chess online
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 My experiences in South AfricaVryheid is located relatively close to Ulundi, a capital in the province. The king of the Zulu nation, Zwelithini Zulu, has a palace there, but also palaces at other places. Because of my job, I met the king before the honor was bestowed on me, when I found several arms caches close to one of his palaces. He was very interested in me, a young white man (boy) of 22, hardly capable of speaking Zulu, working with disregard on his doorstep. The reason is that it is good manners to ask the Induna (a tribal leader of note) of the area permission to enter and work there. I didn't know this, and was unfortunate enough to enter the area where the king (Nkosi) was also the Induna. I didn't realize that I was in serious breach of etiquette, and was rescued by a colleague who happened to come looking for me (this was before cellular phones). The king gave my colleague (a Zulu man) orders to teach me manners, which he set out to do. A couple of years went by. Then, one day, the king's luxury SUV was stolen. We have a specialized vehicle theft unit in our police structures, but these specialists couldn't find the vehicle after a week. The king took matters in his own hands and called on my commander at the time. My commander was already inducted into the king's Impi (traditional army), and was the third generation of family friends with the royal family. They know each other very well,and my commander was also given another honor: he was named Cetshwayo, after a great Zulu king. I accompanied my commander and several colleagues to the palace at Mahlabathini, where the king told us to find the vehicle. I remember he was quite agitated. My commander promised that we will not sleep until the vehicle or the thieves are found- such a promise is not lightly made to the king. Our whole unit of 19 men were committed to the search. It took us two days to find the vehicle; two days of non-stop work and no sleep, as promised. I was given the task of driving the vehicle back to the palace, but this time I knew more about etiquette, so I stopped outside, and announced myself at the gate. Then I settled down to wait the requisite period of several hours before I was called inside. At least this time, when I met the king, I could speak Zulu well enough to convey myself. The king asked me how we managed to find the vehicle, but in true warrior style I downplayed the difficulties and assured the king that no mountain was too high, no river too deep. We just did what he told us to. A couple of weeks later, my commander told me that the king summoned us. We were to appear before him a couple of days later, but no specific date was given, so I was on standby until further notice. By design or a bad luck, the king called us on one of the hottest days of summer, so I was dressed in khaki shorts, khaki shirt, sandals and my trusted Stetson (my pride and joy) against the sun, the usual clothing we wore when out in the veld while intelligence gathering. So there I was, 38 Centigrade, in the sun, squatting at the end of a long line of young black boys. They are all dressed in traditional clothing (the skin clothing that tourists see on NatGeo and postcards), and me dressed like a.... Boer, pistol on my belt, the only white guy, and older than any of the boys in line by 8 years and more! At last the king comes out, after a lengthy discussion with several other Induna and my commander, and a long ceremony follows. After spending most of the day in the sun, at the end of the ceremony, the first boy in line is given a calabash with umQombothi, a kind of beer made from maize and pumpkin seeds, and everyone in line takes a drink. Today, I still swear that the calabash was fuller when it reached me, than at the beginning of the line. Then, a big party followed. That is when I found out that I have been inducted into the Impi, and my commander paid the price for me for the privilege. I also was introduced to the king formally, and I got my Zulu name: Ntombintobi, the ladies man. The party lasted for a full day. At the end of the party, the king and I knew each other, and I was accorded another privilege: I could call the king Baba, meaning Father, when other must call him nKosi, meaning Leader/King. Now I am proud to say I am a policeman and a warrior of one of Spartan tribes of the modern world. I also have my own king, who I can call Father. I am obligated to heed his call to arms when he calls, but by now I will be a commander in his army, called Induna (Chief), although a young one. I am always welcome at his palaces and are accorded every honor. I don't know anybody else who drank the king's whiskey without fear of scrutiny by the public, and smoked the king's cigarettes, lighted for him by the king! (Oh, I stopped smoking more than 8 years ago). |
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FASCINATING!!! much poaching? |
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Poaching Poachers are everywhere in this country, and many come into reserves and private game farms along our borders from Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Swaziland and Zambia. I think our National Parks Board are at their wits' end. I volunteer with a group who try to catch poachers whenever we hear of something really horrendous, but these poachers are very good and our success rate is quite low. Apparently the Ithala nature reserve is devoid of life nowadays- we were discouraged to go there during our leave. All the game has been poached. I remember it as a reserve where I could see the big five within three hours of entering. There are other stories of success. New private game reserves and farms are being created daily, where animal life is being rehabilitated and thrive. So, the gene pool stays quite healthy and large, but it is in the hands of private game owners, not the State. Private owners then invest more in the security and health of their animals, because to them it is a source of wealth, so it is commercialized, but at least the wildlife is taken care of. You get two kinds of Mamba: Green and Black. The green mamba is mainly a forest dweller, and sort of limited to the eastern side of the country. They like to live in trees rather than on the ground, but they do hunt on the ground as well. They are one of the most poisonous snakes on earth, just a little less than the Australian Tiger snake and some kind of sea snake I don't know the name of. They are shy, but aggressive, very fast and well camouflaged. I don't face them by choice. The black mamba, now that really is something to avoid. Most snakes will rather avoid confrontation (ask any herpetologist, they will agree), but the black mamba will actively attack and hunt you down. I've seen it jump from tree to tree, a distance of 6 to 10 meters at a time, the body flattened out to make the most of aerodynamic principles. When they jump like that, their bodies make a sound similar to a wet towel shaken out before you hang it to dry. They are fast, aggressive, and never back down or try to avoid confrontation. They get huge- more than three meters, and there have been reports of individuals of up to six meters (I find that a little too much, like a good fishing story), and can stand up two thirds of their bodies when agitated, with a hood similar to that of a cobra, although smaller. A human can't outrun a black mamba, and a horse will be hard pressed to stay ahead for short distances. They are commonly found in savannah and occur almost everywhere on the continent. Strangely, though, with all these characteristics, they kill less humans than other less poisonous snakes. They are also on par with the most poisonous snakes in the world- I think all mamba's rate as the third most poisonous snakes. Just to put everything in perspective: The cities in South Africa are indistinguishable from any other city in the world, like London, Paris, Washington or L.A. There are no wild animals walking around in the streets. City folk need to travel quite far distances to get to see wildlife, in reserves or on game farms. What may be true is that there are a lot of conservation initiatives, and large parts of undeveloped land within city borders are being fenced, and rehabilitated and wildlife resettled. A little nature reserve with some antelope has been established within walking distance of my house, and I go birding there from time to time. There are also about three or four sizable municipal nature reserves around Pretoria, where I live, as well as several private game reserves. |
