I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while, but for some reason or another I never got around to doing part two of the Cedarville Adventure. Lets see if I am able to remember everything that happened that day.

So we have left Port Elizabeth and are now in East London. The plan is to drive in one day to the site of the terrible bus accident, talk to locals, family members and if we are really lucky some of the people that made it out the accident alive.

Leaving at about 5am in the morning its a straight flat out burn towards Cedarville. Six hours of Eastern Cape mountains, taxi’s, trucks and every now and again a small one horse town swarming in people.

After 6 hours of driving we arrive in Cedarville, having driven through all of the Eastern Cape and into Kwazulu Natal, we are greeted with the site of the afternoon sun shining onto the mountains of Lesotho.

We’re told by Cedarville police that we need to take a dirt road up the mountain to find the location of the bus crash site. Luckily we are the work’s 4×4 and the dirt roads are no match for the gas guzzling behemoth that we’re driving. The roads are terrible, how a bus was able to drive these roads for all these years and not crash is hard to figure out. After a while we start seeing remains of what used to be cars at the bottom of many of the hills. Seems like many people have driven over the edge and met a demise of twisted metal and unforgiving rocks. After slipping and sliding all over the road and for letter words are replaced by grunts and sweat we reach the site of the crash.

From the road you’re unable to see anything. If it wasn’t for the police and accident investigators one would have no idea the terrible horror that unfolded here just a couple of days ago. A group of sweating and panting police officers coming up the hill. I ask them if the bus is down there, they reply that I just need to follow the tyre tracks in the grass. I take my camera out and start heading downwards towards were the police say the remains of the bus lies.

CLOSE UP OF THE BUS

THE REMAINS OF THE BUS

INSIDE THE BUS

What I saw sent shivers up my spine. The mangled remains of the bus lay at the bottom of the mountain. Lying upside down in a small river. The front of the bus was totaled, all around it told the tale of what happened that day to a group of villages going to town to buy some goods for the family. Rubber gloves, shoes, bloody clothes, the plastic wrappers that most medical supplies come in lay like around forming a  nightmare halo around the bus. Only the sound of the wind can be heard, I’m sure its been like that for centuries. Standing on top of a rock, looking down at the carnage. As I start heading further down I notice that there is a massive chuck torn out of the mountain. It seemed that the bus ramped off the rock I was standing on and slammed back to earth about 10 metres from the rock. Tearing its self and its passengers apart. I manage to get down the crash site, piece of twisted metal lay everywhere, in trees, the river, the metal bearing witness to the horror those people went through that day. I manage to snap a couple of shots before heading back towards to the road. By now my girlfriend is freaking out, I didn’t tell her where I went and thought that I had slipped down the mountain. Getting back to the road, bakkies fill of local villagers arrive, they have come to pray over the crash site. Some start to walk down the hill towards the bus, while those who are to old or weak stay up by the road, sitting in the grass crying and a shaking their heads is disbelief.

CRYING GOGO

Again I take a couple of pictures and jump into the work bakkie. Continuing down the gravel road towards the village where the occupants of the bus once lived. These people lived in the middle of nowhere, its off the beaten track and them some. We drive around and talking to locals, who point us in the direction of some of the family members of the bus accident. Not knowing where the hell we are going we pick up a local man, paying him R20 and a number of cigarettes to show us around the village.

Arriving at a small modest home, we’re greeted questioning looks. However when we explain to them why we are here we are welcomed into their homes. A group of elders is gathered inside the home. Talking about the lose of their loved one. We soon learn, that the people in the house aren’t close family, they are neighbors and friends. Mel asks the family and friends a couple of questions. Shaking her head she stands up and walks over to me. “These kids outside here are the children of one of the victims killed in the bus accident. Their father lives in Johannesburg and has not been to the village in a couple of mouths.”

