Diplomatic training in Malaysia - some observations on the "people of the south"

Kuala Lumpur

By Linford Andrews

From September till November 1995 I was in the fortunate position of winging my way to fascinating Malaysia, upon the nomination by their government, to participate in a Diplomatic Training Course for Foreign Participants. The course, held at the Institute of Diplomacy and Foreign Relations (IDFR) in Kuala Lumpur, was intended for junior diplomats from developing countries, particularly those countries of the South with which Malaysia enjoyed close ties. The presence of a South African on the course wascertainly a sign that we, South Africa that is, have come a long way in improving our relations with previously outspoken critics such as the government of Dr Mahathir.

The course had also been presented to ANC officials in 1993, and subjects covered included protocol, seminars on ASEAN, a course on group dynamics, international organisations, etc. While the 1993 course had mostly South Africans in attendance, the origin of the 21 participants this time around would have confused a cartographer a few short years ago ... Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Laos, Cook Islands, The Gambia, to name but a few! Languages that could be heard in social gatherings included Russian, Laotian, Burmese (or Myanmar as they prefer to call it) ... en natuurlik ook Afrikaans, en gelukkig kon niemand my verstaan nie, want dan kon ek mos skelm-skelm kommentaar maak(!) ... nevertheless, I digress. Suffice to say, we were from a total of 17 countries, which made for some interesting experiences indeed!

My first impressions of Malaysia were ... get me out of these clothes, I'm hot! Upon leaving Subang Airport in KL (as the locals refer to Kuala Lumpur), the stifling heat and humidity hit one like a lightning bolt! To add to it all, we were all required to wear Western dress for the lectures ... all smothered up in collar, tie and jacket is not my idea of "cool" when the temperature remains a constant 32 degrees Celsius! Nevertheless, one acclimatised very quickly, and the stunning exotic beauty of the country made one soon forget about the heat (as long as we had air-conditioning of course!).

The one thing that really struck me about Malaysia is how FAST it is developing ... construction work going on everywhere, and the existence of fabulous resorts such as the Shangri-La Tanjung Aru in Kota Kinabalu (Sabah, on the island of Bomeo) .... where our training group were taken to, and cocooned in six (not five, but SIX) star luxury!

Being a born-and-bred Capetonian myself, and knowing the "Bo-kaap" area of the city intimately, it also struck me that many of the people I came across in Kuala Lumpur could have stepped straight out of the Bo-kaap. The culture and dress of the Cape Malays still bear a strong resemblance to their Malay ancestors ... so nothing has changed over 200 years! Even the language bore traces of similarity: in the Bo-kaap the slang version of thank you ("terimah kasih"), which many Capetonians have assumed to be a Cape Malay peculiarity, with no real linguistic basis, IS actually a Malay expression ... and means "thank you"! Also, the slang for "excuse me", or "tamaaf", which is popular in the Cape Malay community, is actually "saya minta maaf' in modem Bahasa Malaysia (literally, the "language of Malaysia").

It was an irony that South Africa had a thriving Malay community, who somehow managed to maintain their ancestors' culture, while at the same time SA-Malaysian relations were virtually non-existent during the Apartheid years (with Malaysia being one of the most vocal anti-apartheid supporters).

Another impression, and I think the one that is strongest in my eyes, is the extent to which Malaysia has gone to promote its involvement in international affairs, mainly through ASEAN, APEC and its leading role in the East Asia Economic Caucus (EAEC), augmented by Malaysia's strong commitment to enhancing South-South cooperation with countries in Africa and Latin America. In fact, the diplomatic training programme I was on was an initiative from the Office of the Prime Minister, Dr Mahathir, as one of Malaysia's contributions to assisting countries of the South.

Finally, I have on many occasions been compelled to highlight the great similarities that exist between SA and Malaysia, and I would like to repeat them here: we both share a similar history of development, and the subsequent challenges to address our socio-economic problems (the New Economic Policy in Malaysia, and the RDP in SA); we both have (or had, in the case of Malaysia) the same linguistic/ cultural problems that seem to plague multi-cultural societies, and the Malays seem to have addressed this well with their efforts towards nation-building; and we are both middle income countries well on the road to fully developed status ...

On the whole, Malaysia presents SA with remarkable opportunities for cooperation and learning from each other's experiences. I certainly enjoyed the opportunity to visit there, and strongly recommend it to other aspiring young diplomats who wish to learn from a microcosm of that which represents the whole of Asia. At the very least, go and enjoy the fantastic cuisine ... a mixture of Malay, Arabic, Indonesian, Thai, Portuguese and Chinese influences!

Published in the Meintjeskop Courier, Volume 1/1996

The Jeddah story continued .... travelling broadens the mind / familiarity breeds content

Anita du Rand, Havana

Jeddah is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. One could be persuaded into believing that a desert is ugly and barren, and that there is nothing to write poems about, but Jeddah is a rare and beautiful flower in full bloom in the Saudi Arabian desert. It is not the dusty empty place I imagined it to be.

