing that's driving this business boom, it's AIDS. Talking to some people over the weekend confirmed that the local population is highly affected / infected, and that the death rate is astronomical. However, due to the "ban" on making declarations of cause of death "HIV-AIDS" on death certificates, all of the deaths would be accounted for against some or other disease which is probably caught as a result of the infection.
Bethlehem was unrecognisable. It's grown to 3 maybe even 4 times the size it was when I was last there 28 years ago. I didn't see one thing I recognised, although I didn't drive around looking. We drove in one end, drove through looking for road signs to Clarens, and as soon as we found the turn off, we took it, drove out of town and went on our way. 10km Outside of Clarens we arrived at the place we had booked to stay over at.
Graceland (kinda corny I know, but hey, that's what it's called!) We had a look around, and I took a whole bunch of photo's. it's one of the options for the wedding, so we want to get all the pics we can to show the prospective marriage couple. The chapel is ok, function hall way too big, cold, low ceiling, not well finished. The restaurant area is nice, as is the pub. The private on suite rooms are ok, and there is a honeymoon suite. There are 10 rooms, just as required. There are also chalets on the property. They even have some lions on the property!Personally, I'm not too impressed. We book into our chalet, unpack the little we have, and leave for Clarens and a look at two other venues we have selected off the internet.
We take a walk around the arty little town. there is a lot of development going on, including a residential golf course. Lot's of little art shops, antique stores, some pubs and restaurants. Seems like a few years ago this place was "discovered" by some artistic types, and since then there has been a bit of an exodus into the area.
Anyway, we soon set off for the next venue. It's called Lynnewood. This place is nice. Remember, I've only got Graceland to compare to for now. Apparently they took over the farm a few months ago, and have only been doing weddings and conferences a la Bed and Breakfast for a few weeks.The chapel is not yet completed, but it is going to look nice once it's done. But it's also too big for our purpose. However, the lounge / dining / tv areas are very nice, and with some shuffling could easily accommodate the 20 guests. We can also do the ceremony in this part of the complex. They have a honeymoon suite. It's quite nice, and has a fireplace. There are 3 other on suite rooms, all very nicely finished, with fireplaces. But this leaves us a few rooms short. They have an arrangement with the farmer across the road, who also has a couple of chalets, that if they are short of rooms, they refer their guests to him.
So, a quick visit there, and we have the info we need. Rooms could not be viewed as there were guests staying in them, but the place looks nice, and there are enough rooms for what we need.
Next stop is a place called Oranje. It has four star accreditation from the South African tourist board. An initial look around leaves one with a good impression. We meet with the hostess, who takes us on an initial tour. We sit down inside and she goes through all our options, right down to the flowers, candles, throws...
So organised it's obvious she does this for a living. She gave us copies of the menu options, pricing, made a list of all the things we wanted a quote on, down to arranging the priest. She gave me a copy of her wine list, and if there was a wine we wanted which was not on the list, she would source it for us. The chapel is way too big, but the ceremony can be held on the front lawns, which although brown right now as it's winter, still looked "attractive". Alternatively it can be held on the front porch (it can seat 60 guests!), or, if the weather is really bad, Inside, in the area we will be using for the reception.The rooms, all en suite are great, although a bit cold, but all have good heating systems. Overall a very impressive venue, and the one I would select. Only problem is that the date selected by the couple is taken! and so we tentatively booked the weekend before.
I hope that they will make the change required, as it is the best venues by far. Only problem could be that the grooms partner who is coming out from the UK has made his travel arrangements already, and getting that changed might be a problem.
We drove back to Clarens town, and stopped in at a pub/restaurant. We had to eat out as the Graceland chef was off for this weekend, so they were not serving meals. But, it was ok as it turned out they had a big screen TV so we could watch the rugby - SA v Oz - and we won! And the food was damn good.
After that we drove towards Graceland, stopping only for a few minutes to look at the site where the water which is piped from the Lesotho Highland water project for miles under through the mountain, eventually spills into the Ash river.
