Staying was not an option. They were outmanned and outgunned, they had families and over the last 30 years, the whites had become disunited. There was no central leadership structure and most of the old leaders were dead, discredited or retired. Launching a counterattack against government forces was out of the question and so was resorting to unconventional warfare. The best thing to do was leave. Then there was the matter of where to go. One by one, neighboring countries were eliminated. Zimbabwe was too crazy. Mozambique pretty much the same. They’d be in the minority there anyway, so there was no point to even dream about it. Botswana was pretty much out- too much bad blood and with their economy based on diamond sales, this was unlikely to make that country’s government happy about the idea of a lot of white guys on its territory. Settling in Namibia was out too. It was quite clear there was no longer a place for the white man under the African sun. The best thing to do was to ask for asylum in a European or North American country, even if they were unlikely to succeed. The problem was how to go about it. Given that roadblocks followed by attacks on whites seemed inevitable, going to a major city like Pretoria, Durban or Cape Town to ask for asylum from an embassy or consulate was not smart, and neither was staying on the farm for much longer if the news and rumors they heard from farmers in the area on Mike’s CB radio was anything to go by. People were beginning to have problems with their black laborers and weren’t successful in reaching their relatives in other cities via cell or landline phones.
The best they could come up with was to go to Namibia. At least there they would be on foreign soil and due to international law, could dodge the South African government while they tried to get asylum somewhere. On the bright side, even if they were pursued, South African cops and soldiers would have to turn back after a few kilometers into Namibian territory or risk getting fired upon. There were some brave people among them, but not one who would want to start a war with another country… Going to Windhoek made a lot of sense, because that’s where the embassies were and they’d have the best chance to get out by air. If that option failed, there was always the possibility of going to Walvis Bay to get passage on a ship heading to Europe, although they didn’t have a lot of money for this. At the same time, if the South African government was stupid enough to threaten Namibian sovereignty, the large number of ethnic Germans raised the specter of Germany’s involvement both diplomatically and militarily. South Africa may be the biggest boy on the African block, but it stood no chance if it pissed off the Europeans and NATO. There were still some people from the “old days” who while not prominent in public, had enough resources and clout behind the scenes to intercede on their behalf with the Namibian government. At the very least, they might be willing to give some of them shelter while negotiating for asylum. Getting cash was going to be hard. However, the banks’ networks were still operational and they could buy the fuel and some supplies with their credit cards. Jan and his family had to get by on their emergency cash because any ATM withdrawals or credit card purchases would’ve run the risk of alerting the police, and the last thing anybody wanted was to let the cops know where he and his family were. Much as Mike, Jeffrey and David’s wives tried to complain behind the scenes, the men were united by deep bonds and weren’t about to sacrifice a team mate on the altar of marital bliss. Still, the women didn’t let up and once in a while tempers flared.
Even if they’ve been out of the game for a long time, Special Forces guys remain a breed apart. Tough, determined, self-reliant and motivated, the bonds they form with their team mates are for life. They transcend marriage and family, are based on experiences that mark a man’s soul deeper than the love of a woman and the loyalty is so single-minded that only betrayal will break it. In the face of these guys’ shared histories, the women’s histrionics and willingness to sacrifice others so their families would survive meant nothing, less than nothing. They were ALL leaving together because it was the only way they would make it past the next few days, and in the end that was that. The day was filled with lots of activity. The guys bought five liters of water per person, three extra jerry cans for each vehicle which they filled with diesel, protein bars, fiber-loaded biscuits, a kilogram of sliced kudu (a type of antelope) biltong (fragrant dried meat similar to jerky) per person, Powerade concentrate, toilet paper, can openers and knife sharpeners, walkie talkies and spare batteries, then went to a money changer to get Namibian dollars. The currency was on par with the rand, but it seemed wise to have that money in case some Namibian businesses did not accept South African currency. By the time they returned to the farm, all the vehicles had been loaded and everyone was ready to go. The last supplies were loaded and they left.
The guys drove at first, the AK-47s sitting across their laps under thin blankets just in case they were needed. They kept a 100 meter gap between vehicles and a wary eye on their surroundings, but tempted though they were to get out as fast as possible, they nevertheless stuck to the speed limit. The men had to stay alert, so their wives took turns driving, but the AK-47s were always on their laps… Around six uneventful hours later, they were nearing the Nakop border post and thought it wise to bury the weapons and ammo a few kilometers before the post. The South African border guards allowed them to go through with only a cursory examination of their passports and an exit stamp. Then they moved to the Namibian side, where they got tourist visas on the spot because South Africans were exempt from the hassle of applying beforehand, especially if they came as tourists. Just like that, they were in another country… The little convoy of as yet undeclared refugees made its way through hundreds of kilometers of starkly beautiful Namibian desert, stopping to refuel and answer the call of Nature, but they made good time and were in Windhoek a few hours later, at the end of a 1533 kilometer drive. Tired and sore, in need of a drink and shower, they booked into a fairly quiet guest house and paid for two weeks in advance. In time, as the situation in South Africa worsened, they managed to receive asylum and found their way to Canada. For people used to the sunny skies and heat of Africa, it would be quite hard to adjust, but at least they were out.
This is the likely fate of the few white South Africans who have the ability and resources to leave in the early days of the genocide. One can pull this off because the South African government has blind spots and the borders are porous to say the least. I made the fictional former Recces get out legally, but it’s possible to do this illegally too. All one would need is a decent 4×4 vehicle and low pressure tires to cross into Namibia at some point out of sight of the known border posts, then carry on from there cross-country while avoiding towns and police patrols. The problem with that is most people don’t have good navigation skills and will probably get lost, to say nothing of the increased fuel usage. At the same time, one would face immediate arrest if caught by the Namibian police, but there’s always the option of claiming asylum soon after entering the country and then take one’s chances with that country’s bureaucracy.
Of course, over the last decade or so the South African government has made efforts to integrate systems and communication, such as the classified e-HANIS system of the Department of Home Affairs, but coordination between various departments is still problematic. This was evidenced by two cases. In one, a Pakistani doctor accused of rape was able to leave because his passport wasn’t flagged by the police. He eventually returned to South Africa and the case was dismissed, but it was clear some basic precautions weren’t taken by the police and the system failed. In another, Samantha Lewthwaite, the so-called White Widow who is alleged to have played a part in planning the Westgate Mall massacre in Nairobi, managed to leave South Africa while under surveillance by the Domestic Branch. She did this by taking advantage of a gap in surveillance and used a genuine South African passport issued in another name to pass through Customs undetected until long after she had left. The results of the subsequent investigation were never made public, but it’s likely she got that passport from a corrupt network inside Home Affairs.
Such things have happened often enough for the United Kingdom and other countries to begin regarding South African passports as suspect. Therefore it is likely that in the event of an exodus of whites from South Africa, the refugees will face additional scrutiny from European and North American intelligence services during processing for asylum and they had better have all their documents in order or face serious problems. Of course, when things really start to go downhill, it’s possible the processing will be done en route and most certainly after arrival, but I think it’s safe to say South Africans will face years of suspicion afterwards. Dear readers, we’ve come to the end of the first half of Omega Exodus- Flight And Fight. In the second half you will read how such a genocide might proceed, what the foreign governments will do and how 4.000.000 people are going to have to fight their way out of Africa.