History

MARA


 

Dream

Krotoa, Saartjie Baardman and Mara. Nobody knows Mara. There is a line that runs through their lives and on that line is hung their fellow man's dirty washing. Eva and Venus is well known and their history recorded. Mara is unknown, yet to me she is as important as is every other girl child that had to face a struggle from the moment they were born. In Patriarchal societies form the dawn of man's recorded history they represent the unsung heroes and I intend singing that song on their behalf because a little Khoi San girl crept into my hart 35 years ago. My search for Mara is a search for myself, a part of me that understands the unspoken truth of the influence of kind woman on mankind.

I have a dream
It seemed impossible for years
it has been more than 35 years ago that I met Mara
a little San girl, that was looked after my "Medics"
in the base camp Omega in the Caprivi Strip in Namibia.
I went there purely by chance. I was working in the Media Liaison Section
of the South African Defence Headquarters in Pretoria.
I was taken along on a Media Tour organised for female South African journalists.
The "Seedy Seven", a group of international female journalists were part of
the entourage. We flew in "Vomit Comets",
I, as a one liner working amongst the cream of the Defence Force
rubbing shoulders with High ranking officers. A mere serviceman
"lower than an Army blanket" because an Army blanket has two stripes.
We were three personnel from Media Liaison.
Commandant. Krynauw, Lt. Knobel(cannot remember correct spelling)and me.
Lt. Knoble worked at the Paratus magazine.


My memories are sketchy, and gets even more vague, when I remember a night spent in Detention barracks. The "seedy Seven" saved my butt from being kicked off the tour. Nough said there was an Officers Bar involved and I, little hero that I am wanted to defend a "Maiden". I remember the border with Angola. I remember the ladies firing AK's and even a RPG. then came the Omega Base. The place enthralled me. The Caprivi strip is beautiful. At one stage we were taken to a Army Clinic and there we found Mara. Of course the female journalists faffed about Mara and wanted photographs. She was tiny, see her little hand on my finger. I was 19 or 20 at the time. I picked her up and she clung to me. She was barely higher than my Army boots.
If I cam remember correctly there was a full page photograph of me  and Mara in the Paratus magazine.
Now I know why she clung to me. She did not trust people in civilian clothes. her father was a soldier and wore the same brown uniform I had on. She crept into my heart that day and became a soul companion all throughout my life. I was a journalist for nine years. I had a box full of photographs. My memories taken with my prized possession. a canon AE.1. camera. Alas the photographs were destroyed when I got divorced and the camera "died" recently after many years of service. As Fate would have it, two photographs remains. The two on this page and some I "inherited" when my mother died.
I remember being told she was an orphan and that her parents died in a landmine explosion. Or she could be a premature baby or ,or.. I do not remember I am now 54 it was many years ago. 1980-1981 if my calculations are correct. Why do I want to do this./ Why do I need to find Mara.?
Well if you know me you will know I have a soft spot. I am a magnet for children. They instinctively trust me and even little strangers will jump into my arms. It must be my Aura or something.
I never forgot Mara and now I want to find her.
I no longer have a camera, but the first opportunity I get, I shall get one. Where the money will come from I do not know. I simply know I shall do it. That is how I am, I do not give up. I will find a way to find Mara. I shall visit her wherever she is. I shall write her story. She will not be forgotten.
She lives in me, I cannot unsee that little San girl.
So I hope someone somewhere will remember and I hope Karma will smile upon me.
I am committed and I am sincere in my longing to find little Mara. She must be round 35 by now, if she is still alive. Somehow I know she is. I just know. Just maybe I shall hold her child in my arms or perhaps a grandchild, who knows.?
If you read this, please share it on social media
and help me fulfil my dream.
much love
Francois.


 Received a photograph of Mara when she was 9 months old. I was elated, I was overwhelmed and even shed a tear. At some stage of my 35 year search I gave up and doubted my own sanity. Did I imagine Mara, did I get the facts wrong. I only had the one photograph although I remember many more that were published at that time.
At one stage I thought I was hallucinating after all my mails, postings etc. came back blank and it seemed, she either disappeared of the face of earth, were deceased or did not exist in the first place.
I mean I held that baby and I knew she is still out there ,where four African countries huddle around a patch of heaven or perhaps even Paradise itself.




  



Deon van Zyl sent me this image of Mara
the date was 21 Maart 1980
when Mara was 9 months old
So let me see 21 March 1980 means she was born, or should have been born about
21 June 1979' I believe she was a premature baby.



Eva a descendant of Venus the first people, to inhabit the vast continent of Africa.

It was written on the cliff walls of the Dragons den. It was painted in ocher, derived from the soil bound with animal blood.
Mara wore clothes like these, for real, her caretaker in boxed me. She had a son older, but bigger than Mara who played together. She was living in Oshakati at the time. She dressed Mara in doll clothes because normal baby outfits were too small.
It was 10 years ago nearly to the day when I wrote something significant in a book. it was 03/03.2005 and now with the Moon full in the cloudless starry sky I once more am alone and once more braving the cold. it is just past the bewitching hour. Sipping coffee, wondering what hold it in. Why I am awake at this time.?
I am reading my inbox from Leone Jansen van Rensburg about Mara, and I am contemplating what to do and silently praying
I am wondering how many years I must still work to realise my dream. My taskmaster is happy to keep it that way as time is immaterial to him.. Leone tells me her son was 15 months old when he pulled Mara around in a red pull cart and gave her water out of a small egg holder.
Her caretaker Sara, used to dress Mara up in the finest doll outfits when the tour groups came to visit. It was still wartime.
A young  soldier, some would call him handsome, held Mara in his arms, she clung to him and ignored the journalists with their flashing cameras. They were all female some from South Africa others from Europe.
It was destiny that they met, only destiny could know that he would honor that bonding. that he himself would become a journalist and that he would Marry a descendant of the Griekwa tribe. It was necessary to prepare him to put him through the crucible, to purify him from prejudice that was his heritage. the son of a preacher, the son of a Rebel.
tell me in your own wisdom how did this young man end up in Namibia while doing his National Service if he was a trained infantry Soldier who learnt the trade of the killing fields in Ladysmith Kwazulu Natal, while the snow blanketed the Majestic Drakensberg Mountains not too far away.
He would return to that Mountainous region, to meet a sweet Girl of a different hue to him. A Descendant oy blood and life-giving yolk. the stuff Hue Man was made of.



This must be the area where the incident happened when Mara's mother was killed en she was airlifted along with her Father. the Battle of Casinga is well documented on both sides of the War
I lifted this map from this site http://flecha.co.uk/CASSINGA.html I do not align myself to any Military cause. I simply tell the story of Mara and Mara's mother was killed in this area during that conflict.


Mara could fit one of these when she was airlifted to Oshakati.

Just heard form Leoné  That Mara's parents were caught up in crossfire during an engagement in Angola Her mother was fatally wounded. She and her father were casavacked(airlifted) to Oshikate. She was so small she could fit in a bush hat. her father gave her to Sara to raise. She was wearing a napy at the time.She never left Oshikati unless  she was ill and had to go to the state Hospital. Sara died in 1987 precise date unknown. Mara was a "midget" San child, an unusual occurrence. She was not disabled in any way just tiny and perfectly formed.
R.I.P Mara

R.I.P Sara
I shall continue writing your story in memory of you
I feel like I lost a child and quote the Poet Totius
.Sy was so teer soos 'n vlindertjie,
sy't lugtig omheen geswerf;
'n asempie wind kon haar vlerkies breek
en- kyk watter dood sy moes sterf!...
She was so delicate as a butterfly she wandered around airy little breath of wind could break her wings and- see what death she had to die !
The mystery deepens. Turns out Mara's father was a civilian that was wounded and airlifted by the SADF. He had no way to look after Mara and would probably have returned to his home. This makes the story all the more worth telling. This happened during wartime there is evidence of mass graves in Angola and elsewhere and many of the victims were in civilian clothing. It is also known that operatives during the conflict donned civilian clothes as a cover at times.
As I said I am not writing to record the conflict. This is a human interest record of the effect on the population in general and children in particular. Inevitably in civil war soldiers both friend and foe come into contact with civilians and history taught us that it is always horrendous and always disastrous when that happens.
The military remains the most reliable source of information because it is structured and disciplined. There is also an ethos amongst soldiers that calls for mutual respect for fallen comrades, whether they are friend or foe.
My search carries on, with little hope of finding survivors. it now becomes a journey of discovery and who knows what I shall find.
Doing it my way, I am gathering information from far and from wide. There are so many likeminded people who live empathy for their fellow man. They are open to be approached and share information generously. I just do what I do and do not care what people say or what criticism I attract. I always say "If you want to write be prepared to stand naked."
Mara was carried from a skirmish by a SADF soldier in his bush hat. She was so tint an was wearing nappies. Her mother lay dead and was left behind.. her father was wounded, the were caught up in the crossfire in a skirmish in Angola. the SADF airlifted the to  Oshikati.
They were civilians going about their life. They were caught up in a war they did not seek, as happens in so many places around the globe. The Army treated their wounds and sustained stabilised them. The father,heartbroken, gave away his child to a stranger, Sara, of  Qriqua decent, to raise his child. A white lady told me about Mara and Sara. The kept contact even after they moved away and alas received news of Mara's death and later they heard that Sara also died.
This is a tragic real life drama, on the stage of the African plains. I cannot imagine how confused tiny Mara was . Torn away from her parents by war. Bewildered ,they tell me, she disliked civilian clothes. She trusted the "giant" people in their brown uniforms, who cared  for her. I was just another "giant" in a brown uniform when I held her in my arms one fateful day.
a bewildered, scared little pixy in the land of "Giants". Surviving like only the Khoisan are capable of in the most harsh environments of African bush and the arena of war. This is not a story about the war, it has been told before and was recorded before and lives on in the memories of the countless soldiers who fought it.
This is an epic story of an infant who's brief life cries out to be told. There are so many, I regularly receive mails about similar children. I do this because I want to. I do not care about the challenge and the immense task I have willingly committed myself to. I shall find funding, I shall find a way. My spirit, my very soul shall accuse me for denying it of doing what has to be done. So I believe, I have faith, I shall take one tiny Mara step at a time and I will try to trace those tiny steps back to the Oasis they called  The Caprivi Strip.
I am no closer to getting all the relevant facts. I have contacted people who know Mara.I  have contacted people who work with the Koi San. I have contacted leaders of their tribe. I have tried every avenue every possibility. There is a natural hesitance to reveal information. It stems from the past and the distrust that is still lingering on. Distrust against the military,distrust at Governments in the southern region of the Continent of Africa. Distrust against the white man from Europe. Distrust against my own nationality, the Afrikaners of South Africa. The "creators" of the Apartheid legacy.
Here I am an Afrikaner approaching people, that resent me because of my heritage. I do not blame them. The hurt runs deep. Too little has been done to heal wounds. Too little time has elapsed for natural healing. I hope this effort of mine will constitute a tiny drop of healing balm. I stand alone, have no affiliation to any organisation, Government or institution. This is personal this is my self imposed debt I feel obliged to pay back towards the lost children, the orphans of a proud people in general an in particular a tiny little individual. A Fragile little miracle that survived against the odds and succumbed to an universal malady that affects all humankind.

 who are sympathetic to what I am trying to achieve. I also get frustrated when  bureaucracy gets in the way.