Two young children aged 3 and 5 are playing with a make shift ball outside, while two elder brothers are talking to our guide. They’re all alone now. No mother, no father to care for them from now one. Its a tragic scene. These poor children didn’t have a good chance to begin with, now their future is forever bleak. I can tell the two older brothers know this. Their talking under their breaths in Xhosa and Zulu, having a very basic understanding of the two languages I manage to pick up that they are not happy we are here. They say something about how everything has been given to us and they have nothing. Seeing that the situation could turn ugly, I walk over to them and ask them if they are in school and what they are planning on studying one day. Dead eyes look back at me, they don’t answer continuing with their conversation. The oldest brother came up to me while I was having a smoke and taking some pictures of a chicken that he has good grades in high school, but he would never be able to afford to go to university one day. I can’t help him, I’m just here to show the world what remained after the dust had cleared. I can’t save this one boy, if i could I would have. But knowing its impossible I tell him I will post some information on getting into varsity with a grant.

Interview over, and running out of time, we are forced to head back to Cedarville. Along the way, we see a group of woman on the side of the road. Seeing as we have the space, and know that its a good chance to get some information out of the locals, we stop and give them a lift. To our luck we have picked up the villages teachers. Who know everyone in the village. They’re able to supply us with all the names of those killed and where the families of the deceased are now. We manage to talk them into helping us talk to the families of those killed. Who we learnt the day before was in Cedarville identifying the bodies.

We get into town, and with the help of our teachers we find the funeral home where the identifying of the bodies is taking place. We hang around outside the funeral home, waiting like vultures for the grieving families to come out so that we can talk to them. As them come out, with the help of the teachers, translating our questions, We are able to get the painful tale of these families.

An old woman we talk to tells, us that she lost her daughter and 4 month old grand-daughter in the bus accident. She breaks into tears as she tells us of the lives that she loved that are now gone forever. Through the tears she explains that the bodies were torn to pieces, her daughters face had been peeled from her skull. How a mother is able to see something like this and still be able to stand and talk is something that I will forever question.

A MOTHERS PAIN OF A FUTURE WITHOUT HER DAUGHTER OR GRAND-DAUGHTER

A elderly man and his daughters comes out, they to had just identified the body of mother and wife. The daughter tells us that she was no allowed to see her mothers face, as she didn’t have one anymore. She said something that will forever stay with me. “We had to identify her by her feet, a child always knows her mothers feet”. The father, who stood their confused at all the questions and camera flashes, leans over and asks his daughter, “where is your mother when is she coming home?”. This poor old man, who had been married for more than 50 years, was now alone. The daughter told us how he still talks to her and asks where she is, unable to accept that she is dead.

A young boy, is standing outside the funeral home. He wears a face of a man that has lived many years. We walk over to him and ask him if his loved ones were in the accident. He tells us that his mother was killed in the accident, his father had long since abandoned the family. Now at the age of 16 this young boy was going to have to look after his two brothers and one sister. His future is to forever changed.

The teachers tell us that at the local hospital there are some survivors. So we head towards the hospital. Unable to get inside the hospital, one of the teachers heads over the the security guards and manages to talk them into allowing us inside to ask a couple of questions.

The survivors tell a horrific tale. As the bus lost control, people started screaming and panicking. When the bus finally came to a rest, they say that at first there was silence. Then the screams and shouts for help began. One of the survivors managed to pull him self out the bus. He said that inside and outside the bus, lay bodies and limbs. With a broken leg, he managed to climb up the massive hill and stop a passing car to raise the alarm of the terrible accident that had just taken place.

We had spent the better half of the day getting to the story and hours getting the story. Now we had to head 6 hours back to East London to our Bed and Breakfast. 12 hours of driving in one day is pain unlike any other. Getting back to the B&B at about 11pm we collapse into bed, Mel writes up the story and emails it to the office and i start editing some pictures and emailing them as well. By the time we get into bed and fall fast asleep its 2am in the morning as we have to drive back to Port Elizabeth that same day.

On another note, the MEC for transport, told me that the roads these people drive on are safe and there is nothing wrong with them. Having just spent hours driving on them I tell him that he is talking kak and that only a mad man would say something like that. He then went no to tell me that I dont know what I am talking about and hangs up. What a great guy.

I found this great 30 minute documentary on Liveleak.com about a Australian photographer in Afghanistan and his experience surviving a suicide bomb attack while traveling is Afghan solders.

Check it out, interesting watch

This is the type of journalism that I would love to do. Conflict journalism is something that must be amazing and terrifying at the same time

Most of Port Elizabeth no doubt was shocked to hear the news of the Xenophobic attacks that occurred on Saturday. Well I would like to assure those living in PE that nothing of the sort happened. Here is the story that you didn’t read in the news paper.