The city is clean and well maintained, the buildings on both the inside and the outside, exquisite. Marble floors and beautiful tile works grace wonderful old buildings and at a glance you know where a lot of the oil money is invested.

One of the most awe-inspiring sights is definitely the King Fahad fountain which was intended to be the highest in the g world, but which is surpassed by the Geneva fountain and, of course, one in the United States. The first time I saw the fountain, it was evening and with the wind blowing a spray like a woman's veil, the lights shining on it, it appeared more like a light blue door to another dimension,another world. (This description; a clear indication of my affinity for science fiction). I gaped in fascination.

Photography being impossible without prior permission from the state department, I immediately over- compensated with a collection of postcards, Some of the most interesting sights were the super modem statues in and around the city. I saw no statues of human figures, but rather objects. Examples of these being a whole fleet  of boats ranging from small to large in a circle, another is a pile of motor cars cemented into a block, again in the middle of a circle. Little statues that looked like a small city, no taller than a three-year old child, another, bronze sunflowers with a fountain squirting against them. Many of these statues were placed in the middle of a circle and I would have been forgiven for thinking that by some miracle, I had landed in Welkom with its numerous circles.

I, as a Christian Afrikaner girl, had had absolutely no exposure to the Moslem beliefs beforehand and suddenly found myself submerged in a different culture and religion. The song says, to know me is to love me, and this is exactly what happened to me where Saudi Arabia and the Moslem religion are concerned. I always classified myself as a good Christian, but you have a rude awakening when you see the true dedication the Moslems have in their religion and their adherence to its laws. Granted, I didn't always like those laws to be applied to little-ol' me, but I kept asking questions and from time to time realized why they were imposed on both foreigner and national.

I have no problem with "prohibition", and not being a "drinker", the lack of liquor had no effect on me. Mankind though, is resourceful and they have found a way to produce drink in a "dry" country. The classic drink "Sadici" which is highly illegal, is 100% pure alcohol, watered down to 50%, which one could then drink like scotch (on the rocks) or with a juice or coke. The first time you have some, it smells like ... hospital, but after the 2nd glass, you don't smell anything. Quite effective! One cannot drink too much of this at a time however, and part of the reason for it being so illegal is the number of deaths it could cause. After all we are talking about 100%  alcohol only being watered down! Wine, also an illegal drink, is made from pure grape juice and although not in the same category as KWV, is nevertheless a good substitute.

Women are not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia and given the number of jokes about women drivers ... oops, I am now really trying to crucify myself. No, I did not always agree with that law, but being a guest in another country and not having a car in any case, I was not really bothered by that. I do, however, have sympathy for the women being transferred there, because they are forced to organize other methods of transport. What I did find both illogical and funny is the rule that a woman, riding in a car, may not sit next to a man in front, if he is not her own husband. Wandering hands: You know’. A proper woman is supposed to sit in the back seat, on the right and side, out of reach of the rearview mirror and flirting, wandering eyes. On this same subject, no human contact may exist between a man and a woman not married to each other. Imagine if you will, taking fingerprints of a male without contact. I had to improvise by letting them take their own prints in my presence, sometimes only getting it right the third or fourth time.

As mentioned, ladies both young and old, married or not, aren't permitted to have conversations with men who are not their own. No contact whatsoever is acceptable, and the prohibition of entrance of ladies into a video shop is in part through their own doing and I guess ... part rebellion. After it was discovered that some young ladies would go around flirting with their eyes and leaving little notes in the empty cassette boxes for men to read and answer, it was added to the already long prohibitive list.

I really started to feel restricted standing on my balcony, watching my male colleague walking to the Gym, knowing that he could exercise, but that women were not allowed. Apparently the whole problem started with the photos taken of Princess Diana while exercising. On the other hand, I would also have enjoyed a languor in the pool, which, needless to say, was also forbidden and to which I couldn't really object, considering the bathing suits now in fashion. It did however make my stay in the hotel room all the more restrictive. In the ten weeks that I spent in Saudi Arabia, I left the hotel grounds on outside visits approximately seven times. I spent my days working in the office, reading books, writing my article and pacing the open spaces in my bathroom and room like a lion in a cage. Up and down. Sometimes barely controlling the urge to send books and computers flying off the balcony.

So much can be said about a situation that is both different  and frustrating, but an equal amount of my time was informative and enlightening. Being in the country during the month of Ramadan, gave me an insight not only into the differences between their religion and my own, but also into the various similarities. I, for instance, didn't know that their religion also included Abraham, and Ismael with his mother being left in the desert or that although the Coran doesn't read in the same way as the Bible, (in my opinion more like poems), it carries the same messages, like love thy neighbour, do not kill, etc.

