Op Die Plaas
On The Farm
Bierpens is a BEE disenfranchised White Male Fighting for Survival in a Post Apartheid Democracy. Take a walk with me through the confusion of Tribalism, White Privilege and Previously Disadvantage Maize of Populism.
For Fuck Sakes Andrew. The harder you push your incompetents the harder we will push back. What about you have raped the system enough now do you not understand. You are not god. You cannot dictate to us how we use our heritage. You are merely appointed custodian. Somehow you mistook that for ownership. For 16 years we indulged you because you swing the check book and the park rules. We are no longer happy to seed to your massive ego and mismanagement of OUR Heritage.
You are not rehabilitating a system .... That would be true if the system was dead when you took over on 15 December 1999. At that stage the system was functional. It suffered merely under financial constraints due to Government cutbacks on Environmental issues. At time of your appointment you have already stated that you will do what it takes to enforce your vision on the area. Remember the introduction of The Lebombo Spatial Development Initiative at St Lucia Ski Boat Club in 1996.
Do you remember how you bullied females, Ladies of our community, on a public open meeting relating questions on Recreational Angling in The Greater St Lucia Area. Do you remember how you abused Park rules to over ride The National Recreational Angling Act. Do you remember flashing your green scorpion credentials around town?
Now please explain if this current drought started back in December 1999 why are you dry dredging sediment across Turtle Breeding Beeches during Turtle Season over known and documented Turtle Nesting Sights in the height of rainy season. This Management Plan was accepted in 2013 and you received 7.5 million Euro for this project which you neglected to implement for three years. You started it of with low impact Wet Dredging in the height of the dry season during the worst drought of 65 years.
You have not dropped the Ball Andrew ... You have Fucking lost it.
Julius Malema het ons, blanke grond eienaars en mede burgers van Suid Afrika, uitgedaag tot n mags oorname van ons grond. EEF het in tussen tyd dit ontken, maar die YouTube kanale is vol bewyse waar Malema vir die swart arm man uitdaag om nie meer bang te wees vir die wit grond eienaars nie. Ek is jammer om ons land se Intelligensie Korps mee te deel dat dit glad nie Grondwetlik aanvaar baar is dat Julius Malema, n mislukte Kool Boer van Limpopo, ons weerlose mense en boere op plase se lewens in gevaar stel nie deur haat spraak nie.
Met dit as agter grond stel ek die volgende voor aan die blanke volk.
Moet nie Rassisme en Haat Spraak bevorder nie
Moet nie Emosioneel raak nie. Dis nou Oorlog
Moet nie Kwaad word nie.
Hou jouself altyd aan die kant van die wet
Moenie mede blankes betrokke maak by jou Emosies nie
Moenie Wolf Skree as daar net n woef op jou voor erf staan nie,
Kommunikeer duidelik wat jou probleem is en watse hulp jy verwag
Hiermee offer ek as Blanke Afrikaans Sprekende Suid Afrikaner my lewe aan mense wat bogenoemde 'n eed neem om te onderhou.
Ek sal opdaag as julle my Roep
Ek het R500.00 kontant ten alle tye in my Oorlog Fonds
Ek het Sit plek in my voertuig vir nog vier wetsgehoorsame burgers en hulle bagasie wat nie die Suid Afrikaanse Wet en Grondwet sal oortree om burgers onder beleg te gaan bystaan en hulle besittings en lewens te gaan beskerm. Jou bydra tot die Ootlog fonds sal ook R500.00/sitplek wees.
Ons teiken Radius is 500km
Ons Reis en verblyf tyd is drie dae op n keer.
Mense wat belang stel om slag gereed te maak teen Julius Malema se beleg kan my op WhatsApp 0835847473 kontak. Naam: Dorp: Provinsie
Niemand gaan mense se koppe inmekaar slaan soos in Zimbabwe se grond grype nie. Ons as Suid Afrikaners gaan saam staan ongeag ons ras, geloof en geslag.
Indien die Valke/Nasionale Intelligensie of enige Dienaar van die gereg 'n probleem met my skrywe het kan hulle my gerus kontak. Die nasionale statistiek op plaas en weerlose mense aanvalle het bewys julle slaan nie ag op die gevaar teen Die Belasting Betalers en Hulle Veiligheid van Suid Afrika nie.
Die is nie 'n stigting van 'n Boere Mag/Kommando nie. Hierdie is slegs n losse samevoeging van mense wat ons mede lands burgers SAL beskerm, Want Ons Sal Offer Wat Jy Vrae!!!
