Monday, December 28, 2015

Voyage of John Bell by Bonzo

In winter, the northern gales thunder across the peninsula, and rain cascades on the mountains, to feed the Silvermine River at their feet.
And strangely this ice cold amber torrent is typical of the mountain rivers of the Western Cape, for it leaches the organic salts from rock and mountain root providing the sweetest, purest nectar, all to waste in profligate fashion in the wintry sea off the Indian Ocean at Clovelly.
Summer draws to its lusty zenith at Christmas time. The Silvermine River becomes a stream of little consequence forming a clear, dark lagoon between the sea and the railway track, where it is nurchered until the Northerly winds return to our parched shores, and provide relief from the heat.
And this is where John Bell spent his Christmas, alone, but content.
Earlier that year he had relinquished his job at the (plessey) factory where he labored to connect a myriad of small wires and soldered spots on the telephone exchanges and electronic gadgets which his company manufactured under the strictest security conditions.
A quiet, gentle man of 35 years, his shy smile was easily drawn by anyone who took the trouble to greet him.
John was a dreamer. Not for him the cares and hassles of commerce and industry. His weekly wage provided him with his meagre requirements leaving enough to nourish his dream.
The only son of his mother, who lived in East London, John had no other relative.
The Silvermine River lagoon at Clovelly forms one of the sweetest stretches of Sandy Beach in the world,  through the Fish Hoek Valley.
The "Cape Doctor", the South East trade wind is a frequent visitor to this shore in summer, providing relief from the brassy sun, and a trial to the older inhabitants.
No smog at Clovelly to pollute this little haven, separated from the Atlantic Coast by six miles of sand and scrub.

Here was the framework of his future, the bones of his dreams. John Bell dropped out of his work which taxed his nimble fingers but not his mind. Here, his little craft took shape.
Two small fiberglass hulls strapped together by a trellis of timber and resinned fiberglass to form a catamaran. For good measure, the cabin was a small dinghy, nine foot long, attached like an egg to two rashes of bacon. But snug it was!

On the Silvermine lagoon, he fashioned his sleeping quarters shrouded with a cocoon of plastic, flimsy but weathertight, cramped but snug, for a man who craved (welcomed) a spartan existence.

No bed for John, a board was his choice. No epicurean he, a vegetarian.

This is where the boys first met him during their summer vacation.
Already they had exhausted their holiday spirit, and were curiously eager to return to their desks.
He spoke with them, and his lack of material needs struck those chords which little boys always have, and much older boys never really forget.
Where was he going? Where the wind took him. Would it take long? He didn't know but hoped so.

The constable churned his way through the soft sand, well polished boots  aslither.
"Complaints have been received" and "squatters may not stay more than two months". He had his orders, the fuzz had,... Craft and John must be gone by midnight.
Wanly John assured the young constable that he had only spent one month living on his craft. For four months prior to that, he had stayed with Mr and Mrs Hyland at Kalk Bay around the corner.

MIDNIGHT!
Gareth, Tammy, Grant, and Koo, were aghast at the tyranny of society. The craft had a flimsy mast, no sail or rudder.
Gareth was late home that night. He caught hell in fact! His soft eyed mother even allowed his Dad to lash him verbally unchecked.
They didn't understand, you see.

At a quarter to midnight, Gareth's concern and admiration for this gentle man had given the lad the courage to call at the Police Station and appeal for a deferment.
"Sure son", said the comfortable policeman in the lamplit Charge office. "But you see, that beach and lagoon are reserved for our Coloured people, their family and friends" ." It is only fair that we should not allow white people to squat on their place". "You know how we Whites like to stand up for our rights". "He'll have to move. Oh we feel sorry for him too, but go he must, and soon. We have warned him before, you know".

Early next morning, grunting, shoving and sweating, the cumbersome contraption was muscled through the sand down the beach to the high water mark. Thanks greatly to a nice coloured family whose Dad was such a friendly guy.
It took a long time though, and their legs and arms ached from the effort.

The wind whipped the sand about too, and it stuck to the eyes and mouth as if drawn by a magnet. Sun burned too!
Where do we go from high water mark with the wind blowing the wrong way? They asked. "We wait for the tide to come in", said John.