There are no other motive, whatever will result from this journey will be attributable to the influence this little girl had  on me during 1980. That is all. Yes I need Funding I do not have the means. All I have are my skills and ability and my sheer determination to succeed in my quest. If it takes another day, another week, month, or even years I shall do it. I have already started my journey without taking one physical step.
I am working long hours gathering information, planning and processing the idea of finding Mara, even if it is just put flowers on her grave or to connect to her spiritually in the area she lived and died in.
Realised this entry is getting difficult to follow as it is getting long. bear with me I am learning as I go along shall enter date and time every time I ad entries.
 7 may 07:50 AM
Dear Brothers I am not involved in a Military operation and I do not require your assistance in this regard. I am writing a story and I do appreciate your offers of help and I understand that painful memories and unfulfilled
 retribution is your driving force. Mine is a battle of rebuilding and healing.
I appreciate your sacrifice and cause. I need information and appreciate goodwill from people


was merrily writing away and the power cut, load shedding.  Lost everything shall save more often. This is more difficult than I anticipated. The Koi San is still hurting and not approachable by strangers because of all the injustice that were visited on them as a Nation. History tells us how they where chased en even hunted out of the Territories that were their home. It is happening still as I write they are fighting for recognition in my own country, I get the feeling that my motive, for doing what I am doing is in question.
Those who know me, know otherwise, but this is not about me it is about Mara. I am an open book, Google my name, you are welcome to it. I saw photographs of Buffalo and Omega basis on a FB friends timeline. It makes me more adamant to go ahead. It is sad to see derelict, damaged and forgotten buildings. In itself it becomes a metaphor of the legacy of Mara.
So now it is time to act. I received good and solid advice and a hint where to start and shall follow it up as soon as I am able to do it. Watch this space.

8 May 01:18

I know there are inconsistencies in the timeline of what I am writing. A blind man and his dog would have also noticed it.
That is what is so exciting about the way I am writing, it is plain scary at best. It is out in the open and it is scrutinised continuously and I am basically "naked". How could I know the end of this story, if finding just an iota of fact was so difficult and took so long. There is likely to be other Mara's on the way, there are likely other tragedies to be recorded. This is a journey, not a destination.
Leonardo could not have known what the smile, he was creating on a canvas, would have become. If he did it would never have existed, it would have been spoiled and would not have turned into something we admire as a masterpiece. Rather it would be morally corrupt and fake. This is like forensic science, examining every piece of evidence in minute and precise detail. If I had to reveal all ,the "case" is doomed and the culprit/s would surely walk free.
Fact is I am getting different accounts of the same incident from different sources. There is no  statute of limitation and time, as always, clouds memories or becomes selective or overly enhanced. Will you read a whodunit if someone whispered the end in your ear.?
I still do not know  whether this will be a short story, a novel, a biography or simply an account. No publisher or media house on earth , will spend a dime without concrete evidence on the outcome.  In the end it will be many people writing this "story.,"I will only be adding substance and collating facts.
If people stop cooperating or withhold information, for whatever reason, it would be doomed and become a failure. The one thing that I have noticed this far is that there are good people out there, sincere people, people with empathy and skills and knowledge and I sleep the better for it, because I know this beautiful country has a future.They  come from all races, all cultures, all convictions and all beliefs. What gives me hope and the energy to soldier on is the fact that they "talk" to me because they care, because the Image of a little  Koi San girl touched them.
Eventually it will become a book. One of the wonders of the internet and Social media is that everything, committed to the Ethernet is permanent., even if you hit the delete button in a split second it can be retrieved, that fact, becomes an important tool to me to refer to when the time comes for writing the final product.
During 1979,when Mara was born, there was no internet. there was no instant communication. No cell phones and earth was a vast place, not a global village, like now. Mara played and laughed like any other little girl, not aware of the tragedy that enfolded here very existence. there were these big people, literally giants to a tiny creature like her.


8 May 10:04

According to history Mara's people were living in Africa for the past 50 000 (depending on sources) years. Some were hunter  gatherers other pastoral.
They mixed with other races when Europeans landed in Africa and brought with them slaves. I am not a historian but in everything I read and in everything I watch there is something missing something amiss. My own history is a mixed one. Afrikaners where the result of a mixture of European colonialists and naturally,  some will vehemently  deny this, some indigenous and some slave blood.
One thing I find alluring is the frequent use of the Afrikaans language by some of Mara's descendants. Again I hear the naysayers in chorus. Some of the most beautiful Afrikaans writings were penned by the Qriqua. So somehow, somewhere little Mara our bloodlines mixed. How does a "giant" and a "pixie" become acquaintances or is it just a figment of my imagination.?
I still do not know with certainty  what the ethnicity of her parents were. That they were Koi San is evident from her small stature.
What was her indigenous name. What language did her mother nurse her, bonded with her and her father comforted her by.? I am nowhere  nearer to finding out. She was full o joy and friendly like her people. She played with a little white boy much bigger but considerably younger than her. What clothes  were she wearing when they found her or was she naked. All that changed and she was dressed in dolls clothes. Was she carried on her mothers back when she was shot or in her fathers arms perhaps.


9 may 06:44

I am such a klutz. Been trying for weeks to contact one of the chiefs of the Koi San in my search for concrete facts about Mara. so what do I do after he finally responds, the man is very busy, I send an SMS to Him, that was meant for my wife! See I cannot make sense of what I hear on my cell phone. So wife'y, forever mumbling and talking like an AK stuck on automatic, phones me. I mean to send her a message(translated) "You are mumbling I cannot hear you. ". Next moment I receive an SMS from Chief Mario saying he never phoned me. "Oh God let the Mountains cover me" , I thought in despair. I mean shooting yourself in the foot is one thing, but doing it with your foot in the mouth is suicidal..  Fortunately the gracious man understood and assured me of the fact.
So yes finally my trip seems to reach a point of actual departure, I mean physically. in reality it started years ago. This time my begging bowl is for me and not for another cause. My wife and I am good at that, getting money to the needy when it counts and is urgent. At last I am ready to pack my bags. As soon as the good Reverend gives me the go ahead. I shall pull all plugs to enable me to mount my stallion and ride into the sun setting on the land of the Koi San. Mara I am coming, little baby< I am coming you are not forgotten.
"But why Francois why are you doing this, and why now ?. Sometimes the time is right. Some times you dry your tears and put behind you, that belongs in the past. Mara died of pneumonia or so I am told. She was 5 years old. Just another orphan dying early, paying the price for an uncaring world. being caught up in a war, that is none of her doing. Being from a forgotten people,
that have been rejected and cast aside.
To me she becomes the epiphany of her proud nation and of all indigenous peoples around the globe that suffered the same fate as the Koi San is still suffering in Africa. I held her in my arms, she touched my soul. I was not there for her when she died, I was not there for her when she lived. I have tried many times to find her and ran into rock walls. No one came forward. No one seemed to remember. Those who remembered did not respond, they did not trust me, or know me or of me.
 I do not like the public domain. I do not feel I belong there. I am prepared to use all means to justify an end. if I want to get biblical I would say. May all things work together for those.......
Because there are too many Maras, because I care and because I once more had to experience the reality of an unforgiving and barbarous response to others, that people feel are not akin to them and their cause. Because of a shocking figure like this one.
                                                             Infant mortality rate

                                                               South Africa44.4


Because I care, that is why.

10 May 03:07

Ok it is Sunday and I am wondering what Mara's people believed. I am also wondering whether the Missionaries in all their enthusiasm and commitment did not get it wrong. The concept of a Creator is not as foreign to indigenous people as Westernised Calvinists would have believed. Are not the Ancestors of the tribes akin to the Saints of the Christians. Did our God not require sacrifice in years of yond. people who revere Nature as a source of life. They also understand there is something bigger "Out there" The missionaries could have learnt more from them and tried less to try and convince them they know the only truth. Essentially it was a transfer of knowledge that was skewed, one sided because of the superiority the "givers" believed they had over the takers. Is not the Bible a school of humanity teaching tolerance, hygiene and governance among men.


Is it not a Godly instruction of Love for thy neighbor. Is the taker not thy neighbor oh chosen one.
Earth would be a better place if we learnt from each other of forcing our preconceived ideas upon the "heathen". I believe that essentially their task was to plant a spiritual seed. To assist in a humane manner and leave it to the incumbent to develop the fruit of that seed.
Knowledge should be free and be given generously. True leaders lead and are not slave drivers. They are ladders of experience for those they instruct to climb. little Mara succumbed to the "incurable" flu virus. Yet we know today, that if we took he Ancestors knowledge of the healing properties of plants that disease would not have conquered but would be conquered.
Now I am "preaching" and I do not think little Mara's need that. They need loving instruction and care.
I can teach you to write and read my language. Yet I am reluctant to be taught yours. The symbioses is what is missing in the history of the Koi San. their ancient wisdom derived by living off the land. By living in harmony, by instructing and teaching through folklore and example is a treasure chest that was left abandoned by the invaders in seeking to be fed by the lust of greed.

To illustrate how difficult it is to trace Mara and her parents here is part of a flowchart detailing military operations during the time Mara and her parents were caught in crossfire. Her mother died, father was wounded and Mara and Father was airlifted to Oshakati for medical attention. I have deleted names of individuals as I do not have their permission.  I do not have the exact date they fell prey in crossfire.Will try to establish more facts.



 Photograph by Theuns de Bruin

Askham, KalahariAnother little Mara.? hopefully she will have a happy and prosperous life. I do not know her name.13 May 10:48
Please bear with me, this is not the book and this may or may not be included in the book. I am taking you along on my journey and I am doing it "live". I sometimes like I am risking Life and limb doing it this way. The book is in my head, where Mara also lives, now that I know the sad facts about her untimely departure during 1984. I live on faith and do not have the means yet but the trip is on. In the meantime I am connecting with as many people as possible on Facebook and elsewhere, collecting ideas saving quotes and anecdotes . You are writing this with me if you correspond and send me photographs etc. I am on Facebook that is maybe the easiest way.  https://www.facebook.com/francois.olwagen   I am exposing myself because I firmly believe this is worth doing and I firmly believe Little Mara knows, what I am doing in her name and that she approves. Therefore this is a spiritual journey.I am using any way possible to make this work.
 14 May 03:07
It is cold in the Office, this time of the morning. Spare a thought for the Koi San, Mara's people. The popularised image of the Koi barely dressed and surviving in the Desert is a lasting one. The Desert is not a friendly place. During the daytime temperature  soar and it is dry and dusty. Thirst and dehydration is a real threat, as is sunburn. At night it is freezing cold and a human body needs a lot of tolerance and ingrained resistance against nature and unseen Microbes alike. Yet they survive here and not only do they survive, they thrive.Mara was tiny, some say she was born in Buffalo in the Kavango area of Namibia and was born premature. I do not know and people's memories are scrambled after many moons have passed. How will I find any trace of her, when her people are by nature nomadic. When the last remnants of their tribe is scattered all across the Southern part of Africa. Some of the dialects of their language extinct. a Language that survived through telling stories around campfires at night. taught by mothers to children, established by wise elders. a Gentle people living the same way since creation started.An old friend was "looking" for me for many years. he is a Techno junkie and with all the modern amenities at hand., he only found me  by chance. Mara's people could find their own in the vast wilderness with only their natural senses. They could follow prey in the desert, in the bush or anywhere they fled from minute traces of blood and scent and barely visible markings.Their intuition survived for more than two thousand years on the African Continent, passed on from generation to generationby an unseen force.Now it is my time to track. I have modern methods. I have the vast expanse of the African plains condensed in a single global village,  borders does not exist, all countries become one. The collective knowledge and wisdom of mankind condensedand available at my fingertips. Yet I know instinctively that all will come to naught if nature does not inform me, if the universe does not reveal the unseen and impart timeless knowledge. I shall then exclaim, "How could have I known.' "I could never have guessed, that I would run into somebody who knew her."