Back in Johannesburg we saw a lot of each other; she came to my house
and cooked me my first paella. At this time I was writing my Chronicles
of the Mexican Horse Thief by hand. Maria had a laptop that she said I
could use. The only problem was that it spoke Spanish. Maria wrote down
the Spanish and English words that I needed, like Delete etc.
What was to become the first chapter of the “Chronicles of a Mexican
Horse Thief I – Angola” were typed on this foreign computer (later I
purchased a computer second-hand from Nigel at work).
Our weird relationship continued. I even gave Maria a lift to the
airport when she flew to Britain to visit Corrine and then to Spain to
see her folks. She was to spend two weeks in the UK and then go on to
Spain. Exactly two weeks after she left, I was surprise to get a call
from Maria. She had just landed in Spain and HAD to call me. Oh yes …
this one was in the bag. I collected her from the airport later that
month and got my first real kiss from the Spaniard. Oh yes, and some
Spanish delicacies and Turrón – Spanish Almond Candy.
I was still getting dual signals, though; how much she loved this
Corinne character and how horrible he was to her. Eventually I got sick
of the game. Things came to a head one night at Sheila’s, and in my
driveway I told her off, I said I did not deserve this treatment, bye.
That was a Friday. On the Monday evening she called to say she had
to see me. I told her I had an AA meeting at eight, so no go. She
pleaded that she just needed to see me for a short while and predictably
– I am a softy – I agreed. She must have been half-way to my place
already, as she arrived shortly after that. The meeting was a bit
strained and I think she felt a bit out, being in my territory, but
after a big hug and a kiss she convinced me to miss the meeting and go
out to supper with her instead. I had not missed a “home” meeting in
three years. We went to a local Italian restaurant where she had a
couple of stiff drinks and was chatting nine to the dozen about all
sorts of shit, but not about Corinne for a change. By nine o’clock we
were back at my place. She asked for some soft music and lit a couple of
my candles. Then she told me that I was a wonderful man and that she had to have me. Two years after I had seen Evonne taking off her clothes in my lounge, Maria did the same.
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The method in my madness was that as I could not compete on an
intellectual level for Maria’s attention, I would do what these doctors
could not: be a bushman. I still had a problem with the mixed messages
from Maria; was she stuck on Corrine or could I make a play? I must
admit that it was something of a challenge to get a doctor into my bed,
and this one would do nicely.
Maria was now worrying about sleeping arrangements. Will was also
dazzled by the Spaniard, but being the gentleman he was, and quite aware
of my intentions, he stated plainly that he would not share his tent
with either Maria or me. We were camped next to the river in a dense
copse of Acacia trees. In order to see the stars, which are brilliant so
far from the city lights, we had to walk up to a patch of Savannah a
hundred metres or so from our camp. I left Will and Maria at the camp
fire in order to seek out the Southern Cross. The sky was so full of
stars that the Milky Way lived up to its name, a solid patch of light;
beautiful. As I was standing there a warm body snuggled up to my back
and soft arms wrapped around me; they were NOT Will’s. A sexy voice
whispered in my ear, ‘It is beautiful, no?’ Oh yes it was. Maria took my
hand and I pointed out the Southern Cross and how to use the two
pointers to find true south. The bushveld can be chilly at
night, so we hugged to kept warm. We returned to the fire and lay on a
blanket by the fire: bliss. Will retired to his tent and every now and
then had some comment to make. Presently, he was quiet, and Maria and I
chatted.
The fear of being quick lay came out in broken English; being a
gentleman, I told her I would settle for just sleeping in her arms.
The following day I took them to a dam a few kilometres up the road.
The dam was crystal clear and has signs that stated, “Beware of the
crocodiles.” They are not joking; having camped at this site before, I
had seen plenty of little beady eyes in my torchlight at night. Will
took a photo of Maria and me standing next to the sign. The three of us
walked along the edge of the dam in the long grass, looking for
crocodiles or snakes. We did not see any but a lot of baby monitor
lizards made a dash for the water as we passed. I devised a plan!.
