The Dasilva Code

BIRD ON A WIRE & THE CANNABIS
CULTIVATION COPS

Air force camps to air force Pietersburg
(1991) & air force station Nelspruit (1992)

On completion of my National service i wandered off into civilian  street in
search of gainful employment and to face the big bad world head on. It was a
daunting prospect and i was not convinced of this whole civvie street  usiness.
I scoured the papers and left my basically blank c.v at all the personnel agencies. I was busy, busy , busy doing nothing. I eventually found a good work for really good people and what turned out to be the best boss i had and have ever worked for. He owned a Portuguese restaurant in the south of Johannesburg and his daughter had been working there since birth it seems, she is still there today! It was honest work and i worked long hours and made good money. I entertained myself by sabotaging the idiot manager who apparently “worked” there. He was a total waste of skin. I would on a regular basis put tooth picks inside his steak and rub a thin layer of tobasco sauce around the rim of his glass of wine he had stashed around the restaurant that he would sip from every so often. I once threw the contents of an ice bucket over the toilet stall door. He was groaning and grunting like a pig while cutting his daily loaf and i just couldn’t resist. The work although financially viable did get mind numbing and i desperately harked for the military life, so one fine day i subversively made a phone call to Waterkloof ops room and requested they consider me for a camp. A month back in uniform sounded like the medicine i needed. My only requirement was that they don’t call me up for duty in Pretoria! The military duly sent my call up request and i was advised to be at air force base Zwartkops where i would be flown to air force base Pietersburg  and report to base ops. I was delighted to say the least as i would still receive my civilian salary for the month i was away and i would get army pay. It wasn’t much but the army pay would be sufficient to pay for my month long drinking binge. I duly stocked up on essential kit that i would need to take along on my “deployment”. I had two bottles of Jack Daniel`s in my balsak (duffle bag) and a case of beers packed loose amongst my clothes as emergency stock. Life at Pietersburg was run of the mill at first while i sussed the guys out i was working with. I was tasked as the designated driver and was issued a Toyota hi-ace mini bus that i would drive the guys to and from the ops room, this also allowed me the use of the military vehicle for other “recces” around town. I would take myself and some of the others out to town where we would pub crawl and frequent the clubs till the early hours. One day a new permanent force member fresh from basics and course arrived and i know he definitely rued the day we made acquaintance. For reasons of fuzzy memory i will call the “newbie” permanent force recruit “Johan” as i cannot  remember his name and besides i am sure that he would appreciate the anonymity.  One evening after lodging serious complaints in the mess hall comments book about the seriously lacking  wholesomeness of
the fare on offer  and likening it to the slop served up at establishments such as Auschwitz  and calling this grey goop death camp cuisine, i ambled over to the hi ace mini bus and headed off to the accommodation block to round up some guys who felt like going out for something decent. I had Kentucky Fried Chicken in mind. I would load the vehicle with people so as to not raise suspicions at the gate as to why i was utilising the vehicle alone. Being a camper i did not require the silly gate passes and other paperwork and those with me in the mini bus were thus also immune from requiring paperwork as we were obviously working.  I suppose the guards at the gate must have
thought we had “official” business outside the base even at 20h00. On my
arrival at the accommodation block i got initially sidelined by some of the
dudes watching a video of the recently released film titled “Bird on a wire”
with Mel Gibson and one particular scene grabbed my attention . Mel and Goldie Hawn were escaping from some villainous types in a BMW 3 series E30 cabriolet by driving on the train tracks, this must have somehow resonated with me in my subconscious, this is easy especially after a dozen beers and a couple shots of Jack Daniel`s . Anyways, back to the story at hand. I went around and tried to recruit some followers to join me in my quest for decent chow and head off into Pietersburg town, however money was low tide for most the guys except for Johan our fresh faced clueless farm boy. He was still busy unpacking all his stuff  and had missed dinner time so he was keen to go out to the KFC and get a chow. We sped off in the mini bus and made our way through the streets towards  town.  As i approached an unguarded level crossing the imprinted memories of the movie from earlier kicked in and i hung an immediate left turn onto the tracks. The wheels fit inside the tracks and we trundled head on for about a kilometre before it occurred to me that this is an active train line! I started looking for  somewhere to try and negotiate a U turn, Johan was by now completely frantic and babbling incoherently amidst screams of pure terror imagining a train killing  us. I eventually sussed out a spot that i perceived was a “level-ish” piece of ground on either side of the tracks and i started to turn the steering wheel and hopping the mini bus forward to mount the track. We were inside the tracks and it sort of guided us, it was near impossible to get over the slippery train track but after much effort and wheel spin i got the front left tyre over the track and i floored the mini bus only for it to nose dive straight down resting on the front bumper with the tail gate end up in the air along with the rear wheels. The rear wheels were no longer on terra  firma  and panic set in. I had not seen that the “level” ground was just long grass and that the train track was in fact  on an elevated “hump”. Johan and I scrambled
from the vehicle and conducted a quick assessment of the situation, we came to the conclusion that we were in the shit! The headlights were shining directly into the dirt and the tail lights looked like landing beacons glowing red way up there in the air. I did the responsible thing and duly turned the hazard lights on, after all  safety first!

Here is where the story goes tits up! We rocked the mini bus and Johan hung from the back to try and get the wheels to come into contact with the ground where i would floor the accelerator and hopefully attain traction to drive the bus out. That was the theory anyways but it was not working so well as the chassis was resting on the slope of the hump. We noticed that there was a piece of old exhaust pipe attached to an old silencer box ( it had obviously been replaced and the old piece put in the back as proof i surmise).
There was also a flat tyre still on the spare rim so we had tools to work with.
I amended our plan and told Johan to put the flat tyre under the mini bus and
when i gun the accelerator he must jam the silencer box into the gap thereby
giving me sufficient traction to hop the mini bus free of its quandary. In my
mind this was simplistic and was sure to work easily however what followed next was not in my original plans. I gunned the throttle and Johan jammed the silencer box into the gap where the spinning wheel was whizzing around at top speed. I then heard an almighty thud and in the left side view mirror saw a flash of something airborne. I jumped out the driver side and ran around the back of the mini bus to see Johan lying there writhing in agony and blood gushing from a huge gash in his obviously busted nose, the silencer box had flown out at near supersonic speeds and smacked him right in face. I started to discombobulate a tad and ran around the front of the mini bus to do i don’t know what and i slipped on the grass and fell into a small  barbed wire fence that ran along the side of the train tracks, something i had not noticed earlier . i was cut by the barbed wire and had cuts all over my hands and forearms as i tried to cushion my fall. Now we were both casualties. Once i had composed myself  and calmed down to a bitch panic i went back
to Johan who was babbling and spitting blood, i am sure he was annoyed by me, i cannot be sure but i had a niggling suspicion that he may blame me. I helped  him to his feet and we set off on foot for the hospital for medical attention. I was wearing my browns and Johan was still in his full blues uniform. We must have been a sight to behold! On arrival at the hospital we were tended to by a two pip lieutenant  doctor who turned out
to be a camper doing his last camp for the military. His first words were “
what  kak did you two get up to?” i gave him a brief  SITREP (situation report)  and informed him of my status as a camper which immediately changed the dynamic of the whole affair. The doc was all too happy to assist a fellow camper out the shit, so after dressing the wounds on my arms and hands and sorting out some “augmentation” for Johan`s nose he took us off in his old land rover series 2 or 3 to help us recover our stricken vehicle. We got to the edge of a large veld and i pointed out to the blinking lights in the distance. He turned to me and reported that i had not mentioned that i had taken a long drive down the train tracks, he was under the impression i had maybe strayed a few metres onto the tracks due to my “night blindness” as i had said. All i could say was “watch the movie bird on a wire” and left it at that. Johan climbed up onto the bonnet of the landy and sat in the spare wheel which on these land rovers is on the bonnet. Johan`s job was to act as  a message relay station  while i walked ahead and was to warn of obstacles and holes,  the lieutenant slowly drove through the veld, the last thing we wanted was another stricken vehicle. After much effort and sweating we managed to drag the minibus free and towed it out to the road where we thanked the doctor and headed for base. This ordeal had begun at around 19h00 and it was now around 02h00. 

We returned to the barracks and cleaned up,
got a few Z`s and readied ourselves for the upcoming uitkak parade. We got our story correlated and decided to spin the following set of events as fact. We told the Commandant that i had gone out drinking and got pissed and while
negotiating the staircase at the barracks i fell against the walls which are
rough ripple plastered and therefore caused the cuts and scratches on my hands and arms. The Commandant seemed to believe this set of events and found my story plausible. Johan`s story however he found suspect to say the least and did not believe for a second that Johan had been busy making his bed and tripped over the blanket falling and smashing his nose open on the steel frame. The Commandant believed we must have had a fight with each other or with other parties and that the bed making story was simply too far fetched to believe. We stuck to our story and did not waiver and we were suddenly brought back to reality when all hell broke lose out on the runway. The ATC  (air traffic control) were in contact with an inbound Impala mk2 and if memory serves right were instructing the pilot to conduct an overshoot and abort landing, however something went pear  shaped and the Impala mk2 crashed on the runway killing the pilot who had not had the time to eject. We all jumped into first gear and despatched emergency services, got a helo on standby and did all the necessary paperwork and signals. It was however too late for the pilot as he was killed outright. The Impala mk2 `s serial number was 1008 attached to 85cfs. It was February 22<sup>nd</sup> 1991. Chaos ensued as everyone was surmising and spreading rumours of the Impala maybe being victim to an rpg7 or brought down by ANC gunmen etc. The truth is that it all was attributed to pilot error on landing. The Commandant congratulated the ops team for our professional conduct and following  our SOP`s (standard
operating procedures) to a T. I used this interlude to bring to the Commandants attention the horrid state of the mini bus taxi and its un roadworthiness and that i was not keen on putting the guys lives at risk in this shoddy bucket of bolts! Without further ado he sent me off to the “MT” (motor technical i think it is) section to get an appraisal on the mini bus and was phoned by a very concerned mechanic that could not understand why the chassis was so damaged and there was grass stuck inside the gearbox and the engine block had a hole in it and was pissing oil. The Commandant crapped all over the mechanic as if it were his fault and demanded a replacement vehicle for the ops room immediately. Later i drove the guys back to barracks in a brand spanking new hi ace mini bus. We had
gotten away with writing off a military vehicle! The moral of this story is
simple. DO NOT ATTEMPT ANYTHING YOU SEE IN THE MOVIES! On leaving
Pietersburg  , the sergeant asked me what had happened to Johan , me and the Hi Ace mini bus. I told him to ask Johan once i had flown back to Zwartkops and was a civilian again. He laughed and said that he knew there was more to the saga.

My next camp was the following year in march
of 1992, i had once again volunteered for the camp so as to go on  a paid holiday . i stocked my balsak  (duffle bag ) with travelling essentials such
as Jack Daniel`s and emergency beer. It was off to the train station and i
boarded the train along with 4 other campers off to Nelspruit which did not
have a dedicated air force base but only what is called an air force station. The
journey on the train was a wild drinking session which culminated in me “train surfing” , i have pictures where i am hanging out the door and one where i was hanging out the window. I knocked on the compartment window ahead of our and asked a very traumatised old couple for the time. We were moving at speed and it was night time, the expressions of horror on the old timers  faces were priceless.  I was attached to the intelligence division
and utilised as a dagga spotter ( we were actively engaged in finding weed
plantations) along with SANAB (South African Narcotics and Alcohol Bureau)
these were cops that dealt with drug issues and booze etcetera. We were flown from a sports field just outside of Nelspruit town and deposited at a tiny aerodrome just outside Malelane. This was to be our home away from home away from home. We would overnight two nights and then head back to Nelspruit air force station to complete SITREPS and catch up on filing of flight plans and hours the pilots had flown.  During our time back in
Nelspruit we stayed in the army side of the base and shared quarters with army campers. I had befriended a dude that lived in Evander  and he had a banged up brown  Daihatsu charade which he would drive at the
limit into town to assault the bars. The most happening spot in town was the
Mike`s Kitchen and one evening  i was sitting in a “lotus type” position on the bonnet ( why you ask? Hell i don’t know,  it just seemed like a good idea at the time) we pulled up outside the front  door  and i slid slowly down  and off the bonnet and then  at a fast pace walked right in and sat at the bar, ordering a beer without pause. The locals were amazed at this entrance. I was officially the maddest dude in Nelspruit!  My pal and i regaled the waitress and her friend with mindless bullshit and set the tone for the evening. We were going to snag these two broads most definitely. By the end of the waitress`s shift we were “low flying” and horny as all hell so we needed to get the lovelies into the mood, this we did by going to the city hall and taking a swim in the fountains. All this rebel without a clue stuff impressed these small town chicks no end and off we went to their place where we naturally got “jiggy wit` it”. The fornication persisted long  into  the wee hours.

