How I was offered the Order of the Bath

This one I am going to keep short, for I blush even now at the memory.

COMDT MIKE MALONE

Meintjeskop Courier No date provided

On arriving in Hong Kong as our first Consul-General in 1967, I found the Mainland Chinese and the British rulers - of that mini-Colony at loggerheads. 

The Chinese were in the throes of what they humorously referred to as the "Cultural Revolution" (which,as far as I could make out, consisted mainly in cutting off the heads of their opponents in a cultivated manner) and were not too happy at seeing "white-skinned pigs" - their respectful term for the British - in control of Hong Kong. Well, that was their concern and not mine.

However. it became my concern in an intimate fashion when, in pursuance of their anti-British policy, they craftily threatened to cut off the water supplies from the Chinese Mainland to the Colony. 

Sensibly deciding to nation supplies of that precious fluid, the authorities in Hong Kong turned off the water-mains for 23-1/2 hours of every 24. This meant that everyone had to rush home during the half-hour in question and fill every available container - bath (if any), basins and saucepans - with water. The result was that there wasn't enough water to have a proper bath - and this, I may say, was in the middle of the Hong Kong summer. Things did not look, nor smell, too good.

But  there was a silver lining to this cloud. A few British senior officials, whose duties required them to smell clean and sweet around the place, were granted unlimited water supplies. Among them was one whose name and title it would be tactless to mention. He was a good and kind-hearted man. 

Now, under these circumstances, the kindest gesture that he and the equally privileged ,few could make was invite friends to enjoy the luxury of a bath at his residence. And thereby hangs this tale

About a week after my arrival I happened to be in the spacious lift of the Hong Kong Hilton Hotel, which also happened to be be packed with American Naval personnel on leave from Vietnam. On the far side was my British official acquaintance, who recognised me.

 "Ah, Malone", cried this well-meaning personage, whose voice boomed across the lift, "how nice to see you. Why don't you drop in at my place and let me give you a bath?"

The thought was a kind one, but its verbal expression not quite as well-chosen as one might perhaps have wished. I still recall the look in some twenty pairs of Yankee naval eyes which plainly said, "Doggone it, a pair of genuine Limey queers - and so goddamned open about it, too. Jeez, I just can’t wait to tell the guys back on the ship about this. They'll split a.gut!"

Some of them, I suspect, are dining out on that story to this day.

A first visit to Antarctica - some impressions

SA Agulhas ... 31st \January 1983

Tom Wheeler

Meintjeskop Courier, March 1984

At the invitation of the Director-General of Transport, a group of government officials and SASCAR project leaders, including the President of the CSIR (Dr C.F. Garbers), the leader of the cosmic ray programme at Potchefstroom University (Prof P.H. Stoker), the leader of the cartography and eodesy programme at Surveys and Mapping Branch (Mr E. Fitschen) and representatives of various government departments with an involvement in the South African Antarctic Programme joined the SA Agulhas at Cape Town on 31 January 1983 for Voyage 28 to Sanae. As the purpose of the voyage was to bring the 1982 overwintering team off the ice, the scientists of the summer programme and the building artisans of the Department of Community Development in from the cold, it was to take only three weeks, a period which most of the participants, with their eyes tightly closed, could afford to be away from their desks.

Represented were the "providers" - the Treasury, the State Buyer, the Commission for Commission Administration and Community Development, the “monitors” – the Auditor-General’s Office, the  "teachers" - the home economist who each year instructs the over-wintering team in the art of feeding each other, and assorted others like myself - for seven years involved with Treaty matters without ever seeing the ice.

If the purpose was to show us the hardships endured by those involved in the programme, the sea and the weather literally rose to the occasion. For days on end the Roaring Forties did what they were famous for. The indicator on the bridge recorded several 43 degree rolls in each direction, but there seemed to be nothing up there to record the terrifying angles at which the bow went up and over the swells into the void beyond. Laurie Malherbe of the Weather Bureau mentioned in an awed but matter-of fact way that he had never before recorded such low barometric pressures.

Puma unloads cargo into the hold of SA Agulhas back in 1983

By the time we reached the vicinity of Sanae we were two days behind schedule and there was great excitement when a vast field of broken pack ice appeared up ahead on the evening of the ninth day.

Around midnight with the odd sight of the sun rising and setting simultaneously on the horizon ahead we reached the clear water of the bukta at the edge of the ice shelf. Only the thought that the next day was likely to be a busy one with a visit to Sanae, convinced many of the need to get some sleep.

As all the bay ice had disappeared, cargo handling and passenger movements to and from the ice had to be by helicopter. After all the preflight warnings about what not to touch one wondered whether it was safe to sit close to a  window or to move around. That was soon forgotten when we saw what photographs there were for the taking.

Perhaps the most awe-inspiring sight from the air as we crossed the edge of the shelf was the SA Agulhas out in the bukta, minute and overshadowed by the vastness of the ice and..:-the sea beyond. How insignificant we and all our life- support systems seemed.

The first impression of Sanae as a cluster of wooden huts, heavy vehicles, drums and wires was soon replaced by appreciation for what the engineers and artisans had done underneath to make overwintering possible and reasonably comfortable. The cheese and wine party laid on 8m under the ice at 70 degrees S seems incongruous only in retrospect.

Our only experience of surface travel was a bone-shaking 3 km over the sastrugi in a Nodwel to see the primitive conditions and the effects of ice pressure on the old emergency base. Again we took note of the trying living conditions of the team and the artisans.

For grandeur of location the new field station at Grunehogna, built in unbelievable weather conditions in the preceding six weeks, would be hard to imagine. At the foot of Mountain 1285 with its deep, clear, blue ice at the bottom of a 100m windscoop, it inspired several members to wonder whether the Treaty would allow for a ski lodge for tourists to be operated in the spirit of free enterprise! But then getting them there … !

The "Spirit of the Treaty” was clearly illustrated to us at Grunehogna. The station with its food supplies, equipment, diesel generators and fuel stands there unlocked, available for any traveller who might come across the ice and need shelter.

One could not but try to imagine the hardships experienced by Antarctic explorers as some of us flew across seemingly endless ice to a warm welcome at the West German base, Georg von Neumayer, 250 krn away. The engineers cast an interested professional eye over the place and wished the Treasury were there to see what could be done if the budget was generous enough!

The pressure from those who had been on the ice to get back to Cape Town was irresistible and from Georg von Neumayer we flew back to the ship already on its way out to the open sea. The flight took us over hundreds of kilometres of the ice edge with icebergs in the making enough for Saudi Arabia and patterns in the broken pack-ice enough to inspire a linoleum designer for the rest of his days!

As a final treat, the weather at Bouvet was unusually sunny and cear, although the summit was covered in mist. It was much bigger than most of us had imagined. More photographs to add to the reels already shot.

I regret though, that I saw no penguins and not one krill! But at last I have seen minke whales, animals that have engaged a great deal of my attention in Brighton and , retoria. Sanae, Bouvet, Georg von Neumayer now are real places, not merely dots on a map. One certainly has an appreciation of what it takes to run the Antarctic research programme. Back in Pretoria, you look at the map and cannot believe that the distances you covered across the ice are hardly measurable on it and that the part of the continent you did not see stretches on and on and on ...

