Tuesday, 26 June 2007

Farmer robbed and killed

June 26 2007 at 09:05AM

A 58-year-old farmer was shot and killed by a gang of armed men who entered his house at Sekonyana farm in Ficksburg, Free State police said on Tuesday.

The armed gang gained entry into the farmhouse through a kitchen door at 7pm on Monday and tied up Pieter Vermooten's wife, said Superintendent Susan Moseki.

"They then waited for Vermooten to arrive home, shot him in the stomach and took his safe keys."

The men took R30 000 and a 9mm pistol from Vermooten's safe.

Vermooten died on the scene and police were searching for his killers, Moseki said. - Sapa


Thursday, 21 June 2007

Robbers held at bay, clubbed

Malan Jonck, 60, demonstrates how he chased off an armed robber. (Nardus Engelbrecht, Beeld)

Robbers held at bay, clubbed

20/06/2007 23:11 - (SA)

Alet van Zyl, Beeld

Johannesburg - "It tears at your guts. That trauma, that fear. You feel as if you could die at any minute."

Malan Jonck is 60 years and his wife, Corrie, 59. But he says he "feels 102" after keeping robbers at bay for about an hour with his club while they struggled to get through the couple's bedroom door.

Jonck says he woke up from a noise outside the door at about 02:00 on Wednesday morning.

"I thought to myself: 'Is that the wind, or what?'

"Then I listened again and I realised it was someone trying to get in," Jonck said at their farm in the Suikerbosrand Nature Reserve near Heidelberg.

"I shouted 'ufunani' (What do you want?. They said: 'Money'."

Dressing table

Jonck and his wife push a dressing table against the door every night, and a triangular iron door-stopper is wedged under the door. The club is stored above the door-frame.

Jonck used the combination of dressing table, wedge and club to keep the robbers at bay for nearly an hour early on Wednesday morning.

"The door would inch open, then I would shut it again. When the gap was large enough, one of the robbers poked his head through."

"That's when I let him have it over the head with this," he said, brandishing the club.

"It was quiet for a while. I don't know if they dragged him away, but then they returned."

That was then when the robbers fired two shots, one presumably with a handgun and the other with a shotgun, through the closed door.

"I think they heard my wife shouting hysterically over the phone."

"Please help. Help, we're in trouble," Corrie screamed. Dirk Ras, a friend, received a phone call from the couple at about 02:16.

Phoned four police stations

He phoned at least four police stations in the area.

Nobody appeared to know where the farm was, and the phone at Zonkizizwe police station, which was closest to them, was continually engaged.

Radio control eventually managed to send a police vehicle to the farm.

The robbers "did not get away with much", Jonck said. They stole a "R50 radio", a small compressor and sugar.

It's the second time the Joncks have been attacked on their farm. The first time was in 2004, in the middle of the day.

"It's like a duel. One of the two sides must win. We won this time, thank the Lord," Jonck said.

"But," Corrie added in a resigned tone, "we don't know if they'll be back tonight".


Monday, 18 June 2007

Baby, mom, gran shot in robbery

June 17 2007 at 11:59AM

By Doreen Premdev

A Northdene mother held on tightly to her 16-month-old baby, trying to shield him from two gun-wielding men who attacked the family after their car broke down near Bellair, in south Durban.

Nicholene McPherson, 22, her mother, Jacoba McPherson, 42, and her baby, Jordan, were returning home from a party in Umbilo at 9pm on Thursday when their car stalled on Bellair Road.

Nicholene McPherson said her mother managed to drive it to the side of the road.

"The road was lonely and the street lights were not working," McPherson said. "We had been there for only a few minutes when my mother noticed two men walking towards the car. She said, 'Lock your doors, here they come,' and the next thing I heard was a gun shot.

"They had fired into the car and one of the windows had shattered. One man opened the door and demanded cellphones and other valuables. I gave them my cellphone. The men took the phone and walked away. But they turned around a few feet away and walked back to the car."

Thinking they were going to be killed, McPherson wrapped her arms around her son, trying desperately to protect him, while her mother tried to start the car. They came back and pointed the gun at my head. My mother was hysterical. She thought they were going to shoot me. I calmed her down.

"The men demanded her cellphone, which she gave to them. Before leaving they fired two shots, one at my mother's hand and the other entered my right hand. The same bullet entered Jordan's back, exiting through his stomach.

"I hadn't realised he was shot, because I was still in shock. I only realised what had happened when I felt warm liquid run down my stomach.

"I looked down at Jordan and he was bleeding," McPherson said.

Still holding her baby, she got out of the car and tried to stop passersby, but nobody would. Eventually she stood in the middle of the road, forcing a driver to stop. The man was a doctor, and he called an ambulance and police.

Jordan and his grandmother were taken to Albert Luthuli Memorial Hospital. Jacoba was expected to be discharged on Saturday. However baby Jordan continues to fight for his life.

Supt Danelia Veldhuizen said anyone with information that might lead to the arrest of the two men, believed to be in their early 20s, should call Insp Sivan Naidoo, at 031 451 2819 or 083 519 0356.


This article was originally published on page 1 of Tribune on June 17, 2007


Boy hero saves the day

17/06/2007 23:25 - (SA)

Christel Raubenheimer, Beeld

Pretoria - A 12-year-old Pretoria boy, Neil Brenkman, has been hailed a hero after sneaking his dad's 9mm pistol to him during a robbery at their home in Amandasig on Saturday night.

One of the gang of robbers was killed in the ensuing gunfight. The others fled.

The robbers had forced Neil's parents, Nick and Petro, as well as visitors Alice and Jack D'Almeida onto a veranda at about 22:30.

However, Neil managed to get away and made a beeline for the safe in which Nick kept his 9-mil.

When one of the robbers came in to herd him onto the veranda as well, Neil hid the weapon in his trousers, walked up to his dad and sneaked the firearm to him.

One of the robbers saw this and then all hell broke loose.

Shots were traded between the robbers and Nick, who kept on firing until his pistol jammed.

"It was just one helluva racket. You don't know who is shooting and who's down.

"You shoot, because you don't know if your wife and child have been killed," 54-year-old Brenkman said.

"I knew I had to do something, so I went to fetch the weapon," said Neil.

I didn't really think - just that I should help."

