by J H Thompson
– Chris, age 17
When we were bored, we used to stick a piece of rolled-up toilet paper between a guy’s toes and light it. Once I did it to a guy under a mozzie net, and that caught fire too! The other thing was to hold a lit cigarette just above the toenail. It would heat up, and even when the guy jumped up it would continue to burn, ’cause the nail was still so hot. Man, we had some fun.
– Anthony, age 18
There was a lot of horseplay, and once back in the States, at Swartkops, it was teatime and we were sitting playing bridge. I saw this hand come around the corner holding a black tin with a red cap. I saw the sleeve was green like a pilot’s overall. I knew it was tear gas and tried to run, but I still got caught. We thought it was the pilots, so we got a small canister of tear gas and sprayed it into the pilots’ tearoom. They, in turn, thought it was 44 Squadron, so they tear-gassed them. And so it went around. Everybody sprayed everybody, but it was always the wrong group. Eventually we found out it was this flight engineer. We waited until he went to the toilet. When we heard he was busy with a number two, we sprayed tear gas under the door. He couldn’t go anywhere! He got what was coming to him!
– Tallies, age 17
We were bos oupas, as opposed to ou manne, who were in any camp but not on the Border. Whenever roofs came up, we did the same thing that was done to us – we made them chew their Daraclor, their malaria tabs. It is the most awful fucking taste in the world. And no matter how much you chewed and rinsed your mouth, there would always be some little piece left that fell out from between your teeth during parade when there was no water.
– Andy, age 18
We had two Paracats. They were called Bliksem and Streeps. We used to strap parachutes from the flares around them and drop them off from the top of the tower and they’d float down. Two chutes to a cat were best. We learnt this the hard way when Bliksem’s one chute failed to open properly and he spiralled down, bounced on a tent roof and then fell onto a sandbag. I love cats and I thought, oh my God, I am going to have to shoot this cat. I got down the tower so fast that when I got there he had just stood up and was shaking himself and the harness off. Luckily he was fine. They never ran away, so I guess they enjoyed being Paracats.
– Dave, age 19
We were up in Mongua in Angola, in trenches around the HQ Bunker, the communication centre and where the commandant and sergeant major housed themselves. We decided to play Bolland’s ‘You’re in the Army Now’ over the guard radio. As soon as the sergeant major had the opportunity to get on the radio, because we’d effectively blocked it by keying and keeping the mike open while playing the song, he demanded that the individual or individuals responsible present themselves at the bunker, as in yesterday. As we were officers – lieutenants – the two of us figure we couldn’t let the troops take the knock for it, and so we headed off to the bunker to present ourselves. The commandant looks at us and asks us, in Afrikaans, what we are doing there. He thought we had come for some other reason, and when we told him we were the two individuals responsible for playing the song, you could see he wanted to smile. He told us to go back to the trenches, think of a suitable punishment and inform him of that punishment the next morning. We wracked our brains but couldn’t think of a suitable punishment, and he never pursued it any further.
– Dudley, age 21
Being in the army could teach you a lack of accountability. I would be working on road construction somewhere and would send the driver in the truck to go 20 kays to get me a 20-cent packet of chips and bring it back to me. The amount of diesel required to do that … but you had this perception, well, the army supplies the diesel, so it just doesn’t cost anything.
– Paul, age 17
I was on the Border – near Okalongo, I think it was – with Erich, whose nickname was Half-a-Bee, after a ridiculous Monty Python song. The irony was that Erich couldn’t even say ‘hello’ in English if he tried. We were on patrol, and before settling down for the night, we’d pair off so that one could have a shit, clean his rifle or whatever while the other was on guard. I wanted to have a shit, so Half-a-Bee says he’ll be on lookout. Now this whole fuckin’ area is full of fuckin’ dung beetles. I don’t know if you’ve seen them. They are the most kakly designed insect in the world, ’cause it doesn’t land, it crashes. And when they want to take off, they have to buzz around, gathering momentum before they go off. So I dig a hole, and have a shit. You probably don’t know, but when you eat rat packs for a long time your shit goes this green colour. Anyway, this dung beetle comes vvvvrrrr-ing past, crash lands, climbs into the hole, puts his feet on the green shit, and he turns around and fucks off! Half-a-Bee turns around to me and says, ‘Jy weet wat? Hulle eet net mis, hulle eet nie kak nie’ [You know what? They only eat dung, they don’t eat shit].
