Surviving the evil of corruption

WHAT was supposed to be a short business trip to Equatorial Guinea turned into a journey to the depths of hell.

Black Beach, located on Bioko island off the mainland of Equatorial Guinea, is one of the world’s most feared prisons, notorious for its brutality and inhumane conditions.

In 2013, South African businessman Daniel Janse van Rensburg set off to the West African country to finalise a legitimate airline contract with a local politician.

Within days, Daniel was arrested by the local Rapid Intervention Force and detained without trial in the island’s infamous “Guantanamo” cells, and was later taken to Black Beach.

This is his remarkable story of survival over nearly two years, made possible by his unwavering faith and the humanity of a few fellow inmates.

In this thrilling first-person narrative, Daniel relives his ordeal, describing the harrowing conditions in the prison, his extraordinary experiences there, and his ceaseless hope to return to South Africa and be reunited with his family.

A story of courage in the face of overwhelming adversity, Black Beach demonstrates the strength of the human spirit and the toll injustice takes on ordinary people who fall foul of the powerful and corrupt.

EXTRACT

I Will Fear No Evil

Black Beach Prison, Malabo 18 December 2013

Reality beckons as I hear the taunts of the crowd shaking the fence. How long has it been? Seconds? Minutes? Did I black out? I look down at my hands, turning them over. Yes, this is real, I can see the mark from my wedding band, reminding me of home, of Melanie, my love, my soul mate. I am real. This is real.

With a start, I realise that the guard and his companions are all standing outside the vehicle and he’s yelling at me to get out. I force myself back to the present, gathering my thoughts as I climb out, leaning heavily against the car, my legs buckling as I slowly make my way back from oblivion. I square my shoulders, preparing to face my new reality. I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. I know that what lies ahead will test me, test my strength, my courage, my faith. I have no choice but to face it. No way out but through. I’ve made a solemn vow to find my way back to Melanie, whatever it takes. God is with me, and Melanie is waiting. She is my world, my everything, my reason for living. Without her, my life has no meaning.

I’m steered towards the guard hut. By now the bush telegraph has spread the news of my arrival and the courtyard is brimming with hordes of prisoners clamouring and shaking the fence, yelling, “Blanco, blanco, blanco!” I’m shocked to see how many are crammed into this space, women and children too – how is this possible? What kind of wretched hell-hole have I arrived at?

The guard escorting me lurches unsteadily, almost falling off his feet and dragging me with him.

He chuckles and burps loudly as he leads me towards the guard hut and out of sight of the prisoners. I can still hear them shouting with excitement and anticipation, like hounds clamouring for fresh meat.

More guards are waiting at the prison entrance and seem confused by my appearance. Clearly, I am an unexpected guest, and deciding what to do about it is way above their pay grade. They ignore me, and after a lengthy discussion in Fang, one of them disappears inside. I hear him making a call, trying to figure out what’s to be done. They’re not watching me, so I look around and quickly realise that I won’t get very far if I try to make a run for it.

Down in the yard, the prisoners are still at it: “Blanco, blanco, blanco!” The monotonous chanting works on my nerves as I wrestle with my emotions, struggling to subdue the rage building up inside me. Was it only this morning that I stood at the entrance to the aircraft that was to take me home to be reunited with my family for Christmas? I should be somewhere in the jet stream over Africa right now, and yet here I am, still stuck in Malabo, what feels like a million miles away from home.

How can one man have wreaked such havoc in my life? How much more do I have to endure? Surely this can’t go on? I have to get home to Melanie.

First on the agenda is staying alive. It’s not over for me yet; I’m not going down without a fight.

Melanie needs me and I need her. Frustration fuels my anger. Angabi has crossed the line and cannot be allowed to win. Even if I have to find my way out of here and wade into the forbidding grey waters between Bioko island and mainland Africa and swim my way to Cameroon, I’ll do it, if that’s what it takes.

A last glimmer of sunlight breaks through a small gap in the clouds. For an instant, it hangs suspended above the sparkling waters of the Atlantic, casting a shimmering iridescence over the ocean, then abruptly disappears below the horizon. It’s just a moment, but it’s all I need to calm the turmoil in my mind and silence the rage building inside me. Is God sending me a reminder that I am not alone? At this moment, I feel He is with me.

I know that physically I can cope with what comes next; I am fit and healthy, recovered from my bout of malaria, my body resilient, but to survive whatever lies ahead means that I cannot give in to the rage building up inside me. Everything will be okay as long as I don’t let these people get to me. I know that my biggest challenge will be controlling the impulse to fight back, and I must make sure that I don’t react to the inevitable provocation coming my way. I must ignore the taunts and insults and stay focused and clear-headed. I cannot allow the rage lying beneath the surface to rise. I cannot allow it to take over. I must control my emotions. My years in boarding school taught me that those with rank or power often thrive on belittling others, and fighting back only spurs them on. I must stay calm and protect myself.

The guard reappears, beckoning me and my escort inside the hut. It’s dimly lit, a decaying space, everything grey with neglect. A few lopsided chairs are scattered around and there’s a desk at one end. A small light bulb hangs from the ceiling, flickering as it sways from side to side. They’re still debating what to do with me and I wonder just how high up the chain of command they’ll have to go to get answers. It seems as though no one told them that I would be brought here today, and if that’s the case then the fact that I am here at all can hardly be legitimate. Surely there are procedures? Even the fact that the guard appeared in civilian clothing in his private vehicle suddenly takes on a more sinister undertone. It’s clear to me that, once again, the powerful elite, somehow sanctioned by the judge, are behind this latest unscheduled stop on my itinerary.

Through the thin walls of the hut, I hear the monotonous chanting – the prisoners haven’t gone away and don’t seem to care how long it takes for the main event. I turn my focus inwards, drowning them out, wondering how long I spent in the detention cells at the Palacio de Justicia without trial or being convicted of any crime. Now my fate is being determined by a couple of low-level prison guards in an insignificant, anonymous hut at the entrance to one of the world’s most notorious prisons. I try to fit the pieces of this puzzle together. No matter which way I look at it, nothing fits.

Except for one piece: Angabi. How did it come to this?

I hear the crunch of tyres on the gravel outside as a vehicle pulls up. The engine shuts off, a car door creaks open and slams shut, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps heading our way. The door crashes open, windows rattle, and instantly the tension rises as a man in military fatigues barges in.

His autocratic manner and the star insignia on a red shoulder band tell me everything I need to know – this is their superior officer, most likely the warden, and he’s on the warpath. He is short and stocky, and judging by the considerable paunch hanging over his belt, he has a taste for the good life.

The guards avoid making eye contact as he scans the room until his gaze narrows, settling on me, his contempt evident. I take the measure of this man, glaring back, not willing to cower before him even though I’m about to bear the brunt of his discontent. I know his type, and quickly realise that it’s going to take everything I have not to sink to his level or retaliate. I’ve encountered people like him at boarding school. Bullies. Oppressors. Sadistic bastards who get a kick out of controlling others.

Abusing others purely to feed their ego.

For him, this is going to be a game. I take a deep breath and vow not to let him win. I must control the rage brewing inside me; I don’t want to do anything that I won’t live to regret. Bring it on, I think.

I’ve made an enemy by my mere existence. Someone higher up in the food chain must have summoned him here to deal with me, and he is clearly not happy about it. Quite frankly, neither am I.

¡ Black Beach is published by Penguin

Random House and retails at R320.