Where is my Rottweiler?

                         

                                                           By 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 specialised 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 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 centre 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 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 5 am 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.

Letter from a Planet in the East

By Yolanda Kemp Spies, Seoul, Korea

Meintjeskop Ditaba No III/1999

Almost three years ago my husband and I came to Korea; he as Head of Mission and I as the unwillingly unemployed colleague-spouse. We Were just married, so Korea by default would be honeymoon, in addition to everything else that was to be new ... and believe me, everything was.

At that stage, we were both well travelled and considered ourselves open-rninded, flexible and adventurous. All the same we were supremely unprepared for the Far East, and even less prepared for the Hermit Kingdom as Korea is known. The expression culture shock does not really apply. Think, rather, in terms of culture-trauma.

Adapt ion as a woman

It took me at least a year to get to grips with this strange, proud, brooding, loner of a country. The adaptation experience was two-fold. Firstly, because I am a woman: In Korea, there is rigid social segregation between the sexes. It is therefore quite common, for example, for men to be invited without their wives to receptions after hours, and when the organisers cannot avoid having the wives there, they try a kind of apartheid trick, by having you socialise in separate areas.

Of course there are exceptions to this mentality - notably people who have lived or studied abroad. Also, the youth is breaking out of the mould, although Korean society is potently self-censuring. Women are supposed to be modest, unobtrusive, and to shun personal opinions - or put into other words, they should blend in with the wallpaper.

Adapt ion as a Foreigner

In that endeavour, I have been less than successful. Imagine somebody reprimanding my husband for allowing me to have an opinion different to his own - never mind that the topic of discussion is absolutely mundane - or ignoring me flatly at an official reception. It took me some months before I stopped taking it personally, and decided to meditate on the advantages of being an ornament. (Some tips: develop a screen-saver for your face, it saves energy; or consider the experience an intellectual vacation.)

In the second place, the fact that I am a foreigner: Now, in multicultural South Africa, the concept is no big deal. Unless people in Pretoria's streets wore polar bear fur suits, we would not even know they were foreigners. We are used to hearing languages we cannot understand, seeing all shapes and colours of people, and watching those same people going about their individual and very diverse customs. In Korea, we are painfully visible - remember the country is culturally, racially and linguistically homogeneous. There is very much a 'them and us' divide. With typical Oriental courtesy, us foreigners are treated with the utmost respect - but kept at a safe arms-length distance.

When you combine the fact that I am a foreigner AND a woman, you encounter another phenomenon the complete absence of male advances. They are, however, prone to giving impromptu, descriptive compliments, much the same way a person at an art exhibition would address a sculpture. But never a come-on the way we know it. This has spoilt me somewhat and I feel almost untouchable, and yes - very, very safe, wherever I go.

Advantages

There are, of course, distinct advantages to being ignored ... particularly when the ignoring is done by traffic cops (who, as in South Africa, are ubiquitous and hyperactive) - and what a pleasure it is to be invisible to them! I should actually put that pleasure into  perspective: Imagine ten million - all brand new - cars in a population of 45 million and most of those cars in the capital. In a nouveau riche country nobody would stoop as low as riding a bicycle! It can take an hour to drive 3 km.

I drive my own car here, and have developed the same flagrant disregard for traffic signs, which all the other millions of drivers display. I simply stare them down and manoeuvre my car into any available crack in their bumper-to-bumper armour. Usually I win because they, quite simply, feel embarrassed by the foreigner's glare. (I talk to them too,and they understand my Afrikaans just perfectly, especially when I blow the hooter)

In fact, Koreans don't get to argue with foreigners in traffic very often, because there are so few foreigners who drive! Reasons? So few of us to begin with; excellent public transport; and the most chauffeured cars per capita in the world!

Language problems

The language barrier is acute and, as can be expected, complicates practical life. The lack of English or any other international language in Korean shops, and the resultant inability of salespeople to assist (ironically, they are always present in vast numbers - one is swamped by impeccably dressed, polite people who look nervous and helpless) means that you have to go on a lucky -packet adventure: Buy boxes or bags and discover (or guess) what is inside, once you get home.

Soap and butter are packaged in similar containers, so are flour and salt, etc. etc .... to confuse is to suffer!

A product like deodorant DOES NOT EXIST. Miraculously, nobody smells of perspiration, except of course, the foreigners! (I suspect that what I purchased in the beginning, was air-freshener) Of course, the language problem forces one to develop impressive body language. I will have to stop that when we return to SA; some of my more passionate non-verbal descriptions make me look as though I'm having a seizure.

And talking about seizures - the term refers to the spontaneous reaction my otherwise patient husband has to Korean workmanship. In all fairness, it should be emphasised that Koreans are amazing workers. They simply refuse to give up, regardless of the success of an endeavour.

We have witnessed several near-disasters in our house; floods and explosions etc. because a man will be slaving away for hours (easily from early morning until late at night, when you actually have to chase him away) and then, after he leaves, several appliances which were in perfect working order, will also have expired. The next day he'll be back at your request, not blinking about the mess, but working zealously on the next monument to technical anarchy. Our agitation is always met by stoic incomprehension.