"My nerves are shot. I don't think I'm a hero," Neil added.

A friend who was visiting him, hid in another room with Neil's sickly grandmother and a nurse.

Petro, 48, had asked the robbers earlier to see if her 84-year-old mother was OK.

Instead, one of them threatened to kill the elderly woman.

Petro had, during the gunfight, at one stage pushed her husband out of harm's way.

"I thought if someone must die, let it be me. Neil wouldn't survive without his dad.

"I kept praying. Neil was the hero of the day. If it weren't for him, we'd all be dead," Petro said.

One of the robbers fell into a fish pond during the scuffle, but kept shooting.

Petro was hit in the ankle and her husband was shot in the hand. Alice D'Almeida tore a ligament when one of the robbers gave her a shove.

The body of one of the robbers was found outside the house. He'd been shot several times.


Sunday, 17 June 2007

Remembering: The Boer soul walk

Photo: LoBaido ties final ribbon after 176-mile walk.

By Anthony C. LoBaido

Posted: August 21, 2004
1:00 a.m. Eastern

Editor's note: Last July and August, long-time WorldNetDaily contributor Anthony C. LoBaido walked 176 miles in 12 days through an extreme European heat wave in an effort to raise awareness for the persecution of South Africa's farmers. This is his report on that special journey.

Ad Astra per Aspera
"A rough road leads to the stars."

The mission: to walk 176 miles in 12 days across the entire length of England while putting up 1,450 yellow ribbons for each of the South African farmers murdered between 1994 and 2003.

(By August of 2004 the farm murder total had reached 1,600 plus. It's hard to keep up with the ethnic cleansing of the white Boer-Afrikaner farmer at the dawn of the 21st century.)

Why the UK? Well, early in 2003, the British government sent their minister, a certain gentleman named Mr. Jack Straw, to South Africa with a 30 million pound sterling check to the ANC, part of which was outrageously used for "land reform and justice." They call it "justice." I call the farm killings "genocide" – and I was not the only one.

The walk itself was a hell that I had only imagined, yet could not fully comprehend, even today. Pain purifies. The answer to pain is prayer. As I walked as never before, I prayed as never before. I concentrated with each step as though walking on hot coals. Water. Food. Pain. Accomplishing the mission. Those words became my life. I actually became those things.

I had another reason for doing the walk. That was the South African ex-pat Malcolm Wren. The walk was Mr. Wren's idea. It was an honor to be allowed to walk with him. I just didn't think it was fair for him to have to walk all that way totally alone.

Mr. Wren reminds me so much of my father. He loves his wife and children. He never once mentioned another woman or looked at one during the walk. He prays. He is big, strong and rugged, yet he has a heart of gold. Really, he is just a big teddy bear. I told Malcolm that he was a hero. He denied this, but it's so true. We went through pure hell on this walk. There was no better man to triumph over hell with than Mr. Wren.

Malcolm's wife, Debbie, was a devoted helper on the walk. She tried to organize media coverage. She wrote to Prince Charles about the farm killings. Malcolm's sons also pitched in. There was Martin, who is in the British army, as well as Chaldon and Mark.

The character of Malcolm's daughter, Bonni, who is a future supermodel that I would describe as a blue-eyed Cindy Crawford, is also a testament to the parenting of Malcolm and Debbie. These children are good. The reason they are good is because Malcolm and Debbie's goodness is in them; just as I would like to believe that the goodness of my parents is in me.

I did the walk as a logical progression in my long-standing involvement with South Africa's farmers and their struggle for freedom from the forces that wish to destroy the nation. I have been working for the cause of the Boer-Afrikaner since 1991, for 12 long years, just as Nehemiah did rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem.

On Day 1 of the walk we left Avonmouth, on the extreme west of England. There were row houses which reminded me of Queens, N.Y., where my parents had grown up. There were high cliffs around us. I thought of the Arizona Strip between Utah and Nevada, the most expensive stretch of road ever built. The sky was high and blue. The clouds were puffy and floating past without a care.

I said to myself, "This is the beginning of a great adventure." I thought of the characters in "The Stand" walking across Utah to meet the Devil himself for a showdown in Las Vegas. I thought of their names: Larry Underwood, Tom Cullen, Stu Redman and Ralph. They are characters who have always stayed close to my heart. Debbie Wren was busy reading "The Stand," and that made the connection seem even stronger.

Before I left Cape Town, people asked me: "Anthony, aren't you going to train for this walk?"

I replied, "No. How? If I walk now, that is just wasting miles. I have to save my bullets. I will be able to 'turn it on when I need to.'"

But I was wrong. I wasn't able to just "turn it on." During the first two miles while carrying 70 pounds on my back, I thought, "I can't do this; this is not doable." I felt that if I could not make it through the walk I'd be letting down the old SADF special forces personnel. I would rather have eaten worms than let that happen.

Photo: LoBaido in demolition training with British army.

However, two hours later I was a soldier again. I remembered marching through the river valleys of Laos, Cambodia, Belize, The Himalayas, Tikal, Petra, Angkor Wat, Jerash and the British army jungle training.

We walked past the British Commonwealth and History Museum in Bristol. We stopped for refreshment. We walked and walked and walked. We stopped and ate Boerevorst that we'd saved from breakfast to make sandwiches. We ate Doritos and cashew nuts. We drank lots of water, but water was to become a problem.

I was sunburned and it felt good to be sweating again.

We slept at an upscale inn that first night. It was across the street from one of the old Knights Templar halls. I was exhausted that first night. Malcolm stayed up and had a whiskey in the hotel bar. I went straight to bed. I fell asleep with my hands folded on my pillow. I woke up that night to use the bathroom and I was so stiff I could hardly walk.

Day 2 of the walk came upon us with the dawn. This was perhaps the best day of the walk, and it was on this day that I witnessed one of the most amazing sights of my life.

We had gone 13 miles the first day. Already, I had huge blisters. I was going to have to get rid of my Timberland boots.

After breakfast and tea we set out again. My pack felt heavy. I vowed to dump off at least 30 percent of the weight and add more space for water. I drank lots of water that morning and ate two candy bars. We ate a lot of candy bars for energy, Snickers mostly.

We walked and took a break at a lovely park. We put up ribbons every 150 meters or so.

