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“THE MOST TERRIBLE IF YOU CALL BY THE RACIST”
I can't see men cry. Especially strong and big men. Such as Frech van Copenhagen. Such people are called - “I made myself”. Parents left him nothing, and he created a factory of detergents from scratch and built a luxurious house. Frek has rough, chopped facial features and huge hands. It seems that nothing can bring it out of balance. Knowing the country in which he lives, he did not rely on fate. Both the factory and the house are completely controlled by surveillance cameras. The house has a weapon and a “red button of danger” (you can immediately call on it a private security company — PSC). In the yard live fierce dogs. Rather, they lived ...
That night two years ago, Frek, as they say here, was “lucky.” Friends came to their daughter and son and took them to a party.
- We waited for the children to leave, and after midnight they went to let the dogs out. My wife took a gun with her, but I did not. Five black armed men attacked us in the dark. We were pushed onto the ground in silence and immediately shot at our wife.
“Have you not seen anything on surveillance cameras?”
- I think someone from my black staff was in the case and turned in the entire security system. I was beaten all the time on the head, dragged on the ground and kept saying: you will die this night. Dragged to the house and asked where the safe. I pointed to the son's bedroom. (My old mother was in the main house). They said open it. I answered: you just shot my wife. And I will tell you the code from the safe ?! The safe was empty, but nothing interested me anymore. They tied my hands, but I know how to make it so that you can break free. (Freck shows me how to hold my fists. - Ed.). Then you will die agonizingly, the bandits said and pulled a package over my head. I did not care. Then one of the gangsters went out into the yard and found that my wife was not there. Wounded, she crawled to an empty dog booth and hid there. She had internal bleeding, and the bandits did not see any traces of blood on the ground. They all ran out into the yard, confident that I would die soon. But I managed to get loose, pulled the bag off my head and jumped over the fence.
I knocked at the house to a neighbor, but he did not open out of fear. In Africa, no one will open a house after midnight. I ran the whole street, and finally one neighbor took a chance. He immediately called chop. The bandits fled, and I found my wife in a doghouse. Her skin is already gray. We drove her to the hospital where she died.
And then Frek's face curts, tightens into a mask of pain, and he begins to sob. I look away.
- Gangsters found? - I ask.
- Of course not! - Frech surprised. (Stupid question in a country where only three percent of such crimes are revealed). - Although they were without masks. Their photos are on the cameras.
- They stole something?
“Nothing but my wedding ring.” In the office were brand new expensive computers, televisions. They took nothing.
- Can I photograph you?
Freck has horror on his face.
- I beg you, do not! For my children! I would be called a racist and expelled from this country.
- racist ?! I scream in shock. - But they killed your wife! Crime has nothing to do with skin color!
- In South Africa has. If you're white, you're actually outlawed.
POLICE WITHOUT PROTECTION
Everyone I asked to show the city of Johannesburg raised his eyebrows in bewilderment.
- What is there to show? Common Gadyushnik. There are, however, two clean areas, fortified no worse than a military fort. Well, the monument to Nelson Mandela on the square. That's all. White in the city is not recommended to appear on the streets. Even in the car. There are traffic lights.
- And what have the traffic lights?
- Very much to do with it. Come to a standing car, shoot, quickly search. It's bad that they shoot right away.
- And where are the whites gone?
- Moved to the suburbs. South Africa for many years among the five most criminal countries in the world. Even Afghanistan overtook.
We are having lunch with my friend Dirc de la Roux, a retired policeman, in the suburbs, in a big shopping mall. At the tables sit and white and black.
“You see,” I say hopefully in my voice. “You can live together in peace.”
“You haven't seen this shopping mall open.” That was the show! They brought money in an armored car so that the shops could start working, caught up with the police, and a festive crowd gathered. Sweat came up on several cars black gentlemen, about twenty people with Kalashnikov assault rifles. The battle began. A few police put. Wounded in the stomach of a pregnant woman. She was then evacuated by helicopter to the hospital. The child, of course, did not save.
“Are the cops so helpless?” - I resent.