On return to Malelane we were taken out by Oryx helicopter to an area between malelane and Mahlati kop to spot and correlate with SANAB any dagga plantations. We struck pay dirt early and found an  enormous plantation that would have made Bob Marley proud. The area was filmed using a simple hand held video camera and the tape given to SANAB. A few days later we were called up in a hurry to investigate an over border incident that had been reported by an infantry platoon along the “sissa” line on the South African / Mozambican border. Apparently a gunship had flown into South African airspace in the Kruger National park and fired rockets and heavy machine gun at people crossing into  the Republic. We were flown out
along with army intelligence personnel to conduct an investigation on the
ground and i was once again utilised as the designated camera man. Trees were pocked marked with shrapnel and large holes. There were casings and linkages strewn all over the place. It was all very cloak and dagger as we gathered evidence and filmed everything. This was turning out to be a cool camp. Between hanging out the door of an Oryx helicopter looking for dagga plantations to “hush hush” intelligence work was cool. SANAB (the cannabis cultivation cops) had made a huge find and burnt tons worth of dagga, the smoke cloud was evident for miles around and junkies were lamenting this  horrid unfairness. The highest ranking air force officer was invited to join the SANAB crowd at a celebratory braai in thanks for the air force`s help. I was asked to be the designated VIP  driver for the Brigadier as i was a camper and therefore more responsible. I was on my best behaviour as we drove to the SANAB camp. On arrival it was evident that the SANAB cops had definitely been inhaling when they burned the dagga, they were all goofed and pissed as coots. Gun play was actively being practised and the Brigadier instructed me to not come across as ungrateful in any way and accept whatever the cops offered. Low and behold the Brig was right. It wasn’t long before i was plied with “polisie koffie” ( quadruple brandy and a dribble of coke) and i got pissed beyond repair, even the Brig was ticking and when it came to leave. I ended up being driven back to Nelspruit  by the Brig!  The following day we were to report to the ops room for an important briefing pertaining to the future of the Republic. We were instructed by the Brig that with the upcoming  referendum on the 17<sup>th</sup> of march we are expected to vote “YES” to keep in line with the new dispensation and with De Klerk`s vision for South Africa.  So much for politics and voting  being a personal choice! We were effectively ordered to vote “yes”. Naturally i shook my head in agreement and then went a made my X in the “NO” column. I did not support De Klerk`s vision for the future but i decided to quietly do what i felt to be right but loudly voiced my agreement for these idiots to simply keep the peace. I voted at a sports ground in Nelspruit wearing civilian clothes so as to not be looked at by the CP (conservative party) as being a menacing  Government operative there to coerce people to vote for the NP(national party).

My camps were a jol and i miss them, so that is why i am considering joining the reserves at air force base Ysterplaat (iron plate) here in the Western Cape. It will be great to be in uniform once again. However before that i will relay the story of a chance encounter in a bar that led me to Angola and in the employ of a company whose “Outcomes” were advertised as “Executive”.
It was  a journey that led me to a greater understanding of military matters and a darn fine salary to boot. That would however be next year in September 1993.

Many thanks to Gloria at Restaurant
Parreirinha for being so understanding when i was “called up” not once but
twice in successive years  by “surprise” to serve my country! Yeah right!

Michael B Da Silva.

KALAHARI ROCK AND THE PEACE PIPE

                TALES FROM UPINGTON AND
SODWANA BAY 1989/90

The military was a  gas. I enjoyed the entire event from start to completion in 1990. Along the way I learned a lot about discipline and camaraderie and of how to do what is known  as the “fuck around”. It was every National Serviceman`s duty to perfect this art form like it is every POW`s (prisoner of wars) duty to start planning their escape if captured. I duly excelled in this particular “art of war.” I got up  to mischief of the near legendary sort. I was indeed a “legend in my own lunch time”.

My border duty had wound down and the mundane monotony of life at air force base Waterkloof  base ops after the 7^th of may 1989`s “little” incident was mind numbing. I therefore jumped at the request for a volunteer  to go with 12 squadron (the Canberra bombers) to Upington on operation Golden Eagle 2. I was to be their dedicated squadron operations clerk and handle all their flight plans and correlate all radio chatter between the pilots and ground crews. I was super stoked and boarded the 28 squadron C 130 Hercules for the deployment to Upington. We arrived in late October and it was sweltering! The heat was restrictive and the duty of setting up tents was murder. The days passed by and the beer was a welcome respite for desert parched throats. We imbibed the beer with much gusto. It was official, UPINGTON WAS A KAK PLACE!!. Even trips to town in the evenings  was dreadful. The local bar in town had a bar lady that should have worked as the bearded lady in the freak show circus and everyone sported a moustache, bar lady included. Granted it wasn’t as thick and obtuse as those of the local men but it was nevertheless  impressive for a woman! The 12<sup>th</sup> of November was upon us and it was my 20<sup>th</sup> birthday, it also just so happened that there was a huge “sokkiejol”( South African equivalent of the famed American “ho down” or jamboree) at the local co operative grounds where sheep et al are auctioned off. The army dudes were there in force from the local infantry base all kitted out in their step out uniforms and browns with  “putties” (ridiculous white plastic things worn around the top of the boot). The air force contingency  was there in civvies and in varying degrees of drunkenness. Being my birthday it is redundant to mention that I was well on my way. Sobriety had long since been dispensed with.  The
local females that turned out were dressed in their Sunday best, hats, corsages and all. Apparently these sokkie jols are a big deal in Upington. We invaded the hall and immediately laid siege to the bar area, sussing out the female  talent in the “area of operations”. The music was pumping from the mobile deejay on duty, i cannot remember ever hearing Kylie Minogue`s  the locomotion played so many times back to back and witnessing desert windsurfing  practised with so much seriousness. It is truly a bizarre thing to behold. Watching  people dancing as if during Baroque times but to the locomotion. This type of dancing persisted throughout the evening. It was horrible! We were getting tired of this Kylie Minogue torture and a pal of mine approached the deejay and requested he play a song by the band U2, the song he requested was “where the streets have no name”, quite fitting for Upington! It was my favourite song at the time and it was my birthday. We should have taken heed of the deejay`s disco name “KALAHARI SHAKE SHAKE” and to add to the misery of this tragic name were two palm fronds standing on either side of the “deejay box”. He duly agreed and carried on with the most hideous music yet committed to vinyl and cassette tape. After what seemed an eternity enduring some sort of cruel Chinese torture and about 10 more beers my friend went back to the deejay box and was by now getting a tad vociferous and harsh in his request for this elusive U2 song. The deejay gave the thumbs up and we sauntered onto the dance floor ready  to dazzle these farm chicks with our suave moves. The deejay then spoke… he reported that he had a special request for a U2 song, we were by now cheering, he then said in a terrible heavy Afrikaans accent that, “I have been asked to play U2, but i don’t have any U2 , but i do have Irish music”. He then proceeded to play The Blarney Brothers! The hatred and unhappiness was palpable, we jeered and cursed all the members of his family, extended family, his pet dog, the cockroaches in his kitchen and his ancestors. We regrouped and conducted a tactical retreat to the local bar in town where we were amazed and dazzled by the bar ladies impressive moustache. The following day after sorting our hangovers out with a hair of the dog we made our way to town once again to this time try our luck with the girls at the local water world. They had a huge super tube and it promised to be fun. This wonderland of fun was known as “die eiland” the island. Just keep in mind we are effectively in the middle of the desert and its a “warm” 45 degrees Celsius outdoors. The kids were having a rip of a time running up the stairs to the top of the super tube and launching themselves onto it for what should be a raucous ride to the pool waiting at the bottom. PROBLEM: for a super tube to work it needs a constant flow of water running down to assist the user to achieve a frictionless fun ride to the bottom. This particular super tube had no water( due to a dry spell to say the least)  and thus the kids were not going anywhere in a hurry. The sound of dry skin squeaking on the ultra hot plastic super tube must have been torture. What a load of wally this town has turned out to be! The only saving grace this sandy dump of a town had was the “drive through “ bottle store. Yes, i bull schtein you not! They had a drive through liquor store, it had a window at which you could purchase your beer and brandy,, it was GENIUS! Sadly it didn’t do much for the don’t drink and drive campaign. After a month of this dump we were happy to get back to
civilisation and the Castle bar in Pretoria till the boredom  sets in again.

The next “bush” trip that came up was in the month before i was to clear out all together and rejoin civilian life. I had met a woman that i though was the bees knees and i was in the middle of one of those moments where i had to decide whether to dump my school sweetheart for this new “hotrod’. I decided to go on this next journey to Sodwana bay on an exercise known as a MAOT and i was member of a TAU. That`s army jargon for Mobile Air Operations Team and i was officially attached to the Tactical Air Unit although we were convinced it was actually a Tent Assembly Unit.  We erected tents till the cows came home. The work was enjoyable and in all it was a better place than that shit hole Upington. We were at the sea side and we were groovy. ( one guy even took a surf board with). The bar was naturally one of the first parts of the base that were established and we weren’t afraid to make use of it. We worked in close cooperation with the ATC air traffic controller who was a very young green lieutenant fresh out of officer`s course. Only the air force in its infinite wisdom would take a serious stutterer and make him an air traffic controller. This poor dude would stammer even worse when put under pressure sitting in his little mobile ATC trailer atop the hill. We were by now known as “oumanne” old men and had “min dae”,  few days left of National Service, so we were allowed certain liberties and our indiscretions while in the “bush” were all but overlooked. Drunkenness, untidy uniform
incorporating  civilian clothes were also tolerated so long as they  didn’t affect
our work.

One evening i was contemplating this whole should i dump the long term girl friend for the new fangled hot rod model or not? I was doing this deep thought process over a few beers sitting at the foot of the hill that the ATC tower was on and the stuttering lieutenant joined my pals and i for a few cold beers. We were sitting next to a Sakem recovery vehicle ( a mine protected tow truck) it has a huge ground clearance  and when it started to drizzle
we scooted under the Sakem to get out of the rain. The evening was upon us and as we were on an exercise we had a lights out policy so as to ensure we were not seen by the opposing soldiers  partaking in what were war games. One of the guys wandered off into the darkness and got into the “Bulldog” an armoured personnel carrier similar to the Buffel, the difference being that the bulldog was utilised by the air force and its driver cab was in the middle of the vehicle as opposed to on the left side like the buffel. As no lights were
allowed he made use of Cyclops night vision goggles brand new to the defence
force and was called a Cyclops as it only had one “eye piece” jutting out
front. I believe it made use of mirrors and stuff to reflect to one view. It took
a bit of getting used to but worked magically. Anyways, while we were discussing the pro`s and cons of my dilemma one of the guys produced a monster joint. It was some of Durban`s finest Zol. We stoked it up and passed it around.( we broke out into the updated nursery rhyme that went a little something like this

 “ ROLL
ROLL ROLL YOUR JOINT, TWIST IT AT THE END, LIGHT IT UP ,TAKE A PUFF AND PASS IT
TO A FRIEND).  

 What we started to notice was that the lieutenant was starting to speak  luently. The stuttering had been cured! Hallelujah ! we just made a medical break through. It must have been about two hours( i cannot confirm this as by now we were experiencing time loss). The twilight zone was taking its toll. In the distance we heard the familiar rumble of the approaching bulldog, we could not see it but we could sure hear it. We had now moved out from under the Sakem as the drizzle had abated and we had run out of pipes to pull out from under the truck, there was fluid leaking out everywhere. We had another big slow boat circulating and the driver of the bulldog just about flattened us when he pulled up to an abrupt halt. He had been following the huge red ember being passed around as a navigation “beacon” to the RV point ( the place we were sitting).  He jumped down from the cab still donning the
Cyclops eyewear and had a big plastic packet chock a block with more Durban
Poison weed. CANNABIS GALORE! He had visited the local population and procured
us the stash, we got goofed right out of our trees wholesale.

