IMPORTANT: S.African Troops defeated & humiliated in the Congo – They Abandoned expensive military equipment!

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[This is something that was doing the rounds among Whites here in South Africa. This seems to be pretty legitimate. Jan]

What is amazing is this message that they abandoned a lot of very expensive equipment:

The Sandf Left behing equipment worth USD 150 million
o 2 x Rooivalk helicopters
o 5x G5 Guns
o Vehicles
o Weapons
o Radios
o Etc etc etc

SOUTH AFRICA SOLDIERS HUMILIATED: nsubuga reporting !!!

At exactly midday, Central African Time, a convoy of MONUSCO buses carrying approximately 300 South African soldiers crossed into Rwanda. Their departure from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) was not a victory march. It was a quiet, carefully managed retreat—what many in Goma called a “walk of shame.”

These were the same soldiers deployed under the Southern African Development Community (SADC) mission to fight against M23 rebels. But now, defeated and withdrawn, they were being escorted out of enemy territory—not by their own military command, not by MONUSCO, but by the very forces they had once fought. Rwanda and M23 had taken full control of their exit, ensuring their safety but also dictating the terms of their humiliation.

A Painfully Slow Departure

For over two hours, the soldiers remained trapped inside their buses at the congested border. The glass windows, tinted and reinforced with protective caging, ensured no one could see their faces, but it also meant they were baking in the heat. The buses had no air conditioning, and the Rwandan sun was merciless. Sweat trickled down their faces, soaking their uniforms and civilian clothes.

They sat in silence. There were no conversations, no visible emotions—just quiet resignation. Some fanned themselves with scraps of paper, others simply endured. Every now and then, a soldier shifted uncomfortably, trying to get a bit of fresh air through the tiny gaps in the windows.

The border itself was a scene of frustration. Civilians trying to cross in either direction were caught in the chaos, forced to wait for hours as the soldiers’ handover was meticulously handled. Angry mutterings spread among travelers. Some sneered as they realized who was on the buses.

“These are the ones who came to fight? And now look at them, being escorted out like prisoners,” one Congolese man spat, watching from a distance.

Outside, Rwandan security forces and immigration officers were in full control. Every aspect of the process was choreographed to perfection. The border officials remained tight-lipped, offering no explanations, no room for speculation.

The Walk of Shame

Finally, the order came. One by one, the soldiers stepped off the buses, carrying their belongings. There was no formation, no military discipline—just a sluggish, defeated procession.

Some wore their full combat gear, but others had shed their uniforms, perhaps in an attempt to appear as civilians. The female soldiers, in particular, stood out. A significant number of them had abandoned their fatigues in favor of civilian clothes, but that did not stop the murmurs. Observers noted a peculiar trend—many of them were young, light-skinned, and noticeably short. More than a dozen appeared visibly pregnant, further fueling speculation that their time in Congo had been more than just combat duty.

Each soldier had to pass through a health checkpoint, where they washed their hands, sanitized, and had their temperatures checked. The process was clinical, thorough—but it also carried an unmistakable symbolism.

“It’s like they are being disinfected,” one border official was heard whispering.

Their bags were searched, every item inspected. Some tried to avoid eye contact with the Rwandan officers, others just stared straight ahead, their faces blank. The contrast was stark—these were soldiers who had arrived in the DRC as warriors, sent to enforce peace. Now, they were defeated, withdrawn, and processed like refugees.

Meanwhile, on the Congolese side of the border, the mood was electric. Residents gathered in clusters, watching intently, some whispering to each other, others openly celebrating. Many tried to take photos and videos, but security forces were quick to intercept them. Even journalists were not spared.

One reporter, caught clandestinely filming, had his phone confiscated. The footage was deleted on the spot. Yet, determined to capture history, he managed to take a few images from a hidden vantage point.

A Rwandan officer approached him and quietly said:“We understand your frustration, but this is an order from above. It was a highly negotiated diplomatic arrangement. We were given instructions, and we are enforcing them.”

The reporter nodded, knowing there was no room for defiance.

A Ghostly Journey Through Rwanda

With the processing completed, the soldiers were led back onto their buses. Their next destination: Kigali International Airport, over 200 kilometers away.

Sources confirm that the airport had already been secured in preparation for their arrival. The convoy, under heavy military escort, moved swiftly but discreetly, avoiding any unnecessary attention. No roadside spectators, no media coverage—just a silent, ghostly journey through Rwanda’s smooth, meandering roads.

Inside the buses, the humiliation was almost tangible. The soldiers, exhausted and drenched in sweat, remained slumped in their seats. Some had closed their eyes, either asleep or lost in thought. Others stared blankly out of the windows, watching the well-maintained Rwandan highways pass by—a stark contrast to the disorder and chaos they had left behind in the DRC.

One soldier, unable to hold back his frustration, muttered:

“I never thought it would end like this.” His comrade beside him simply sighed.

Back in South Africa: Heroes or Humiliated?

The South African government had already prepared a hero’s welcome for the returning troops. Official statements framed their withdrawal as a strategic redeployment rather than a defeat. But behind closed doors, reality told a different story.

The images of their secretive, humiliating departure would never be published. No journalist had been allowed to capture their exit, and no soldier had been given a chance to speak. In South Africa, the public would hear only what their leaders wanted them to hear—a narrative of professionalism, bravery, and duty fulfilled.

Yet, for those who had witnessed their departure firsthand—the slow, silent walk of shame at the Rwandan border—the truth would not be so easily forgotten.

As one Congolese merchant watching the convoy murmured:

“Kagame is a very good man. Just look at how he treats these countries, saving them from misery, yet they won’t stop fighting him.”

The operation was complete. The soldiers would soon be in the air, flying home. But the echoes of their defeat, their humiliation, their quiet surrender—those would linger long after their boots touched South African soil.

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