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Meaning of a word The Phinda Reserve is a great place to relax and see a lot of game and birds. It has lots of forest as well, with hippo, crocodile, and other game. The Big 5 also occurs there. It is very exclusive, and famous across the globe. |
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A big fight eNqutu is a rural area. The area we were really interested in was located around five mountains close to eNqutu. It is inhospitable and very difficult to penetrate. There are parts in the uMzinyathi valley (Buffalo river valley) where children of 13 has never seen a white man before we went there! They didn't know what a motor vehicle is! To them, a motorized vehicle was big magic. However, they all knew how to strip and assemble an AK47! To get into place, we were taken by truck as close as possible, then we had to walk between 20 and 30 kilometers to get into this area. The history of the fight in this area started like this: Back in the 1920's or 1930's (before Apartheid), one man sent his son to buy a chicken from a neighbor. We were using the British pound as our monetary system, so I'm not too sure how much money was involved, but let us say the boy had a pound to pay for the chicken, and the chicken cost two pennies. The seller didn't have change, and he sent the boy home asking him to come and pay later when he had change. That never happened... after a couple of weeks, the second guy realized that the other family had no intention of paying him, so he stole a goat to teach them a lesson. That quickly escalated to a stolen cow, and then murder, including families in the fight. Somewhere along the lines an unfortunate innocent was caught in the fight and killed, and some other families joined in, making it a three sided fight. It also evolved from a fight with assagais, kierries (clubs) and shields into a war with firearms. The start of a faction fight that lasted until 1996, when we ended it at last! Of course it was easy to get informers in such a situation: everyone was just too eager to report on the possession of firearms by members of an opposing faction. So, in November 1991, we were told about a big fight that was going to take place during December 1991, when all the migrant workers returned home, including eight factions, on the mountains of Hlazakase and Mpofeni. What I found strange at the time was that these men worked side-by-side in industrial centers and mines, protecting each other in Johannesburg and other cities, but back home they the became bitter enemies. All the informers were bringing us good information about opposing factions. It was going to be a fight of epic proportions, involving every male member of all the families caught up in the fight, that can shoot a rifle. Meetings were held between the Induna and Chiefs of opposing factions to establish the rules of engagement, the date and time, everything! The fight was so huge that we had to include the National Defense force in our operation, because there were just too many armed impi (warriors) on the day. We wanted to get onto the plateau between the mountains, to stop the factions from reaching each other, surround them and at the same time to stop them from escaping, and disarm them. (Like brigadecommander explained, the buffalo horn strategy, but divided down the middle). So, on the appointed day, there we were, 250 policemen and 1 500 soldiers, in place at 03:00 in the morning, waiting for the impi to walk into our trap. We were offloaded from army trucks the previous afternoon, and walked in darkness to our positions, about 18 kilometers away. Before you start shouting about racism and typical Apartheid mentality, I need to tell you that there were less than 70 white people in the two forces involved in this operation, and when we forwarded the information to Head Office, the decision to implement an operation was taken by senior black management in both the Police and the Defense Force. By this time the end of Apartheid was inevitable, and restructuring of senior management in both departments had already progressed far. The armed revolt had already been discontinued, Mr Mandela freed, and politicians were discussing the handing over of power to the ANC. This had nothing to do with Apartheid, and everything with safety and security. The reason why we wanted to disarm the impi, was because these weapons were used in other crimes as well, including murder, robberies, stock theft and poaching. We misjudged the mentality of the impi. As soon as they realized what was happening, instead of giving up and surrendering their firearms, they turned on us! They were surrounded and outnumbered but they fought like lions. That was a great example of the fighting spirit of a Zulu soldier. We were taken completely by surprise. This was not something we expected. The first shots were fired at us at exactly 04:55. By 09:00 we realized that we were running out of ammunition, and radioed our office in Vryheid for assistance. It was terrifying! Shots going everywhere, men screaming, orders given for attack and defense... Even with all the bureaucratic red tape between to different departments, the Air force loaded four helicopters with ammunition and flew into battle from Durban- located about 500 kilometers away. They dropped boxes of ammunition with parachutes onto our positions by 12:30. The fight lasted until 16:30 in the afternoon. The Impi shot at the helicopters as well, so the Air force was granted permission to mount .50 caliber machine guns whenever they operated in that specific area again. This was the longest firefight within the borders of South Africa. This was also a day that I personally got a great respect for the impi. It was not my first firefight, but is was my longest, and that day I had a taste of war and decided that war is futile. Since then I have a lot of empathy with soldiers in Irak, Afghanistan, and other places. I understand why they sometimes crack. We had a couple of casualties: my friend was shot in the stomach, a police medic was shot in the shoulder, a police special forces member had his knee blown away, and I was shot in the arm. A couple of army soldiers were also wounded. Several of us had broken legs and other bones as we fell over rocks and boulders during the early part of the fight, while it was still dark. (One soldier fell over the edge of a cliff and was found the following morning- alive, with a broken back and other bones. He recovered after months in therapy. He was surrounded by seven impi members, who attacked him. He killed them all, even injured.). The impi got off a lot worse: 37 impi was killed, and for weeks afterward we arrested faction members as they went to hospitals in the area with gunshot wounds. We retrieved some weaponry on the day, and the days following, but realized that this wasn't the route to go; there were still more weapons out there, and we didn't really make a big impact on the safety and security of the local population. Rather we got everybody angry because of our interference in their little dispute, so we made another plan later, but that is a story for another day. I bet you will find that one funny! |
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Update on the word Phinda |