We were warned about Tog Hill, a very long stretch of road that climbed at a 45 degree angle.

Tog Hill was everything we were warned about and then some. It was a long, long walk for many miles. It was exhausting, yet for the first time I began to sing. It was a song I often sang since my parents passed away.

I got a mother in that land.
I got a father in that land.
I got a mother in that land … where I'm bound.
We'll all be together in that land.
We'll all be together in that land.
We'll all be together in that land … where I'm bound.

So come and go with me to that land.
Come and go with me to that land.
Come and go with me to that land … where I'm bound.

The hill was longer than I imagined. My feet were beginning to bleed from the blisters.

People sometimes ask me, "What did you think about during the walk?"

I thought of the music in "Le Femme Nikita," when Josephine is walking toward the bricked-up window on her first "assignment." I thought of the music in the attack scenes in "The Thin Red Line." While thinking of the latter, I composed my own prayer.

I called it "The Prayer of Tog Hill."

Lord, You're my high tower.
You're my wall.
You're the horn of my salvation.
You're faith.
You're courage.
You're my ever-constant companion.
You're kindness.
You're goodness.
You're generosity.
You're love.
You're angels.
You're my Citadel.
You are the surgeon of my broken heart.
You're my tears of joy.
You're where the twilight greets the day.
You're where the night steals the sun.
You're the glitter of the Milky Way and the stars of the Kalahari.
You're the sound of children's laughter.
You're the moral conscience of a good soldier.
You're the sweat of hard work.
You're the smile to a sad stranger.
You're the inner voice of what's right.
You're comfort.
You're my mother's hug.
You're my father's goodness.
You're vindication.
You're victory against all odds.
You're the terror feared by all wicked men.
You watched over me in the jungles of Asia and Central America.
Your eye was upon me in the Himalayas.
Your angels surrounded me in the Kalahari.
You're my quest.
You're Thee Quest.
You're my adventure guide.
You're my future.
You're my destiny.

Finally, I reached the top of the hill. There was a sign nearby pointing the way to the Roman Baths, which were ancient. They were known as "Aquae Sulis" back when London was merely a village called "Londinium." The expeditionary Roman SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus) legionnaires and their mercenaries took Aquincum, Armenia, Zela, Dacia, Saudi Arabia, the Sahara and Cadiz. They conquered Ilium, Leptis Magna, Aelia Capitolina and Ctesiphon – but never Scotland. The Romans conquered Britannia, but were stopped eventually by the Scots and Scotland's rain, hills and mud. I suppose that Hadrian's Wall and the film "The Englishman Who Went up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain" are testaments to the spirit of the Scottish people and the Welsh.

Now I was standing at crossroads between the towns of Bristol, Stroud and Bath. There were three-foot high walls of stone all around the farmland, demarcating property. All around me were violets, fields of flowers and seemingly endless fields of wheat. I saw crops of green and gold as far as the eye could see. It appeared that some of the wheat had been rolled into gigantic spools that dwarfed human comprehension.

Mesmerized, I walked toward them. I climbed through barbed wire and thought of the 26,000 Boer women and children who died of disease and starvation in the British concentration camps during the Anglo-Boer War. I was standing in a field with two white stallions. The weather was turning against us now. In the distance, dark, black and ominous clouds were closing in. Lightning flashed silently again and again on the horizon. An electrical storm contains more energy than an atomic bomb. I thought of the angel that had visited my old room as a little boy.

So there I was, standing in fields of green and gold. I was petting the horses. There was a dark sky, with silent lighting flashing just ahead. Then I heard a low roar coming closer from out of the distance. And then no less than nine Harrier jets flew over me in formation. Both stallions went up on their hind legs and snorted excitedly. The fighter jets were flying so low I could scarcely believe my eyes. They then broke off from formation, climbed and dispersed.

It was one of the most amazing moments of my life.

On the Third Day, it began to rain. It was cold. I was soaked. I drank tea from a truck selling food. People driving by honked and gave us a "thumbs up" of approval. I thought of each ribbon that we put up as a person, and that made me sad.

I changed from my boots to my sneakers. I thought of my two favorite smells, those being freshly cut wood and freshly cut grass. I thought of cutting our lawn like the Anaheim Angels' baseball field with the checkerboard effect. I thought of my father and mother, and I cried.

By the Fourth Day, my feet were so badly blistered and bleeding that I spent at least two hours taping them up and changing bandages. In the afternoons, my feet would swell and I would have to take off my shoes and socks. On this day I could not get my shoes back on at all and had to walk barefoot. I got glass in my feet, and that made things even worse.

With every step, however, I grew harder mentally. I was at war with my own mind and its ability to overcome the pain I was in.

The fourth day was filled with many sights. Among them the crop circles so famous in the UK for supposed UFO landings. We passed the town of Cherhill where there was a famous obelisk and a white horse that was carved into the mountainside. It had been created in 1780 by Dr. Alsop of nearby Calne, who had shouted out instructions from a megaphone. The obelisk was called "Cleopatra's needle." The town of Cherhill has been continuously inhabited for over 4,000 years, so it was no surprise to me that it had an ancient feel as we passed through it.

The bugs began to follow us. My legs were cut up from walking through the high grass to put up ribbons. We were in a beautiful rural area of England and it took my breath away.

Also, on this day, we learned that Malcolm and I were mentioned on the national news in South Africa. Inspired by our walk, some South Africans had put up 1,450 white crosses on the N1 freeway in Pretoria. The ANC ordered them taken down immediately.

What a surprise. As we all well know, the ANC is truly rotten at the top, poisoned by the filth they drank in Moscow and Beijing. I know for a fact that one of the farm killers confessed to the police that he received his orders from the fourth floor of Shell House, the ANC headquarters. Another attacker got his gun from the new police force. Such facts are covered up by the powers that be. I thought of "Operation White Clean Up," meaning the rumor that on the night of Nelson Mandela's funeral, the blacks are supposedly going to kill all of the whites in South Africa.

Day 5 was a mix of sun and clouds. At one point, the wooded area we passed through reminded me of the Sherwood Forest. We met a boxer puppy named Leonard that morning and he was just too cute. Someone drove past us and threw a firecracker. That person kept on driving, and that was the smartest thing they'd ever done, I reckon.