Admiration

If all of this sounds as though I'm hypercritical, it may come as a surprise that I have not only adapted, but grown a real love and admiration for the Koreans. With the enormous natural resources South Africa has, we would be a superpower if we had even a fraction of these people's diligence. They have a history of persistence and survival against all the odds - having been invaded by their giant neighbours more than 900 times! In 1953, after the Korean War, the country was officially the poorest in the world. Three decades later, it had the 11th largest economy.

Their success is not surprising. The Koreans are bloody-minded when it comes to work, absolutely dedicated and motivated.

The recent Asian economic crisis, which brought the country's economy to its knees, was a huge blow to national pride (which they have lots of), and in the beginning they reverted to a siege mentality - they faced the crisis with unyielding collective determination. Imagine long lines of people at banks, waiting patiently to strip off their gold wedding bands and heirlooms, to donate to a government in need of foreign exchange! I watched in awe, humbled by their willingness to sacrifice.

This year their economy's growth rate bounced back to 8%. To say that I am jealous on South Africa's behalf would be putting it mildly.

My un chosen sojourn in Korea has developed into a fascinating experience. It still feels as though I am on a different planet - but what a privilege it is to have this culture trauma foisted upon me! It can only be an education.

When a bear woke me up too early

Barry with his bear skin and the Dean of the Corps from Belarus

By Laurette Moolman

The Kazakh Foreign Ministry occasionally arranged trips to other parts of the country to introduce those areas to the foreign diplomats. This time it was Eastern Kazakhstan and we were invited to the city of Ust-Kamenagorsk. During the soviet era this city didn’t appear on any map and no foreigners were ever allowed there. Would we discover why?

Our early morning arrival at the airport showed our flight delayed by three and half hours, so the small group of slightly bleary eyed diplomats quickly went home again. We could hardly make a cup of coffee though before we received urgent calls to come back to the airport immediately. They had chartered a tiny Russian jet to take us to our destination, not to upset the programme so carefully planned by our hosts on the other side.

The flight was a good introduction of what was to come. The air hostess was not your typical wispy Kazakh beauty and could only just pass through the very narrow aisle, but she was charming and spunky. She brought us trays of food twice the size of the tiny flip-down tables in front of us and we had to use newspapers to prop them up, not to end up with all the food on our laps. Smoked salmon, poached salmon and all the usual Kz food. The cheerful lady also wanted to know whether we wanted vodka, cognac, gin & tonic, beer, wine ... tea or coffee. It was only 10 o’clock in the morning!

In Ust-Kamenagorsk we were met on the tarmac by a few dignataries and as always girls in traditional costume, bearing sheaves of flowers for the women. Our first meeting was with the regional mayor, hosting a news conference and we met the young woman who was to be the translator for the two days. When she was confronted by terms like “presentation of credentials” she paled and said in desperation “I’m only a teacher!” However, she gained confidence as time wore on and endeared herself to everyone.

Our late and very big breakfast was still fresh in our minds when we were taken to a very flashy restaurant with a shiny red ceiling setting off the crystal chandeliers quite gaudily. Kazakh cuisine is always the same, and sometimes even more so. We started off with plates of cold cuts (which always include horsemeat), salads, smoked salmon, pickles, etc. After this massive bowls of soup were brought on. The soup is always very tasty but rich with blobs of sour cream floating on top. Next arrived the biggest plates I had ever seen with a massive heap of Plov and a very generous piece of rib hacked from a sheep’s carcass. After this the dessert was such a contrast we weren’t sure whether it should really be eaten: a small plate with a tiny blob of mousse on it. Delicate leafy flowery decorations surrounded it and a filigree piece of chocolate sat on top. You see this kind of dessert on fancy cooking programmes but in Kazakhstan? As much as they eat, they don’t go in for desserts. But they do go in for drinking!

All the many meals we had during those two days in the east, were basically the same. Maybe it doesn’t really matter, because the drinking really seems to be the main reason for getting together. Every representative in our group had to propose a toast and make a short speech every time we got together and every toast is supposed to be followed downing your glass of vodka. You must choose right at the beginning of the meal what you want to drink and once you have decided they take away the other glasses. No changing of horses mid-stream, which is maybe not such a bad thing. Once after a few sips of the fairly sweet red wine I thought I might as well have one true Russian evening and drink the vodka. Maybe they thought since I was breaking the rules of sticking to one kind of drink I wanted to go on a binge, because the waiter promptly brought me a big glass of beer too. I shooed it away before he could bring on the cognac, etc too. Even though I never emptied my vodka glass and tried to take the tiniest sip possible with every toast, I still knew I had had too much vodka by the end of the evening. At least they served only high quality vodka, so there was no headache the next morning! It only made me forget that it was Barry’s birthday …