17 May 7:27 PM

road is long and indeed have many turns. I get mail and get exited and then it is just another dead end. one thing I noticed, to my surprise is the prevalence of Afrikaans being used by Koi San people in South Africa. This gives me hope because their indigenous dialect is not broadly spoken and will make communication easier for me. There is a groundswell of Koi San people working towards their goal of being inclusiveThe  of the political and social spectrum of South Africa on an official basis. This may or may not influence the direction my investigations and the scope of the book will take. That is, what is exciting about this way of doing things. I love intrigue and challenges and I like wandering off the beaten track. I stumble over discoveries and sometimes do not notice their significance on my quest, until later, when other puzzle pieces fall into place.The need to record Mara's legacy is immediate and immense. A people rediscovering themselves and re-establishing  as afully fledged nation happens all around me. I am not a political animal, I am a humanitarian at best. I count activists among my friends and I admire what they do. I am living it, I am becoming part of it. it is starting to grow on me. It chose me, not me It.

21 May 8:55

Wow what a journey this proved to be and I have not yet departed, physically. Still writing, researching , following up and we am I now. I keep on being referred back to one source and that is 32 Battalion and it seems like Mara's life indeed started in Angola. The plot thickens, seen some footage and photographs of the war during that time and I am convinced I am getting closer. The date of May 1980 makes more sense to me. @1 May starts making a lot of sense. I found one bit of information of particular interest and that is a recollection of a soldier of Bushmen having a Full moon party and of only one of them remaining standing. Am trying to connect to soldiers involved and it is a hair raising task, as it was 35 years ago and it is taking me to all corners even to Dubai, her one of the writers recording the battle of Savate  presides.I will place the two photographs of interest in the hope that it rings bells somewhere. If not the journey continues on the internet at least. the physical one should commence soon. Still waiting for confirmation that I am allowed to visit Mario Mahongo in Platfontein. For now that is where my itinerary will depart. The photographs are watermarked by its owners and may not be copied or pasted, see my trademark and notice. If they so wish I shall use the images in the book I am planning to write. I do not know whether these photographs portray anyone related to Mara or were part of the events that happened when they were recorded during 1980. Please respect copyright and intellectual property rights. They carry an embedded watermark.



If anyone recognises individuals please contact me.I can only hope that the events they describe and the time and placethey were taken at, fits into the puzzle.I shall keep you updated and if they do not relatewill remove them.

In this way I want to eliminate events and information that donot pertain to my search and confirm those that do.that takes time and patience.
This is an arduous process





Let us see what pops up :)



24 May 12;22

I am sooo happy ,thankyou Dino Estavao for contacting me. Dino is writing a manuscript and kindly gave me permission to place an extract. this man played with Mara is that not exciting.!?


I place it forthwith.

Dino Estevao The Children of the war The child,who was not yet a girl for she must have been about four years old was playing peacefully, picking small stones, digging her small fingers into the dusty sand as she selected the best stones. Then suddenly she made up her mind as little children often do and turned around to face two women who were contemplating about something that was seriously amiss, One, a nurse and the other a cleaner at the Oshakati military hospital. The two women were discussing the fate of this child. She wiped her hands on her beautiful new dress and ran towards the two women. The woman in a white dress stretched her arms as she knelt to reach for the girl.The beautiful little girl of about four years old or lessthrew herself into the warm embrace of the nurse who returned the affectionate as often mothers do, except that she was not the mother. They hugged, the nurse wept softly, she was not suppose to weep but the motherly instinct was stronger than the training and courses that have enabled her to be where she was, at the military hospital at Oshakati. As she caressed the little girl, She could no longer hold her tear and pain back, ‘every thing will be fine, little one.’ Suster Venter whispered, more to assure herself, she still have to decide on the name to call the little girl. The child did not reply, for she did not speak the language that was spoken here. In the arms of this nurse, she will be safe but for how long no one could tell. The other woman, the cleaner at the military hospital observed with the concern of a mother as suster Venter tried to comfort the child from the war. Few months ago, neither Suster Venter nor Monica(whose really name I know not), the cleaner did not know the existence of this child, however from the distance the child can easily be passed to Monica’s daughter or a family member for they shared common ancestry of the san people that lived in the southern part of Angola. That resemblance was a comfort and hope that Monica will find within her, a way and means to accommodated the little girl. The little girl whom for the purpose of this article I will call her Khanxixi was brought from the war zone by soldiers. Her family who have lived and hunted on the south east of Cunene province and other provinces of the south of Angola since they climbed out of Noah’s Ark, were annihilated one fateful day during the raid by South African defense Force(SADF). Khanxixi being the only survivor was brought to Oshakati. Khanxixi’s people had no interest in the politics of the day and their only struggle was against the mother nature who sometime had to deprive them of fresh water and animal to hunt. Khanxixi was the sole survivor, and leaving the four year old child by herself in the forest with no one to feed, protect her was far cruel, barbaric and inhuman. Khanxixi was flown to Oshakati where she was dropped at the doors steps of the small military hospital that was used as first medical intervention from the war front. Here we were introduced, two children ‘orphaned’, displaced by the war. Where I was a nine years old boy who spoke Oshikwanyama, Portuguese and suster Venter was already teaching me to speak Afrikaans, in the male dominated world. She was a four years old child who was not yet a girl and whose is language of the San People was hardly spoken in that environment. Thus Khanxixi’s hope for a safe home was placed in Monica’s hands, at least until a permanent solution will be found. Although our encounter was brief, the memory of the little girl would be my companion in many years to come. “What became of her?” often I wondered…


 26 May 9:36

How you handle pain says a lot about your character. I assure myself, that I was given the burden because I am capable of carrying it and that it will be spared a weaker person. Wrote this on my FB wall. Memories of the past is becoming reality and I am meeting wonderful and talented people, who share my fascination with the Koi San. Imagine a small boy in war-torn Namibia at a Army Hospital playing with a little girl. That girl turns out to be Mara. That boy, now my Facebook friend. So I meet them. Solid people ,with their feet firmly on African soil. Caring people, survivors one and all. people who fought a brutal war, that understands what it takes to carry on. To build and rebuild and carve a future for themselves out of the rocks of Africa. That is why they resonate with the Koi. That is why Africa flows in their veins and that is why they can rightly call themselves African, irrespective of where there ancestry rooted on planet Earth. You do not become African, Africa becomes you.This journey is draining me emotionally and I have to be brutally frank with myself to find the courage to carry on. I tell myself, "march on, Mara is riding on your shoulders, you cannot fail her." So I send another email, follow up another lead. All the time while, I know my own situation is dire. I know my own battle is bitter and is a lonely one. One only I can fight and only I can survive or perish trying to succeed. Never give up, one more tiny Mara step and another, an..... looking forward, never back onwards, forward, march!

9 June 07:09

It has been some time since I updated. Time I spent reading about Mara's people and interacting with them on social Media. a Disturbing picture emerges. a Story drenched in blood, of war atrocities and of man for ever wanting more irrespective of what the cost in human life and suffering. Africa has been in a perpetual war for eons. The one in the Southern part of Africa was a particularly bloody and unjust one. One based on ridding African soil from the oppression that colonials brought to it's shores. Yet there was collateral damage, as always. Mara's people were caught up in a war they did not want and certainly did not ask for. They are a peaceful gentle people. So it comes that one of their own is crowned a Queen of her people, in South Africa. The rest of them scattered between Angola<Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe and South Africa  simply carries on with their lives, like they did for thousands of years on the African plains. They were roped into the war, their natural skill of tracking was honed and sharpened and they became the best of the best.
They had good reason for revenge. Were at the blunt end of unjust wars for centuries. Unlike the bushmen in Jamie Uys's 'The Gods must be crazy", they did not catch something falling from a plane. they fell from the sky like flaming arrows of revenge and were feared. FLETCHA (arrow translated from Portuguesa) was a name that instilled the fear of Hades into their enemies. It was pure stealth. They appeared from nowhere, silent, effective killing machines, one with nature with endless stamina. You could not outrun them. You could not hide from them. They came with the "Terrible Ones "and their vengeance was swift and deadly. The true indigenous people of Africa were ingrained in the psyche of Mother Africa. The story of the war has been told over and over. Countless paid with their lives and countless more are still paying, suffering from post traumatic shock for the rest of their lives. The Koi San, Ghost Gods of Africa was there and will be there for millennia to come. Ask your Ancestors, they knew them, still knows them. Mara's people.So my journey is not over. I will find her bloodline, find the facts and then little Mara I sall tell all.

h

16 June 09:18
Youth Day and 1976 is remembered. Mara was not born yet. I was 16 years old and their was a battle fought. on the streets, in the bush. Again, like so many times Africa was at war. wars against oppressors, who become oppressors, who feed the violent cycle of more wars. Language was the problem or was it ?. People with foreign languages fought "their" war their way, liberating the oppressed. Their motives not apparent. It became a common cause.Many moons have passed. The rainbow Nation became just another people toiling in the hot African Sun. They were liberated to be enslaved. Their new Masters betrayed them. The Vision that they sold of Freedom and prosperity was just a ruse to gain power, the upper hand and the very Youth were once more the victims of  their restrictive ideology.The youth are getting restless, they want their turn to feed. their turn to prosper, to rule and make rules.Not Mara. Mara and her people suffered many wars. Thousands of years of wars. Their unique clicking language reverberating off the Cliffs of Africa. They danced around fires under starlit skies. They vanished in the landscape. this was their home and they were uprooted once more.They fought bravely adapting to the situation, mastering the new weapons and then discarding them killing the way they have for thousands of years. They used their home to fight their battle their way and then they melted into Nature became silent, obscure unnoticed on the fringes of the "new" liberated society. waiting their turn, abiding their time surviving where others fear to tread.The foreigners ideals and flags and weapons changed and will change again. They know, they saw it before, suffered and tolerated it's brutality  before. Then they turned back to what they know, who they are. natures children, wise beyond comprehension, timeless and at home. I am going out into the African savannah like a tortoise I shall take my time and carry my protection with me. I shall follow the sound of the clicks in the still of the night. They will find me before I find them and then I will listen. Listen with my eyes, my soul, my being not trying to comprehend language but being saturated with the endless wisdom of the African soil. The breath of crisp. Pure African air, the sweetness of cool pure water. the warmth of blood mixing with sweat and drying in the African Sun.The books on War. The recollections of battles and the justification of those who fought them. Those who paid the price with their blood saturating that soil. With the dreams of their own liberation. Their war will never end until they find Peace within, like Mara's people and return to what they know best, themselves.So my journey is a personal one. Mara will find me and infuse me with timeless wisdom. Teaching me about who I am and how to be at peace with that creature that is I.



June 30 09:30

They have forgotten Mara. They remember only their own pain Little one. They only remember the glory and gore of the war. They only remember epic battles and tactics and death. They remember the dead and glorify their valor. They remember each other and camaraderie and brotherhood. They remember they were betrayed, the won in their loss and they keep the war alivethey vow to fight it over to change time and results. They want revenge but they do not understand it is over. They will never again experience the fear and anguish and dust and blood. that war is over, they cannot bring it back. They do not understand, like your people, that time is eternal, that Mother Africa is patient and loving. They do not understand that healing comes when you return to the earth to nourish you to rebirth you. Then there are your people Mara ,they have forgotten how it was. They have forgotten their roots and try to relive their glory before they were hunted and forced further and further away from their birth ground. They are looking for heroes and they are looking for leaders and they are fighting each other over the prize of being in charge when the pot of gold is shared. They are ill equipped for this battle Mara. They do not poses the deviousness of those who oppressed and are now oppressing again under another rag, they call their flag. They try to create a new rag and a new rule for oppression. They have forgotten who they are. They have forgotten how they survived for thousands of years by their own rules taught by their mother Africa. They will lose if they try to fight the "establishment" instead of establishing and strengthening their own values. They can only win if they prove their worth. that what is within them and were in them at the dawn of creation. They do not have to justify who they are, what they are and who they will become. Time is their mentor, Mother Africa their testimony their rock paintings their legacy. I do not see them recreated because they have forgotten the meaning and endless value of it. Instead I see them adapting and adopting the values that came by boat. Soon little one I shall go to a place,where three man made borders were drawn in the sand. Just like the paradise where you played in the sand, unaware of borders that were drawn. I understand Mara why your people never drew borders on African soil, simply because they understood it belongs to them. they tell me you are dead little one. They do not understand that you live and I shall patiently wait for you to find me and tell me the secret you carried with you to the stars. I shall find you there among the red dunes under the starry skies and we will bask in the sun's glow at midnight knowing it is there even when it is cold and dark. I am finding a way to come. I am biding my time gathering my strength and resources. I was also ignored Mara. I was told it is not important to find you and that it has no value. We shall prove them wrong little one under an Acacia tree in the glow of the midnight sun that they cannot comprehend. 