An experience we will always remember and cherish, but one several of us would not care to repeat unless something can be done about the Roaring Forties!

Tom Wheeler was subsequently a member of the South African delegations to the Antarctic Treaty consultative meeting that adopted the Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources in 1980. He also led the South African delegation to the 18th Antarctic Consultative Meeting in Kyoto, Japan in 1994.

South America ... everybody wins!

Meintjeskop Courier No 10, December 1990

No author specified

If ever there can be a contradiction in terms, South America is it. Argentina have just lost their second match in a row in the world cup soccer tournament but I can guarantee that there was jubilation in the streets of Buenos Aires. Then again, in 1978 they also lost their first two rounds. They then beat Peru 8 - 1 to take them into the competition proper and went on to win the world cup.

That's just the way it is in South America. Everybody is a dual or triple citizen. If Argentina wins, I am an Argentine. If they lose to Britain, I claim my British ancestry and celebrate the British victory. If Britain then loses to the Italians, of course my Great Grandfather on my mother's side was Italian. 

Take the Falklands/Malvainas war. There were parades by the British in Argentina  in support of the government, by the Spanish the Italians, the Germans, the Swiss, and so on. And just when you think there are no Argentines, Vilas and Cleg come home to beat the Americans in the Davis cup and those same people are back in the streets celebrating.

In South America, no matter where you go, your friends will pay more than your enemies. If I were to take you to a shop I know and introduce you, the price automatically goes up by 20 % because the owner knows - I must get a cut.

You find this same mentality in the traffic. Traffic rules, safety belts and indications are for visitors and the weak of heart. Right of way is simply determined by size, sometimes with slight variations. For example all one way streets are two way and some two way streets are one way- eg If you're driving a big old Falcon, all streets are two way, until you meet a bus overtaking another bus. 

The biggest streets leading into town become one way (17 lanes) from 8 - 11 am or thereabout and one way the other way for 5 - 7 pm. In between, it is two way. There are usually no traffic "cops" supervising this effort, it just happens- and at 120 km per hour. It is actually quite comical to see the bumper to bumper stream of traffic, and cars sedately passing the oncoming stream but then suddenly as if a river washes its banks the sedate oncoming cars rush for cover while the A's flood the road, each having to be the first at the next traffic light. Imagine also trying to cross this 17 lane wide 120 kph stream at a point where there is no traffic light. 

Fangio could have done it and certainly every Argentine is Fangio. He just didn't have Mercedes backing to become famous in racing but he is just as good, any day. And he is proving it every day.

What happens, you may ask. if the traffic light is out of order? Well, there are two options. If a traffic "cop" discovers it, there will be a traffic jam. If he doesn't it will delay the traffic no longer than 2 minutes. This noisy stream of traffic will flow by until the first man in the side street decides he's waited long enough (usually about 2 minutes). 

He engages first gear and, by quick semi-release of the clutch, makes the car jump little bits at a time. Some weak fool in the mainstream will actually believe this threat and hit the brakes and our hero "floors it". The mainstream, seeing this slowing, accepts defeat and halt. - For two minutes, when the brave front row repeats the exercise. Easy!

Ever seen a car or truck with a flat tyre in South Africa? Everybody is trying their utmost to get this obstruction to the side of the road where the driver or somebody will endeavour to change the wheel. Not in Buenos Aires. If a flat tyre occurs in lane 6 of the 14 lane road, that's where it gets repaired. Oh, he may find 2 or 3 cars trapped behind him for about 30 seconds, but that's their problem. As soon as they disappeared, he will be as lonely as an island in midstream with the traffic opening behind him and closing up in front leaving him in peace to change his tyre.

I mention the word lanes rather loosely. Avenida Libertado has painted white lines dividing the street into 14 equal parts. Initially one might expect this is to divide the traffic into 14 lanes. One would be mistaken. Libertador is a winding, twisting road, but you wouldn't believe that if you were to look at the white lines. 

They run straight - meaning that if you were to stay in one of the lanes, you will be bound to climb a curb within a distance of 5 city blocks. You would certainly only stay in a lane if you were completely lost and needed to get to the side of the road so you could ask your way around - besides, how can one stay in one of the 14 lanes if 22 cars race down the street simultaneously.Owning a car in Buenos Aires makes for exhilarating driving.

Now, if Buenos-Aires with its fairly good road conditions frightens you, consider this. You are driving along what we would call the N4, through the marshes of the Entre Rios province. Of course, the roads sag with rime, but the bridges, built on the more rocky river bed, doesn't. So every few years, they recast the ramp in the same place making it steeper. Now, if for some reason you were to hit this ramp say at night at high speed, you would bounce on the bridge just once and never touch the down ramp. You will literally fly the river. 

Now this form of adventurous driving can continue until, and this is certain to happen, you meet up with an old car, a donkey cart of a tractor showing no light and sedately driving down the middle of the road. If you don't frighten easily, it may take three of four occurrences to show that you do otherwise once is enough. You are then reduced to the speed of the above mentioned donkey cart or tractor while everybody else whizzes past you at 160 kph.

Once you reach Paraguay, a different phenomenon occurs. All steel is valuable, and that includes man-hole covers. They are more valuable as cash in someone's pocket than on the hole in the street. But Paraguayans are resourceful people. They either leave the hole uncovered, of they fit a tree trunk into it at the exact height of your cars lamp. In sure it is by accident because no one can measure it so correctly on purpose.

The same road rules apply as for Argentina, except that the cars, trucks and busses are older. So people allow more space in passing in order that the flapping mudguards and wire locked doors may pass unhindered. It is said that a roaring truck exists where busses are too old to use in Argentina and Chile are sold to Uruguay and Paraguay once these vehicles have passed the point of economical repair, that is. When the Paraguayans discard them, they are sold to Peru and Colombia.

When you want to catch a taxi in Paraguay, take 2 raincoats. One you wear to protect you from the elements above, the other you use to protect you from the water coming through where the floorboards were supposed to be. There is always water on the road.

Taxis in Peru are VW Beetles. You flag one down and then argue the price with the driver. If you cannot agree on a price, flag the next one down. Sooner or later you're bound to find one at your price.

Talking about Peru - three things I will never forget. One - on the road from the airport there is a huge municipal garbage dump. It is hollow underneath because over a thousand families have each tunnelled a cave into it and reside there. With every truckload of rubbish arriving, they swarm like ants out of their holes and dig through the load to rescue saleable items.

Also, quite cute, are the hundreds of trenches by the roadside, each guarded by one man with a wheelbarrow. One closer inspection this appears to be the local version of a "SPEEDY". You drive over the trench and the man slithers underneath to torch weld the damage. He has maybe four lengths of exhaust pipe lying on the ground from which he will cut just enough to repair the broken piece. No full exhaust job here.

The third is, on the bus from Machu Pichu to the station. This is a twisting hairpin road from the top of the mountain. The bus, usually beyond repair, descends at approximately 5 kph. On turning the first bend, a group of dirty young beggars run alongside shouting "Monieee". The bus outruns them. Rounding the next hairpin, there they are again, and again until you reach the station, a drive of approximately 1 hour. They keep sliding the bank to meet the bus. There's no escape. "Money"!l!