– John, age 18
Music and alcohol were a form of escapism. In the first year, you get a seven-day pass, and a 14-day pass in the second year. My first pass was over Christmas, and then I had to be back in camp before New Year to stand guard. When my mom and dad took me back, I sat in the car and just bawled. I couldn’t handle it. When I got back to the bungalow, my mate had a Walkman and was passing it around. I escaped to Lionel Ritchie’s ‘Dancing on the Ceiling’. I never drank in the army. But a lot of guys did and drank a lot. The pub would open between five and nine, and some guys would drink 17 beers in that time. I asked this one guy, ‘Hoekom drink jy so baie?’ [Why do you drink so much?] ‘Ek verlang’ [I yearn], was his simple reply.
– Nick, age 20
There was this path from the one bar at Ondangwa to the quarters, and across this path was a stormwater drain. It was about a metre and a half deep and a metre wide. Across the drain was a metal plate. As long as you walked straight down the path you could cross the drain safely. However, because at night the area was pitch dark and it was on the path from the bar, many people misjudged where the plate was and, being intoxicated, fell into the stormwater drain. It didn’t help that every now and again, just for a laugh, some guys would remove the plate. We came up with the idea of welding a railing to the plate so you knew as long as you held onto the railing and crossed to the right of it, you were safely on the plate. So what did the guys do? They turned the whole thing around so the plate lay to the left of the railing. Often a guy was found the next morning curled up in a foetal position against the cold.
– Tallies, age 17
I played golf. You had to see it to believe it. It was hilarious. There was a golf course, with a club house built by the army, in Rundu town, which was a base town. We could only go there if our sergeant major took us. Anyway, he liked to play golf, so I went along – anything to get out of camp. I’d offer to go with him ’cause he was a golf fanatic. Man, he played like shit. But fortunately I played such kak golf that I played as badly as him. The fairways were desert, the rough was thorn trees, and the greens were the nicest pieces of sand you’ve ever seen. They were slightly higher than the surrounding desert, flat and with a little Ovambo standing there with a pole and a flat piece of metal on the end so that he could smooth a path for your ball. He would make a straight line from your ball to the hole and you would basically hit it as hard as you could. If you played like that on a real green, you’d hit the ball 100 metres. I swear that’s how I got rank, my first stripe, and my pay increase – playing golf with my sergeant major. I didn’t suffer through JLs or anything, but I showed commitment on the golf course.
– Anthony, age 18
I and three others were hoping to run Comrades, even though we were stuck on the Border and even though we had done no hill training, run any other marathon races or done any of the other stuff they say you should do in preparation for Comrades. We were only able to train when we were off duty or at the weekends, and it was always hot, very hot. We trained by running around and around the – flat – perimeter of Ondangwa Air Force Base. I didn’t think about it at the time, but thinking about it now, I realise we were such vulnerable targets.
We ran right on the fence line. I couldn’t believe it, but the commandant organised for us to run Comrades, and shortly before the race he organised us a flight on a C-130 from Ondangwa to Waterkloof. I know the Defence Force took pride in its athletes, but, man, just the four of us rattling around in this huge plane? It was amazing that we could do that at the government’s expense! We did all right and finished in about eight hours.
