Just prior to the elections we were sent to the homeland of KwaNdebele, just north of Pretoria to ensure a smooth and trouble free process. It is a rural area, so we were unable to keep in touch with events in the rest of the country. Two by two we were posted at various voting stations to guarantee everyone the chance to cast their votes safely. The entire process was trouble-free and over soon.
Upon our return to Pretoria, passing by the Union Buildings, I noticed an unfamiliar flag waving where the national flag used to be. I learnt later that week that a new flag was designed to incorporate the full spectrum of our country's demographic.
Union Buildings in Pretoria - Image from Wikipedia
Old and new flags (Wikimedia)
As soon as we returned, we prepared for the inauguration of newly-elected State President, Nelson Mandela. On the evening of 9 May 1994, we were deployed around the Union Buildings where his inauguration speech would be delivered. My squad stood guard down Church Street for the entire night and the following day, and I was positioned at the southern entrance of Blackwood Street on the eastern border of the Union Buildings. My orders were explicit: Behind me, the German Consulate... No one enters!
It was a long and tiring night as we stood watch over the location of one of the most famous events in human history. On the late morning of 10 May, I watched as a procession of limousines passed in front of me towards the grounds. I noticed the familiar face of Minister of foreign affairs, Pik Botha, along with some gentlemen wearing Muslim Agal. The long line of cars soon passed and I went about my daily routine of staring into the distance, day-dreaming about something. I was caught up in thought when out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement. As I looked over to my right, I saw the line of cars starting to turn into Blackwood road, and coming right towards me. That is when I reacted, as we were taught. I challenged the leading car, stomping my left foot hard into the ground and raising my rifle towards the target, the left front tire of the first vehicle. I gave it my best Clint Eastwood stare-down, unmoved, standing firm on my orders. Over the deafening sound of the silence of that moment I heard the stampeding sound of approaching army boots, followed by the thundering voice of an embarrassed and agitated sergeant: "Bouwer jou doos, kom uit die f@kken pad uit!" Translation - "Bouwer you (expletive, starting with 'c' and rhymes with runt), get out of the f@cking way!"
I realized then that orders were meant to be filtered through some discretion. I got out of the way, letting the motorcade pass. Later on I found out that the man I was looking at through the barrel of my rifle was none other than Yasser Arafat. Some special Police observers were standing there with me, enjoying the moment with a good laugh. They ridiculed me every now and then. That is certainly a day I will never forget. Did I almost start WW3?