Conultants

                                                  By Andre Jaquet

Coordinating the efforts of professional lobbying firms hired by our Embassy in Washington in the 1970’s to try and stop sanctions on apartheid South Africa was quite a big job. Many Embassies use hired guns in the United States because in their three or four year postings, foreign diplomats cannot possibly understand, never mind manipulate the complicated American political process sufficiently to influence matters to the benefit of their country. As a result, those that can afford to do so, hire former US politicians and other spin doctors to guide their efforts.

At that time, South Africa must have been one of the countries that hired more lobbyists than any other state because there were serious divisions  back home between the Departments of Foreign Affairs, Information, Trade and Industry, Defence and National Security on how best to counter the call for sanctions against South Africa. If ever there was a stupid idea it was trying to sell segregation in the United States, which was still overcoming its own trauma of race division.

Nevertheless, various divisions in the Embassy hired several consultant firms to try to do so. The powerful Information section by-passed the Ambassador and reported directly to their Head Office at home. They took an aggressive, right wing line by hiring a lobbyist that was close to the most conservative of conservatives in the USA. The Department of Trade and Industry used lobbyists that tried to draw a distinction between trade and diplomatic ties. For our part, we at Foreign Affairs preferred a less confrontational approach and tried to reach the main trends of American opinion. These consultants were registered with the US authorities in terms of the law but I had more than a suspicion that there was a steady flow payments taking place under the counter. This was, to say the least, both unethical and unwise in an open society such as the US. The failure of this divided and at times illegal approach was predictable. There was a fundamental lack of understanding in the South African Cabinet about the nature of US politics which favours expediency over ideology.

The point of this comic/tragic little tale is that in the minds of politicians in South Africa and in most countries, international matters weigh far less than domestic concerns. How to balance the efforts of the state to extract maximum benefit for the nation from its outside contacts is a conundrum that has confronted societies since the first cave man used a club to assault an intruder who was encroaching on his area of influence. I suspect that the problem of paying politicians for favours will remain with us forever. At the time of writing, the New York Times carried an editorial about the illegal funding of Political Action Committees as a major concern.

Le plus ca change….

Keen envoys get egg on their faces

Article in the Washington Post circa 1970

The peace movement

                                  By Andre Jaquet

Keenness was my second name when I was a junior diplomat responsible for press liaison at the South African Embassy in Washington in the mid-1970s. Remember, those were tough times and all of us wondered whether there wasn’t a better way to earn a living. Like, for instance, being a human cannon ball in a circus. Let me share with you a cameo of my existence at the time.

“There are definitely some advantages in this job and I must enjoy those rather than mope”, I mused. After all here I am, lazily sipping a super South African wine on the terrace of a ritzy restaurant on the Potomac. The evening is balmy and the lovely cherry blossoms compete mildly with wafts of Chanel Number 5.  My Ambassador has asked me to arrange a private, off the record meeting for him with Meg Greenfield of the Washington Post who is on her way to South Africa for an in-depth look at the aftermath of the Soweto riots. She and I are waiting for the arrival of our guest.

Then His Excellency rises to welcome her and without warning launches into a harangue listing the wrongs done in the United States to African Americans by successive white governments. Meg reads the dismay on my face and later over coffee asks me what she will really discover when she travels to South Africa. The best I can do is to mutter: “You will find some things better than you think and some worse”. I was quite proud of the little phrase I had come up with on the spur of the moment.

Five weeks later, the cover of the magazine section of the Washington Post carried a banner headline: “SOUTH AFRICA: IT’S WORSE THAN YOU THINK”.

                                    

From Paris to Keetmanshoop ... a real hot spot

Erna van Wyk de Vries

Meintjeskop Courier, Volume I, 1993

It is summer in South Africa. Everybody you come across is moaning about the terrible, intolerable heat. I just smile, put a smug "I know better" look on my face and reply: "On the contrary, this is wonderful. Very pleasant. Obviously you have never been to Keetrnanshoop."

I am not going to advise anybody to visit Keetmanshoop. Apart from being as hot as that place we do not want to proceed to after this life, Keetmanshoop has its one foot in the Kalahari desert and the other foot in the Namib desert.

When my husband and I were newly engaged and very much in love, I told him that I'd follow him to "Putsonderwater". Ha. I had to eat my words. Surely, Putsonderwater cannot be as hot and as isolated as Keetmanshoop is.

I do not like the smirks on the faces of some people when they learn that I had to move from "gay Paree" to Keetmanshoop. A friend of long standing suggested that I write a book titled: "From Paris to Keetmanshoop". Very funny.

I always inform these smirking people that at least, in Keetrnanshoop, the air is much fresher, there is lots of parking space and to top it all, I did not have to open, even once, one of the halfdozen umbrellas I had to acquire in London and Paris.

To get back to the heat. Wytze, my husband, put a thermometer in the official car, basking in the sun like all the others for lack of shadow space, and it reached 86 degrees Celsius. The veranda of the office, in the shade, measured over 50 degrees Celsius. That summer, the summer of late 1987 up to about April 1988, happened to be the hottest summer in living memory for Keetmanshoop. First, the birds started dropping out of the trees,' dood soos mossies'.  

Then the kids complained that their bunnies had keeled over, the poultry died and I have to confess that when I heard the first pig had died, I panicked. It is said that the human anatomy and that of the pig are very similar.

Inside the office it measured 42 degrees when we started at 08:00. We had the dubious honour of having our offices in a historical musewn. Die Kaiserliche Postampt , i e the old post office. A handsome building, built with thick rocks, each close to half a metre. These boulders would absorb the heat admirably effectively during the day and manage to retain most of it all through the night. 

These amazing boulders also had the ability to absorb cold in winter and retain it equally admirably during the winter nights. And you have guessed it. Being such a captivating historical museum, it could not be 'vandalised' by the installation of air conditioners.

We managed to work during the mornings, but just dropped down over our newspapers during the afternoons. One afternoon a funny feeling took hold of me. I had a very strong instinct to jump up and run away, to get out and to get as far away as possible. Of course I controlled myself - with effort 

The next day I discovered to my relief that I was not going crazy: the national newspaper. "Die Republikein" was kind enough to list all the symptoms of heat exhaustion. One of them was acute anxiety.

Going outside was like having a giant hairdryer turned onto you. Eyeballs burned. A water pipe broke on the gravel road one day and I saw the water streaming down the street, boiling vigorously as it streamed.

No, please do not complain about the heat. You might just end up in Keetmanshoop one day. Despite all this, the people are so very friendly, genuine and kindhearted, that I did come to love the place. I also brought along a live souvenir - my only son, who will forever be stuck with Keetmanshoop" indicated as his place of birth on his passport. ( oh well, it could have been "Putsonderwater" ).

Namibia ...

Andre Jaquet

Newshounds once asked Foreign Minister Pik Botha what he considered his most significant achievement. He answered “Avoiding sanctions being placed on South Africa for our support of South West Africa.” Then, with a rueful chuckle, he added: “At least when South Africa was hit with sanctions, we earned them in our own right”.