On the way back I walked thigh-deep in the water while the other two
walked on the bank. They were worried I would get eaten by a croc; as
the water was clear and we had just walked that way without seeing any
crocodiles, I thought the risk was worth it. The baby monitor lizards
were back on land, Will and Maria walking just ahead of me frightened
them back into the water. This gave me the opportunity to grab one. I
dived at a small lizard, about 60 cm long, and caught him in the middle,
not around the neck as intended. The feisty little chap latched his
mouth onto my left wrist, drawing blood. Eventually, with much splashing
about, I brought him to land and disengaged his jaws from my wrist. A
good bit of watered-down blood was flowing and the two foreigners were
impressed. No matter what I told Maria about the difference between a
crocodile and a monitor lizard she was convinced I had caught a baby
croc for her. Okay, okay. Maybe I did not try hard enough to explain,
but my intellectual competitors for Maria’s favours could kiss my arse!
That night we snuggled close and I slept well. In some areas I have
immense patience.
To be continued….
Taken from: The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief II
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For me, December School Holidays meant only one thing, the Natal
Coast. Taking a stroll down the Marine Parade, if it is still called
that, could be named after some terrorist like Nelson Mandela or Che
Guevara now. Still brought back many memories. One was the Rickshaws,
so I looked up how they came to be here. I see it has nothing to do with
the Zulu culture at all, but the Zulu definitely made their stamp with
the artwork on the Rickshaws, making them unique to this country. “The rickshaw (rickshaw) was brought to Durban, in 1893, by the
sugar magnate Sir Marshall Campbell, from London. The design was based
on the Japanese design and incorporated into a transport system, which
only had a handful of cars. They were used to transport ladies and
gentlemen to the Berea and back. They were also made available for
seaside tourists. By the 1920’s the rickshaw (rickshaw) was a very well known
symbol of the city in general. In 1902, at its peak, more than 24,000
men registered as pullers, for no less than 1,700 rickshas (rickshaws).
The men would come to the city for a few months and then return to the
country with their earnings. These iconic symbols are very much part of the Durban main beach rickshaw
culture that is Durban. Although, there are only a handful left, their
pullers are very dedicated to this dying craft. Although there are less
than 20 pullers left, they are dedicated to the art of thrilling their
customers. Aside from the beautiful decorated transport, the pullers are
decked out in beautiful head-dresses, which are mainly beads and other
traditional decorations. All of these beautiful decorations are hand
crafted, and there are no two the same.”
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I needed some companionship. This came in the form of a Spaniard
called Maria. How I came to meet this her was indirectly, through Angus.
When I met him he was going out with a Wiccan Witch. She was blonde and
reasonable good looking, and Charmaine hated her on sight. He
eventually swapped the Witch for a pathologist, from a very posh family.
She, too, was blonde and pretty enough, her family were the
Mitchells; her name was Bridgette. He moved into her newly-renovated
house in Melville; it was completely blue. I mean everything that could
be painted was a different shade of blue. The furniture was all blue,
even the kitchen stuff was all blue. Angus used to invite me to the
dinner parties held there, I think partly from friendship and partly
because he wanted another layman for company. Instead of falling in with
thieves, I had inadvertently fallen in with doctors.
One in particular became a friend. Will: trained at Cambridge
University and working for peanuts at Baragwanath-Chris Hani Provincial
Hospital. As the chief of gynaecological surgery nogal. But
Will was a wannabe. He loved the concept of being a soldier even though
the only time he fired a weapon, a 9 mm, he hated the feeling and the
noise, and he hated the idea of people getting hurt. We used to meet
often for breakfast at a café in Melville: the Full Stop Café. He often
brought work mates: other doctors and nursing sisters. I have never met a
pretty nurse, only on TV.
One day we were all sitting down to breakfast and a beautiful,
dark-haired woman walked up to our table and plonked herself down,
demanding orange juice and complaining in a very sexy accent about a
hangover. Thus, I met Maria. Will was going on about military matters
and I was sitting quietly listening, always quiet when first meeting
people, with woman that attract me, even more so. And I liked this one.
The olive skin, long dark hair and a Hispanic accent to die for, what
wasn’t to like? She downed her orange juice and demanded food, moaning
about a terrible hangover. Will was still holding court and as I was
wearing a cammo cut-off shirt and sporting a military tattoo, this
volatile woman zeroed in on me. She went off about how ignorant, stupid,
and a few other non complimentary things soldiers, and mercenaries in
particular, were. My very first words to Dr. Maria Jose Fernandez were,
‘Fuck you, don’t put me in a box.’ She got ready to leave shortly after;
as she was leaving I gave her my business card and told her to call me.
This did not happen. What a surprise.