All TV programmes were cut during the month of Ramadan and because of that, I was privileged to see what really transpires in the mosques, especially the beautiful Holy mosque of Mecca. No person from another religion is even permitted into the Holy city, and there I was, watching through the magic of television. I now know so much more. I know that the Bible as we know it, and the Holy Coran, carry some of the same messages and characters. That having another religion does not necessarily mean that we do not serve the same principles and ideas. During the month of Ramadan it is expected that all Moslems fast from sunrise to sunset. In order not to insult the Moslem people, we received our meals in the privacy of our rooms/offices. Although this sometimes seemed to coincide with unexpected visitors which had to wait in another office until we had finished our conversations or business with the visitors, we nevertheless chose not to offend, but to respect.

The difference of not being in a crime ridden country, like our own unfortunately is at the moment, and where the value of life is measured at a very high price, was obvious. The peace and tranquility experienced in Saudi Arabia could, to some people, seem to come at a high price, but nevertheless has merit. I could neither condone nor criticize the practice of beheadings for crimes such as murder and rape, of the stoning of people guilty of adultery or the chopping off of hands for stealing, but I could see the obvious effect it had on crime or possible crime in that country. I am sure that any prospective criminal would think long and hard before going into action.

The "Habaya" (clothing as seen on the photo with the previous part of this article) which I was so frustrated with sometimes, became second nature, and although it sometimes was hot and hindered me, I came to like it so much that upon leaving the country, I hesitated to take it off until just before landing in London. I missed it, and felt naked without it. Climbing stairs I would reach down instinctively to lift the hem, only to find that I wasn't wearing it anymore. Even when I got back to South Africa, it still seemed quite natural wearing it, even if it only was to parade around in my living room. It was basically just like wearing a uniform, and it kept me out of trouble (prison).

On the television, CNN was broadcasting news on the nearing month of Ramadan. The typical sounds of the call from the mosque announcing prayers were clear in the background, and as if in a dream, in a flash, I was back in Saudi Arabia, looking over the calm waters of the Red Sea, the sun orange on the horizon. Back on my balcony, taking in the sea breeze and listening to the words I now recognized and through which familiarity had bred content.

Published in the Meintjeskop Courier, Volume 1, 1996

Getting there is half the fun!

By Anita du Rand

 I have often dreamt silly young girl's dreams about Arabia and the beautiful outfits that the ladies wear in the movies, the wonderful riches bestowed upon them, never once thinking of the possibility of ending up in Arabia myself.

When the opportunity came, and I had read the post report, I declined, for obvious reasons: women there do not enjoy the western liberties that we take for granted in our own countries. I wasn't sure that I would be able to take that kind of treatment for a month, let alone six months. When they

came back to me, and requested me to go, (even after I had declined), as they needed a Foreign Service Assistant there urgently, 

I was on the horns of a moral dilemma. I like helping out the Department when they need me, and besides, willingness to tackle things others wouldn't dream of always looks better on a report. I still didn't feel at home with the idea of wearing the ladies outfit with the full face covering, long sleeves and a seam lower than my ankles though. It didn't seem right or fair to me that a woman had to suffer in such circumstances even though she was not of  that religion, neither from that country.

On the other hand, I have always been someone for new adventures and challenges and this was going to be a new mission with the usual high demands on the officers in charge of starting up such an office. I believe that my exact words were: "I must be crazy, but okay!" With that, I set myself up for what was to come.

The first thing I did, was have a look at the makeshift post report of Jeddah, and then the work started pouring in. Between brushing up on my knowledge of Accounts, I had to go to the Department of Home Affairs, finalise some administrative work and after the weekend, I readied myself and my luggage, carefully packing my "burka" which I had found at the Indian Plaza that Saturday in a shop called Nanna's, very near to Foxy's restaurant, in the basement. I had taken the outfit to the office and paraded it to everyone interested enough to pay attention. The excitement was pulsing through my veins, and although I thought I knew exactly what was awaiting me, apprehension mingled with excitement and even the heat felt under the outfit couldn't dampen my spirits.

It is always exciting to do something no one else has done before, and I was pleasantly surprised when one of the other officers noted that this was the first time that four officers were on the same flight to open missions in three different places. 

As I am egotistical, that kind of a remark always seems to please me. Although I am not the first Foreign Assistant to wear the gear, I at least have the honour to be the one to help launch this new mission in Saudi Arabia.

I started off with a normal western pair of slacks, but hidden in my bag together with my personal notebook, I had the GEAR! We were to fly by Gulf Air to Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, and from there onward to Doha in Qatar to catch a connecting flight to Jeddah in Saudi Arabia. The flight started off on the wrong note, departing haJf an hour late, and I silently hoped it not to be a bad sign.

Although we started out the wrong way, the flight went smoothly and just before descending to land in Abu Dhabi, I disappeared into the very small toilet cubicle and started dressing in what would later feel like a prison outfit. A sudden shyness overwhelmed me when I had to walk out of the cubicle, a full blooded Arab - or at least appearing to be one.

I peeked at my colleague and got a smile, while going back to my seat. As I mentioned before, we were four persons and the next one that saw me could only shake his head in amazement and point me out to his travelling partner. I felt impish. There I was, trying to keep my dignity, or what little

was visible of it, as only my eyes were visible.