I received the call at about 10am Saturday morning, it seemed that my colleagues who were called first didn’t want to get out of bed or answer their cellphones. A contact in the SAPS gave me the call and told me get my ass down to Zwide, as there were looters and rioters everywhere. My self and the girl friend quickly threw on something and headed out to the scene of all the action.

According to our source, the whole thing started about 7am that same day. When a local chap got into an argument with Somalian shop owner. The shop owner acted as any rational person does, drawing a 9mm pistol and shooting him between the eyes. He then went back inside his shop, gathered some personal belongings and food. He then walked up to the body of the local chap and shot him twice again. He fled the scene. Now police have been saying that something like this is all it would take for a joburg 2 happening in Port Elizabeth. Over the next couple of hours news spread around zwide of what the shop owner had down and crowds of at first angry people gathered in front of the shop to burn the building down.

Police were already on the scene and only had to call for backup from the ever increasing crowd. As the day wore on the criminal element came to the party. People were racing from one Somali shop to the next, trying to steal what ever they could. 12 people were arrested for looting.

As the first shops were being looted police swarmed into Zwide, at least 150 police officers from all the districts came to the party, a special mention to all the reservists that also came, with out their help I am sure that things would have got out of hand. All armed with shot guns loaded with rubber bullets they camped out side Somali shops protecting them from opportunists.

As one shop was starting to be looted some community members kept the police informed about what was going on. The police radio would crackle with the location of the latest shop being looted, police would pile into their cars and high tail it to where the action was. With us trailing behind them, through the mud and rocky roads of the location. Nothing like driving at high speeds, on mud, with people all around you and gun shots going off in the background.

We arrived at a shop we had been to a couple of hours before. A looter ran from the shop, a police officer chased after him. The officer was able to hit him twice with rubber bullets. The pics below should tell the story. On a personal note, I shot this picture while driving and putting the camera outside the window and letting the shutter fly.

Police also arrested a couple of looters while we were around. A couple that thought it would be great idea to take some maize and a very thin woman.

The police had gotten a call from community members that a woman had stolen some rice, the arrived in force to the scene. Community members pointed out the woman who fled into someones shack. As she was being arrested a man holding a baby chased after the police and handed over what I assume is the womans child. Just take a look at the womans and babies face, it will tell you everything you need to know.

Police guarded Somali owned shops for hours, as the rain came in the crowds became less and less, a help hopefuls hang around in the pouring rain hoping to be the first into the shop when police left the scene.

While the Somali shops were under police guard the owners and families that ran the shops backed up everything that they could into bakkies and fled to a safe house in Durban road, Korstan. Crowds of locals were shouting get out foreigner as they sped under police escort to the safe house.

By about 5pm the action had died down and most of the people were back inside their homes. The PE police ready did a great job with what could have gotten out of hand quickly.

Another boring day at work, that was until the editor coined onto the bright idea to get down to the sight of the latest bus crash. The bus lost control and went off the road, rolling down a hill. 24 people were killed.

The accident happened some place called cederville, past Umtata. Trying to drive that one day would be crazy considering how bad the roads are, plus the amount of live stock on the road. So we came up with a better plan. We would leave at haste, make a bee line straight for East London. Being 4 hours closer would make our trip a lot quicker and help us spend more time on the ground talking to family of those killed in the crash, plus those lucky ones that made it out of there alive.

We were given the keys to the company bakkie and headed out. We managed to get to East London in our company gas guzzler. I will give it to the company, the put us up in a awesome 4 star B&B called the White house.

I will keep you informed about the happenings of our awesome adventure. Plus I will be taking pictures. As for now, we must get to sleep. Cos there is talk of waking up for at 5am in the morning. Damn it! we will miss out on the breakfast and all that comes with it.

My girlfriend and I are planning to go up to the Sudan some day in the near future, we’ve been invited by a photographer that is currently working for the UN there.

One of the main things that has been on my mind for a while is what equipment I should take up there, I’m sure resources will be few or not working at the best of times. So I wonder what will i need to make sure I get as much copy, pictures and video as I can possibly get.