That night we stayed at a guesthouse owned by a man who looked like David Letterman. We had an impromptu soiree and that was well-deserved fun.

Day 6 was the hardest day by far for me, and the turning point. Shin splints were a problem on this day (I developed polio in my right shinbone as a baby), and I thought I would have to finish the walk on crutches. I felt so horrible. What a nightmare. Still, I thought of the South African farmers and what they were suffering. Honestly, that notion made my own trials seem inconsequential. Yet still I had to go on and with each step it was now as though I was walking on hot coals. Willem Ratte, the legendary special-forces operator of South Africa's old 32 Batallion, later wrote me and called this "a noble sacrifice."

I went to lunch at this Irish pub and my bill was 6.66 pounds. It was called the Berkshire Arms. That day I was marching through RGBW territory, the unit I was with in Belize for the British army jungle-warfare training. That gave me a sense of comfort. They're stars.

Malcolm doubled back for me in a taxi the last two miles. I'd carried both of our packs one day when his shoulder was bothering him. Now it was time for him to repay that. So Malcolm walked two extra miles back again to the hotel with me. I was in tears for most of the last two miles. I really don't know how I made it as I was in so much pain.

I went to bed that night praying that I could continue on with the walk. I prayed hard and asked to Lord to give me strength. I said, "Please Lord, I don't want to let Malcolm down. I don't want to let the farmers down."

Much to my great surprise on the morning of the Seventh Day the pain in my right shin was totally gone. It was like a miracle had taken place. Malcolm's wife, Debbie, and his son Mark walked with us on this day. We set in an exhausting pace. We walked through the town of Reading and it was as if England had been completely colonized by the Third World. This was not rural England any longer. In fact, this was not England at all.

I met a nice man from Nigeria who gave me a bottle of water. I met another man, a Muslim, who spoke of how afraid he was of the post-Christian, pagan culture in the UK. Specifically, he talked about the pornography, drugs, abortion and other social ills. Later I met a Hindu man from India who was positively terrified about the moral future of his children in the UK because of the "Tony Blair morality," as he called it. The man referred to Blair wanting to lower the age of consensual sex in the UK to the age of 12. (Blair was turned back in this endeavor in the House of Lords at a vote which The Lady Margaret Thatcher personally attended.)

I said to Malcolm, "Even if England was all ethno-European, what kind of people would you be left with? Look at the debased women, the piercings and crazy hair. It is like my father used to say, 'It's the decent vs. the indecent.'"

We were walking about 13 miles every day. Ten would have been better for me, and the last few miles were always the hardest. They in fact turned what could have been an enjoyable day of hiking into a nightmare.

When the day ended, I went right to bed and slept for 12 straight hours. I did not even eat dinner or take one sip of water.

I was up early for the Eighth Day and finally I decided that I would use my time wisely. There wasn't much free time on the walk. You walked and walked and walked. You ate, you slept and bathed. That was it. The time to write in my journal was precious. I rarely used the Internet.

By now the honeymoon was over. This was work. This was like being in an army. The rain was gone. We were getting tan and strong and hard. We walked through the Thames Valley. We passed a church built in commemoration of the members of that particular congregation who died fighting in World War I.

Across the street was a cemetery in Wokingham filled with World War I soldiers.

One gravestone read:

1-20-18 (Jan. 20, which is my birthday)
Wounds from enemy shell
Aged 23
Corporal 2nd/4th Royal Berks
"I have fought the good fight"

There was a poem engraved in stone nearby.

It read:

They mingle not with the laughing comrades again.
They sit no more at familiar tables of home
They have no lot in our labours of the day time
They sleep beyond England's foam

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness
To the end, to the end, they remain.

We entered Virginia Water territory – Surrey. This is where the Magna Carta, perhaps the most important document guaranteeing human freedom ever created, was signed. It was sealed at Runnymead in A.D. 1215. The Magna Carta limited the "divine right of kings." This is something the transnational elite ruling the world today might want to remember. The Magna Carta has now been replaced by the European Charter. It is a sad thing. Martin Luther King said that many of the cherished ideals of human freedom came from Europe. Dr. King was right. What will happen to those ideals of true freedom in the future now that Christianity has been denied in the new European Charter?

On the Tenth Day, I walked mainly alone. I saw a magnificent park called "Deer Park" and it stretched out for many acres. I sat for a spell on a bench in the park. I had never before seen such a public place. It was well-manicured and peaceful. I ate at McDonalds. I met "Andy," a city worker who was sweating profusely while sweeping up the sidewalk.

I said, "Would you like some water?"

He replied, "Yes, please." He was very polite and that was refreshing.

I also gave Andy a chocolate bar. I had just bought it and already it was beginning to melt away. Little did I know that the greatest heatwave in the history of Europe was now setting upon us.

We were in the city of London now. I got lost in Brixton and walked six extra miles. Then I got lost on the highway and had to backtrack one mile. Without Malcolm and his maps I could not guarantee I would arrive at a destination on time – or at all.

Still, it was good to walk alone for a spell. I wanted to pray. I wanted to think about my parents. I was still grieving for them and I didn't want Malcolm to see me cry. He saw my tears from the pain I was in with my feet and right shinbone. During that little bit of walking I found someone's identity document and we mailed it back to him in the post.

I "slept" in a dumpy hotel, actually in the attic of a hotel, that night. It was so hot that I could barely sleep. By this time, nothing mattered. I'd walked 17 miles the day before. Food or no food, sleep or no sleep, I was undaunted. I was tan and turning into iron. Mentally and emotionally I was stronger than ever, but my feet kept getting worse. I thought perhaps I might have two days walking left in them, but no more.

I resolved to attack life the way I was attacking this walk.

On the Eleventh Day, we walked on the highway. The temperature on the highway due to the "heat islands" was well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. At one point I almost tripped over weeds and fell into the path of a giant tractor-trailer truck, but the angels were with me. I had wanted to leave the highway just before that near mishap and I was furious with Malcolm for not listening to me, but it wasn't his fault. It was just bad luck, or was it rather good luck?

After that near mishap, we did leave the highway. En route we climbed over a cement overpass in a dangerous maneuver. As I said, by then we were toughened up so much that tanks and RPGs couldn't have stopped us.