One morning when I was having breakfast with Will and co. Maria
arrived in much the same fashion as the last time. I told her she was
very rude not to have phoned me. In her broken English and very sexy
accent she apologised and I left it at that. Later that afternoon she
called and asked if I would like to join her in Melville for coffee.
Yes! It was a forty kilometre drive from my house but I would gladly
have travelled twice as far. We met and chatted, just getting to know
one another. She was in South Africa in order to give lectures at
various universities, on Chemical Engineering for heaven’s sake! So she
was not a medical doctor like the majority of the Melville crowd. This
clever girl had a life-time position at a university in Alicante,
southern Spain. She also had a boyfriend, Corrine, in England. She was
supposed to be hopelessly in love with this chap; further investigation
showed it was not a two way street.
We wandered around Melville and stopped at a bar that featured a
band; she drank beer from the bottle, I was on coffee. During the course
of the evening Maria was dancing in her chair, very upbeat. She reached
over and took my hand. Huh. Mixed signals here, what about Corrine?
Never mind, this was one sexy lady and physical contact with her set my
toes, and some other things, tingling. We left in the early hours, she
to a commune full of foreign doctors and me to my large house, alone. I
received a hug and a kiss on the cheek, very confusing. The next day she
called again, asking me to meet her in Melville that evening. We met up
and Will joined us. As both of these foreigners liked the bush, I
suggested the three of us go on a camping trip at the weekend. I had all
the camping equipment we would need.
To be continued……..
From the Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief II.
Of Interest
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Despite the miserable weather people still arrived in their hordes. Much more organized than in 2009 inauguration I would say. Yet Fake news is spreading like wildfire of non appearance of dignitaries at President Trump's Inauguration.
I first received this warning a few years back and was in a quandary as what to do!
It is well known that I do not care much for domestic cats at all,
never mind these pathetic “cute” photos that people post all the time.
So I did a little research on how Facebook monitors my activity. It
would seem it is not humans that do this, something called Bots is
checking up on me! Never mind, these Bots are not that sharp, they have
trouble in recognizing images for one thing. They also read any script
attached to the photo and the file. My problem was solved! I began
posting photographs of very sexy women, and just called them …. Cats.
With a capital C, always. Seems Bots are not the only stupid things on
the internet though. Some people fail to see the difference between a
cat and MY Cats.
Sample of some Cat photographs I have posted.
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Shanti has taken to phoning me every day, I divide the situation, or
potential situation into two modes. One is the “can’t” mode; this is
where she tells me all the reasons why she and I cannot have an affair.
The other is the “has to” mode; here she does not say that we might, or
she would like to, she gives a whole bunch of reasons why it is
imperative that we have an affair. Amongst all the chaos at the
Backpackers with Jaco and his drama, never underestimate The Mexican
Horse Thief ability to make his own chaos, quietly and discreetly so
no-one else knows. The situation with Jaco and his woman, and then he
and Anthony have repercussions, some people that were booked in for a
few days leave after one.
One night Gordon picked me up in order to go to and art opening, yes,
Shanti would be there, we left Jaco playing Mafia Wars. Gordon tells
me Shanti has told our friend Johan that she just wants to make “wild
passionate, animal love to me”, he asks me what is happening. I
truthfully tell him I do not know, flying by the seat of my pants. I
asked Gordon what Johan said, he tells me Johan told Shanti to “Go for
it.” I spend the evening talking to Shanti. By now the whole art crowd
is aware that something is up, although Rupert seems oblivious, or just
does not care.
A few days later Shanti asks me for a date. Shanti sends me an SMS
that she will be late; 5pm is the new time set. I am on a mission; I
will succeed and leave this place behind me, but Shanti is a
complication a very pretty one but a complication none the less. Shanti
arrives in Rupert’s car. We are …uncomfortable with each other, or is it
just me. We go to a restaurant; before we walk in she says how happy
she is with Rupert and I am wondering if this is true, why is she here,
right now, with me? She gets a phone call, I wait. I then ask before we
walk in I ask if is she going to tell me something that will make me
unhappy. She says no. Nice restaurant, but we are not talking as before.
Again is it just me. I give her a hug in the parking lot. It is
awkward. We get back to Sunnyside. I get out; I lean in the car window
and tell her there is so much I wish to say, she replies “I know.” This
is bullshit, I do not like it, I tell her this.
