Posts Tagged ‘Wayne Bisset’

Soldier of Fortune

November 13, 2017


It was in another lifetime many years ago……

We flew under the radar for a couple of years, then Soldier of Fortune published an article and the cat was out of the bag. Two years later the South African magazine, YOU, started publishing their articles.

You can read a first had view of these events in The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief I – The Angolan Mission.


Purchase a copy of The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief Series:

Email which copies you would like to purchase and we will send you an invoice and banking details. As soon as the bank reflects your payment we will sent the copies via your email. Price: R50. 00 each

RESIZED The Angolan Mission Cover

A short, rather amusing tale about the start of the world’s very first Private Military Company, Executive Outcomes. Told from an insider’s point of view. The country, Angola at the height of its three-decade long state of war.

The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief Series

November 8, 2017


Chronicles I

A short, rather amusing tale about the start of the world’s very first Private Military Company, Executive Outcomes. Told from an insider’s point of view. The country, Angola at the height of its three-decade long state of war.


Chronicles II

A story about falling into an abyss, and what it took to climb out that deep pit. It is story of hope, for the seemingly hopeless and more importantly, of how to break the chains that hold you. The chains come in many forms, the thickest being the one called addiction. Drugs and alcohol are the most obvious forms of addiction but addiction comes in many, many forms, and everyone has at least one.


Chronicles III

Falling back into the abyss, and finding a whole lot of new deeper black holes, not the least ugly and deceiving were the ones that had the label, “Christian” on them. Surviving those, only to be thrown in another snake pit that goes by the names of phycology. Becoming a Gypsy and beginning of the Gypsy lifestyle. Traveling from Johannesburg to the Cape, narrowly avoiding falling into yet another pit, the Cape Flats gangs after befriending one in the Government Rehabilitation center.


The Palala Mission

A true story about the frustrations, the lies and the corruption that surrounds the Rhino Anti-Poaching business. Written before the real crisis began, South Africa was losing only just over a 100 rhino a year at that stage. You will get some insights of why the poachers have been so successful over the years and why they can kill more than a thousand a year now. It is not a happy story, certain people in this tale are now infamous and had charges brought against them; for others, it is just business as usual.


Purchase a copy of The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief Series:

Email which copies you would like to purchase and we will send you an invoice and banking details. As soon as the bank reflects your payment we will sent the copies via your email. Price: R50. 00 each

Wayne Bisset’s Photo Gallery

August 21, 2017


Buy digital copies direct from the photographer… to purchase a copy.

Choose photograph  and send an order via email. You will receive the banking details and confirmation of order. Once the funds are transferred, you will receive your full size copy via email.

Price of digital copy of photographs is R150.00 ( All are in a large format but I have not the patience to write each one down here and now! Properties , size etc will be sent on inquiry.)


Nosce te ipsum


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Divine Alignment and Fulfillment

August 19, 2017



It was in another lifetime, many years ago, and I had two women in my life, one complicated and one complex. The complex one, she use to write long comments on my blog posts about my Strange Classrooms. She became one of my Strange Teachers. Here is an example:

Divine Alignment and Fulfillment

What would knowledge and intuition be without divine alignment? And divine fulfillment?

Divine alignment comes from God’s desire and purpose for a life and a union of beings.

This is one of those mysteries in life…which cannot be written all that much about, but fully experienced

It’s like nature. One can sketch nature, paint nature, photograph nature, study nature…write about it and all the beauty within it…but yet one cannot capture it in all its reality…its intricacies its subjectivity

We’re not meant to, I suppose.

The One who created… He is the reality of all His design…

And it seems He would go beyond sharing His design only…

He gives Himself

So, here we are, in the hands and genius of our Maker:

Regardless of my limited concept and understanding, I believe that a man is formed for God and from God and woman is formed for a man…from a man. A woman is an extension of a man, as man is an extension of God, divinely so but plainly stated.

One God, one man, one woman, one person.

It goes beyond reason! Beyond time. But works so perfectly, as was intended.

Your maker is your husband – Isaiah 54:5

If I were a designer, the most brilliant kind…with a most brilliant design and plan, the most exquisite functions and delicate buttons. I’d want my work to be enjoyed! Yes truly enjoyed! And used fully.