- Yes, they can not protect themselves. They are robbed every night. They come in, they demand to open the safe, they take away all weapons. That is why the police pay a lot of money to the private security firms to protect them. I recently read a news article in a newspaper: a police union demands that the police do not work from six in the evening until six in the morning because of a dangerous situation. Cool?
- What? And who will protect citizens?
- And this is the problem of the citizens themselves. This is why I left the police. He knew that a colleague had sold his machine gun, and in the explanatory letter he wrote that, they say, he had lost somewhere. And it gets away with it. Or even worse - another colleague in the lot with the bandits. And then: no rights. In our town, one old white lady, a widow, kept a shop with a license to sell alcohol. Comes black, asks: how much beer? She calls the price. He says: too expensive, and throws a box of beer on the floor. Then he takes the next one. In short, the lady called the police. We come with a partner. We say: man, this will not work, for a broken beer you have to pay. He replied: I have no money. Well, we detained him, we left the store, and there already a crowd of black gathered - about thirty people. Surrounded us and shouting: “Racists! Apartheid! ”What to do? Shoot the crowd? Let my darling go.
In fairness, I must say that blacks and their drench in a terrible way. There are such pogroms that have to call the army. Okay, just be killed! There is such a famous "necklace." They put a tire on a man's belt, pour gasoline over it and set it on fire. Want to show pictures? Here is one survived.
I look at the "tire man" and I feel that now I am right on the table and throw up.
- Dirk, but they are Christians!
- Well, that's what they call themselves. Rather, it is a sect. One priest became famous for spraying his parishioners with dust: they say it helps to get rid of sins.
- It is logical! - I laugh. - If it helps from bedbugs and cockroaches, it should help from sins.
“Another priest demands that women not put on underwear in church.” Then it will be easier for God to penetrate them.
- Listen, but they are not so wild. There are many schools and universities here. The government even specially pays for the children to attend school.
- Oh, this is a whole tradition! If a town wants to achieve something from the government, they organize a so-called "rebellion." They block the highway with burning tires and first burn the school. They drove into their heads: if the government paid extra for the children to go to school, it means that the government needs it. So we will take revenge on him. Our children will not go to school. And the point.
“But whites can defend their way of life with weapons in their hands.” There are many shops with weapons!
- So it is so! Only if you apply it, a crowd of lawyers will fly in. You can not shoot a man if he entered your territory. Even if in his hands a knife. This is not America. You can shoot if a man with a pistol in his hand approached you closer than three meters! We have no rights here. We have such a black Marxist Julius Maleme, the leader of the Fighters for Economic Freedom party. At one time, he became famous for singing the song of the times of apartheid “Kill the Boer!” At rallies. It was he who promoted the idea of expropriating lands from whites without compensation. I asked a black one: why do you need the earth? What are you going to do with it? Earth is hard work. He laughed in my face ...
TO GUEST TO FARMERS
Sad endless yellow fields with sparse patches of trees. Herds of fat black cows. Rarely, as a consolation, a tiny reservoir will flash. And so five hundred kilometers. No housing, no people. The only entertainment is posters with the inscription “Criminal danger! Do not stop the next five kilometers. ”
“You should go to the farm to my father at Limpopo!” Crocodiles, lions, exotic, sighs Dirk.
- Do not crocodiles! - I say nervously. - They are here and in human form missing.
- But now we will cook excellent homemade sausages from local cows.
- I'm already sick of meat. I will soon become a vegetarian.
“Meat is life,” Dirk says sternly.
Finally we turn onto a gravel road. Another twenty kilometers, and we are in place. We are met by the red-haired farmer Adi Slebus and his beautiful wife Lisa. Two children. Dog Masha, which licks me from head to toe. “Children love the cartoon Masha and the Bear so much,” Lisa explains. From the kitchen comes the delicious smell of homemade sausages.
Before the meal, the whole family reads a prayer. It is strange to meet in such a wild wilderness educated people, brilliantly speaking in English. Adi, by the way, studied for three years in Amsterdam at the faculty of theology! It was his family (Adi himself, his father and sister) created such a sensation in Russia, arriving on behalf of the Boers on exploration in Stavropol: Is it possible to buy land in Russia and process it?