 ( JUST A FOOT NOTE
: i do not  condone the use of hallucinogenic drugs and i do not take drugs, hell i don’t even smoke cigarettes but we were in Sodwana Bay and it was what one does when in Rome apparently, i just don’t recall seeing the Colloseum  but i attribute this to the fact that i was soooo stoned, I do recall vaguely that everything was  just so greeeeen man)

The following day we were all suffering from “green fever” from way too much weed and the heat and humidity didn’t help much either. My tour in Sodwana wound down a week or so later and i made my way back to Waterkloof. The trip was an absolute raucous time and i maintain fond recollections of those crazy military days. I did dump the long term high school sweetheart and i pursued the “hotrod” leading to a later failed engagement. I was back at Waterkloof for a few weeks and i cleared
out with my friends. We were ecstatic to be in civvie street  and went and partied for a month non stop to celebrate our freedom. Or was it freedom? Civilian street is more of a prison than the army ever was. I missed the military so much that i volunteered to be called up for a camp the following year so that i could escape the monotony and treachery of civilian life. Monotonous in having to go to a dead beat job everyday and treacherous because of the underhanded , callous , self serving  social climbers. These civilian types have zero loyalty and don’t practice team or unit. They love to harp on about team and unity but its all a lie!

I volunteered for two camps successively until the air force cancelled all camps for air force personnel. I was destroyed!  However  more on those camps at a future date and my employment by a PMC (private military company) Executive Outcomes.

Michael B Da Silva 85639201BT
Lance Corporal South African Air Force Intelligence corps: operations
(seriously that was my mustering)

ANTI
POACHING

      I WANT TO HELP

Good day . my name is Michael B Da Silva and I currently live in
Somerset West. I have just about had enough of this slaughter of our national
heritage and future generations natural assets. With every rhino poached yet
another cycle  within the already fragile
system is put at risk of collapse. Soon we will only have pictures and videos
left to prove that rhino exist. Our future generations will never have the
chance to see these animals in person.

I want to get offline and inline and on the ground and utilise my
knowledge and time to help in the fight to save our animals. I am a man with
real world responsibilities and requirements and thus cannot offer my services free of charge. It is truly great that there are those who can offer their time free or at a bare minimum rate. Herein lies a part of the problem that perpetuates the poaching problem. Poachers are well funded, well respected men in society and are running a business whose sole intent is to make a profit. They arm their poaching teams  well and they reward them with incentives aka(wages) which are obviously not low.
Collusion is easily bought and the well meaning ranger can be pumped for
information or Intel on rhino whereabouts in exchange for financial reward. The poachers also need Intel to know where exactly the “crash “ of rhino are or where the easiest target is. This Intel will be paid for and so it is logical
that programs must be put in place to gather Intel and subtly investigate the
staff at the ranches. From there it is vital to embark on a “hearts and minds”
approach with the local population in surrounding villages. Offering support
and even embarking on a reward system for accurate  information pertaining to the movement and possible activities planned in the area. Locals are invaluable in garnering Intel as they are in contact with poachers on a daily basis- (they frequent the same taverns for example) the poachers are not strictly imported units and need to infiltrate the community to gather Intel of their own and find the weak link in the chain, then they use whatever means they have at their disposal to get the information they need, pass it to the “wallets” in charge(the business men) and execute their tasks from then on. It is ridiculous to think that poaching teams are independent entities acting as such. What we need are highly mobile units who can intercept and ward off attacks and more importantly arrest members of the poaching teams. They need to be interrogated and all information garnered disseminated to the security forces for further investigation. It must be noted that once the poachers have culled the animal and removed its horn , they have
to have information and a rendezvous point with someone higher up who is then going to pay the poachers and carry the horn from there. We need this Intel and then need to keep following the chain of command as far up as we can or we then hand over the Intel to the police. We are not here to engage in military actions but must have people who are willing to do so if the need arises. We cannot have wide eyed bushy tailed youngsters or people who fit the profile as weak links in the anti poaching teams. The poachers are armed with automatic weapons and are not in business to be arrested, so they will defend their “freedom” vociferously. Anti poaching teams need the use of vehicles which are utilised as “mobile command posts”. The area of operations (the park) should be divided into blocks or sectors or whatever term is best suited and the team with vehicle sets up a temporary base camp and conducts foot patrol in a radius from there. I accept that vehicles make a noise but i am not suggesting driving around all day. The vehicle is a mobile command post from where patrols are despatched, the vehicle is also useful as shelter in the event of adverse weather or the presence of other wild life. The poachers definitely have transport waiting somewhere as i am very sure they do not “hump” all over the place carrying potentially thousands of Rands worth of highly valued rhino horn in their possession. The vehicles are valuable tools in the pursuit of poachers in order to effect “ arrest and interrogate” principles. The vehicle also allows teams that may be overwhelmed the ability of cover and aid in “escape and evasion”, moreover the vehicle also allows for the carrying of medical supplies and naturally can be used to ferry sick or injured members out of the area quickly. A broken ankle for example can be problematic for team members. Carrying kit and an immobilised comrade will “knacker” the whole team. Radio`s are great but the ability to move independently is of vital importance.

These principles are basic “COIN” counter insurgency principles that
are employed similarly by military units. This may not be war but the
ideologies remain the same. The ability to move at speed in pursuit of the
poachers, intelligence gathering from the locals and effective vetting of all
staff that work for the ranches. The poachers employ this tactic to their
benefit and the tally of rhino culled to date stands testament to a well
planned and executed slick operating machine. I am afraid to say that the anti
poaching units are currently on the back leg and the de facto losing team. This
can be attributed to internal politics and “chest heaving” which is allowing
the poachers free reign while red tape and the employment of incorrect tactics allow the poachers to constantly hold the upper hand. Collusion of staff who are not paid market related salaries can be attributed to the perpetuation of information being disseminated to less than scrupulous individuals and there is at least one instance of a rhino being killed whilst in a safe area at a reserve, apparently shot at close range with a hand gun. There the investigation should start with the immediate staff and branch out from there. I am a man with real world responsibilities and have knowledge about tactics and Intel gathering, i am also fully aware that pursuing poachers can get hairy to say the least and that it is potentially very dangerous. We need to
primarily understand that we are not a fighting unit and we are not here to
shoot `em up. This attitude is damaging and will result in arrest for any
member who thinks they can embark on a “Rambo” type approach.  The approach must be professional and more
over one that is what I call  “PRO-ACTIONARY”
as opposed to purely reactionary which
anti poaching has become. Pro-actionary is simple. It combines the principles
mentioned above with the emphasis on Intel gathering from the local population and the hearts and minds practice. Be this helping with building a church or rendering basic medical assistance. These types of practices also have a viable and positive spin off for the reserves who are looked at as simply being a money making enterprise. Yes you are in business to make money but you need the locals on your side.  Actively teaching the locals that it is beneficial to them to volunteer information on potential poachers and their activities will in the long run provide not only the reserve/park with tourism but also keep the locals gainfully “employed” through the sale of curios etcetera. If the rhino are poached, the only group benefitting are the poachers who will be paid for their effort and the business men who are utilising the poachers to ingratiate their pockets and the park now has lost its “draw card” thus there will be a down turn in eco tourists and the locals too will feel this slump. They are not only helping to  save some animals but are actively helping
save their potential incomes. A reward system( cash) must be paid to those who provide Intel  that is beneficial to the anti poaching initiative, this is a human anomaly and is vital i the garnering of the information we need in the tracking of poaching cells. Pay someone and they will talk. We must remember that once we have long left the area, the locals will still live there and thus any Intel garnered must be kept strictly
confidential to avoid reprisal attacks for any information received. It is also
very plausible that locals can be drafted into poaching units as guides
etcetera. Poaching units are a cohesive unit and have some degree of military
training and have proved to be highly mobile and thus “migratory” predators who will need the use of locals for shelter and as guides in unfamiliar terrain. If the tactics and other evidence left behind at varying poaching sites are
investigated  and correlated, i am very sure it will become evident that there is proof that one team is responsible for multiple attacks in different parks and provinces. Modus operandi , tactics and weaponry used is the key to confirming and linking a team to many attacks.
It is logical to launch an attack and cull a rhino in for arguments sake in the
northern cape and a few days later strike in the Limpopo province then take an animal down in the northern province after that. Its collectively known as
“shoot and scoot”. While the ranch is reeling from the attack and all eyes are
on the northern cape the poachers travel freely to their next target. It just
makes sense that tactics like this be employed. The anti poaching units are now strictly reactionary and running around in the wrong region. It all comes down to intelligence gathering and dissemination. Paying for information is neither illegal nor morally repugnant, it is a mutually beneficial reward program. It is not bribery but a reward based initiative. Without this there would not be intelligence gathering. I have written a release prior to this one where i have stated these points, it was done for an initiative . A group tried to get up and running but was fraught with teething problems from the outset and i was saddened and dismayed by its inability to get running. It seems that everyone wants to save our animals but no one wants to loosen the purse strings a tad to provide funding. I have therefore dispensed with the notion of a group or company set up and believe that direct employment by a game park is the only answer right now. Another approach is combining forces with other parks and farms to spread the financial load of having to employ ground staff. There are others who are capable and willing to carry this initiative through on the ground. Small teams on the ground within the pool of reserves/ parks gathering Intel and actively pursuing leads and poachers when the need arises is financially viable if the parks although in competition with each other  over the tourism business must combine forces
to combat what has become a losing war which the poachers and their “wallets” are winning. When the rhino have all but been eradicated the poachers wont simply pack up and go home. There is a huge supply and demand infrastructure in place and thus they will simply change from rhino to any other animal with a horn. Once ground down it will still be shipped as rhino horn to an ignorant consumer who will not know the difference. More species will end up being poached in order to keep the profitability of this industry going. The business men wont simply turn their backs on the very profitable trade when the rhino
cease to exist, they will simply change tactics and species. Their financial
bottom line is at stake. Nothing short of imprisonment and or professional disgrace in court will stop the “wallets” behind the slaughter. The poachers on the ground are an asset these business men utilise and there will never be a shortage of recruits to fill their ranks to compensate for those arrested or
killed by security forces or anti poaching units.  This is due to the appalling state of the market place and the stratospheric rate of unemployment in the country. The locals need to be educated about the importance of conservation. No eco tourists means that they (the locals) will suffer too. We are not only saving a species but our means of sustainability as well. The game farms will have to combine forces in such a way as to allow a mutually  beneficial  professionally courteous symbiotic co existence free of competition and bureaucratic wrangling. There is currently an eco tourist industry but it is under threat and the bottom line is that some money will have to be spent in order to fight this scourge that is poaching. It wont stay with the rhino exclusively and will migrate to other species( anything with a horn). That is a definitive!

I want to work and do my part in staunching the slaughter. I am not the
only one. I do however require a sustainable income , as do the others that are willing to get out their lazy chairs and get offline and inline. We all have
responsibilities (rent, bonds, children etc) and cannot work for love and fresh
air alone. We have military experience and are all dedicated to ecology and to
stop the un relentless  carnage we see and hear of daily. We are all aware that we will be acting under the legal framework of the Republic of South Africa and will conduct ourselves professionally as none of us are willing to sit in prison for contravening the laws of the Republic.

I will attach the original release I had penned  hereafter. It does in an abbreviated form
what i have gone to lengths to explain here. The use of vehicles is imperative
in the effective patrolling and pursuit of suspicious parties. Arresting
potential poachers is important in order to glean information of those higher
up in the chain of command and of the meeting places where the rhino horn was to be handed over. The poachers sure as hell don’t go to the local post office and post the horn. It is given to someone higher up in the food chain so to speak. It is noteworthy mentioning that the addition of dedicated individuals on the ground will also ease any concerns that prospective visitors to the park will have and could be a beneficial marketing tool. The tourists from outside the country want to feel safe when on game drives and the fact that you have assets in place employing tactics aimed at ensuring real time and effective Intel  will put your visitors concerns to
rest so they can have a care free holiday comfortable in the knowledge that you the game farm/ park are making concerted efforts to stop the butchery and provide a safe environ for your guests. As it stands the poaching syndicates are currently in the “driving seat” and are making a lot of money out of poaching. I am not entirely sure of the exact amount the horn fetches on the black market or in the open Asian market but it must be beneficial to the syndicates to send their teams into the field repeatedly. Spending for
arguments sake one hundred thousand rand to make a million is good business. The totals I am sure are a lot more and I am simply using this as an examplefigure. THE POACHING TEAMS are most definitely being paid for their services and are as I have previously said. Well armed, well trained, have access to vehicles so thus are highly mobile and dedicated to their “job”. They are not doing this for love of the environment obviously. It is time for the anti poaching units to start employing COIN principles and stop being run as armed response which they currently are. The syndicates have the upper hand and it is high time that the anti poaching units employ a similar mindset or face failure to launch as is currently being experienced. The poachers are winning hands down and while finger pointing amongst the conservationists persist the animals are going to be slaughtered. Stop the red tape and excuses and start paying for the problem to be effectively tackled. This is what we want to do, others like myself. We are from all walks of life and socially diverse backgrounds with differing socio economic hurdles of our own. We still however want to be
beneficial to the projects in place in combating the pointless  barbarism that is poaching. We are ready to start and make a difference by proactively approaching the anti poaching field with a fresh set of SOP`s (standard operating procedures) . these are not empty words but a promise of a new approach to this problem. We have a lot more to lose than money.

