At S&LC Mark was firing more people than hiring. Thomas was one
of them, can’t say I was sorry to see him go. He also down-scaled the
shop and we no longer did car-radios and TVs. Good thing I was in the
Professional Sound division by now. We moved to smaller premises in a
complex called Midrand Junction. Interestingly, our neighbour was a tiny
little shop-come-warehouse called Sahara Computers; any South African
will know how large that company is today, but it had small beginnings.
We had a duplex shop: the ground floor was a showroom, the demo room and
stockroom. Denis manned the floor and I was in the office upstairs.
There were two offices. Ashleen the secretary and I shared one; Marc and
Frederick shared the other. The kitchenette and toilets were also on
that floor. Ashleen and I got on very well together. She was an
exceedingly beautiful Indian woman and lived near my house. I taught her
how to drive as her husband would not.
It was 9.30 on a Tuesday morning. I was on the phone to my mate
Angus. As the toilet was upstairs and customers used it, I took no
notice of a man coming up the stairs. I was not looking at him but heard
the unmistakable sound of a semi-auto pistol being cocked. He shoved it
against my head, shouting I must put the phone down. I did not say
goodbye to Angus, just did as he said. Another man rushed into Marc’s
office. Ashleen was as still as a rabbit caught in the headlights. My
guy was shaking so badly that the gun was tap-tapping against my head. I
was still on my pacifist
plak
and therefore unarmed. Time seemed to slow down. I noticed that the
weapon he had was a brand new Taurus Millennium 9mm. I hoped he would
not pull the trigger by accident or from shaking so badly.
The other guy was man handling Marc and Frederick out their office
and down the stairs. He shouted at my guy to bring Ashleen and me. The
guy left me and grabbed the 8-month pregnant Ashleen. By himself he
would have been easy to overpower, but the other guy, also armed, had
Marc and Frederick, and I knew they would have friends downstairs as
well. I was ordered to follow my guy and Ashleen. Real dummy, this one.
Downstairs, Rachel, the cashier, was behind her till, eyes closed and
praying. The rest of the staff and two other gunmen were in the sound
demo room. This room was set up as a miniature disco and soundproofed.
My cell phone rang. All the gunmen started shouting. My guy shoved
his gun nearly up my nostril. I handed him the phone. Another guy
collected everyone’s wallets and watches but forgot about me. The leader
was demanding the safe keys from Marc. Marc told him to fuck off and
got pistol-whipped for his trouble. He still wouldn’t tell where the key
was. I told Marc to give them what they wanted but he stubbornly
refused. The leader started to punch Ashleen in the stomach. I moved,
purely by instinct, only a fraction of a step, and got two guns shoved
in my face. I could do nothing. Frederick also knew where the key was
and as Marc was still refusing to tell, he told them where it was. One
of the gunmen took the key. They knew where the safe was: under the
stairs. Marc protested and got beaten to the floor. My nervous chap
re-cocked his gun and the chambered bullet flew through the air. The
leader picked it up. The other guy came back; he had broken the fucking
key in the safe! There was a lot of shouting and the leader demanded we
lie on the floor. I thought, ‘This is it, we will either live or we will
die in the next few minutes’. I believed that they would not shoot us,
that at this point, they just wanted to get away. I could only hope if
they did start shooting I wouldn’t be first, and hoped I could move fast
enough to get at least one of them. Not much of a fucking plan, I know.
They all left. I waited a few moments then cautiously got up to take a
look.
Rachel was all alone, eyes still closed. I told her they were gone.
She immediately went to make tea for everyone. Now there is a faith I
respect: no matter what they threatened her with, she was not going to
move and believed that if she died right there, praying, she would go to
heaven. Best Christian I have met, then and since. I also found out
that she was on the phone to my agent in Bloemfontein when ordered to
put the phone down. She calmly informed him that we were being robbed
and asked would he call the police. This small lady is much braver than
the Mexican Horse Thief. The gunman had to rip the phone wires out of
the wall! She risked her life in vain.
I got a call later from the agent and this is what he told me. He had
immediately called the Bloemfontein Flying Squad, they’d informed him
it was not their problem and that he should call Johannesburg. He asked
for the number. They could not give it to him and told him to look it
up! He did find the number and called them. They NEVER arrived. We had
called the police from our side and they came four days later after we
called them a few more times, then accused Marc of trying to set up an
insurance scam because we did not call the robbery in immediately. The
gunmen had fled taking only a few high-end Technics turntables. I had a
huge fight with Marc about the whole business. I knew that the safe had
just over R10 000.00 in it, which was insured. He had risked all of our
lives, and that of an unborn child, for that! Fucking unacceptable. He
was no longer a friend of mine.
When I went home that night, I was in a bad head-space. I had
thoughts of taking my sniper rifle, climbing up one of the billboards,
and taking pot-shots at taxis. All the gunmen had been black men and in
this country it is sometimes VERY hard not to be racist. I called my
friend Charmaine and we went out to supper instead; good thing I was
still on coffee. With some vodka in me…. who know what I would have
done?
Extract from
The Chronicles of The Mexican Horse Thief II.
You may obtain a copy of
The Chronicles of The Mexican Horse Thief I here.
Hidden
in the findings of the South African Medical Research Council, taken in
the Western Cape a few years back, is a study on the role of alcohol
use in female homicide cases. It was not what I expected.
Having
attended many Strange Classrooms; dragged, kicking and screaming into a
lot of them, I do believe I learned a lot. One of the most important
was to get rid of baggage. It is amazing when one opens ones eye’s how
much shit, we willingly, if un-wittingly drag about with us. I kid you
not, it is HARD to leave this baggage behind. Hard, embarrassing and
humbling. It takes great courage and a lot of work that never ends. Most
would rather ignore the problem and thereby add to their baggage,
conveniently blaming the opposite sex for all the problems in
finding/keeping a relationship. They also disguise the baggage as
religious convictions, mental disorders, and a veritable host of other
excuses.
If
I must be honest, with myself, I do not think I have much humility,
more likely I fall under, “An arrogant SOB.” This needs to be addressed.
In order to do this it is very important to differentiate between
Humility and Humiliation.
