Caged in?

We're nearing the end of our election reporting seminar here in Johannesburg and I must say it's been a rewarding and enriching experience. I suggest you check out the very interesting blog our 13 South African colleagues set up:

"Ubuntu Bomzantsi - Togetherness in the South"


Here's what Alani, one of the participants, had to say about the ongoing xenophobic attacks in South Africa:

How ironic is our country’s fight for freedom?

During this 10 day long seminar we had the chance to visit Constitutional Hill and a refugee camp in Glenvista Rifle Range in Johannesburg. After these visits I can not stop myself from thinking that there are many similarities between the imprisonment of political prisoners back in the apartheid era and keeping refugees in camps around the country now.

Here are some comparisons to help you understand. Our tour guide at Constitutional Hill told us that the prisoners were mainly fed bread, porridge, tea and sometimes they got some coffee with a bit of sugar and fruit. This was a little more than the six slices of bread, tea and sometimes fruit that the government is feeding refugees in the camps at the moment. Even the sleeping arrangements have some similarities. Prisoners had only one blanket, while the refugees also have to do with just one. Sleeping on the floor, cement or a tent floor, is another thing these people have in common.

This has left me with the question: are we really free in South Africa?

Even we South Africans are been caged in by all the barriers we’ve erected around our homes and workplaces to keep us safe from the escalating crime we face.

By stating all of this, I want to bring home the point that many South Africans still don’t have the freedom democracy promised us. It is a shame that in such a vibrant and beautiful country, we are in so many ways caged in. I hope we all rise to the occasion and live up to our own responsibility when it comes to freedom - especially the government!

It's the kids who suffer most

Rifle Range Refugee Camp on the Southwestern outskirts of Johannesburg.


2300 immigrants from 14 African nations have been relocated here ten days ago, after spending excruciating days fearing for the lives at various police stations throughout the city.

They've lost everything: their homes, their jobs, all their belongings. Many just have what they wore when they fled the xenophobic violence.

A group of Congolese young men is showing us around the camp. Neat rows of white plastic tents, all numbered and sorted by nationalities.

Here are the Ethiopians, down there - towards the end - the Zimbabweans, Malawians and Somalis. And here the Congolese, one of the camp's biggest communities. Every community has so-called Peace Marshalls and community leaders.

But the seemingly organised structure doesn't gloss over the chaos and the desperation.



It's the kids who suffer most here at the Rifle Range Refugee Camp.

Families with up to eight kids live in crammed tents. There are no mattresses and not enough blankets. The refugees are using cardboard boxes to try and isolate the winter cold, but it doesn't work. There's no hot water and the sanitation is rudimentary, to put it mildly.


Food is distributed twice a day, but a few slices of bread are simply not enough. Many suffer from diarrhoea and some refugees told us that much of the food they've receive is way past the date and actually rotten.

The atmosphere in the camp is tense - and the anger palpable. And who can blame them?


Xenophobia is part of everyday life for the refugees here in South Africa.

Susanne, a 43-year old Congolese tells me she was harassed on the bus yesterday as she was on her way to extend her papers. They called her "Kwere Kwere" - which means "foreigner" in Zulu. They said she should leave the country, because foreigners are neither needed nor wanted.

Susanne is sad - and very upset. Like most of the foreigners here at the Rifle Range Refugee Camp, she fled her country because she was persecuted. Going home is not an option. But staying here neither.

Have the abused become the abusers?

Over the past few weeks South Africa has witnessed some of the worst incidents of xenophobic violence ever experienced.

62 foreigners from neighbouring countries have been killed, 670 have been injured and tens of thousands of people have either been displaced or forcibly ejected from their homes.


In this week's BBC African Perspective, Carolyn Dempsters asks why there is such hatred for foreigners in the so-called 'rainbow nation' -- and what can be done about it?

South Africa - First Impressions

It's my first visit to South Africa. I've heard and read a lot about this country, sadly also a lot of negative press lately, as anti-immigrant violence has sullied the rainbow nation's reputation for tolerance.


I'm in Johannesburg for ten days working with South African Journalists on election issues. And we kicked off our seminar at Constitutional Hill, an impressive and inspiring landmark that bridges the country's past and present.

On the one hand there's the old fort, a notorious prison dating back to 1892 with its various sections: the Awaiting Trial Block, which held the 156 treason trialists of 1956 - led by Nelson Mandela; the gruesome Number Four section, which held black prisoners...


...and the Women's Goal, where female offenders - both black and white - were separately incarcerated like animals.

On the other hand, or I should say in the midst of this, there's South Africa's new Constitutional Court literally rising from the ashes of one of the city's most poignant apartheid-system monuments.


The architecture is impressive and full of symbols. The modern structure incorporates the prison walls. The new court's plenary was built with the old red bricks and large windows allow the people inside to see the former watch towers, and the people outside to watch the proceedings.

