"I can tell you everything," he said, and he wasn't kidding. Outside a Thai restaurant in 2019, Ben remembers a winter's night from 1990 and tells me what he saw.
TRIGGER WARNING. If anything comes up for you while listening to this episode, there are plenty of resources at MyOnlyStory.org. Please, please talk to someone. If you're in South Africa, you can always, always phone SADAG on 0800 456 789. You deserve to be heard.
My Only Story is written & narrated by Deon Wiggett and produced by Alison Pope.
2019–2022 ©My Only Story NPC. All Rights Reserved.
"I can tell you everything," he said, and he wasn't kidding. Outside a Thai restaurant in 2019, Ben remembers a winter's night from 1990 and tells me what he saw.
TRIGGER WARNING. If anything comes up for you while listening to this episode, there are plenty of resources at MyOnlyStory.org. Please, please talk to someone. If you're in South Africa, you can always, always phone SADAG on 0800 456 789. You deserve to be heard.
My Only Story is written & narrated by Deon Wiggett and produced by Alison Pope.
2019–2022 ©My Only Story NPC. All Rights Reserved.
MY ONLY STORY – EPISODE 3
“FOR ALL WE KNOW”
My Only Story is a serial. This is episode 3 already. Start with episode 1 and then work your way here. This is a trigger warning. This podcast deals with mature themes. And parental guidance is empathically advised.
Previously, on My Only Story …One of the men from Grey College has responded to my message; one of the boys I tracked down from a yearbook picture. This guy has a bunch of questions for me. ‘Who is this man you’re talking about?’ ‘Why are you doing this?’ ‘Who are you working with?’ ‘What’s your interest in the story?’ I answer all his questions, on the other end of the line, it’s gone quiet. Finally, I say, ‘Um, you do know what I’m talking about, right?’ He answers straight away: ‘Of course I know what you’re talking about. What do you want to know? I can tell you everything.
I’m Deon Wiggett and this is My Only Story, a podcast and a live investigation.
[THEME MUSIC AND OPENING MONTAGE]
ACT 1
SCENE: Deon makes progress
It is July 2019, and in Johannesburg, winter has come. I am in my loft, and the trees around me have gone. Well, their leaves have gone, and suddenly from my desk I can see my neighbours’ house. They’re a married couple, a man and a woman, and they keep themselves to themselves, but seeing their home makes me feel more exposed anyway. Not as exposed as Jimmy though.
Lately, things haven’t been going his way. Down in Cape Town, where Jimmy is, Table Mountain in July is a deep and spectacular green for the first time in many years. Cape Town, or the Mother City, gets its rain when Antarctic cold fronts make landfall in winter. That stopped happening for a number of years, and Cape Town almost ran out of water entirely. But in 2019 the city has recovered from the Drought;
Weather woman: we do have a cold front moving over as we speak with rain in the mother city and also the Western part of the Western Cape but, unlike most Capetonians, Jimmy isn’t feeling relief.
Weather woman: later today we are expecting another cold front to make landfall
This weekend morning, in July 2019, he has just received a message from his friend Ned. It Weather woman: now the second front is going to be a big front says that someone named Deon Wiggett has been asking him questions, and he thinks
maybe it’s about Jimmy.
Weather woman: and that will bring cooling not only to the Cape Provinces but later this week also to Central South Africa and even Gauteng.
If Jimmy was afraid on that winter’s morning, he had good reason. If he knew the things I was finding out about his career at Grey College, he wouldn’t be pleased at all. He would be most concerned about my new friend Ben. He is one of those Grey boys in a black-and-white yearbook picture and he saw the whole thing happen, saw it all, and now he wants to help. I’ll be in his neck of the woods soon, so we agree to have coffee when I’m there.
SCENE Deon meets Ben
Ben gave me the name of a Thai restaurant, and I arrive ten minutes early. It’s not cold this evening, not yet, but it is getting windier. Ben texted me that he’s sitting at a table outside – he’s even earlier than I am, and clearly the chill doesn’t bother him.
As I get to the table, I say hello, but I’m a bit flustered and I mess up his name – which is absurd, since his real name is every bit as challenging as ‘Ben’ is. But he smiles and gets up, “Howzit, Deon” he says. “Is it okay if we sit outside? It’s more private here.”