 I felt as if I were a Giant, and green at that, and that everyone was staring at me, which was stupid, because these folks must have seen this sight more than a thousand times. My travel partner smiled at me too, and this did not do anything to relieve the tension. His being a Pakistani that had worked for years in Saudi Arabia, I would have thought him to be the last one showing amusement.

Descending from the aeroplane I kept repeating to myself that I had to walk looking down at the floor, that way you don't see any person so you don't nod your head, which is a gesture forbidden for women. I had to keep my hands to myself and not shake hands with anyone. I tried to subtly stay behind my three male travel companions, but they also seemed to forget from time to time, playing the gentleman in some situations.

Walking into the arrival hall of Abu Dhabi, in the United Arab Emirates, we saw a most beautiful structure in the middle of the floor. A beautiful pillar stretched from one floor below and mushroomed up to the ceiling, to arch behind us, connecting with the walls. Everything was

covered by mosaic tiles in blue with a shade of yellow and white here and there. As I stood behind my colleague, trying dutifully to look down at the floor and be inconspicuous, the heat started getting to me, and I wondered how long we would have to go before I could take off the silly mask. I was, it fell. exhaling and inhaling steam, because of the mask covering my nose and incubating my face. We received help and were taken to the executive lounge. It was a beautiful and cool resting place. Here again I saw something that I had seen on TV in Arabian sagas of slave girls behind wooden dividers. The dividers they used in the lounge were made of wood, and looked like beads and other shapes, carved and put together to form makeshift walls. Although they were see-through the purpose was not to hide, but to divide. To my delight, my colleague going to Riyadh advised me not to keep the face "mask" on, because no one seemed to wear them, and was I thankful! I had just been thinking that if I had to wear it ten more minutes, I would have started hyperventilating. In retrospect, how silly of me to even have thought that that had been a long time. Later, much later, my patience would be tried to the full with that ever present mask.

We were able to relax with a cup of coffee and magazines and later a ground hostess care to call us to board our next flight, going to Qatar where our next stop would be Doha.

Once again we were in the aeroplane, and were separated. No smoking was allowed on the Inter Gulf flights and the only thing that hindered me from sitting with my colleague was of course my gender. To my surprise some men came to occupy some of the seats in the "women's section" - later I realized that it was basically a case of men first, and men secondly also being able to sit in the "family section", there was no section for women only. The flight from Abu Dhabi to Doha wasn't a long one, it was 45 minutes from lift to touchdown. In that time, they rushed us through a pre-lift-off drink, another with the snack and a cup of coffee just before handing in our trays. I afterwards jokingly referred to it as "vacuum time". We basically had to gobble up our snacks very quickly to make the deadline for the folding of  the trays.

Coming in to Doha, the obvious differences of the houses fascinated me. They had, what I call, Jerusalem houses, typical flat block-shaped houses where you could literally party on the rooftop without toppling off. like you would on any conventional rooftop. The houses all had a desert-sand

colour and blended in beautifully with the background of sand, sand and desert sand once again.

There are very few trees and shrubs, but that is in any case what you would expect of a desert.

After landing, I decided to punish myself again with the mask in case this new country we were in now, was not tolerant to women who do not cover their faces. We were helped to an executive lounge again and while my colleague went walking around, I volunteered to watch the baggage. I was tired and unwilling to be confronted for "walking around alone or unnecessarily". Our colleague from Riyadh joined us for approximately 20 minutes, after coming in on another flight, Then I put my mask in place for the short trip back to the plane. 

We wished each other good luck and left.We were taken to a bus again, and I already got the hang of it. You see to it that you get a place to sit on the opposite side of the bus, wait for all the men to leave together and dawdle on behind them, all the time pretending that you are alone and walking at your own pace, but invisibly measuring your pace to theirs and keeping your distance.

For once, my fellow colleague and I were both in the "family section" of the plane and sitting next to each other. At last there was someone to talk to. We had a pleasant two and a half hour flight and were we wrong for thinking that the journey at last had come to an end, when we got off the plane.

All that was left now for us to do, was to get through passport control and then, in just a few minutes we would be lying in a steaming bubble bath with music softly playing and our toes curling in pure enjoyment and relaxation ... or so we thought.

We were accompanied to an office in the airport, and this office ended up being our prison for the next five hours. We were treated kindly and although I was able to try and locate our suitcases we were compelled to sit there for the entire five hours.

I decided to go looking for our suitcases, with my mask intact since getting off the plane, and went to stand next to the conveyer belts. I didn't stand there long when an old man started taking suitcases off the belt and started packing them next to the conveyer belt machine, on the floor. When it became apparent that he was going to take down every suitcase in plain sight, and that I was standing right where he planned to set down some two-hundred odd suitcases, he gestured in what seemed to me, a very rude way, that I had to get out of his way. I stood back, and started looking at the names on the suitcases, looking for my colleague's luggage, although I had no idea what they looked like. After finding two suitcases as well as my own, I returned to watch over our hand luggage while he had a turn at stretching his legs and looking for the trunks still to come.