– John, age 19
We were approached the one day by an officer and asked if we knew how to play cricket. We said we did and that we were bloody good cricketers. I’m a … for God’s sake, I know how to play cricket! We knew being in a cricket team meant we might be able to get away for a couple of days. We formed the Sector 7Ø cricket side, which I captained, and got a cricket mat and some old kit so we could practise and play on the parade ground. We had to go to Windhoek for a tournament, and from there they were going to choose the South African Defence Force cricket side. It was serious stuff. We get into a Dakota with all our hidden rations, a bottle of booze, smokes and whatever else we could shove into our kitbags. All 12 of us fly from Mpacha in the Caprivi to Windhoek, playing bridge all the way, drinking and having fun. We get to Windhoek and check into a motel nogal! The Safari Motel. And the next day we start our tournament. We’re playing against the likes of Keppler Wessels – all these guys who are playing in the home units, in Pretoria, Johannesburg and the Northern Transvaal. We’re these bushmen. The only thing we’ve got going for us is that we’ve got guts and we are as fit as fiddles and the word no is not in our vocabulary. We do very well: first game we played, we won. Then we get told by this big knob of a colonel that we had to be back at the motel before 10 p.m. Ten o’clock is ridiculous. We’re not going to go to bed at that time. So we go out that night and end up at the Kalahari Sands at the disco at the top of the hotel. Needless to say, three of us got home as the sun was coming up. We decided that we should delay the start of the game, ’cause we were tired. So we turned on the hosepipe and put it under the cover of the cricket pitch. Play was delayed for at least two hours. The bragging side of that day was that even with that headache and babalaas, I took seven wickets for 11 runs in 14 overs. The only reason we lost that game that day was because I was too hung-over to bat. We still thought a few of us would be selected, me for my bowling and Jimmy for his batting. But some little jerk had ratted us out to the colonel, and when he was handing out the colours to everyone and announcing the South African Defence Force Team, he said, ‘Due to ill discipline, the following players were not even considered …’ So that night we went back to the Kalahari Sands.
– Ric, age 18
One Saturday we were told that those who wanted to experience a rough ride in a Ratel could take a ride as there was one lined up. So there we were, six bright-eyed gay guys going for a ride in the back of the Ratel. You can just imagine the shrieks and screams as we bounced across the veld! We were all laughing and shouting out, ‘Watch out girls!’ to each other and things like, ‘Look out boys, here we come!’ This one guy had been a koffiemoffie with South African Airways before the army and he stood up and did this marvellous charade, pretending that we were passengers on board a plane. ‘Welcome to flight such and such, your captain today is the gorgeous so and so, and in the event of an emergency, please make your way to the nearest exits, which are now being pointed out to you.’ He pointed to the imaginary exits to the front, middle and rear of the vehicle. I laughed so much I peed in my pants.
– Rick, age 18
Our base at Ongiva was at this old commercial airport terminal building. We were having a formal dinner for NCOs and commissioned officers. There were approximately 45 people in attendance. There were fancy serviettes, plates, cutlery and even a Choc-Kits biscuit right above the dessert spoon, everything. It didn’t take long for a surreptitious food fight to start. We threw the biscuits at one another and then veggies wrapped in the serviettes, and a few of us accessed eggs from the chef’s ration tent and were throwing those. The South African flag was hanging on the wall behind the commandant and he stood up and proposed a toast, saying that to the best of his knowledge this was the first time the South African flag had been raised in Angola and we all had to toast it. Then he turned around and saw the flag covered in egg yolk. It did dampen his spirit, but I’m sure that he realised that the intention was not malicious but merely a bit of fun being had by individuals on a tour of duty. The evening ended up with us pouring orange juice concentrate over one another. We went swimming in our drinking water, which was in these large open bladders, to clean up, and to top it all, our troops, who were guarding the terminal, had seen the entire escapade through their night-vision sights.
– Dudley, age 21
Sundays were always very boring in 1 SAI. So we decided to liven things up and hold a fashion parade. We made dresses out of sheets, and the chefs, who had access to mutton cloth, made dresses from that. There was this conference-type room with a huge U-shaped table. The army used it for strategic planning and meetings about all things military. Not today! We managed to get the keys to this room at the centre and proceeded to use the large U-shaped table as a catwalk. We paraded and modelled our way down this table. We really strutted our stuff in our improvised dresses. It was hilarious to think of all those butch soldiers sitting around the very same table, all serious, on Monday morning, strategising and making plans for war, all while seated around our catwalk!