It's quite a site, more so because all that cold, crisp water started out a long way away as snow! Then on to Graceland, where we went to the chalet. Damn this place is cold. We left the oil heater and wall panel heaters on before we left earlier, and it's only just taken the chill off the air. Switched on the electric blankets, and the family watched TV till about 10pm., whilst I wrote this, and the summary of Mom's condition, and some of part two of my SADF story. (That might turn into a book).
So, next morning we book out of there, drive to Bethlehem and stop there for some breakfast at the Wimpy. Refueled the bus, and asked a couple of people about the military base in the middle of town. Two people didn't know it had ever existed, and one gave me the impression it had closed down, and relocated to the camp we had built in '77!!
So, no more camp, but I will go and have a look on Google Earth to confirm. Then we drove back home, back to Mom who was still in hospital, and to my brother, and to start putting together the options for the couple to be.
Salagatle!
Having left Mom at the hospital, and then popped in at the Nun's house, we eventually got on the road to Clarens at about 8.35 am. We travelled via Vanderbyjlpark, Sasolburg, Heilbron, Petrus Steyn, Reitz, some other obscure little towns, Bethlehem and finally Clarens. Took us just a little over two and a half hours! Damn but it's real farming country, flat, windswept, desolate. The Free State!
What was apparent in most of these little farming towns is that their reason for their existence, originally to support the big maize / wheat / cattle farmers is no longer the raison de existance! They are really struggling locations. What was also apparent was the explosion in size of every single location (previously black township) comprising of large ares of shack dwellers and large 'Low Cost" housing developments. I cannot imagine where these people are coming from (yes I do understand procreation), and cannot see where they could be finding any form of employment.
Basically they are a drain on the municipal and provincial structures, without actually contributing to the local economy. I know it's not their fault, and I'm not proportioning blame here, only pointing out the obvious, and one reason why the towns seem to be struggling economically. What we did notice was that in each of these little town there were at least 3 if not 4 funeral parlour / service outlets. Now, no matter how the government might deny the problem, but if there is one thing that's driving this business boom, it's AIDS. Talking to some people over the weekend confirmed that the local population is highly affected / infected, and that the death rate is astronomical. However, due to the "ban" on making declarations of cause of death "HIV-AIDS" on death certificates, all of the deaths would be accounted for against some or other disease which is probably caught as a result of the infection.
Bethlehem was unrecognisable. It's grown to 3 maybe even 4 times the size it was when I was last there 28 years ago. I didn't see one thing I recognised, although I didn't drive around looking. We drove in one end, drove through looking for road signs to Clarens, and as soon as we found the turn off, we took it, drove out of town and went on our way. 10km Outside of Clarens we arrived at the place we had booked to stay over at.
Graceland (kinda corny I know, but hey, that's what it's called!) We had a look around, and I took a whole bunch of photo's. it's one of the options for the wedding, so we want to get all the pics we can to show the prospective marriage couple. The chapel is ok, function hall way too big, cold, low ceiling, not well finished. The restaurant area is nice, as is the pub. The private on suite rooms are ok, and there is a honeymoon suite. There are 10 rooms, just as required. There are also chalets on the property. They even have some lions on the property!Personally, I'm not too impressed. We book into our chalet, unpack the little we have, and leave for Clarens and a look at two other venues we have selected off the internet.
We take a walk around the arty little town. there is a lot of development going on, including a residential golf course. Lot's of little art shops, antique stores, some pubs and restaurants. Seems like a few years ago this place was "discovered" by some artistic types, and since then there has been a bit of an exodus into the area.
Anyway, we soon set off for the next venue. It's called Lynnewood. This place is nice. Remember, I've only got Graceland to compare to for now. Apparently they took over the farm a few months ago, and have only been doing weddings and conferences a la Bed and Breakfast for a few weeks.The chapel is not yet completed, but it is going to look nice once it's done. But it's also too big for our purpose. However, the lounge / dining / tv areas are very nice, and with some shuffling could easily accommodate the 20 guests. We can also do the ceremony in this part of the complex. They have a honeymoon suite. It's quite nice, and has a fireplace. There are 3 other on suite rooms, all very nicely finished, with fireplaces. But this leaves us a few rooms short. They have an arrangement with the farmer across the road, who also has a couple of chalets, that if they are short of rooms, they refer their guests to him.