"He's such a nice chap, Dad," said Gareth. "He's not poor either though he does look a bit, well, You know he hasn't got a house and nice clothes to wear, and I suppose it's quite difficult to keep yourself looking tidy living on the beach. He's got plenty of money though and showed us a thick wad of notes".
"No sir, he's alright is John, and he's so decent. Why, you know he won't use a motor for his boat because he says it pollutes the ocean and kills plankton.
And he's jolly unhappy too. He says that if they break up his boat he will lay his head on the railway line. He says they must break up his home after all his work."
" He has a little bottle that he grows yeast in to make his bread. And a tape player with two speakers.. It must have cost a lot. Tapes and music, all classical you know. We Do like him. We really Understand him."

" But listen lad, there's no ways that craft is going anywhere except to be bashed up by the waves and washed-up against the rocks right there in the Clovelly corner. I really can't bear to watch it happen.
I'm old and know that dreams are for children, and he's a man...
Well, what about a sail? He's going to get one."

I saw the wreckage the next morning.. I glimpsed that frail dejected figure gathering his remaining few sodden possessions and placing them on the beach above the tide.
Later that day, the council lorry and fifteen laborers hefted the whole shooting match back across the railway track.
Very important they were.
Don't know where they dumped it all? But John had gone.

"Oh, he's a nice chap", Mr Hyland told Gareth. "No he hasn't come here yet. We'd be glad to have him back. My wife is ill and she misses him. Getting old you know." You know, he asked me to take all of the furniture out of his room so that he could sleep on the floor. He hung a length of seine net from the ceiling and made himself a sort of little hut of brown paper. Said it was sort of like sleeping in a cave. He should have been a hermit. He had a little gas cooker that he used to make his coffee".
"No, he was no trouble at all. And he loved his classical music, it seemed to make him so happy".
"Yes, I'll let you know when he pitches up". "You don't suppose he's drowned, Gareth?"
A soft smile from one who had completely identified with his older friend.

"Nooo, Dad, not John".
"He would like people to think that. Then they won't hassle him. But no, he won't have drowned".
"You see, I know a lot about him. Not only the good things. You know he smoked pot. Not much, but I think they put him in jail for it once?"
"No Dad, he has been out to sea on a  raft before and had to be rescued".
"He gave me his tape deck and his precious tapes. They had been splashed by waves and he said he wanted me to have them before they got too damaged".

Well.... The lads are all back at school now. Gareth is at boarding school so we won't see him for a couple of weeks. Mr Hyland phoned to speak to him today.

The sea was calm and the wind had died. Very gentle it was when John Bell's body was found just below the high tide mark.

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Ch (7) Back End Of 2015

As the weeks slip on by...

I  continue to keep my spirits up by maintaining contact with a few stalwart friends on email and whatsapp.

Its such a great relief to have a waiting message and when conditions permit I will respond as best i can, often taking many hours over a single email reply.

Often just chatting away using voice clips or even video.

Since my most attentive carer.. my old mom has left for a place of peace.. I too am far more relaxed and content to wait for the next significant event in our adventure.

.Its christmas 2015 and I have been fairly muted in my internet  escapades...because I have seen how impotent embassy have been,  even when its clear they are aware of the channels that are open to them to contest my continued incarceration  diplomatically.

Even as there have been significant advances made in the mutual return and exchange  of prisoners as  extraditions by request between judiciaries at top level.

I dont fall into this category as i am not a wanted criminal.. but merely a UK citizen, arrested and convicted under dubious circumstances.I no longer issue a stream of indignant questions and appeals to all manner of knowledgeable and influencial friends...

Appeals for thier advice.. or for them to query or to make appeals for attention to the legal irregularities...or at least for thier approaches for clemency on my behalf.
I am patient and measured..

I am using this time to reassess and disseminate all we have discovered ...evenly.. bit by bit and consistently.

 I recently came across a few notes I had made long ago in 2009.. after my first few months of incarceration.

Questions I had prepared to pose to the next visiting consular representative.

They were sympathetic i think.. but it was so hard for me to communicate with anyone outside.. and even they were at pains to get messages to me.

I wrote as follows;

I am living in a ghost world.. almost surreal it is so awful..

My army training was worse than this though... but even then..I was able to recieve and write letters and phone. But not here..

Im lost in this trap.. quickly forgotten it seems.. muzzled.. helpless.. ashamed because I cant rebuff.. explain or aknowledge my actions.Subdued by this hostile and unforgiving.. punishing environment.

That 1) 
On the day of my arrest l was interrogated under duress alone without legal council.