 I often tried to drink at least some of the many toasts with water only, but our hosts kept on circulating to check that no cheating would take place. I really do not know how they cope. Their livers must have mutated over the years to accomodate all this alcohol! Maybe there is an antidote though. Amongst the gifts we received there were two small bottles with a picture of a reindeer on. I had to wait to ask my cleaning lady Tonya, back in Almaty, about this and she confirmed that it was medicine. She read on the cover that it was good for virtually all organs, but she patted her liver with exta vigour and I was very happy to hear that. I hoped everyone in Kazakhstan had a number of those little bottles in their medicine cabinet! Now, since Tonya and I had to communicate with my limited Russian she used many gestures and mimic. After she had patted her liver she gave a wicked giggle to indicate that the drops also had another purpose. She looked cross-eyed, her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her legs wobbled wearily to show how I would feel if I gave the drops to Barry! Once more the antlers of an animal is used for the same purpose men all over the world kill animals for ...

On looking back it is hard not to get stuck on all the eating and drinking that took place, though I shouldn’t. Ust-Kamenagorsk is a truly beautiful city. It reminded me a bit of St Petersburg. There are many trees lining the streets and on the banks of the many rivers criss-crossing through the city and surrounding areas. It is colder up there than in Almaty (in winter MUCH colder – it goes down to -40° C) and the trees had already started changing into their autumn colours. We visited the eternal flame monument which is built where two rivers join and the sun was setting in all its glory behind the water. If I can experience sunset in peace and quiet, looking out over water (or the frozen sea as was the case in St Petersburg) that city will always have a special place in my heart and memories.

We visited some of the sites which make Ust-K such a properous city. A spotless assembly plant for Skoda and Lada with shafts of sunlight falling in through the windows, giving an airy feeling to the plant. The floors were light green. A very strong contrast to this plant was the metal smelting plants for zinc and lead, which we next visited. Massive dark structures with an eerie atmosphere. Dark gloomy caverns with fires burning inside the massive smelters. A scene from Dante’s Inferno!

We visited the metallurgical museum which gave us a glimpse into why this city wasn’t mentioned during the soviet era. Here was their main uranium enrichment plant and it is also where they work with Berillium and Tantal, manufacturing components for the mobile phone industry, nuclear reactors, etc. When I asked our translator whether it was dangerous what they were doing there, she lowered her voice and said “it is very secret!” On the walls were photographs of scientists who had worked there since 1940. Walls full of serious unsmiling faces. A photograph of Stalin still had its place of honour on the wall. The hammer and sicle featured prominently too. The guide was an elderly woman in a very severe uniform. They showed us a short film about the metallurgical plant which was heavily interspersed with patriotic songs, praising the factory with the refrain of taming uranium coming back every time. Situated on the edge of Siberia, much nearer to Russia, one could still breathe the soviet air! It was hard to believe we were in the same country where soon artists in the colourful Kazakh national dress would be singing and dancing again to jolly tunes.

The Kazakhs really are very fond of their music and we were told that in every family someone will play a musical instrument and everyone can sing. Even when we visited a resort set in the mountains, far away from any town or city, together with the inevitable tables laden with food came numerous performers to entertain us. And as they happily sang away I was once more very aware of the Russian heritage of using only gold in their dental work. When some of the singers opened their mouths they flashed a smile of solid gold!

We also experienced a few trips in a very basic Aeroflot helicopter. It looked a bit like a submarine to me, as though it could drop into the water at any time and just carry on in there. Fortunately it didn’t! It took us over beautiful landscape to a lake where our hosts had arranged a leisurely cruise for us. 

We were not quite sure whether the purpose of the cruise might not also have been only another excuse to eat and mostly drink. The front deck had a few comfortable deck chairs which seemed to me the ideal place to sit and enjoy the lovely scenery, but we were whisked away to the tables laden with food and the waiters moving about with the omnipresent bottles of vodka! I managed to sneak back to the deck and one of the also ever present kind ladies presiding over the catering, brought me a rug against the chilly breeze. I suppose it was either a rug or numerous shots of vodka to keep the breeze out. Maybe there were fewer rugs than bottles of vodka ... Where I sat comfortably wrapped up in my rug, I noticed though that the vodka’s side effects were actually not so bad. The female ambassador of Belarus started singing melancholy songs in a beautiful voice. Someone else started dancing. Some of the diplomats became very courageous and tried out Russian cossack dances. A man whispered an endearment against a female cheek. The atmosphere became quietly relaxed. The light on the surrounding hills and the water was beautiful and there was an air of tranquillity all around.

As mentioned the last day of our trip was Barry’s birthday, which fortunately by then I had remembered, feeling totally ashamed of myself! At the resort which was our last stop before going back to the airport, someone whispered the fact into our hosts’ ears. As we sat down to the heavily laden tables once more with the inevitable toasts being made, special toasts were made for Barry with the promise of a gift soon arriving.

No photograph could do justice to Barry’s face when the gift arrived ... A massive bear’s skin complete with fluffy ears, sharp claws and vicious teeth! Barry was totally overwhelmed and could hardly find words to express his feelings. Many hugs and more glases of vodka had to suffice. Our translator solemnly explained the story of the bear, feeling honour bound to do so with the brown bear being on the Cites red list. He came out too early and had to be shot. He ended his winter hibernation in February when there was no other food around than maybe the odd human and they had to kill him.