Malcolm and I took a long break in which we ate heartily, drank beer and watched music videos. The Justin Timberlake remake of "Spirit in the Sky" was my favorite.

I had said before the walk, "I don't want anyone to show up on the last day, even if it's Cindy Crawford," but Cindy Crawford did show up – Malcolm's daughter, Bonni. His son Chaldon also came along on the Twelfth Day – the final day.

We had a lot of laughs, especially with the armpit-hair lady. We had a nickname for everyone it seemed.

We didn't even break for lunch, marching along the freeway, guzzling water by the gallons and eating chocolate bars. Bonni wore sandals and we had to get her feet taken care of because they were getting terribly raw, but she and Chaldon walked well.

Malcolm, in the biggest miracle since Lazarus was seen doing loop-de-loops over Jerusalem, missed the final turn off to Gravesend.

I said, "Samson!" and Malcolm stopped. "Where are you going?" I pointed to the Gravesend turn-off sign.

Malcolm's ankle was really bothering him. I think it always had been, but he had blocked out the pain mentally. Now that we were at the finish, he let down mentally and the pin in his ankle and the wear and tear were finally manifesting. When he looked at the turn-off sign, Malcolm had this look on his face like, "Oh man, how could I have missed that?" I saw it, I was right there. It was like my mother messing up cranberry sauce and stuffing on Thanksgiving or my father ordering the wrong amount of lumber for a carpentry job. It just couldn't possibly happen.

Yet it did happen in this final instance. It was bizarre – Malcolm missing a turn off and Anthony pointing the proper way to go. That is when I really saw the toll the walk took on poor Malcolm. Even Samson was human after all. Again, it was hell – pure hell. He is one tough man, but all of his marching in the South African Defense Force couldn't have prepared him for what we went through.

We finally reached Gravesend. It was the town where many of the bodies from the Black Death had been sent. That is why they call it Gravesend, because the last of the bodies were buried there.

I put up the last ribbon on a pole in the town square. Malcolm took a picture of that.

The walk was finally finished.

Malcolm Wren was a true hero and as such, the Afrikaners should be proud of him. Malcolm was given a trophy by a Boer group. He deserved 1,000 trophies for what he sacrificed on that walk, plus another hundred trophies or so for dealing with me. I was exhausted, moody, in horrific pain and worse things, like constantly asking the people we met if they knew Stephanie Underwood (a nice gal I met in Thailand back in 1999). I told everyone she was "the prettiest girl in the history of the British Empire." Malcolm couldn't believe it, but I asked every single person we encountered if they knew Stephanie.

Malcolm was my rock. He saw I was still grieving terribly over the death of my parents in the previous year. He was just so, so great, and what more can I say? When a writer is at a loss for words you know he or she has encountered something special. I only wish my parents could have met Malcolm.

My mother would have kissed his cheek and said, "Malcolm Wren, I am so proud of you! You are a trophy!"

My blisters were my trophy. I will always treasure them.

Related stories:

Marxists destroy 'New South Africa'

'Kill the Boer, kill the farmer'

Private crime-fighters rescue farmers

Killing of South Africa farmers intensifies

Anthony C. LoBaido is a longtime contributor to WorldNetDaily.com. He now lives in St. Louis.


Revolutions eat their children

By Albert Brenner

June 16, 2007 12:41 PM EST

Revolutions eat their children; ask Robespierre, Trotsky and Liberia's Charles Taylor. And South Africa is certainly no exception. The lust for more power and money brings even the most self-righteous to a fall. Yesterday's terrorist is today's freedom fighter, and tomorrow’s dictator. It was never really about democracy and human rights….just unadulterated power! All the handshakes applauded and accolades bestowed on the lawns of the White House - all in vain. Alas, just another sorry saga in Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton’s feel-good biographies.

The current public service strike in South Africa bears all the hallmarks of just another run-of-the-mill ethnic African power struggle. Amidst the trashed ICUs of the state hospitals, the closed shops and schoolchildren wandering aimlessly through streets overflowing with rubbish, the established elite (Xhosa President Mbeki and his cronies) are desperately trying to protect their ill-gotten gains while their main rival, Jacob Zuma (the Zulu deputy leader of Mandela’s ANC) has rallied the all-powerful trade union COSATU, the anachronistic South African Communist Party, the Brown Shirt ANC Youth League and the poor masses to his ‘noble’ cause to lead the country to Afrolantis.

These erstwhile champions of 21-century postmodern liberal idealism are now engaged in a cut-throat struggle to claim their self-allotted pieces of the South African pie – the last First World country on the African continent. As one very senior member of Mandela’s party so brazenly admitted; "I didn’t get into the struggle to be poor!" It started with the murderous Winnie Mandela and continued with 'liberation heroes' like Alan Boesak and Tony Yengeni, both now convicted criminals. And it has only taken 13 years for the predictable revolutionary rot to have reached the very foundations of the self-entitlement movement (the ANC/COSATU/SACP alliance). But then, who can blame the less satiated? The obese Black Economic Empowerment ex-USSR comrades (Cyril Ramaphosa, Tokyo Sexwale, etc) just can’t get their fill, and the crumbs falling of the Affirmative Action table only aggravate the insatiable appetite of the power-hungry and have-nots.

This is Africa, so why be clement when there is a very real possibility of having the whole pie – all to yourself! Face it, South Africa is a de facto one-party state; Africa at its ignoble best! So you play the disillusioned masses, like Zuma, the unions and the ANC Youth League are doing, by promising them all they’ve ever seen on TV (e.g. rich farms, easy jobs, wagonloads of money), till the gout-ridden powers that be are forced to invite you to share in their feast lest you threaten the status quo that sustains their lordship over all they survey.

But, unfortunately, the pie is only so big! The civil service, corporate boards, media and town names have all been Africanized. The so-called 'Black Diamonds' (middle-class blacks) are nothing but debt-ridden dismally incompetent feel-good replacements for the qualified pale males who were forced to vacate their jobs in order to vindicate the sensibilities of those who claim to have conquered the eternal moral high-ground. The Rule of Law has broken down and the skills capacity to sustain a knowledge-driven economy has all but ceased in the economic powerhouse of Africa…..the only real hope for an African Renaissance! So what is left to devour? Not much I’m afraid - and heaven forbid when you lose a preciously creamy bit, like Helen Zille’s Cape Town. No real new sustainable jobs have being created, unofficial unemployment stands at 40% and the existing wealth has been hijacked by the obligatory greed and corruption that characterizes the post-colonial African mindset.