But I would be quite morbid if those I created everything for didn’t even recognize me, my true nature, and my reason for it all.

Nothing can be truly enjoyable without realizing God and allowing God, since it would be a distant enjoyment, it would be without His very Person.

If His Spirit is not acknowledged within and without, and between a man and a woman…however finely…there is no real alignment, no real substance.

Since we seem to be a combination of animal, human, and God at times…some things appear enjoyable from an animal angle.

But not for long…not for long…

Soon the animal is totally gone

The animal nature will be shed, like old skin…

We will be released into the full reality of that which we long for

That which we are:

God-men and God-women.

Happy Ending x x x

Nosce te ipsum

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The Cripple Doctor

August 6, 2017

Peace Dove neon

It was in another lifetime, many years ago. Quite by chance I had fallen into the company of doctors and nurses from Baragwanath hospital. Some were interesting and some bloody scary. The one woman, a paediatrician caught my attention. She was a tiny lady and confined to a wheel chair. That she became a doctor fascinated me, not only because of her handicap but because she was about my age, so became a doctor in the now infamous “Apartheid Era.”

After listening to here at a few of our usual breakfast meetings and the fact that she also had a love for wildlife I had a conversation with her. It turned out to be a very interesting one at that.

Her legs were useless because of a childhood episode of polio; she told me at the time, people like her were not given the best of treatment, if any at all. As a doctor she believes that if not under the apartheid system she would have not been reduced to a cripple in a wheel chair. It was known within this group that I had serve in the SADF, some did not like me much, but because my main friend in this group was the head of a big unit at Bara, they tolerated me.  A few of them had brothers, and I mean blood brothers, that had joined and fought for Umkhonto weSizwe including the lady doctor. So we got around to that subject and in my normal straight forward way I asked her if she worked for them too. What she replied is a lesson for us all.

It was not in her nature to be a violent person, or even support violence in any way, one of the reasons she became a fine doctor. The main driving force behind her conviction, diligence and hard work was her basic idea and belief. She believed that although as a child she did not get the help she needed, by becoming a doctor and a paediatrician in particular, she would be able to see that other children would not suffer the same fate as she.

With her intellect this woman would have being a huge asset to  Umkhonto weSizwe , she had been approached by them, her brothers  definite would have encouraged her.  Her choice, she told me, was not to kill or cripple others, but to do what she could to insure their health.

I have forgotten the ladies name, but when ever my thoughts turn to extreme violence ( which is pretty often with all the White Genocide and Farm Murders going on ) I think of this woman.

She is a far better person than I.

Nosce te ipsum

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An Ex-JW in the SADF IV

August 3, 2017

Puffy head r


Back in camp we had to go to this place called Lataba Ranch every now and then, the Bats have Die Brug, at 7 SAI we had Lataba. It is situated in or right next to the world famous Kruger National Park and is an absolutely beautiful part of the world, if you are a tourist. I had never been in the Kruger before, so loving the bush as much as I do this was great… not. Those PF’s tried to kill me in that place! The first time I went was with Oscar Company and we were all Motarmen or Storm Pioneers. Here we learned our trade, in between getting those ridiculous opfoks all the time.  I was under the impression that opfoks were a necessary evil of good army training, since then I have spoken to a lot of Rhodesian men, they tell me that they did not get the same type of shit in their army. A lot of PT yes, but not the kind that we did, those that joined the SADF later were unimpressed. As some of the guys were Rhodesian SAS, Selous Scouts and Rhodesian Light Infantry, it is impossible to say anything bad about their fighting skills and effectiveness as soldiers.

One night, in the pitch black I heard my name been called in a squeaky whisper, as we were all bedded down talking was forbidden, someone was going to get me in kak! The guy got louder and eventually a corporal came to see what was going on. All of a sudden torches were lit up and a lot of loud talking was going on. Now I heard the corporal yell, “Bisset, waar is jy!?” Ah shit, i knew no good could come of this, no matter what “this” was. I replied and the Corporal, in a rather panicky voice AND in English asked, not ordered me to go to him. The classic “ Come to I”, that some of the Afrikaners used to mistakenly say when they bothered to speak English.