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A harrowing experience As usual, the vehicles dropped us about 30 kilometers from our target at the mountain Manxili, and we had to walk down the mountainside, and cross the uMzinyathi (Buffalo) river three times. That means that we started walking at about 16:00 in the afternoon. It was not a question of surprise, but the vehicles couldn't get any nearer to the target. There is just no access road to that area. We reached the kraal at about 04:30 in the morning, walking through the night. A kraal as a collection of 4 to 10 mud huts, with thatch roofs, inhabited by a family. The family also claim the immediate area around the kraal for agriculture- pasture, and some fields to cultivate maize and vegetables; subsistence farming. We were on the eastern slope of the mountains, so although it was getting light on top of the mountain, down where we were in the valley, it was still pitch dark. We went to the doors in pairs, and kicked down the doors simultaneously; the evidence of the suspect's history indicated that he would rather shoot at us than surrender, so we wanted the element of surprise on our side. What a fiasco! The suspect was nowhere to be found! We all gathered just in front of the biggest hut of the kraal, where the Baba (Father) sleeps. This is the hut where we expected to find the suspect. As we were discussing what to do next, suddenly shots rang out in the semi-darkness. We all dived into the hut and slammed the door shut... and once again we were in solid darkness! That's when the suspect started taunting us, slinging verbal abuse. Because he knew he was a wanted man, he didn't sleep in one of the huts, but between the cattle and goats a little distance from the kraal. The noise of us kicking down the doors woke him, and he crawled closer in the darkness, When he realized that the Police was onto him, he wanted to put up a fight rather than be arrested, as we rightly concluded beforehand. He shot at us trying to kill us for invading his 'muzi' (house, homeground; English doesn't have a correct translation) and also drive us away. It was a stalemate. He had more than enough ammunition, but couldn't shoot through the walls of the hut. Most of the policemen had rifles of a similar caliber to the famous M16- too light to shoot back through the walls at the suspect. I had a heavier caliber rifle, but not a lot of ammunition, so I saved it for daylight, when I could see what I shoot at. Whenever we tried to open the door, shots rang out, forcing us back inside the hut. We couldn't get out safely at all. A full 28 hours passed this way, with us trying to get out, and the suspect not allowing us to leave. The area is so remote and mountainous that we didn't have radio contact. Off course, the suspect had the advantage of having access to water and food, but we were hoping that his ammunition would run out eventually. No such luck! It seemed that his store was like a bottomless pit. In the end, it was my wife who got worried and asked the office about my whereabouts. That's when my office realized that the whole team have not reported back to any authority. At first it had gone unnoticed because it was thought that the team would report to authority in another province, but after some inquiries it was realized that we were all missing. A crack platoon of special forces police members were put together, and they started looking for us in the general vicinity of where we were expected to be. They found us after another 78 hours; all-in-all we were trapped for a total five days. This incident showed us that even a group of 21 armed, trained and reasonably well prepared men can be pinned down by 1 person. His unfortunate end was less lucky. The special forces killed the suspect, because he even refused to surrender when he was surrounded and warned of his peril. Years after the incident, I still dream of it from time to time. I still realize that some or all of us could have been killed. We forgot that the possibility exists that the suspect would anticipate us, and nearly paid for it with our lives. It was not a mistake we ever repeated. Our tactics changed after this incident, so that we were never caught in such a situation again. |
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Adventure (Looking back today, I also realize that it was a carefully calculated campaign to make young men eager to join the army). On our arrival at the army base, the two San men were introduced to us, and we were stripped of all luxuries. Even my pocket knife, that I got from my grandparents as a present for the adventure, were taken away, only to be returned after we came back. We were kitted with overalls, rucksack and basic survival gear, and sent off into the wild. I'm not sure what the other boys thought, but that first night was so traumatic for some, that they insisted to go back home on the first morning. The rest of us continued further into the wild. The San guides firstly taught us to find water, and secondly to make a fire. We all had to be able to do this, before we went any further, because Namibia is a very dry land. Please remember, the land is not a big desert; there are different biospheres, and the desert itself is just a narrow band of land along the coast. Apparently it is the oldest desert in the world. However, we started in the bushveld, that although dry, had a lot of trees, grass, wildlife and birds. The adventure would eventually take us to the coast, through the Namib desert itself, but we had to learn to survive first, before we could go to such a hostile environment. We were taught how to trap guinea fowl, partridge and pheasant, rob ostriches of their eggs, as a source of food and to use the shells as containers to store and carry water, hunt for insects, small animals and reptiles, such as mopani worms, scorpions, different rodents and snakes as a source of protein, which plants could be eaten, used as medicine, contained moisture, and other vital things. Most of all, we learned to co-ordinate as a group. If we didn't, we went hungry and thirsty, until we co-operated again, when things just seemed to work better. What an experience! I was so proud the first time I caught a guinea fowl! We had dinner! Add in some plant material, and it was a feast! By this time we were sort of independent of backup from the army, who dropped food and water along our route; this help became less and less as we progressed, learned more and became more independent. We were steadily on the way towards the coast, water and food becoming scarcer daily, and we were hard pressed to survive. We slept under the stars, and we became one with nature. We learned to hear the music of the wild: the bleat of an antelope, song of a bird, bark of baboons, and the silent rustle of elephant sneaking past our campsites at night. Lions roared miles away, and it seemed to be just outside the light of our little fires. Lions roared close to us, and we roared back at them with gusto. Jackal and hyena tried to steal our meager supply of protein every night from within our midst, so we stood watch at night to keep them away. We learned that we don't need to eat steak every evening, but that we can survive on other sources of food. It was bliss! After about three weeks, we entered the desert proper, and there was no backup anymore. We only had ourselves to rely on. By this time we were taught to use compasses and maps (there were no GPS's at the time), and one night the two San men just disappeared. We knew where we had to go, and when to arrive there, but we were on our own- a group of boys between aged between 8 and 16, all by ourselves. All we had was the group and our wits, and the knowledge given to us during the previous three weeks. It was small comfort the we were obviously watched from somewhere, but no adults or guides made any attempt to make contact and help us. For all practical purposes we were truly alone. We persevered, and continued. We reached our goal and finished the adventure- we reached Sandwich Bay just south of Walvis (Whale) Bay and survived by fishing in the lagoon for two days. I'm sure we were hungry, thirsty and dirty when they came for us, but now, thirty years later, I don't remember that at all. What I do remember are the warm feelings I experienced, the laughter and camaraderie. I remember the incessant heat of Namibia, when I was in the classroom, and the extreme cold next to the coast when we went on holiday with my parents, but none of that survived in my memories of the adventure. What survived, was the evenings spent around the campfire; I can play the recorder, and one of the other boys had harmonica, and we made music and sung every evening. Today, I think back to that adventure with nostalgia. The young people of today experience virtual adventures on X-boxes, Wii and other technology; it is artificial and unrealistic. They do not get to know the silence of the desert, the music of the bush, and the elation of a meal self obtained and prepared. They don't know hardship, perseverance and brotherhood. True feelings are never experienced by themselves; it is all generated by modern technology, and from my perception, are confined to hate (violent video games) and quick surges of adrenaline, that are propagated as happiness. From my point of view, this is an empty existence. Children nowadays has lost contact with nature, and that little voice within. (I know I generalize somewhat; not all children grow up this way). I makes me sad to think that they don't get to know what I had the opportunity to experience. The young children constantly seek something more, but never find it. I know what they want, but they don't believe it. To them it is not cool to experience what I did as a youngster, but that is exactly what they need. Adventure. |