I believe that this is the end of this… complication, not so. The
next day Shanti has sent me a message, “ I like you. You make me feel
alive and you are sexy. Many things I wished to say to you but could not
cause would feel like I am cheating.” I tell myself, “No good will come
of this Mexican.” But she is a very attractive young woman and the
temptation is too much. I make it through the day with no serious
disasters then a 12pm I get an SMS. “Are you awake?” Shanti. I send one
back that indeed I am. Shanti phones me immediately. Long story short,
she says, that she is addicted to me, she wants to just hire a room. She
is a very straight forward girl! Eish. She tells me she fantasizes
about me, lots of stuff. She just can’t say goodbye. She is still in
Jo’burg but has plan, when back in Pretoria, to see me before work.
Finally she says, “I love you”
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The next time I saw Shanti it was, as usual, at an art function.
Gordon was the opening speaker. As soon as I saw Shanti walking up the
drive I became aware that my heart was beating faster and so was my
breathing. I thought, “Shit, Mexican, you are not sixteen, this girl has
someone and she is twenty fucking years younger than you. Get a bloody
grip man!” She walked right up to me and gave me a brilliant smile,
“Hello.” Shit! Rupert disappeared almost immediately, Gordon went to
check on his speech and we were left alone. We walked together into the
gallery, joining the crowd waiting for Gordon’s speech. During the
speech she stood just in front of me, I could see over her head. Man, I
thought is it my imagination or is there that crazy electricity between
us that I have only read and heard about. Half way through the speech
Shanti moved slightly backward and leaned against me. Eish! When she
left she gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.
The New Year’s party.
Shanti walks onto the roof, looking good, tight short black skirt and
a blood red blouse. Oh, she does have a nice body to go with the pretty
face! We end up speaking the night away, interrupted not by Rupert but
by Chris! He is putting on the charm much better, I see out of the
corner of my eye Gordon is having a good laugh. Huh. I am not a nice
guy, I do not play nice. As soon as Chris goes to get more booze for
himself, as I knew he must, I say to Shanti, “Watch out for Chris, he is
a charmer, he and I have a long history. Long ago, while he was
married, he fucked my wife.” And leave it just there, when Chris returns
seconds later he is puzzled by Shanti’s sudden coolness. Bang, bang.
That sorted I had the girl to myself for most of the evening and kissed
her for the first time at Midnight. Just before mid night there was an
incident that ended up as funny but could have been a tragedy. Shanti
and I were talking and saw a commotion on the far side of the roof;
Angus came and called me, telling me I had better take a look. We moved
to the edge of the roof and looked the five floors down. There, standing
holding a bicycle sprocket with only one pedal still attached, and
talking on a cell phone was David Jose, a guy I was at school with. Now
downtown Johannesburg is no place for a white man to walk around alone,
in the day time, never mind on New Year’s when all and sundry are drunk
and aggressive.
He was surrounded by black guys but they seemed to be trying to help
him. I looked at the buildings around us; Jose certainly had everyone’s
attention. A bottle from one of the roof tops crashed near Jose’s feet,
he jumped and spoke franticly into the phone. Gordon standing next to
me answered him. Jose was lost! I was watching all this with some
interest, wondering if he would make the half block to the entrance of
the studio alive or not. More bottles were being thrown in his direction
and he would have to run the gauntlet, no other way out of his
situation. I did not think he would make it; he was close to panic all
ready. Angus came up to me and asked, “Is that not one of your old
school mates Wayne? Don’t you think we had better go fetch him?” Shit, I
did not think of that! I was just watching the drama, an observer. I
said to Angus that this would be a good plan, told Shanti I would see
her in a bit and left with Angus. We ran the gauntlet to get to the
idiot; fortunately most of the people were focused on Jose so the first
few meters were peaceful. Then someone on a neighboring rooftop saw us,
shouted and threw a bottle. That got a lot of other people interested in
these two white boys and the bottles came down. We dodged and dived
eventually getting some sort of shelter in the doorway where Jose was. I
spoke to the men that were trying to protect him, Nigerians. If not for
them Jose would have been dead. Now why these men would risk their own
safety for a goofed out stupid white man I have no idea. Jose smokes
marijuana like I smoke cigarettes; I have never seen him “straight”,
even at school. His long time job at Out of Print bookshop is not too
taxing so he just stays high and dabbles in his writing of poetry and
stuff. We thanked the Nigerians and set off, Angus took hold of Jose and
I brought up the rear, by now the rooftops and bottles were not the
only problem, a crowd had gathered and a knife in the ribs was a strong
possibility. We re-ran the gauntlet, now we had everyone’s attention and
the bottles came hard and fast. Angus was charging very aggressively
and the crown in front was opening up to let him through. We made it to
the entrance and the guards quickly let us in. Made it, quick check on
Jose, he was unscathed, not a scratch on the bastard. He still clung to
the sprocket and looked more goofed that he usually did. Angus and I
were also unhurt, bloody miracle, what with all that flying glass.