The situation was:

One guy, Squeaky Voice, had woken up and found a strange elongated lump in his sleeping bag with him. Now this was presumed to be a snake, plenty of those at Lataba, along with all sorts of other dangerous critters. This lump was short and fat, must be a Puff Adder, sleeping right across his stomach. The reason I was been sort out was, I was known as the snake expert in the camp. When we got lectures on snakebite, they were so outdated that it ended up that Pink Vark made me give them rather than the Medic or the Doctor. If you kept venomous snakes, as I did, it is prudent to be up to date on such matters. To this day if I get bitten the last person I would consult is a common Medical Doctor. (Short Story on them here:  Snake Bite! )

In one of the books I had studied they had a solution for just this problem, so I was thinking, “No problem.” What is suggested is that you put blankets on the victim; the snake gets too warm and leaves on its own accord. Bloody books! That did not work and the victim was getting all excited and more and more afraid, to the extent that his whole body was shaking. I feared that the snake was going to bite him, so time for Plan B, made up on the spot. First we would, carefully unzip the sleeping bag, to reveal his shoulders; two guys would get their hands under his arms. Another two guys would grab the bottom of the bag. On three all would pull as fast as possible, I would dive the Puff Adder.

May not have been the best plan but the best I could think of at the time. They pulled I dived and came up with a rolled up T-shirt.


Nosce te ipsum

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An Ex-JW in the SADF III

August 2, 2017

Tracy and me 3

I met my girl at that bus stop and we walked back up to Hillbrow, my favourite place to sit in the day time was the Cafe Wien.  Now Hillbrow was a very different place to any other in South Africa at that time. The only foreigners like Italians and Frenchmen I had ever seen was here, the only mixed race couples sitting openly together, you would see here. With Wits University close with the HQ of the End Conscription Campaign and all sorts of other radicals that supported the terrorist ANC, the reaction to my uniform was mixed, my civvie clothes were all locked up at my friend’s place.  From Phalaborwa to Pretoria while hitching, everyone loved me, not here. But as the USA General Mattis pointed out, radical liberals are a bunch of pussies, so they would just give me dirty looks, but nothing more.  Quite right, as a soft well fed civilian, you DO NOT want to pick on a young guy that is well into his Infantry training and on leave.

We had a lot to discuss, her mother had decided to move to East London, and Tracy was telling her that she would not go. At this stage of her training at Woolworths she was transferred to Kempton Park. We decided on that day that she would get a flat in that town and we would live together. She would not tell her mom about that! In those days, 1983, in South Africa at least, living with a woman/man without the sanctity of marriage was a huge sin. In later years I found out I was pretty famous or infamous in 7 SAI, for being the only guy that “lived in sin” with his girlfriend.  Early that evening Tracy got on the last bus to Germiston, I would not see her again on this pass, so I just went drinking. I now had a rather pretty, if somewhat naught sponsor at that dingy pub I told you about.

Back to the base and waited for my next pass, lots of afkak and plenty of opfoks, especially with my big mouth. Generally I was accepted in this new brotherhood, as I could shoot just as straight as any Boer and seemed to have a knack when it came to weapons, any weapons;  ran the 2.4 neither too fast nor too slow and could be relied on to pull my weight.   Letters came and went, Tracy’s mom had moved and she had rented a flat right above her place of work, she sent me the address.

The time came and I hit the road again, hitching to Kempton Park and my new home. Back then on all of my passes I seldom waited more than 15/20 minutes before I was picked up. I arrive in Kempton Park before Woolworths closed and went there to see my girl and get the keys to the flat. That done I went and bought some necessities, beer, a bottle of Red Heart Rum, some bubble bath and a bottle of Baby Oil, oh yes, and two White Owl cigars.

The tiny flat consisted of one room, a bathroom and a kitchen; it had a single bed, a rug, some curtains, two pots and some cutlery in it.  Obviously her mom was pissed off and did not help her much. What with my father and her mother it was us against the world, but young, romantic and in love at the time, we were happy with that.