During my posting in Washington, I had inadvertently become an honorary member of the Embassy’s ‘Washington Mafia’, an assortment of colleagues who had worked with Pik Botha in his previous incarnation as Ambassador to the United States. Herbert Beukes second in command at the Embassy was a senior member of the Washington Mafia and knew me from the work we had done in the United States and when I returned from posting, he suggested to Botha that I join his office. I jumped at the opportunity to become involved in what seemed like a good way of shucking off the drudgery of boring bureaucracy at Head Office and a logical way to advance my career.

Members of the Mafia were on the whole liberal, capable and supportive of Pik Botha’s drive to create a brave, new South Africa. Some in this group were very bright and practical while others specialized in rough methods to bring reluctant bureaucrats into line. One of these specialists who rose to the top was summoned by Botha with the phrase “Where is my Rottweiler?”  These gatekeepers had in effect become Botha’s think tank and were partly a response to the inertia of some senior members of the Department, who had given up trying to sell apartheid abroad.

There were other candidates who envied the job I had been offered and used colleagues close to Pik Botha to lobby for them. The Rottweiler apparently whispered in Pik Botha’s ear that “Jaquet’s wife is a Communist”. Laughable and untrue as that was, the matter brooked no further argument and instead I was shunted to head the Namibia/Angola desk which was largely dormant at the time because all activity in this area was handled by our Permanent Mission in New York and the Legal Division in Pretoria.  

Quite unexpectedly, the major shift in East-West relations brought about by Glasnost affected my life fundamentally. The improved relationship between the Soviet Union and the West meant that independence for South West Africa was inevitable and the subsequent flurry of events placed me close to the center of South African diplomatic efforts for the following six years.

Several academics and former politicians have written extensively on these negotiations, and I don’t intend to describe them blow by blow. However, I doubt that there will ever be a time when there will be complete peace on this earth and it may be useful to future negotiators to describe what helped these negotiations succeed. The best impartial description I have come across was compiled by Dr Greg Mills who heads the Brenthurst Foundation in Johannesburg.

Quite rightly, Mills avoids the logistical and personal difficulties that such talks between nations at war meant for the negotiators themselves. But none of those involved in these negotiations could remain indifferent to some of the more tragic events of those times. During negotiations we were acutely aware of the hundreds of civilians and military men and women were dying while we talked and drank coffee. I frequently thought of the ripple effect this war was having on loved ones left behind.

In the early stages of the negotiation process, where we were going to meet was always disputed. We insisted on African destinations on the pretext that African problems should be resolved on African soil. Actually we wanted to use the negotiations to get into African states that would normally not have us. When the others cottoned on, they resisted and for weeks the Americans couldn't get the parties to agree to a venue. Finally Chet Crocker persuaded us that Egypt was an African state and he sold Cairo to the others on the basis that Egypt was in the Middle East.

That is also where we met the Cuban bulldozer Risquet.  He might have been an icon of the Cuban revolution but let’s give him an E- minus for diplomatic skills. At the Cairo meeting he nearly brought the entire exercise to a halt with his confrontational and doctrinaire approach.

An important part of my brief was to develop a good working relationship with the South African Defence Force to try to keep them on board so that they didn't undo on the ground what had been achieved at the negotiating table. We at Foreign Affairs spent a good deal of energy and time injecting a dose of realism into the internal debates before and during the talks because the securocrat mindset in those bad old days was mostly ignorant and dismissive of international realities.

By the late 80's some military strategists realized that the 'total response to the total onslaught' method of government advocated by was failing. But questioning the doctrine meant crossing President PW Botha and that was a dangerous exercise. Some chose to bury their heads in the sands of statistics, reckoning that if you fed enough detail to the bosses, they would have to come up with a more workable strategy.

Besides the head of Foreign Affairs, Neil van Heerden, and Intelligence chief Neil Barnard, the head of the Defence Force, Jannie Geldenhuys was a major force for realistic, honest bargaining. He was an impressive thinker and must have had the full backing of the late Defence Minister Magnus Malan, who was significantly more realistic than his public persona would have suggested.  I remember him saying in one of our first in house meetings: “Die weermag het die tafel gedek; nou kan ons onderhandel”. (The army has laid the table and now we can sit down and negotiate).

The downside was that at the second management level, the Defence Force and to some extent the SA Police were not all on board and most certainly did not see the big picture. Isolation from world thinking does that to you. More than once we were confronted with a fait accompli that subordinates in those Departments had created without referral. Consequently we at Foreign Affairs were at pains to lead others gently towards a broader view our place in the world. We did so in a number of ways.

Early in the process we participated in a simulation exercise which had us playing the roles of all the actors in two or three scenarios that might lead towards an independent Namibia. When the participants from DFA, who were playing the roles of the UN or the State Department or the Politburo made their contributions, they were frequently challenged by the military as not being realistic. "Ag nee; hulle is darem nie so erg nie!"  (No way! They aren’t that bad) reverberated around the room a number of times.

At the micro level I took my job very seriously and at times that meant sacrificing my liver for my country.  I recall a friend and I engaging two helicopter pilots in Oshakati in a drinking duel which lasted until the early hours of the morning and which ended with one of the aviators asleep in a flower bed and the other sprawled on a concrete pathway leading to the barracks.

That was the kind of thing that built respect for DFA or in military parlance 'die laventelbrigade' (the lavender brigade). They had never heard von Bismarck's remark that diplomats were superior to camels. "Camels", he said, "can only work for about 40 days without drinking. Diplomats can drink for far longer than that without working”.  Mind you, I had to admit to defeat at 5am one morning aboard an air force jet when a Brigadier asked the flight attendant for a glass of brandy for the plaque on his teeth.

At ground level, we couldn’t understand why the State Security Council went into extraordinary detail in situation reports that were discussed each morning by senior members of the intelligence community. Incidents under such rubrics as "stone-throwing", "stone throwing with fires", "stone throwing by schoolchildren", "demonstrations with violence", "without violence", "with shots being fired", "with wounded", "without wounded" and so on.

These statistics would be listed in the situation reports and also on the mother of all Lego boards in the situation rooms in the President’s offices in Pretoria and in Cape Town. Each had a Lego base spread over an entire wall and such incidents were reflected by constructing many columns of different colours. But there was remarkably little analysis of what it all meant, no description of the real grievances, no suggestions for other approaches. Negotiating with the enemy was not on and in fact negotiations themselves were the enemy, the strategy of cowards and defeatists.

At around the same time, the State Security Council even considered building a life-threatening fence around Walvis Bay to assert South Africa's sovereignty in that enclave. To get folks in that frame of mind into the same room as Cubans, Angolans and Soviets was not a doddle. Neil Barnard of the National Intelligence Service was an important player on our side. He provided the team with good intelligence that was less self-serving than reports written by the military staff. More importantly he was a good weathervane of which concessions President Botha would accept.

Keeping tabs on what was happening on the ground was important too. Although Savimbi’s minority party, UNITA, was not at the negotiating table, it had the capacity - with a little help from its South African military friends - to wreck the process by actions on the ground. So it was important to keep him in the loop and before every negotiating round he was informed of what we intended doing and his input was considered. After each round he would again be informed of what had been achieved. Initially that task was entrusted to the military until we discovered that the agreed message was being distorted with a military bias. Subsequently Savimbi was briefed by a joint delegation that included Foreign Affairs and the Intelligence services.

