6) 'Klein Reus'

Head down – No time to rest!

As you read through this you may think to yourself gee, this guy is anti-Afrikaans. That is not at all true. I write of first-person experience as a ‘Soutie’ or ‘Rooinek’ growing up in platteland South Africa at a certain time in history. There are many Afrikaans values I respect and value. Even support several pro Afrikaans efforts in SA. Principally they benefit society. Unfortunately, highlighting values practiced contrary to what is preached does not gain favour. Don’t shoot the messenger. Personal experience has shown that many of those ‘values’ have been thrown in the bin. Honesty? Integrity? Living a faithful Christian life?

‘Fok Dit’? Pay it lip service for an hour on Sunday – maybe, then back to the ‘whatever you can get away with mentality’? Then there’s laziness. A sickness that seems to afflict civil servants in disproportionately large numbers. No matter the race, creed or country... Does laziness and dishonesty go hand in hand? Fear & dishonesty seem to. Carl Boshoff one of the founders of Orania alluded to the disservice that Apartheid had done Afrikaans people in elevating them to ‘baas’ status. Manual labour being reserved for you know those ‘less pure’ races. I’ll add that under Apartheid incorporating so many ‘pure’ into the civil service didn’t help with the affliction either. A main contrary benefit of dismantling the privileged status of white South Africa is forcing people off their bums and back to work. The targeted discriminatory laws against white people have forced people to well emigrate or become entrepreneurial in nature. Now (time of writing) the even more bloated ANC civil service suffers serious cases of both laziness and dishonesty. Though recently I’ve been impressed by the services of home affairs. Far better than they used to be!

Service delivery by most civil servants. Yeah right, more like self service delivery or rather just self-enrichment aka theft.

Getting back to Orania, they have a town mascot Die Klein Reus (The Little Giant) which is a statue of a young boy rolling up his sleeves representing getting down to work. D.I.Y. If you want something done, get on with it. Good for them! Jealousy is a terrible thing. Lazy people will be jealous of those who roll up their sleeves, just one of those things. Then they try tear down the achievements of those that have rolled up their sleeves. And you wonder why South Africa is fucked? – There are just so many afflicted especially in positions of authority and power trying to tear down the achievements of those black and white that roll up their sleeves – Satan uses people...

So, Brent and Tristan rolled up their sleeves & got down to it. Got down to it with such vengeance even Die Klein Reus would’ve been put to shame. We had goals, we had purpose, we stuck to our budgets. We planned then implemented, planned then implemented. Brent had grand ideas but lacked attention to detail. Something I knew from a young age. No matter, I’d keep an eye on the small stuff, I loved this guy! He was my brother, partner! He had my back! Had my back? The childhood bullying was no more! No more? (Friendship betrayal is one of the worst hearts achingly painful experiences in this life) People referred to us as Brent and Tristan as if we were one thing. It didn’t irritate me even though we were so different because I was proud of him! The small stuff, the detail, not so small. It’s the difference in business whether you’re successful or go tits up. We may have looked similar, but we were so different. I didn’t mind picking up more and more slack. I knew Brent like no other. If it was appreciated and I was respected, no worries. We were family, I’ll do whatever is needed. I could see the storm clouds building over the horizon. But this was my business to. We’ll just grow it big enough for both of us. Even if I must be the ‘boy’ to make it work... but there was this thing about attention to detail and expectation that I’ll just do it. If Brent didn’t want to do something he’d ‘hou homself dom’ (hold himself stupid) knowing, I would step up & the tasks would get done anyway. Absolute refusal to do menial and basic run of the mill boring stuff like staff, wages, rations, and you know sheep work or watering the crops properly... or mixing the chemicals or fertilizer properly... and “I’m the mechanical one” but windmill maintenance – pffft; Tristan will do it...

