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In a wild trajectory there are few who know and even less who understand. The holy place lies trampled, the Boer is defeated. In a country in decay, in future nobody makes an honest living anymore. The wild beast has risen. Yes, in Raca who cannot blush or be ashamed.

The drums suddenly began to beat ominously. The fighters stood around the fire, bloodthirsty.  In the dark moon, a maiden was beaten to death in a ritual. It escaped one king until it was too late, another king was more important. Anarchy rose, wide and bloodthirsty, and the blame was no longer on the Boer.

With no electricity or water in the tap, foreigners lie killed in heaps. Then the Boer is threatened to quickly stand closer as ally. But in the big decay, everyone begins to hit and kick wildly at each other, unorganized. The last grain went out of the silos speedily.      

With no feed to go to the chickens and the livestock, meat was also soon finished in Africa. The big drought went destructively over large parts of Africa. The West, also in need, did not help with grain. Death hit wildly at multitudes. In the wild, uncontrolled madness, there was still few that could know and even less understood all of this.