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In a disturbing vision I see masses fleeing. I hear a voice deeply troubled. It cries:  “Oh, Africa-Kush, where shall I find words to describe you?”  With no good works performed. Oh Cain-Kush, you remain just a farce forever. With your continent trampled to a filthy hamlet. You are never lifted from your self-destruction.

In a terrifying vision, I see South Africa’s decline in every respect. With vengeance in hatred directed at the Boer. A deep sigh escapes from this volk. I hear how heaven chastises them with words. She asks: Where are your brave heroes, your pure blood in your bones and in your Divine marrow? Oh, why do you allow others to trample and strangle you? Look, I send you as a sign, the weak resistance in an army now just another farce.

In a determined vision I see the Boer walking forward over a new, strongly built bridge, with his eyes now fixed on his Heavenly Father. I see how angels light the way for the sealed ones. I see masses fleeing under the spirit of terror. I see the judgment angel of pestilence and famine doing his duty. Yes, heaven no longer holds back her long-promised Divine judgment. She brings an end to Cain-Kush, the water carrier and woodcutter, as monstrosity farce.