The few years we were at junior school in Grahamstown together they would have a school writing and drawing competition at end of each term. Usually over the last weekend. I never understood my brother. I would take time to plan and draw the best picture I could. Would enjoy learning from other kids how to shade areas differently. It was fun & enjoyable to create something beautiful, unique. Wasn’t the best artist but still did well because of effort and attention to detail. Brent would draw a stick man on the Friday Afternoon and be done. A massive piece of white paper with a stick man on it. No desire to make it any better either. Easy to improve, but ‘hou homself dom’. Writing the same. Using ink pens right hand people even had it easier because their hand travels away from wet ink. Being left-handed was more effort because of wet ink smudging. Yay for ball-point pens! The two things that count more than anything when your main income is livestock are the care factor which as noted Brent had none, and attention to detail.

Later I’d be subjected to self-infatuating speeches by the idiot and his voraciously greedy wife about “it’s the jockey that counts” as the prelude to “you’re an idiot who knows fuck all” and “must just fuck off here you’re in my way” as I’m trying to keep the egotistical runaway spending in check while Brent takes business advice from a second year student or rather ‘tweede jaar student’ who says... with no clue about the years of toil we / I have just lived with the banks. Without a doubt a ‘tweede jaar student’ must be the cleverest thing on earth...

The ‘boy’ (me) wanted accountability, how dare he! Time to bully him out the business... Brent’s attitude.

My mother’s attitude more like how dare he live in a separate house than me! And bring home a girl!!? Wife!!!?? Who the hell does he think he is?? Threat, threat, threat...

Onion treadmill while stock numbers grow

We had mounted a vegetable treadmill like a cowboy on top a bucking bronco. Except if we fall we don’t get to ride again. One crop fails we get sold up. Only one chance. Every crop has to work! Every year. Year after year. Every crop needs that critical fertiliser called attention to detail. Managing logistics of a swarm of staff. Along with a keep everyone happy brewery. Carrying buckets of milk around for calves. Doing ALL livestock work. Being the designated truck driver. I was a busy man. But happy in the busyness because there was progress. Every year I could sell calves and buy a few more breeding cows. Every year the sheep numbers improved.

Space, but for GREED & STUPIDITY

This is where the real trauma sets in.

I haven’t had any of those panic attacks described in the first few months of 1996 since my father died. Not saying witnessing a suicide is a cure. (Don’t try it at home:) Hopefully will never return. Thinking about why can only speculate the events that followed had different effect.

Traumatic yes. Depression no, that came much later and for different reasons.

JUST NUMB! When you’re numb you stop feeling. Stop caring to. After my father died combined with all the shit, I was numb. No amount of shouting (with swearing and threats) by police with accusations & other unpleasant insinuations had effect because I was already numb. If anything, it instilled anger. The indignation of these lying fuckers with their false accusations. There’s no fear where there’s anger.

Same with Brent and his grabbing stealing wife. The more he shouted and swore and insulted – both insulting whenever possible now and threatening the less effect it had. You lose all respect for the creatures and the numbness returns. The disgust at their behaviour takes a whole new dimension. Willemien his wife had hooked him and both had a goal of extracting as much from our business as they could. And if they could be so nasty that I “JUST FUCK OFF!!” like I was being told daily and they take the whole business, then so much the better...

All the witnessing dads' suicide, murder charges, high court murder trial, bank fights & financial stress & never-ending financial and vegetable treadmill, you name it, had nothing on this – that was like an amateur curtain raiser compared to this...

At the time, Tristan thought we’re through the worst, I can finally settle down, court a wife and have a family. The years of HARD work are finally paying off. Live that peaceful life he dreamed of. The one-off raising sheep & cows without those dark years of financial stress and having a wife & children to enjoy – yes that one. Just there, within reach now! Within reach? but like a mirage – never possible... Alas the greedy ones!

This is family that you have altered the trajectory of your life to help, turning on you. It is easy to criticize in hindsight when reading about it. Oh, you should’ve done this or should have done that... yeah, yeah but living the trauma is something else. Being shouted at screaming pitch daily by this “ex-military ‘killing machine’ that he’s going to take his rife and shoot you, he’s going to kill you” so many times, then of course “I’m going to fuck you up & then kill you if you don’t just fuck off now...” The diatribe of threats was indescribable they were so vicious. Let’s roll back a little, keep the timeline.

