From the Wrong Side of the Tracks...Chapter 27 Searching for that Contract

The offer I received was from an old gentleman. A Geologist involved with investors listening to his expertise on certain areas, for instance, where to mine. At this time, they wanted to start a mining operation in Swaziland and he wanted me to do the Security for the mine. He wanted me to survey the area and give him feedback on all the security that would have to be put in place. I travelled to Swaziland with my new friend from Cape Town who worked for me in Umtata, as he was interested in joining me in this venture.

After two trips to Swaziland and many reports to the old man from the mine, as I will call him from now on, I was told that the Swaziland King was too greedy, and the investors decided against investing in that country.

By now I had moved to Johannesburg. I had no contract there, and I had to find a way to make ends meet. It became a matter of survival and I had to do jobs I was not keen to do. I joined a group of debt collectors for a while. The type that was used after all legal routes had failed. These guys were a rough bunch and believe me, the kneecap or an envelope is true.

I worked with them until one day when we visited a house where gambling debt was to be collected. The door was opened by an elderly lady. She said that her husband was not in. The guy I accompanied told me that the person he was looking for was always hiding whenever he came to collect. On this specific day we were travelling in my debt collector’s LDV, as he said that he was going to take furniture if he does not get any money.

The debt collector I was with walked through the house and did not find anybody. He proceeded to load furniture on the back of his pickup. I saw the look on the face of the lady and felt very sorry for her. It was her husband’s gambling debt that caused her losing her furniture. After the pickup was full of furniture, the guy I was with told me to fetch the microwave. As I took the microwave and started walking out of the house with it, the lady ran behind me asking me to please stop for a moment. I stopped, and she opened the microwave door and took out a plate of food and said that it was her husband’s dinner.

That was the final straw. I felt I could not do this anymore and the same day I left the business. I had a friend that was a lawyer in Johannesburg. He called me and asked if I would be interested in doing VIP Protection. Or rather, it could be better described as looking after some of his wealthy lady clients going through nasty divorces. He said many a time the husbands tried to use scare tactics or even try to harm their wives, specifically when they saw the claims filed by the wives during the divorce proceedings.

I did this for a few months before deciding to concentrate on giving protection to foreign businessmen. This turned out to be an excellent decision, and I quickly secured three small contracts.

A funny incident happened during this time. I went to East London with my ex-wife (then still my girlfriend) to visit her mother.

Whilst in East London, my youngest sister called from Johannesburg with a real strange request. She wanted me to collect our dad’s ashes from the crematorium wall where it was placed after his death in 1980, and bring it back to Johannesburg. Her reason was that seeing none of the family was in East London anymore, with myself my mother and two of my sisters having relocated to Johannesburg, and the other sister and brother also in a different location, she felt he was all alone down there and that I should bring him to where most of the family was. She would arrange for a place at her churches’ wall of memoriam to place the ashes.

I was not happy with this request.

‘Does mom know about this?’ I asked her.

‘Yes.’ she said. ‘It will be nice for her to know his ashes were also in Johannesburg close to all of us.’

I thought it was a stupid decision, but if my mother wanted that done, I would do it.

I went to the crematorium the morning after my sister’s telephone call. It was a beautiful, sunny morning. Not a breeze in the air. I parked my car next to a row of tall blue gum trees and walked to the wall, where I was told I would find his ashes. I started searching for his name on the wall where his ashes were placed many years ago.

As I am not one for visiting graves of loved ones or friends, it took me a while to find the little plaque with his name on it. I was named after him and it was strange to look at my own name and surname on the wall full of dead people’s names. I started loosening the screws that held the plaque to the wall. As I was busy doing this, a powerful gust of wind came blowing through the tall trees where I parked my car. Suddenly, I got the feeling that he was not happy being moved.

Behind the plaque was a little crypt with the ashes in a little wooden box. I took the plaque and box with ashes and placed it in the boot of my car. The day we were leaving East London to return to Johannesburg, my girlfriend saw the box and plaque when I was busy loading the suitcases into the car.

‘What is that?’ She asked.

‘My dad’s ashes.’ I said.

‘I am sorry, but I am not driving back with you if you have your dad’s remains in the car.’ she said.

‘What remains? It is only his ashes.’ I argued.

She wanted none of that. I drove to the post office and decided that I will then mail the ashes to my sister in Johannesburg.

Arriving at the post office, the lady behind the counter wanted to know what the contents of the little wooden box I wanted to mail was.

‘Oh, it is my dad’s ashes.’ I said.

‘I am sorry, but we are not allowed to mail human remains. It is against the law.’ she said.

She then explained the complete postal act and rules and regulations to me. For the second time that morning, I argued it was not human remains, it was just ash. I lost that argument again and left the post office fuming. I then hid the little box with the ashes underneath the spare wheel.

I said nothing about the post office to my ex-wife and she thought I had mailed the ashes. So my dad took the long trip back to Johannesburg with us. Arriving in Johannesburg, I took the plaque and ashes to my sister and handed it to her. Two days later, I received a call from my mother.

She was in tears and she was upset.

‘How could you do something like that? You did not even consult with me about moving your dad’s ashes and even if you consulted with me, I would have told you it was out of the question, as your dad’s wish was always to be cremated. His ashes were to stay in East London, where it would remain forever.’

Annoyed, I contacted my sister. All she had to say was that she didn’t really discuss it with my mother, as she thought my mom would have been thrilled with ‘our’ decision. Yes. Suddenly, it became ‘our’ decision.

To this day, I am sure that sudden gust of wind the day I moved my dad’s ashes was a sign from him he was not happy being moved. Still, thinking back to the entire episode, I find it comical.