- In Stavropol hit by accident. A friend invited. - says Adi. - We flew, and suddenly such a full house. A whole press conference!
- But the Far Eastern hectare do not want to buy? There, farmers are just needed.
And I tell them about the great and deserted expanses, about the harsh climate, when in the summer mosquitoes and heat to 30 degrees and winters to minus 35, about the wild nature. Adi listens with interest. The passion of the Boer pioneers clearly lives in him, but he reasonably says that such work requires several families, a whole community. Lisa is resting uneasily in the chair.
- I can not stand the Russian cold!
I am laughing:
- Lisa, yes in Africa is now colder than in Russia. You don't even have central heating.
“It's all settled,” Adi says sternly. - At the end of September, my wife and children are going to Russia, to Moscow. Found a job in foreign firms. We want to learn Russian, take a closer look, make friends with people and understand what to do next. Here I am negotiating with twenty families who also want to move to Russia to work the land.
- Do you want to save your lives?
- No, although my grandfather was killed a kilometer away in the first year after apartheid. We want to save our souls.
RUSSIA IS A COUNTRY OF HOPE
“I believe that Russia has a bright future,” says Adi with inspiration. - Yes, there is a lot of corruption, but where is it not? Russia is returning to traditional Christian values. Neoliberalism is becoming more aggressive. I hate the so-called gender ideology that the West is introducing, and I don’t want my children brought up by TAM. This ideology is contrary to God and nature itself. And Russia is returning to nature, to family values.
I met a Russian friend in Amsterdam, and he told me a lot about Russia. That's when I, my sister and my father decided to see your country with my own eyes. We were fascinated by hospitality and people, but we were firmly told: issues like emigration are discussed directly with the Kremlin. The next disappointment was the return to Africa. Admittedly, our people are too conservative and ignorant. I was asked wild questions: Is Russia a communist country? Is there a “red threat”? They still live on cold war ideas. But even twenty families, if they move to Russia, this is not bad. See what we did with our barren land! Blacks shout that we stole the land from them, but they always settle near the river. And there is no water here. We need to dig wells. Have you seen a lot of people along the way?
- To be honest, no one.
- And our family settled here in the XIX century in the desert. We have 350 excellent cows. And who lives here? I, Liza (she is at home with the children), my old father and his wife on a neighboring farm and two black middle-aged peasants in their houses. And we have a whole farm that requires continuous work. And we are good workers!
THE CAMP OF WHITE BAMGLES
Honestly, I was going to a skeptical camp. I imagined something like a ghetto inhabited by drunks, which are full in my Moscow district and to which I give a penny to “sober” in the morning. (I’m not a beast to see how a person suffers.)
Desert. A large area enclosed with wire and warning about ferocious dogs. A green lawn that hoses a white guy. Wooden animal figures, so popular in Africa. Small neat houses. Shower cabins. Open shared kitchen, licked to shine, and this despite the fact that a strong sandy wind blows. (It is immediately evident that Protestants live here, who are characterized by a passionate love for order. Cleanliness is pleasing to God.)
I am met by a cheerful, good-natured, plump woman, Lee de Priz, the leader of the community. And I listen to her story:
- Many years ago, my husband lost his job. He was expelled as white from a brewery where he repaired cars. We with four children were literally starving. We only have this piece of barren land that we once bought. It was just that nobody needed him. People learned about our trouble and began to bring products. Even too many products. And we saw that not far from us in terrible conditions there is a married white couple. They invited them to live. The church community has not left us. They brought building materials so that you could make houses, old furniture, milk from a neighboring farm. Gradually, white unemployed families began to come to us. The community grew. Soon my husband was lucky to find a job. Our children grew up and separated. But I used to take care of others. The church sent us new distressed parishioners. But we only take family, proven people, often with small children.
I am puzzled.
- Lee, I do not understand anything! I met your people. Strong young sober men, educated women. Why do they live in your camp? What is wrong with them?
- All wrong. The BEE (Black Empowerment Economy) Act. I explain. Here you are a young white teacher, brilliantly graduated from the university. You have very low chances to get a job, well, except in some wild town where you can easily cut your throat during the next insurrection. This is the so-called “positive discrimination” and quoting. Black women have the right to work, then black men (first of all, with non-standard sexual orientation), color men, and white men at the end of the list.