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great story |
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You should write a book, riaannieman |
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I considered a book |
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We still have adventure here.... |
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keep posting |
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Riaan |
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Peter Hathaway Capstick |
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My first hunt The first day of the hunt was utilized to fine tune the scopes on the rifles, and also to test my prowess with the rifle. I was found fit to shoot, and I got ready to hunt my first prey. Because we only hunt in winter, the morning was freezing cold. I didn't concern myself with the cold: a quick cup of coffee, with some rusks, and I set off in the darkness with a tracker to assist me. Because we lived in Namibia at the time, the tracker was a Xhoi man, hardly taller than myself. We walked what seemed far too long, hours and hours, because the area is very arid and flat. The prey could see us coming for miles, and they turned tail as soon as we approached. By 09:00, the heat was becoming oppressive, and by 11:30, it was nearly unbearable. Still, I never got to fire a single shot. We made a dry camp during the worst part of the heat, and continued or search after 14:30 in the afternoon. No luck! I was beginning to think that this whole hunting issue was overrated. By the time the sun set, we were miles away from the house, and slept in the veld. This was always a tradition as well- to come back home on your first hunt, without prey, was considered a sign of too little perseverance and an omen of bad luck as a hunter. It would never do. So, on the second morning, we continued the hunt, and it went quite the same as the previous morning. By the afternoon I was ready to call it a day, and admit defeat. I would take the ridicule and indulgent smiles from the grown men in return for a hot meal, a lot of water, and a warm bed. During the day the sun sought me out, it seems, to try and burn me to a cinder; at night, it was so cold my teeth chattered constantly and I found I couldn't sleep. This was not fun, and more than once I wondered how Livingstone in Africa, and Crockett in the USA, wanted to live like this. Hunting was for madmen. Then... we came upon a drowsy old ram. It was banished from the large herd by a younger male, it's mating days over. I could see by the horns that it was a good size trophy as well. The tracker immediately made me lay down. As a Xhoi hunter, he knew exactly what to do, and his experience was invaluable. I had to undress anything that could make a noise, or look different from the surrounding veld. I stripped down to a short- no shoes to crunch on the sand, no shirt to get stuck in a bush, no hat to stand out from behind cover. I was painstakingly told exactly how to leopard crawl towards the buck, and from where to take the shot. The tracker wouldn't allow me to make a long shot, because it was to be my first kill, and he wanted it perfect. He slowly pointed out the exact route I would have to take. At last, he gave me the best advise ever: if I'm not sure, don't take the shot. We can always try again, but to wound an animal would be very bad form. I had to ignore thorns, the baking sand, the sun on my naked back and sweat in my eyes. All my attention was on the springbok. When it lifted it's head to have a look around, I froze, sometimes for minutes at a time, not blinking, hardly breathing, even though my muscles screamed for release. The old ram was wily, and it took me the better part of an hour to get close enough for a decent shot. Time went so slow! Time went so fast! It was agony and excitement all rolled into one. By the time I was in position, the sun was nearly setting. Luckily, the sun was behind me, and the buck had to look into the sun to see me. It was a great shot! The Xhoi tracker was with me in moments afterwards, and he was ecstatic! I did everything exactly like he told me to. We measured the distance: about 45 meters! That is practically kissing distance! Now came part of a traditional Xhoi ritual: he prayed for the spirit of the animal, and thanked the gods for the flesh. Then he plucked the eye out, and made me swallow it! This ritual symbolizes that the hunter has respect for the prey, and also that you take from the prey it's good eyes. I was not allowed to bite the eye- it had to go down whole. In the ecstasy of my hunt, I didn't even worry about what I ate. I just did what he told me to. The buck was quickly dressed, and the guts left for the jackal and hyena. Then, I had to carry it back home. There would be no rest for me that night. We were very far from home. The tracker helped me, but I really had to do most of the work, also carrying my rifle. He would not let someone come across us, and see him carrying my prey or weapon. No, the mark of a hunter is to bring the food home himself. We walked for hours, through the night, and just before dawn, on the third day since I left camp, we arrived back. I was famished! The fresh liver of a buck is also considered a delicacy, and the men at camp took nearly all of it and made a hearty breakfast, while I skinned my buck. I remember how proud I was, when every adult commented on the exceptional size of my trophy, and the clean shot I made! I gained a lot of respect, and immediately became a man in the eyes of the adults. However, the last of the rituals was about to take place, something that I knew of beforehand, and couldn't wait to complete: a sliver of the liver was laid in my plate, uncooked. I had to chew the raw liver before I swallowed it, and then my transformation from boy to man would be complete. To swallow it down, I had sweet black coffee laced with some whiskey or brandy. (That was also the first time I tasted alcohol. I had to wait four more years for my next taste). I was a man! I am 42 years old now. That shot was made 30 years ago, this past season. In the meantime, I have reconsidered hunting. I don't hunt anymore. It has been 18 years since my last hunt. There are several reasons. I don't oppose hunting: it is part of the heritage and history of mankind, but I don't have the heart anymore to shoot an animal. In a lot of cultures it still is the way for a boy to become a man. Instead of opposing hunting, I fight to make the killing of an animal humane; we will not stop the hunting very soon, I think. In every country around the globe there are hunters. The best we can do, is stop using gin traps, wire traps, and other methods of hunting that is not ethical. Traditional methods of hunting that unnecessarily traumatize prey should be stopped. Prey animals should be chosen carefully. We have the instruments or technology to hunt in a humane way, and we have the intellect to use it ethically. We should do so. Besides, in South Africa at least, the best conservationists are the ethical hunters themselves. I hope and believe that it is so in other countries as well. |
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riaannieman |
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Riaan |