Tokyo Sexwale, Black Economic Empowerment multi-billionaire and presidential candidate, recently bought his wife a brand-new LearJet for Valentines Day. President Mbeki, Mandela’s chosen successor, approved a 57% pay raise for himself and his honoured inner circle, while giving his 'lowly' minions only 6%. The have-not illiterate masses are seething because they have to stand in the ever-lengthening queue of promises unfulfilled. Zuma’s Zulus are sharpening their traditional spears, the Cape Coloureds, shunned by Mandela’s Xhosas for not being black enough, have become drug-addicted gangsters and more than a million skilled whites have left the country since 1992 – that fateful day when they voluntarily placed their future in hands of the Great African Unknown…at the behest of the liberal West.

Alas, Darwin has become the master of ceremonies at the Iron Age feast that will devour the last morsel of civility in Mandelatopia. The gloves have come off, the buffet for anarchy is set and there will be no Queensbury Rules when the battle-cry 'We demand our piece of the pie!' makes South Africa just another sorry footnote on the endless list of post-colonial African losers. Yawn….so bloody boring!

Source:The Conservative Voice
More articles by Albert Brenner: http://brenner.dienuwesuidafrika.com/

Saturday, 16 June 2007

Farmer's bite beats off robbers

14/06/2007 23:05 - (SA)

Loraine Kalp, Die Volksblad

Bloemfontein - A farmer believes he was saved by his bite, after sinking his teeth into the hands of an attacker so hard that blood "spurted" out.

Naas Coetsee, 66, of the farm Welgeplaas in Burgersdorp, North Eastern Cape, is in a Bloemfontein hospital with seven stab-wounds in his right hand and four in his sides.

He says he fought off his attackers by keeping his back to the wall and calling for help as loudly as possible.

This response was "honed" by years of training when he was a member of the commando's reactionary task force and later a police reservist.

The police confirmed that two men attacked Coetsee at his garage on Wednesday, after he had dropped off his wife Elize, 63, at their farmhouse.

They had just returned from town.

Coetsee told Volksblad that his wife felt "uneasy" when they turned off to the farm after crossing over the railway line.

Their Jack Russell was not waiting for them outside the house, with his usual barking.

After dropping his wife off, he drove his bakkie to the garage.

'I realised I had to do something'

"As I opened the door they pounced on me and pulled a sack over my head. I just thought, I must get my back to the wall. Stabbing and kicks were starting to rain down on me. I realised I had to do something."

He began calling for help as loudly as possible.

"I realised that my wife was in the house and the doors were open. I just wanted to get to her."

The robbers tried to contain him, but he struggled as much as he could.

"I was stabbed in my side and I felt myself go lame. I just kept struggling to stay on my feet."

Coetsee says his workers must have heard his cries for help and come closer.

"The one man brought a knife up to my throat. His hand went to my mouth and I bit him with a vengeance. I felt his blood spurting out," Coetsee said.

"I realised that my bite was having an effect. It saved my life."

The suspects fled when his workers came closer. Coetsee then staggered home for help.

HIV treatment

Police spokesperson Ursula Roelofse said Coetsee had some bad bruises, also in his mouth, that would have to be treated.

He could also have been exposed to HIV. "The doctor said Naas should have anti-retroviral treatment within 48 hours," Elize said.

The hospitals have arranged trauma counselling for the Coetsees and their farm workers.

"My workers and I have a good relationship. They came to protect me. We know what we mean to each other," Coetsee said.

"The suspects took nothing. Nobody has been arrested. We are following up on all leads," Roleofse said.


Hijacked granny fights back

Tilda Debeil tells how she tried to fight off a hijacker who shot at her and kicked her. (Theana Calitz, Beeld)

15/06/2007 09:06 - (SA)

Christel Raubenheimer, Beeld

Pretoria - A 64-year-old Pretoria interior decorator was roughed up, shot at and kicked in the stomach on Thursday, before finally being rammed with her own car. But Tilda Debeil, 64, decided that her attacker was not going to get away without a good scrap.

"I just said sorry, you're not getting it. Even when he was already in the car, I chased after him.

"I went to collect the grandchildren from Lynwood primary school's after-care centre at about 14:10.

"The next minute this little man was on top of me. I refused to give him the key to my car, and he grabbed me.

"I saw a firearm, but I thought it was a toy gun," Debeil said at her home in Brooklyn, Pretoria.

Shot missed her

During the scuffle Debeil luckily knocked the robber's arm away, and the shot that he fired missed her.

It was only when she heard the gunshot that she realised it was a real weapon.

The robber kicked her in the stomach, grabbed her key and jumped in the car.

Debeil still did not stop making the hijacking as difficult as possible. She grabbed the car's door and slammed it on his arm several times.

"He was in the car, and I was slamming the door on his arm. Then he reversed into me with the door against me," she said.

"You scream but there's no-one who'll help you. It's horrible: you don't stand a chance."

A friend of Debeil and her husband Jaques, 67, was driving past by chance and he thought she was being killed with her own car.

He saw another car waiting on the corner. There were several people sitting in the vehicle and it drove off as soon as Debeil's car had been hijacked.

'Why should we just surrender?'

She said: "I reacted instinctively. You can't just give in. Why should we just surrender? If I realise now that he could definitely have killed me, I have my doubts about what I did.

"If I managed to knock one down, maybe two others were waiting," she said.

In the end, the robber got away with her new Toyota Corolla and her handbag, which she had left in the car.

"My arm is painful and I have a lump on my head. What kind of country do we live in? We're steadily getting angrier, but it doesn't help. It really doesn't help at all."


Wednesday, 13 June 2007

Africa Addio

If you're having trouble watching the video, try copying the following URL into your browser:

Description:'Africa Addio' / 'Farewell Africa' (1966) is a documentary film about the decolonization of Africa, made by the Italian film directors Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco E. Prosperi.

It is a masterpiece with beautiful music, composed by Riz Ortolani. Probably 'Africa Addio' is the best and most exposing documentary ever made about what happened in several African countries directly after decolonization, but because of political correctness the masses never heard of it.