Barry just stood there with his arms full of bear, wondering how he would get this exceptionally generous gift home. At the airport, while we had yet another table with food and again the vodka, wine, beer, cognac, etc. to enable the mayor of the city this time, to say some kind words, someone whisked away the bear skin. At least this time we flew back with a bigger aircraft. When we arrived in Almaty at the conveyor belt, there was an oddly shaped brown paper parcel kept together with masses of sellotape.  I made a little tear in the paper to find out whether this was THE gift and it happened to be in the exact spot where the big nose, the red gums and the vicious teeth were. Imagine the face of the policeman who checked the outgoing baggage… Imagine our driver’s face!

We will never forget those two days of incredible hospitality, culminating in this fantastic gift which Barry put on the floor of his study. Every time I walked past the door the snarling teeth still gave me a fright. After our two daughters visited us in Almaty they wanted to draw lots as to who would inherit the bear skin, but Barry was too law abiding to take the skin of an animal on the Cites red list out of the country. (I was ready to hide it in a duvet cover!) And so we gave this magnificent skin to our landlord, Sergei Petrovitch, who had been such a wonderful landlord and friend to us.

Another Kazakh - Pavlodar

A boiled sheep's head - important part of the Kazakh cuisine

By Laurette Moolman

  

The Foreign Ministry in Kazakhstan had organised another one of their trips for diplomats, this time to the most northern part of Kazakhstan, just below the Russian border and Siberia, starting at Pavlodar.

The trip started with some trepidation. A glance at the list of who was going along, gave us the impression it was only going to be Russian speaking colleagues. We arrived by plane in Pavlodar at dusk and it was a gloomy drive from the airport into the city. Only some street lights were burning and very faintly too. The apartment blocks were all still those most depressing soviet blocks, in contrast to Almaty where mirror glass windows in modern buildings have changed the appearance of the city completely. As always, it was good to fear the worst, because then things can only get better.

The Belgian ambassador joined the group from Astana, the new capital where more and more embassies are now situated.  He not only spoke English but we could even speak the odd word of Afrikaans with him. The Korean ambassador spoke much more Russian than we did, but he also spoke some English. The Chinese ambassador, a most serious person, spoke Russian maybe even better than some Russians, since the Chinese sent him to Moscow for 15 years to learn the language. How could we compete when we got 6 weeks’ notice to come to this Russian speaking country? The Chinese wife spoke about 5 words of English, but she was such a lovely and sweet person that we soon felt like sisters. Very quiet sisters, but goodwill made up for the lack of language. As we all got to know one another – and one gets to know one another quite well on this kind of trip – language seemed to matter less and less. Vodka loosens the tongue and people started speaking languages they never knew they could!

There may be aspects of the post-soviet era we have serious problems with, but hospitality is not one of them. And their hospitality centers around food! Tables laden with food have nothing to do with feeding people who might be hungry, it is how they show their regard for guests. Whether we visited an oil substation, stopped at a natural spring in the middle of nowhere on the Steppe, or went to see strange rock formations rising out of the Steppe in another area, we knew we were going to be ushered into a tent or room with the ubiquitous tables groaning under all the food. It didn’t matter whether it was only an hour after the previous stop, the new hosts had to do their best too! Since all the lovely ladies preparing the food and serving everybody at the various locations, have nothing to do with one another and were all simply  trying to do their utmost, it would’ve been rude to turn round and run away, though that is how we started feeling. Even our Kazakh interpreter told me after the very last and umpteenth stop that she couldn’t stomach her own people’s hospitality anymore. If it had been different food at the different stops it might have been a different story, but their cuisine must be the least versatile I have ever come across. Identically the same food every single time, with the only variation in how fatty the meat was!

Mosque in Pavlodar with the dome in the shape of a Kazakh hat

One small difference was that the north seemed to focus more on diary products than they do down in Almaty. The bowls with fermented horsemilk appeared first thing every time after we sat down. I stopped feeling bad about waving it away, since there are many Kazakhs who also don’t drink it. Our interpreter tried to impress on us how very healthy it was – and then it boomeranged on her. At the end of our trip on the bus back to the airport, an hour after our last stop, she desperately rushed up to the bus driver asking him to stop. She and a few others were clutching their stomachs in agony. The sweet Chinese lady woke me up from my nap, saying with urgency “Laurette, toilet!” I dutifully got off the bus, but by the time I was fully awake I realised there was nothing wrong with me, since I hadn’t drunk the fermented milk. In any case, there was no toilet, only waving wheatfields behind a wall and I left them to each find an ear of wheat to squat behind. The incident gave me an even better excuse not to drink the stuff!