June 6 6:57

It is so frustrating and I must resist the temptation of writing about my own struggle. I am writing about the struggle of survival of a forgotten people. They are not the only ones.Other countries have them also. In those countries they are struggling still.The are  called aborigines, the true founders of the land.The first occupiers of the soil. They are minorities in those lands. like your people are a minority in our land. Why Mara, why do I need to tell your story?. You were just a tiny girl that smiled at me,that jumped into my arms, trusting,bonding for reasons only you and the universe understands. I wore the brown uniform you were used to. I was not a hero like others wearing a brown uniform. I was just a boy doing what he had to do. The springbok on my uniform identifying me as a child of African soil.Just like you although my pigmentation and stature were worlds apart from your own. They are angry Mara,the ones who "won" the war by proxy.They glow in their own glory and they oppress those who oppressed them. They forgot Mara, a wise man that lead them to victory. A man that understood he had to leave the war and bitterness behind, to be truly free.You little one played in the sand of paradise unaware of history boiling around you. You smiled and played and wore your doll clothes with the innocence that you were born with. Yet within you,you carried an ancient wisdom. A wisdom that the creator shared with your kind in the beginning. A wisdom,that today, seems strange and wayward, yet is the only truth, everyone,who does not posses,  is striving and longing for.They do not know why Mara. they do not understand,what they perceive as the emptiness inside them, is.their knowledge of their creators love for its children.. They do not understand why they were warned, not to stop children from bonding with it, lest they destroy their very being.I have that same longing Mara and as I plan and scrape the bottom of the barre I know deep inside that you are calling me to play in the sand and to understand the reason why you left so early.

June 18 07:58

So I finally left. I left being divided in myself. I planned on traveling alone to be the master of my itinerary, to have freedom of movement and then I decided against it. Your mother was killed with you on her back Mara. She did not see it coming. She would never have travelled without you, Your Father also Mara he was a provider for his family a hustler that was canny and he provided well. Seeing your mother, his loved one staring unseeingly into the sky broke him Mara. Robbed him of his will to carry on. I tried raising finances through media houses and friends and abandoned all. I realised my cause is not their cause and that they wanted bigger investment and higher return from more sellable causes. I am not known, I am not sellable as being popular so I left with my family. Like your parents did, always travelling together,suffering together, celebrating together

 

It was Far Mara,  that would have taken your family weeks if not longer. But time did not matter to them. Time was eternal like Mother Africa was eternal. I met a friend on social media and decided to pop in at his place on the way to the Thundering waters of Augrabies. We rioe in the early morning hours and travelled the entire day. We do things quickly Mara, as if we do not have time. In our world time is money. For me doulos (the slave), it is even more important but the big One heard my pleading and provided once more. I talk to it daily little one when I see the Sun rise and when I see the sun set I talk to It.my creator knows me and I know it.

 

I bought a camera just the previous evening. I used to have one but after many moons of use and abuse I could not have it repaired any more. I do not understand the modern cameras but spent hour on the internet reading about them deciding which one would best serve my immediate needs. So I left with it having just taken one photograph of two little girls and a little boy, that calls me Oupa.(grandfather) Technically only one little girl is my kin. The other two adopted me as their Oupa and I let it be, welcoming them with open arms. Your people are like that Mara, hospitable understanding that we all belong to Mamma Africa and that we should share her bounty. They do so as a matter of course. That is the way it is and that is the way it have been for thousands of years. They had little earthly possessions but understood ,what Nature provided, belonged to all of her children.

My people are selfish Mara, they cannot identify with other peoples needs. As if they were never hungry or thirsty. As if Mother Africa did not provide for them also. They believe it their birth right to own things. They feel like Gods in their pale skins not knowing that the lack of pigmentation makes them odd. Odd and ill equipped to survive under the harsh African skies. Yet mother Africa is accommodating and shares her endless riches with everything alike. With animals and birds and insects and yess with humans too.

I did not find you Mara but I found one like you. Your kin. Her name is Barbara Mara and I left a photograph of you with her. She is the same age as you would have been and I immediately liked her. Her hazel brown eyes shaded with delicate hands

against the warm Sun. Dressed simply like your people wearing their skin with comfort. loosely covering it with light, natural skins and fabrics. Not feeling the nippy winter breeze. Used to the wide outdoors. Well acclimatized to Africa's harsh weather conditions.

She is shy but by no means timid. She speaks softly with intent. She has the natural wisdom and understanding of your people. Yet she is an astute and canny business person. I do not know much about her, do not need to. Just know that my soul recognized her soul and both were pleased

I stopped at Kanon Eiland at my Facebook friend"s lush and opulent place. I found him and his wife to be warm hear ted easy going and kind. Most people I met in the Thirst land are kind and giving. They are accommodating, secure in the knowledge that they belong in the space they occupy. Elmari told me about Barbara and here I stand in front of her welcomed on her soil, her land,her world.

To soon we had to leave our accommodation booked and ruled by restrictions of access and bound by time. I will take a breather, we shall talk again. Time is on our side little one, as it has always been.




An empty shelter against the harsh elements of nature.The Desert, always accommodating can be unforgiving if it does not recognize your pampered ways.
There is also a little shelter,as if prepared for Mara to play in. Guarded by the horns of a Steenbok (Raphicerus campestris), a small plains antelope of the same stature as little Mara. Her imaginary friend in their little house,where they can play safely and unhindered.




June 20 6:11 PM


We do no fully understand Mara. how can we?. I know people who research your people,their lives,their language and their culture. yet they cannot understand because they cannot live it.they cannot be a child playing with stones in the sand of the Caprivi. they cannot be a woman eking out a living,the only way she knows how. They would never understand and never will as they can not live it. That goes for me as well little one.I can only look,learn and listen and hope in my heart that I can bond sufficiently with some of your people to get a glimpse into their existence.
I also believe some things are better left alone. You cannot unravel heartache and pain you canon fathom deep seated fears brought on by abuse from your fellow man. If you try you might just find resentment and even outright rejection.Can you suffer the pain of a bullet tearing through your flesh.? Can you understand the pain of losing a comrade in a firefight,a friend a buddy lying lifeless fighting to his last breath to protect his own who stayed behind.
Some things cannot be understood,least be comprehended. once I shot a Kudu ,Mara. Like your people I hunted only what I could eat.Something happened inside me during that time. I was talking to the big One day and night. I was asking for It"s help to do the right thing,. instinctively I knew I had to honor my prey. I tried to talk with it as you can only talk when you are alone under Starry African skies. I asked Mother Africa to receive the blood being spilled with understanding,knowing that the intent was not malicious.
Instinctively I acted and behaved like your Father would have behaved during a hunt.I understood the unwritten code of ethics of the open plains. Of mutual respect for other living things.I prayed for days and felt insecure because I never hunted large game before. The rifle in my hands unfamiliar to me. i feared of wounding and destructing. i feared for choosing a pregnant target and destroying two lives instantly. It heard me Mara, I only fired one shot killing instantly through the heart and it saddened me at the same time.
People that are not from Africa will never understand the relationship we have with wild animals. They can never comprehend why we do what we do and the manner in which we do it. They will complain about cruelty and barbarism and shout to high heavens from across the ocean. yet they enslaved their own kind, killed,murdered and exterminated their own kind.

You see, and I know you understand Mara.We were created from the same dust of Africa that Adam,"The Red One" was created.


We walked the same earth as he did. We procreated and thrived and died under the same Sun He did.Some have forgotten Mara. Some have forgotten their roots or deny them without shame,without thought.
It will take me time to learn and to understand. I live a life based on belief. I Believe it will come to me. the understanding and acceptance I desire will come to me if ever it feels fit to do so, or not. I picked up a stone in the Klahari. a stone delicately and expertly adorned with delicate antelope.I held it in my hand and left only to return as I could not leave without it.






26 July 04:38 AM

In the thirst-land water is  scarce and many an human have died because they could not find any. They died because they entered a place that they are not accustomed to.. Mara and her people live in harmony with that land. They are vibrating at the same frequency as their animal friends,hence Mother Nature recognizes them and shows them where her treasures are hidden.They too understand that they must share the treasure of water. They use Ostrich eggs as vessels to collect,store and carry the precious liquid. hey empty the contents and consume it and then use the empty and fragile holder as a water bottle. They bury these bottles,sealed with a grass plug underneath the sand and mark the place skilfully so that other travelers of their kind would recognize and find it.





The Ostrich is a brother a sister that provides the very food of life, eggs to their San family. Mara's people live in harmony with the animals of the Thirst-land.. My people do not understand little one. To them animals are their servants,not their friends. They do not understand the cycle of life,they do not understand the unseen helix that connects us all.They do not understand,that ,when they ask the great One for favors they will receive.They do not understand that their offspring might receive what they asked for.They wanted they asked they received and they are despondent and despair. They do not recognize the gift they asked in their children. It is because they think their children are their servants. This  selfishness of Me above all else is normally their downfall. When they realize the endlessness of time and they form part of the Universe again they understand that they received but cannot return to enjoy it.
Mara your people are timeless. They lived under the African sky for many thousands of years. They walked with their four footed cousins. They understood the  man and animal. They understood the unwritten rules of life that they learnt at the breast of their Mother Africa.. Barbara is such a person. She is well educated, well versed. She fits into the modern Western world with the same ease she fits into the ancient San world. Knowing, like you did, that it is but the same place and expects of us to adapt, not the other way round. So when a precious ostrich egg breaks she saves the pieces and turns them into useful items. Nothing is wasted. She will make a beautiful necklace to adorn her body. She will ground it and utilize the calcium locked inside to rebuild her body and adorn it by mixing it with other natural substances
She skilfully decorates these precious vessels. sells them to tourists to create an income,
she also uses it as a water bottle for herself and her family
They hide some on the routes they frequently travel.They
will never be caught off guard. they will
find precious water with ease.



look at these and appreciate what you see.
contemplate their beauty
contemplate their value
contemplate their
significance
their fragility
their timelessness
just an egg?
or an empty shell?

Mara's people understands
the harmony between
all thins living
all things
they share space
with.
They do not abuse
they do not waste
they do not
litter their
shared living space.




She holds a precious gem in her hand. She knows it's value and knows you do not know.
You will buy her and pay much less than it is worth because you do
not understand it is precious.