To increase Foreign Affairs influence on Savimbi and to keep an ear to the ground, we had an experienced official, the late John Sunde, open an office in Northern Namibia at Rundu. Initially Minister Pik Botha wanted him to be stationed at Jamba, Savimbi’s stronghold in Angola itself. Thankfully wiser counsel prevailed.

The Administrator General in Namibia, an appointee of the South African President, had to be dragged along kicking and screaming. Early in 1988, when UN supervised elections were just a few months away, I attended a meeting of the Administrator General's Working group on the elections he strode into the room with a spring in his step. "I have the winning recipe that will deny Swapo victory" he announced. All it amounted to was a plan to gerrymander Namibia’s towns and country areas into wards and constituencies that made no sense but would disadvantage SWAPO.  Just as bad was his final farewell to President Nujoma: “Now don’t you mess up this beautiful country!” or words to that effect.

The ruling National Party caucus signed off on negotiations in Namibia on the understanding that it was an off-shore exercise to see whether one could negotiate with “terrorists” without the sky falling on one’s head.  Many of them believed that if the results were not to their liking, the process could be reversed. They had very limited understanding of the dynamics that made independence inevitable. Most of us knew by then that it was just a question of how rough or smooth the transition would be.

A few months after Namibian independence the first formal talks on SA soil between the ANC and the SA governments were held in Somerset West. I was invited to the first meeting on the government side to talk about the logistics of negotiations and never again. I understand that someone advised FW de Klerk that DFA had “given away South West Africa” and should not be allowed to do the same to South Africa. I like to think that the SA Government would not have been so frequently out-maneuvered at Codesa if they had used the technical expertise Foreign Affairs had built up in the Namibia initiative.

'N BESOEK AAN INDIE EN PAKISTAN

Nieu Delhi: Mnr Evert Riekert, ADG (Administrasie) verewig deur Pierre Dietrichsen se kamera terwyl  hy 'n sari aanpas

Een en die ander oor 'n warm ondervinding

Pierre Dietrichsen

Meintjeskop Koerier Volume IV, 1993

Een van die gevolge van die aktiwiteite van die "Span van 26" onderhandelaars is dat ons klompie hier op Meintjeskop nou kan gaan kuier in plekke waarvan ons vroeer net die naam geken het. So begin ons nou stadigaan besef wat ons kollegas van ander lande bedoel wanneer hulle met groot omhaal van woorde en gebare vertel van 'n moeilike "posting" in een of ander eksoties-klinkende plek.

'n Ondervinding in daardie kategorie het 'n spannetjie van die Departement onlangs te beurt geval toe Indie en Pakistan besoek is. 'n Besoek is vir die Direkteur-generaal gereel aan Indie en mnr Evert Riekert en ek sou saamgaan om "voorspan" te wees vir die open van 'n missie daar en daarna Pakistan te besoek met dieselfde doel en om 'n besoek van die DG aan die land te reel.

Die ingewikkeldhede van programme en internasionale reise het natuurlik van meet af ' n hand in die sakie geneem en skaflike datums voor die somer het verander na 'n besoek in die somer. Ek haas my om te bieg dat daar seker ander hoeke is waaruit so 'n reisbeskrywing met meer "styl" kan begin word maar hitte was een van ons almal se eerste gewaarwordings so dit het seker sy plek! Die baas van administrasie was die eerste om te arriveer; so skuins voor middernag, se hy. 

Die aankomssaal is groot en breed en 'n hele paar 747's se passasiers pas toe lekker daarin. Almal is gesellig en skuifel tot voor by die paspoorttoonbank net om te vind dit het intussen teetyd geword. Die temperatuur draai so by dertig en voel soos veertig terwyl die lugverkoeling en die waaiers hard probeer om 'n klein oorloggie op Delhi-lughawe te verhoed. Tasse arriveer gelukkig in een stuk maar na die twee-uur lange gestoei om uit die gebou te kom laat die temperatuur buite hom amper verlang na die koeligheidjie binne. Van die verwagte hotel taxi is daar geen tyding of teken nie maar gelukkig isdaar toe 'n ander drywer wat besluit "Mister Riekert" klink heeltemal genoeg na dit wat op sy papier staan en kort voor lank is EPR op pad na die hotel. Iewers is daar 'n rekenmeester wat nie sal kan verstaan hoe die vreemde handtekening op sy kollega of baas se vorm gekom het nie ... of so iets! ADGZ was maar te bly om by die hotel te kom (maar wonder steeds of die reuk van humiditeit en kerrie ooit uit die plek se lakens gewas sal kan word).

Uit 'n ander hoek benader die DG en ek intussen die Subkontinent. Ons was gelukkiger op die lughawe behalwe met die amptelike geskenke wat ek saamgedra het. Een was 'n papiermessie wat om veiligheidsredes(?) aan die begin van die vlug ingehandig moes word en by aankoms driekwartuur geneem het om weer sy verskyning te maak. Ons rit na die hotel was insidentloos as jy in ag neem dat die verkeer in beginsel werk op die oerwoudwet, naamlik die grootste of die braafste gaan eerste. Gou het ons die spreekwoordelike heilige koei in lewende lywe teegekom en gesien dat sy inderdaad die heel belangrikste padgebruiker is.

Die Taj Mahal hotel het 'n mooi uitsig verleen oor 'n baie boomryke stad met Sir Herbert se twee kleiner weergawes van die Uniegebou op ‘n afstand. Ons afsprake in een van die twee geboue het die res van die dag in beslag geneem maar op pad terug na die afsprake kon ons 'n draai ry om 'n paar van die oudste tempels en geboue te sien. 'n Mens het onder die indruk gekom van die geweldige ou beskawing en ook die verskynsel dat die verloop van tyd en die kwaai klimaat sy tol geneem het met die onderhoud en bewaring van die onvervangbare monumente. Voorwaar 'n jammerte. Twee verdere observasies: vrouens beklee orals prominente poste en die Indiers was besonder vriendelik en geinteresseerd in die besoekers en dit wat in Suid-Afrika aangaan. Tydens 'n werksete is menings vinnig en woes gewissel tussen akademici, joernaliste, sakemanne en amptenare oor Suid-Afrika en veral oor ons toekoms.

Kenners met Afrika ondervinding beklee die een hoek terwyl die met ander of geen ondervinding inweeg in die ander hoek met die steun van die "skeidsregter". Ons spannetjie en die Delhi- verteenwoordiger van 'n prominente WTC gespreksgenoot was naderhand geamuseerde toeskouers. Die kos was getrou aan tradisie en het 'n blywende indruk gemaak …….       .

Die DG se vlug vertrek na middernag en vroegoggend begin mnr Riekert en ek ons tog na Islamabad oor Karachi. Voor ons tyd in Delhi om is, maak ons gou 'n draai by 'n winkel om 'n paar tipiese dinge aan te skaf. Groot was ons vermaak toe ADGZ binne sekondes met 'n lieflike sari om die skouers in die kamera se oog vaskyk. Ons stoei ewe oor die pryse en besluit in ons wysheid dat ons liewer later aan die einde van ons besoek in Bombaai sal koop met die paar dollars wat dan nog - mag oor wees. Pryse sal in elk geval daar eker beter wees, redeneer ons … min wetend. Ons was wel slim genoeg om ons te verlustig aan die uiters kunstige houtsneewerk van byvoorbeeld 'n olifantjie binne-in-'n-ander.