From The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief
Of Interest
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There is a distinct difference between the coastal regions to the North and South of Durban. The vegitation is slightly different, for example the North has more and and larger trees. Then the beach sand itself, South is finer grains and less broken sea shells that on finds to the North.
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The North Coast of KwaZulu-Natal has a beauty that is unsurpassed. Here are a few photographs taken with the only camera a have in my hand at present, a tiny little Cannon PowerShot A2400, hell my pack of smokes is bigger than this camera.
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I never knew or had even heard of Munchausen syndrome by proxy
as a young child, hell, I did not even know the meaning of proxy.
However I saw my mother trying to pull this stunt on me. Later as an
adult I learned and read more about it, but until the other night, had
never thought about parents passing on mental disorders to their
children in this way.
To continue with the theory of boxes, my next observation is; people
are not content with putting only themselves in boxes and the first
victims of this boxed syndrome are their children.
The thought came to me as a newly diagnosed man and his wife were
discussing, at length, his affliction. As usual they were putting
themselves both in boxes, he in his Bi-Polar one and his wife in the
Little Nurse one. Then the wife went on to say, within the hearing of
her 12 year old daughter, “Peggy, has not got Bi-Polar yet, but when she
gets older she will.” Just like that! Now not only have the parents
decided that the child is sick, and believe me when she gets older a
doctor will be only too happy to “confirm” this for them, but the child
is already programmed to follow this destiny.
I sat and listened to this conversation absolutely horrified.
Now already I have taken a lot of flak from other articles I have
written about my opinion on this Bi-Polar thing. I have no
qualifications to state that it does not exist, and indeed, believe that
some people may have a disease that fits the description the medical
profession has stated as fact, I also believe that they would be a
minuscule percentage of the people walking around that are totally
sure that they are ill.
This conclusion is made by observation and then actually using my brain to think and
question and not just accept. The first clue I got that Bi-Polar was a
Munchausen Box was; after attending an AA Group for 6 years, every week,
once a week, one of the regular members caught Bi-Polar. Within one
year 90+% of that group also had it! I eventually left that group and
later the AA because the meeting became a forum of what drugs to take
for Bi-Polar more that how to fix oneself in order to break the problem
with alcohol. Bi-Polar has spread like wildfire though the AA, every now
and then I attend a group, and find the same problem, from Masina to
Cape Town.
By these observations one can see that this “disease” is spread like a
virus, only it is carried by the power of the word not a gogga.
Final observation.
In the discussion the man was listing all his symptoms of this
sickness that he believes he has. Ranging from losing his temper, to
slipping into black holes, insomnia and depression and a host of other
nasty things. I thought that he was talking about me 16 years ago!
Just I got put into a box called Alcoholism.
Final Question
How much money are the big pharmaceutical companies making out of this con?
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Apparently this is shit story books are written about. Movies are made about and conspiracy theories are written about. Well then it is time to tell some fictional stories with a nonfiction twist to it. Maybe some people are scared to tell the truth. Maybe some people are stupid enough.
It all started back in 1652... You bet your arse it did. The first poachers that came to Africa where white people. How does this fit into the greater scheme of things? Well you can't have a major smuggling route run through South Africa's best Military force training grounds without the security forces not knowing about it.
I mean between Characters Creek and Fanies Island was a military base. At Hell's Gate was a Military Base. The Beaches at Banga Neck was Military training ground. Black Rock was a Police Special Forces Base. Border Patrol during the Apartheid years where at an all-time high. How can it be possible that the heart of a smuggling route run right through this area taking Rhino Horn and Ivory to Mozambique and bring weapons and explosives back to South Africa to bomb Restaurants and Post offices all around the country where school children visited after school.
If we believe that this is the route where all this weapons of mass destruction entered through we have no faith in The National Parties Military. This is something I actually do have. a Lot of faith. What I know of personal experience is the smuggling that took place during my National Service or Conscripting years around 1985. This was purely mid class officer's building a little nest egg for themselves and I don't believe the whole SADF was involved in this type of organised crime.
