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Dammed and busted
Orgonite team runs into trouble
It was meant to be another Orgonise Africa expedition like many before… only bigger and better:
The Great Zambezi Orgonite Expedition No 2.
In 2007, I had ‘gifted’ the Zambezi along the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe for about 600 km. Now we wanted to follow this great African river further; down to the sea, all the way through Mozambique – and even connect from the delta to Vilankulos, where my previous ocean-gifting acivities had reached so far. The previous Zambezi expedition had already produced wonderful results; namely increased rainfalls in Southern Zambia and Northern Zimbabwe. Together with the recent gifting of lake Malawi, we hoped to achieve a real breakthrough with this expedition. Water gifting on a large scale has the potential to energetically ‘liberate’ whole regions – and when I mean regions, I’m talking large parts of subcontinents like Southern Africa, not just a few counties in a small European country. I’m talking of thousands of ‘Towerbusters’ distributed over thousands of kilometres of waterways. The immediate visible effects are not as dramatic as the massive gifting of deathforce transmitters (misnamed ‘cellphone towers’ or ‘radar installations’). Nevertheless, they are profound and long lasting. Water is the main ingredient of life; a carrier of information. Increasing attention is paid by the worldwide alternative research community to water’s ability to store emotional information (see the well-publicised work of Masaru Emoto or the recent DVD: Water – the Great Mystery, available at www.waterthemovie.co.za). The Zambezi is one of the truly great rivers of Africa, the third most important one after the Nile, and the Congo. The Zambezi region in Mozambique has seen much of the atrocious fighting of a decade long drawn out civil war and much subsequent suffering and trauma. What could be a more suitable feature to gift in order to uplift the energy of this country? The planned route by boat: Cahora Bassa, down the Zambezi and along the coast to Vilanculos. The satanic pentagram over Zimbabwe. A few months before our departure, Francie, one of the psychics that regularly participate in the chat on www.etheicwarriors.com, identified the above satanic pentagram as a figure installed by ritual black magic in order to hold Zimbabwe down energetically. Two of the end points of this slightly distorted pentagram were within reach of our expedition, and we were happy to include them in our target list. One was near the small settlement Mecossa on the way from the Gorongosa National Park to Tete, the other near the Luangwa confluence with the Zambezi; the Western boundary of Lake Cahora Bassa.
The preparations for this trip were thorough and expensive. I bought a new boat with two engines in very good condition and a lot of new safari equipment. I had custom-made fuel tanks manufactured for the boat, in order to be able to store a maximum amount of fuel for the long trips we were to make between possible refuelling points. The longest I figured would be from Marromeu on the Zambezi to Beira; approximately 340 km. There were many uncertainties to contend with and not a lot of information available. This part of the world is not a tourist area…
Getting there was hard. The unspeakably bad roads of Mozambique were shredding the boat trailer to pieces – we lost a wheel after Vilanculos and were delayed for many hours, driving back to source new wheel bearings. Luckily, the axle was undamaged. This happened many more times before we reached the Cahora Bassa Dam. When we reached the Dam after 5 days of travelling, we were proud of the obstacles we had overcome so far, but also aware that there was marked resistance to the success of the trip. Was this black magic etheric resistance or just bad luck; an oversight in my preparation? After a day of preparing the boat we took it out for a first test drive, which went well. We were quite happy with its performance, so we prepared for the great day of the big trip to Zumbo, on the other end of the lake, and back. Driving up and down to Songo to get more petrol, packing camping stuff and Orgonite on the boat filled the rest of the day. We felt we were ready and set our alarm for early next morning in order to be moving by first sunlight. The boat was in the water by 6am, but we found that it was totally overloaded and, with that weight, we could not get it up to speed – instead of about 40 km/h we were only moving at 10-12. We had to decide quickly. The solution, not easy but necessary, was that only Tino and I would do this trip and the others would remain at the camp. We also reduced the camping gear and food supply. Finally, Tino and I were up-and-running, and in a good mood… the weather was great, almost no wind, and the water very calm. When we reached the large open water after about 40 km, one of the engines started to behave strangely, gradually losing power. We stopped to take a look. It took us hours to take the carburettor apart, clean and reassemble it, but there was no marked improvement. In fact, the engine would not start again at all. Finally, we puttered back using one engine, at a speed of just 10km/h. Our comrades looked on with big, disappointed eyes to see us back so early and without having accomplished much. At least we had laid out a string of TBs over the 40 km we had travelled; dropping one into the river approximately every 1000m. The next day was spent further dismantling that fateful engine with the help of Gary and Steven, two friendly people who were working nearby. We ended the day thinking that there was something wrong with the ignition coils.
Forcing it: The Fateful Trip on the Pontoon Ferry
I guess this should have been the point of going home after so many warning signs and obstacles; just a few too many to be ignored. I would not accept defeat, as it would not only mean breaking-up the expedition, but also writing-off so much time and money that we had invested. When would I next be able to repeat this and get this far? When would I be able to again gather a team of four? Since we had mastered the previous obstacles quite well, I was willing to push the envelope.
Lake Cahora Bassa – The distance from the dam wall at Songo to Zumbo is about 240km.