The ethnic and linguistic diversity is omnipresent. The court's facade is covered with the words "Constitutional Court" in the eleven official languages of South Africa. There're eleven judges hearing cases in eleven languages.

I think I've never seen a landmark concentrating past, present and future in such an overwhelming density. It's all here in one spot. South Africa's cruel and tragic history, making me ashamed of being white. South Africa's hope and dreams of a better future. It really evokes strong emotions.


How did these people survive? Where did they take their strength from? Is it possible to forgive and build a future together? The tour through the prison - especially through the Number Four Section - is deeply upsetting. I'm thinking, how much worse must it be for my South African colleagues?

Some said it provokes hatred, other said patriotism and pride to see what their country has achieved after so many years of oppression and terror.

The Debriefing

My five days of hostile environment training on the base have been very enriching. Of course it does take a bit of getting used to waking up to the sound of a bugle and reveille, queing up for breakfast with a few hundred soldiers in full combat gear. But the food was better than I expected and I learned to appreciate the benefits of discipline, straight talk and marching. Somehow it seems I'm moving far quicker from A to B now. I mean, we civilians are still miles away from any serious discipline and our military trainers made no secret of that.

We certainly tested our trainers' patience. We're not always punctual. Looking very unmilitary-like carrying our mineral water bottles and wandering around with our mobile phones. Leaving class to the toilet whenever we felt like it, and to make things worse without asking. We also occasionally mixed up our trainers' ranks and grades. There's a lot of room for improvement for us as journalists to understand the military. But I guess, the learning process is a two way street. I loved the little video they showed us about media training at the Bundeswehr: journalists don't follow orders, you have to present them arguments.

No seriously, it's been an amazing week of training. If you're reading this and have done a similar hostile environments course, I'd love to know what your experience was like.

Hands up, head down, sore knees

Day 4 - Hostage scenario

The security situation is rapidly deteriorating in Rhönland. UNDOFOR has just recently arrested Iwan Ivanovitsch, the head of the paramilitary group NAFROS. Both sides to the conflict are said to have committed war crimes, including civilian massacres and rapes. We find ourselves sitting in a bus on our way to Karsbach where a press conference by UNHCR and the South Rhönland Defense Force is scheduled for this morning.

A few kilometers out of the base our bus is redirected through a forest on a dirt track. This could be due to the risks of landmines in the area, says my colleague sitting next to me. But he's hardly had time to say that when two armed men suddenly jump out in front of our bus.

It's no mucking around with guys waving rocket propelled grenades at the vehicle. We're all hit the floor of the bus. More masked rebels storm the bus yelling and branding AK-47s. "Hands up, heads down, close your eyes and shut up!"

Everything happens within a matter of seconds and the bus is moving again. A bit further down the track we make another stop - more armed militia get on board. There's a frenzy of activity. I attempt to look up, but a strong hand pushes my head down. One by one we're being blindfolded and separated. One of my colleagues is taken off the bus, and then we're off again. Then one of the hostage takers sits next to me. My arms hurt, my head too, and my captor constantly forces me to put the head down.

After a good half hour drive, we're taken off the bus. Balkan music is blarring: where are we? I feel grass under my feet. I have the impression we're close to a forest. "Down on your knees! Arms up! Head down and shut the fuck up!"

Why haven't I done more upper body muscle building lately? Everything hurts. I'm trying to keep track of time, but it's useless...

"Get up!"

Two guards take me a few hundred meters to a table where I'm being checked for weapons. Watch, armband, mobile phone and notebook - everything goes. I'm handcuffed very tightly behind my back. Ouch.

Now I'm in a dark room, sitting in the corner, waiting. The music is unbearably loud. It's no longer Balkan beats, but pure pain - a colleague will later tell me that it was a Pakistani song entitled Qawali.

It's difficult to know how many people are in the room. I estimate one colleague to my left and another four to five on my right. I would like to shout out, who else is here? But I'm too scared. So, I just cough, and a few coughs come back as an answer. It's still difficult to make out how many we are in the room.

"On your knees!"

This is really the worst position of all. I'm trying to breathe calmly. In and out, in and out. I'm thinking of my yoga teacher back in Cologne. I can do that. U-Jei, I'm doing this every Monday at my Yoga class. Though I guess not handcuffed and being yelled at and exposed to noise torture. Try spending 15 minutes on your knees, I can tell you it's PAINFUL.

Suddenly I feel I'm going to faint. I sway forward and backward but I can't control my body any longer and panic starts to grip me. I'm close to tears but a voice whispers into my ear: "are you alright?"

Gosh Barb, this is only an exercise; calm down, breathe, relax, you're going to be fine.