Utilizing everything,wasting nothing.
Her  husband made her tools
he collected the materials from nature
it is abundance
it surrounds them
in the place they prefer
to call their home 




27 July 0728 AM

I met the gatekeeper of the Bushman entrance to the Kgalegadi Trans-frontier Park. He lives in a hut and was busy preparing food in a cast iron pot. We spoke briefly and he told me the San in the Park were moving soon. he also told me that they came to him to charge their cellphones and that they walked ten Kilometers to the entrance of the main Park to sell their natural medicine.
Are you surprised?. They have Solar Power they have cell phones and you romantically thought of them as wild people roaming the African plains "half naked".
No my dear friend these people are developed. They research and study natural medicine or Ayurveda,as we would like to call it. They have a treasure trove of the medicinal properties of most plants found on the African Savannah and on the Desert dunes.
They are the experts, we should be learning from them. we should be recording this knowledge and acknowledge them as owners thereof.We should fund them and support them to rid earth of disease the natural way. We should acknowledge them as custodians of the African soil they have occupied for thousands of years.
We should be grateful to this graceful gentle people.Do not be mistaken they can fight and better than most of us. In the bush war they have proven themselves over and over again for their bravery and honed tracking skills. You do not believe me when I say they were paratroopers as well. ? I ask my soldier friends to provide this page with photographic proof thereof. They were their comrades in the war and are respected and remembered as such.
My story is not about the war, my story is about the orphans of that war and the devastation it caused in ordinary people's lives. Yes I also wore an uniform. I was a foot soldier wearing a green beret adorned with a springbok insignia.






He speaks my language, he is a brother of the African soil I love.We have so much in common. We both know and love the land we live on. He was here before my people arrived from Europe. I respect him and I admire his resilience and intimate knowledge of the African Fauna and Flora. He needs to be honored with a doctorate in that regard. he is framed by the horns of a Springbok, our country's National symbol.  his relationship and understanding of a Springbok is far superior to mine. His relationship is is real, one of respect. He harvests and utilities the game on the plains without devastating it.
He knows about sustainable utilization of the bounty of Mother Africa. He needs not to be taught about it, he mastered it thousands of years ago. You will find him on the road between Askham and Kgalegadi with his family. They are not beggars,they are entrepreneurs.They wrote the book on survival in Africa in a practical and lasting way.
They prepare their daily meal right there next to his road stall.





                                                                                                                           Springbok


Me as a Lance Corporal from 5  S.A.I Ladysmith
Kwa Zulu Natal. Here I was 19-20 I am now much bulkier en not nearly as fit and healthy as I was then.






He paints rocks in the same way his people did for millennium. This is one of the artists of the Famous Bushman rock paintings so revered all across the globe. They observed the massive animal migrations in Africa. They are the first people to witness this abundance and this beauty on the Continent of Africa. If there is any culture still alive that could have walked with Adam and Eve in the Paradise, these are them.



Is this not symbolical of that assumption. The snake adorned with original Bushman painting miniatures.Michelangelo would have been proud to be taught by such an artist. They painted before he was conceived. The art treasures of Europe, so admired had their origin in these people. If anyone can lay claim to be the first artists, the Bushman certainly has the credentials adorning  the ancient rock-faces of Africa.Africa is known to be the cradle of mankind and justly so.

27 June 8:40 PM

I wore my Springbok insignia with pride and I see this slender man as a comrade and you wonder why I am talking about the military. Well imagine for one moment.You lose your entire family in a war, you did not ask for. Your women and girls are prostituted by soldiers. You fight back,that is what you do because there is no place to flee to. you become a soldier. Yes there are many stories and books about the war.I am not qualified to write about that war..I know one thing,when I held Mara in my arms at Omega Base in the Caprivi I understood why her father would want to fight back.
I was also told how the Bushmen soldiers took it upon themselves to "earn" their insignia It was not dictated by Military procedure. It was something personal they did with great effect. The Black Crow on the white background was their pride. Some of  them earned more skills and became the proud wearers of "wings". Something so foreign to these indigenous people that it boggles the mind.
They became fully fledged Paratroopers and were trained by One Parachute Battalion..Not only were they the best trackers anywhere in the world,they were adept with their issued weapons and  in addition to that they still had their bows and arrows. Yes they fell from the sky behind enemy lines and they were feared and respected even by The Russians and other troops involved in that war.
I place one photo and it says all.

I only know him as Corporal Lucas

See the Crow on his headgear,see his rank and most importantly see and recognize his wings on his chest.His small stature means nothing,he is a dangerous adversary on any battle field. He stands tall and proud and should because I respect him as a soldier, a comrade in arms and a brother.
That is all I want to say about the war. You decide for yourself what it cost this man to become a fully fledged soldier.
and for those who find it difficult to believe I ad a training group photograph supplied by Wit Willem Pretorius ( his Facebook name) of a whole batch of bushmen doing parachute training.



"Whie men cant jump", well Khoi San certainly can, this image courtesy of Zetef Du Plessis. He tells me there were more than ten San that was officially qualified as Paratroopers and that others where trained at Omega Base. This is an actual image of a Bushman landing in the Caprivi.More later need permission from owners of images before I can publish clear photographs of San taking part in Parachute training and actually jumping.






A miniature bow and arrows I bought from my San friend next to the road. I was surprised to find that it was fully functional and effective and had real tips and was balanced perfectly. The arrows were weighted and flighted with bird feathers.
and could be used effectively to hunt small mammals and birds. The Bushman produce a very potent poison they get from processing specific worms. They do not poison the tip,lest they be pricked by it with disastrous consequences. they only apply poison to the shafts of the arrow tips.
My mini arrows were not "loaded" in this way.
He made the replica with the same care and attention that he would have done with an full sized Bow.
Believe me they bring down big game with their bows. Their most prized prey is an Eland and is bigger than domesticated cattle.
They get you with an arrow it is senseless to run. Bushman can run for hours tracking game and the effect of the poison will soon  bring you down.So yes like Fletcha's they rained down from the African sky. They would find you and if they did you will show respect even if it is from heaven or Hell.

July 28 07:28 Am

Westernized people and others across the globe who are citizens of the concrete jungles,they created.They do not understand the sparsely inhabited vastness of Africa. They do not how we can hunt and at the same time call ourselves conservationists. The do not understand that we harvest animals and consume them and call them our kin. It does not make sense and sounds hypocritical. Big game are decimated purely by greed. Rich hunters killing prime examples of our animals and thereby weakening the the species irrevocably. Greedy businessmen trading in Ivory and Rhino horn and skins of rare species.
Come walk with the Bushmen,live with them for a while and listen to them. maybe then things will start making sense. They do not abuse our fauna and flora, they use it. They have the utmost respect for animals and are grateful to them for providing them with sustenance.They hunt with bow and arrow and stalk the game on foot. It is a fair contest. Man against beast.
Maybe you think I romanticize the killing of animals. I am no Vegan. I understand the eons old relationship of mankind and animals on the African plains. I also know how the Europeans and their weapons decimated huge herds of game. I also understand that my own people killed thousands more than they could ever utilize.Not these people. If we learned from them when we invaded their living space, we would be better off. Instead we contaminated them with our disease and we tried to force our "superiority" and our "Only God" dogma on them,
It was not only the people from Europe that negatively affected these people. It was also the black tribes from the Northern and Central regions who did the very same to them. The Strandlopers(Hottentots) and the Bushman are the only living beings that can claim African soil as their birthright.
Mara and her people lived in Angola. They were uprooted by a war. They were caught in the crossfire of rival armies. Does it not say a lot that they preferred to join the "Terrible Ones" in their fightback?. Like them many Portuguese Nationals suffered the same fate as the Bushman and they became blood brothers of the same cause, the genocide against their kin.
I cannot change History. I cannot reverse the clock. I cannot explain Man's atrocities bestowed on His fellow man. I do not have any political affiliation, never had and never will have. As much as I feel African in my blood and bones I cannot align myself
to any ideology.I think that is why I resonate with the Bushmen. That is why I feel akin to them. that is why I pursued my quest to find Mara. It is hardwired in my blood,my  hart my mind.



I shall identify these gentlemen at a later stage,


30 July 7:51 AM

When starting this page my intention was not to write about the war. Many books have been published on both sides about the war. Friend and foe now share the same living space and yes,there is a lot of hurt still apparent and will perhaps be present for many years to come.I am not a political being,never been,never will be. My interest is humane. I find the interaction of people and the causes and effect of things like wars more compelling.I am searching for Mara,who may or may not be deceased.That to me however is irrelevant she left a footprint in life that will never be erased by time. It may be a tiny footprint,but instinctively I believe it to be a significant one.To me the war is over. It was fought under one flag and is now clandestinely, fought under another.Flags and politicians will come and go. Our South African flag may yet change color once more in future.
There is much hurt abound. People remembering comrades in arms and mourning and honoring their brave sacrifice.
I believe this to be necessary and healthy it opens debate and sometimes old wounds. In the end we as a people need to talk openly and frankly to truly find common ground.
I cannot change the perceived causes or the results of that war. I do however have compassion for all people that were effected by it positively or negatively. It changed many lives forever. my story is about Mara. a Little San girl whose life was torn apart by  that war. An innocent little girl orphaned by events,that she could not possibly have influenced.
It is also about her people,the San, who have intrigued me, my entire life. I am a Romantic at heart. I resonate with these ancient people and I am mesmerized by their lives and their ability to survive intact under most trying and difficult circumstances. Their rock paintings are forever etched in to the hearts and minds of millions of people and timeless.

I placed the photograph of the two men. Soldiers both. One traditional, the other modern, facing each other. This picture speaks a million unsaid words. It is a symbol of  what was and what may yet be again. It is a metaphor of the San and their age old struggle. In my travails around finding Mara I have stumbled over this image many a time. It remains poignant,it sums up something that remains unspoken although people are living it daily. Yin and Yang, two side of a coin,call it what you like. It is the story of mankind ever since our creation. It is the knowledge of good and evil that evades us forever. the knowledge we pay an eternal price for.

I want to give this image substance. Names and stories about those names.I cannot explain life, Life happens.
I want to record those two lives because it matters,just like me and you, whose lives matters.Too often we lose treasures when people passes away. Too often we wish we loved them more,spent more time with them and we only realize, what a huge impact they had in our lives, once they  are gone, they leave a massive gap in ours when they are no more.

So yes I interact with soldiers. I was one myself. I understand their passion. I understand their need to remember and honor their dead. They are noble , some paid the ultimate price and others are still paying daily by tormented memories caused by huge gaps in their lives.
The single biggest problem,in my mind, about that war is tat was never resolved.  That the participants were never adequately debriefed.This goes for both sides. It is,as if that war will eternally be fought over and over ad infinitum, until the last memory of it dies. That my dear friend is an impossibility memories live forever as our blood lines last forever.

What is needed is healing on both sides. There are not nearly enough done to repair the damage that was done.It caused devastation and it lingers on. Post traumatic stress in itself is a killer. A silent invisible killer that tears a person up from the inside. A faceless enemy you cannot defend yourself against.

So I shall persist, I shall march forward. I shall follow my dream,rightly or wrongly so. I have my motives questioned, even  by my own loved ones.My obsession is real and is deep seated. It is however not uninformed and quite frankly it is brave. There is still a lot of tension and anger and unresolved battles out there.
I assure you I do it with the utmost respect.It is not a decision I made willy nilly. The cost to myself is bigger than you could ever realize.I have my own battles to fight, my own demons to face, like every other soul.
I too am, the pariah of the Rainbow Nation. A middle aged white male Afrikaner with ill health and unhealthily habits.(read smoking). So many would say I am ill equipped to pursue my dream and in fact that I do not have the moral right to do so.

Let time be the judge, let the end define the means and qualify them.