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An Ex- JW in the SADF Part II

August 1, 2017



So there I was, getting by rather well all things considered.  My girlfriend was sending me long letters , the type that only a lovesick 19 year old girl can, and the most amazing pakkies too. She was a trainee manager at Woolworths, and got a huge staff discount on all merchandise. My parcels from her were full of goodies to eat. Then for good measure my mom would sending me pakkies,  also with goodies to eat but also an added extra.  I had heard that I would not be getting any alcohol during basic training, and even at that age I was a heavy drinker, by anybodies standards. I put a lot of thought into this problem and came up with a solution.  I got my mom in on this plan, she would send me a BIG bottle of shampoo and another of Conditioner. Only my long suffering mother, I have always being, just a little bit… naughty, would replace the contents with whiskey.  I have always wondered why the men that checked the parcels never caught on to this, only reason I can think of is that they were too busy skimming a chocolate or some biltong to actually CHECK the parcels.

No need to go into what else happened in those long 6 weeks or so we waited to get pass. The day came and we were set free for 4 days! As I had only my army pay I could not afford a bus ticket so hitched “home”. I was welcomed at my girlfriend’s house by all, two sisters and her mom, her dad has passed away a few months before.  Did all the normal things on pass but on the second day, early hours of the morning, the mom woke up and found me in the wrong bed. Vat jou goed en trek Ferreira. Mother shouting, girlfriend and older sister crying I was put on the pavement with all my worldly goods. A friend from school picked me up and I could stay at his parent’s house for the rest of my pass. While there I organized to spend the next pass with another friend that lived in Hillbrow.

Back to 7 SAI, lots of letters and parcels, the ones from the girlfriend were not too cheerful; her mother banned her from ever seeing me again.  Did second phase and went on pass again.  Problem was the first night my friend was not at home, no idea when he would be back. I called my girl and organized that she take off work and meet me in Johannesburg the next morning. She worked with her mother at Woolworths at that stage so needed some real maneuvering , but she said she would. I then went and sat in the bar of a seedy hotel in the Brow. When all else fails, go drinking, I think sitting in uniform in a bar was illegal, but even the MP’s would not go into the hotel I was at. Long story why I knew this place, short version, had an uncle that was a mercenary and he hung out here.  He was not about but the people knew I was related to him and the uniform helped a lot.

So there I was, minding my own business, drinking whiskey, the cheaper kind, and thinking about life when an older woman came and sat by me. Older as in she must have been at least 26! Quite a pretty lady actually, she commented that she was waiting for her brother and would I mind if she sat with me. No problem. A while later a chap came in and she left with him, I was now drinking beer as my money was not a large amount and I had the whole pass to live through on it. The lady came back a little later and asked if she could join me again, she then bought me a drink, Chivas if I recall correctly. We spoke about what it was like in the army, where I was from and why I was in this bar. Another man came up and she excused herself and left with him. On her return she told me, “I am sure you know by now what I am.” I told her I had sort of worked it out. She then bought me more drinks and told me her long sad story, we spent the whole night drinking and talking, she left now and then to attend to business. In the early hours I caught a few sitting up naps, that we learn to do in the army, and the next morning I set out for Johannesburg bus station, I was going to see my girl! ……..

Nosce te ipsum

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Nosce te ipsum

View the Mexican Horse Thief’s Page

Short Story


An Ex-Jehovah’s Witness in the SADF

July 30, 2017

Wayne Bisset


I doubt if I am unique in this regard but most certainly I am unusual. In the day the government allowed for conscientious objectors, if you were a good little Jehovah’s Witness boy, the Elders of your congregation would supply a letter to the SADF, stating that you were a fine upstanding member of the Congregation to which you belonged. Armed with this that boy would get sent to Military Prison for 3 years, issued with a blue overall and some army boots. The “good” thing the Elders tried to convince you of is, you would receive no criminal record.

Already at school the JW boys were excused from doing Cadets and shooting. Most of them took a lot of flack because of this, were at best called cowards. Already from Std 6 I was a bit of a different little JW, I could and would fight if picked on, for one thing. As I grew up in this religion I was always just a JW, but by the age of 11 I hated religion already, I could not agree with what I was being taught to believe. At 16, that is when we got our call up papers I had already decided this DB thing was not for me. I did not discuss this with my father, he would have tried to beat the crap out of me.

The day came when we HAD to discuss this problem, by then I was refusing to attend the 3 meetings a week, would NOT go on Field Service any more, you know that knocking on doors selling the WatchTower and Awake? I hated it as a young child, as an older child it was terrifying. I always dreaded knocking on a door of one of my school friends parents one day, they would inform my father of my other life, partying, drinking and fighting!

