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I see a single wheat sheaf. I hear a Voice calling: There is only one volk that will inherit it. I see the word, WAR, carved in blood on global city walls. I know for certain that unprecedented numbers are going to die.

I see the Boer feeling the pressure now reaching to his skin. I see, next to bullets, carved biltong as food for a journey.  I see his humour lives, despite everything draining him. I see their provisions already stored. Their password is: We are finished roaming. I see them standing clean, without the beast’s mark.

I hear them calling: We are ready and prepared for everything. I hear another one calling: Come what may, whatever it may take. To our last drop of blood we will fight for our rights. I see the young ones kindly joking with each other again. Yes, the young generation becomes very keen on each other again.

I see the Boer, over centuries, he has now really finished roaming.  His path now leads to the top of Mount Sion. I see the cuckoo-cock, again crowing as king in the Boer’s yard. Yes, I see the single wheat sheaf and I know for certain, God will never disinherit His beloved volk.