This is personal & painful because it’s about people I loved. Worked with. Suffered with. Would’ve died for. In many ways I did. This scarring into my soul was more traumatic than all others combined.

When you start out working with people you love for a common purpose but discover at some point that somehow, you’re not working with them anymore, but for them. Being used. It’s their way or they will do anything to discard you. Justify stealing everything you’ve worked for.

They’re so scared of losing you as their slave, ‘their BOY’ to my brother. ‘Old maid’ to my mother. They’ll do ANYTHING to keep the status quo...

Starting to get agitated because of abuse.

Guess it was only a matter of time before the dominant behaviour of a childhood bully began rearing its head. A nasty comment here. A little ‘playful’ shove there. My problem was there was no escape. We needed to expand the business. We needed another farm. But how? Where? Brent had no interest in livestock farming. He wanted the return from it sure – ‘lekker’ but wasn’t prepared to do the work. He wanted to be an irrigation farmer. With tractors and machinery and lots of hashing and smashing – Yay! Except someone must pay. Money must come from somewhere??

I had an idea but first needed Brent off the farm so I could put the onion crop in without ‘afskryf’ interference. (Write-off interference). Clive Mentis was planning a sailing trip which presented a great opportunity for both of us to have a break from the farm separately and be some of the crew. I deliberately made sure I’d be back by planting time and Brent would be away. The dates allowed me to accompany the boat from Richards Bay to Reunion Island and on to Mauritius. Of course I’d have liked to stay longer, Mauritius is a fun place especially for a 24-year-old, but needed to get back. I had added extra seed to our seedbed that year.

Why this is relevant is this crop was our best yet and set us up to buy Komkommer Hoek, an irrigation farm near Teebus the following year.

I started planting early August the Monday after Brent left the Thursday before. Brent was away over 9 weeks, and I finished the week he arrived back. The squad of people varying between 120 to 220 people depending upon what “all pay” (pension and disability payments) was being paid that week in which town were the most motivated we ever had. The ‘derelicts’ of society ranging from recently released prisoners to the people many would consider unemployable really stepped up as my eyes couldn’t be everywhere. Any hands would work, that crop had to IN. The happy mood of not having an overbearing ‘Baas’ as well as added beer at weeks end for improved performance meant the smoothest planting we had yet had.

Andrew van Lingen had helped us with his machines build a new dam and with laser levelling lands before Brent went away. At one point I had a crisis. The dam was full and very little water was coming out the gate valve?? Oh hell! Shit!! F__k!!! If these recently planted onions don’t get water all that work is down the drain along with wages, seedlings, we can’t afford this! We need that land to, I’ve got no other land or space available. The water leaders are falling behind and I’m having sleepless nights. What about the crop that’s already been planted and needs water again early next week? We’re screwed! It’s a ten-inch pipe stretching for 10 meters at the bottom of an earth dam wall. The gate valve had an eight-inch outlet that Brent had scrounged in a scrapyard (we’d built the farm out of scrap) but was still in good working order. We could always swap it later if needed but this is what we could afford. The pipe was also sourced from a scrapyard. Why cut up a perfectly good pipe for scrap? What could it possibly be? I was prodding and poking both ends with various contraptions and windmill rods with hooks on the end – nothing? Still no water. At harvest time when the dam was empty, I discovered it was a tortoise of some description that had gotten stuck in the pipe and obviously couldn’t get out because of the pressure. At the time I was desperate and mentioned to Andrew van Lingen my conundrum. He fortuitously had a pile of piping he said we could use which allowed me together with other scraps of piping lying around the farm to supplement the water supply from another source. This saved me buying piping which I was preparing for but we didn’t have money for as well as the time factor. Fortunately, not needing to be high pressure we used inner tubing & wire joining pipes in many places where there were no fittings.