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The alternative to a big fight After THE BIG FIGHT, when we realized that another plan had to be made, we went back to the drawing board. We decided to start right from scratch, with a new approach, new attitude, and fresh ideas. We kicked it around for days, weeks, then months, but nothing anybody laid on the table would be effective. We collected information, books full of it, but we never acted upon it. We had to have a foolproof idea before we tried to disarm the population of Malankatha, Manxili, iMphofane, eMangeni and nHlazakaze (the five biggest mountains in the area) again. [Use google earth to see what that area looks like- it really is inhospitable and wild]. The sport I was involved in at the time, was parachuting. I don’t remember who said it, but someone remarked wistfully that our jobs would be much easier if we could just parachute into the area, like I did over weekends out at the local airfield…. and everything clicked. I mean, it all just fell into place. It was unbelievable. First of all, we devised an audacious plan, and then we had to pass it by the top brass at provincial, and then national, level. The biggest problems were that we were going to need a lot of money, and that we were going to use alcohol on duty. I suppose there was a lot of doubt and skepticism, but we were given the green light eventually, and got going. Being in the unit we were, we knew everybody. Remember, before 1994 the (Internal) Security Branch had to keep tabs on the unions and labor organizations, and as such we also had contact with several businesses. These included the local Coca-Cola depot, the local South African Breweries, most farmers, and pilots at the local airfield. A lot of these businesses were victims of crime that originated from the eNqutu area, and were just too eager to help us when we approached them. The farmers were all victims of stock theft constantly, so any help for even the slightest glimmer of hope, they would give gladly. Preparation took months. We had to get everybody on board, including the Stock theft unit, Firearms unit and business and we had a lot of preparation ourselves. There was another factor: we couldn’t trust the policemen at eNqutu itself. They originated from that area, and would most definitely warn their friends and family of our plan if we involved them. So, everything had to happen in absolute secrecy, because the local cops in Vryheid knew the members at eNqutu, and the Vryheid cops talk to the others at eNqutu….. Phew, it was difficult! Luckily we were experienced at keeping secrets, and swore all the others involved to secrecy as well. Also, the timing had to be absolutely right. It wouldn’t help to hold the operation during any other time of the year except middle December, when a lot of big business in South Africa closes for the festive season. That is when the men who are involved in the faction fights come back home, and take out their firearms. I just need to explain this, because my understanding is that the USA doesn’t enjoy this seasonal holiday the way we do in South Africa. It is the height of summer, and all schools are closed for more than a month, business close from middle December to middle January, and just about everybody is on holiday….. or involved in faction fighting. So, our plan was put into operation a couple of weeks before Christmas. First of all, we had a pilot fly us over the area for days, and we threw flyers out of the plane. Thousands and thousands of flyers, saying that the Security Branch of Vryheid was sorry about the fiasco with THE BIG FIGHT, and that we would like to make amends. We promised all the factions a free meal with lots of meat and free beer. All they had to do was meet at a local school with us, and we would provide everything. Now, remember that these people are quite poor, and the promise of free meat and beer was a great incentive to join the party. Before too long, we even started getting phone calls from Johannesburg, Germiston, Welkom and other towns with mines and heavy industry, from the men who couldn’t believe what their families told them. We just kept on insisting that they come to the party; we would provide everything. Off course, we also understood the African psyche. Most of the members at the Security Branch were black, as well, and agreed with our assessment. It seemed that our plan was going to work! Excitement ruled. Even the Provincial Commander came to visit us. This audacious plan was being watched at the highest levels! But this is a good place to break for a pause. I’ll continue in a week or two with the next part of THE ALTERNATIVE TO THE BIG FIGHT. |
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A happy ending On the Saturday of the planning, we got up early: at 04:00 in the morning, I was already at the school, busy making fire; well, I was the constable, most junior at the unit, and had to do the menial (read the least liked) labor. That’s just how the pecking order worked. The other guys got moving as all their responsibilities dictated, and by 06:30 I had three sheep on the spit, going at a good pace. The matrons of the police barracks in Vryheid had PAP and shebba going. It is a staple of Africa, made of maize meal, and a sauce of tomatoes and onions, with other vegetables and spices such as chillies, garlic, green peppers, salt and pepper. They prepared this in black cast iron pots over open fires, which I had to keep fueled…. off course. Well, so be it. I was taking care of the fires and the sheep on the spit. The South African breweries arrived and left us a huge supply of beer, and so did the Coca-Cola company. Simba chips arrived on the scene and left some chips, French fries and snacks, such as peanuts. Albany bakery brought us bread and buns. The Renown Chicken Company supplied a truck with a DJ to make music and provide sound equipment. Everything was set. By lunchtime, about 12:00, the first couple of men appeared. They were unarmed. By this time, we couldn’t second guess ourselves: I was the most well armed person from the police; I had a carving knife and a fork! Besides, it was also the height of summer, and I was doing a hot and thirsty work, so I kept tanked up on beer. By this time I already had quite a few, and keeping a straight face, I sent the men back to fetch their firearms. I told them that they had to put their firearms on the back of my pick-up truck, because when they got drunk, they were sure going to start a fight and we wouldn’t want that! A while later, probably spurred on by the smell of the meat on the fire, one or two of them reappeared with an AK47 each, which they duly deposited on the back of my pick-up truck. We handed them a beer each, and let them sit down in the shade. A few minutes later, another man appeared with a firearm, which I let him put on my vehicle as well, before handing him a beer. Soon after, we nearly couldn’t keep up! Everywhere men appeared out of the bush, all armed with automatic firearms. As soon as they left the firearms on my vehicle, they were shown to the tubs with beer, kept in ice, and were told to help themselves. We didn’t make a single arrest! Unbelievable! They just kept coming! We even had to send one of the guys to order some more beer from the SA breweries, which they willingly delivered! This was all going better than planned. The only prerequisite was that every person who joined the party had to hand in a firearm or two. Soon after, I started to dissect the sheep on the spit, and they all had lunch. Then it was time for the speeches. Now this is the part where I split from my colleagues. While everybody was listening to all the speeches, I quietly and quickly got into my vehicle, and drove like hell to get out of there. My commander could speak Zulu very fluently, and he kept everybody busy with jokes and a long soliloquy about peace, war, murder and faction fights, and the dawn of the new South Africa. Myself, I went straight to the police station at eNqutu with a load of weaponry. My 1 ton truck could hardly carry the load. Oh yes, I just have to add, that I never got anything to eat….. Some hours later, my colleagues started to arrive one by one. Apparently there was a disagreement about the fact that I left with all the firearms: the impi (traditional soldiers of the Zulu nation) was expecting to get the weapons back! After some half hearted promises to try and get the firearms back to them, they were allowed to leave. I think the impi realized than that they were outwitted, and my colleagues were allowed to leave the party. We off loaded the weapons from my truck, and started to book it in at the eNqutu police station. It is a lengthy process, because every weapon has to be made safe (take ammunition out of the chamber), recorded with the serial number, and be taken up in the register with the amount of ammunition in the magazine- we had to empty every magazine bullet by bullet and count every round. It took us hours. Now here is something that we found funny: during this time, one of our LDV’s was parked close to the safe used to store the weaponry, and the radio was switched on to blare out some music. At 20:00 we were listening to the last news bulletin of the day, on the provincial radio station. One of the stories mentioned that the firearms unit of Port Shepstone recovered a massive arms cache: two