Die vlug na Karachi was sonder probleem en ons was beindruk met die standaard van die PIA. Die lughawe van Karachi is indrukwekkend. Nuut, skoon, doeltreffend, met behulpsame personeel. Heelwat groter as ons eie no 1. Die vlug na Islamabad bring 'n paar ondervindings. Ons probeer die plaaslike spyse en besef gou dat 'n delikate SA smaakorgaan "vierwiel aandrywing" nodig het om alles te kan hanteer. Heeltemal smaaklik maar met 'n hoe "voltage". Toe het ons water nodig! ! Die eerste glas wat ons aangebied word, beindruk nie en ons vra bottelwater. Die - lyk ook nie soos ons verwag het nie en na een sluk word die pilletjies uitgeh~al om die spulletjie te suiwer. Groot was ons konsternasie toe daar na so sewe minute 'n sentimeter jellie onder in die glas pryk. Hulp uit die oord van wyn of bier was daar ook nie want dit is verbied in publieke plekke in die moslemland. Ons moes ons toe maar op die wereldbekende cola beroep, sonder ys, om die effek van die "cuisine" te neutraliseer.     

      .

Islamabad is 'n stad wat gestig is na Pakistan se onafhanklikheid van groter Indie hier in die jare veertig net langs die stad Rawalpindi. Die nuwe langs die oue. Dit is relatief hoog bo seespieel, langs berge met bergpaaie wat in die berge inkronkel in die rigting van die bekende Khyber pas. Die stad is goed beplan met bree strate en netjiese, moderne regeringsgeboue. In die buitewyke vind 'n mens die regte Pakistan met oop markte, opelug-padkafees waar rys verkoop word binne klipgooi van waar die kamele vreet. Busse en vragmotors word met helder kleure beskilder en een is mooier as die ander. Ons bekyk een van die grootste moskees in die wereld met vier hoe torings op die hoeke. In 'n oomblik van surreele kultuursamekoms gesels ons met Sjinese besoekers wat hul sleutel binne in hul gehuurde Japannese voertuig toegesluit het terwyl ons Pakistani drywer probeer help! Die bergpaadjie was natuurlik self genoem om ons te laat praat oor die fles Skotse "medisyne" wat veilig in die tas in die hotel bewaar word.

Na 'n dag en 'n half se konstruktiewe ontmoetings met ewekniee en ander kenners van die plaaslike lewe in ambassades en wonings, vat ons die PIA vlug na Karachi waar ons dieselfde oefening aanpak.

Karachi verwelkom ons op Vrydag, die Sabbat met stil strate, 35 grade C en baie, baie humiditeit (met apologie aan maksi se advertensie). Eiendomsagente werk natuurlik (net soos by ons op 'n Sondag!) en kort voor lank is ons op 'n woeste jaagtog van konsulaat na konsulaat en toe na al wat lee huis in die woonbuurte Defence en Clifton (nogal). Hoe meer ons verduidelik dat ons nie daar en dan 'n "deal" kan maak nie hoe meer word ons met hulp oorlaai. Die hitte in elk van die lee huise was natuurlik ondraaglik en ADGZ en ek was maar elke keer te bly om terug te duik in die Hondatjie se lugverkoeling in. 

Wat ons dadelik opgeval het was die feit dat daar baie welaf mense in die stad bly. Groot huise met hoe veiligheidsmure, wagte en 'n badkamer vir elke slaapkamer was volop. Kombuise is duidelik nie 'n hoe prioriteit nie,klaarblyklik omdat eienaresse nie te dikwels hul eie kombuise besoek nie! Met ons blootstelling aan die spyse van die streek het ons natuurlik 'n paar keer goed verstaan wat die waarde is van die vrylik beskikbare privaatgeriewe! Ons was minder beindruk met die strande; elke siel wat ons daar aanskou het was van kop tot tone geklee in paslike gewade. Ten spyte van die hitte is sonbrand duidelik nie 'n probleem nie.

Ek moet aan ons vroulike kollegas noem dat die land die teenoorgestelde van Indie is wat die rol van dames betref. Nerens het ons 'n vrou in 'n prominente plek gesien nie en die naaste wat ons aan oogkontak of 'n glimlag gekom het was 'n enkele lugwaardin wat haar aan ons twee se manewales met die water vergaap het. Miskien met 'n dame wat nou weer die politiek betree het in die persoon van mev Benazir Bhutto, is daar hoop.

Na 'n onstuimige nagvlug op die rand van 'n monsoon het ons in Bombaai aangekom. Wat 'n enorme en digbevolkte stad! Verskeie indrukke tref 'n mens gou-gou. Aan die een kant die ou beskawing en die mooi koloniale geboue, en aan die ander kant die ellende van oorbevolking en armoede. Langs die elegante promenade voor die beste hotelle denkbaar waar die welaf plaaslike inwoners vir wandelinge gaan, is daar ook deurgaans hartverskeurende tonele van tieners met kinders wat bedel om aan die lewe te bly. Elke stoepie en gangetjie word deur mense bewoon met die uitsondering van amptelike geboue en geboue met hul eie veiligheidsreelings. Tog is daar onder die bevolking in markte en op straat 'n sekere lewenslus en energie te bespeur. Daar is diepgaande filosofiese en godsdienstige fasette van die volk se benadering tot die lewe en die hiernamaals wat 'n rol speel in hul dag-tot-dag bestaan wat vir die westerling moeilik is om te begryp, of dalk om te aanvaar. Soos Indie in die algemeen, is Bombaai vol botsende en fassinerende eienskappe. 

Vir die besoekende Suid-Afrikaner is daar 'n sekere bekendheid wat die koloniale geskiedenis en 'n oppervlakkige kennis van hul kultuur 'n mens gee maar hoe meer jy uitvind hoe minder begryp 'n mens. Daar is uiterstes in klimaat, taal, ontwikkeling, lewensstyl en amper elke faset van die lewe. 'n Kort besoek is net genoeg om 'n mens te laat wonder en ten spyte van die kwellende vrae oor byvoorbeeld die armoede, is dit 'n belewenis wat ek nie sou wou mis nie.

Hoewel daar heelwat aanpassings aan 'n mens se lewensstyl nodig sal wees, is Pakistan en Indie uiters interessant en 'n termyn in die streek sal sonder twyfel 'n ondervinding wees wat nie maklik vergeet kan word nie.

Thank you for the feedback

Here is the comment from my old colleague Oscar van Oordt:

“Weereens baie dankie vir jou gereëlde nuus oor en terugblikke op ons ou Buitelandse Sake en sy mense. 

Dit is 'n besondere diens wat jy aan ons lewer en ons is jou baie, baie dankbaar!”

A first for the Lilongwe Mission.

Llewelyn Crewe-Brown, Lilongwe, Malawi.