Speed was essential! Just needed to get water to that land any means necessary. Why this is important is without that help and kindness that would have turned out a much smaller crop and wouldn’t have allowed us the wiggle room for the purchase of the irrigation farm in the following months. The way Brent and later Willemien repaid this along with many other acts of kindness and assistance with dismissive contempt & outright nastiness was most repulsive and disgusting. We’ll come to that soon enough. One of the reasons motivating the writing of this book. I was horrified! Later disgusted. One of the few times I didn’t ignore Brent while he was spewing vile words about other people out his mouth. From years of experience, I had learned that confronting Brent about his behaviour especially when he had a derogatory opinion about other people only led to more conflict and name calling in the most childish and despicable way. So usually tried to ignore him. There were a few times I did confront Brent. We’ll come to that. Yes, it did lead to conflict and fighting between us, but I didn’t care. Only reinforce the conviction I needed to separate my business and life completely from Brent, his insatiable greed and his racist, greedy and belittling wife... Easier said than done – I was the ‘boy’. How dare the ‘boy’? “The okie”?

But that came later. Now was a time we were still a team. I loved Brent. He was not jealous of any other people and appreciative of help people gave us. He liked and appreciated the people in our community who had come to our support during my murder trial. He was a good brother.

A great brother! What the hell happened? Words from our ex-cricket captain about the devil may come to mind. Who knows? But we reflect the company we keep, and Brent was keeping bad company...

On his return from that trip Brent’s eyes popped out. Couldn’t believe the crop growing before him. Exceeded his imagination by multiples. I made him aware much thanks was needed especially to Andrew van Lingen; while thinking to myself how does one repay kindness? Well one passes it on. Words repeated by Tony Fricke who helped me with clothing and many other things in winter Calgary when I stayed with Tony and Elizabeth Fricke a few years later. I asked how to repay their kindness and was told ‘just pass it on’. A concept so many would benefit from internalizing and living by.

That concept makes the world a better place. It is part of Christ’s message after all. And then there are those that collect and collect and collect but don’t ever pass the kindness on. It works opposite. As kindness is multiplied – so is greed. Greed sucks love up like a vacuum removing it from society leaving nastiness in its wake making the world poorer for all. Off topic but can't help thinking about the contractors (military industrial complex) types, world over that use the revolving doors between directorships and politicians focused on syphoning other people's money - lobby & push for more wars, endless wars, more defence contracts, more people dying, greed, money, money, greed, me, me, me (not their kids dying) "but the wars are so good for the share prices" - as the world goes to shit...

Kindness does far more than the act of giving itself. It gives us something to appreciate. To hold to when things turn sour. To shift focus and hold dear. The person giving might get a small ‘lekkerkry’ like what so many useless and sometimes even harmful charities thrive on? Who knows. From experience and being a recipient of past kindness when our situation was dire can say those acts were worth far more than imaginable. Blessings I could think back upon while trying to keep perspective that the entire world isn’t working to fuck you over, just these few greedy thieving cunts justifying their theft because as you know, thieves justify their theft.

Years later when the trauma returned those acts of kindness were like small rays of hope. It gave something to focus on. Focus on the appreciation I felt at the time rather than the trauma of other events within the same memory timeline. After all PTSD and trauma are memories haunting us and Transcendence, I am writing of is about regaining control of our minds. All fine & well focusing on the future we want but PTSD trauma is involuntary memory coming back to haunt us. Finding those rays of kindness and focusing on that is an important tool. For example, the Spring after my father died Joe Newton a nearby farmer arrived one day with a bakkie (Ute) and trailer of Lucerne. Being newly arrived and focused on vegetables we didn’t have much winter green feed. Spring in the Karoo isn’t like other parts of the world. It’s dry, windy, still cold and your livestock loses condition. without supplementary energy lick to utilize the little bit of roughage left in the veld and feed, your sheep will soon die along with your business. Joe Newton arriving that day was one of those rays I could think back to. For that period of absolute shit, I could re-focus on something positive. This is worth far more than the helpful Lucerne. It’s perpetual even while the Lucerne is finite. Overcoming Trauma is about refocusing our minds. Actively realize your mind has slipped back to the past so grab onto a healthy memory and switch it back to a healthier state and slowly bring it back to the brighter future we ‘see’. Or living in the NOW moment I’ll describe later in this book. Some examples of other healthy memories – real blessings in a sea of tormented history are of all things an old hat rack milk cow given to us by Fred Jordaan when he learned we had no milk cows left. I loved that old cow. She was a gift and blessing then which continues to the now. She had no more teeth and when it was dry I’d bring her into the house garden to graze the lawn. Often just going and having a chat with her. Ken Southey helped us with many things and most in particular was his oddball sense of humour. The importance of humour when searching to redirect our thoughts cannot be understated. A medicine for the mind.