- That is, the ideal candidate for a job is a black lesbian disabled person suffering from AIDS. The worst option is a healthy young man.
“Exactly,” Lee laughs.
- Well, and if the white man creates his own firm and hires whites?
- Theoretically, of course, it can. But violates the law on quoting. Will stop receiving orders. Will pay crazy taxes. Yes, he will be accused of racism. Therefore, an entrepreneur has to hire five or six black unqualified people and one white man who will work for all. That is why all high-class specialists left South Africa. There remained workers who simply did not save enough money to take out their families. And we have large families.
In a small room, serious young women weave jewelry and wreaths of paper, thread and plastic. “This is very popular for weddings and funerals. And it sells well, Lee explains. - Men are engaged in technical work. Build houses, repair, patrol territory at night. There are difficulties with water and electricity (we have small solar panels, but they are not enough). Sometimes we fry food over a fire. But they made the first greenhouse, bought a calf and goats. Hold out. And we have a rich white neighbor. He keeps cattle and his security.
I see through the fence of beautiful white ostriches and shout in delight:
- Can I poglazhu them?
- Stop! This is security. They tried to steal cattle from a neighbor, but the ostrich would score with their feet and beak anyone who appeared on its territory.
I say goodbye to my new friends and firmly shake their hands, but my heart shrinks from pity. Their cause is doomed.
LAST WHITE CITY IN AFRICA
Twelve o'clock I shake in the "black" bus for fear. I am the only white one and therefore even put my bag in the backside so that nothing is stolen. But people are very benevolent. These are rather well-off blacks (long-distance tickets are expensive). We all chew together biltong (beef jerky, which the Boers used to take with them to the war). I am addicted to bilingu, like a drug.
It is nine o'clock in the evening, and I understand that the bus, as always in Africa, is two hours late. So, they will drop me off on the road to 11 in the evening with all the luggage and bag with money in the city of Hopetown (the city of hope), which I have mentally dubbed the Hopeless City. I'm in a panic. Will my friends wait for me?
But at eleven in the evening I was greeted by a white man named Sebastian, a writer and intellectual from the only white city in Africa, Orania. He throws my stuff in the car. “Drive another 40 kilometers,” he warns. “But in the car there is meat with potatoes and a bottle of red wine.” “No,” I say. “We'll drink when we get alive.”
We are driving along a completely empty black road, and I'm just happy when I see the first lights.
- Welcome to Orania! - happily says Sebastian.
- But where are the fences, security? - I ask in surprise.
- There are surveillance cameras, patrols, but we are so far from civilization that hardly anyone wants to get to us.
I enter the unexpectedly luxurious hotel room and first of all I rush to lock the grill, but there is none!
“You're completely safe,” Sebastian laughs. - In the city, many do not even have the keys to the door. You are among your own.
We drink wonderful red wine on the terrace, in complete silence, where only the splash of fountains is heard. Wild cold. I am wrapped in a blanket, but I feel complete bliss. Security! No one will cut my throat this night or put a plastic bag on my head. For the first time in Africa, I fall asleep calmly, like a child.
WORK AND FIGHT
The symbol of Orania is a barefoot, impudent boy who stands, rolling up his sleeves and preparing himself for battle. “Not at all,” residents say. “He’s ready to go, not to fight.”
In the 1990 year, the Afrikaners (white residents) bought an abandoned town for 200 000 dollars and established their own settlement on the banks of the River Orania, where it is forbidden to live for non-Afrikaners (in other words, black entry is prohibited). It was a good move, because whites put pressure on the fact that they are a minority, their culture is oppressed, their language and traditions are actually banned. The population of the town is all 1500 people, but they even have their own currency “ora”, which is printed by a local bank. Officially, this is a “voucher”, but you can pay them everywhere. Moreover, many shops, cafes and restaurants give 10% discount. It is profitable and reasonable. The money that the population earns does not leave the city.