2) I was arrested alone and in broad daylight as i carried out normal logistical tasking for my empoyers.

3) There were no impartial witnesses and no evidences were presented in court... and embassy were present to see this.

4) No airport or border police witnessed this alledged activity.

The goods loaded onto my vehicle were loaded by kuwaitis in jahra far from any border or air terminals.

5) There was no video or taped evidences....no blood tests or my finger prints on any of the said contraband.

6)  No adequate opportunity to brief with a lawyer.. my appointed lawyer here at the prison.No lawyer briefing before my appeal court hearing.

7). My first court hearing took less than six minutes and my appeal court also had no evidences or witnesses present.. nor was i able to testify at any time nor were any of the proceedings translated for me.

8) I have been so well behaved and have consistently set a good example wherever i may be.

Saving water.. picking up litter.. replacing used equipment...keeping my room and bedspace clean and neat... scrubbing out toilets and showering areas and clean neatly ironed clothes.

9) I have participated in workshops as electrician and servicing technician.

10) I have participated in school where i have learnt to read and write in arabic .

11) I have attended religious and language studies where I have learnt the local.customs and traditional courtesies.

12)  I have been a well behaved model prisoner as confirmed by the senior prison managers who mentioned this to embassy on every occasion.

13) There are a few kuwaiti witnesses who know of the irregular legal processes leading up to my arrest and conviction.
They are prepared to corroberate these details independently and discretely later.
These names are on file with me.

There are a number of inmates in here , who have approached me at various times with details of my deliberate entrapment by the Kuwait C.I.D.
The purpose of illegal entrapment was so the CID police could build  a more substantial case against me to justify the political leverage they required for prisoner plea bargains.

These individuals declined to give me thier names or any further information for obvious reasons of personal safety.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

As Time Goes By

Well..its been seven long years and three months and time again for all the same old Christmas Carols.

I practice a good few of them on my lonely clarinet almost daily.. usually after my thick steel cell door is slammed shut every night round nine pm.
Sometimes though.. the music doesnt find its way to my fingers and my energy is low and my soul as flat.
Everyone has days like these , and many have more reason than me to be deflated.

I too have had so many things all so much worse than what I endure here every day .. so actually I am not complaining or making out to be all hard done by.

No.. not here.. not now... not  ever.
Ive been in touch with so many friends.. and have never a dull moment on this small illegal device.
There is always something of interest going on or someone to talk to.

Kuwait and U.K. have now signed extradition agreements regarding the exchange of prisoners from either side, for offences to be tried at home.
So clearly my case excludes me from this particular judicial cooperation because I am not wanted in the U.K. for any crimes committed there or large amounts of stolen money.

However.. the process of negotiation has been underway for a long time now and the news article this weekend is the third step in a number of stages that have been published over the last few years.
So what it was I really needed to explain today was that even as so many caring friends have  attempted so hard to unearth the facts and to highlight the legal discrepancies and the dubious circumstances surrounding my arrest all those years back.

They were brave.. tenacious and became ever more aware of the devious concealments that had so effectively held me fast under yet  another overloaded and misinformed apathetic judiciary.

My caring friends showering me with encouragement and positive feedback where all I had expected was derision and rolling eyes at my muted pleas for review.
Muted because.. this account on my behalf cannot be made by me.. or be instigated or requested by me.

In order for it to be as genuine and honest as possible  it had to come from those closest to me and those that had cared enough to read through the maze of information and scattered details that I have taken so very long to assemble.
There were a number of glowing testimonials submitted by my closest friends, for which I will be ever grateful and sincerely humbled .. but they were statements that I could not personally request.
Someone else had to do this and compile it all coherently for presentation to the relevent authorities.

All this was done,  and a whole  lot more as I waited awkwardly in the wings watching the accolades and affection from far and wide, come flooding in to form the backbone of the approach for clemency.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Ch (18) My Place

This is my place.. l will post what ever I like.
No one cares for this or what I say.

I have come to realise this after years of observations.
I can laugh and cry and joke and sigh and no one will ever know.
This is my secret pad.. where only those I love or those that care  may chance to read this far.
All too many of my nearest and dearest are themselves so tied up in thier own lifes trials that these sad musings bear no meaning or result in any positive outcome.
Im happy..
Safe
Its you I care about..
I  really do.. because I have time now.. and I give it to you
Only you...  who has read so far
And care.
Thank you..xx