The blacksmith and the Legion by thadeusz

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My name is Don Van der Valk. When this adventure started I was living with my father on his estate in South Africa.

I have never been a good student: I was already one year behind when I started 12th grade. At the end of highschool, I did not get my diploma. My father wanted me to repeat my last year in order to have the necessary credits, but I did no longer want to go and sit in school with other boys and girls who would be two years younger. I was tired of my school uniform and I wanted more action. My friend Djibril said jokingly that my white head was not good enough to have this diploma, but that his black head was obviously much better.

My father suggested that I learned to become a blacksmith: he needed one on his estate. I started to learn with an actual blacksmith who lived in the nearest township: his eldest son, Djibril, was a good friend of mine at school. One day a horse made a nasty movement and with his hind leg this animal nearly killed my trainer, the actual blacksmith. He was not deterred by this, for him it was a "normal incident which he had foreseen". I thought that it was a dangerous trade with little adventures. Therefore I decided to do something else.

Djibril suggested that we should enlist together in the Army, which we did. We were rather proud to be accepted in the infantry. Both of us got an initial 2 year contract, despite the fact that we wanted to stay much longer.

The day we arrived, we had to first undress, get a good shower: apparently some of the recruits were not as clean as we used to be. After that came the dreadful moment, the headshave. But we were ready for that. Djibril had elegant dreadlocks. He had dyed parts of his hair in order to create a great and nice contrast between his dark skin and his haircut. I simply had blond hair falling down to my shoulders. I had attached them in my back with a little cord in order to be able to work without any problem. The haircut, the colour of the skin were the only differences between Djibril and I, if you ignore the fact that my friend was one year younger and had his high school diploma.

We were all marched to the barber hall. Remember that we were now, after the shower, in our undies. The only new apparel were plastic white clogs. When Djibril sat on the executioner chair, I mean the barber chair, he looked pale. The barber was, as we expected, a Black man. He was a fat corporal who spoke as such to Djibril:
"Recruit, do you really want to create on your head a rainbow haircut to obey Mandela’s command that our nation be a rainbow nation", and he started to laugh while Djibril tried to acknowledge.
"Listen Recruit", went on the Barber, "you are now in the military and the army needs uniformity and not rainbows".
The barber took then his clippers, cordless Osters if I remember well, and started to give a good haircut to my friend with a #0 guard. He passed several times all over Djibril’s head. That left my friend with a nice buzz cut. The problem, as far as the Corporal was concerned, was that there were still blond and red zones next to dark zones.
"It won’t work", said the Barber. "I must start again."
He took off his #0 guard and shaved again my poor friend without any guard. He liked that better but was not satisfied yet. So he took an old fashioned razor, like the one my grandfather used, put some water (but no foam) on Djibril’s head and started to shave everything, stubbles included. I could see that it was painful for my friend who made several grimaces but did not utter one single word.

After this piece of artwork, the Corporal called me. I sat in his chair with my long blond mane. I think I was very pale at that moment, afraid of having the same treatment as my friend. The Corporal cut the little cord which kept my hair together. He then took his scissors and cut my mane in such a way that my hair were approximately at the same level as my ears. He then took his clippers with a #0 guard and started to plow my mane, first through the center, then on the left, followed by the right. He finished his job very rapidly on the neck and sides. Finally he stopped and told me:
"You are a good guy, you have excellent hair whitey Recruit."

I placed my hand on my head and felt … exactly what I expected : a very very very short buzz cut. But there were still more than stubbles. On my friend’s head, there was nothing left: just his skin. Luckily, Djibril was of the "always pleased" kind. He simply said: "This was necessary and the Barber did a good job."

After that we received our kit and, dressed as proud SA African soldiers must be, we started training. After six months we both graduated from Basic training and were sent, together, to an infantry camp in the North of our beloved country.

We knew that it would be difficult to stay in the Army: they only kept the best soldiers. We behaved as well as we could and I think that I was evaluated as the best Private of the team, Djibril was second best. But he got a second contract, this time a 5 year contract. I got nothing, they only gave me a certificate of good military behaviour and told me to leave the Army at the end of my initial 2 years. I did not understand why, but Djibril came with an explanation:
"That’s because you don’t have your highschool diploma."

This seemed bizarre since during my two years of service, this highschool certificate had never been mentioned, nor any high school knowledge. So I went to our Lieutenant and asked him why I had not been retained: was this highschool diploma business Djibril mentioned a good guess ?
Our chief, Lieutenant Matshikiza seemed very embarrassed and finally told me:
"Listen private Van der Valk, you are an excellent soldier, but you are white. The percentage of white soldiers is for the time being much higher than the percentage of white people in our country. The government has decided to correct this situation, even if it means that they don’t keep the best soldiers."
I was stunned because I, at least, had never made a difference between a black person and a white person. I could not say anything, luckily Lieutenant Matshikiza reluctantly continued:
"If you like military life as much as I think you do, you should go to France and join the French Foreign Legion."