Meintjeskop Ditaba N0 i/1997

The Embassy

After 20 odd years in the same rented premises the Lilongwe Mission eventually found more practical offices.

When this Mission first moved to the new city of Lilongwe, in the early 70's residences were either built or purchased for all the officers.

The chancery, however, was not built immediately and accommodation in one of the new buildings was rented. After a few years land was obtained, plans were drawn up, a scale model built and even tenders were called for the new chancery that Ppublic Works planned to build. This all came to nothing as more urgent chanceries in other countries had to be built. The mission expanded as more departments were accredited to Malawi but the building itself lost whatever glamour it had over the years. The one entrance was between a hairdresser and a video shop and the other was so dark and dingy that the mission staff felt embarrassed to receive visitors.

Efforts by various heads of mission eventually paid off when authority was given earlier this year to move the office to new quarters. The building chosen is part of the British High Commission building that became vacant when the ODA office moved to Harare.

The building is new, clean and a joy to work in. This is certainly the next best thing to building our own office. It must surely be a first for any South African mission to share accommodation in a building belonging to another diplomatic mission.

Lilongwe Official Residence

A joy to behold

The beautiful residence of the South African High Commission is the most gracious of all the official residences in Lilongwe. Not only is it impressive but it is very comfortable and excellent for entertaining.

The garden is a special feature of the residence. After the house was completed in the 70's the garden has been lovingly tendered by the spouses of various heads of mission. Each has given something of themselves to create a garden that is very special and which has won various trophies in the local garden competitions over the years.

When the Crewe-Browns arrived in Lilongwe they set out to put their own stamp on the garden. evere lines were softened with flowing flower beds and the centre part of the garden was opened up so that the beautiful trees can be revealed in all their glory. Victorian rose garden was created to enhance the entrance to the house.

A fern garden has been established under the dappled light of the trees and the herb garden is close enough to the kitchen to be very practical.

At the last Agricultural Show's garden competition the residence won a trophy for the best rose garden, the best stoep garden, the best bloom on show and finally, to the High Commissioner's delight, the best vegetable garden.

Amidst the problems and frustration of the office, the garden of the residence is the right tonic to refresh and renew oneself.

               

MALAWI : LILONGWE STAFF GENERATES FUNDS FOR CHARITY

Uewelyn Crewe-Brown, Lilongwe, Malawi.

In an effort to assist charitable organisations in Lilongwe the staff of the South African High Commission in Lilongwe participates in the annual fund raising bazaar of the International Women Cub. This year the South African stall generated a third of the total amount of RIOO,OOO raised at the bazaar. This amount will be used to assist a number of charities.

The South African stall sold wine, grape juice, beer, sosaties, chocolates and dried fruit as well as hand-made products manufactured by disadvantaged women in South Africa.

The South African staff were all actively involved at every stage of this very  worthwhile project.

Nellien Crewe-Brown was chairlady of the committee organising the whole bazaar.Other staff members were responsible for importing the goods, others in making the sosaties and, of course, all were involved in the selling of the products. Things went so well that the public wanted there and then to buy the "rainbow" shirts the staff were wearing that day!!

This was a wonderful way of assisting local charities but also to get the staff members and their families to work together in a worth while project.

What a flight!

Miss World Contestants 1993

Frans Ellis, The Hague

Meintjeskop Courier Volum2 2, 1993

When I saw Steve Kruis's photograph of him handing a visa to Miss Poland to attend the Miss World Contest at the Lost City, in the Meintjeskop I thought, "Steve, if I could have clutched your neck between my fingers 'that' night..." However, it got me thinking of a better way to get back at my fellow 'visa handlers'. I would tell them about a special night and the consequences of their visa presentations, a night I would not forget for a while.

It started with a phone call from South Africa. I had to leave for Pretoria as soon as possible and made my "very short notice" arrangements. Rushed to the airport, said good-bye to mother and the kids and checked in. I was tired, it was day's end, and 10 hours of narrowness, bumps and cramps awaited me. It was also pouring with rain and a "stormkragt 9" wind was blowing across the tarmac at Schipol airport. I was hoping the dykes would keep until we were in the air. The airport is at least 5 meters under sea level.

At the check-in counter I asked "could you please put me in a very quiet spot". Reply - "helaas meneer, dat kan niet meer, de vlugt is vol". I had to take what I could get. While waiting at the exit before boarding, I noticed the SAA manager and walked up to say hello. "Frans, what a lucky man, your flight has been diverted via London. You are picking up some special people there". Oh no, an extra two hours flight. I never bothered to ask why or who these people were. Boarding, I noticed that the entire plane was opened and sections (First, Gold and economy class) were ignored. Only twelve people boarded and I couldn't believe my luck. I would have a whole centre section to sleep the flight out. Ha!

We bumped out of Holland with a surge of power that made me think those pilots knew something that I didn't. It was the softest landing I had ever experienced by SAA when we sat down in London and I was now sure that the pilots knew something and were practising their skills for something special. "May I bring you some juice sir? No thank you, I'd rather have a Castle Lager, and how long will we be sitting here?" "Not long, the girls will be boarding in about five minutes". Girls?

I sipped at the beer and watched in amazement as about sixty-odd of the world's most beautiful girls started filling the plane. Then it hit me. We are picking up the Miss World missies and it was just my luck to be on the same plane. It seemed like a never ending story of sheer beauty and here I was, never having been as near as this to such an activity, sitting in a dazed, almost stunned silence.

Well, they just poured in. The girls, their chaperons, the organizers and would you believe, some South African rugby spectators on their way home after the Boks' last game in England. We thought I had left rough seas in Holland, but this was much ... for want of a perfect word I'll leave the space open. On my left sat Miss Denmark and my right sat Miss Gibraltar. In front of me Miss Venezuela, Miss Canada and Miss Italy. Behind me, another totally shocked lonely American tourist, on his first ever visit to South Africa, sat between two more lovely ladies and the rest of the cabin was besieged by contestants. Then it began ... "Flight terrible".

Before take-off the girls were briefed about the night program. Water drinking, special eating rules,sleep, dressing, passports, personal customs administration, etc etc. Each girl had with her a togglebag (with chocolates, denims, tekkies and walkman), a vanity case (with paints and polishes, powders and perfumes), another kitbag (with who knows what and why) and the special "arriving" dress. The plane was not equipped for this sort of load and all this had to be kept on the floor and on laps. My worry - only seven toilets - and the beer had already started its work.

We took off with the passengers holding all or most of their bags on their laps. Yes of course a few bags landed on my lap as well, the perfect gentleman you know. It took about two hours for the girls to settle into their nests for the night and dinner could be served by the crew. "Is there much sun in South Africa? Have you found the Lost City yet? Do you want a chocolate?" While answering Miss Denmark's questions, Miss Gibraltar falls asleep on my shoulder with her "lost luggage" on my lap. Hey, wake up, its dinner time. No thank you, I only have chocolate and water. ZZZZ.'

00h30 and what should have been dinner, more like a desperate lucky dip exercise trying to get some food past all the luggage to your mouth, was over. Cabin crew were locked in a constant battle with "passengers" in the walkways trying to get food trolleys back to the lockers. Chaperons were shouting orders about the necessity of water drinking and the dangers of overindulging in chocolates. Now, whatever had been taken in was starting to pressure people in the direction of the toilets.