What is very apparent today is that these routes may still be in use. Now of we all live in fear to protect our country we have a huge problem and we will pay our dues even if we are devoted Christians or not. We cannot sit back and watch rumour mongers feed on our fear of Terrorism. Americans are so afraid of it they started a war on terror and now have millions of inocent children's blood on their hands.
If you merely running a one man show and terrorise a community with fear of this black ops that you belong to you have failed your children and you are still nothing more than a terrorist. Being Bullied at school on the level I was I don't fear Bullies any more. They are a bunch of wannabes and are so shit scared of their own shadow they piss in their pants when you talk behind them. If their is one thing that I have come to realise in life it is that God and only God can decide your fate... No other man on this planet can take that away from our Creator.
Thus said I want to challenge all the cowards partaking in the slaughter of our beautiful Wild Life to sit and think. How many inocent lives have you endangered during your miserable existences? When you hear defense less people being tortured and blundered to death do you go to the toilet and yerk off.
No I did not loose my story line. I am merely trying to understand how can any fool believe that his family is out of harm's way if they are directly exposed to the terrorist that roams this country and feed on random house holds.
I am Anthony Whiteman and the truth will prevail.
Oh sorry it actually reads like this. I am another white man and the truth will prevail.
This is Bierpens calling on all South Africans not to do crime. Your family is not immune to Criminals. Die Bybel seg duidelik ... Wat Jy Saai Sal Jy Maai.
If you sow fear and Terror your Children will only Reap Fear and Terror. If that is fine with you then let Father Time Walk His Walk and we see how your future self live with it.
No one cares about the legacy of a humble person. It is the Psycho Paths and Skitsofrenis that ends up in History Books. The thing is every person want to leave a legacy, maybe that is true. I was brought up in a humble home where we were taught that all humans are equal and that all business ventures must give people equal opportunities. Or maybe I missed on of the memo's or family meetings. Maybe I spend to much time with my dear old Grandmother.
One thing life taught me is stop investigating at some point. Stop learning. Only God is all knowing. If you want to fit in you must accept to be a sheep. Well somewhere someone broke the kill switch. Was it the Metrics of 1979 that bullied a cripple once to many times. Was it my friend that was beaten to a pulp by his sisters boyfriend and the fact that I was forced to watch it happen. The guilt that followed later when he succumbed on a terminal brain tumor.
Who knows what tripped my switch. The fact that it is broken does not make life any easier for me. It means I have to justify all my actions against bullies very calculatively. The line between act of crime and justice is very thin. Especially when your switch is broken. Being Calculated comes with it's own draw backs. One always holds back on the last punch and one never sucker punch one's opponent, Fact is Andrew Zaloumis challenged me on a public meeting in person back in 1995.
From a position of power I never cared much for his challenge. Humble was the credo. The strong will never step on the poor or the weak. We will always leave a place for the less fortunate earn a living. This is one thing Andrew Zaloumis has lost in his struggle against Apartheid. Over the past 16 years he has challenged the White Families on every corner and visit to The Wetland Park. I have no problem with this. In essence I am against Hebraism. Now in essence what Andrew Zaloumis is doing with The Greater St Lucia Wetland Park, which was left to us all by Nollie Zaloumis, George Hughes and Ian Player, is not in the best interest of all South Africans.
Over the past 16 years he has alienated traditional Zulu Crafters from their legacy and customer base. If one reads the history books it is not what the Big Three has anticipated. They builded a World Renowned Park integrating White Apartheid and Zulu Culture. This is a legacy no other person could achieve. They have build a management Structure in Natal Parks Board that successfully managed all aspects of the sensitive and fragile ecosystem and the needs of so many people from so many walks of live.
Andrew Zaloumis has destroyed this. Yes I can proof it in a court of law, but since we have freedom of speech in South Africa I don't need to. Already engaged with Andrew in two legal battles I am sure a third one will be not only a waste of taxpayers money, but also be over playing his legal hand. Yet I wont mind the publicity Mass Media will give my cause in this matter should Andrew pursue another legal battle against me, See the problem is Andrew Zaloumis is now a public figure and we can write about him as long as it is vaguely true.
Since my integrity is at stake I won't gossip about all the rumors surround Andrew. He has a Wife and Children. This is the main reason why I was holding back for so long before I started in this war of words and mayhem to expose him for who he really is. Out of respect for his children and his right to be a father, but Andrew is Apathetic and keeps on going like a one man wrecking ball. Well this has tripped my switch that I came out of my corner swinging ....