In the USA a censored version called 'Africa Blood and Guts' was released, which was deliberately stripped from the original music and the powerful message of 'Africa Addio' - so the sensors were able to portray the destruction, cruelty, savagery and genocide performed by the Africans as a 'struggle for indepence'. The directors Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco E. Prosperi dissociated themselves from this Hollywood perversion of their film.

Source:Google Videos

Principled headmaster murdered

12/06/2007 23:15 - (SA)

Annelene Moses, Beeld

Johannesburg - A traumatised domestic worker has described how she called her employer to come home, only for him to be shot dead by burglars.

Nick Karvelas, 44, principal of the Sparrows Private School in Alberton, was in the news recently for intervening when police were allegedly beating-up suspected housebreakers.

Liesbet Mokwena said on Tuesday she called Karvelas at about 11:00, saying there "was trouble at home".

The gardener, identified only as Joseph, had been working in the garden, with the gate open.

Four men pounced on him shortly after 10:00, while Mokwena was busy in the laundry room.

She heard the men and ran to one of the rooms on the top floor of the house.

"I used my phone and told the school that there was trouble at home. I left a message to say Nicky should come home and bring along the police."

Not aware of what awaited him, Karvelas decided to go home alone to his house in Launceton Street, which is not far from the school.

Die 'for things that belong to white people'

The robbers had found Mokwena and began to shove her and Joseph around.

"They dragged me by my feet and said I would die for things that belonged to the white people."

She and Joseph were made to lie face down next to each other, and Joseph's hand and ankles were bound with neckties. Only her feet were tied up.

The robbers had begun to loot household items by the time Karvelas got home.

"He called: 'Liesbet, Liesbet!' I couldn't warn him."

She heard a single shot. The robbers abandoned their loot, fleeing in a red Golf. Karvelas's car was left in his driveway.

"I untied the ties around my ankles and ran outside. I looked and looked and then I saw him lying in the street, struggling for breath. I just began to scream.

"He was such a good person. I helped to raise his two sons (aged 13 and seven). Nicky was never anything but good to me."


Woman wounded after interrupting burglary

June 13 2007 at 07:09AM

A woman was shot and injured in an attack at her home in Laezonia north of Johannesburg on Tuesday night, said her father.

Gawie Joubert said his daughter, Huibrecht Joubert, 38, arrived at her home at Laezonia plots on the R511 near Diepsloot at about 6pm.

"She came back from work last night and opened the door. One of them was in the house," said Joubert on Wednesday.

He said Huibrecht ran back to her car and tried to escape, but another attacker shot her twice through the car window, hitting her in the chest and abdomen.

Her husband and two sons arrived home shortly afterwards. They were not hurt.

Huibrecht was taken to Unitas hospital in Pretoria.

Unitas spokesperson Kate Cvitanic said on Wednesday that she had been operated on.

"She is in a critical but stable condition in our ICU."

Johannesburg police had no information on the incident. - Sapa


Monday, 11 June 2007

Robber uses spit to get ring

Photo: Deon de Bruyn

Photo: Minnie de Bruyn

10/06/2007 23:15 - (SA)

Virginia Keppler, Beeld

Pretoria - While the owner of a smallholding in Strydfontein, north of Pretoria, lay dying of his wounds, an armed robber spat on his wife's finger so that he could force off her wedding ring.

Deon de Bruyn, 49, his wife Minnie and their daughter Mindie had been paging through photo albums in "a trip down memory lane", just a few hours before.

Minnie says she woke up at about 02:30 when she heard footsteps.

"Two men suddenly appeared in our room and switched on the light".

"One had a firearm and the other was carrying a hammer in his hand. I saw another man going into my daughter's room."

De Bruyn said she screamed, waking her husband.

"My husband also screamed. As he tried to get up off the bed, he was struck with the hammer. Then the other man fired two shots at him, hitting him in the chest and hand.

"He staggered to the bedroom door, where he collapsed and began to struggle for breath," a heartbroken Minnie said.

Meanwhile, 14-year-old Mindie had been tied up in the lounge.

The men in the bedroom shouted "Where's the money? Where are the guns?" at Minnie.

"I had to show there where everything was and in the process I had to step over my husband several times, but I couldn't even help him.

"I was too afraid to ask if I could."

Ring wouldn't budge

One robber told her to take off her wedding ring, but because it wouldn't budge from her finger, he left it at that.

However, the other one insisted.

"He grabbed my hand and spat on my finger. Then he twisted and pulled at the ring, spat again and twisted, and pulled, until he got it off."

Before the robbers fled, they made Minnie sit next to her daughter, tying her hands with the cord from an iron, and her feet with the cord from a cellphone-charger.

The killers fled with two firearms, a DVD player, R400, jewellery, watches, two beers, clothes, cellphones and R50 from Mindie's purse.

"One of the robbers held out Mindie's boots to her and said he was going to give them to his wife.

"She was calm and just said: 'That's wonderful. You can have them'.

"Then they were gone."

Minnie said seconds after the robbers fled from their home, her husband stopped breathing.

Minnie and Mindie untied each other and went to the neighbours for help.


Sunday, 10 June 2007

The night I lost my life

CRIME COST: Jackie van Zyl with her husband Kobus. He was totally crippled during a house robbery.

A FORTUNE: Jackie van Zyl says it costs millions to care for husband

On a cold night in May 2003 Jackie van Zyl’s life changed irrevocably when robbers shot her husband, Kobus, in the head during a house robbery at their Parkhurst home in Johannesburg.

The gunshot did not kill him, but left him blind, paralysed and severely brain damaged — totally dependent on care for the rest of his life, with the costs of maintaining him over the last four years totalling about R2-million .

Jackie said: “My life ended that night as well. I came home with a baby — but there was no nine- month pregnancy [to prepare you]. I suddenly became a mother, a nurse, everything at once overnight.

“I look at him every day and I am reminded of what happened that night. He was a brilliant man, but after that night he can no longer think for himself or even feed himself. He doesn’t know where he is, or what has happened to him. He is reduced to nothing, a shell. He is just living.”

After the shooting, Kobus, then 40, was hospitalised for months and his medical costs soared .

During the robbery, Kobus tried to create a diversion so his wife could escape.