I had a very high opinion of my Lieutenant and I followed his advice. As soon as I was released from my military obligations in my own country, I left South Africa and went to France. My father did not like the idea, so he warned me:
"It’s OK, you need to go and prove to yourself that you are a good soldier. But don’t remain there for more than the bare minimum."
"Father, the minimum contract is five years, non negotiable."
"OK, you go to France for five years, but then you come back since I need you here, my boy."

I left for France and enlisted in the French Foreign Legion in Paris. I was then shipped from Paris to Aubagne, a small city near Marseille. I realized there that it was not easy to be accepted in the Legion.

The first thing that happened to me when I arrived in Aubagne, was a change of name: I was told that as of that instant I was Daren Vokaard and that I was one year older than I actually was. I obeyed this order as part of the induction process.

There were several tests and after that a very long interview with an officer. During this interview an officer grilled me. He asked me why I wanted to join. So I told him that I had been in the South African Army and that I had learned to like this regimented and well regulated life. I gave him many details about my involvement in South African military life until he asked why I did not stay there, despite the fact that he seemed to know the answer. In any case, I replied:
"Sir, I am a white man and as such they don’t want to keep me because the proportion of white soldiers is too great. They gave me a certificate saying that I am a good soldier but that they cannot keep me, without giving the details. But I was told by my officer that I could join the Legion because I like the hard military life which I cannot have in my own country. I like discipline and I like to obey without hesitation to orders given by a superior."
"Would you like to respect a very strict discipline ?"
"Of course, Sir. I am ready to obey all forms of discipline provided I am in uniform and serving a country which respects all its citizens."
That was enough, I was selected as future Legionnaire.

I was then taken to the barber, with the other selected boys. This one was not as kind as my barber in South Africa during my first induction. He made me sit. He was rather brutal. He took clippers with cord and started to shave completely my head without guard. The fact that my hair was already short did not interest him: he simply did his job. But he knew how I felt: he was also a Legionnaire. He got hold of my head with one hand and pushed it in several directions in order to shave everything. He did not say a word during this process: he could have told me to anticipate his requirements and to move my head in one direction or to turn it in another, but he did not do that. He simply pushed or turned my head in the direction he wanted, without saying a word and acting rather brutally. I assumed then that it was another test, so I obeyed silently. In fact, he was taking his revenge for his own complete head shave. At the end, when the barber made a sign to show me he was done, I got up from that chair and passed my hand on my head: there was nothing left, just like when the Barber gave his induction shaving with a razor to Djibril. Well, this was probably another sign of obedience.

After the Barber, we got our kit. This included the very precious White Kepi which we would wear one day if we passed the first steps of Basic training. For the time being, it was confined in a plastic bag.

There were 35 of us for this intake and we were separated in three groups. Our group of 35 recruits would be helped by a new legionnaire who had worked very well during his own instruction. This Legionnaire was called "corporal fut fut", not a real corporal but no longer a recruit.

Training started in a desolate place called "the farm". Life there was really very uncomfortable and very hard. There were three rooms, or better three halls. In each of them, there were 14 bunks serving as beds. The bunks were perpendicular to the walls, facing each other, 7 on one side and 7 on the other. Behind the bunks, there were shelves. We had to place our kit on our portion of the shelves, and everything had to be perfectly cleaned and ironed. Next to my bunk, on my left, there was a young Dutch, Maurits, who had never been in the military. On my right, there was a Brazilian guy named Carlos. He was slightly older than I was. He was also an ex-Army chap like me.

One day, Maurits decided that the exercise the Lieutenant had foreseen for this day was too difficult for him. He went into hiding to avoid it. The Sergeant found him and the Lieutenant placed him under arrest. Orders came rapidly from the regiment: this poor guy was sent to the regimental brig for 40 days. The Lieutenant explained that after these days in the brig, this candidate legionnaire would be expelled with a certificate saying "expelled because he refused to obey an order". This would be the end of his military career. The Lieutenant added that during the first 6 months, each of us had the right to leave the Legion without penalty, but that he had to say so to the officer in charge.

After three weeks of this rigorous training, I felt homesick, but my friend Carlos convinced me to stay and finish this gruesome training: at least I would have gained my White Kepi and the title of Legionnaire. I stayed and one week later we started the famous Kepi Blanc (White Kepi) March.