side arms, three magazines, a couple of rounds of ammunition, and a hand grenade. We were booking in more than 1 300 automatic firearms! It also included two Draganoff sniper rifles: probably the most accurate semi automatic sniper rifle ever built! We had 1 RPG pipe with two rockets! We nearly died laughing. Well, in the end this plan took two years from THE BIG FIGHT to fruition. It was a lot more successful. We managed to disarm the factions to such an extent that the police and civilians could go into the area with safety again. The back of the impi was broken…. over a couple of beers and a barbeque. No arrests were made, nobody was hurt or killed, nobody was antagonized (oh well, OK, the impi were quite excited because their firearms were confiscated), but eventually we managed to make the area safer for everybody. We forced that warring parties to the bargaining table, where their differences were ironed out, and that is when we were told about the origins of the faction fights: that darned chicken! We never knew! If only we were told before, any of the men at my unit would have been more than willing to pay for the bloody chicken. In fact, that’s exactly what happened. My commander paid R 35-00 (about US$ 6-00) for that chicken, and the fight just went out of them! As easy as that! A happy ending. |
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Riaan... |
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It was a bold plan |
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Blimey...... |
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Ian |
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on my last statement I need to correct an error |
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Hard work or a cool dip In South Africa, high school starts at standard 6- about age 12 or 13. In standard 6, being a junior, we had to do the brunt of the work on the school farm. It was tradition, and the older one gets, the less work one needs to do, until matrick (standard 10), when one had the privilege of delegating and only do work that needed some brute power. I remember that we all took off our shirts and did some impressive heavy lifting anytime a girl walked by, and when she is out of sight, we would sit back in the shade and relax, shouting orders to the young ones. To gain experience of all activities on a farm, we rotated every two weeks, from one part to the next. Our school farm included milk cows, a beef cattle stud, chickens, sheep, a piggery, vegetables, orchards, and cultivated fields with corn, soya, wheat, potatoes and other produce. In the junior years, we had to work the orchards, vegetable gardens and fields every day after school for three hours, pulling weeds and watering the vegetables. After about ten weeks we eventually rotated back to the animals again. We worked hard, producing enough food to supply the boarding school, and then some for local fresh produce markets. It was hard, backbreaking work, but we did it without complain, because we knew we would end up as seniors one day, and then sit back and enjoy while the youngsters did all the work. We had a lane of beautiful pine trees along the access road to the school, but these trees were becoming dangerous. They were leaning more and more every year, right over the road, and the fear was that one day one of these trees would fall on a passing vehicle and kill the occupants. We had do cut the trees down, and this then also included some heavy lifting, to take the heavy logs away to an empty field hundreds of meters away. For this reason, we older boys in standard 9 and 10 had to work there. I'm sure the young ones were very relieved to be rid of our constant ordering and interference. It was in summer, and very hot. The Magalies river flowed through the school property, not far from where the pine trees were, and we all wanted to go for a swim instead of carrying the heavy logs. The water was so inviting... My friend, Francois, made a bold plan. He was double jointed, and just waited for his opportunity. Suddenly we heard cries of pain and anguish! Francois was shouting like a madman! The teacher ran over to see what was wrong, and Francois showed him his finger. It was bent over backwards! But, because we were only just into the first hour of the mandatory three hours of work, the teacher couldn't stop the work, and told Francois to put his hand into the cold water of the river until the work was done, when he would be taken to hospital to set the broken finger. Within minutes Francois had his shoes and T-shirt off, and was sitting in the cool water of the Magalies River, laughing at the rest of us working in the summer sun. He kept not just his hand in the cool water, but his legs as well, up to his waste, taking a dip every couple of minutes. We were so jealous, but what could we do? Work, work, work.... Three hours later, the quota for the day was done, and the teacher called Francois over to take him to hospital. When Francois approached him, he had a terrified expression on his face. He held both his hands in the air, all his fingers bent over backwards into unnatural positions, and stammered:'Sir, Sir, now all my fingers are like that!'. The teacher fainted. |
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A grand old fishing trip During the summer holiday (it is about 25 days), my friends and I asked our parents if we could go camping in the desert. We did this quite often, riding out on our bicycles, and taking with us whatever we needed for two nights out. The desert started just a few kilometers out of town, and there were good camping sites close by. There wasn’t any dangerous game in the area, just some black backed jackal and brown hyena, which didn’t usually trouble us. Our parents gave permission, but off course we didn’t elaborate on our plans, and they didn’t ask…. sneaky! We packed the usual stuff, but also our fishing rods and reels- living on one of the best fishing coast in the world, naturally every boy (and most girls) had fishing tackle, and were accomplished fishermen at a young age. Then we set off on our adventure, on our bicycles. There were no such a thing as mountain bikes at the time, and BMX’s was all the rage. These were expensive, so we had a collection of thin wheels, back pedals, thick wheels, some with three gears, most with none…. We were about twelve boys and three girls, if I remember correctly. We set off south from town, not the usual east into the desert. We passed the salt mines (still easy going) and then hit the sand road towards Sandwich harbor. The going got more difficult, but we moved forward, and we were in high spirits and young, so we pushed on. After Sandwich harbor, there were no roads, and we headed into the wilderness. Distance had no relevance: we travelled according to sunlight, and being on the west coast, the sun set quite late. I don’t know how far we went the first day, but that evening we set up camp south of Walvis Bay after cycling the whole day. The following morning we forged ahead on our epic trail. On the second evening we decided to spend the rest of our camping trip where we found a beautiful spot, with lots of huge rocks to make camp, lots of driftwood, and enough vegetation to get water from during the day. There were also rocks in the sea where we could get bait. The first thing to do, was make water: we dug holes in the sand, lined it with plastic, crushed the leaves of a certain kind of brush called vygie (I believe it is now classified as an invader species in parts of the US), with an empty tin mug in the middle. This hole we covered with another sheet of plastic, weighted down in the middle with a pebble, and within three hours one would have a full cup of water. We also made mist traps with plastic sheets- at night the mist became so thick that it felt like rain: fresh water, if one knows how to get it! We were set for liquid, but now we had to get dinner! We all dived into the cold water of the Atlantic, and within minutes we had a variety of bait (most of which could also become dinner): red bait, mussels, clams, and red worms. Then it was a race to see who would haul in the first fish of the day. I wasn’t the first, nor did I catch the biggest or the most fish, but I did have a glorious time! We were all so proud to provide our own dinner, with much to spare; enough for breakfast. That night we went to bed with our tummies full of fresh fish, washed down with water. Because we never