Border Literature is a genre that emerged in South Africa, gaining prominence between roughly 1980 and 2010. It reflects the experiences of white South Africans grappling with their involvement in the South African border wars from 1970 to 1990. As a conscript during this period and now an author, I share my personal experiences through this genre. Some scholars interpret these works as an attempt by white South Africans to either apologise for or absolve themselves of guilt. I do neither. I simply tell the stories that live in my mind. This is my way of processing a difficult chapter in my life.

In the Military section of this blog, you'll find a few articles within this genre. Additionally, there are two pieces in the Afrikaans section, also part of Border Literature: En Ekke vir Jou and Stoffie. These are written in Afrikaans because the cultural and idiomatic nuances are best captured in the language.

— JFB

The Godless Recruit

J. Francois Barnard - 5 June 2002

It was January 1983, and I was a new arrival in the South African Army in Tempe, Bloemfontein. It was my first church parade, and I had no idea what such an event would entail. I was following orders like a promising recruit should do.

A big, fat Sergeant Major barked the orders. He could not talk. He could only shout. It seemed to me that no one taught him any grammar. Words and sentences poured out of his mouth without pause. There were about one thousand recruits on the parade ground, and his voice was the tool used to sort us into church denominations.

“DUTCH-REFORMED-CHURCH-FORM-A SQUAD-HERE-AND-DO-IT-QUICKLY-RECRUIT-AS-I-WILL-NOT-WAIT-FOR-YOU-ON-A-SUNDAY-MOVE-IT-MOVE-IT-MOVE-IT!!!”

About half of the recruits of 1 South African Infantry Battalion rushed forward. The platoon sergeants bundled them into squads of forty each and marched them off to church.

I stood still. I was not in the Dutch Reformed Church. Not anymore.

“REFORMED CHURCH!” he barked again, “FORM-A-SQUAD-THERE-WITH-CORPORAL-DA-SOUZA!” He paused for a moment. “NOT-DA-SOUZA!! HE-IS-ROMAN-CATHOLIC! WHERE-IS-THE-REFORMED-CHURCH-CORPORAL??”

Another group marched away.

The following three denominations he kept together.

military01“NEW-APOSTLES-AT-CORPORAL-KOSTER-OLD-APOSTLES-AT-CORPORAL-SMITH-AND-THE-REST-OF-YOU-APOSTLES….”, he looked at his clipboard, “YES-THE APOSTOLIC-FAITH-MISSION!!! YOU-GO-WITH-SMITH’S-LITTLE-FRIEND!!!”

As they marched away, he shouted at the passing squads: “DON’T-LET-THE-PASTOR-DROWN-YOU-TODAY!!!”

I decided that I would never join those churches.

After that, a lot of strange names followed. Denominations that I had never heard of before. I was in the Baptist church after the Dutch Reformed Church requested my mother to resign. She must have angered some minister, and we left. But then, our Baptist church became an “IFCC” church - the International Fellowship of Christian Churches. I was sure that the Sergeant Major would not believe me if I told him I was at IFCC and decided to remain a Baptist.

After a while, there were only three of us left on the parade ground. A dilapidated Ford Cortina stopped next to the parade ground, and a tall man with dark-rimmed eyeglasses got out.

“OK-YOU-MORMONES-OFF-YOU-GO!!!” the Sergeant Major shouted at us.

The other two left, and I was alone.

The Sergeant Major was about to leave when he noticed that I was not getting into the Ford Cortina. He could not believe his eyes.

“YOU-GODLESS-RECRUIT!!!!”

For a moment, he was speechless.

“ARE-YOU-IN-THE-ROUND-CHURCH-WHERE-THE-DEVIL-CANNOT-CORNER-YOU?!?!?!”

He stared at me and realised that only the two of us were left. He became human again and, in a soft voice, asked me: “In which church are you?”

“Baptist Church, Sergeant Major,” I lied to prevent the long explanation.

“Baptist Church? Where would the Baptist Church recruits go?” he wondered aloud.

He told me to get into his car, and we chased after the marching squads. He asked every corporal he found where the Baptists should go. It was Corporal Da Souza who knew the answer.

“Free Churches, Sergeant Major, the Baptist, Methodists, and Presbyterians group together as the Free Churches.”

“Free Churches?” the Sergeant Major looked at me in disbelief. “What on earth are you doing there?”

We could not find the squad for the Free Churches. The Sergeant Major took me to the local Wimpy Bar and bought me some coffee.

That was when I realised that I, too, would survive the South African Army.

Military