We sat around in the office of the Passport officer and every time we thought that they would now give me a visa, temporary or what not, they got in some other officer who decided differently. I was boiling hot underneath that outfit, and was starting to really go "bonkers" underneath. They brought us tea, and seeing that the office was a glass cubicle, and in plain sight of the public and police parading around, I tried to lift the veil for a sip of black tea, carefully trying to manoeuvre the cup between my face and the mask. Much later, giving it up for a bad job, I sat, eyes turned down holding the cup of tea, not knowing how the ladies ever managed to drink or eat. Much later, deciding that I would attack anyone if I couldn't take off the mask, I slipped it down, and started to drink the cold sweet black tea.

Wanting badly to sleep and knowing that it would be rude, I had to struggle through what seemed like a thousand one-second nod-offs, with my colleague also visibly trying to stifle some yawns. Even later they suggested I go back to where I came from, as it was apparent that I would not be let into the country. I sat there like a stiff dress-dummy deciding that no matter what, I would not panic, somehow we would be able to get that visa for me.

After the torture had gone on for what seemed to be the longest five hours in my life, where every new person walking into the office with new ideas on how to solve the crisis, meant prolonging the torture, even I started to think it better that they send me back or at least to London, until I could get the visa that had been issued even before we departed from South Africa. Just as I was ready to give it up as a bad job, they came in again with my passport and we were set to leave.

The porter that checked our luggage between helping other people, was happy to ask a fee for a full five hours of work, although he only watched the baggage in between receiving money for other jobs. We were bundled into a mini bus, and dutifully and without asking, I climbed into the back seat, leaving room for my colleague in front of me. Thinking ourselves to be on our way, we had to sit for what seemed like another half-hour, before another man was settled into the minibus, going to the same hotel.

Two half asleep zombies climbed out at the hotel and entered to book in. We did not have much strength left for any more hassles and to our relief, the booking-in took very little time and we were shown to our rooms. What I exactly remember of the rooms that first night was preciously little.

That night I fell into a deep sleep and was shaking when the phone rang the next morning, startling me to some level of awareness.

As we had arranged to be up and out at 08:00, I was surprised to find my colleague had overslept. While waiting for him to get ready for our first day in Jeddah, I took a look around. Our two rooms plus a third (inhabited by someone else) could be closed off by a double door. In the same shade of off-white and pink also visible, through an arch on the other side of this short passage, was a kitchenette, a diningroom with a six-seater table and a lounge with enough seats in a U-shape for approximately 20 odd persons.

When my colleague left his room, we descended in the elevator to the breakfast room. Upon entering the diner, I saw tables occupied by men only, and behind a wooden divider, some families. After taking place in the "family” section, we ordered breakfast. While waiting for my food, I saw a western lady and her little girl and went over to introduce myself and have a friendly chat with the purpose of finding out from her point of view, what exactly I was to expect in this country. She was a very friendly Danish lady, married to an American businessman. After she had given me some useful tips, I said goodbye to her, and we went our different ways.

With breakfast finished, my colleague went looking around in the city and I returned to my room. I was to man the phones, seeing that I couldn't go anywhere in any case. I was able to sit on my bed, and type on the computer, which I had placed on the bedside table. Not the easiest position to type from, but the only place available. The room being very small, I tried to go out on the balcony. There was a space of about 1,5 by ,9 square metres, in which I could stand. From there I had my first glimpse of the Red Sea.

After deciding that the hotel rooms were too small and that the hotel couldn't give us larger rooms due to the fact that bookings were filled up for the Ramadan time, we decided to look toward the Intercontinental Hotel, next door. My colleague went to negotiate affordable prices for rooms and

that afternoon we booked into the Intercontinental Hotel. My room twice as large as the previous one, with less in it. Instead of two beds, we had one King-size bed in each room. Also, the balcony was large enough to take out the chair and little table and sit on the balcony at any time. Seated, however, the balcony wall would obstruct the magnificent view of the Red Sea, now just beneath my balcony, and with only a double road in between. I just love the sea.

That night, I stared in amazement at the happenings on the beach. There were camels walking and running in circles. A motorcycle, of the scooter kind, fitted with a canopy and Christmas type of lights had been doing circuits the whole day and at about 3 o' clock in the morning, this ritual was still continuing. There were some horses too, and a brightly lit kiosk. It was wonderful just watching them going round in circles and their lights blending in with the backdrop of buildings visible from vantage point, on the other side of the cove. The mosque on my right -hand side, also on the beach,

beautiful in its snow white paint, started calling to its congregation for one of their five daily prayers.

50th Anniversary of the first meeting of the UN General Assembly

Former Ambassador DB Sole 

 Fifty years ago the first ever session of the United Nations General Assembly met in the Methodist Central Hall, Westminster, a venue which had been requisitioned by the U.K. Government as it was the only building in central London undamaged by wartime bombing and large enough to be adapted for the General Assembly purposes. (The church congregation were obliged to hold their services in the Coliseum Cinema and the Vaudeville Theatre for the period during which their

church premises were under requisition.)