I have military experience within the South African Air Force where my
mustering was intelligence/ ops. My primary tasks were the tasking of air
craft, the monitoring of these aircraft, the prepping of flight plans and the
organising of CASEVAC procedures (casualty evacuation). I worked in both a base operations capacity at Air Force Base Waterkloof and also in the operational area of the then South West Africa at Air Force Base Rundu. I also was utilised in bush tours within the Republic as a FACP (forward air command post) member and TAU (tactical air unit). Further more
I worked for Executive Outcomes( PMC, private military company) in
Angola  as a member of their Air wing. My duties included refuelling , marshalling of all company aircraft , maintaining flight line safety and basic runway maintenance  as well as duties in the weapons store providing small arms, (weapons) maintenance. I will attach all necessary proof of employment to verify my credentials pertaining to my ex mil ( including a recently dated official service certificate from the SANDF which states my start date and termination of active reserve date and my mustering) I will also include my PMC  experience and details confirming employment
within Eeben Barlow`s now shut down company Executive Outcomes.  My strong background within the private security industry is also beneficial and I will also attach my complete c.v. as proof of experience. My c.v. is also available online on my info web page at  www.michaelbdasilva.20m.com

My contact details are as follows:            I currently reside in Somerset West.

Cell: 0789489847

Email. michaelbdasilva@gmail.com

Email. michaelbdasilva@yahoo.com

Rhino Anti-poaching Press Release

“Poaching
in South Africa has reached “epidemic” proportions with the almost daily
slaughter of our natural resources and future generations heritage.”

Michael
da Silva

If we
don’t step up and do something now, we will all but witness the extinction of
big game as we know it and be collectively responsible for allowing the
butchery to have happened unabated. The time has come to take a stand and
change the way we approach the “disease” that is poaching and also get up and
stand unified in the fight against the senseless killing of our big game.

ANTI
POACHING is not a new concept, we are not selling a new product nor are we
claiming to have all the answers to poaching. What we do stand for is a new
approach to the anti poaching industry through proactive actions as opposed to
purely reactionary. This is , we are not merely here to keep a tally of the
already slaughtered animals but to actively investigate , interact and pursue
those guilty of propagating the slaughter. We propose to install teams on the
ground that can investigate and interview all those personnel that could be
open to collusion with poaching syndicates, interact with the local population
through a hearts and minds program to gleam information on the movement and
intentions of potential poachers in the area, the pursuit and arrest of the
poaching “foot soldiers” for questioning and intelligence gathering of those
individuals bank rolling the poaching operations and finally to ensure the
intelligence gathered be disseminated to the relevant authorities for further
investigation and arrests. The “organizers” of the poaching groups must be
identified and brought into the public arena. The need for affecting arrests of
poachers is of utmost importance for a successful outcome and imprisonment of
guilty parties. This task will not be without its dangers and therefore
dedicated, loyal and previously trained professionals will be utilized in the
field. We are not a military/militant unit but will if the needs arise defend
ourselves within the constraints of the laws governing the republic. We are
average ex military personnel who have decided to stand up for our natural
heritage and do something about the senseless slaughter of Rhino’s within our
countries borders. This will be a daunting task and will be both physically and
mentally/spiritually demanding on the members of the anti poaching teams who
are under no illusions as to the discomfort, dangers and distances they will be
from their own loved ones. The reality of the situation is that if we don’t do
something immediately to stem this eradication of our big game we will have
nothing to show our future generations other than pictures in books.

It is
time we stand up and do something and that is what we as Rhino LAPS
propose to do. We are leaving the safety and comfort of our homes and online
discontent pertaining to the poaching dilemma and are physically moving into
the field to meet the challenge head on. I have stated before that we are not a
militant unit but we are under no misgivings that there is a very real risk to
the unit and will defend ourselves within the legal framework. Our mission is
to arrest those involved in the on the ground killing with the sole purpose of
garnering information of those higher up the ladder and ultimately bring them
to justice. Poaching is big business and therefore we aim to eat at the bottom
line, this is; make it a non profitable enterprise for the poaching “bosses”. A
business’s sole purpose is to generate profits and if we can hamper the
profitability of the business it will cease to exist. We are under no illusions
that this is not going to be an easy task or walk in the park and that the
teams lives could invariably be threatened but it is something each member will
fully understand and accept. We are doing this for more than financial gain.
Our natural heritage is at stake.

Michael B
Da Silva

http://michaelbdasilva.blogspot.com

http://thedasilvacode.com

It seems that as soon as anyone wants to do good there will be those who will do
their best to derail the process by making wild promises and empty assurances.
They have their negative noddy associates who are in tow and see to it that they
will only find the negative and make comments as such.

This has happened
to me and others who do genuinely want to make a stand against injustices and
damaging practices being conducted daily on the environment. We are ready and
willing to get out of our lazy chairs and tear ourselves away from our online
protestations and outrage typed in upper case for maximum online effect. We want
to embark on a sustainable contract and be deployed to the area needed. We need
the help of those online people to do the fund raising and negotiate in face to
face meetings with potential investors so we can get on with the task at hand.
Unfortunately the reality is that there are just so many untrustworthy self
servers out there that posture and pass judgement while ingratiating themselves,
blowing their own trumpets without shame. Then dropping the whole project on its
collective arse and by default abandoning their comrades. Some leadership. Some
business acumen. Some loyalty.

I have learned yet another lesson in life.
You CANNOT trust anyone you meet within social network forums and must never
count on anything they say before meeting face to face and signing a legitimate
contract. I have been duped this time, however all is not lost. There are still
those willing to try and put their money where their mouths are. All i require
as a man and father with responsibilities is a show of faith in me and i will
duly reciprocate. One hand does indeed wash the other. It is noteworthy
mentioning that when i was in the military and then working for a PMC (private
military company) i was transported, clothed, armed, fed and paid for my
services. Soldiers dont pay their own way to go to war. If they do they are
called beligirant mercenaries which i as a professional type person are not! I
am disciplined and an asset in my capacity and expect to be paid an at least
minimum sustainable wage. I reiterate. I am a man and father with real world
responsibilities.

I want to be part of the initiative to stop or at very
least curtail the senseless butchery of our wild life but i deserve to be paid
for my services. I have previously written in a proposal for an anti poaching
set up that the problem can be attributed to collusion between well funded
poachers and rangers who earn peanuts. Pay a decent wage and you will get decent
men on the ground. Pay crap and expect exactly that.

Stop the poaching
and part with a few bucks if you are serious about conservation. Online outrage
is just that, online. I want to get inline and on the ground being taken
seriously.
I AM HERE TO BE UTILISED AND NOT USED

Michael B Da
Silva.

SPUTNIK & THE SPY

copious imbibing madness
from Air Force Base Rundu Sector 20 South West Africa 1988/89

 Timeline:
03 August 1988 to 13 April 1989

.Basics to Border.

I matriculated from school in December  1987 and was ready for my compulsory military
service of two years to begin on the 3^rd of august 1988. I was in
the second call up period and i was super stoked and could barely wait to get
into military uniform and embark on an adventure. The 7 months i had to play
with between January and august were spent “training” really hard for my new
career in the military. I partied till i sometimes puked and drank like there
was no tomorrow and when tomorrow came i shrugged the hangover off and launched
a fresh attack . The women , wine and song   ROCKED!

The 3^rd of august rolled around and i had my call
up papers in pocket and was sitting on the train at Johannesburg station
readying to depart for basic training at Valhalla air force gymnasium. Basics
in the air force was a run of the mill affair, there was the running, marching
and esteem breaking/ building tasks necessary to build a soldier fit to be part
of the greatest army in the world. That was the handle the military played and
i accepted this to be the truth. I started off as G1 K1 ( fully fit and able
bodied) but after a week i was re classified to G3 K2 ( not entirely medically
fit) this was due to an accident i had been involved in as a young child
leaving me with a foot that had a collapsing arch and was two sizes different
from the other. I wore a size ten shoe regardless and the sliding around of my
stunted foot had aggravated my scar and so i was duly reclassified to the “bomb
squad” the name used to denote the G3 squadron at the Valhalla gymnasium. Not all
our G3 compatriots were crocks, we had in our ranks a professional national
tennis player and golfer, they were sent to the G3 squadron to prevent injuries
and impede their game. Anyways G3 was a doddle and  a shorter basics program than the G1 K1 program.
We were situated conveniently at the bottom of the base and our bungalow was
adjacent to the  perimeter wall. This
allowed us easy access in and out of the base to get to the liquor store and
local Kentucky Fried Chicken a few blocks away in the neighbourhood. Having a
dad that worked as an area manager for a booze company also had its benefits. I
had a very lucrative “business” running during basics supplying all and sundry
with booze at a premium price. The guys happily paid two to three times the cost
for the booze i had to sell. Our basics open day (the day when family came to
visit) was a particularly drunken affair as the guys were allowed to drink at
the beer garden and obviously it all went pear shaped quickly. Once my pals had
left and my then active girlfriend ,i embarked on the planning of a cunning
plan to go AWOL and spend the weekend with her. Over a few beers we (my two
fellow inmates and i ) had laid our plans out and gone through our very
sophisticated escape and evasion plan. We were basically going to jump the
perimeter wall and run like hell through the field along side air force base
Zwatkops  across the road and hike along
the highway. Brilliantly cunning plan i thought. That night the three of us
hopped the wall and ran swaying side to side through the veld, the swaying was
not a diversionary tactic so much as simply the inability to walk in a straight
line due to the copious amounts of beer and whisky we had consumed. We
eventually were given a lift by two permanent force members going to
Johannesburg on leave, they were driving a Toyota Cressida and had the cassette
tape of U2`s the Joshua tree playing. The song that was playing when we got in
was “I still haven`t  found what i am
looking for”, which is still in my personal top 20 all time favourite songs. We
were dropped off in Hillbrow and legged it to the rendezvous point we had
arranged with our “outsider”. The outsider was the brother of my compatriot and
worked as a DJ at a club called KISS DISCO. It was a seriously dubious dive but
the beer flowed freely and the females keen to dance with us AWOL renegades.
Things get a tad fuzzy and my recollection fades. I awoke the next morning
though in bed with my  girlfriend.
Apparently my buddies had dropped me off at her place in the early hours of the
morning. Her name was Charlene and was a belter of note, her mother was a hard
core Christian but seemed to really like me and did not seem at all phased by
me being there in her daughters bed in the morning, she brought me coffee and
welcomed me with a big smile. On return to Valhalla we slipped over the wall
and rejoined our flight ( air force equivalent of the army platoon). Monday
morning was hell, the hangover was ringing in my head like a cathedral bell
being rung by Quasi Modo!  Then came the
daily “opvok” PT session designed to expressly  destroy mind body and spirit, add this to a
hangover of biblical proportions  and you
have an effective torture ritual. We were lined up and then asked to volunteer
our names as to who had gone AWOL over the weekend. The silence of the lambs
fell over the entire squadron as thoughts of punishment and other horrid means
of punishment ran amok in our minds. A few of the wankers  in the squadron decided to volunteer some
names of their pals who had gone AWOL, these good citizens were told to go and
sit under the shaded tree. To avoid being pimped by my supposed comrades i
stood forward and told the Sergeant present that i had indeed gone AWOL. I was
soon joined by a few others. The Sergeant then handed over proceedings to the
PTI corporal in charge and he read a list of names of those not present at
Sundays roll call. Those names were sent to stand in another place and the
small group of us that had admitted our guilt were asked by a particularly
gnarly corporal “ did you guys have fun?” we all muttered that we indeed did
have a fucking fantastic time. He congratulated us and dismissed us and sent us
back to our bungalow. The “pimps” were then hustled off from their shaded tree
and taken to the parade ground where they spent
the remainder of the day being suitably punished for dropping their
mates in the shit. Those that weren’t man enough to fess up were given the
remainder of basics “mess hall duty”, we all hated mess duty. Peeling veggies
and serving up food like a servant to the rest of the guys. We learned our
first real lessons in camaraderie that day.