01 August 11;05


 A blue Moon I digitally enhanced. The San has superb and extremely advanced natural senses. They can see and hear and smell what other peoples cannot.. It is their genetic makeup that stayed pure and refined throughout the ages. It is 

because of the harmoniums way they interact with Nature.. They have become an integral part of their environment.
They will find liquid in arid deserts with ease,whether it be from roots,groundwater or even bodily fluids garnered from animals they have harvested. Their bodies are well adapted and where modernized people may die of thirst or could even succumb from drinking the only liquid available, their immune system can tolerate it and even thrive from it.
The San gives special significance to the moon in their religious beliefs. They are Nature people and they dance around their campfires singing and dancing by the glow of the moon. It is storytelling time and stories are enacted in an animated fashion complete with sounds and mannerisms of specific game and other creatures.

They are naturally polygamous and have strong family bonds. This gentle people knows life and about life and they treat each with respect and love. They are an honest people and a loyal people. Their honesty sometimes costing them dearly when interacting with their fellow man in Africa.



If ever you interact with them stay humble,like they are. Stay open minded and realize you are entering THEIR space. Barbara ,her husband and his brother in front of their Notice board they erected outside Askham at Boesmansrus.( loosly translated Bushman's Rest) This Lady has internet and a email account and attends conferences in support of her people,their lifestyle and their legacy. you are in their space not yours.I am fiercely protective when it comes to these gentle people.Their childlike relaxed and honest demeanor is a rarity among my own people and others I have encountered. There is still a lot of distrust because of the hurt from the past and the memories of being viciously pursued and abused.
There is much to learn from them. You will leave enriched by their vast knowledge of their natural environment. by their deep and intuitive insight into the psyche of their fellow man. You will change for the better when rubbing shoulder with the Koi San.
I felt like I found my true soulmates and I am very grateful to them for allowing me to visit.
 Their God Tsui'goab smiles upon his much loved people and the other one Gunab, primarily an evil one knows it and is careful when he as ever, mischievously, tries to harm them in any way.
A lot of them are fully integrated in the Christian and other religions. There is one, I still hope to meet. One of their leaders, who is a Dutch Reformed Dominee(preacher) of The NG Kerk(church). He is Afrikaans speaking and a respected Theologian and expert on Indigenous people. I quote what is said about this amazing individual. "Kapilolo Mario Mahongo is the traditional leader of the South African !Xun community, chair of the !Xun Council of Elders, Chair of the South African San Institute and vice-chair of the S.A. San Council.

He is a carrier of the San's oral tradition, a veteran performer of traditional stories and co-founder of the Manyeka Arts Trust. "

I would be so honored if I can just say hello to this man in Person. Maybe just maybe it shall happen, I hope and pray it does.




2 August 09:02

For first time readers,again iI apologize, I am writing this "Live" as I go along. I count some of the best SA journalists as my fiends on social Media and I know they cringe because of all the errors,grammatical,spelling and a myriad other goggas that creep in. I do it my way and eventually I shall have it proof read and prepared for publishing. So forgive me my purist friends and bear with me I know, I know all too well.
Little Mara was not even school going age when she succumbed to flu. She never had the privilege of having a normal life.  She was surrounded by war and blood shed. I heard of two little boys who played with Mara at Oshikati and Omega.One the son of  a Medical officer and head of the Medical team in the Caprivi. The other an orphan himself, who wrote about his experience with Mara elsewhere on this Page. Both were younger than Mara but much taller.
All those who knew Mara have one thing in common. They loved this small little girl with the sunny disposition and ready smile. Mara left a lasting impression on them and they remember her



The African Vineyard Geusthouse owner and photographer Theuns de Bruin lives at Kanon Eiland in the Thirst Land. He is an excellent photographer and captured this little San Girl. He then invited people to write her story. Well Theuns, she now represents,what I believe Mara could have looked like if she still lived, at that age.


I post this in the knowledge that The people who own this place are kind warmhearted and made a lasting impression on my Family and I.. Elmari, his wife, put me on Barbara's track as they attended a conference together and I thank her from the bottom of my heart.
Fate sometimes put people on our path and Karma smiles upon us without apparent reason. Such is becoming the norm on my journey to find Mara. Or should I rather say of Mara finding me.

I meet people on the way and they leave impressions on my life and I am thankful because they do not have to. Yes I also meet people along the way ,I put behind me as soon as the contact ends, that is Life.

I have two little girls of my own. Hilda-Mari and Krissmonne, 17 years apart from two different marriages. and I love them with all my heart.. I also have two little grand children I love with all of my heart. i place pictures of them. they sometimes question my actions,specially my infatuation with Mara and understandably so. sorry girls, daddy has to do this even though I sometimes question it myself. If I do not it will follow me and not me it.









Krismonne hugging Daddy and Shaunette on Oupa's lap.





















"K "at uncle Theuns's place, he lit a fire in her with his photographic skills and knowledge. One that I am convinced will grow and grow.
















Monica and I chatting to Elmari.











Darling Agigail giving Oupi a huge hug because I gave Chickaletta a home.













Hilda(Lollie) and me.


Now that is done. My family have their rightful place in this story. They deserve it they bare with my  inexplicable  infatuation with the San.. I  love them and appreciate them accommodating their eccentric father and husband and Oupa/i


Ok that is quite enough about me. This is about Mara. If I had to choose a name for little Mara, I would have chosen Little Bird. I love Mossies(sparrows and I am in good company when I do so. the beloved wife of the biblical Moses, he worked for with Jarrod' , was named Zipphora or little bird.
This tiny person had the will to live. She survived what most of us will succumb to in minutes,not years. Like a little bird she was protected by her Guardian Angel. I cannot imagine the harm done to this infant by all the violence and strife that marred her very existence. She must have been premature, so tiny but the little fighter survived. I remember her being not much taller than my army boots,yet she laughed, ran around and spoke.




I keep on mentioning the scarceness of water and yet here is Monica overlooking the mighty Orange River at Augrabies Falls , there is plenty of water surely.Firstly the distances involved are immense. As the crow flies this spot is more than 200 km from Askham. The Kgalegadi Transfrontoer Park spans over 3,6 milion  hectares and is but a tiny portion of the countries where the San finds themselves today. Omega, where I visited Mara is more than 3000km away on the border between Namibia , Angola Botswana and Zambia. Today you will find them in All of these places. All has a scarcity of water. recently a vast supply of water was found underground in Namibia. A reservoir so big it would last, a portion of that area for more than ten years.

Botswana, The Namibian Desert and the Kalahari is known as the Thirst Land. Distances are so huge people normally succumb to thirst if they are on foot and cannot find water. If they do it is not potable for humans.The same goes for Zambia,Angola and Zimbabwe. There are lakes and rivers but also huge stretches have scarce water supplies for their citizens. Let alone people living in the remote arid wilderness.

I met Mara more than 35 years ago. I met Monica,my wife a descendant of the Griekwas nearly twenty years ago. Her mother would deny this vehemently and say. We are descendants of white men and Black women.In her Case Boere(Afrikanesrs) and Swatis(Swazis) That is the complexity of the peoples mingling where I live. Mara is pure Bushman as far as I can establish but in Angola they also mixed with other races and unless I could meet one of her kin and do DNA tests I shall never know.her stature is a giveaway she was tiny, even by San standards.


In my mind it really does not matter which side of the tree. of  Father Adam I landed, or how far from it. I think Mara landed much closer than I did.

9 August 07:09


Once in my life I realised that,I suffered some form of trauma as a small child. Maybe it was the death of my Father, maybe it was disease and maybe it was perceptions of a timid,shy boy child. That memory is buried deep into my psyche. I must walk the journey of this small boy with him. I must walk the journey of life with myself,comforting myself, healing myself spiritually and emotionally. Now my little one,when I held you in my arms and you so willingly and lovingly came to me I realised the same thing. My heart went out to you and I wanted to comfort you and try and explain why life was so cruel to you. I wanted to tell you that your father was a brave man, that your mother loved you unconditionally.
I could not speak your language Mara but I grew up o became a middle aged man. I had the privilege to see one daughter becoming a mother herself and I have the privilege of seeing and experiencing another daughter developing into adulthood. If you did not leave life on earth Mara, you would be as old as Barbara. Now I want to invite you to sit on my lap and I want to talk to you explaining what happened the best way I can. I want to nurture and heal your hurt and soothe the torment,you must have experienced.Like little darling Abigail,my granddaughter I want to share my life's experience with both of you. I want to try and smooth your road and remove the rocks,and carry you across streams on my shoulders. I love you Mara and would take a bullet to protect you like your mother did.In doing so Mara I will heal myself and you will comfort me with your knowledge of the afterlife.I will try to find your surviving family members, to  piece together your life..To follow your tiny footprint and give it substance. the substance of your life.It is a difficult journey little one and one I have to travel on my own.People do not trust my intentions and motives Mara,there are too much  hurt and damage abound.I must be patient and  understanding an earn respect. I have to prove my credentials through action by being consistent and persistent enduring the journey to the end. We shall sit under a tree  under African skies and talk and reminiscence. We shall complete the bond that was formed 35 years ago.


6 September 5:25 AM

Where the water meets the land he lay face down in the sand and already,to many he is forgotten. a Little Syrian boy uprooted by war and injustice,innocent with his whole life ahead. They ask me why I am obsessed about you little one. They question my motives and read their own motives into it.
They do not know me Mara. Like I never really knew you in the sense that I could say you are family. He died in his fathers arms Mara. You died alone on African plains, alone. Your Father lost his beloved wife and left.. I kept on living my life and had two little girls of my own. i now have two little girl child grandchildren.
Time passes and I am worried that i do not have enough time to reconnect with you. We only have so much time in our bodies before we leave. You left and I am sad for it,like I am sad for that little boy far, far away.
Yet I know, it was better that you left. I know that we never die. we may leave the vessels we live in on Earth but we never die. So I I wait knowing I do have enough time. knowing you are still there,you are still a consciousness out there somewhere. I only have to reconnect and will be most fortunate if I am still bound to Earth when I do.
I want to tell you about your people. I see the youth of your people facing their future with trepidation and I want to tell you and I want to tell them never to give up. I want to tell them to become heroes rather than looking for heroes. I want to tell them to become role models rather than looking for rolemodels
I want to encourage them to create their own future rather than waiting for it to be formed by others. I see them in Platfontein doing exactly that and I am encouraged.
I cannot bring back that little boy or his brother, like I cannot bring you back but we can work together in our different realms to make this earth a better place for all..

28 September 8:11

I did not forget little one. all the people in the world are perplexed by a stellar apparition. that is all they talk about. They call it a blood Moon. Your people have seen many a blood Moon over the centuries. They saw it in African skies. Now scientists are amazed to find your genes telling them that you are the oldest people on the face of the earth.
They spent billions on doing that. you could have saved them the money by simply telling them a story of your people.
I did not forget Mara, iIsee and hear and observe. I am "friends" with your people on social media and I listen and look and learn. Not one of them can remember the little girl from Omega except two. One, a little boy who played with you,the other a White woman who looked after you..
They did not forget Mara. They are just too busy with their lives to bother with an old man with a dream.The soldiers remember and share memories with each other and the world. They paid a heavy price,blood was spilled and lives were lost and I do not blame them for remembering.
Your people are fighting for their place under the African Sun. I do not blame them they have fought for too long and it finally seems that the may get a smidgen of recognition.
I know your relatives are out there somewhere. i just need to find them and shall once more ask and will not stop looking.
You see Mara if little things are not important, big things come to naught. They fight over Granny Kratoa's bench and Granny Saartjie's legacy and they forget to live and build and make an statement through thoughtful action.
Then they wonder why the do not succeed.They would do well to recall stories from olden days. they would do better if they could ask the old people for advice and build on their wisdom. No Mara the are drowning in their own importance and cannot be heard over their own noise.
There is no unity Mara  the prize is too big and they tear it apart before sharing it and will be left with little because of it.
I am just an old fool Mara an Old fool who remembers a little girl. What do I know after all.? Who am I to comment.? What are my motives.? have I not a white skin.?.
My answer to all of that is to sit back and observe and wait.I know from experience that Life deals the cards and holds the pack and we can only play the game.
I shall find your relatives Mara and I shall not forget you.

