I will never forget the day he opened the top compartment of the built-in cupboards in his bedroom and pulling out a brown duffel bag. He sat down on the bed and told me to open it. I was about eleven and like many young boys of my generation I followed the series Sending Vietnam ( Mission Vietnam) religiously. It was in the mid nineties and many international shows were still overdubbed into Afrikaans. I was obsessed with it. The Huey helicopters inserting soldiers into the jungle, the scenes of soldiers on patrol and fighting it out against the Viet Cong. The cloudy skies lit up by howitzers bombarding some distant enemy. On the farm there is a huge forest of poplar trees with a muddy creek running down the middle. Thick brush and thorn trees made up the lower canopy and I literally spent days and nights fighting my own little war against an imaginary foe. Out of the bag I pulled several brown and olive green shirts and trousers, some fancy dress uniform and a couple of web belts. I also discovered cooking utensils, a big backpack and a harness full of magazine pouches. There were some thick brown socks, some brown vests, bush hats and a couple pairs of leather army boots. For me, Christmas had come early and in typical young boy fashion I couldn't wait to get out of the house and try on some of the stuff, obviously still way too big for me. Now I could look the part while living out my childhood battles. I was about to leave when my father spoke for the first time. He looked kinda sad thinking back. " Those boots went places that you have never heard of and that few men have ever been."
I didn't think much of it at the time but I really liked the equipment my dad had gifted me. As I grew older the uniforms started fitting better and I realized that they were very effective camouflage in South African conditions. I wore them all the time hunting for rabbits and warthog. Later they got too small for me but by then I had discovered army surplus stores. I bought more "browns" , discovered the uniforms of the police special forces units called Koevoet and received as gifts, the uniforms of the famous Selous Scouts, German Army, several US army uniforms and also a jacket of the South Korean Army. I had become a sort of collector of military uniforms and I keep them in a big chest in my garage.
It was when I discovered the book "The South African Border War " by Willem Steenkamp that I realized my father had taken part in the war in Angola. Like thousands of South African men between 1969 and 1992 he was drafted at eighteen and started his national service in 1975.
I started asking questions. I was curious. This man with the beard and friendly smile fought in a war and I wanted to know more about it. He never said much and his answers were vague and elusive. I looked up his unit badges and insignia and found that he served as a gunner in 4 Artillery Regiment based in Potchefstroom. He took part in Operation Savannah and the Battle of Bridge 14. Wearing foreign uniforms and pushing more than two thousand kilometres into enemy territory in fourteen days these young men fought against Cuban backed Angolan forces. They suffered hardships, lost friends and experienced trauma that haunts them to this day. They were told they were fighting to deny Russia and communism a foothold in Sub Saharan Africa and they did it well. When it was all said and done they were sent home and without any support and had to return to normal life, working, studying and dealing with the mundane things and occurrences of civilian existence. Their parents and partners tried but couldn't understand. It was a time where people did not talk or complain about the things they had gone through. It was a time of great turmoil and the apartheid regime did not tolerate any free thinking and questioning of policy. Most of them just sucked it up or disappeared into the downward spiral of depression, alcoholism and drug abuse. Some managed to keep the lid on, raising families and building businesses. Now and then you would hear of suicide, middle aged men just disappearing and long time marriages and relationships on the rocks for no apparent reason.
As an adult I've managed to do the research, speak to other veterans and even get some stories and recollections from my dad himself. I've read most of the books that have surfaced in recent years about the South African Border War the Special Forces, Air Force and Navy. I've read political explanations and analysis and I've tried to make sense and understand the impact and the legacy of the Bush War. I've spoken to men that openly lied about their role and experiences. I've spoken to men that flat out refused to answer my seemingly harmless questions and I've spoken to men who actually served and somehow harnessed the ability to talk and educate me on the inns and outs of life as a soldier in the South African Defence Force.
I now notice that he stops whatever he's busy with whenever thunder rumbles in the distance. I asked the other day and he told me that the lightning and thunder resembled muzzle flashes of the howitzers against a cloudy sky at night during artillery bombardments. I notice that he often screams in his sleep and when I ask he seems embarrassed explaining how he dreamt that he ran out of ammunition during a firefight.
It's been forty six years and he remembers every detail. His friends never aged in his mind and he recalls their mannerisms and conversations.
I try to find out more and learn about him, and his experiences. My dad....well...he just sighs...then smiles and changes the subject.
I bought A Rumour of War by Phillip Caputo about a month ago at a second hand bookstore. It has a picture of a young American soldier on the cover looking exhausted, his face shiny with sweat. In the pages of this terrific and terrifying book Caputo delivers a first person account of his time and experiences during his tours of duty in Vietnam as a Marine of 2nd Platoon, C Company, 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines. He vividly describes the endless hours of boredom, the moments of sheer terror and the frustrations that come with military bureaucracy. His war was a different war, fought in the jungles of Vietnam thousands of miles away from the Sub Saharan Bush where my father served. He's ten years my father's senior and possesses the ability to put into words the horrors of war and describe with empathy the experiences of grunts on the ground.
In this book I found the answers to many of my questions. I read a first person account of death, fear, loss, boredom and madness. I got to see, through a soldier's eyes, what my father and his fellow soldiers had experienced and it provided a lot of answers and perspective. It awakened in me a deep respect, empathy and compassion for the person behind those pale blue eyes. It filled me with disdain for politicians and for war and it made me grateful for my many freedoms. Above all it made me grateful for being able to live in peace.