Our basics was shorter than the G1 K1 and thus were busy
with our second phase (course) within our varying fields. Some were sent to air
force security, some to intelligence, others to be mess hall bunnies and i was
off to ops course. I was super stoked as i was going to be doing something more
meaningful than peeling carrots all day. We were ferried daily to Pretoria central
where we learned all about flight plans and related procedures that we would be
using soon. I had volunteered to go directly to the border and was told one
morning that i was to go off to air force base Rundu  in Sector 20 in  South West Africa after completion of the
course. Once again i was super stoked and i celebrated that evening at a bar in
Voortrekker Hoogte  after once again
jumping the wall. It was October when i boarded the Hercules C130 transport
plane (flossie) and left for Rundu and the adventure of a lifetime serving our
country in what was still war time. Life in Rundu was grand and i thoroughly
enjoyed the whole idea of being on the border. We as airmen ate in the communal
officers mess out of plates as opposed to the infantry who were still eating
out of varkpanne (pig pans) and living under silly draconian laws like only
being able to drink two beers a day. The Rundu bar was amazing and every Friday
saw the bar open in the evening to the song “all fired up” by Pat Benetar off
her album that had just been released, the bar man was a dedicated permanent
force flight sergeant  and we all wanted
his job! The bar area and attached thatched entertainment area was called the
“Shitingura”, and we had a small pool. This was the life. Much heavy drinking
was practiced at the bar and many funny instances occurred leading sometimes to
discipline being instilled in those that went a “bridge too far” so to speak. One
Saturday afternoon a pile of air force security guards went on a drinking binge
and were totally pissed by the time it came for them to stand “beat” (guard
duty), one particular idiot went and passed out on the grassy area right next
to the runway  and when the daily
“flossie” came in for landing they radioed in that there was a dead dude lying
on the runway approach with his weapon next to him. All hell broke loose as the
“flossie” did an overshoot and climbed rapidly to altitude out of reach of
shoulder fired  anti air craft weapons
such as RPG`s and such. The entire security section mobilised and raced to the
afflicted soldier only to find him gormlessly drunk. The security section were
effectively banned from the bar for a month as punishment. Naturally we could
not allow this unfair practice to be unleashed on our pals and we also could
not allow a money making opportunity pass us by. We milked these sods for all
their daily danger pay in exchange for beer. The guys would bury the beer in
the sand for an hour  or so and then
drink them in one go through a straw to get the desired effect from only one
beer. We sat in the shitingura and sipped our ice cold “frosties” in comfort.  At 85 cents for a beer and the same amount for
a can of coke a cola it was therefore superfluous for anyone to drink cold
drink, why drink a coke when beer costs the same?  Fridays saw the tradition of “greenies &
brownies”, greenies was a mixture of peppermint
schnapps , sambuca and a beer chaser that was given to new arrivals. Brownies
was a double shot of Stroh rum , kahlua
and a beer chaser. Sometimes a “weekend warrior” from head quarters
would get his greenie and brownie in the same evening. We scoffed at these arse
holes as they were there to simply say they were on the border. A weekend of
relaxation at the Shitingura didn’t count as border duty!   One
Friday evening my friend Dion and I sat and drank till we had our fill quite
literally. There was simply no space left for any more liquid in our systems.
Dion leaned back on his bar stool and fell straight off the stool onto his back
on the bar floor narrowly missing a dart that had been thrown by two guys
playing a game of darts. Dion was lying there on the floor doing back stroke,
he truly believed he was swimming in the pool. I left him there tanning at
night and swayed off back to my crater but i was too out of it so i stopped and
slept in a vacant tent. I awoke in the morning with my arms hanging out the
tent and i was puking all sorts. I must have been propped up with my arms over
the tent side for some time as i was severely chafed under my armpits by the
coarse canvas of the tent. I started sweating in the heat and the pain from the
chafing and sweat was unbearable. I walked around with my arms slightly raised
like i had such big muscles that i could not put my arms down. One guy retorted
that i looked like i was carrying watermelons under my arms and wanted to know
if i thought i was Lebanese? . I made a mental note to myself to never hang my
arms over an army tent ever again. Dion was duly banned from the bar for a
month, luckily he had an insider that could bring him beer and other treats
back to his tent. He had not yet been lucky enough to be issued a crater as he
was still tagged as being a “bos roof” (bush raw recruit). He arrived after me
by a few weeks and the military had a complex series of levels. These were . “
rou roofie” ( raw recruit) like in basics. “Roofie”  the months after basics. “Bos roofie” a “bush
raw recruit” . “blou gat” (blue arse) this is a mid term national service man
and then there is “ouman” old man , this is the national service man that has
less than three months left of his national service. ” bos oupa”, bush grand
father , this is the highest rank in the military. A national service man that
will clear out of the military in less than three months and is still on the
border. These men are the most respected people in the military next to a
camper. ( a civilian force member called up for duty after leaving national
service) reserve force. I left the border as a blougat and very proud of my
time on the border. I received two certificates , a medal (eventually by post
in 1995) and promotion to lance corporal after arriving at air force base Waterkloof.

One evening in November just before my 19^th
birthday i embarked on a drinking spree of legend! Armed with R100 my mom had
posted to me for my birthday i sauntered into the bar like John Wayne and got
busy. At 85 cents for a beer and 15 cents for a tot of vodka it was surely
going to be a hairy operation. After the assault on my sobriety i made my
way  back to my  “crater” (concrete bungalow) where four guys
shared the space. We had a silly tradition of punching holes in the ceiling
board when we got pissed, nobody knows who started this dilly practice but we
carried it on as if by law. I got on my short “kas” (green army steel cupboard)
and let rip with a punch of note! Little did i see that i was punching in the
area of a piece of brandering  but also managed to connect the nail head that secured the brandering to the wooden beam in the ceiling. The pain even in my drunken state was so intense that i fell off the cupboard in agony writhing as if i had just been given a prostate exam by a giant. My right fist swelled and started resembling  something in a cartoon. My party came to an abrupt end and i slinked off to bed to lick my wounds. A while later i had the need for a huge pee and i got up swaying and bumping into stuff in the dark, i
was so out of it that i was convinced that i had walked for at least a mile
when i bumped into something metallic and cool. i took this as the urinal in
the toilet block and duly whipped it out and started to pee. All of a sudden
there was a light to my lower right and a face was staring up at me! I shouted
in disgust “what the fuck are you doing you sick fuck, are you spying on me while i piss, are you a moffie?!?!?!!”  The reply came “  dude ,you are pissing in my cupboard”. I
looked down and the fog cleared from my eyes enough to confirm the statement as
true and i duly crimped the end of my tally whacker  to try staunch the flow but it just made it spray all over the place, so i turned and stumbled out pissing all over the
place as i went. By now i was laughing and gagging at the same time, my friend
whose cupboard had been utilised as a urinal was not yet finding the funny side
of it all. When morning came the hilarity started setting in with all the guys
and even the poor guy who i had accused of being a spy and gay was laughing at
my stupidity. I however wasn’t out of the woods yet, i would first have to wash
all the guys clothes that were in the cupboard, his blankets, pillow, boots et
al. Rewinding back a tad. Imagine waking up to someone pissing passed your face
into your cupboard and then being accused of being a deviant sexual pervert. I
stood there in the bleeding hot sun with all this guys clothes hand cranking
the Sputnik (manual spun steel drummed washing machine ) i was turning this behemoth 100 turns in onedirection followed by 100 turns in the other, take all water out add clean water for the rinse cycle, a further 100 spins of this by now “wheel of
misfortune”. I started looking a tad green around the gills and soon i was
puking my lungs out giving the other guys much to laugh at. A couple turns and
a wretch followed by a few more turns and some more puking. I ended up at the
medics on a Dextrose drip but i had at least completed my task of washing all
the clothes. I was somewhat of a celebrity when i left the medics later that
evening and arrived in the bar for a “regmaker”( hair of the dog) . By now my
exploits had made its rounds through the air force part of the base and the
mean as hell RSM( regimental sergeant major) an acting RSM as he held the rank
of Flight Sergeant  named Itel Zurich still
managed to commend me on my stupidity. I got off easy considering the poor guy
whose cupboard i peed in was  branded as
a “ peeping tom” from then on.  (Hence
the “spy” part of this story). My 19^th birthday passed by quite tame
in comparison to the pee “event” that preceded it.

Just before new years eve a friend of mine whom we called
“DEKKIES” short for dextrose and i went on a  bender and got up to all manner of mischief like riding the Met monkey`s (meteorological / weather man`s ) little Suzuki 1oo up and down the runway at top speed while pissed as coots, we would later tell the ATC(air traffic
controller) we were conducting runway checks. Anyway , dekkies and i decided we
wanted to go into Rundu town and visit a civilian lady who worked for the army
as a secretary of sorts, she was known to be quite keen on air force personnel
and was not a difficult snag. The only catch was that this flame red haired
freckled faces “overweight” / plumpish woman was as ugly as all sin! She was
collectively known as KMS kilo mike sierra( kokorot met snawel or translated as
cockroach with beak). Anyways we were pissed and horny as all hell ,so we in
our infinite wisdom hatched a diabolically complex plan to get out the base and
ride the Suzuki to Rundu town and shag this easy roller. Our plan was two
pronged, we would ride to the gate of the base and then turn left and ride to
Rundu. However our well laid plans were thwarted by the army security at the
main gate. They would not let us out the gate because we didn’t have a signal
giving us permission to leave the base with a regimental vehicle after hours
and obviously while intoxicated as skunks. The army guys were helpful and told
us of the gate at the far end of the fence line that had been washed out by the
recent heavy rains that left a deep chasm under the fence that we could
possibly drag the bike through and set off for our meeting with “KMS”.  Apparently they had all heard of her too and showed us the direction to head off into. With no front light and me wearing a staal dak( steel outer helmet) and my pal donning the “doibey” (inner plastic helmet) we set off down the dirt track at speed hurtling at what seemed near
breakneck speed, the tears flowing in my eyes from the wind. The staal dak was
spinning around on my head like a carousel as we rode and dekkies was clutching
a bottle of brandy in one hand and a beer mug in the other. I tried my best to
keep to the track but did not see the fence that was jutting out in our path
and we hit the chain link fence at speed. We crashed to the ground and petrol
was pissing out of the tank and all over us. Dekkies was moaning that his hand
was sore, and when we checked he had a huge gash across his inner palm up to
his thumb and it was deep. He was bleeding like e pig at slaughter and my back
was sore. Undeterred we picked the bike up and attempted to proceed however the
front fork was bent and the tyre was flat, added to that we were worse for the
wear and the hollow under the gate was not deep enough for us to get the bike
through, we decided to call it a day and limped the Suzuki back to the ops room
and left it where we found it. By now dekkies was delirious and in need of
medical attention. We walked to the medics and he was put onto surprise
,surprise  a dextrose drip  and had his palm stitched. A week later he
was transferred to 1 military hospital to “dry out”. I believe he may have had
a drinking problem? In the morning the met monkey went ape shit when he found
his Suzuki standing there covered in blood and dust with a bent fork and flat
tyre. I professed all innocence and assured him that i was firmly tucked into
my bed the previous evening. “everyone believed me”.  The C ommandant  did find this a tad humerous and i think
chalked it up to youthful exuberance and was not to worried about the motor
bike as we were busy “pulling out” of South West Africa  and were told that we would leave nothing
behind in a serviceable state that could not be returned to the Republic. We
destroyed our ops room under express orders from the Commandant. 320 FACP(
forward air command post) within the army ops centre was totally wrecked, with
all maps, photo`s , signals, flight plans and equipment destroyed and burned
and buried. One Sunday while the UNTAG contingent were having a big slap up luncheon
put on by the SAAF at the officers mess , we were busy loading all we could on
a bakkie ( pick up truck) and heading off to the end of the runway near the
engineers section where they had graded an enormous hole earlier with their
bull dozer and we put everything in the hole. Trammels ( foot lockers) with
thousands of papers inside were tossed in along with “balsakke”( duffle bags),  we climbed into the hole and poured many
litres of AVGAS(aviation gasoline) all over the contents and then left ten or
so open jerry cans in the hole. We retreated to what we perceived was a safe
distance and one of the guys threw a pencil flare towards the hole. Before the
flare got to the hole it erupted into a huge orange fireball. Apparently AVGAS
fumes are highly flammable and the resultant eruption left us all very “sun
burned” and my one eyebrow was totally singed off. The smell of singed hair
mixed with the smell of AVGAS was overbearing. The fireball was massively
spectacular but short lived as it burned out very quickly. The engineers got
busy grading the whole lot closed very quickly so as to “hide” our activities.
The UNTAG compliment was not that large at that time so it was easy to pull the
wool over their eyes. We retreated to the bar for well earned beer  and become the laughing stock due to our
newly acquired sun burns and” eyebrow augmentation.”  From new years day onward we were transferred
from 320 FACP to base ops at the flight line.

