Stoney

During the spring of 1981, common words used by many New Zealanders were apartheid (apartness in the Afrikaans language), politics and Rugby. The abhorrent apartheid policy of the incumbent Boer government of South Africa had to be stopped and along with many like minded Kiwis, he was going to force it to be abolished. They had to be wrong, how could they do such things to other people just because of their race. Very much like the differences in South African skin colour, it all appeared black and white to a 21 year old, far removed boy from Helensville.

Enter the South African international rugby team, the Springboks, the New Zealand rugby football union and a fair bit of Kiwi naivete. The stage was set to change history.

Rugby had never been one of his strengths and only vaguely stirred patriotic interest when the all-blacks occasionally won against Australia. So when attending the protests at Eden park on the 12^th of September 1981, he felt proud to rise above the dogma of the rugby unions, and to make his stand. Rugby was just a game, just like any other game and should not stand in support of something that seemed so damn unfair!

Violence erupted in a very public way and New Zealand society was polarized. Much of his family cooled on him for many years and he nearly lost his aviation career for his protest involvement. But he didn´t care as he felt that they had fought and won by sending a loud message back to South Africa and the rest of the world.

Apartheid was eventually gone, Mandela was let out of jail, the Africaaner government was slowly dismantled and South Africa had an apparent equality. A pleasing result for a young man taking life for granted while living in a comfortable and secure country.

During 1999 the New Zealand aviation industry was in a decline and after the very bitter and public demise of Ansett New Zealand, he found himself unemployed and forced to leave his beloved New Zealand to sign up with a Swiss Airline. Leaving his family at home with the intention that they would follow at a later date, he paved the way to Basel for a new life. An ex patriot life where he was to become, for the first time in his life, a foreigner and a minority with few rights.

New Zealand wasn't the only country with an aviation decline and he found himself on an induction course with many pilots from around the world. During the course of his training, he was paired with a large man called Stoney. An extraordinary series of events happened that would change his views forever.

Stoney was of similar age, had a family of similar age to his own, who were due to arrive in Switzerland at roughly the same time as his were too. It made sense that he and Stoney would rent a flat together until the families arrived some six months later. Stoney had similar beliefs and values to his, shared his sense of justice and even had much the same interests. A decent, respectful, though in theory unlikely, friendship developed. Like a pair of boy scouts their exploration and often shenanigans out and about in their new country earned each others mutual trust and respect, the friendship was cemented for life.

Stoney was the English nickname for his family name of Steenkamp, the Afrikaans word for Stone Man.

Yes Francois Steenkamp was a Boer, had lost his job, his house, his property and also a good friend who was murdered during a house robbery. And like many of those who spoke the Afrikaans language, he had lost his roots of some four hundred years and had little to return to. His own personal challenges paled into insignificance in comparison to Stoneys as Stoney had joined the rapidly growing Boer diaspora of South Africa.

Not all was well post apartheid!

It´s 6 AM, January 2000 in Basel, Switzerland and two pilot trainees are about to start their day.

¨Och man, I need a favour, but I´m a bit embarrassed to ask.¨
¨Sure mate, what can I do for ya?¨
¨Normally Sondrie, she shaves the back of my neck, but she is err well, not here, can you help?¨

I have absolutely no hesitation and am more than happy to offer my friend some assistance.
He produces a razor and shaving foam, sits backwards on a chair with his shirt rolled down from his shoulders and trustingly tilts his head forward. His moderately scarred skin reveals a previous uncomfortable puberty and I am also shocked at seeing such a large man up so close. Something I´m not used to but thats what friends do, right? Help each other. So I attempt to learn the skill of a Barber.

During this, bizarre and somewhat awkward moment in a cold little Swiss flat, my mind wanders back to 1981, back to my previous life in New Zealand and to the events that have led me to here. In Basel Switzerland unreservedly shaving the back of my new found, Africaaner friend´s neck.

How life can change.