So, a quick visit there, and we have the info we need. Rooms could not be viewed as there were guests staying in them, but the place looks nice, and there are enough rooms for what we need.
Next stop is a place called Oranje. It has four star accreditation from the South African tourist board. An initial look around leaves one with a good impression. We meet with the hostess, who takes us on an initial tour. We sit down inside and she goes through all our options, right down to the flowers, candles, throws...
So organised it's obvious she does this for a living. She gave us copies of the menu options, pricing, made a list of all the things we wanted a quote on, down to arranging the priest. She gave me a copy of her wine list, and if there was a wine we wanted which was not on the list, she would source it for us. The chapel is way too big, but the ceremony can be held on the front lawns, which although brown right now as it's winter, still looked "attractive". Alternatively it can be held on the front porch (it can seat 60 guests!), or, if the weather is really bad, Inside, in the area we will be using for the reception.The rooms, all en suite are great, although a bit cold, but all have good heating systems. Overall a very impressive venue, and the one I would select. Only problem is that the date selected by the couple is taken! and so we tentatively booked the weekend before.
I hope that they will make the change required, as it is the best venues by far. Only problem could be that the grooms partner who is coming out from the UK has made his travel arrangements already, and getting that changed might be a problem.
We drove back to Clarens town, and stopped in at a pub/restaurant. We had to eat out as the Graceland chef was off for this weekend, so they were not serving meals. But, it was ok as it turned out they had a big screen TV so we could watch the rugby - SA v Oz - and we won! And the food was damn good.
After that we drove towards Graceland, stopping only for a few minutes to look at the site where the water which is piped from the Lesotho Highland water project for miles under through the mountain, eventually spills into the Ash river.
It's quite a site, more so because all that cold, crisp water started out a long way away as snow! Then on to Graceland, where we went to the chalet. Damn this place is cold. We left the oil heater and wall panel heaters on before we left earlier, and it's only just taken the chill off the air. Switched on the electric blankets, and the family watched TV till about 10pm., whilst I wrote this, and the summary of Mom's condition, and some of part two of my SADF story. (That might turn into a book).
So, next morning we book out of there, drive to Bethlehem and stop there for some breakfast at the Wimpy. Refueled the bus, and asked a couple of people about the military base in the middle of town. Two people didn't know it had ever existed, and one gave me the impression it had closed down, and relocated to the camp we had built in '77!!
So, no more camp, but I will go and have a look on Google Earth to confirm. Then we drove back home, back to Mom who was still in hospital, and to my brother, and to start putting together the options for the couple to be.
Salagatle!
My military service - cont.
Seeing as I have introduced my military experience in another blog here, Bethlehem 1977, I thought I would continue with the theme for now...
Basics was hard. I was not fit, smoked too much, and wasn't one for cold weather. Every morning we were up at 4 am. in running shorts and vests. It was -4 to -5 (maybe -6 to -7) deg C. Damn it was freezing, and we would run 5 -8 km. The distance varied subject to the condition of the corporals. If they had had a hard drinking session the night before it was 5, if not, up to 8!
If we didn't all arrive at the end point more or less together, we ran again, so we soon learnt to drag along the laggards, (fat boys, lazy boys, stoned boys) and they soon learned the short cuts. There was one guy I remember who was seriously overweight. Man, did he take strain..., but we pulled him through.
One time when we didn't make the finish as a group we were taken to an open veld that had been burnt about a week before, and made to leopard crawl across it, and back. That was really the pits. I still gave black marks under the skin where the burnt grass shafts went into/ under the skin. Some festered and popped out, some didn't.
Back at the bungalow we would then have inspection. This was started off by the corporal taking one of either the sand or water buckets placed outside in case of fire and throwing it across the meticulously polished floor! More often than not, in the first few weeks, it was the sand, as the water bucket was frozen solid!
Training in the first few weeks was limited to breaking us down, indoctrination, and fitness. Some firearm training and some explosive training came into play. Lots of running long distances with Gum poles, or bailey bridge parts was the norm.
Night marches started, with each of us carrying up to 50kg on our backs. Damn!