With the arrival of UNTAG our collective drinking skills
were once again brought to the fore and we were commended by the career
soldiers of the Finnish army on our prowess when it came to the imbibation of
copious amounts of alcohol. We were all between the ages of 18 and 21 and out
drank the career soldiers whose average ages were 30. Many “drinkathons”  were embarked on with our new found friends
from Finland, they were however very badly suited to duty in the hot  South West Africa and they fell early by the
wayside during our “pissups”.

The military was a
great place and i loved every moment of the time spent in uniform and i was
very serious at my job when i worked. However when work was done i partied
hearty like i was on a mission from god or some other deity. We played hard but
we also worked hard. It wasn’t all beer and sunshine but it was the greatest
time of my life both the good and bad times.

The border was a great place and there is no doubt in my
mind that today`s youth are desperately lacking in the fibre and moral
direction required to become true men. The easy way out has become the order of
the day with today`s youth and even through all the wild antics we got up to we
were a disciplined well orientated bunch of young men.

Michael B Da Silva , Lance Corporal 85639201bt

www.michaelbdasilva.20m.com

“Poaching in South Africa has reached “epidemic”
proportions with the almost daily slaughter of our natural resources and future
generations heritage.”

Michael da Silva

If we don’t step up and do something now, we will all but witness the extinction of big game as we know it and be collectively responsible for allowing the butchery to have happened unabated. The time has come to take a stand and change the way we approach the “disease” that is poaching and also stand unified in the fight against the senseless killing of our big game.

ANTI POACHING is not a new concept, we are not selling a new product nor are we claiming to have all the answers to poaching.
What we do stand for is a new approach to the anti poaching industry through proactive actions as opposed to purely reactionary. We are not merely here to keep a tally of the already slaughtered animals but to:

Actively investigate , interact and pursue those guilty of propagating the slaughter.

Install teams on the ground that can investigate and interview all those personnel that could be open to collusion with poaching syndicates.

Interact with the local population through a hearts and minds program to glean information on the movement and intentions of potential poachers in the area.

The pursuit and arrest of the poaching “foot soldiers” for questioning and intelligence gathering of those individuals bank rolling the poaching operations.
Ensure intelligence gathered be disseminated to the relevant authorities for further investigation and arrests.

The “organisers” of the poaching groups must be identified and brought into the public arena. The need for affecting arrests of poachers is of utmost importance for a  successful outcome and imprisonment of guilty parties.
This task will not be without its dangers and therefore dedicated, loyal and previously trained professionals will be utilised in the field. We are not a military/militant unit but will if the needs arise defend ourselves within the constraints of the laws governing the republic. We are average ex military personnel who have decided to stand up for our natural heritage and do something about the senseless slaughter of Rhino`s within our countries borders.
This will be a daunting task and will be both physically and mentally/spiritually demanding on the members of the anti poaching teams who are under no illusions as to the discomfort, dangers and distances they will be from their own loved ones. The reality of the situation is that if we don’t do something immediately to stem this eradication of our big game we will have nothing to show our future generations other than pictures in books.

It is time we stand up and do something and that is what we as Rhino LAPS propose to do. We are leaving the safety and comfort of our homes and online discontent pertaining to the poaching dilemma and are physically moving into the field to meet the challenge head on. As stated before that we are not a militant unit but we are under no misgivings that there is a very real risk to the unit and will defend ourselves within the legal framework.

Our mission is to arrest those involved in the on the ground killing with the sole purpose of garnering information of those higher up the ladder and ultimately bring them to justice.
Poaching is big business and therefore we aim to eat at the bottom line, this is, make it a non profitable enterprise for the poaching “bosses”. A business’s sole purpose is to generate profits and if we can hamper the profitability of the business it will cease to exist. We are under no illusions that this is not going to be an easy task or walk in the park and that the teams lives could invariably be threatened but it is something each member will fully understand and accept.
We are doing this for more than financial gain. Our natural heritage is at stake!

ONE FLEW
“INTO”  THE CUCKOO`S NEST

MY STINT IN THE BIN

This is a true story of my time spent in 1 Military
hospital`s psychiatric ward. Ten days of pure beyond bizarre strangeness.

This all begins back in 1989 while i was in Rundu coming to
the end of my bush tour. It was Monday the 20^th of march and my new “roofie”
green/ raw recruit had climbed off the plane  on Sunday the 19^th to take my slot
for the few weeks before complete withdrawal from the then South West Africa. I
was to be rotated to air force base Waterkloof  where i would carry on with my National
Service for the second year. We had a tradition for our new arrivals, we would
break out the malaria tablets (nivaquine) which are bitter as hell and get the
roofies to chew them. It would take no more than 4 to get the desired result of
the poor dude hurling all over the floor. My roofie,  who was a skinny nerdish dude proved to be  one tough customer and had us flabbergasted when he calmly chewed through the
tenth nivaquine. Not to be undone and overshadowed by my roofie i decided in my
infinite wisdom to show him how the “oumanne” (old men) do it. I promptly
picked up the nivaquine tub we had in the ops room and poured a generous
helping of thirty or so into my hand and promptly popped them into my mouth and
washed them down with a splash of horrid tasting army orange juice. I was the
man! I had just showed the roofie what was what and i was awesome! My awesomeness
quickly took a turn for the worst when i  broke out into an unrelenting sweat and my muscles went lame, i collapsed into  a heap on the floor shuddering and blubbering uncontrollably. The medics were  immediately called over the “squawk box” (internal base intercom system) and a  Samel 20 converted ambulance pulled up outside the ops room door. The medics  quickly loaded me into the ambulance and drove as if pursued by the
Philistines. At the medics bay i was loaded onto the operating table and the  doctor got to work trying to administer a “endo tracheal” (spelling may be a tad off ) tube to supply oxygen  to my now collapsed lungs. I fell into unconsciousness and was rushed to the
airstrip where the daily “flossie” a Hercules C130 transport aircraft was about
ready to leave for Waterkloof air force base. I had just become a CASEVAC!(casualty
evacuee)

Unbeknownst to me, Nivaquine if taken in overdose amounts
acts as a muscle relaxant and thus my hearty went and relaxed, a lot. I was
subjected to heart massage of which i cannot remember if it were done by a Swedish
masseuse or Thai one.?   At 19 i had me a heart attack due to
overdosing on anti malaria tablets as a gag! On my arrival at air force base
Waterkloof i was then airlifted by Puma helicopter to 1 Military hospital and
taken into emergency. When i came to i had a rubber mouth piece glued to my
face with the tube still inserted into my throat, however the tube was clogged
by gob, blood, vomit and pieces of stomach lining eaten away by the huge amount
of Nivaquine in my system. Mosquitoes everywhere avoided me like the plague. I remember  going into panic as i couldn’t get breath in and yanked the mouth piece off my
face taking a little skin with it. I then duly vomited all over the show and
all over my father`s shoes. Yes my father was at my bed side. My parents had  been phoned by my pals in Rundu from the ops room telephone and my folks rushed
to Pretoria to see if i was still alive. It was a few very painful days before
i was visited by the head shrink to evaluate whether i was suicidal or just
plain stupid. I can with certainty state that it was the latter.  It was decided to send me to the psychiatric  ward for further observation and decide what to do with me.

I reported to the psychiatric ward as ordered and opened the
ward door to find a nurses station on the right side, rooms to the left and a
long passage with a long table in the passage way. I was shown my bed and told
that i will have to make my own bed each morning or i would forfeit points. I was
told that the bed did not have to be done like during basics but it must be
made. All meal times were to be taken at the long table in the corridor ,
failure to do so and points would be deducted. The same went for occupational
therapy sessions and PT, failure to partake would result in points being
deducted. I asked about these points. It was explained to me that for all the
above , a point system was put in place and points would be deducted for non
compliance to rules and activities which meant we would not be able to go home
on the weekend. What! Shit, this is splendid, i am in the nut house and i still
get to go home on pass on the weekend, all i need to do is obey some more
military laws and rules, easy peasy.  I was  now introduced to my fellow screw balls and told that i may NOT  refer to them by their rank and only by their surnames. There were a few  infantry guys and a very gay dude who had already tried to commit suicide
numerous times, his dad wanted a rugby player as a son but got a hairdresser
instead and this was just not on back in the 80`s so he forced his light in the
shoes son to go to the army. After the usual teasing and occasional beating by
his platoon mates in basics he tried to kill himself for the first time. He was
more female than male and was one of those that were born gay as opposed to a
social gay. Then there was a drug addict of note and we called him druggie with
which he was happy. It was soon going to be his 20^th birthday and he
was in the best place to get “medicated”. A hospital is a great place to get
prescription meds of all sorts and we would gladly share our meds with him. We would
stand in queue and get our meds and our “points” and then hand what we didn’t trust
to druggie. On his birthday we made him a big collage birthday card in
occupational therapy with dagga leaves and syringes drawn on it and the words “HAPPY
BIRTHDAY DRUGGIE” from ward 9. It brought a tear to his eye, i shit you not. We
all duly were awarded points for our comradeship. Furthermore we had a 32
batallion sergeant major who had a little bit of a break down of the nervous
variety. It was very disconcerting for me as an airman to have to refer to the
sergeant major from 32 Bn by his surname! The same went for the Colonel who had
had a stroke on the golf course and could not recall who he was at all. That was
odd. A colonel and Sergeant Major and we may not call them by name. Very odd
for a troepie indeed. We all had to sit together at the table and say grace for
each meal time. I was asked to say grace and my effort was as such. I bowed my
head and clasped my hands and started the grace as “rub a dub dub, thanks for
the grub”. I didn’t even so much as get a skew look, the sergeant major ended
it with Amen and we knazzed down.

What got to me was our visits to occupational therapy each  day. We had to go to the ground floor ward and play table tennis and darts with  each other to show that we could integrate and interact with one another and by  doing this we scored points. Naturally, being the most sane one there i could  not let this opportunity pass by without starting nonsense. I would start using  the entire room as a table tennis court and throw the darts from the far end of  the room at the dart board, (here i lost a few points). We never had the
sergeant major with us as he was taken elsewhere for EST( electro shock  therapy), i still wonder just how effective this sort of treatment really is? This  man should have been sent to club med for some R&R and not treated as if he  were buzz lightyear.  That`s  my opinion anyway.

Now each morning we had to gather in the corridor wearing  our government issue “chappie wrapper” gowns and do “aerobics”. Yes aerobics. We  stood there all lined up shoulder to shoulder and watching a truly bizarre  woman wearing a leotard and gold glitter high platform shoes , topped off by  leg warmers and pumping high energy music from her boom box we had to do star  jumps and other dilly moves that must have made us really look like lunatics. I  was certain that this woman must be from the ladies ward because man was she a  fruit loop. Our visitors would come and visit and we were once again penalised  points if we were out of line during visits, this was made increasingly
difficult by my friends who like me have very weird senses of humours. Knowing well
that i was in the psychiatric ward they duly arrived to visit me bringing me a
bunch of carrots as opposed to flowers. These carrots i must just state were
possibly the biggest i have ever seen and my one friend Gillian was sitting
there with one particularly enormous carrot  sizing it up with her open mouth saying ”i got to meet this man!:” The  one guy in the bed adjacent to mine who was being visited by his very Christian  parents did not find this amusing at all. The nut house had just gotten
nuttier. My pals informed me of the upcoming street part at Gold Reef City and
i wanted to be there! So my behaviour was impeccable for the remainder of the
week and come Friday i had oodles of points and was turned loose on society
along with an aggressive anti social dude i had befriended in the ward. He was
interred in the ward after beating up his corporal in basics who woke him up
and apparently he had a bad reaction to being told what to do. In the
psychiatric ward he also had punched a doctor and hurled obscenities and chairs
etc. He was funnily enough also turned loose on society that weekend.