"Arse on your heels!"

This feels comparatively sooooo much better.

How long are we going to sit here? There are constant steps in and out, I'm not sure what's happening to my colleagues. But suddenly it's my turn: "Get up!" - I'm escorted out. Grass, tarmac, roughly 600 meters. I'm entering a building, right, left, the room feels nice and cool, I can smell incense. Keep calm, this is crucial now. "On your knees!"

My interrogation starts. Okbar, some sort of militia leader from North Rhönland is in charge and sets out his rules: answers should be short and precise, clear and loud, always ending with SIR!

"Yes, Sir!"

"What's your name?"

"Barbara Gruber........"

"BaRbaRa", he rolls the Rs in typical Balkan fashion.

"Do you want to cooperate?"

"Yes, I want to cooperate, Sir!" This wins me points and I get to sit down on a chair.

But not for long, I commit the mistake of asking if they can take my blindfold off - and am back down on my knees.

"Are you married?" uhhh, we're getting personal now...

"No"

Do you have a boyfriend?

What's his name?

How can I reach him?

What are you doing in Rhönland?

What do you think of the situation in Rhönland?

Why were you seen carrying weapons yesterday?

What do you think of the South Rhönland Defense Force?

Phhhewww, I know what's coming now...

I answer: "I don't think anything, I haven't spoken to them, or done any interviews. Actually we were even briefly detained at one of their checkpoints yesterday".

And that's where the problem starts. I was forced to take a photograph yesterday with Mr Wujew, the guy in charge of the checkpoint.

My blindfold is taken off, I'm blinded by a very bright light. I'm in a small room, kneeling in front of an old metal table, the bright light is positioned half a meter away from my head.

Okbar throws a photograph on the table: "Is that your friend?"


"No, it's not my friend", but any discussion seems pointless, Okbar doesn't give me the chance to explain...

"Now you're going to read this into the camera."

He hands me a document admitting to having committed war crimes, accusing the United Nations and the South Rhönland Defense Forces of all sorts of violent acts. I read, stumbling over the words, looking at the camera, wondering what the hell I'm doing.

"Sign!" I sign.

"Now, is that the Truth?"

"No..." oh god, I'm thinking are we now going to start all over again? But Okbar is visibly annoyed with me.

"Get her out!".

I'm back on my knees in the original detention room. The blaring music now seems even louder and is seriously getting on my nerves. I'm looking forward to the few seconds of silence every so often, when our hostage takers have to turn the cassette. I'm back to my Yoga breathing exercises. I'm starting to faint in and out, maybe I should try to sleep? But then I risk falling over...

"Get up!" and here is me thinking the worse part is over... The captors take me out again.

"On your knees!"

"Your colleague doesn't want to sign the document, so we're now going to shoot you in the knee!"

Great, now I'm thinking who is stupid enough not to sign this silly document which doesn't have any validity whatsoever.

The captors repeat the question to my colleague:

"Will you sign?"

"No," he says and before I know it, BANG! I'm shot and out of the exercise. Lots of things are going through my head: I should have defended myself better, talked my colleague to reason, how unreal is that? And then I'm thinking what can you expect from a tabloid journalist... I guess I have the right to be a little bit mean, no?

If you've been to a hostage training like this did you end up having a miserable end like me? Even though it's a training scenario, I think it's really interesting to see how colleagues react.

Legal & illegal check points

Today was an action packed day.

After learning what to do when you've just lost a limb from stepping on a mine, we were exposed to various forms of ordnance - including sitting in a bunker when a five kilogram bomb is detonated a mere 15 meters from you. I can tell you it's full on.

The blast is so powerful, you have to keep your mouth open to compensate the pressure. Now this was "just" five kilos. A suicide car bomb would most likely have far more explosives. I don't even want to begin to imagine what that means.

On the road to Karsbach for another attempt to meet and interview Rhönland civilians, we're confronted with an illegal check point. We thought it would be a great idea to carry some local currency and had fabricated some Rhönland dollar notes. But as it turned out this proved to be a disastrous idea. The local war lord was highly offended when our team leader presented our money.

"Are you taking the piss?" Not a good start to the negotiations.

The next check point was legal. We were temporarily detained and I was forced to take a picture with the head of the check point- a certain Mr Wujew, with his arms around me. I suspected that this would mean trouble for us down the line.

After a short detention we were allowed to move on, but only managed to drive a few metres when a suicide car exploded just at the entrance of the check point. Now, it was all about applying the first aid knowledge we had acquired in the morning.

In this carnage we had to deal with the full spectrum of injuries from acute shock, serious head injuries and a pretty disgusting amputated arm. Now, you might be wondering why there're not more pictures to show. Well firstly I was flat out doing first aid and throughout the course we were under strict instructions not to photograph anything during the entire week.