She said: “Kobus lunged at one of the robbers. He told me to run. I ran down the passage ... They were fighting and I heard the gunshot ... I heard him trying to breathe, he was gasping. Then the police and ADT arrived.”

Doctors at Milpark Hospital, where he was treated, initially thought Kobus would not survive.

Jackie said: “The bullet went through the centre of his brain. The whole frontal lobe was blown away.”

He spent four months in the hospital’s trauma ward. Thereafter, he was sent to the Netcare rehabilitation centre for another month for further treatment at a cost of R1 350 a day — about R162 000 in total for the time he spent there.

Before the robbery Kobus was an attorney, but closed his practise and started pursuing a career in information technology.

Jackie said: “We had nothing. He started working at a firm two weeks before he got shot. I had a hospital plan, which he was on. That was it. When he got out of Milpark, we were on our own .”

The shortfall on her hospital plan cover was massive and she had to fork out R600 000.

A counsellor at the hospital told Van Zyl to put Kobus in a home, but she refused. “There was no way. I married him . I took my vows seriously — for better or worse, in sickness and in health. My entire salary goes into taking care of him now. I live off overdrafts .”

Returning to their Parkhurst house proved stressful .

“I was terrified and tried to live there for a year. I spent R30 000 on an electric fence and security doors. That place was like Fort Knox. I was scared they (the robbers) would come back .”

The couple eventually moved to a security complex in Bryanston, where developers were able to model the townhouse to suit Kobus’s needs.

Kobus, who also suffers from epilepsy, has the mental age of a four-year-old child and requires full-time care.

Jackie takes over from the caregiver, Leona Willemse, in the evenings after work.

She estimates it costs between R30 000 and R40 000 per month to take care of her husband.

Jackie considers herself lucky that she can provide for Kobus’s needs, but said: “As bad off as we are, we are lucky. Financially we survive, for as long as I sell cars we can stay here. What about people who just can’t ?”

The Van Zyls celebrated their 10 year anniversary last week with friends and family. Kobus was there for a short while.

Source:South Africa the Truth

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

FS farm guards are lion-hearted

03/06/2007 17:57 - (SA)

Maryna van Wyk

Hertzogville - In what is possibly a first, fully-grown lions are being used as security guards by farmers to patrol the perimeters of their farm houses at night.

A few Free State farmers have surrounded their homes with fences to provide a cordoned-off area patrolled by their feline crime-fighters.

Booms come down at sunset to close the farmstead off from the outside world.

Marius Erwee, 33, is one of the pioneers in the use of lion-hearted "security guards" at Lushof farm near Hertzogville.

He and his wife, Valerie, have four lions that roam around in camps next to the house and garden in the daytime.

'Can't feel any safer'

When the last vehicle is in at night, the booms are lifted to provide access to the full area, and the night patrol begins.

Meat is used to lure the lions back inside the camps in the mornings.

"One can't feel safer than this, because I know no one can get in," says Valerie.

She has a three-month-old boy and is alone on the farm sometimes while Marius entertains visitors at their game farm between Boshoff and Kimberley.

Erwee says they can even leave the doors open in the summer heat.

The Erwees have another four lions for breeding purposes at a nearby camp, and three cubs at home that he is raising by hand.

Has frightening roar

His mother and father, Dawie and Bessie Erwee, live on Helena farm, about a kilometre away.

They have two white lions, a male and a female, guarding their homestead 24/7.

Apparently the white male, Oubaas, packs a roar that would see off any possible intruders, at high speed.


Saturday, 2 June 2007

Scientist found dead in his home

June 01 2007 at 05:20AM

By Graeme Hosken and Barry Bateman

An elderly scientist has become the latest victim of a gang of robbers targeting homes in Pretoria east.

Bill van der Riet was found murdered in his home in Die Wilgers by a Community Policing Forum (CPF) member after the gardener raised the alarm when he couldn't gain access to the property.

Van der Riet's murder comes days after Ben Malan, son of SAPS logistics director Jacques Malan, was murdered, and days after the attempted murder of Lynnwood Ridge residents Pieter Schutte and Jacobus Hoffman.

'We are extremely angry about this'

Dianne Jooste, Garsfontein Sector 1 CPF chairperson, said she had found Van der Riet's body.

While searching the house they found Van der Riet lying in the lounge, she said. "We are extremely angry about this. Things like this should not be happening," she said.

Van der Riet's friend of 30 years Owen Frisby said the murder came as terrible shock. "This is an outrage and disgrace. Bill has been robbed several times over the years.

"He was found beaten and strangled. Police say there have been six similar incidents in the past week."

Frisby said Van der Riet was a quiet man who lived alone. "His only family is in Cape Town."

He said his friend retired about 15 years ago and was a top microbiologist for the CSIR.

"He was an amateur astronomer; and had a butterfly named after him. He was a fascinatingly person, a walking encyclopedia," he said.

Last week a family narrowly escaped injury when they were attacked by two men in their Susan Street home, Jooste said.

"The only reason they were not hurt was that the family's daughter managed to push the panic button.

"Police on patrol in the area, responded within minutes arresting the would-be house robbers."

Ingemar Kleinpeter, involved in organising community patrols in Lynnwood Ridge, said a gang of house robbers were terrorising residents in the area.

The gang is believed to have been responsible for the murder of Malan who was shot dead in his Cedar Street home last week, he said.

"The gang is also believed to be responsible for the attempted murder of Pieter Schutte who was shot in an attack on his Fremontia Street home and for the attempted murder of Jacobus Hoffman who escaped death gunmen opened fire on him in his home in the same street.

"In the attack on Hoffman his son was struck in the leg by shrapnel from the ricocheting bullet," he said.

Kleinpeter said police had told him that one of the gang members, said to be involved in the recent spate of attacks, was wanted for 30 house robberies in the Pretoria east area.

Garsfontein CPF chairperson Nic Pascoe, under whose area Sector 1 falls, said there had been a substantial increase in house robberies in the area. "Police have been excellent in responding to these crimes and have caught close to 10 house robbers in the past month," he said.

Sector 1's boundary runs between the N4 highway and the N1 and Simon Vermooten and Lynnwood roads.

Police confirmed Van der Riet's murder. No arrests have been made.

This article was originally published on page 2 of Pretoria News on June 01, 2007