SOME MEMORIES are better than some - just like some dreams are better than some, and one of my memories that is not as pleasant as others took place in Soweto on November 25, 1998 on the eve of the first Test between the West Indies and South Africa in Johannesburg. It was on that day, almost on the stroke of midday that Pat Rousseau - the then president of the West Indies Cricket Board - his wife Hester, a chaperone from the United Cricket Board of South Africa, Wally Miller, and I were held up and robbed at gunpoint at the Soweto Cricket Oval.
What were we doing in Soweto on the eve of a Test match? Well, here is the story.
On the morning in question I went to breakfast with Rousseau who had arrived in Johannesburg the previous night. We talked for a while and then Rousseau asked me what I was doing for the day.
I told him that when I arrived in Johannesburg two days earlier on Wednesday, I had called Dr Ali Bacher and told him that I was in town, he asked me what I wanted to do before the Test match, and having been there in 1991 when it was being talked about and knowing that I would not be back in Johannesburg after the Test match, I told him I would like to go to Soweto to look at the cricket club.
Bacher had said OK, he would send a car and a driver to take me there on Friday - which was the day in question - and Rousseau then said to me, "Well, you can come with us then because we are going there this morning. The UCB is sending a car and a driver for us," meaning himself and Hester.
I called Ali and told him not to bother with the car and driver as I would be going with Pat, and off we went.
With Pat sitting in the front of the car with the chaperone and me sitting in the back with Hester, we turned into Soweto, and the chaperone said quietly, "Make sure your doors are locked".
took photographs
I asked him why, and he said, " We are entering Soweto". That did not mean a thing to us - certainly not until after about 40 minutes when we had finished looking around, taking some photographs, and were returning to the car.
This time, Hester and I werein the front talking - she on the left, I on the right and Pat and Wally were behind us talking. Suddenly I did not hear them. I said something to Pat, he did not answer, and when I turned to look over my right shoulder, I was looking straight into the barrel of a gun.
I was never so frightened in my life. The guy, a young boy, came in front of me, said something, and then, gesticulated for us to go down.
We went down on our stomachs on the asphalt hot by the midday sun, and when he said something, and they started to strip us of money, cellphones, jewellery, camera and whatever they could find, that was when I knew that it was not one but three persons.
kicked
When I thought I was dead, however, was when he said something and when - because certainly not Pat, not Hester, nor I understand the language - we did not respond, he kicked me on my left shoulder, backed away and cocked the gun.
The sound was deadly but he did not fire; instead he signalled, with his left hand, for us to get up.
That was when I realised that all three had guns.
They then marched us into the clubhouse, lined us up against a wall, and for the second time, I thought we were dead. They did not shoot us and they obviously did not kill us. They simply asked a question, the chaperone answered, they took the keys of the car from him, and then backed away to the car, got in, and drove away.
We stood there for about 10 minutes with not one of us saying a word.
After about half an hour, a police car raced into the compound, two officers jumped out of the vehicle, ran to us, asked what happened, and then they ran back to the car and drove away.
By then, people had gathered outside the ground looking at us, and after half an hour or so, another police vehicle came and this time the policemen took us to the Moroka Police Station where we were kept for a long time until a news item on television reported that the West Indies Board president and his party was attacked by gunmen in Soweto and somebody came and asked us if we were thatparty.
When we told him that, yes, we were that party, they got busy on the telephone and soon we were out of there and back in our hotel at the Sandton Sun Inter Continental Hotel where the police later came and took statements.
I do not know if Rousseau heard anything more about it after that afternoon. But for a doctor offering counsel, I certainly never heard another word about the incident.
One thing puzzled us about the incident: when we got to the cricket ground, there was a woman on the premises - a woman to whom we said hello and asked a few questions. We never did see her again - not even after the gunmen had fled the scene.
When we got back to the hotel, Pat and I decided we were going to call home to let them know what had happened before they heard it on the news and the arrangement was that whoever got through first was to ask his home to call the other home and let them know what had happened.
When I got through to my wife, Celia, at her office, I told her what had happened and asked her to call Pat's home and tell them what had happened. Celia said yes, she would, and asked for the number. She did not say another word.
Two minutes, one minute after that, however, the phone in my room rang, and when I picked it up, it was Celia, my dear wife, at the other end, shouting, "Tony, Tony, what did you say happened to you a while ago?"
Souvenirs - A Reservoir of Memories is on sale at all Sangster's Book Stores.
ŠTony Becca, 2007