I arrived at Gold Reef City and laid siege to the bar! I was
very merry and was chatting up two very dippy broads when the familiar holler
spoiled all chances i had of scoring with one of these lovely ladies. Psycho as
he was known in the ward screamed at me “ hey Mike its me Psycho from the
psycho ward at 1 mil”. The two ladies i was trying so hard to impress suddenly
evaporated from the scene. Anyways, we went on with getting roaring drunk and
going ape shit! This was by the way Saturday the 1`st  of April 1989 and it was the day that South  Africa had its little 9 day war against SWAPO who attacked bases throughout the  northern area of South West Africa.

I arrived back at 1 military hospital early Monday morning  and was called into the quacks office. I was sure that i was in shit for not  coming back Sunday evening like we were supposed to.( my father had dropped me  off in person at the hospitals front door). After a few minutes i was told of  the unfolding events and asked if i thought i was “fit” to be sent back to Rundu  and continue with my duties? I thought about it for a millisecond and
immediately said that i was definitely ready and most definitely not suicidal  or out of control, i carried on to tell the shrink of our tradition and that i  was merely fucking around when i swallowed the tablets. I was merely showing  off and never thought for a moment of the consequences of my stupid actions and  that i was very sorry for wasting valuable resources. The  whole  casevac  thing and flight in a helicopter and all. He excused me and i was sent back to  the ward. I was sure that i had blown my chance of being part of our little war  and i was feeling very down. I was sitting in the nut house and was missing it
all!

The Tuesday came and i was called back to the quacks office
where he told me that i would be flying back to Rundu on the Thursday. I was
elated and packed my things. I was discharged and allowed to go home with the
understanding that i must be at 28Squadron moves at Waterkloof air force base
Thursday morning the 6^th. I was! I returned to Rundu as somewhat of
a celebrity after my stay in the nut house so to speak, the register we kept of
the malaria tablets issued weekly had a big bracket open next to my name which
read “season ticket”, it was written in by the Commandant, our ops officer. The
little war didn’t last too long but i did get to task choppers and other
aircraft to ferry troops in and out of the operations area and handle casevacs
for wounded troops. I was back and i loved it! The UNTAG troops were nowhere to
be found, the Italians who were based at  Rundu  and were piloting the Hueys
of the UN were firmly hidden away as were the Finns who were the supposed “security”
detail. They stayed indoors! This allowed us to set about misleading the “UNTAG`ians
“  wholesale  and tasking aircraft as we pleased and giving
them erroneous flight plans and pax lists. We were ordered to do this by our
commanding officers and i obliged eagerly. We had an African high ranking
observer who was festooned with medals and “balkies” that he looked somewhat
like Idi Amin and boy did we bull shit this man and with very stern serious straight
faces too.

The psychiatric ward was just another crazy part of my life and
it was an education. The whole points system and “aerobics” side to it was odd
to say the least. Watching a very serious career soldier like the 32 Bn
sergeant major going hell for leather during the aerobics session was fucking
strange. The colonel who was a reserved man and confused as all hell to boot
also took these aerobic sessions with much gusto. I was not judged by the
military and i received certificates of appreciation for my time spent in South
West Africa and i was promoted to Lance Corporal in 1989 as well.

What a grand time National Service was. I miss that camaraderie.

Michael b Da Silva, Lance Corporal 85639201BT.

THE GREAT
CHASE

CRAZY TALK OF UFO`S AND BOGEYS

Back in 1989 i was stationed at air force
base Waterkloof in Pretoria(FAWK). My job was as an ops clerk and it was my job to not only task squadron aircraft( prepare flight plans ) and pass them onto the air traffic controllers (ATC) but also to monitor all military aircraft in our sector and FAM( friendly air movement), basically civvy aircraft flying in our monitored air space. I also initiated SAR( search and rescue) and CASEVAC (casualty evacuations) procedures in the event of a military or civvy aircraft going missing in our area. We used signals and procedures called DETRESFA and so on to name the severity of the missing plane. We followed a list of acronyms ending with DETRESFA  which basically meant wake up the bloodhounds and mobilise everyone in the “rollerdex”. If a DETRESFA was announced and signalled it meant that a plane was definitely embedded into the ground. My security clearance was a mere “restricted” level when i left air force college, however due to my personality type and keenness for the flag of the country i was on many occasion tasked with drafting “topsecret” signals. This started in my time on the “border” in the then SOUTH WEST AFRICA  ( now Namibia) where during the time of the UNTAG (united nations crowd) we were all getting busy pulling out of the country under the supervision of the UNTAG`ians. They were making sure
we weren’t getting all belligerent and donning our war faces so to speak. I was
given the express task of duplicating and altering flight plans to bamboozle
our foreign friends. So i merrily tasked a Hercules c130 transport plane filled
with 80 fully armed pax(passengers) for an apparent “team building “ exercise at the bush base called buffalo in Sector 20, the same sector as the base i was stationed at in Rundu(FARU). However the C130 Hercules headed in the opposite direction toward sector 10 and bypassed air force base Ondangwa (FAOA)and belched its cargo of parabats over the Angolan border passed a place called Ruacana. There they proceeded to get busy with whatever it is they had to do.
However the board in the ops room showed the C130 safe at Buffalo and readying for its return journey to the Republic and home to 28 squadron at Waterkloof(FAWK). We did tell fibs from time to time but i felt justified as it was my duty and i was following orders. I received various certificates that were not generally issued to national service men and i still have these and am very proud of them. I was also entrusted with the “destruction” of all paperwork from the ops room and destroy anything that was not bolted down. We were not going to leave anything for our foe to use when they moved into the vacated bases after our redeployment to the republic. My keenness to adhere to army / military rules made me the favoured “top secret” signal writer as they could depend on me for my willingness to do what i am told without being loose with sensitive info. I tasked many flights for the then person known as “spyker”(nail) a one Dr Jonas Savimbi and this carried on well into my time at air force base Waterkloof. The ops room was adjoined to the air traffic control tower and a departure area known as “vip moves” basically the departure area for general staff up to and including the state president, including the little bloodless “coup” that we had when De Klerk waltzed into power. I was at the vip moves one evening and was surprised to see some strange dude (De Klerk) getting off the stat prez`s (P W Botha) plane. ZSCAQ (zulu sierra Charlie alpha quebec), the other presidential bus was ZSCAS. DA50 Falcon`s of 21 squadron also based at
Waterkloof.

So here i was now finished with my tour of duty on the border and getting busy with getting bored in Pretoria. The dreary day to day life  of Waterkloof can be mind numbing. Planes coming , planes going, faxing, phoning for safe times, trekking out to the mess hall for shitty food and wondering when we will be re
tasked and sent to a bush outing. May the 7^th  proved to be a very interesting day at the “office”.  It was a Sunday an d i was on my 24 hour shift along with an ops officer( pilot or officer staff) that was on rotation to do duty at the ops room as officer on duty for the base. It was evening when the teletype machine began going ape and the phone started ringing. Immediately i assumed it was a DETRESFA coming through and got busy
reading the signal. It was headed as ‘top secret” so i immediately called the
ops officer who had zero idea how to read a signal. He was a pilot and didn’t
really care for  boring paper work. We were instructed to immediately ready flight plans for a pair of serviceable Mirage F1 CZ`s that were based at Waterkloof to be on standby for intercept of a “bogey” over the area around the northern cape area. We found this strange as Silvermine had already ordered air force base Ysterplaat (FAYP)to send two Mirage fighters up already and they are way closer than us. We then noted that
air force base Hoedspruit (FAHS)and air force base Pietersburg(FAPB) were also ordered to launch Cheetah fighters. I was duly confused as to why so many air force bases were readying intercepts of what we surmised must be a Russian Mig entering our air space, there is no way the Mig could fly that fast and cover distances so vast requiring bases from all over South Africa  to mobilise. I sent the signals to the squadron and prepped the flight plans regardless. Conflicting signals were coming in as the various radar and monitoring posts so to speak were giving new co ordinates that were simply impossible for any plane we ever encountered. The
signals were confusing as “fog” set in and ops officers from HQ in Pretoria and Silvermine in the Cape were frantically trying to lasso this bogey. After a
long and stressful time the fax machine, telephone and computer become very quiet. A signal was transmitted for outlying bases to stand down as the “bogey” was reported intercepted and shot down. We went back to sleep and forgot about it. Later on Monday i was called to attend the Colonel`s meeting. I was worried shitless that i had made a fuck of procedures or something and was in for an arse chewing. At the meeting in the Colonel`s office were the ops officer from Sunday , the base ops officer  Major Wellman and a major from intelligence, he was army not air force. We were told to keep the events from the previous day quiet and basically not repeat the story to
anyone else. We were told that a craft was destroyed and it was a matter of
urgency that we do no speak of it to anyone off base. Naturally i agreed and
was happy that i was not in the shit. all  entries in the ops book (much like today`s security occurrence book) were removed . and day shift was told to basically mind their business. It obviously was not long before stories started popping up all over the place about a suspected UFO having been shot down and all kinds of fascinating shit found at the crash site. The Yanks were also sniffing around with much interest. The leak we were told was believed to come from an officer out at Silvernmine  so i needn’t worry about
being court marshalled for telling people that we had apparently shot ET down.
So this was my big excitement and tiny part in what has become South Africa`s Roswell. Whatever happened out there, one thing is for sure. A whole pile of planes were scrambled and put on the flight line, there was a “bogey” in our air space and it was shot down, whether it be a Mig or UFO is all still
speculation. It is just “odd” that so many far flung bases so far from each
other were placed on standby that evening, then being told by officers to not
relay the events to anyone.

So did we shoot down a UFO on may 7^th
1989? That answer is somewhere in military intelligence`s files and paper work
at the bottom of some filing cabinet at either army or air force HQ next to the
obligatory bottle of brandy stuffed away at the back of the drawer. I believe
it is entirely plausible that we did shoot down a UFO over the Kalahari that
day. Only the smallest brained person on the planet still believes that we are
the only beings in the universe. It was not possibly the best PR for South
Africa as a whole for us to shoot ET down but it does send the message that we
wont take rambunctious shenanigans from anyone , not even our inter planetary
pals. Moral of the story? Post a flight plan and get your visa before racing
around in controlled air space especially in a country at war.

Michael B Da Silva

Ex SAAF 85639201bt lance corporal national
service 1988-1990. (camps 91 AFB Piestersburg . 92AFS(air force station)
Nelspruit.

http://michaelbdasilva.blogspot.com

THE DA SILVA CODE

DISSENTION
IN THE RANKS

For attention: President Jacob Zuma:

I would like to send this mail to the
President of the Republic Of  South
Africa, Mr Jacob Zuma and raise a few concerns that i have and i am sure a
whole lot of South Africans have.

The current debacle pertaining to the youth
league leader  Julius Malema is going to
boil over into a nasty slinging match and will doubtless rock the foundations
of the ANC in its entirety. He has already “mobilised” his forces and is not
afraid of the ANC or its laws and regulations. He will bring further dissention
and trauma to the ANC if he is not weeded out of the party and sent packing.
The ANC is walking the political tight rope and will be toppled by an unstable
hooligan with his eye firmly placed on the presidency. If he does topple the
current government and undo all that the ANC has done in order to get into
power after the apartheid regime, the country will dissolve into chaos and it
wont be long before the “free world” are poking their heads into our country to
get their hands on our natural resources.