Other examples of  dairy products on every table, were plates with chunks of a deep yellow butter, milky granules of ???, dishes with thick yellow sour cream. The cows obviously feed well on the grasslands of the Steppe. In these parts they spread the very oily deep fried sour dough rolls (similar to our vetkoek but smaller) thickly with butter and then dip it into the cream. Since they consume so much vodka they need that lining! A big Russian fellow nearly didn’t make it one evening, lolling around on his chair and falling asleep into his food, and he had to be escorted out of the room and to bed. The next day he simply admitted that he hadn’t seen to lining his stomach properly, so he then dug into the oily fish, meat, rolls, butter, etc. not to miss any of the new rounds of toasts. On our last morning there was beer and vodka even at breakfast! Women can stick to a glass of wine or water or juice, but they keep an eagle eye on the men to down their glasses after every toast. The day after we returned to Almaty we drank only black tea. The Korean ambassador went to climb the high mountain above Almaty.

Though the eating and drinking played a huge role, we did visit many interesting places too. In Pavlodar we were shown through a prestigious university, the local museum and also an art gallery with a small but beautiful  selection of paintings by local artists. During the Soviet era all churches and mosques were demolished but they have rebuilt a few. We visited a charming church in the style of the Russian churches with their golden domes, with an even more charming orthodox priest taking us around.

The new mosque we also visited looked a bit strange until we realised that the dome’s shape was intended to resemble the pointed traditional Kazakh hat. Not too surprising when one considers that Islam in Kazakhstan is quite different from the view many people in the world have of it. Immediately in front of the mosque we saw two typical Kazakh girls with their slender and shapely figures in mini skirts and body hugging tops. We were each presented with a Kazakh translation of the Qur’an, which I don’t think will be recognised by many people for what it is, and won’t convert us either. Russian is difficult enough, but Kazakh ...

Kazakh girls in front of a yurt

On the industrial side we visited the open-pit coal mine at Ekibastuz, which is the biggest open-pit coal mine in the world. It really was quite mind-blowing.  It simply carried on and on and deeper and deeper into the earth, over a vast area. In one article about the mine it is described as being so cold there in winter that “birds freeze on the wing”. This statistic made quite an impression on me though I did wonder, shouldn’t birds know not to be ‘out on the wing’ when it is so cold? What was surprising to us, though not when you take into account the country’s history and especially how secretive things were during the soviet era, was how nobody we spoke to in Almaty knew it was the biggest open-pit coal mine in the world. They know very little at all about that part of their own country and hardly anyone from the south have ever visited the north. Probably a legacy of the fact that it was out of bounds for very long due to all the dodgy actions of the Russians up there!

On the one side of Pavlodar there is a very big aluminium smelter with apparently very high environmental standards. That is, on our way there our interpreter told us how many people in the area suffer from respiratory ailments, but at the smelter we were told their emissions are 98% free of dangerous substances. I would love to believe that. Many people in that part of Kazakhstan died at a fairly young age of cancer because of all the nuclear tests carried out. At least up till today the families are paid some compensation.

When we arrived at the aluminium smelter I stepped out of the bus, blinking into the bright sunlight and a beautiful bouquet of flowers was pushed into my hands by a charming man! They gave all the women flowers at nearly every place we stopped. The charming man turned out to be a prominent trade union leader who took us round the aluminium smelter. I had to ask him some questions. Do they also strike as trade unions tend to do? He was quite surprised at my question and claimed they look after their workers so well, regarding subsidised housing, schooling, medical insurance, etc. that they don’t feel the need to strike. We actually spent the last day and a half at a beautiful resort belonging to the alumium trade union, established for their workers. Lovely chalets with a stunning view over the lake and surrounding hills and excellent facilities. Strolling through the garden we encountered a sexy young woman with a gorgeous figure working there as gardener in tiny shorts...  

And so, once more, we were privileged to have been given a glimpse into another part of that big country. We flew back to Almaty with wonderful memories and having made new friends. Unfortunately the women had to leave behind the seven beautiful flower bouquets we had been presented at every stop, but they will remain as some of the beads in our memory chain of experiences, as will the hospitality and goodwill and knowledge gained.

Tribute to South African Greek relations

THE SOUTH AFRICAN OFFICIAL RESIDENCE IN ATHENS

By Dee Vourliotis

Sent in by A van Zyl, Athens, Greece 1998

Amplified by Pete Bower 2016

Exactly 50 years ago the Official Residence in Athens which has served as the home for eleven Heads of Mission was purchased by the South African Government for 8500 gold sovereigns.

The residence was purchased by George Bower and family legend has it that the gold sovereigns were carted off to the seller in a wheelbarrow!

To commemorate this occasion as well as South African-Greek relations in general and to inaugurate the newly-established permanent exhibition centre at the Residence, Ambassador Dawie Jacobs and his wife, Eldaleen, hosted two commemorative functions on 10 and 11 June 1998. Both events received prominent media coverage.

Official relations between South Africa and Greece date back to 1905 when the first Greek Consulate was opened in Cape Town. Another Consulate was later opened in Johannesburg in 1908, while the Greek Embassy was established in 1942. The first South African Diplomatic Mission in Greece was established as a Legation in 1946, headed by Col George M Bower, who served as Charge d’Affaires a.i until 1954. He served under General Frank Theron, who oversaw three missions from his base in Rome, namely Athens, Rome and Madrid.