25 october 2015 12h24
Important day for the youth of South Africa and important day for me in my search for Mara. Will be posting new images with a BIG thank you to  Anita Carstens.
My battery busy loading phone was working overtime will update soon.
I shall also ask for more information from her like time and place and names. I am so happy for this. It is another break in my search and I have few although I try hard.
Mara is seen playing with her daughter and the size difference is remarkable though Mara is older. Sge is also sitting on the shoulders of a National Defense Force Serviceman Doctor's shoulders. Wil try to get his name.
Anita told me she was in the Oshakati Sick Bay and later was sent to Windhoek for medical tests. Her Father was with her at the time.
Will fill in the blanks with info as soon as I get it.





Here is Mara on the shoulder of a Serviceman Doctor. the difference is that there were Permanent Force Members(long term) and Servicemen(short term) in the same facilities. To get correct information after 35 years is difficult because different people engaged with her at different times with different circumstances.This makes information sketchy.








                                                                                                      Mara playing with a friend's                                                                                                           hair
                                                                                                        like little girls do. She stayed with                                                                                                                      different families on the                                                                                                                                         Oshakati                                                                                                                                   base.



 

I now know that her Father died in that Sick Bay at Oshakati.
If you did not do Compulsory Military Service, like I did you will
not understand the situation. Serviceman spent some time
in the operational area and was often replaced by fresh troops or redeployed. Permanent Force members manned the bases and stayed in the Operational areas for much longer and some wee also redeployed where they were needed most.
This was a Bush War that was fought in a vast Battleground that spanned Angola and Namibia. I have it on good authority that Mara's family was caught in crossfire in Southern Angola. Mara's mother was killed and the father was wounded.
Her age is also difficult to gauge due to her tiny stature. She could walk and talk like any two year old but in comparison with normal sized two year old"s she was
notice-singly extremely smaller.Here she is wearing doll's clothes and could already walk and talk,play and interact. There were no baby clothes small enough to fit her.
She was bubbly and fun and crept into everybody's heart with her sunny
disposition.


























27 January 2016

I did not forget Mara, I cannot forget and will not. i went To Malawi. i have not written for a while because
I only write when I have something to say. My mind was kept busy trying to figure things out.I am still "friends" with your people Mara. Barbara finally accepted my friend request and I sent her photographs of you. Quimby did not answer me Mara and I do not know why. She was born the same time as you,the same time I was in the Caprivi. I do not even know if she is my child Mara but my heart Pines for her like my heat Pines for you.
I went to Malawi and I did not find your people there. I have to go to Botswana and I have to go to Platfontein and I have to go to the Caprivi Mara but I do not have the funds to do so. I went to Malawi so that my business can survive Mara. To ensure
a future for my family.
I saw a little girl Mara. One like you living next to the lake. I visited Lifuwu village Mara. i could have stayed in a hotel but I did not because I need to find you and I do not think I will find you in the city. I wanted to be close to mother Earth,like your
people Mara. I wanted to be with people who understands life and lives in nature.
I saw  this little girl following in her mothers footstep carrying water on her head like her mother. I imagined Mara that I saw you carrying an ostrich egg with water just like your mother following her trustingly through the great Savannah . Following her into the desert knowing,following her into the bush and yet Mara I know you did not. You were too small, when she died.
I walked into the lake Mara, i was tired and walked alone,ashamed of my body Mara,dressed and there was a girl Mara who was kind to me and took a photograph with my camera.
I will go Mara , I did not forget. I have time Mara,that is all I have. Funds will come when time is right Mara and I shall go.
I Lifuwu I found people like me. people who care Mara, people who care what becomes of little girls like you. People from Europe that cares about what happens to the children of Africa.
I stayed with them Mara and I know something good is happening in Lifuwu village because they care. people from Help2kids.
i mention them Mara because life took me there and they welcomed me and I walked into the lake as if I would find you there.
I walked into the lake as if it was the desert.


God provides Mara and I know I shall go. I shall go to Platfontein,I shall go to Botswana and i shall return to the Caprivi.
I  have not forgotten.









 



It was carved in rock, it was painted in caves, it was written in the stars when doulos met Mara
What a sad heart rendering day I had. I cried my heart out and I simply cannot fathom why the little San Girl meant so much to me. Had a couple of mails about similar stories and decided I shall go to Mara's grave and en route I shall visit the San and in the meantime I shall keep on gathering information.
I am emotionally drained right now.

I shall keep you updated on this page if you wish to follow the story. like my Diary I shall do it live
and I added some "protection' of my intellectual property and rights.
Please bare with me, this concept of writing Live is new to me and hopefully unique. If it is not, I have first hand knowledge that it is daring, to say the least. You will notice me editing in between. Forgive errors, they shall be set right in due time .
I have a massive and expensive task ahead of me. I have no illusions about it. Enjoy the ride.!

2016/11/15

dear Mara I have not forgotten you. I shall pursue my ambition to bring justice and in so doing I shall endeavor to keep your legacy alive. I was approached by a guy writing a book on Sector 20,the place where I found you.

it is to be published in the foreseeable future.i enclose the page i submitted to him for inclusion in his book. it is a small victory but i believe a significant one.It condenses my story about you and is written in Afrikaans.
iIplace it none the less in the hope someone shall notice and i shall receive more information about you.
The book is written by Johan van Wyngaarrd and is a follow up on another one already published.

Francois Olwagen vertel die verhaal van Mara, ‘n oorlog wesie wat hy in 1980 tydens ‘n besoek aan 31Bn, (Boesman- bataljon te Omega basis) in die Wes-Caprivi raakgeloop het. Ek vertel die verhaal uit die oogpunt van n joenalis en nie ‘n voetsoldaat......... “my Nasionale Diensplig het gedurende Junie 1979 by 5 SAI, Ladysmith afgeskop. Na my basiese opleiding voltooi is, is ek verplaas na Weermag Hoofkwartier in Pretoria waar ek diens gedoen het by die Afdeling Mediaskakeling onder bevel van Kolonel Bosman. Hy het gerapporteer aan Generaal Dutton en my hooftaak was om alle nuusberigte wat betrekking hou met die Weermag, kortliks op te som in Engels vir die Generaal.
Die Afdeling Mediaskakeling was ook verantwoordelik om toergroepe te beplan en begelei na die Operasionele gebied in Namibië. Dit het gewoontlik bestaan uit eggenote van Ministers en ander BBP’s se eggenote.
Ek moes ‘n toer voorberei vir vroulike Suid Afrikaanse en Internasionale joernaliste. Kommandant Krynauw sou die toer begelei en ek sou assisteer en verantdwoordelik neem vir die dames se mediese en persoonlike welsyn.
Ons het vanaf Lugmagbasis Waterkloof vetrek gedurende 1980, op ‘n militêre vliegtuig na Windhoek. Daarna Grootfontein en toe het die toer basisse in Sektor 10,Sektor 20 en uiteindelik in Sektor 70 besoek. Die doel was om nie-militêre belange groepe insig te gee in die daaglikse lewe van personeel in die Operasionele gebied.
Alle aspekte van die daaglikse lewe op die basisse is besigtig, die menasies, klinieke, opleidingsfasiliteite, meganiese fasiliteite en dies meer. Die vrouens was natuurlik behep met die teenwoordigheid van vroulike en siviele vrouepersoneel.
Die reisplan was redelik intens en goed gekoordineer en is vergesel van gewanpende lug en grondbeskerming wat meestal buite sig gebly het.Dit was ‘n ondervinding van ‘n leeftyd en is een van die redes hoekom ek self joernalistiek as ‘n loopbaan gekies het na my Weermagopleiding.
Ons kon dinge sien en ervaar wat nie beskore was vir die dienspligtiges in die Operasionele gebied nie.Daar was een insident by Katima Mulilo en die dames was onbewus daarvan. Die toeweiding en kundigheid van Permanente Personeel het deurgaans beindruk en die joernaliste kon nie uitgepraat raak nie en het hope fotos geneem.
By tye moes ek uniform dra en was ek baie dankbaar met ons besoek aan Omega. bekend as die Boesman Bataljon in Sektor 20. Dit was by verreweg die hoogtepunt van die toer met die kennisname met hierdie groepering in die weermag. Ons is vertel van die Boesmans se betrokkenheid by die weermag en hoe gedissiplineerd hulle was as volwaardige soldate en hoe bekwaan hulle was aangesien daar selfs valskermsoldate onder hulle geledere was.
Die verhaal gaan verder oor een klein mensie wat ek tot vandag nie kan vergeet nie wat ons hier op die basis aangetref het. Onwetend is dit waar die weermag uniform vir my ‘n groot deur vir die toekoms sou oopmaak.
Ek met Mara by die siekeboeg te Omega Boshoed waarin sy kon pas

Daar is verskeie weergawes maar volgens oorlewering is haar ouers gewond in spervuur gedurende ‘n kontak in die Suide van Angola. Haar ma is noodlottig gewond saam met hulle na Oshakati vir verdere mediese behandeling afgevoer. Haar pa het later in die siekeboeg op Oshakati aan sy wonde beswyk.. Die troep wat die kind vergesel het,het haar in sy boshoed gedra aangesien sy piepklein was. Voor sy afsterwe het hy die kind aan ‘n kleurling dame met die naam van Sarah oorhandig sodat sy haar kon versorg. Sarah is later aan longontsteking oorlede. Met die afsterwe van haar ouers het sy as ‘n wesie op weermagsbasisse grootgeword en deur militêre personeel versorg en deur verskeie weermag families op Oshikati en elders versorg sodat sy ‘n normaal moontlike lewe kon hê.
Ons is aanvanlik vertel dat haar ouers in ‘n landmyontploffing oorlede is. Die ware feite het jare later na vore gekom. Dit moet gesien word in die lig van die oorlog en gewone mense wat daarin vasgevang was. Behalwe dat sy klein van statuur was het meeste van die personeel geglo dat Mara ten minste gedeeltelik San was en sommige het gelo sy was volledig San.Dit maak uiteindelik nie werklik saak wat haar etnisiteit was nie maar die verhaal moet vertel word. Sy het ‘n groot indruk op my gemaak en ook op die meeste mense wat die voorreg gehad het om deel van haar kort lewe te wees.
Sy was prematuur gebore en alhoewel sy buitengewoon klein was was sy volledig normaal ontwikkel. Sy was beslis nie ‘n dwerg nie aangesien haar ledemate en ligaam proporsioneel ontwikkel was. In baie van die fotos wat ek van haar gesien het speel sy met jonger kinders van haar voogouers wat tweekeer so groot soos sy was.
Daar was ander klein kindertjies in die Operasionele Gebied wat deur die Weermag versorg was, maar daar was net een Mara. Die kind was baie spesiaal nie net omdat sy so klein was nie maar ook omdat sy ‘n baie uitnemende en uitbundige natuur gehad het.
Op ‘n stadium is Mara na Omega basis in die Wes-Caprivi vir mediese na die siekeboeg afgevoer. Wil aanvaar dat daarop ook besluit was omrede sy as San geidentifiseer meer tuis tussen die Boesmans sou wees. Dit is daar waar ons die piepklein mensie raakgeloop het. Kyk na die handjie op my vinger wat lyk asof haar vingertjie dalk ‘n ring kon wees. Sy was skaars hoër as my weermagstewels.Sy kon “praat” en lag en rondhardloop. Sy was gedurende daardie tyd tussen nege maande en 16 maande oud.
Dit is alles onseker aangesien daar geen amptelike rekords van haar ouers en haar identiteit was nie. .Mara het reguit na my toe gekom en ek het haar opgetel en sy het soveel van my gehou dat ek haar nie kon neersit nie.Sy het my geindentifiseer deur my uniform en die kameras het geklik en geklik.
Jare later het ek haar sonder sukses probeer opspoor en het aanhou soek tot in my middeljare. Uiteindelik het ek verneem dat sy gedurende 1984 aan longonsteking oorlede is. Eh het alle rede om te glo dat die inligting wat ek met die jare oor haar bymekaar kon maak redelik akkuraat is. Dino Estavao ook ‘n eertydse kind wat deur die weermag versorg was het ‘n verhaal daargestel van die einste kind waarmee hy gespeel in die tyd.
Ek weet nie wat Mara se geboortenaam was nie. Die weermagpersoneel het haar Mara genoem na gelang van die bybelnaam wat Bitterheid beteken en haar verhaal is een van bitterheid.Sy het tot in haar peuterjare ‘n relatiewe normale en gelukkige lewe gely. Sy was geliefd en is met die beste sorg grootgemaak deur mense met groot harte en ope arms wat niks ontsien het om haar by te staan nie.
n Voogma vertel hoe sy vir Mara moes popklere aantrek aangesien gewone kinderklere eenvoudig te groot was.Haar seun wat jonger as Mara was het haar op n speelgoedwaentjie rondgesleep.Haar kinders was beide baie groter as Mara alhoewel sy hulle senior was wat jare betref.
Mara op 9 maande Mara met ‘n ander kind en voogma op Omega