The ANC i hope will cut Julius loose and let
him run off and start his own party thus spreading the voter base even wider
allowing the ANC to remain in power. Your government is far from perfect but
rule under Julius Malema would be murder! He is a megalomaniacal  unstable overgrown child. His rhetoric borders
on outright treason and dissent to the point of declaring war on the ANC, the
very party whose youth league he leads!!! . this is a definitive “push” for
party presidency and ultimately the presidency of the Republic.  There are millions of people who distrust
Julius Malema and will not stand for a life under his rule ( i for one fall firmly
into this category of people) . His ideals and methods are erratic and
subversive to the point of illegality.  We will degenerate into all out civil war if
he is not duly “plonked’ in his place by the ruling party before he upsets the
proverbial apple cart and leads us all into conflict. We can already see what
we will be in for judging by his rabbles behaviour in the streets. His
followers are easily roused to chaotic degrees of  riotous behaviour and lawlessness like we see
in the news daily from countries like Libya. Does the ANC want to leave a
failed legacy like that on the global conscience? I personally don’t think so.
Julius Malema is not an asset to the party and is a definite liability to the
ANC and its members. None of the current ANC members`s positions will be kept
or guaranteed by a Julius regime, that is a fact and i am very sure those in
the ANC know that?

The ANC didn’t  spend all these years fighting and dying to
be overthrown by one of their own prodigal sons! The majority of South Africans
black and especially white will definitely side with the ANC even if they are
supporters of other parties to keep this mad man/ child out of power. For all
we know , this may be the entire plan the ANC has for swaying votes from the
opposition? Who knows?

For the love of our country. Please sort out
your house and discipline a potential “CANE”. We all know what Cane did to
Abel…

I am not an overtly political person and i do
not “belong” to any party. I do vote and when the time comes i do so by merit.
Please save our country Mr president, before he destroys life as we know it
forever and leads us all down the slippery slope  to civil war!

IN CONCLUSION: If i may be so bold and brazen
as to address you  as “Jacob” , please
rectify this problem that is threatening to destabilise our country , region ,
lives, lifestyle and land and throw us into turmoil . I  implore you from one man and former soldier
to another.

A POLITICALLY YOURS; Michael B Da Silva  (a concerned citizen)

michaelbdasilva@yahoo.com

michaelbdasilva@gmail.com

 http://michaelbdasilva.blogspot.com

0789489847

THE CONSPIRACY COOKBOOK

                  Ala Carte or Al Fresco

            Mental
gymnastics at its best

Conspiracy
theories have been around since the dawn of time right back to the time when
the caveman carved out a wheel from stone. There was always going to be a
detractor who let his seemingly oodles of free time allow his primitive brain
cook up a  theory that this device was
the work of  Neanderthal communists
living in the village down the valley and that it was much more than a wheel ,
it was a weapon of mass transportation that was deigned expressly to create
destabilisation and the prolonging of
pain and draconian mindset keeping the caveman in abject poverty !  This mind set has survived intact for
millennia and if that sounds ridiculous then read on and see first hand how
conspiracies get whipped together by supposedly intelligent ,educated people
with honour and prestige in positions of power! (that`s the theory anyway)

Enter the 21^st
century where the internet is teaming with conspiracy theorists and lunatic
fringe “brainiacs” all surmising they have the correct take on world events and
the players within the pot regardless of facts and court cases that have duly
shut the books on the event in question or whether the event was proven or not.
These modern day “sleuths” allow their imaginations to run riot and do cart
wheels with their mouths uncontrollably spewing
tripe. They also don’t seem to care who they implicate in their mental
gymnastic tall stories. Whether these people are involved and whether any real
effort was made to confirm and legitimately
ensure that what they are writing is within the realm of reality and
accurate. One cannot disembark on a diatribe accusing people of serious crimes
without doing exhaustive investigations into that individual or group.  Accusations of collusion in serious crimes is
tantamount to endorsement, using your name as collateral. What you write better
contain facts that can be corroborated if scrutinised by third parties.  The truth however is that the truth is
secondary to most of those that make wild accusations and there are multitudes
of reality impaired people trawling the web. Every blogger has their pet
project that they comment on and post what they believe in. Every blogger has
followers and detractors. What is truly scary is that many mental gymnasts that
litter their blogs with unsubstantiated waffle are educated people who although
educated are not necessarily intelligent.

This brings
me to the motivation for my post.

Recently i
read a post on a blog i follow, written by a person who i have had the distinct
honour to have worked for in Angola. The blog which i read with interest is
titled   http://eebenbarlowsmilitaryandsecurityblog.blogspot.com/
and is authored by Eeben Barlow. Eeben
had just posted a piece about something that was written and reported
about him. Herewith i will copy and paste the original piece that was written
about Eeben by a person who i have difficulty not openly swearing at. He wrote
overtly libellous comments that could have far reaching implications if taken
further. One cannot simply accuse people still living of orchestrating
terrorist atrocities without having empirical irrefutable hard evidence as
opposed to circumstantial evidence which the author of the blog that attacked
Eeben says he has. The author of the misguided blog is someone who touts
themselves  as a legal brain in England
however the empirical irrefutable truth is that he was fired by the Prime
Minister for wrong doings and maladministration.  His name is Patrick Haseldine and i have
circumstantial evidence  and hear say that
suggests that he wears ladies knickers (it is as i say circumstantial).
Herewith the copy/paste from his site i mentioned.

“”LOCKERBIE:
J’ACCUSE….EEBEN BARLOW

ACCUSATION

Eeben Barlow, commander of South Africa’s Civil Co-operation Bureau (CCB)
Europe Branch, coordinated the Lockerbie bombing on 21 December 1988 by
targeting UN Commissioner for Namibia, Bernt Carlsson, the most prominent of
the 270 victims.

At Heathrow airport, CCB operatives had six hours in which to substitute the
‘bomb bag’ for Bernt Carlsson’s checked-in suitcase, while Carlsson was
attending a meeting in London with the De Beers diamond cartel. No trace of his
suitcase was ever found following the Pan Am Flight 103 disaster.

BACKGROUND

Eeben Barlow joined the South African Defence Force in 1974 and became a
commander of SADF’s notorious 32 Battalion Reconnaissance Wing in Angola (see
attached photo), where he ‘assisted’ the anti-government rebel movement Union
for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA). Subsequently, Barlow was assigned
to SADF’s Directorate of Military Intelligence and then to General Magnus
Malan’s Civil Co-operation Bureau (CCB) where he commanded Region 5, an area
that encompassed Europe and the Middle East. Barlow was based in London in the
1980s and it was his job to disseminate disinformation about the ANC. One can
speculate on what other activities Barlow and South African
“superspy” Craig Williamson got up to whilst stationed in Europe
including their involvement in the assassinations of Sweden’s Prime Minister,
Olof Palme, in February 1986 and ANC representative in France, Dulcie
September, in March 1988. The CCB was definitely involved in assassinations
elsewhere, including that of Anton Lubowski, a leading member of Namibia’s
SWAPO (South West African Peoples’ Organisation) in 1989. The manufacture and
distribution of drugs, involvement with the so-called Third Force, utilised to
destabilise South Africa during the pre-1994 election period. Dr Wouter Basson
(so-called Dr Death) was also part of the CCB operation and behind a CBW
programme code-named Project Coast.

The activities of Executive Outcomes (formed by Barlow in 1989 when the CCB was
disbanded), the clients it served, and the global transnational corporate elite
that included the De Beers diamond cartel, Texaco and Gulf-Chevron reveals the
role of mercenary groups, especially in Africa. Much of EO’s income came from
‘doing deals’, that is, getting lucrative mining concessions as payment for
providing protection or overthrowing governments that ‘got in the way’ of doing
business such as those conducted in Sierra Leone, Angola and DR Congo. And here
the connections between EO and companies such as Diamondworks, becomes important,
for the close association between EO and the diamond and gold concessions
reveals that EO not only got paid cash for supplying mercenary forces but also
obtained lucrative mining concessions as well. Executive Outcomes subsequently
morphed into Sandline International and ended up as the private military
contractor Aegis Defence Services.””

This inflammatory post was brought to Eebens
attention by a third party who happened upon it. The correct method would have
been for patrick to at least attempt to contact Eeben and interact before hand
ensuring  fairness and disclosure.
Instead patrick steam rolled ahead and slandered Eebens name without an iota of
a thought to professionalism and or restraint or whether what he was writing
and its source Robert Black had any facts based in reality.  Today`s world is a funny place and when the
word terrorism, bombing, assassination pop up in posts, little red flags start
waving all over the place.  It would have
been the manly righteous thing to do to at least have contacted the person you
are about to defame.

Eeben
Barlow has a very colourful history which is easily googled and this
naturally opens him to all manner of conspiracy theorists wet dreams. He was
involved in the intelligence apparatus of the Old South Africa as it were and
was associated with the CCB. This is on his blog and is described in detail in
Eeben`s book. He has history, and unfortunately this feeds into the lame brains
out there who are out to scribble down nonsensical horse shit about people who
must have annoyed them somewhere in life.( be it professionally or personally)
i could only surmise as to what Eeben has done to irk patrick so much, perhaps
it is the fact that Eeben ran a supremely professional company that turned
around 30 years of civil war and stopped
the advance of misery? Maybe it was because patrick secretly envies a
true operator and is unhappy in his own life and with his own shortcomings as a
man and politician? Hell i  don`t  know
its all just conjecture but because i am writing it , hey it must be so!
That is precisely what patrick has done!! I sit here and for some strange
unbeknownst reason the name walter mitty keeps popping to mind when typing the
name patrick haseldine but i digress. 

I have posted a comment on patrick`s blog that
reads (once again i copy/paste directly

“”michael b
said…

INCREDULOUS! where did you get your intel from? prey tell? hells
teeth, that is some fancy mental gymnastics you tout about Eeben Barlow. next
you will blame him for the biblical plagues, world war two, 9/11 and the
crucifixion. you are obviously an educated man but education does not necessary
mean intelligent. you need more than circumstantial evidence to support a
theory before publishing possibly libellous comments. you of all people should
know this. what gives? did you have a brain fart? i am an ex Executive Outcomes
employee and i am not some pseudo assassin of the old apartheid state or of
Eeben Barlow. check your factoids before spewing garbage.

michael b da silva “”

19 August, 2011

Followed by,

“”michael b
said…

patrick, the reason Eeben has “refused” to comment to
your second comment is that he has stated on his blog that he has zero wish nor
need to contact you anymore relating to your wild accusations and has marked
you as spam. oh and the spam he has tagged you as is not the corned beef
variety you find in a can. i agree fully with Eeben! if you bothered to go and
look at his blog you would have noted that before making redundant comments. to
your original accusations i say BWAHAHAHAHA! brilliant, now i know who to blame
for the fact that the tooth fairy did not bring me money for my tooth that i
put under my pillow. Eeben obviously had him whacked!

This is a very serious allegation that has
been levelled at Eeben Barlow by Patrick Haseldine and his erstwhile chum,  Robert Black   http://www.blogger.com/profile/03606456028430261555

another reputable
blog site author  posted the following
food for thought on eebens blog

“”Feral Jundi said…

I would half expect Patrick to at
least make contact directly with Eeben as a professional courtesy to explain
his sources and proof but i doubt whether Patrick is man enough to do so. He
will sit there and pontificate from behind his computer dreaming up other
implausible lies about Eeben and whoever else and not bothering with that
little thing called “the truth”. Eeben has in his blog stated that he will
simply laugh this one off  too,
Eeben  has been the target of numerous
disinformation and misrepresentation attempts from everyone from the UN to the
New York Times to Patrick
Haseldine.  Eeben must be a
supremely patient man.   I intend to send Patrick recipe`s for  hallucinogenic muffins and cannabis
shortbread cookies as i think that
Patrick may have indulged in a tad too much LSD in the 60`s (that is my
opinion and i have absolutely no proof. But i will state it  as a truth because i say so!  It is very much in  the same vein as what Patrick  and Robert Black has done with allegations
levelled at Eeben)

Patrick you  should start a cookbook seeing as you are  so adept at cooking up stories. You could
title it “THE CONSPIRACY COOKBOOK” cooking it up with Patrick Haseldine (Ala
Carte or Al Fresco) with guest chef Robert Black author of  his cook book “stirring the crock pot”

Patrick  Haseldine  and Robert Black all i have left  to say is …. sis on you!

Michael B Da Silva

NOTE:: as of august 25th Robert Black posted a recant on his blog page
effectively saying that Patrick Haseldine has no proof of Eeben Barlow being
involved in the Lockerbie disaster and bombing of Pan Am 103. herewith a
copy/paste of that statement from his blog page

…”" Because Patrick Haseldine does not have any evidence. This
correspondence is now closed. All further contributions will be deleted.”"