Taking a look around the internet I have gathered together some of the items I would really like to have. But knowing my luck and current wage, I doubt I would ever be able to afford. So below I list a dream list of things I would love to have for our trip to the Sudan.

Voltaic Solar Bag

Seeing as power will not be just a plug away, not that it is in South Africa, a cheap, unlimited power supply would be a great idea. So a solar powered backpack seems to me to be the thing to have. Able to charge my cellphone, laptop and camera batteries the back pack would surely be one the list of things that one must have.  Having looked around the internet for a while, the Voltaic Solar bag seems like the one to have. It looks nice, with a power output of 14.7 it would be able to power a laptop from one day of direct sunlight. Its waterproof, not that I expect a lot of rain in the Sudan, plus comes with all the plugin’s that most cellphones and laptops use now days.

Cost: $249.

MACBOOK PRO

I’ll never be able to afford one of these, not in my wildest dreams. But the Macbook pro has been something that I check out on a require basis. In fact, not a week will go by with out me looking at the mac website and just looking at it. As I said at a 27 dinner the other day, where the key speaker had a Macbook pro, “I would mud wrestle my mother for one of those”. Seeing as nobody would pay me to mud wrestle my mother and my mother already saying no to my desire to wrestle her I wont be getting one of these any time in the near future. I wont ramble on about what this great machine has to offer, as i am sure most readers of the blog will have at some point checked that out for them selves. But for those of you that have not visited the apple site, here is a link… just for you http://www.zastore.co.za/macbookpro08.php

Cost: R22,999.00

Sony HVR Z1E HDV Professional Camcorder

This camera, is for a lack of better words awesome. Its so awesome in fact that to buy one most people would have to wait a couple of years just so that they could knock up the wife, wait for her to pop a couple of bastards out and then you sell them so some body that is looking for top dollar fruits of your loins. Its HDV / DVCAM / DV Switchable, which means that you can use various mediums to tape all the awesome things I will no about see. A camera like this, well the options are endless. They would make my driver along’s with the PE flying squad a hell of a lot more interesting. Having moving images can really show the action and danger that I like to get my self into. On my budget I doubt I would be able to ever afford this camera, it costs more than the Macbook Pro, I don’t even know what I would have to do to be able to get one of these. Plus seeing as I would have to buy a Mic, hard drive, tapes and other things just to be able to use the Camera. But still its amazing, and brings a tear to my eye when ever I look at it.

Cost: R60,199.00

Canon 40D

Already the owner of a Canon 400D, the 40D is a step up in the world of photography. I’ve been reading about it, and it seems that its the camera for me. Its got a metal body, so I dont have to worry when I fall over or have to duck for cover, that the camera will get broken. Plus it has a far easier interface to use, all the buttons I could want are right were you figures want them. No having to hold extra buttons just to be able to engage or change other things. Plus the nice thing is, is that I am able to use the lenses that I already for my 400D on the 40D. The only problem that stands in my way to be able to get this camera is that buying my last camera my grand mother had to die. Well she didn’t have to, nor did I want her to, but that is how I was able to get the money to buy the 400D. And seeing that I am rapidly running low on grand parents to peg it, and leave me some money, it looks like the only way I will afford it is when I either get a raise or when I my parents leave this mortal coil.

Cost: R17,999.00

 There are many things I would like to have, loads and loads in fact, however for my trip to the Sudan these items for me would make the trip better and easier to document.

Your hands grip tightly to the steering wheel, you can feel your blood begin to boil, the first mutterings of swear words begin to fall from your mouth. If only this car in front of you would stop driving like an ass! We’re in a 60 zone and this bastard, can’t seem to get above 40! You bang your steering wheel, you scream you shout. You scream, at them from the safety of your car.

Hat Man -

Driving his old Ford Escort, with his even older wife by his side. Some could see this aging couple as cute or sweet. When driving behind them, all that cuteness evaporates in the heat of the rage that boils inside you. You know your in for a slow drive when you spot the hat. Old men in hats, seem to think that because they are old that everyone must wait for them. And yes those older than us should be given the respect they deserve. However it seems that when that hat goes on and the old lady is in sitting next to them, they seem to need a traffic jam behind them.