Of the members of the South African delegation which attended that first session, there are today two survivors, Dr Brand Fourie and myself. As one of the surviving delegates I was invited to attend the 50th anniversary celebrations in London. Being a pensioner I asked the Department of Foreign Affairs whether it would assist me in finding the wherewithal to fly to London, e.g. by  making available some of the free mileage earned by Departmental officials under SAA's Voyager

programme. As the anniversary would commemorate a very historic event, which was part of the Department's history, I had no reservations in making the request.

In the event the Department rejected the request and I decided to abandon the projected visit to London.

By sheer chance, the Vice President International of a multi-national corporation headquartered in the United States and with important interests in South Africa, came to hear of the Department's rejection of my request, while he was on a visit to this country. On his return to the United States he arranged for me to receive a grant from corporation funds more than sufficient to meet the cost of my airfare.

Although there were certain programmes on other days, the main celebration was on the 10th January, 1996, 50 years after Prime Minister Attlee had opened the first meeting. The celebrations began with a candlelight vigil conducted outside Methodist Central Hall with prayers for peace led by the presiding Minister at Methodist Central Hall and concluding with short addresses by Earl Howe (better known as Sir Geoffrey Howe, formerly Foreign Secretary) in his capacity as President of the

United Nations Association of Great Britain, by the President of the Methodist Conference and by Mr

Boutros Boutros Ghali, who then unveiled a plaque commemorating the 50th anniversary. There was a crowd of about 500 assembled in the street and I talked to two ladies who said that as young girls they had attended the opening ceremony as members of the public seated in the public gallery. There followed a reception in an ante room to Central Hall where I had chats with the UN Secretary General, Earl Howe, the President of the Conference, the Mayor of Westminster and other

dignitaries. Mr Boutros Ghali told me that he had been a professor of international law at Columbia University in the 50s at the time that I was head of the SA Mission to the UN. The reception was followed by a magnificent concert in Methodist Central Hall which was completely  packed out. The concert programme featured the Milton Keynes Symphony Orchestra and the London Welsh

Choir, the highlight of which was the rendering of the Ode to Joy from Beethoven's 9th. The evening included a parade of the flags of the UN member states, the South African flag being carried by the son of a South Africa House official.

I subsequently discovered that I was the only delegate to the 1946 General Assembly to come to the 50th anniversary celebrations from overseas. An old friend dating from the first General Assembly, Sir Brian Urquhart, was to have flown in from New York but his flight was cancelled as the result of New York's second snow blizzard. One member of the original UK delegation (Mr Archie  Mackenzie) was also present - I remembered his name but did not have the opportunity of meeting him at the function - plus a few members of the locally recruited UN secretariat which had serviced the first General Assembly.

A few days after this function I addressed, at a reception given in SA House, a number of members of the UN Association of Great Britain, including a group of 50 who had visited South Africa last year. I spoke about the first session and the UN in its early days, with comments and anecdotes based on my UN experience. The talk was very well received.

It was for me a deeply appreciated opportunity to attend a unique occasion, filled with nostalgic memories.

Published in the Meintjeskop Courier, Volume 1, 1996 

The Danger of Talkativeness

Former Ambassador JH Selfe

Translated from Afrikaans

Diplomats are people who are people who are never to say the wrong thing – even to the extent that if someone makes a mistake, he will often hear that what he had said was “undiplomatic”.

 In his professional career, and especially when he is serving abroad, the diplomat must naturally be very cautious, because it is always possible that if he is at a social function or any gathering of people in public, there may be a hostile journalist or tale-teller within hearing range listening in to every word; and if he says anything to the detriment that such a person could use, or rather misuse, to his country’s detriment, it is no use to claim that the remark was not official, or made in his private capacity.

A diplomat is simply always “on duty” and the “private” story is no excuse, unless he tells a journalist something explicitly “off the record”. The best advice is rather to listen than speak. In fact this applies elsewhere in diplomatic life, because then the chances are better that you will not say anything “undiplomatic”.

Yet it does sometimes happen that an experienced diplomat can make a mistake like this by saying a word or two too many. It also happened with me, and in fact in our own country when I already had a lot of experience and should have known when to stop talking. The occasion was a cocktail party held by Lord Dunrossil, then First Secretary at the British Embassy, and attended by many Cape Town party-goers. At a certain stage after an hour or so and having downed a few drinks I found myself in the company of a group of guests including Mr JJJ Scholtz. He was then chief political writer of Die Burger newspaper.

The others moved on and for a while the two of us were alone. He then asked me what sort of person this Mr Burger was whose appointment as Ambassador in Brussels had just been announced (1961). Now I knew Albie Burger very well, better than most of my colleagues, because I had served with him, or rather worked under him, for my first three years abroad.