even entertained the thought of danger, we never set a watch. Our group consisted of children of various races, and we never even considered dividing into groups for the night. We all slept huddled together to conserve warmth, innocent in the ways of the grown-ups and politics. We were just friends having a grand old time. I long back to that age of innocence…. When we woke up, eagerly, for breakfast, we had a huge surprise: the jackal and hyena stole our whole catch of the previous day! There was no food! Now the adventure wasn’t so grand anymore, but we set off to the beach and got hold of breakfast. Then we sat down and planned our next move. We had to build a frame to keep the fish out of reach of the scavengers. That was hard work! We had to drag long logs and driftwood, and create triangular frameworks. We combed the beach for rope and string, even picking up netting lost from fishing boats that washed up. It took us the whole day to set the frames up to our liking, and I remember some fights during the day, mostly about hunger, thirst and the construction of the frames. Come dinnertime, we were tired and hungry, and the spirits were quite low. For a special treat, some of the older boys (me included) dived for crayfish, which we cooked on the fire. After a satisfying meal, everything seemed better, and the next morning all the fights were forgotten, and we were fishing again. By evening we had a good haul for the day. In this way a week passed us by. By then we were all eager to go home, and so we broke camp and ventured home. It was slow going, because we also took some fish to eat along the way- nothing ever got wasted. To preserve it, we smoked and dried it over open fires. It took us three days to get home. This is when the parents spoiled everything: they expected us back after two days, but we were gone for ten days! The police, army, even some X!hoi trackers, were looking for us! They had helicopters and airplanes out searching for us in the desert, where we hinted we were going. It was a huge fiasco, and one of the biggest hidings I ever received in my life! We were on the coast, miles away from our usual desert haunt, and our parents were frantic! What made it worse is that there were several terrorist attacks all over Namibia and South Africa during that time. Our parents thought the worst. All the children were given hidings right on the spot, out in public. Today I still think that the parents took turns to heat our behinds. I remember well that a colored friend of my father took his turn, because I took his daughter into danger! My father encouraged him! I couldn’t sit properly for a week, and all my privileges for the December holidays were revoked instantly. The same went for all the other children. No movies, no playing at the neighbors, no visiting or sleepovers… it all seemed so unfair after the hidings we all received. What made it worse is that we all returned healthy, without a scratch, and we couldn’t understand the reaction. We told them we wanted to go camping, didn’t we? They just didn’t ask the right questions, and we didn’t venture what they didn’t ask. When we met again weeks later, we all agreed that it was worth it. After that, things changed with time. We grew up, politics became an issue, we became conscious of race as we grew older, and my colored and black friends could go into the movies with me. Today, those policies seem such a waste of time. I still long to go on that fishing trip with my friends again. I wonder what happened to them all, and if we will recognize each other. I wonder if they also remember that fishing trip, and also long for those innocent times. I lost contact with them all many years ago, when we moved back to South Africa, but I still remember our times together. It was a grand adventure that I will remember forever, but the last that we were allowed to do without parental supervision. |
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great story!! |
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Poachers- real time 09:30: the phone rings. Graham Fry, the big chief of the group I volunteer with, wants to know if I can get two weeks' leave right now. I'll let him know..... 09:55: I get hold of my commander. I explain that I want leave. I'll go to the office and complete the leave form, and push it under his door. There is nothing serious happening at the office. My part in the big project of the year is just about done. I can go. Great! Sunday 2012-11-04 04:00. Graham picks me up. I have all my bush gear ready. We pile it all in Graham's pick-up. I have an Opel Corsa 1400 LDV, too small for serious bundu bashing, and no 4x4. He drives a mean assed VW Amarok, souped up (or pimped) and ready to take on the world. Graham gives me the background: three sable antelope bulls have been poached in Limpopo province. Each bull is worth about R 300 000-00. At an exchange rate of roughly 8,5:1 to the US$, that translates to roughly US$ 35 300-00 each. The game farmer has a suspicion who the poachers are, and has some informants out to locate them. We will hook up with the informers, evaluate the intelligence, and take it from there. Graham used to be with the crack special forces group of the Apartheid Government Defense Force, the Recce's. It is an abbreviation for reconnaissance troops. They were tough, highly trained, and were mentioned in the same breath as the world's best: Marines, Green berets, SPETZNAZ.... Graham runs several non-profit organizations nowadays. We arrive on the farm at 13:30, in time for lunch. It is a traditional barbeque, SA style. We braai (barbeque) T-bone steaks on coals from a wood fire, with pap (stiff maize porridge) and sauce made of onions, green pepper, chillies and tomatoes. This is going to be our staple for the next few days. There has been rain recently, so all the tracks have been erased. We are waiting for the informants to surface. They have gone underground to monitor the black market for muthi: the testicles, heart, eyes and other parts of the sable antelope are worth much in the traditional medicine arena. Monday 2012-11-05 08:00. It is a slow start. I drive around until I get a spot with 3G reception. I check the e-mail, stocks and play chess, and Skype my wife. She thinks it is a waste of time. The poaching took place on Friday, and she is convinced that we won't find anything. The spot with 3G reception is about 16 kilometers from camp. 16:00. The first informer returns. He found the testicles of two of the bulls at a songoma (traditional witch doctor/healer) that is widely associated with black magic. Time to get ready. Sable antelope are classified as highly endangered on the CITES watch lists. Being a police officer, my role will be vital. I will 'bend' the rules a little and search the shack. Then, when I find the testicles, Parks Board may enter and do the rest. We do not need a search warrant, because we have eye witness evidence that the animal parts are there, but according to our law, that witness will have to testify in court, and we are not going to allow that. The informer will be compromised for future operations. That is where we are bending the rules. 21:00. We arrive at the shack. I kick down the door because the sangoma does not want to open when we knock. The testicles are pointed out to me by the informer- they are preserved in a concoction that smells horrendous! I also find parts of white backed vulteres, another highly endangered species, and Bearded vultures, another highly endangered species. Clearly this sangoma has no regard for the law. This is an incentive to involve the Endangered Species unit of the police (my colleagues), and the South African Revenue Service (SARS). Parks board is already involved, so that is covered. They also now have the mandate to confiscate everything from this sangoma, and we can now legally search the house as well, not just the shack that serves as office. We do that, and find many more animal parts and plants that are illegally obtained and on CITES lists ranging from vulnerable to highly endangered. 