Andrew Zaloumis never filed for an Application to drive on the beaches. With hindsight the Application would have failed, but those acts where only casted in stone by Martinus van Schalkwyk in 2006. So by way of deduction he never intended to file an Application to drive on the beaches.
Andrew closed the Estuary Mouth Mechanically in 2000, 2007 and in 2016 with a high court court case that he reversed engineered. Very cunning I must say, but very shrewd and disrespectful to the presiding Judge,
Andrew Zaloumis received management over The Greater St Lucia Wetlands Park on 15 December 1999. This move he already planned in 1996. Thanks to Gerrie Swan, Town Clerk St Lucia Town Board at the time, Andrew moved in and destroyed a very fragile economy impacting most on Zulu Crafters.
The most important fact is that The Greater St Lucia Wetland Park received a Grant in 2000 from the World Bank in the amount of US $9 500 000.00. to repair the damage to St Lucia Estuary. By 2012 The Estuary was declared dead. The iSimangaliso Wetlands Park Authority received another 7.5 million Euros to do the same job again in 2013. In 2016 Andrew was broadcast by Kwela on Kyk Net that the Estuary will be open by October 2016. Not only was this a lie Andrew told us in 2014 he is starting a management plan that will link the Estuary to The Ocean.
Now this is where it is getting interesting .... See this Report ... Well for those who do the effort in cross referencing my facts will see that you cannot get the report through normal browsing, but yeah Bierpens is not a average user. Well one does not need a Russian Hacker to open a catch all on domains. One only needs to understand the workings of Google's Algorithms. Any way the point I am trying to make is that The Fact Is In 2014 The iSimangaliso Wetlands Park had 1/4 of a Billion Rands in Cash Grants to their disposal to make The Management Plan Work. We now know it would only have been about R75 000 000.00 which was already donated ... sorry a honest Dyslexic mistake... Granted ... that is the Verbally Correct English Word.
The Fact is Mike Bower ... It is FREE MONEY ... How ever you look at the Park is Run and Built and Maintained on Free Money. If I defend myself against The iSimangaliso Wetland Park Authority it comes from the food on my childrens table. So see Mike when Andrew takes a legal swing at me it impacts on the health of my children and their well being in general. It does not happen with free money.
Now that we have cleared the air regarding this matter. Andrew has restricted us, The Public, from Kob Fishing, Park Rules they call it. Well those sacred Kobs died. If we look at the above facts they where killed due to gross negligence.
Let Me Explain
In 2000 Andrew Received US $9 500 000.oo
In 2000 Andrew instructs to mechanically close the Estuary
In 2007 Andrew instructs to mechanically close the Estuary
In 2012 Andrew was told the Estuary had died
In 2013 Andrew receives 7.5 Million Euros
In 2014 He had a plan. He had R250 000 000.00 Granted Cash on Hand
In 2015 The Estuary Run Dry and all the Fish Died. Everything. Even the Resident Brindle Bass
In 2016 He made a TV Appearance where he promised the mouth will be open by October
In 2017 Andrew receives more money from The World Bank
Andrew Zaloumis is not the right man for the job, He has killed St Lucia Estuary and it will have a huge impact on Earth Warming for generations to come. He has destroyed the legacy that got us World Heritage Status in the First Place.
Now let us open the books with taunting Andrew with his National Mass Media manipulation and still the truth pops up in Google's top 10 Searches. See Andrew while you where slumbering in your office the past 16 years I set out to save St Lucia Estuary from you.
The fact that you read this proves that I am very well positioned to expose you. And way let us get to the facts. St Lucia Estuary is a marine system. You will have to proof with facts that Nollie had different plans for it.
See Andrew we are worried about the way you apply your power to manipulate us... The public... We are not that stupid nor are we that squishy. Let it be know... You have done more damage to this eco system in 16 years than all the anglers that ever fished it. So Andrew thr fish you killed will be used against you. We the angler's of South Africa will see to it.
I have often heard a photographer say of a great photograph, “Oh if I had that guys equipment I could also take great photos.”
I
do not believe this is true. I hit the streets for a few hours with a
small camera, and while I cannot claim any of these photographs are
great, I will concede that they are not too shabby. A lot to do of why
they are not bad is; look at things......
From a Different Angle
Of Interest
Please do check out my page and if you decide to “like” it, I shall be well pleased.