I did well during this dreadful Kepi Blanc March. It meant walking with all our kit, plus our rifle, for 60 km during two days. We had in our bag not only our kit, but also a half tent to be able to sleep at night. I shared mine with Carlos’ half tent. On top of this we had our heavy rifle. I did not only finish the March, but I succeeded to help another friend of mine, Peter, an American, who without my help would not have reached the finish line. That was the moment when we knew we were real Legionnaires.

The next day, we were told to dress in ceremony uniforms. Each of us had carefully shaved his head. In fact, Peter had brought clippers with him and at night he shaved my head and Carlos’ head before shaving himself. I must say that he was much kinder than the induction Corporal !

We paraded in front of the Colonel and stopped in formation. The Colonel gave us a short speech which I did not understand because of my poor knowledge of French. He then gave us the order to wear from now on our White Kepi and I, as best legionnaire of the group, had the honor to recite the legionnaire’s Oath. I was at that time really elated and happy: I was one of the best ones, a Legionnaire with the five years contract I did not get in my home country.

We had a drink after that with the NCOs and the officers. Our Lieutenant told me that I was a good soldier and that I should try to continue behaving as well as I had done until then. He promised me a splendid career in the Legion.

Of course the fact that I was Legionnaire Daren Vokaard and not using my real name puzzled me a bit, but I heard that it was the price to pay for the honor which was bestowed on me with this White Kepi.

We still had three months of training without communication with the rest of the world, but we now had more comfortable rooms and better food. Everything got better and life was smoother. Among other things, we now had access to the company bar, which was cheap. I started to drink beer and wondered what my very religious father would say if he knew that !

During these three months I felt homesick and I asked once the Lieutenant if I could just call home. The Lieutenant replied: "Communications with the outside world are forbidden. That would amount to going civil. That would be forever. Is that what you really want ? Wait till the end of Instruction, you will then be able to call your relatives and even to quit the Legion if you so desire."
Striving to be a good Legionnaire, I obeyed this order and forgot all about that call.

At the end of the 4 months of instruction, there was a short evaluation and I came out first. A Polish Legionnaire, named (in the Legion) Andrezj, was second. Carlos was third. My friend Peter was only fifth. I had now decided to quit the Legion, but I had worked hard in order to be able to quit with a clean slate.

The Colonel had another idea for me. He wanted me as a "corporal fut fut". He told me:
"Vokaard, you are an excellent Legionnaire with a bright future in this institution. I send you as a ‘fut fut’ for the next group going to the farm for instruction. After two such groups, and if you work well, you will be sent to the real corporal course. As soon as you have your stripes, you will be sent to the regiment you hoped to join."
"Fut fut" meant that I was to remain as simple Legionnaire with the recruits, but not exactly behaving as they did: I was there to help them adjust to their new life, I was a sort of Corporal without the exact rank.

I did not like it, but it was another order, I didn't really like playing corporal before completely learning my job, but I had to obey. So I accepted: what else could I have done ?

Carlos was sent where I had hoped to be sent : 2 REI but he had asked for 2 REP, the paratrooper regiment of the Legion. He was denied this request without reasons. Carlos was sent to 1 REG and not 3 REI, in Guiana, as he had hoped. The Lieutenant, who had started as simple Legionnaire, explained us what happened:
"My boys, that’s Legion life. You don’t choose your regiment, the Legion chooses where you belong. And it will be the same for all your future activities in our beloved Legion."

I remained in 4 RE to help with the initial instruction. This second instruction was tiresome and I realized that the tyranny of the real young corporals was not exactly what I expected. So when I came back from this second 4 months period, I told the man who was now my officer that I wanted to quit, but to quit legally thanks to the "probationary period". This officer, who had never been a real Legionnaire, replied simply that I had been in the Legion for more than 8 months, which was a longer period than the 6 months foreseen as "probationary period". He added with a sadistic smile:
"Vokaard you are in the legion now, and for good. DISMISS ."
I was furious, I had completely forgotten that the probationary period was only 6 months long, but I realized that, once again, it was an order. I thus chose to obey. Obedience was my main vocation, but I was furious.

I was now ready to start with my second group of fresh recruits. I was still furious and I started to behave exactly in the same way as the sadistic young corporals had behaved with me. I must admit that I was even worse and that I really brutalize the young men I was supposed to help. As a consequence, many of them decided to quit legally the Legion or to desert.