B.E.E.tty -

We’ve all seem them, driving there massive BMW’s or Mercs, covered in gold jewelery and clothed in expensive name branded items. They grasp onto their massive steering wheels with their fat hands, their massive bellies hidden behind tops. Button’s straining under the immense pressure. Thanks to this BEEuatiful country we live in, they are able to drive around all day, in behemoth gas guzzling machines, never managing to get past the third gear. With one vorgon-looking hand on the wheel and the other holding her cell phone she rattles on and on about something. Something that must be vitally important, as that call seems to go on forever. As the traffic builds up behind her, and her million rand car begs to be driven. She has the power in front of her to reach speeds that most of us would be to scared to even think about, let alone put foot and reach. She will drive at least 10kmph under the speed limit, in a world of her own, still talking on her phone, grasping the steering wheel with her chubby hands and claw like finger nails.

Blocking Brother -

You seem them cruising the streets in there semi-pimped mobile. They will have the mags and possibly the booming sound system, but unable to afford anything else they are forced to use some other means of showing the public at large that they are hardcore mother fuckers. They roll their seat all the way down, almost to the point were they are lying down while driving their car. One must ask the question, how the hell do you drive like this? When did the desire to be seen as cool over ride the ability to see out of your car? One would think that when driving a ton of metal and plastic at various speeds, the most important thing would be to see what is going on around you. The blocking brother however nullifies this danger by never driving at anything over 40 km/h. Less someone does not seem him. We see you, and you look like a dick.

Jo-Burger on the coast -

This middle to upper class white folk of South Africa tend to invaded the coastal area in mass come the holiday season. They pack their SUV’s and head to were the chance of them being shot in the face and able to see the sky not smog is abundant. They cruise the beach front, behind locked doors and flashing cameras. Only getting out of their cars, when they have found that parking spot right in front of the beach. Pasty white legs run straight to the beach, a flash of cameras and cellphones been taken out, to tell there land locked friends what the beach is like. They find them selves back onto the roads again, traffic has most likely picked up as, they Jo-burger has spent most of their day at the beach. Some switch inside them seems to be flicked, suddenly their back in Jo-burg, driving like a wild man. Weaving in and out of traffic, cutting people off, the odd rude hand gesture out of the window. Stay clam jo-burger, were not out to get you, but if you keep driving like that we maybe forced to mutter angry words when ever we see your GP number plate.

Multi-tasking soccer mom -

During the day they seem to driving about from one mall to the other, always talking on their cellphone and putting some make up on to hide their increasingly aging face. Around 2 o’clock a school bell rings and the mother goes into freak out mode, a her little rain drop is waiting outside of school and she having finished her 18th cup of coffee, she needs to get to her child before some freak kidnaps them. In an out of traffic, their massive SUV weaves, massive tyres scream and grid against the pavement as she takes the corner to wide and mounts the footpath. Cellphone in one hand, make brush in the other, chatting to her fellow soccer mom that she will soon see. Unable to stay in one lane, she chooses rather to stay in the middle of the road. She arrives at her little cutie pies school. Stepping down from her monster SUV, high heels clatter on the foot path as she races to pick up her kids.

Then back into the thick of it, she’s got to get the kids to music, judo, or any of the other millions of things that kids are forced into doing now days. The kids, never wearing a seat beat, are flung from side to side as she makes her way to their next port of call. Kids don’t even notice that their little bodies are flying around the inside of a car, they are to busy on their cellphones, much like mom.

Boy Racer Boer -

Having seen one to many episodes of Pimp my ride and thought the “Fast and the Furious” movies were bliksem kiff, these boys seem to think that their 94 VW Jetta is capable of reaching speeds that require the use of a rear spoiler. Their custom paint jobs and air intake vents add that extra amount of awesome to their choice of transport. You always hear them before you see them, the hum of their exhaust and boom sound system. They pull up next to you, gold necklace and a popped collar, you know your in for some wheel spinning burn off as soon the traffic light changes. They are on the other side of the coin of drivers, they are totally unable to driving anything close to the speed limit. Always revving their engine, causing that stupid exhaust to crackle forth more terrible noise. Look lower to middle class white kids, why do you have to listen to rap music at top volume, I have a couple of theories on why you might do so.