Bower later served as Charge d' Affaires a.i. until 1956, under Ambassador General WHE Poole who was stationed in Rome, and was also accredited to Greece.

In 1960 the South African Legation was upgraded to an Embassy and General Poole was accredited to Greece as the first resident South African Ambassador.

Immediately after the arrival of Mr Bower in Athens at the beginning of 1946, the search for suitable accommodation for a chancery and residence started. This was difficult to come by as British troops were still in Greece following the end of World War II in 1945.

Bower was the first post-war SA representative in Greece and was an important conduit of correspondence between Queen Frederika (who was my sister’s godmother) and Jan Smuts. He came to be there, and met Pete’s mother, as a result of his being seconded to the British Army after the end of hostilities to quell a communist uprising that occurred around Thessalonika. At some stage he had learnt to speak Greek and so was deemed to be a suitable man for the job. After making contact with the communist command he determined that the best way to stop the uprising would be, quite simply, to buy the communists off with a large sum of money. 

This would need to be procured from the British government, represented at the time in Athens by the British Department of Economic Warfare in the form of Pete’s mother, whose maiden name was Sandberg. So Colonel Bower (the rank is important) flew to Athens to meet with what he thought would turn out to be a little Jewish (Sandberg) minion from London, only to be confronted by Bower’s mother, who was neither Jewish (Sandberg is also a Swedish name) nor little … let’s just delicately say she was statuesque … and who had taken unto herself the rank of Brigadier. The meeting did not go well: she told his father in no uncertain terms that the British government was in no position to part with money to buy off a bunch of communists and, anyway, Bower’s job as a soldier was to fight.

 Romantically, there was also a complication in that Pete’s father was already married with a child in South Africa. Sadly, his wife died of leukemia in 1947 after giving birth to her second daughter, by which time Sandberg was back in London (having been kicked out of Greece by the British ambassador for what he said was a breach of protocol). There was obviously something between them, Col Bower and Brig Sandberg, however, because when her boss at the time mentioned to her that “George Bower’s wife has sadly died” she went back to Greece, met up with him, married him, and Pete Bower the happy result, even if the marriage lasted only a few years before George too died in the Congo. (He had hoped to be sent to Brussels as ambassador but his politics and Englishness made that a bridge too far for the Nats.)

The Legation in the meantime moved into rented space. Eventually an ideal location was found in the prestigious suburb of Psychico situated in the centre of the "diplomatic area". next to the Belgian Legation and opposite the Palace of Queen Mother Frederika, then occupied by the Italian Legation. According to documentation the house was built in 1934 by the owner, who was supposedly the largest building contractor at the time at a cost of approximately £90.000 Sterling. The selling price n 1948 was 8.500 gold sovereigns,. which included agency and transfer fees. The Sterling equivalent in Greece at the time was £78.462.

It is said that General Jan Smuts, a close friend of the Greek Royal family, personally viewed the classical building at 5 Diamandidou Street during a visit to Greece in 1946 to address the Greek Parliament, where he was staying with Crown Prince Paul and Princess Frederika, who lived just across the street from the property.

Family legend has it that Pete’s father was of the habit of taking pot-shots at the Palace pigeons which flew overhead, to furnish the Legation kitchen with the makings of pigeon pie. The sounds of shots being fired so close to the Royal Residence created some consternation among the palace security personnel.

After his inspection of the building, Smuts called the then Minister of Finance (Treasury) to obtain the 8500 gold sovereigns for payment.

The Minister apparently told him that such a large sum was unavailable, especially in gold sovereigns. Smuts, who was afraid that the owner would not wait for the money and as a result sell the property to someone else replied, "Then make them!" The purchase was finally sealed with the handing over of the property deeds to the South African Legation on behalf of the Union of South Africa on 29 May 1948.

In 1951 the Chancery - until then in rented space - was transferred to the basement of the Official Residence, where it remained until September 1968.

Since the purchase of the Official Residence, it has been occupied by the following Heads of Mission: Col G M Bower till 1956; JCH Maree (1956-196 I) both as Charge d'Affaires a i. followed by Ambassadors: Major General WHE Poole (1960-1966); Col NJJ Jooste (1967-1970); Mr P Lindhorst (1971-1973): Mr J Selfe (1974-1980): Mr P H Viljoen (1981-1983): Mr F J Cronje (1984-1989): Dr S G A Golden (1990-1993): Mr P Coetzee (1993-1996): and Mr D Jacobs (1997 to date).

In 1979 a new garage was constructed and the old garage was kept as a garden tool storeroom until 1997 when Ambassador Jacobs obtained permission from the Department of Foreign Affairs to have it renovated to serve as a permanent exhibition centre where the cultural diversity of South Africa's rainbow nation could be on display. It includes, amongst others, paintings by prominent South African artists; arts and crafts which include Nguni beadwork, Zulu woven baskets, Ndebele dolls, wooden sculptures, embroideries made by women from previously disadvantaged communities and a display of historical photographs depicting the history of South African-Greek relations.