Harvest time came and with it the realization we wouldn’t be able to pull off another crop like that on Ridgewater. I had needed to move stock from a nearby camp because the amount of pumping had dropped the water level. Again, I prayed. Sitting on a ‘randjie’ small ridge overlooking the onion land I knew we needed another farm especially if we were to make space for both of us.

An irrigation farm was coming up for auction near the Teebus tunnel outlet. The manager had been murdered and sadly the owner an advocate de Lange from Cape Town was being forced to sell.

We needed to be ready. While Brent was ‘checking the farm out’ I was busy wrangling banks for finance. The farm was completely run down. When I had a look around the following day it can be summed up by the words spoken within earshot of Brent the previous day by one farmer to another ‘as ek die plaas kyk is ek al klaar moeg’. (Just the look of it makes him tired) Of course he overheard another big head big deal D from the Venterstad side of Steynsburg walking around repeatedly saying ‘quart miljoen’ ‘quart miljoen’ ‘nie meer as ‘n quart miljoen’. So, for good measure at the auction I opened the bidding at ‘n quart miljoen’.

Later I’d be so upset because Brent really started getting a big head. Constantly and obsessively taking people around to ‘show’ and ‘tell’ everything “he’s doing”. I didn’t want anyone knowing our business especially some random jealous Dutchmen. Would just walk away thinking we’re standing on the shoulders of giants. If Brent’s children, my nieces Emma, Megan and Reece ever read this (hopefully only when you are adults re the age restriction, and pricing) know and remember the people who came before you. The Bekkers who had originally developed the farm had done an outstanding job with layout and infrastructure. Andrew van Lingen had again stepped up and helped us with machinery for fixing the farm. Starting with the dam. And levelling some land so we could get that year's onion crop in. Much thanks are needed! Your mother will not tell you history of that farm. She is a greedy person who will not give even credit where due let alone a thank you. I’ll come to that soon enough, but I spent many years exerting sweat and blood building and PAYING for that farm and why the disgusting behaviour of your parents drives me to write this book. The trauma and sadness of their vile actions and behaviour. How does one overcome that? Revenge? That would have been easy and very enriching. But I don’t think rewarding because you three would have grown up poorer, much poorer. Growing up as ‘poor whites’ in South Africa is something I don’t wish on anyone especially my nieces, no matter how disgusting their parents behaved. We’ll get to their behaviour soon enough. Getting back to Brent’s ‘showing and telling everything HE’S doing’ was something a bad big head habit an American farmer from Iowa USA, Howard Mueller picked up on when staying with us while on a farming tour soon after we started farming. He called Brent out for it and told him the importance of giving credit when due. Being the actual ‘boy’ in the background doing the work. I knew it would fall on deaf ears.

Another thing mostly my mother's fault, but also my father. I could see a traumatized child in Brent’s adult body running around constantly looking for approval. Anyone not gushing approval is an asshole, cunt or whatever derogatory word springs to his mind at the time. A throw back from the constant disapproval from our shitful mother.

***

When Brent was tragically murdered, I made a difficult decision NOT to seek reparation for his and Willemiens fraudulent actions, theft, and property damage. It was a very challenging and difficult decision. Their criminal activity is inexcusable. In monetary terms, the cost to me has been substantial—many millions of dollars. Their deceit & dishonesty was so disgusting, abhorrent that I knew if I started, the nastiness would be magnified upon their children.