• I’ve spoken to your types before, unable let anything of sense spill from your bucktoothed mouth you use the music to hide your insane ramblings, less someone hears you. However this again could not be the case, as you seem to move in packs. A colllective gang bang of high fiving, brandy drinking, 100% boer boys.
• Unable to get any attention at home or from anyone else, that is capable of not bringing the blue bulls into a conversation, they must make their presence known to all and sundry.

If you do happen to be out late one evening, beware as you are now in the domain of the drunken boy racer. Waiting at the traffic light a packed car will hum up to the light and all of the occupents will look over to you. There is sure to be patting on the back and some sort of conversation inside the car. Their engine rev’s, and they look at you again. You rev back, a frenzy breaks out in the car. The light changes, wheels spin and acrid tyre smoke streams from the spinning wheels. They fly off down the road and you turn the corner and return to eating your petrol station pie.

Like all trends, they seem to change every ten years, we are just getting out of the hip hop era, thank god for that. Its saddens me to say that the new era that will become the standard for the next ten years is that of EMO. Much like Hip Hop, EMO also seems to have its own uniform. I am sure, in every EMO kids closet we will find one pair of jeans that are so tight, so johnny rotten, that one is left to wonder what the hell is going on, in and around the genital area.

Pants that tight, can’t be healthy. How can your body breath? I am sure after a couple of hours of not conforming that you’re left with a mean crotch sweat. All that BO just sitting there, no way for it to escape from the confines of your increasingly smelly genitals.

Being of the age where to date, be interested or attempt in some drunk manner to pick up an EMO kid would get me arrested and on the front page of the local newspaper, I can only wonder how EMO kids one night stands must unfold.

Now normally when you take a girl home, between the 13 glasses of corner shop piss Merlot they always serve to you in bars, you’ve managed to get this young delight into your lounge with out saying something that instantly turns her off the idea of having your hairy sweaty body on top of her. You undress her, the usual kissing and touching will be sure to take place. You’ve got down to her pants, and managed to pull them off, somewhere between telling her “you really like her” and that “I to can’t believe that this is happening”. Seeing that you’ve uncovered the promised land that you purchased for 5 glasses of wine and a couple of shots of tequlia. Only one tiny piece of cotton stands between you and five minutes of the worst drunk sex she will ever experience. You pull off that little piece of cotton and are greeted with a smell so foul, so fishy, so cheese you left in the back of the fridge that you must fight the urge to suddenly vomit on her now totally exposed body.

You look to the floor, the pants… the pants it rings in your mind. Why did those pants take so long to get off her. They were so tight you had to pull on them while she held on to the head board.

The worst part is that, she can’t smell it. It smells fisher than a anchovy’s cunt, and she still can’t smell it. Sweet mother jesus, what does this girl want. There is no way I’m going near that thing. A smell that bad, it would surely melt through any rubber I would be stupid enough to put on.

This is my point, boys and girls. We are all trying to get a quick shag. Thats why we dress up in these stupid clothes, that have been deemed popular by or marketing overlords and who are we do say other wise. Now please explain to me, why dress your self in such a way that even if you some how manage to get some one home, the idea of going anywhere near the other persons genitals is so unappealing, you are forced to run away or say something about your grand father dying.

However, I am sure after one of you have ran away from the smelly genitals, both of you will cry those bitter, “the world doesn’t understand me” tears. Both of your mascara will run and you’ll both think about cutting your arm, “So that you can feel something”.

Maybe thats why EMO kids cry so much, its not because, daddy didn’t buy then a car, or that people don’t understand them, that all people are sheep, that you just don’t get their poetry, its surely because that after choosing the trend they plan to follow, they realise that not even they want to man handle them selves.

Kids, your teenage years are some of the worst of you life, try as you might to look your best, mother nature is there is make sure you look you worst in our entire life. Smells, pimples, dirt, things even i have no yet figured out happen you you. And you think the best idea is to wear tight pants that must make you genitals smell, so rotten that not even the teen hungry priest down the road wants a slice of you.

Later that week…

So after the events that led to the writing of the fire and water blog, I thought that nothing could stand against that. I as usual was wrong.

A woman driving down the R72 thought it a novel idea to over take on a blind rise corner… not the smartest thing she could have done. You see it ended with her slamming into side of a petrol tanker. The result, one person dead and more than 370 000 litres of up in smoke.