The residence had a wonderful spacious attic (in which, incidentally, Nico Spanos had been housed before he was pardoned by the Greek police). My father used the attic as a workshop, and installed a proper carpenter’s workbench. In later times this was used for parties. I know this because when Mrs Bower, Pete’s mother and Pete stayed there as guests of the Joostes in the late Sixties they were shown the attic, which had been cleaned up and was festooned with bunting. George Bower’s workbench was still there.

 The two commemorative functions mentioned above took the form of a formal sit-down dinner on 10 June and a reception in the garden of the Official Residence on 11 June for 80 and 500 guests respectively.

The guest speaker at the dinner was Mr Panayiotis Sgourides, the Deputy President of the Greek Parliament, who paid tribute to South African-Greek relations. A prominent Athenian figure, Mr Ian Vorres, Mayor of Paiania and President of the renowned Vorres Museum, officially opened the permanent exhibition centre. During both these functions the children's paintings from the Santam international children's art competition were put on display on panels surrounding the patio of the Residence, creating a wonderful atmosphere and drawing very positive comments. A harpist provided background music during the dinner, while a Greek choir impressed the guests during the reception with their rendition, not only of Greek songs, but of "Shosholoza'', "Thula Thula Mtwana" as well as the South African National Anthem.

On South African-Greek relations Mr Sgourides, who recently visited South Africa, said that "Greece needs South Africa and South Africa needs Greece". He also expressed the confidence that "South Africa will eventually become the future United States of Africa, a new world leader in politics, commerce and culture".

Mr Vorres, in commenting on the "rainbow nation", quoted the great thinker Reinhold Niebuhr who said that "nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in a lifetime". He noted that the new rainbow nation had proved Niebuhr totally wrong!

A commemorative brochure depicting the history of the Official Residence and South African- Greek relations was especially compiled for and released on the occasion.

Fired on duty

 By Cassim Peer, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
Meintjeskop Ditaba No III/1999
             

The Hadj

I have decided to put pen to paper at the urging of my friend and colleague His Excellency Richard Baltimore III, the Consul General of the United States of America in Jeddah Saudi Arabia. His Excellency, who heard of my experience during one-of our discussions at the many functions we attend together as representatives of our respective countries in Jeddah, insisted that it was necessary to record this incident for historical reasons and as "an inspiration to others". 

Richard Baltimore III who served at the Embassy of the United States in Pretoria for two years during the apartheid era, had during his time there been a great help and support to members of the liberation movement and the oppressed people in South Africa.

The Hajj

The pilgrimage or the Hajj, as the Muslims know it, is a five day ritual which involves the movement of pilgrims from Makkah to a valley called Mina about 7 kilometres away. From there, the entire mass of people move to a place called Arafat, and thereafter to Muzdalifa and back to Mina where they stay for a further three days and then return to Makkah. At each of these sites, they have to conduct certain rituals, which constitute the Hajj process. In the valley of Mina, which has to accommodate 3 million people, on an area of 2 square kilometres, the Government of Saudi Arabia has divided the space into approximately 150 camps made up of almost 70000 tents to ccommodate all the pilgrims.

South African Camp

The temperature on this fateful 15th day of April 1997, at about 11 O'clock in the morning was 45 degrees Celsius. The South African camp was designed to accommodate 9000 people but due to some miscalculations, the camp was overcrowded and approximately 200 pilgrims could not find accommodation in the tents. Many of these pilgrims sheltered from the burning sun by sitting under some huge refrigerated trucks that were parked on the road in front of the camp.

Fire!

While waiting for the arrival of the official in charge of providing accommodation outside the camp, I took shelter under a refrigerated truck. I was chatting with some pilgrims when we saw people running past the camp. At first we did not take notice until we realised that the number of people running past the camp was increasing at a very rapid rate. Suddenly we saw vehicles loaded with people also rushing past the camp and the crowd of people increased to a stampede within a few minutes. We immediately moved further to ascertain the reason for this and were informed that a fire had broken out in one of the camps, which was approximately a kilometre from the South African camp. We heard sounds of explosions and saw large clouds of smoke arising in the distance.

People were screaming and shouting and generally in a state of panic.

Crowds

Immediately I entered the South African camp and noticed that great anxiety and fear had gripped the people. The road in front of the camp was completely choked with the people desperate to get away from the fire and it was impossible to move. A decision was taken to close the gate of the South African camp to prevent other people from entering and causing a stampede.

Having done that we positioned ourselves over the corrugated iron fence and sprayed the crowd outside with water to cool them off as they rushed past. From this position, we initially felt that the fire was at a distance and did not pose any danger to the South Africans. However, we also took notice that the fire was spreading onto the hillside in the background about a kilometre away and people were scattering in all directions.

