It is freezing cold in the early hours of Saturday morning, yet I am sweating under my bullet proof vest. I am nervous and weirdly excited at the same time.
Standing in a loading yard in the warehouse of a national electronics supplier outside Johannesburg, I am listening intently. My attention is focused on Brandon Alexander and what he is saying we need to do if we come under attack. This is not a game, he says.
“If the trucks come under fire from looters or they [the looters] turn on us, you get out of the car, get to the back and stay down until I say otherwise.”
Alexander is director of Uni-Trak, a company providing armed security escorts to trucks travelling across SA.
We are preparing to head out on the N3, which was shut down for a week after a deadly wave of violence swept KwaZulu-Natal and Gauteng, leaving more than 200 dead and thousands of people terrorised.
The violence erupted 10 days ago, after the incarceration of former president Jacob Zuma for contempt of court.
Within 24 hours of the highway, known as the “Corridor of Chaos” by SA’s trucking fraternity, opening on Friday, nearly 4,000 trucks carrying mostly food and other essential items had travelled between Johannesburg and Durban.
As Alexander briefs photographer Sebabatso “Sebs” Mosamo and me, the driver of the truck which we are to escort arrives.
Alexander chats to him, coordinating how they are going to travel, where they will stop and places where there could be trouble.
As I stand in the cold sipping strong coffee, I do a mental check: said goodbye to my wife and cat, yes; switched off the house lights, yes; packed breakfast and snacks, yes; helmet and mask packed, yes; lunch, no ... damn it.
Alexander returns telling us we are ready to ride.
As I get into the car, moving out of the way of a 12-gauge shotgun I have nicknamed Daisy and which is among Alexander’s multiple weapons for the day, I wonder what the hell I am doing there.
Am I crazy? Probably.
But it’s part of a larger story that needs to be told: how an orchestrated campaign of terror was used to bring SA’s busiest highway, which, according to the Road Freight Association, sees R3bn worth of goods ferried daily between Johannesburg and Durban, to a grinding halt, endangering the livelihoods of millions and causing untold economic hardship.
Alexander, continuing his briefing as we drive out towards the N3, warns that while the chances of an attack on the truck we are escorting is unlikely, the potential is always there.
“You will see an army of security vehicles on the road with us. Some will be marked, others will be unmarked. For every two trucks on the road, there is one security escort. Given the number of trucks out there I think that there will be about 2,000 of us [security vehicles] out there today. There will literally be an army of security vehicles.”
He is not exaggerating.
As we drive onto the N1 towards the N3, dozens of truck convoys can be seen forming, security vehicles swarming around them. The sight is mind-blowing.
Our truck makes it way into the sea of vehicles in front of us, which are all travelling towards Durban as fast as possible.
The urgency is palpable.
“We may or may not stop,” says Alexander. “It all depends on what the situation is.”
As we pull in behind our truck, Alexander’s cellphone lights up, pinging incessantly with messages from security groups.
“So far it is all systems go. We will carry on getting them. Every one of us (security details) are the eyes and ears of everyone on the road today.”
As we head out of Johannesburg I quickly notice the lack of police.
“It is worrying,” says Alexander when I ask him about it as we head towards the Heidelberg weighbridge.
We spot four police vehicles. The next we will see will be nearly two hours later after we pass through Harrismith. They will turn out to be a handful.
I am worried.
Alexander says given what has happened there should be dozens of police vehicles on the road, including military personnel.
The SANDF, which the country was told would be out in full force, is nowhere to be seen.
As we navigate Van Reenen’s Pass, hundreds of trucks, whose convoys have joined up, can be seen straining under their loads as they slowly inch closer to Durban.
Sebs and I wonder what the drivers must be thinking, especially as they near Mooi River toll plaza, where the majority of the destroyed trucks were targeted last week.
I am again feeling nervous. I realise that though there is relative calm in the area, things still feel very tense.
We pass the remnants of burnt tyres and blackened tar. People loiter on a footbridge watching the traffic.
I am nervous. It feels as if we are crossing an invisible line. Drivers suddenly seem to be driving very defensively, with their vehicles travelling faster and the convoys seemingly bigger.
As we head into Durban I wonder what will we see? Will it be the apocalyptic scenes as if those on the news channels?
As we travel into the industrial area of Isipingo — the trucks’ destination — we come across multiple civilian manned roadblocks, some barricaded with razor wire, others with cut down trees, wooden pallets and spiked chains.
Everyone is carrying arms, from semi-automatic rifles to handguns and batons.
I thought Gauteng was rough, but this is insane.
Petrol station attendants tell us we can only get half a tank of fuel. Those manning roadblocks say we cannot pass through their area to get fuel as it is only for residents and we, with a GP number plate, are “foreign”.
We get stopped at one blockade and asked who we are, why we are there and where we are going.
We turn around.
We eventually find a petrol station willing to give us a full tank before going to the harbour to see what is happening.
Swaziland truck driver Poleck Fakudze, who talks to us, says he is petrified. “You South Africans are mad. You always want to destroy beautiful things. You have good roads, yet you burn trucks on them.
“I left on Friday for Durban harbour. I didn’t know if I would make it. I was scared I was going to be burnt alive.”
He said throughout the journey his family kept phoning to ask where he was and if he was OK.
“I am worried about what will happen on the way home. I don’t think this violence has ended.”
His words leave me cold.
At Alexander’s family home in Pinetown, where we stop for excellent curry, we talk about what’s happened.
I am left with a surreal feeling. Outside and a few hills away people are openly carrying arms, stopping people and searching vehicles.
Where the hell are the police and the army?
That we are to return to Joburg at night, knowing there are few, if any, police on the road, and definitely no soldiers, scares me.
This is not normal.
As we drive along darkened sections of the highway through Estcourt, where Zuma is imprisoned, I have this eerie feeling of how much danger we all still face.
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