Page 12 - SA Chamber UK Newsletter April 2024
P. 12

OPINION

            SA’S JOURNEY SINCE 1994 –


            A SNAP-SHOT OF THE GOOD



            AND THE BAD





            By Angus Begg



            I will never forget the early morning misty Natal Midlands of April 27, 1994. The queues
            of kilometres leading to South Africa’s first democratic elections had assumed almost
            biblical proportions, snaking over blonde, rural autumn hills and grasslands. The images
            were packed with teary pathos, in stark contrast to the particularly bloody lead-up to
            the big day in KwaZulu-Natal, where all hell was expected to break loose as me-we-us
            prepared to cast our votes.


            I remember writing a piece ten years ago.

            “For those who’d dedicated their lives to it, their time had come. For the woken and sensitised

            general public, and most of us in the media, a collective wrong was about to be righted.”

            Pietermaritzburg in late autumn was to be our base, and I would be forever grateful. I
            was covering the area for SAfm radio – the reinvented morph of Radio South Africa at
            the time – sharing a room with fellow radio journalist Johan Botha, who was reporting

            for Radio Sonder Grense, the new name for Radio Suid-Afrika.

            It was all a bit dreamy. It was a little over a year on from a coma I’d slipped into after a
            car accident – after returning from the ‘Black Hawk Down’ of Somalia in 1992 – yet here

            I was, deemed fit to cover the KZN Midlands for SAfm.

            So confident were analysts that political violence would swamp the province that we
            were given ancient flak-jackets as part of our kit. A South African friend editing for Sky
            News at the time told me the UK broadcaster had even commissioned armoured cars

            for their news crews in the province.

            After a day of heavy sweat, Johan and I elected to take our chances and leave them
            in the room.


            Brit, Zulu and Boer

            We never saw armoured cars, but yes, there was violence, albeit of a more historical
            nature, connected to local clans’ allegiances. In the river crossing trading post settlement
            of  Tugela  Ferry,  a  particularly  far-flung  rural  area  in  what  was  (and  still  is  to  many)
            geographically known as Zululand – far from any commercial centre, one night we saw



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