They included difficult times just after the War, but one could always count on his helpfulness and co-operation. For this reason and also others I had a very high opinion of him and did not hesitate to praise him and expressed the opinion that this was a very good appointment. I added that this was not the usual single ambassadorial post, as the Ambassador in Brussels was also responsible for our relations with Luxembourg and with the new European organisations such as the European Economic Commission and Euratom. I was convinced that this person could carry out these duties well and would provide the necessary prestige to our relations with Belgium itself, which was after all one of our “countries of origin”.

Now that was the answer to Mr Scholtz’s question and I should, of course, have stopped there – it is another cardinal principle to say no more than you are asked. But no, this experienced diplomat had something else to add, along the following lines:

“And speaking of our countries of origin, it is odd to me that in the Netherlands which in that respect is the closest and most important for South Africa, we are prepared to appoint someone directly from politics. Mr Rust is probably a loveable old ‘omie’, but certainly no diplomat.”
To which Mr Scholtz immediately replied:
”Man you are dead right. He is my father-in-law.”

Well, no official secret had been exposed, nothing of international importance, but for me personally what I had said could just as well been something of that nature. I felt so ashamed! Mr Scholtz just laughed and indeed congratulated me on my  description which was spot on. He also never as far as I know, mentioned this in any article, but for several months I had a new insight into the fate of Damocles of old!

Published in the Meintjeskop Courier, Volume 1/1996.

A terrible diplomatic gaffe

Former Ambassador John Selfe  writes

Foreign Minister Eric Louw

It was August 1956. Those of us who had been on Parliamentary duty at the Cape were back in Pretoria, and I had just been given news of my posting to London as a Second Secretary, when I was called in by the then Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Bob Jones, for a "special assignment". With me was Derick de Villiers, then in charge of the Department's Africa Section; but he was to leave his Africa work, and I my Economic Section temporarily, both to work full-time on the logistics of the State Visit of the President of Portugal, who was to be in South Africa for three days at the beginning of September. He would be spending a much longer time than this in Mozambique, and our directive (privately) was to ensure that anything the Mozambicans did, we would do better! 

Derick took on the responsibility for the visit as a whole, during which he would be attached to the Portuguese party as a sort of civilian aide-de-camp along with the two uniformed officers similarly attached. I was to take on the State Banquet, everything from sorting out the guest list and seating-plan (for 600) to getting the menu correct in three languages and having adequate cooking facilities installed in Pretoria's City Hall. There was of course music, with an orchestra conducted by Edgar Cree, and one of the first completed details was the music programme, decided upon in consultation with Paul Bothma of the SABC, mainly over the telephone between Pretoria and Johannesburg. 

This was submitted to the Foreign Minister, the late Mr Eric Louw, and some days passed before he found time to have a look at it. When he did, he gave it his somewhat reluctant approval, suggesting that it should include rather more music of a typically South African character. A Ministerial suggestion is a command to a Second Secretary, so something had to be done, and at once, since by this time, the eating-and-drinking part of the menu had also been approved, and the whole thing, with the music programme as its last page, had to be sent without delay to the Government Printer. 

I got hold of Mr Bothma on the phone once more, and he promised to make some suitable changes and ring me back. It was no great problem, and within twenty minutes, he had telephoned again with his proposals: to eliminate two of the original light-classical items, and replace one with a selection of popular South African tunes, the other with the traditional "Vat jou goed en trek, Ferreira". 

I thanked him, wrote in the changes, and drove straight down town to reach the Government Printer at literally the last possible moment before he completed setting-up he menu as a whole. It was already the last week before the visit, and I had so many more details still to finalise. 

The guest lists and seating-plans came back from the printer's on the Thursday, to be gone through with the utmost care to ensure that no one was omitted or wrongly placed, and with them the 600-odd menus neatly and nicely printed. In fact, I was so proud of the finished product that I sent one specimen through to the Minister's office in the afternoon for him to have an advance look at. 

Soon after he had come in to the office at eight on Friday morning, Derick de Villiers was summoned by the Minister, and what transpired he described in more or less the following terms. Mr Louw glared at him across his desk and asked if he was responsible for all the arrangements for the presidential visit. Derick said he was. Did that include the banquet arrangements, including the menu? It did. And who then had actually drawn up the programme of music? Derick explained that the items had been selected in consultation with the SABC - upon which the Minister told his secretary to "Get me Gideon Roos", and while waiting for the call to come through, shot Derick to ribbons with a barrage of harsh language in which "incompetence" and "idiocy" rubbed shoulders with "subversion" and "sabotage". 

Having not even seen the menu or music programme at that stage, Derick simply sat bemused, and then listened as the deep voice over the phone from Johannesburg acknowledged that, yes, it was Gideon Roos, and yes, the SABC had been glad to cooperate with the music programme - only to be overwhelmed in mid-flow by the same fire of withering words. He too had no idea what the trouble was all about, how he was supposed to have sabotaged Portuguese-South African relations; but listening in, Derick finally got the message: in studying the menu at his leisure at home, the one example I had so proudly sent him, Mr Louw had noticed the inclusion of  "Vat jou goed en trek Ferreira" (“Take your stuff and buzz off, Ferreira”)- and realised that the presidential party included no less than four members with that name! 