For me this was a very challenging period. Although I befriended some of the guys in my unit, I wasn't a proper fit across the board. So I ensured that I met the requirements as far as being a team player went, and did my bit with regards preparing the bungalow for inspection, but didn't get into a) arse creeping (brown nosing) the corporals / lieutenants, or, b) bucking the system the other way. Kinda middle of the road.
Morning, and some times midnight, inspections were so stupid really. It involved the room: windows and floors, each soldiers personal space: bed, cupboard, and clothing and person.Beds had to be flat, with all corners at perfect right angles. Crazy. These were seriously aged steel frame beds, with thin, bumpy mattresses! We were forced to get under the beds and lift sections with pairs of socks, or newspaper and stuff, just to get the top level and flat.
Then the beds were made in a specific way. All the corners were ironed to get them flat and square. We learned many tricks to make this simple, one of which was to smear shaving cream onto the blanket, and then iron it in. This would then harden and the bed would keep the desired shape. It also meant the we would sleep on the floor most nights, as there would never be enough time in the mornings to do this!
Clothing had to be ironed with specific creases, and boots polished till mirror finish was achieved.A piece of fishing line placed into the front leg seam of a pair of trousers and then ironed in gave a permanent and perfect line! For those who were a bit more handy, they sowed a permanent seam!Polishing boots was maybe simpler, although it did take a lot of buffing.Polish was applied liberally, especially on the toe area. This was then set alight and allowed to melt into the boot. Much polishing / buffing thereafter would bring out the most incredible shine!!
Personal hygiene was very important, and one guy who was going for the mentally unfit card to get out of the service was often treated to a cold shower by his room mates as a) he stank to high heaven, and b) they were punished regularly because of his state.
I had never shaved, but in the second week the corporal decided to take a closer look, found some fine hair on my face, and as punishment made me take a sharp stone, and with cols water shave my face! It bled like crazy, and the scabs took weeks to heal, but I was now shaving like most of the rest.
Sundays we were trucked in to town to attend church services at our respective churches. Week one saw each selecting the church they had been brought up in. From week two the trucks going to the churches which were the previous week reported to have the most and nicest girls were the fullest!! I was lucky to have decided on a church that was around the corner from a roadhouse! this meant that each week me and my mates would buy loads of burgers and or Dagwood's on order, and make a few bucks on each! Paid for the smokes!
Week 3 in basics saw us moving out of the main base in town, and into two out of town camps, 21 and 22 Squadrons. I was in 21. 22 Was an established camp, with most minimum amenities. 21 was a new base. We arrived to find 2 semi complete bungalows, a couple of tents, half a parade ground, a couple of ammo bunkers, and a shooting range.
Our task, apart from the training, was to complete the building of the base.The bungalow completion wasn't too difficult. Most of us were apprentices in some trade or other.The parade ground on the other hand was a different story. There was a mountain of sand which had been trucked in, and had been flattened to some extent. However the sides kept breaking away, so rocks needed to be packed up all around to prevent this erosion.The rocks came from a hill across the veld, about 1 km away! Every time we had to run (for punishment or fitness) we were sent across the veld (a slight decline) to the top of the hill. Wait for the others to arrive. Collect a rock (no smaller then your head) and run back, down the hill, up the veld to the camp. Place the rock in the pile with the rest....
At the end of basics (that's what they called the initiation phase of 6-8 weeks) we had a parents day where a massive display of our capabilities was put on, and after which we were allowed home for the weekend.It was so good to see my folks again, and then taste mom's great cooking, and get to see the girlfriend! I almost ate her alive!
The next 5 months were spent training, mainly in preparation for the bush war we were in the middle of. I'm still not sure if what we did was right or wrong. I suppose it depends which side of the fence you came from.
What I did know was that I had already lost some of my older friends to that war, I was 18 and put into a situation I wasn't sure I cared to be in, but I was going proudly. It's the way we were raised.
Weekend passes were great, but getting home wasn't so easy. For those guys really far from home, an overnight train ride. For those of us closer, hitch hiking. Sometimes you got lucky and got a single lift to your destination. Other times, you hiked most of the night! It was a 3 hour drive to my home, and more than once it took me 6 - 7 hours.