My father gave an ultimatum:  If I went into the army he would kick me out of the house. It was not even his house! He had already got rid of my mother, she was excommunicated for the sin of smoking  cigarettes and married a rich JW lady. We had moved into her house less than a year ago. My mind was made up, no religion and no DB, so I packed my few things and took them to my girlfriend’s house. Her mother said that when I got leave I could stay with them. That done, the final thing my father did was condescend to take me to the place a train was waiting for me, to go on a little adventure, staring in the amazing holiday camp in Phalaborwa, called  7 SAI. He did not contact me except for one letter, months later, asking me to come back to “THE TRUTH”, JW’s always call it the truth in caps. I did not bother to reply.

Too young and naive to keep my JW past a secret, I had a little bit of trouble about it while doing Basic Training.  First problem I encountered was this marching thing, as I had never marched a step in my life before, no Cadets remember? How the hell was I to know you always take off on your left foot??? Yes, drill was a bloody nightmare at first, commands not in my home language did not help.

Then the thing about religion came up with the issue of Dog Tags. I told the man I had no religion. Boy, did this cause kak!  Everybody apparently HAD to have a religion. I stuck to my guns, no religion, end result; they would not issue me with Dog Tags, never ever received or wore those things.  The teasing and bulling about the JW background ended the same way as it did at school, I did mention I could fight?

Over the next two years I faced a few other problems because of this stupid religion but that is another story, for another time.

The funny thing is I took to this soldiering thing like a duck to water and went back to it a few time in my life.


Nosce te ipsum

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A Pink Pig and the SADF

July 28, 2017

Ear damage

Seems you come across some of those people that obtained high enough rank to indulge in their sadistic ways. Above and beyond the hard training that was necessary they would enjoy making your life more that miserable. The CO of my first company, Oscar, was such a person. A Captain, we just called him Pink Vark.

One thing he did that sticks in my mind was:

We had just come back from an opfok in the veld, we had been at it since just after breakfast, in the heat of the Phalaborwa sun. At 10am it was customary for us to get a firebucket of ice cold, if rather weak mix, of Oros. The cold drink was in a huge coffee urn, half filled with ice and stood on a table before our barracks. There we stood in formation on the tar road, waiting to line up for this luxury. Pink Vark decided that we were too kak sleg to deserve the cold drink and upturned that urn in the road. I remember clearly watching the ice blocks melt in the extreme heat.  Enough to make a grown man cry.

Because the guys from Oscar were all trained as Support Group type soldiers medics, mortarists and Storm Pioneers, we transferred to other Companies when we completed our speciality course. I was bloody happy because I thought I was rid of this Pink Vark at last. No such luck. Oscar was now no more and Pink Vark was given Alpha Company to run. No prize on guessing which Company I ended up in.

Pink Vark had this Audi that was his pride and joy, one fine day he walked out to find that someone had left deep scratches all along the side of his beloved car. The whole of Alpha Company was assembled, even the chefs! Pink Vark demanded that the culprit confess his guilt. That was not going to happen, so he decided that we would get an opfok until the culprit     either gave himself up or his mates pimped on him. There we went, Staaldak, webbing and geweer, plus a few poles make things more interesting. About an hour or so later one of the poles landed on the culprit’s head, we all knew who had done the dastardly deed. He was knocked out cold, needed a few stitches in the side of his head and was taken to the sickbay. Always knew those ridiculous Staaldaks were worth Jack Shit. Over the next few hours, a lot more ended up in the sick bay, heatstroke mainly. Pink Vark was not allowing us a water break. The RSM noticed that the sickbay was filling up rapidly and came to see what was what. Steenekamp was the most highly decorated NCO in the army, a very hard man, but fair as well. He saw the state the surviving members of Alpha was in and called an end to the opfok.

The training that we were giving stabbed old Pink Vark in the back, we were a TEAM, stuck together no matter what; and definitely did NOT give one of our own over to the enemy.  He never found out who ruined his precious Audi’s paintwork.


Pink Vark – Pink Pig

Opfok – Punishment PT

Kak – Shit

Sleg – Bad

Staaldak – Steel Helmet

Geweer – Rifle or Gun

Nosce te ipsum

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