Dieselfde dame het my vertel dat Mara verskeie kere mediese komplikasies ondervind het en dat sy afgevoer was na Windhoek vir spesialis behandeling en dat die weermag geen kostes ontsien het om haar ,soos menige ander wesies ,die beste mediese behandeling en maantskaplike ondersteuning moontlik te gee nie.
Vir my was sy doodeenvoudig ‘n spesiale kind wat in my haart gekruip het tydens ‘n onvergeetlike ervaring in die Operasionele gebied. Hierdie, soos verskeie ander gevalle was net weereens die bewys dat buiten die “oorlog” situasie wat daar in die gebied geheers het, en die SAW uiteraard die taak gehad het om die gebied te beveilig wat tot gewapende optrede kon lei was die prioriteit om ook die mense van die gebied wat ongevraagd betrek is na om te sien en te versorg. Die soldate het ook ‘n menslike kant geopenbaar.



  



 






20 comments:

  1. She lives in me, I cannot unsee that little San girl.

    So I hope someone somewhere will remember and I hope Karma will smile upon me.

    I am committed and I am sincere in my longing to find little Mara. She must be round 35 by now, if she is still alive. Somehow I know she is. I just know. Just maybe I shall hold her child in my arms or perhaps a grandchild, who knows.?

    If you read this, please share it on social media

    and help me fulfil my dream.

    much love

    Francois.

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  2. I shall keep you updated on this page if you wish to follow the story. like my Diary I shall do it live

    and I added some "protection' of my intellectual property and rights.

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  3. It was carved in rock, it was painted in caves, it was written in the stars when doulos met Mara

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  4. Please bear with me, this is not the book and this may or may not be included in the book. I am taking you along on my journey and I am doing it "live". I sometimes like I am risking Life and limb doing it this way. The book is in my head, where Mara also lives, now that I know the sad facts about her untimely departure during 1984. I live on faith and do not have the means yet but the trip is on. In the meantime I am connecting with as many people as possible on Facebook and elsewhere, collecting ideas saving quotes and anecdotes . You are writing this with me if you correspond and send me photographs etc. I am on Facebook that is maybe the easiest way. https://www.facebook.com/francois.olwagen I am exposing myself because I firmly believe this is worth doing and I firmly believe Little Mara knows, what I am doing in her name and that she approves. Therefore this is a spiritual journey.
    I am using any way possible to make this work.

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  5. Now it is my time to track. I have modern methods. I have the vast expanse of the African plains condensed in a single global village, borders does not exist, all countries become one. The collective knowledge and wisdom of mankind condensed
    and available at my fingertips. Yet I know instinctively that all will come to naught if nature does not inform me, if the universe does not reveal the unseen and impart timeless knowledge. I shall then exclaim, "How could have I known.' "I could never have guessed, that I would run into somebody who knew her."

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  6. 26 May 9:36
    How you handle pain says a lot about your character. I assure myself, that I was given the burden because I am capable of carrying it and that it will be spared a weaker person.
    Wrote this on my FB wall. Memories of the past is becoming reality and I am meeting wonderful and talented people, who share my fascination with the Koi San. Imagine a small boy in war-torn Namibia at a Army Hospital playing with a little girl. That girl turns out to be Mara. That boy, now my Facebook friend. So I meet them. Solid people ,with their feet firmly on African soil. Caring people, survivors one and all. people who fought a brutal war, that understands what it takes to carry on. To build and rebuild and carve a future for themselves out of the rocks of Africa. That is why they resonate with the Koi. That is why Africa flows in their veins and that is why they can rightly call themselves African, irrespective of where there ancestry rooted on planet Earth. You do not become African, Africa becomes you.
    This journey is draining me emotionally and I have to be brutally frank with myself to find the courage to carry on. I tell myself, "march on, Mara is riding on your shoulders, you cannot fail her." So I send another email, follow up another lead. All the time while, I know my own situation is dire. I know my own battle is bitter and is a lonely one. One only I can fight and only I can survive or perish trying to succeed. Never give up, one more tiny Mara step and another, an..... looking forward, never back onwards, forward, march!

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  7. The foreigners ideals and flags and weapons changed and will change again. They know, they saw it before, suffered and tolerated it's brutality before. Then they turned back to what they know, who they are. natures children, wise beyond comprehension, timeless and at home. I am going out into the African savannah like a tortoise I shall take my time and carry my protection with me. I shall follow the sound of the clicks in the still of the night. They will find me before I find them and then I will listen. Listen with my eyes, my soul, my being not trying to comprehend language but being saturated with the endless wisdom of the African soil. The breath of crisp. Pure African air, the sweetness of cool pure water. the warmth of blood mixing with sweat and drying in the African Sun.

    The books on War. The recollections of battles and the justification of those who fought them. Those who paid the price with their blood saturating that soil. With the dreams of their own liberation. Their war will never end until they find Peace within, like Mara's people and return to what they know best, themselves.

    So my journey is a personal one. Mara will find me and infuse me with timeless wisdom. Teaching me about who I am and how to be at peace with that creature that is I.


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  8. I understand Mara why your people never drew borders on African soil, simply because they understood it belongs to them. they tell me you are dead little one. They do not understand that you live and I shall patiently wait for you to find me and tell me the secret you carried with you to the stars. I shall find you there amongst the red dunes under the starry skies and we will bask in the sun's glow at midnight knowing it is there even when it is cold and dark. I am finding a way to come. I am biding my time gathering my strength and recourses. I was also ignored Mara. I was told it is not important to find you and that it has no value. We shall prove them wrong little one under an Acacia tree in the glow of the midnight sun that they cannot comprehend.

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  9. They do not understand why they were warned, not to stop children from bonding with it, lest they destroy their very being.I have that same longing Mara and as I plan and scrape the bottom of the barre I know deep inside that you are calling me to play in the sand and to understand the reason why you left so early.

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  10. She is shy but by no means timid. She speaks softly with intent. She has the natural wisdom and understanding of your people. Yet she is an astute and canny business person. I do not know much about her, do not need to. Just know that my soul recognised her soul and both were pleased

    I stopped at Kanon Eiland at my Facebook friends lush and opulent place. I found him and his wife to be warm hearted easy going and kind. Most people I met in the Thirst land are kind and giving. They are accommodating, secure in the knowledge that they belong in the space they occupy. Elmari told me about Barbara and here I stand in front of her welcomed on her soil her land her world.

    To soon we had to leave our accommodation booked and ruled by restrictions of access and bound by time. I will take a breather, we shall talk again. Time is on our side little one, as it has always been

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  11. You see, and I know you understand Mara.We were created from the same dust of Africa that Adam,"The Red One" was created.

    We walked the same earth as he did. We procreated and thrived and died under the same Sun He did.Some have forgotten Mara. Some have forgotten their roots or deny them without shame,without thought.
    It will take me time to learn and to understand. I live a life based on belief. I Believe it will come to me. the understanding and acceptance I desire will come to me if ever it feels fit to do so, or not. I picked up a stone in the Klahari. a stone delicately and expertly adorned with delicate antelope.I held it in my hand and left only to return as I could not leave without it.

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  12. She skilfully decorates these precious vessels. sells them to tourists to create an income,
    she also uses it as a water bottle for herself and her family
    They hide some on the routes they frequently travel.They
    will never be caught off guard. they will
    find precious water with ease.

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  13. They get you with an arrow it is senseless to run. Bushman can run for hours tracking game and the effect of the poison will soon bring you down.So yes like Fletcha's they rained down from the African sky. They would find you and if they did you will show respect even if it is from heaven or Hel

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  14. I cannot change History. I cannot reverse the clock. I cannot explain Man's atrocities bestowed on His fellow man. I do not have any political affiliation, never had and never will have. As much as I feel African in my blood and bones I cannot align myself
    to any ideology.I think that is why I resonate with the Bushmen. That is why I feel akin to them. that is why I pursued my quest to find Mara. It is hardwired in my blood,my hart my mind.

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  15. I too am, the pariah of the Rainbow Nation. A middle aged white male Afrikaner with ill health and unhealthily habits.(read smoking). So many would say I am ill equipped to pursue my dream and in fact that I do not have the moral right to do so.
    Let time be the judge, let the end define the means and qualify them.

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  16. "Kapilolo Mario Mahongo is the traditional leader of the South African !Xun community, chair of the !Xun Council of Elders, Chair of the South African San Institute and vice-chair of the S.A. San Council.
    He is a carrier of the San's oral tradition, a veteran performer of traditional stories and co-founder of the Manyeka Arts Trust. "
    I would be so honored if I can just say hello to this man in Person. Maybe just maybe it shall happen, I hope and pray it does.

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  17. Botswana, The Namibian Desert and the Kalahari is known as the Thirst Land. Distances are so huge people normally succumb to thirst if they are on foot and cannot find water. If they do it is not potable for humans.The same goes for Zambia,Angola and Zimbabwe. There are lakes and rivers but also huge stretches have scarce water supplies for their citizens. Let alone people living in the remote arid wilderness.

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  18. To follow your tiny footprint and give it substance. the substance of your life.It is a difficult journey little one and one I have to travel on my own.People do not trust my intentions and motives Mara,there are too much hurt and damage abound.I must be patient and understanding an earn respect. I have to prove my credentials through action by being consistent and persistent enduring the journey to the end. We shall sit under a tree under African skies and talk and reminiscence. We shall complete the bond that was formed 35 years ago

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  19. I want to tell you about your people. I see the youth of your people facing their future with trepidation and I want to tell you and I want to tell them never to give up. I want to tell them to become heroes rather than looking for heroes. i want to tell them to become roll models rather than looking for roll models
    I want to encourage them to create their own future rather than waiting for it to be formed by others. I see them in Platfontein doing exactly that and I am encouraged.
    I cannot bring back that little boy or his brother, like I cannot bring you back but we can work together in our different realms to make this earth a better place for all..

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  20. I am just an old fool Mara an Old fool who remembers a little girl. What do I know after all.? Who am I to comment.? What are my motives.? have I not a white skin.?.
    My answer to all of that is to sit back and observe and wait.I know from experience that Life deals the cards and holds the pack and we can only play the game.
    I shall find your relatives Mara and I shall not forget you.

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