01:00. I am questioning the songoma with the help of Parks Board officials and my brothers-in-arms form the Endangered Species unit. They don't know that I am a police officer, but let me take the lead. The sangoma is playing hardball, and doesn't want to reveal where he got the animal parts from. In the meanwhile, Parks Board members have taken samples of everything to a university laboratory for DNA testing. My friends from SARS arrives at 03:50, and they take no nonsense from the sangoma. These guys have cracked tough nuts in the past, and collected billions of rands from hardened criminals. I leave the room at their request and go to bed. Tuesday 2012-11-06 06:35. Wake up! We have a lead! The sangoma at last relented and gave us two names. We send the informers into a rural settlement, where white people are not seen often, to locate the two suspects. Now we wait. I drive the 16 kilometers to get 3G and play chess, check my e-mail and stocks, and Skype my wife. I'm also looking for a place to take a bath, since the last time I cleaned was Sunday morning. I am smelling quite ripe.... A friendly farmer, who knows about the poaching, lets me use his bathroom for 30 minutes. 23:30. After much needed rest, we wake up and gear up. I also take the hardware out of my baggage, and several bullet proof vests for those of us who are going to be in front. I am one of the biggest guys, Graham is quite strong, and my friend Thys Taljaard from SARS used to be a police officer as well, so he has specialized training and knows how to make a tactical entrance into a building the same as Graham and me. The plan is to walk into the rural settlement area with the informer, who points out the two shacks. We will kick in the doors, because if we knock it is possible that the poachers will shoot at us through the corrugated sheets. That is deadly. We already know that they are armed with a shotgun and an AKM47- that is the AK47 designed for urban assault. It has a fold-in wire stock that can be detached, and the barrel is somewhat shorter than the regular AK47, but no less dangerous. These poachers will not hesitate to shoot at us if they can. I have my private pistol (I left the official Police firearm in the safe), Grahams has a pistol and a shotgun. The SARS members are armed with shotguns and LM5 rifles, same caliber as the M16, but semi-automatic. Parks Board members have pistols, shotguns and R1 rifles; these are great rifles and a copy of the Belgian FN .308 military rifle. It is also what I prefer if I have a choice. Wednesday 2012-11-07 03:00. We kick in the first door and surprise the poacher. He sleeps with a loaded shotgun next to him, and uses buckshot and slugs. He also have a Makarov pistol and a Taurus .38 special revolver with him in bed. Good thing we didn't take any chances. He is alone. We make a quick search of the shack. We find R 25 000-00 cash (about US$ 3 000-00) and several animal parts, such as turtles (do the Americans call it tortoises? land animals?), snake and snake skins, chameleons, and several plants. Also some dagga (marijuana). We put cuffs on him and three guys walk him out. We go to the next shack, where we arrive at 04:20. Time is now against us. These people wake up early, and we hurry. We kick in the door, but the suspect is gone. The bed is still warm, so he can't be far off. Graham, Thys, myself and Stoffel de Jager of Parks board stay behind in the shack, while the other guys leave. We don't wait long. The suspect returns at 05:00. I can hear him complain about the tsotsi's (criminals) who break into his house just as he walks his girlfriend home. He speaks Fanigalo: it is a mixture of several languages used especially in the mines and other big industries so that everybody can communicate with each other. We have 11 official languages in SA. Thys also understands what he is saying, and nearly gets the giggles. When the suspect enters, we dive onto him. He has a Beretta 9mm pistol on him. By now it is light and we see that the serial number has been filed off. We arrest him and phone the others to come and fetch us with a marked police vehicle. It is too dangerous to walk in sight of the community with the suspect- we will be attacked to set him free. A black colleague drives the marked police vehicle..... white people don't come here. 09:00. The second suspect takes us to a rocky hill called a koppie, where there is a cave. We find his AKM, R 25 000-00, and several animal parts. Parks board and the university laboratory are having their hands full sending samples and doing DNA testing on all the samples we are collecting. Graham is backing up all his video material, while I drive the 16 kilometers to get 3G. As a former police photographer I also have a lot of photographs to back up to DVD. I am using my private camera to capture every scene. When I get to camp, everybody is sleeping. Graham left me a note: I am responsible for dinner. Also, the sangoma has revealed more information. The SARS people are excited: we may be onto and organized crime ring. Time will tell, but it may be appropriate to bring in the heavyweights. By 12:00 I drive off to Skype my wife and play chess. I go to a little village and buy vegetables rice. I am getting tired of pap and meat every day. I want to eat veggies! The men laugh at me. Real men eat meat! Thursday 2012-11-08 05:00. The informers has traced another poacher. He is not armed, but very sly. He is the tracker and does the reconnaissance and gathers intelligence. Apparently he is also involved in the rhino poaching syndicates. We have to get him! Later I drive to play chess quickly, check the e-mail and stocks, Skype my wife. She wants me home. I also bought mince and pasta yesterday. I volunteer to make dinner again. I add some leftover veggies to the mixture..... the guys complain about the veggies two days in a row, but I notice that they all eat with gusto and there is nothing left. Friday 2012-11-09 00:45. One informer returns. They have the guy under surveillance. We need to hurry! We get to the shack within an hour. Before I get to the door, the suspect jumps out a back window. Parks Board trackers catch him about 4 kilometers away. They are shining with sweat- the suspect is fit and made them run very hard. 06:00. At camp. We celebrate with a couple of beers for breakfast. Things are looking good. After breakfast, I drive the 16 kilometers to get 3G, and hopefully get a chance for another bath. The friendly farmer is not at home; no luck. I am smelling quite wild by now, because it is hot and stuffy. Rain threatens constantly, and the humidity is quite high. Not good. 14:30. We arrest another sangoma. We find what seems to be the brain of the third sable antelope with him. It is sent of the the lab again. If our theory is correct, this antelope is the younger brother of another that was DNA sequenced some time ago, and we should be able to prove the lineage. I question the sangoma diligently, and unearth several leads but nothing new pertinent to our investigation. He just leads us back to what we already know and who we already arrested. I'm not sure how truthful he is but I have two days before I need to charge him, and the weekend is on hand. I must charge him on Saturday morning. That makes it effectively four days that I can question him. Parks Board follow up, because it is peripheral to our main objective. We still need to find two more poachers, but they are from Zimbabwe. We have several people out watching known illegal border crossing spots, to head them off. They include policemen, Parks Board members, informers and Defense Force members. They are spread thin, but it is the best we can do. The informers are out again, trying to find the last two poachers. Hopefully we can get them before they jump the border somewhere. Saturday 2012-11-10 04:30. I am awake while the others still snore. I went off to a little shop (called a spaza shop or ghukka shop) and bought eggs, bread and some avocado's. I had to wake the owner to open for me. She lives behind her shop in a shack. Funny, the shop is a brick building with a corrugated sheet roof and burglar bars; she lives in a mud hut with a thatch roof and a rickety door barred with a brick. She is obviously very poor, so can't decide if she is angry with me for waking her up, or happy for the business. I wait for a decent hour to phone my wife and wake her up to Skype. In the meanwhile I typed this. Now it is back to camp to make breakfast for the men. They will be served eggs and toast with avocado, and leftovers from last night. I am heartily sick and tired of pap and meat! Hopefully I can get a bath later today. I can't live with myself any longer! Deodorant doesn't even have an impact anymore. I really want to shave as well. |
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very sad |
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