Once, hiking back to camp I got a lift in a Mercedes at about 3 am. Two older guys upfront. I lay down on the back seat for a snooze. Next minute there was an incredible bang, and glass flying all over. We'd hit a horse crossing the road, and we were doing about 120km/h at the time. Damn scary stuff when you see half the horse come through the windscreen. We managed to get towed in to town I got to base.
Another time I got a lift quite quickly, fell asleep on the back of the truck, and woke up 120 km past my home town. Needed to hike back!!! At least in those days we could hitch hike, it was relatively safe to do so,, and there was a national "soldier awareness" campaign on which helped.
We also got to spend 2 weeks during this initial training period in an obscure camp which was used for "war games" then known as Luatla, near a town called Danielkuil.
December 23, 1977 - here we were, expecting to be told that we would be getting a long break so as to spend Xmas at home with our families. A message came through from South West Africa (now Namibia) to say that the "old boys" (them who were the intake before ours) had gone ballistic. They had originally been called up for 12 months, and now that they were near to completing their stint, they ere informed that it had been extended to 24 months! Apparently they lost the plot completely, and a decision was taken to fly them back to South Africa and give them some time off.
That left a hole in the Engineering services on the border. That left us on a plane to Grootfontein (LIU) within 24 hours!!!!
Salagatle!
Friday, June 15, 2007
June, 1977 - Bethlehem
In the Summer of '76, I like many thousands of my fellow South African young men, got my marching papers. Literary. I was called up for military training to commence in July '77, and I was allocated to 2nd Field Engineering Regiment, which was based in the town of Bethlehem in the then Orange Free State.
The call up was no surprise, as we knew it would come, as soon as you finished school, and all we could hope for was being sent to a reasonable place, and hopefully, with someone you knew. I got neither of these. Bethlehem is the second coldest place in South Africa in winter! And no one else I knew was going there.
I arrived on the Troop Train, with hundreds of other who had boarded with me at Johannesburg's then Rand Show Grounds. My hair hung below my shoulders, I had attitude, and an iron in my bag. I still was not shaving. Dammit, I was barely 17!!!
Disembarked at the station, they made us line up in three rows, and run to the camp. it was 4 am, and probably -5deg C! Are these guys completely fucking mental?
At camp we arranged ourselves on the parade ground, some idiot (The RSM) told us how useless we were, how he would break us down and rebuild us, how he was now our mother, father and girlfriend, (I wasn't too sure he would fit that bill, but anyway...) and how he would turn us into real men.
Then we went for haircuts, and everyone came out of that room a changed person. They took it all off!! Every last hair. It was amazing to see the conversion of some of the guys from long haired real mean looking types, to bald headed, meek and mild lamb!
So commenced my stint with the SADF, it would continue for a full 24 months, uninterrupted, and thereafter for 3 month camps annually. The annual camps were to go on for about 10 years, but I managed to get mine terminated after 5, but that's another story!
What I did do, when I was demobbed in July '79, was swear that I would never go back to Bethlehem again. And I haven't! I've even driven 100 - 200 km detours in the past, just so as not to go to that town..
Tomorrow we go to Clarense. Tomorrow I go through Bethlehem!!!
Salagatle!
The call up was no surprise, as we knew it would come, as soon as you finished school, and all we could hope for was being sent to a reasonable place, and hopefully, with someone you knew. I got neither of these. Bethlehem is the second coldest place in South Africa in winter! And no one else I knew was going there.
I arrived on the Troop Train, with hundreds of other who had boarded with me at Johannesburg's then Rand Show Grounds. My hair hung below my shoulders, I had attitude, and an iron in my bag. I still was not shaving. Dammit, I was barely 17!!!
Disembarked at the station, they made us line up in three rows, and run to the camp. it was 4 am, and probably -5deg C! Are these guys completely fucking mental?
At camp we arranged ourselves on the parade ground, some idiot (The RSM) told us how useless we were, how he would break us down and rebuild us, how he was now our mother, father and girlfriend, (I wasn't too sure he would fit that bill, but anyway...) and how he would turn us into real men.