– Rick, age 18
Where We Weren’t
We were part of an assault group assigned to destroy a strategic enemy position in southern Angola. The operation was afforded the name Operation Protea. We initiated contact with the enemy at a town called Xangongo, a small town positioned alongside the Kunene River. We met with very little resistance and took it quickly because we enjoyed support in the form of Ratels, Mirages, Eland 90s – Noddy Cars – and artillery batteries. The enemy had dug in and had a complex network of trenches and bunkers, a number of tanks – T-34s, specifically – and some artillery pieces. Only a small amount of the available weaponry was utilised to resist our onslaught, and the enemy basically decided to live and fight another day by heading north. In our entire company of paratroopers we had only three non-serious casualties, which were as a result of shrapnel from a mortar. It was difficult to say whether the injuries were inflicted by the enemy or our own forces. From there we moved on through Mongua and on towards Ongiva, with very little resistance. We’d been travelling for quite a while. The plan was to attack Ongiva from the north as opposed to the south, the reason being that their defence infrastructure layout was in anticipation of an attack from the south. After about 75 kilometres, we took up temporary base outside Ongiva for the night. A temporary base can be compared to the old laager configuration – with all the vehicles and soldiers on the perimeter, facing outwards to defend what’s on the inside. Ongiva was a small town, but it had banks, roads and shops. Obviously, those with some form of rank had looted the town. It was common knowledge that money had been removed from the bank and appliances from various trading stores. We laid our hands on small transistor radios. Those were the spoils for those in the military with lesser rank. As we passed through the town, we simply jumped off the vehicles, ran into the ransacked shops, and grabbed the radios. That night in the temporary base we were in our sleeping bags in the trenches with our groundsheets over us to form a shelter. And the irony of the story is that we turned on the stolen radio and unbelievably we caught a broadcast from the RSA and heard PW Botha categorically denying to the world that there were any South African forces in Angola.
– Dudley, age 21
We were in the Congo and were obviously there with the full knowledge and support of our then government. In return for certain favours, we were allowed access to certain things. One of the things we were having a look at was to see if some of the town or areas could be used as potential staging positions from which to launch attacks against the ANC in Tanzania. We flew into Kinshasa in a Learjet and
were collected by some local and regional security forces guys. We eventually ended up in a town called Goma on Lake Kivu. We had some time there, and the local guys we were with were pressurising us to go out with them on one of their jols. Our seniors tasked two of us, the most junior officers of the group, with the duty of accompanying our hosts to a disco in Goma. I tell you, we stood out like sore thumbs. We were the only two whites in this nightclub in the middle of Africa. None of the locals were dancing, even though some of them clearly had their women with them. When we asked why they weren’t dancing, they said they were waiting for us to dance first. The guy who headed up the security in the area had a very light-skinned Mulatto woman who was his wife. She could almost pass as white. I asked him if I could dance with her and he said it was fine. We danced and then I sat down. Then this nubile young black woman comes and sits on my lap! You must remember this was around 1985 – this wasn’t something I was used to! She asks me to dance, and I do. Next thing the music changes to a slow dance and she is clinging onto me with her arms wrapped around me and I am just looking heavenwards with my eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling, thinking, ‘Oh boy, if my mates could see me now!’ We were not accustomed to this type of behaviour. After the dance she wanted a beer and asked me something in French, and when it was translated I discovered she’d asked me if I wanted to sleep with her. That’s when we decided it was time to leave and ran back to the hotel. It was quite funny – running away from a woman! But the situation was just not something we had ever been exposed to before. I swear the guys from Zaire had set everything up with that woman and done it all on purpose. The next morning the senior officers were extremely inquisitive as to what had happened the night before, but we told them nothing. We just left them in the dark.