The Cahora Bassa Dam wall – a national monument
While we were quite depressed about the problem with the boat, (was it sabotage?), we heard that a weekly pontoon ferry was making the trip to Zumbo, and so we decided to use that for gifting the lake. The plan was born that Carlos, Tino and Prophet would do the trip on the ferry, while I would stay behind and push for the boat to get fixed in the meantime. If I could get the boat back in shape, we would at least salvage the objective of gifting lake Cahora Bassa and accomplish the greater part, or all of, the original mission. The ferry was a pathetic contraption – basically, a rusty platform atop of welded-together oil drums with a shaggy-looking corrugated iron roof on top. It was driven by the type old diesel engine used for a water pump, with a moving speed of about 10-11 km/h tops. The trip to Zumbo by ferry would take three days, and another three on top of that if my friends could not find an alternative way of returning.
So the morning they left on the ferry (Wednesday 15th April), I got myself busy with the boat engine immediately. Luis, the resident mechanic of the fishing lodge where we stayed, had already stripped the engine and we soon found that the pistons were burnt and the piston rings had seized. How was that possible on an almost brand-new engine? The other engine was fed from the same petrol supply through a water filter and had brought us home safely, so it could not have been an omission to put 2-stroke oil into one of the petrol tanks. It would have inevitably killed both engines. I cannot exclude the possibility of sabotage. Trying to find spare parts was a nightmare – it turned out that these engines were so new that the dealers did not stock spare pistons, as nobody expected anything to go wrong with them. Luis, an experienced ‘bush mechanic’ and a really nice guy, too, had a friend who could weld aluminium, so we tried to fill the holes in the pistons with welding material and then filed them down to the correct shape. This wasn’t 100% successful, but it looked promising. In the meantime, I had made 2 new friends – Neil and Caroline – who were operating a fishing rig with cooling room on lake Cahora Bassa. They offered to lend me an engine for the rest of trip, and we brought it to the lodge ready to fit to my boat the next day. I noticed a group of soldiers lingering around the parking lot. Undeterred, I decided to invite Neil, Caroline and Gary to have dinner at Songo town as a ‘thank you’ for their generous help. We all went back to the lodge to dress up a little for the evening. On the road to Songo, we were suddenly stopped by a group of soldiers and plain-clothed police. They gesticulated wildly while wielding their AK47 rifles in a menacing way, shouting, “Back to lodge, back to lodge!” It soon turned out that they were only interested in me and not in my companions. I already knew then that this was related to our gifting activity in some way, but tried to stay calm and collected.
The soldiers and policemen followed us to the lodge, where we parked the car and went to the restaurant/bar. We were asked to wait there for further instructions. My new friends asked if I had done anything wrong, so I set out to explain what I was doing with the Orgonite (I had been a bit discreet about the mission before) and that we had previously experienced similar problems in Zimbabwe. Nick, the manager of the Ugezi Tiger lodge had seen the Orgonite before and knew that it was harmless. The police conveyed to Nick via one of the Portuguese-speaking employees that I was not allowed to move the car or leave the lodge. Senior police officers would arrive the next day to talk to me. The following day, around seven important-looking people arrived in a convoy of vehicles. Among them was a ‘Commander Jorge’, the police commander of the Cahora Bassa area, and two guys who introduced themselves as belonging to ‘counterintelligence’. I knew then that I was in trouble. They told me that my friends had been observed throwing things into the lake from the ferry and asked if I could say anything about that. I proceeded to show them a few Towerbusters, explaining what they were and why we threw them into the lake. After a while of looking at the TBs they became a bit friendlier, but in a way not really to be trusted. They finally departed, saying I should inform them when my friends were back from the ferry trip, as they wanted to talk to them as well. Is it worth mentioning that I bought a bottle of wine and paid for a few other drinks for the officers in a futile attempt to ingratiate myself and dispel the menacing atmosphere? It later became clear that this had been orchestrated much higher up – there was never an opening to bribe or charm our way out of it. This had been set-up to punish and frighten us from deep inside the security jungle, and Commander Jorge and his men were only pawns in the game.
When Tino, Prophet and Carlos came back from their arduous tour-de-force, exhausted, tired and dirty, they hardly found the time change their dirty clothes or take a shower, let alone sit down and relax, when a whole convoy of police, soldiers, and security people already arrived at the lodge. They had obviously been monitored all the way. After a short and still civil talk around the table, we were asked in a firm but still polite way to settle our bills at the lodge and pack up our car and follow them to the police station. The packing was supervised by armed police and military. At the police station we were asked into the Commander’s office for an interview. All this was still polite and based on our voluntary cooperation. No warrant of arrest was ever produced. We repeated our truthful explanation of the purpose of our trip and the nature of the Orgonite. I also asked them to check out my website www.orgoniseafrica.com for confirmation that this activity was on public record and told them about my book Operation Paradise. I did not have the feeling they were too interested… somehow their minds were already ‘set’ in a different way, and, at the end of the interview, we were escorted to the neighbouring prison – a converted garage. Significantly, Commander Jorge advised the officer who escorted us, “No beating, no torture”. I guess that means it has to be said in order for these things not to take place. The scene enfolding in the dim light was weird to say the least. The open space of the garage was populated by prisoners mostly lingering around an open cooking fire, all eyes directed at us. We were of course anxious and afraid of what was waiting for us...
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