Numerous passages in the bible refer to how our transgressions reverberate for generations. How sins of the parents get visited upon the children. One of the reasons partly stems from the cumulative nature of wealth creation. Very arduous & difficult to start, but as assets accumulate, the process becomes easier. This momentum is vital, particularly in the early stages. Reflecting on this considerable effort, the heavy lifting that both myself and others had put in and knowing the lack of appreciation there would be but considering Brent's children I had the thought process of: 'well they are still innocent'. 'I don't actually like hurting people'. Unlike their parents! 'If they were my own children, what would I wish for them'. 'If both parents were lost, they would likely live with an aunt, but if I they were in my care, wouldn't I want the best for them? Wouldn't I show them as much love and kindness as I would my own children? Wouldn't I want to prevent them from growing up as poor whites, impoverished in a harsh, hostile and unforgiving environment? Do I want them growing up in a poor and embittered household? Surely a rational person would want the best for his brothers' children. That their parents' actions have shown a mindset so contrary to my own is why I didn't regard them as breeding material. The negativity proliferating from their spite and nastiness are so disgusting, imagine injecting the world with more of that. The thought is revolting, makes a person want to puke. Yet, to raise wholesome children, the cycle of malice must be broken, and what better time than now? 'I doubt very much there would be kindness shown in return, but you have to let people prove their nature themselves'. 'You can't push and provoke and then turn around and say see, see, like my mother does'. People will sink to the level of their nature, and I had been on the receiving end of these kids' parents' nature for too many years. We will revisit that time in later posts. 'It takes a village to raise a child, and maybe, just maybe there will be some kindness shown in return'. It will be good for my children to have cousins they can visit and interact with. Maybe my mother will tone it down a little now 'she is in shock, but I can still read her nastiness and planned spite like a book. It is still there. 'My children need a granny, and the busyness of grandchildren will be good for her'. But this spiteful boss chick trying to be "the CEO", always obsessed with her importance? She needs children to interact with but will never get over her bitterness. It's pride. The demons are still there. I'll need to protect my children from this one! Like a typical witch she loves her poisons & potions. In my own house I need peace to. There is nothing more valuable for men than peace. Women don't understand this. As a species they tend to thrive on drama & chaos. Gives them something to talk about, moan about. Irrational thought and emotion. How they 'feel'.

Thinking about this and the efforts I had recently gone to negotiating with the police to "let the dead rest in peace", and the most sadness I felt was when Andrew van Lingen told me how bitter he was at how Brent had treated him. And Willemien we can add. I was embarrassed at my brother's behaviour. The bitterness I felt was magnitudes more. Roger our uncle would comment at times how Brent has selective memory. This was so obvious, and he hated me exponentially more later when I pointed it out. The swearing and insulting were off the charts, but this was one I would not let Brent get away with. This why the latest stunt from Willemien and my mother, no, I will not allow them now to evade accountability. The perpetuation of unnecessary and uncalled for nastiness needs a mirror on their behaviour.

The sadness & sorrow was because I cannot apologize on my brother's behalf. Up until recently when events we will get to in later posts led Willemien to insult, belittle and steal from me again, without which I would not be writing this, and the world would have been none the wiser. It may be one of the stupidest things she has done. But then arrogance has its own kind of ignorance - and stupidity.

Years earlier when we were just starting out, I was out on bail, the debt mountain was huge, we were barely making ends meet and Andrew had come over to measure up some lands for laser levelling. I was off to one side and though not involving myself in their discussion was listening to Brent lamenting about our situation. I remember Andrews words to Brent "I will never let you fail". Obviously, the proviso that we put in the hard work, but I was thinking to myself, how do you repay such kindness? Well, Tony and Elizabeth Fricke taught me you pass it on...

After Willemien insulted me for the last time, I decided to begin documenting their behaviour. Why?

Because it takes a special kind of self-centred me, myself and I only UNGRATEFUL CUNT to behave in the manner that Brent and Willemien have behaved. Leaving people who helped them at their worst and most vulnerable times - bitter...

Sharing our sorrows can lessen their weight, just as sharing our joys can amplify them. It’s a reminder of the importance of companionship and empathy in our lives.

There's a Swedish Proverb - "Shared joy is double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow"

Time to share the sorrow; halve the sorrow, and double the joy - that's 'n lekkerkry'...

'Klein Reus'