01hOO and "duty free" time. One elderly looking steward glanced once at the chaos around him and signalled a "NO GO" to the stewardesses who had the impossible task of pulling the duty free trolleys through the passageways. They quietly put the trolleys back. Rugby supporters, sitting in the front of the plane, were now steadily moving backwards in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what the plane eld in its middle and rear sections. I thought, ha, lucky me! Postcards started travelling from the front, down my side of the plane and back up to the front via the other side. Girls' autographs - those rugby supporters again.

02hOO the movie came on and lights went out. No stopping these girls, except Miss Gibraltar, who was still dozing away as if nothing was happening. The night progressed painfully slowly. But this time a different noise. A sort of rising shattery hoarse rumbly sound made by sharp pulling in of breath and shocking expressions of "what" "No!" and the like. Yes, you are right. The water was finished. The entire water supply of the plane, except for the toilets, was finished. Thank you to the chaperons for warnings that the girls should drink as much water as possible. Now I and the American behind me, who hadn't even had a chance to go to the toilet, let alone move in our seats, would have to go without water - "Steward, is the Castle Lager finished though?" -"sir, we have a ton of rugby supporters in the front of the plane, would you like to know more?"

03hOO and the lights went on again. Chaperons started handing out customs declaration forms. Sleep? whassat? Miss Gibraltar's pen was tucked away in the togglebag we managed to prop up under the seat. However to get to it again was a good test of human indulgence, patience, and persistence. My lap once again conveniently became ''that packing space". The rugby people in the front, never wanting to miss a chance, started moving backwards again in a desperate attempt to "chat-up" some or other beauty. No luck with chaperons and cabin crew, on whose faces slight traces of the effects of psychological and physical torture were now starting to appear. I thought again, "maybe I'm lucky".

04hOO en die bier het erg begin druk. 

Die wens om toilet toe te gaan was groot maar die werklike situasie was veel erger. Na die rondgemaal met die invul van doeanevorms en die bymekaarmaak van paspoorte deur die begeleiers het die toue weer toegeneem voor die toilette. Die Amerikaner agter my het erg begin woel en so nou en dan 'n kreun uitgelaat. Die kajuitpersoneel was nou duidelik moeg en het hulle uit die spore gemaak. Om die water probleem op te los, na hewige woorde van die organiseerders se kant, het die kajuitpersoneel die heIe voorraad sodawater (blikkies) op 'n punt neergesit en gese "help julleself". Dit was die laaste sien van die personeel. Nog geen slaap nie en die bagasie sit nog steeds op die skote en onder die sitvlakke.

O5hOO en ek begin beplan aan my strategie oor hoe om by die toilet uit te kom en hoe om dan toegang te verkry. 'Jy moet roekeloos wees, maak of jy siek is - met die duur rokke wat oor elkeen se stoel hang sal jy gou jou pad deur kry'. Ha, "dat het niet gelukt hoor". Tot my verbasing sien ek die meisies begin nou kalmeer en stiller word in hulle sitplekke en die toue na die toilette raak yler. Ek dag toe, 'ek knip 'n ogie en teen so sesuur behoort hulle almal aan die slap te wees en kry ek my kans'. Ek doen toe ook maar so en val vasberade in 'n bedrukte ongemaklike slapie vas.

07hOO en 'n stem van baie ver vra om verby te kom. Ek skrik wakker en dis Mej Gibraltar wat eindelik wakkergeskrik het en op pad is na die ... natuurlik. Ek merk op dat sy haar "vanity case" en rok in die hand het. Nou moet ek spring, anders word die ander ook wakker en kry ek nie my vyf minute in die son nie. Dit was asof Goliat met sy groot hand my koppie net so terugdruk in my sitplek toe ek opstaan en my aanloop begin, want daar voor my van agter in die vliegtuig tot by elke toiletingang, staan meer as veertig meisies bankvas met bekommerde slaperige gesiggies en wag op ‘n kans om te gaan "titivate". Ek dag by myself 'vriend, hulle is darem mooi' en sak stilletjies terug in my sitplek terwyl die Amerikaner agter my liggies kreun, "not a chance man".

Van toe at was dit chaos. Die rugbymanne voor wil 'n laaste kykie inkry. Die meisies moet voor landing "opgedolly" wees en die laaste "briefings" moet nog gehou word. Tyd loop en die toue raak langer. Die ontbyt moet nog bedien word en die kaptein en sy bemanning het hulleself in die pilote- kajuit toegesluit, angstig om die voel veilig ten gronde te bring. Die watervoorraad vir die toilette raak op en nou breek daar paniek uit. Wat van my en die Amerikaner? Dit is ons demokratiese reg om vrylik na die toilet te kan gaan, en water tot ons beskikking te kan he.' Ek begin vuiste bal en dink, 'hulle is mooi, maar mooi pas duidelik nie meer in hierdie noodsituasie nie' "no more mister nice guy". Ja, probeer jy maar 'n beeldskone dame voor 'n toilet, wasbak en spleet wegdruk as sy binne 'n uur voor die pers by 'n groot ontvangs moet verskyn. Soos die Hollanders sou se "ja dag ... "

Van uithou was daar tonne. Die mens is 'n wonderlike ding. Toe ons daardie linksdraai bo Johannesburg vat, loop my oog oor die paar meisies wat nog struikelend in die tou staan vir die toilette. Die kajuitpersoneel skreeu nou al "please sit down", maar dit val op dowe ore. Meisies wat dit nie kon maak na die toue trek sommer nou op hulle sitplekke aan. Ek sit met twee oop "vanity cases" op my skoot terwyl Mej Denemarke en Mej Gibraltar die laaste strepe trek. Maar soos "jaws" in die fliek, wag ek my kans af en toe die vliegtuig sy laaste buiging na links gemaak het en neus laat sak, spring ek op en nael vir die toilet. 

Ek dag ek hoor 'n ligte, verdrinkende sug van verdriet en wanhoop van die Amerikaner agter my, maar my aandag is op my missie. Verby die laaste meisies, die vlugkelner tot by die "wonderlike" toiletdeur. "You really have to go and sit down now" sis ek deur my tande na die rneisie tussen my en die deur en sy laat spaander. EK IS IN!' Ons land al maar EK IS IN. Ek was die laaste staande persoon toe die wiele grond vat. Op my gemaklike terugstap na my sitplek dink ek by myself, 'man maar hulle is mooi' en toe sien ek die Amerikaner .....

Die vliegtuig is na 'n plek geneem waar die meisies 'n spesiale ontvangs gekry het. Ons passasiers moes eerste afklim en die vraag kom by my op 'te laat om nou eerste aan die beurt te wees?'  

Met 'n terugkykie wuif ek na Denemarke en Gibraltar en se "may the best man win". "Man?" Ai Frans, dag ek in die bus, jy het dan die hele nag geoefen vir daardie laaste woorde ...

Buite ontvang die familie my. Het jy lekker gevlieg? Jy Iyk moeg. Hoe antwoord jy hulle in een kort sin dat so 'n wonderlike ervaring die moeilikste in jou lewe kan wees??

Dankie Steve.