“Cold Sweat” by Rickus Brandt

Stellenbosch, South Africa. The year is 1994, and the fall of Apartheid has just been confirmed with the publishing of the election results. For some it means joy, for others fear, but right now for me it means work. My Peace Keeper leader has just summoned our team to get ready and deployed. A group of celebrating South Africans are about to march through a section of town filled with angry drunk students, and we need to vacate the area before the marchers reach them. 

My task is to get the bars and restaurants vacated, and a short urgent message to each manager does the trick. Others on my team start forming safe passage ways and then the marchers arrive en masse. Three thousand dancing and singing people march into the town square, leaving me at the far side and cut off from my team. Their victory songs resonate through the night, until some troop carriers pull up and the soldiers surround the crowd. The event is illegal – the current government party might have lost the elections, but their laws still stand.

Our Peace Keeping leader gives us the order to each take up position in front of a soldier, as the parallel military order goes out to take the guns’ safeties off, and to shoot on command. 

Amman, Jordan. The year is 2003, and I am participating in an IT course for an NGO. As I got picked up at the airport, and we didn’t really leave the compound, I was not too sure about the name of the place where we are staying. We make trips to the local Safeway and back, and then as we get to the end of the course, I decide to go explore Petra with some other colleagues. As I am the dedicated rented car driver, some new friends ask if I could take them to the airport – at 2am in the morning. Seeing my worried look, a local colleague explains to me how to get there and back safely, “There are seven “tunnels” on the main road, you just keep going straight through them, and after the fifth, you turn left and you’ll reach the airport. To come back, just do the reverse.” It makes sense, and I successfully drop them off. On the way back though… one of the tunnels veers to the left underground… that didn’t happen before. I now find myself on the outskirts of Amman, and no idea where to go.

An armoured vehicle with some soldiers is parked on the side of the road, and I pull over. Between broken Arabic and English we start talking and I explain that I got lost, and just need to get back to Safeway. From there I can find my way. “Which Safeway, there are many?” OK, not the answer I was looking for… As they are deployed, they call the local police to come and help me out. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine!” the commander assures me. But when seven police cars pull up, and the local police chief gets out to talk to me, the commander changes his tune, “This might not be good.”

The chief explains that the army is deployed precisely at this point as someone distributed leaflets inciting violence the night before, and therefore they need to accompany me to the police station for some questioning. I suddenly break out in a cold sweat…

A village outset Petra, Jordan. The year is 2011, just after the Arab Spring had swept the region. Xio and I decided to take a last regional trip before moving from Abu Dhabi to Perth, Australia. With Petra under the belt, we head to the Red Sea for diving. While stopping to take pictures, a group of youth pull alongside and ask if we are ok. Assuring them that we are, they move along. A bit later we find them in their hometown, parked alongside the road, and jokingly I ask them if they are ok. This turns into an invitation to eat lamb and rice at the one man’s home, cooked by his dad, the local policeman. We spend a beautiful morning with them, and just when that “Well, we should go now” moment is about to arrive, they ask if they can still show us one more place. We all bundle into our rental, and end up driving along this steep cliff edge beside a canyon. At some random spot they ask me to stop and then we all get out. I can’t really see why we stop here, nothing wow about the place. A Mercedes comes hurtling down this road, barely wide enough for one car, but they seem relaxed as the car hits the breaks near us, kicking up little stones. Another youth jumps out, but instead of walking over to greet, he rushes to the boot, and pulls out a shotgun. Cracking the barrel open, he shoves in two cartridges, and walks hastily over to us. I suddenly break out in a cold sweat…

Brasilito, Costa Rica. The year is 2019, and Xio has sent me to the local supermarket for last minute shopping for items needed to make a dessert. Our guests are nearly on their way to our house, and I am up against the clock. There were three things I had to get, no wait, it was four. The last one was added as I walked out to the door, trying to find my driver’s license and pushing our dog back into the house at the same time. I am holding seven items in my arms, as one always has to add chocolate and an extra milk, and something else I think we are out of (but I am not sure). I have that last thing, but for some reason I only can remember two of the other three items… and without all of them, the dessert will be a no-go.

I suddenly break out in a cold sweat…