Having so spectacularly "blown his top", the Minister's instructions were simple: eliminate that item; but how to do so was now my problem. My first desperate call was to the Government Printer, only to learn that there was nothing that could be done there - they were fully occupied that day, they did not work on Saturdays and Monday (the day of the Banquet itself) was Settlers Day, so they would be closed for the public holiday too. 

A few other possibilities were considered and rejected, and in the end, five Cadets in the Department and I, each armed with a bottle of black ink and a thick pen, spent a large part of the Saturday morning literally "eliminating" the offending musical item and trying not to make too much of a mess of the menu in the process. 

In their "amended" form the menus were in place in front of all the guests when they sat down in all their finery at the City Hall on Monday night. There was a longish wait before the presidential party eventually came into the main hall on cue, to a specially-written fanfare, a wait spent in the usual desultory conversation over a glass of sherry, as the guests found who their companions at table 
were or recognised their friends. 

But the obvious and most persistent topic was naturally the thick black line through an item on the music programme, with all sorts of theories being aired about the reason, and people holding the print up to the light to try and see what had been obliterated. 

It continued to be a talking point throughout the meal, and one guest commented afterwards that she had found it odd how often her companion at table kept drawing her attention to the fact that the orchestra were only now playing such-and-such a number, so that it was obvious that the programme as printed would have been much too long and had simply had to be shortened. 

The lady happened to be Derick de Villiers's mother-in-law, who of course had no knowledge then of the drama; but her neighbour certainly did - he was Gideon Roos, doing more than he needed to cover up. The actual "cover up" had not been totally effective and there were undoubtedly some menus on which "Vat jou goed en trek Ferreira" could have been made out by a searching eye. The identity of the missing number did in fact become known to representatives of the press too. But they and everyone else who found out were good enough to keep quiet and spare our embarrassment, and it was ten days or more later, when the highly successful visit was safely over and done with before I saw in an Afrikaans newspaper column a good-humoured reference to the terrible gaffe that someone had made and which had necessitated so drastic a last-minute rescue effort. Whether any of the visiting Portuguese would have noticed and taken offence, to the detriment of our relations with Portugal, I do not know; but it does seem that even in its use so many years after first becoming known, "Vat jou goed en trek Ferreira" could not be entirely free of controversy.

Published in the Meintjeskop Courier 1/1996

Flag ceremony at the United Nations offices in New York

Allen Shardelow, New York

Recent events at the United Nations have indeed been historic from South Africa's perspective.

The old "apartheid" South African flag was lowered for the last time at the United Nations on Tuesday. 26 April 1994. On Wednesday. 27 April 1994. the new flag was raised in the presence of South Africa's Permanent Representative to the United Nations. Ambassador Jim Steward. Mr Reggie Khumalo (PAC Ollef Representative to the UN). and Mr Kingsley Makhubela (ANC Deputy Chief Representative to the UN). The event was marked by much  brotherly hugging and back-slapping.

Those colleagues who have served at the UN in the past. and certainly those currently stationed in New York, must surely have wondered at how the UN environment had changed. Erstwhile enemies were now standing arm in arm witnessing the birth of the new South Africa on the very ground of the Organisation that had once declared "Apartheid a crime against humanity" .

Their task completed, the lights are out and the shutters drawn at the ANC and PAC Observer Missions to the United Nations. The former Chief Representative of the ANC to the UN. Mr Tebogo Mafole, returned to his former stamping grounds on 25 and 26 May 1994. as part of Deputy President Mbeki's delegation to attend the Security Council meeting which lifted the mandatory arms embargo against South Africa. At that meeting. the delegation sitting behind South Africa's name-plate in the Security Council comprised Deputy-President Mbeki, Deputy Minister Aziz Pahad, the Director-General Mr I..H Evans, Mr T Mafole and Ambassador Jim Steward.

The final step in our reintegration into the UN took place on 23 June 1994 when South Africa's delegation to the United Nations. led by Foreign Minister Alfred Nzo, took South Africa's seat in the General Assembly to warm applause from the delegates of 184 nations. Mr Mafole was again present. He just cannot seem to stay away.

The task ahead for the Permanent Mission at the UN is an enormous one. We have taken our place in the various regional groups (NAM. Africa Group and the Group of 77), and now have to ensure that our views on a plethora of international issues are heard.

Everybody at the United Nations is an observer. Image and association are all important. News of who was seen in whose company is furtively exchanged in the corridors while the subject of their conversation is speculated on. South Africa's diplomats will not escape this scrutiny. Much will no doubt be said and speculated on as we go about our task of being an African country while attempting to maintain our bridge to the Western World.

Interesting and challenging times certainly lie in ambush.

Meintjeskop Courier, Volume  II, 1994