What do they earn? On the plantations of nuts. They also breed livestock, make unique hand-made souvenirs, lure tourists (30 thousand people a year is not a bad business for a tiny town). They built an excellent hotel on the bank of a clean river with a luxurious spa. There is a kindergarten, a school, a nursing home. Prudent boers even opened a technical college (for builders, locksmiths, electricians). But here is complete trouble with medicine. The doctor comes two times a week. But a clean cemetery and a lot of monuments to the great Afrikaners. True, I was offended that the Irish volunteers who fought for the Boers against England, erected a monument, but the Russians did not ...
But I see children playing alone on the grass, like in any ordinary country (parents at work). Atmosphere of carelessness and happiness.
Kindergarten just struck me. Discipline as in the army. When I entered, the children sat at the tables: they drew, sculpted from plasticine, pasted paper toys. The teacher rushed to me:
- Are you from Russia? Never seen a Russian. Is it true that all Russian women are beautiful and very watchful of themselves?
“True,” I laugh.
“Children, we have a rare guest from Russia,” the teacher says sternly. - And now we will perform for our guest a song about fishing, first in the language of Afrikaners, and then in English.
In the evening, a big party in the bar, made of simple wooden boards. To my surprise, all men take out a piece of paper and a pen. Afrikaans quiz: about local heroes, about African history. Men, having forgotten about whiskey, completely focused on questions, like schoolchildren. The history of their people and country is the most important thing.
For a whole hour I miss, and then the verbal battle breaks out. I am told that Stalin began World War II, that the Americans were the first to fly into space, that communism and Nazism are one and the same. I flare up like gunpowder: “Yes, you are ignorant, narrow-minded people! You do not see anything beyond your nose! And therefore you are losing the battle because of your lack of education! ”And I remind you about the Munich Agreement of 1938, when the Western powers concluded a pact with Hitler, leaving the USSR alone. That Yuri Gagarin flew into space. That communism is the idea of social equality and fraternity of all nations, and Nazism is a theory declaring one nation elected and controlling humanity. I find the song “Holy War” on the computer and make everyone listen. Three times. Boers also do not remain in debt. They get up and, putting their hands to their hearts, sing the songs of the Anglo-Boer War. At night, we part friends.
WHY THEY LOST
Back to Johannesburg, I am driven by the head of the community Orania Karl Bosoff. He knows how to listen and asks me about distant Russia, about the USSR, about my Soviet childhood.
- What do you think about Orania? Do you believe in her future? - I ask.
- My father founded this city. When he was asked before his death, what is your biggest victory in life? He said: Orania. And what is the biggest disappointment? Answer: Orania. We thought white people would reach out to our city. That farmers who live on pain of death will buy cheap land around Orania and start all over again for the sake of solidarity and security. But they prefer to sell their lands with tears and leave for Australia. We dreamed of becoming a center of attraction for Afrikaners and gradually create our autonomy.
- The authorities YET tolerate you, and then crush you like a nut.
- We try to maintain good relations with the authorities. They promised not to touch us.
“It's just that your hands haven't reached you yet.” Did you hear that crazy Julius Maleme scream at rallies? "Kill the drill", "take his land", "you must drive the whites out of the country"! And a wild, uneducated crowd howls with delight. The authorities may promise you anything, but they are hostages of their voters.
The old man sighs and is silent.
“You lived in the days of apartheid.” What ruined you?
“Arrogance,” Carl says quietly. - Here, this is the exact word. We considered ourselves better than others, elected. Still would! Little white people in the wild lands created a highly developed rich country with a powerful infrastructure, we fought with the British, we brought civilization to Africa. But we only thought about ourselves. And for this we paid in full.
OPINIONS OF EXPERTS
Irina Volynets, Chairman of the National Parent Committee of Russia: “We need to help the Boers”
- We were approached by the Boers pursued in South Africa who are considering moving to Russia. We are talking about several families so far, and not about 15 thousands of people at all, as the Russian media wrote. They share our values, their nepotism in the first place. Boers are ready for assimilation. When I personally met these people, I like them humanly: simple and open, who decided to move to an unknown country for the sake of the safety and tranquility of their children. They are full of hopes to find a new home here, they plan to learn Russian language and culture. The Boers want to work, they know how to do it and do not count on state help. Why not help them?