Then we went for haircuts, and everyone came out of that room a changed person. They took it all off!! Every last hair. It was amazing to see the conversion of some of the guys from long haired real mean looking types, to bald headed, meek and mild lamb!
So commenced my stint with the SADF, it would continue for a full 24 months, uninterrupted, and thereafter for 3 month camps annually. The annual camps were to go on for about 10 years, but I managed to get mine terminated after 5, but that's another story!
What I did do, when I was demobbed in July '79, was swear that I would never go back to Bethlehem again. And I haven't! I've even driven 100 - 200 km detours in the past, just so as not to go to that town..
Tomorrow we go to Clarense. Tomorrow I go through Bethlehem!!!
Salagatle!
Monday, June 11, 2007
My last manneaand
I attended what will probably be my last "manne aand" on Friday evening.
http://soufafrican.blogspot.com/2006/11/my-weekend-boeremag-and-bikers.html
While I was sitting there chatting to my mates, I spent quite some time looking around at the typical Afrikaner male, probably mostly farmers, mostly between the ages of 35 and 50. And I cam to the conclusion that overall, the majority are just plain overweight, useless has beens!! It was amazing, mostly boozers, beer or brandy and coke being the drink of choice, most of them dishing up copious amounts of food and eating all of it.... They had a "Big Mr. Bekker Hoer" competition with a prize for the guy with the biggest gut. Now that's maybe not so unusual, but what is, for me anyway, was that 90% of the people present were probable contenders, and the 10 or so that did go up on stage were quite proud of the fact that they have a gut which hangs down to their knees in some cases!!! Quite disgusting.
I made the comment to my bud that 20 years ago, had we been asked to go back into the bush and continue with the "war", I would gladly have gone in with any South African, but today, with these guys in the shape they are (I know round is also a shape) I may be tempted to join the other side!!!
It's a strange thing that for many years these guys were really fit, strong, proud of themselves. Many were probably rugby players, worked out in gyms, etc. How the hell do they get into a position where their girth is longer than their height! Surely there must be some self respect. Man, these guys probably can't even get laid as I'm not sure they have the strength to lift themselves more than once or twice....
My bud did say though, that maybe they are just too comfortable. For them, other than the actual make up of the government, nothing has changed, They still farm, have labourers, access to credit, drive fancy cars, etc. But, push them into a corner, take away all their daily comforts, and their true spirit will come to the fore. Well, it's a nice though, but somehow, I don't think so.
Salagtle!
http://soufafrican.blogspot.com/2006/11/my-weekend-boeremag-and-bikers.html
While I was sitting there chatting to my mates, I spent quite some time looking around at the typical Afrikaner male, probably mostly farmers, mostly between the ages of 35 and 50. And I cam to the conclusion that overall, the majority are just plain overweight, useless has beens!! It was amazing, mostly boozers, beer or brandy and coke being the drink of choice, most of them dishing up copious amounts of food and eating all of it.... They had a "Big Mr. Bekker Hoer" competition with a prize for the guy with the biggest gut. Now that's maybe not so unusual, but what is, for me anyway, was that 90% of the people present were probable contenders, and the 10 or so that did go up on stage were quite proud of the fact that they have a gut which hangs down to their knees in some cases!!! Quite disgusting.
I made the comment to my bud that 20 years ago, had we been asked to go back into the bush and continue with the "war", I would gladly have gone in with any South African, but today, with these guys in the shape they are (I know round is also a shape) I may be tempted to join the other side!!!
It's a strange thing that for many years these guys were really fit, strong, proud of themselves. Many were probably rugby players, worked out in gyms, etc. How the hell do they get into a position where their girth is longer than their height! Surely there must be some self respect. Man, these guys probably can't even get laid as I'm not sure they have the strength to lift themselves more than once or twice....
My bud did say though, that maybe they are just too comfortable. For them, other than the actual make up of the government, nothing has changed, They still farm, have labourers, access to credit, drive fancy cars, etc. But, push them into a corner, take away all their daily comforts, and their true spirit will come to the fore. Well, it's a nice though, but somehow, I don't think so.
Salagtle!
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