The woman driving the bakkie, was killed on impact. Her left leg was amputated below the knee and her neck was broken, it wobbled around on her body like a bobble head toy. Her passenger, a 40 year old woman who was 4 months pregnant. She was lucky, only sustaining burns to her head and face. Paramedics told me that she started going into labour soon after the accident. I was unable to find out if the baby survived, but my guess it didn’t.

The tanker on the other hand, was gutted through and through, it burnt so hot it melted the tankers frame into the road. Some how the driver was left unhurt. Lucky bastard! According to him, after the woman hit the tanker, the petrol ignited causing a massive explosion.

The day after the tanker went boom, a woman thought it a novel idea to jump 17 floors to her death on the road below. Word of warning, when you jump from a building you really go splat all over the place.

I got the call while sitting in the office. Seeing for some or other reason I am the goto guy when it comes to anything containing death I grabbed my camera and note pad and raced out to the scene.

This poor woman, jumped 17 floors and lay splattered all over the road. The one thing i will never forget for as long as i live, was this womans underwear. Her pants must have fallen down as she fell from the roof. She was wearing these little green undies with white flowers over them. Doubt she ever took notice of these undies at any point of what had been her life. They did the job so she didn’t ever give them a second glance. Now they where there for everyone to see. Covered in her blood and urine. Her stomach had split open and her intestines were hanging over her functional green undies.

I remember standing next to the body, talking to the police spokesman, trying to joke and make light of some thing, just to escape from this this terrible image before us.

All around us, were hundreds of people fighting each other to get a look at what remained of this woman, mother, daughter, wife and friend. It made my sick to see them take out their cell phones and take photos. They screamed and laughed as police and fire department tried to load her into a body bag. I screamed a them, ” Look at you people!, you make me sick, this poor woman is dead and all you can do is laugh and scream. Why do you have to take photos and video. Look at you, your standing in her body fluids.”

The crowd stopped for a second to look down, at their feet. Drying stomach fluids and other human body fluids lay at their feet. They didn’t even miss a heart beat, they just continued to talk and mutter about how far she fell. I looked down at my shoes, I was standing in a pool of this womans bloody urine, my camera around my neck…

Wonder what next week will hold.

What a mad, bloody and smoke filled day.

I arrive at work, I have not even logged into my computer when the call comes in that 3 children had been burnt to death in a shack fire. I grab my camera and a note pad and head out. Arriving on the scene I’m welcome with the smell of burnt human. If you’ve never smelt it, count your self lucky, if you have you know that it stays with you the whole day.

The story goes like this.

A mother of three kids, aged 1, 3 and 5 years old, went to the shebeen (community members confirmed this) to go buy some booze at 7:30 in the morning, leaving her kids alone in the house. At some point one of the kids must have knocked over a paraffin lamp over starting a fire. Now being small children they had no clue what to do about the fire or that they must run away from it. The sadest thing for me, is that the 5 year old the only one that could have done anything was disabled and unable to walk. He burnt alive in his bed. The other two children, two girls, were found badly burnt lying on the ground next to each other. What a scene, I’ve gone to shack fires before, but when children are involved its something that is beyond words.

They took bodies away and the community started to pray, which was a mad sight for your average little white boy like me. Then things looked like it was about to get out of hand. People were getting louder and louder. Angry shouts and looks were coming to us as well as the mother. There was talk of them attacking the mother when everyone left. So I left, not wanting to make the news. I left this poor mother with no children left and a husband that not even she knows where to what ever fate the community chooses.

Arriving back at the office i get another call, a man has drowned after falling from a bridge into a river. Racing to the scene my self and a photographer wait around to see if they pull up the body. They were still looking when we left the scene

.

Back at the office, coffee, smoke and check email.

When a fax comes across my desk that the body of a 2 year old boy was found badly burnt inside a plastic packet.

The story was that this boy went missing last Sunday. His father started looking for him the same day, but only called the police on Tuesday for help in the search. The Search and Rescue dog unit was called in to help. After day of looking and finding nothing they gave up for the day. But began the search again today. While searching a farm in the Patensie area their dogs found the body of the boy. Two people had been arrested in connection with the murder a 58 year old male and 54 year old female married couple are to appear in court on Friday.

That was my day, I hope tomorrow is as action packed