Risk

As the only person in authority in that camp, in my capacity as Consul General, I asked some community leaders to make a decision on behalf of the South African pilgrims. Climbing onto a mobile refrigeration unit, I saw that the fire was burning furiously. 

Helicopters were pouring huge buckets of water onto the fire and fire engines were desperately trying to get the fire under control.

By this time, the crowd of people walking past the South African camp became extremely dense and it was impossible to open the gate. I therefore advised the people to break down the fence at the rear of the South African camp in order to open a way to evacuate the people should the need arise.

Danger

Other South African pilgrims joined me at the place where I stood and we monitored the movement of the fire. Suddenly there was a change in the direction of the wind and now clearly the fire was heading towards the South African camp. A decision was then made that the South African pilgrims needed to evacuate the camp. As it was impossible to open the gate, the people were asked to move out of the camp from the rear where the fence had been broken down. I urged the people to leave all their belongings and to move out of the camp as fast as they could.

People had begun to panic and I appealed to them to calm down. It was also impossible for me to guide them as to the direction they should take, as it seemed that most of the roads leading away were congested. They were advised to take any road or highway that led them away from the approaching fire.

Family evacuation

Suddenly I realised that my wife and four children needed to get away. But my responsibility dictated that I stay in the camp to ensure that all South Africans were evacuated and to assist any in difficulty. I decided that I had to send away my family to safety and approached a relative and asked him to take my wife and children with him. A friend agreed to carry my 7-year-old son on his shoulders to avoid him being crushed by the crowd. 

I could see the anguish in the eyes of my wife and urged her to move quickly and to take care of the children. As they walked out of the camp, I glanced at them and wondered if that was the last time I would be seeing them. I knew that by staying at the camp, I would be placing my life in a great danger.

  

Sick

I began evacuating the people as fast as possible. Walking from tent to tent I ensured that all the people were moving out. In the far end of the camp people were sound asleep, unaware of the great drama that was playing itself out around them. I woke these people and rushed them out of the camp.

In one tent I found a man and a woman. The man was sitting next to his wife and explained that she was extremely sick and unable to walk. I told him that he had no choice but to take his wife and leave. I helped him to pick up his wife and hovinq put her arm around his shoulder, I supported them to the end of the camp and asked them to continue walking, which they did with some difficulty.

"Heart Tablets"

After about 20 minutes, I noticed that most people had managed to get onto the side of the road leading away from the fire. I stood on an elevated spot to check the camp and saw that at the end of the camp an elderly man was shuffling around in search of something.

I ran the 100 or so metres towards him and with the exploding gas cylinders, sirens, screams and other sounds in the background I almost became hysterical myself, realising that the fire was fast approaching the South African camp. I screamed at the man about his suicidal behaviour. He responded that he needed his tablets before he left. I told him to forget his tablets and get out of the camp but he insisted that it served no purpose saving himself from the fire if he would collapse and die of heart failure down the road. The man was looking for his "heart tablets"!

I realised that he needed help. He indicated that his tent was in the last row near the ablution block. I took him to each tent but he failed to recognise any as his. Eventually, I heard a helicopter overhead and realised that the fire was getting really close and in desperation asked him in which camp his tent was. He replied that his tent was in camp number 5. Sadly, 

I had to remind him that we were in fact searching camp 6 and that camp 5 was beyond reach due to the closeness of the fire. I urged him to walk away and although he was greatly distressed, he agreed. I walked with him to the rear end of the camp and recall wondering, whether, with the added stress of the fire, he would make it to safety.

Old and Infirm

I was now sure that the South African camp was empty but could not stand by and see the old and infirm pilgrims lying nearby, too exhausted to move away. I joined the effort by the Indians and Pakistanis to carry these people to safety. We all agreed that we would carry them about a 100 meters down the road and at that point ask others to take them further. I also remembered one very old man who insisted that he be left there to die as he was too old and therefore it was unnecessary to save him. However, he was also carried away.

Under Control

I eventually moved about 300 meters away from the camp and began to assist the elderly and injured and awaited developments. It seemed that the fire was being brought under control and at about 3pm that afternoon, it looked safe to go back to the camp.

I was extremely tired, thirsty and hungry by this time and was extremely pleased to see a fellow South African whom I knew quite well. He told me that his tent was still standing and that he had plenty of food. We rushed to his tent and I must say that that was the tastiest plate of biryani I had ever eaten.

Return

I began to worry about my family. It was impossible to know where they could have ended up. The sirens were still sounding everywhere. Helicopters were removing the seriously injured. Figures released later showed t~at over 500 people had died and thousands were injured. I found that the best option was to wait at the camp and hope and pray for the-safety of my family.

Exhausted, I fell asleep. When I awoke, amidst the general excitement of the returning crowds, I recognised the voice of my little son in a nearby tent. I ran out to find my family had returned safe and sound. They had been separated from the group due to the crowds and my wife and three of my children had ended up at another part of Mina where they had taken shelter. My eldest son had found himself on a freeway to Makkah but had been assisted by some unknown person and brought back to the camp.

Another day in the life of a South African diplomat!