At the end of this second period of 4 months, I had to appear in front of the Colonel. This officer told me that I had been too brutal with the recruits. He added:
"Vokaard, you did not do your job properly. I cannot send you now to the stage corporal: you might remain brutal. We are first going to observe you carefully. I send you thus to 2 REP as a plain legionnaire, because you did not behave in a sensible way. You will soon realize that 2 REP discipline is a very strict one ! This super strict discipline might help you become again the good legionnaire you were during your own instruction."

I was furious because of their lies, but I could do nothing. So I obeyed and let them lead me as simple Legionnaire to a regiment where I did not want to go, not even as Corporal.

I was further trained during 2 months and specialized for 2 REP. I became a certified paratrooper and I was assigned to the mountain company. There I realized the importance of having short hair when you have to wear a paratrooper cask: from then on I always kept a very short buzz cut, hoping it would not stop the girls.

In 2 REP, at first, I was treated especially severely. The Master Corporal kept repeating: "In the Legion, we don’t like guys who try to brutalize recruits without purpose, or to avenge themselves because they have been stupid." And it was true that I had been stupid, forgetting about the 6 months period to go away legally. This severity had a special purpose: force me to calm down.

It took 1 year and 2 months in the 2 REP before my chiefs decided that I was really calm. I was called once for a Colonel report. I appeared in front of the big chief of the 2 REP, anxious and slightly frightened: usually when you were called there it was to be punished. This Colonel told me then that he considered that I was again the good legionnaire who had been described by the Colonel of the training regiment when he sent me as fut fut. "It is thus possible now", said this Colonel, "to send you to the Corporal course. You missed a good opportunity !"
I was in the Legion for 2 years and 4 months and I had hoped to be allowed to quit after 6 months !

As a Corporal, I had many activities with my regiment. We were deployed twice in Africa. I also spent several watch periods in the streets of big cities threatened by terrorists (but I have never seen any). It is during that period that my Lieutenant suggested that I asked to get my real name back, but that created a problem: I needed a paper from my hometown certifying my real identity and my father refused to get it for me. He was still angry because of my long stay in the Legion.

After 4 years and 3 months of service, the Colonel suggested that I should go to the Sergeant course. I first accepted this interesting offer, but the Colonel told me that I had to sign an additional 3 years contract. That was too much for me: I remembered that I had promised to my father that I would be back after 5 years. So I refused the Colonel offer.
"In that case", said the Colonel, "you are going to be demoted and you will end your present contract as Legionnaire 1st class, the lowest possible rank. Moreover I will make sure that you have many chores and punishments during the remaining 9 months of your present contract. At the end of this contract, you will not have your good behaviour certificate. This implies that you will immediately be expelled from France."

I already had friends in France and especially Linda, my girlfriend who also lived in Corsica. I thus signed this additional contract.

I had hoped to start my Sergeant training as soon as possible: it was probably more fun to be an NCO than to be a lowly Corporal. But there was an itch: my company was sent to Africa for a special mission which lasted for 4 months. It was great to be fighting in the desert, but it was a serious delay for my next training. When I came back, I learned that the Sergeant course could not be organized immediately, it started later and lasted for 4 months. As a consequence, I became a Sergeant and received my new Kepi, a black one, only 2 months AFTER the end of my initial contract ! Nevertheless my girlfriend was happy as everything and on the day when I came back, she assaulted me while making love, probably with as much energy as the enemy had used trying to kill me (and some others).

My Colonel was satisfied with my behaviour while facing the enemy and during the Sergeant course, but he made me notice that I had to serve for 3 years after actually becoming Sergeant. Since my training had been delayed, I had to sign another 3 years contract, or spend the two years and many months remaining on my present contract as Legionnaire 1st Class. He advised me to decide quickly, mentioning the fact that as Legionnaire 1st Class, I would not be allowed to get married, nor have much free time, nor become a French citizen, etc. It would also mean that at the end of my present contract I could be expelled from France; and thus be far from Linda.

I signed, following my Colonel "kind" advice, another 3 years contract, which brought me to an 11 years obligation !

The next day, I learned that my father was dead and that on his deathbed, he had disinherited me because he considered that I had left South Africa so long ago and was thus no longer a real member of the family.

Linda, that’s my girlfriend, convinced me to become French, to marry her and to stay forever in the legion living a good life with her in Corsica.

I immediately went to the Colonel and applied for an additional 5 years contract and for a permission to get married. I got my real name back and did everything Linda wanted. I don’t regret it.

I thus spent my whole career in the Army but not in the Army of my own country. I remained a Legionnaire. I was never able to rise above the rank of Master Sergeant, which is not too bad if you want to raise a family. It is nevertheless risky since if I do something the Colonel does not approve of, he can immediately reduce me to Legionnaire 1st Class in a jiffy, without having to explain his good reasons.

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