He is in the Wits S.A Institute of International Affairs auditorium where he is introduced to his young audience, by Sudeshan Reddy, National Information Officer of UN.  He takes in the sea of faces before him; 125 school children of every colour and discipline; united as one, in a non racial South Africa.  

Elly is on a tour of the country, as guest of the South African Holocaust and Genocide Foundation, The United Nations Information Centre, and SA Institute of International addressing school children, academics, NGO’s, museums, and members of the Diplomatic Corps.

Today’s talk, which Elly is well qualified to deliver, is, ‘Returning to Dachau after 65 years.’ As a Holocaust survivor, he was recently invited by the German Government to visit the mass grave site of dead inmates of Dachau. 

He begins, ““I am not here to tell you a tough story about survival, but rather to explain how vital it is to learn tolerance of others. Most humans are prejudiced against cultures different from their own.  But we must overcome in this type of ignorance. I will demonstrate how easily humans can create genocide, especially in difficult times; People can be hypnotised by a good speaking leader. I urge you all to be aware, and always vote against a Government that allows and encourages discrimination and hatred.  

It has never gone away – the nightmare of August 25th 1993.

This night was to be a celebratory occasion for Amy Biehl.  Friends were hosting her farewell party. Tomorrow she would return to her home in idyllic Newport Beach California, having completed her Fulbright Scholarship.

“I’ll drop you guys off at home.  “But I can’t stay,” she told three young African friends after enjoying her last collegial cup of coffee at the University of Cape Town (UCT)

“Gugulethu will only take a few minutes, just a detour on my way to the party.”

At 26 years, Amy’s future was an open book of promise.

In the biting twilight she shrugged off their protests and shoved the group into her little yellow Mazda.

Spirits were high and they sang as the car weaved along the N1 highway towards Gugelethu Township.

Back home Amy planned to complete her PHD on Sub Saharan Africa, focusing on active engagement with current issues, also, unbeknown to Amy, her boyfriend planned to propose marriage on her return.

Amy was that rarity; born 2nd of 4 children, an all round high achiever, beautiful, and brainy, popular, gifted and ambitious, all the attributes other girls can only dream of.

WAR CRIMES COURT / AMPUTEE CAMP / SEX SLAVE

The dusty Murraytown Amputee Camp transports one backwards to the aftermath of a nineteenth century war, to archaic medieval ferocity.

There are camps for polio survivors in Sierra Leone; there is a leprosy encampment. But, this, the limbless enclave of Sierra Leone is where survival is rawest. 

One or two people spend their nights on a bench; others lie unprotected on the dusty ground.  Tin sheeting weighed down with stones cover a few dotted sites. There is no running water, no electricity. Dust rises and chokes, it causes sand-clogged eyes to pour tears. In extreme heat survivors with at least one arm, fan themselves with large leaves. 

Residents are listless and lost. They have squatted here in this makeshift plot, (unofficially called Vulnerable People’s Camp) since 1999 when the MSF France group (Doctors Without Borders) formed the camp.   

Together with assistance from World Vision Food Programme, and a Catholic organisation that runs a primary school for child amputees, the 200 –or-so odd amputees have managed to subsist. Many of them have helpless family members living in the camp with them.

I asked to be put in prison. At the end of the day it made me a better person. I got a three year sentence. If I was still running from the law I would have hidden behind drugs. I would never have been able to talk about my rape and I would have died. 

The first thing I did on my way to the shelter home after prison was jump into the icy sea in Seapoint. I had to let the salt water wash the excess of Pollsmoor off me.

Finally I am free of the secrets of my past, of prison, of my inner demons. 

In an odd way the horrendous events of that night may have turned out to be a gift. 

It wasn’t my first brush with the law but it was definitely my last.  I absconded from a sentence passed several years ago when I was on drugs and I needed a fix.  Then it was petty theft.