“This is perfect!” I say, because it is. I sit down, and when the waiter appears, I point to
Ben’s glass of red wine. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I say.
SCENE DW sets the rules
Now, for the rest of this episode, there are mostly just two years I must ask you to keep
track of: 1990, and 2019. I’m going to have to jump around between the two years a tiny bit, but if you keep just those two years in mind, you’ll never be confused: 2019, which is now; and 1990, which, I can tell you today, will turn out to be one of the most crucial years of Jimmy’s life – and also one of mine.
So: it is 2019 and I’m sitting here outside a Thai restaurant with Ben. We’re the only ones sitting outside on an evening like this. My red wine arrives, and we say ‘Cheers!’
We’ve been chatting about our lives today. Ben is a smart and warm guy, and after 15
minutes’ talking and kidding, reluctantly I say, ‘So, obviously we need to have an awkward conversation, shall we get it out of the way?’
‘Let’s do it,’ he says, the man who said, “I can tell you everything”. He wasn’t kidding. And now the action moves from 2019 to the other year, 1990, as Ben starts telling me what he saw.
SCENE: Ben walks in on Jimmy
It is the winter of 1990, June, and it is bitterly cold in Bloemfontein. We’re talking freezing, zero-celcius cold. Grey College is a boarding school, and since it’s far away from pretty much everywhere, many of its star pupils live on the school grounds. There are three residences or dormitories or hostels – it’s called different things in different parts of the world, but we’re talking those large buildings in which loads of students sleep at school or university, floor upon floor of them.
If in Episode 2 you followed on Google Earth, you’ll remember what fun we had! We do it again, if you’re up for it. Like last time, the letters G-R-E-Y College in Jock Meiring Street, Universitas, Bloemfontein gets you to an image you rotate till the swimming pavillion is above the pool on the right-hand side, and the 22 tennis courts are on the left. But, unlike last week, this week we go well beyond Grey’s impressive façade.
This still makes sense without Google Earth – picture this. On the grounds of Grey College, if I start walking from the swimming pavillion and you start walking from the tennis courts, we’ll be home at the same time, if ‘home’ is one of three large dormitories housing hundreds of Grey boys right there on the grounds.
The three dormitories are set around a green and leafy circle. This green circular piece of earth has a few stretches of freshly moved lawn but mostly it is taken up by these huge green trees. I struggle counting just how many trees, but it’s like a little forest, somewhere between 20 and 30, standing high like giant broccoli.
The trees grow denser to the side to almost completely surround a little house that stands at the bottom of the circle of green. It is accommodation for teachers who live on the grounds at Grey to supervise the boys in the dormitories. It’s the house where Jimmy lived.
It’s where Jimmy lived in 1990, on the bitterly cold night that Ben is telling me about. It’s the night that Ben walked into Jimmy’s room and caught him in bed with a 15-year-old
Classmate.
Before we go further, two quick pieces of housekeeping. In this podcast I use the word “rape” to refer to non-concensal sexual behaviour. South African Law does not differentiate anymore between different kinds of rape becuase the impack of all sexual violation is the same. That’s the one thing. The other thing has to do with protecting people’s identity. As I introduce you to more guys it becomes harder to protect everyone’s identity. If I said for instance that I spoke to a Grey Boy that is now a matador in Spain, well that would narrow things down. So here and there I may have to fudge a geographic detail to protect the men who spoke to me. Here is what I will never -ever fudge: Anything that Jimmy did to any of these men. Their privacy needs to be respected. But their stories, deserve to be heard.
SCENE DW continues searching
I am back in my loft, and I’ve heard Ben’s story, and I’m making phone calls and sending messages and trying to trace the boy that Ben told me about – the boy who was in bed with Jimmy when Ben walked into the room. My stacks of index cards have turned into towers. If I was a real detective, the index cards would be displayed on a pinboard. I would have mad skills with red string, and as I start to connect the index cards with threads of causality, I will catch Jimmy through inspired triangulation.
I have filled only two of Jimmy’s seven missing years – the two years he taught at Grey
College. Now I’m attempting to contact everyone I can find from the next school where he taught; the Very Small School in the Country.
It is much slower work than I thought it would be. This school isn’t famous like Grey College – it’s a lot harder to get any information about what happened there in the nineties.
To create a delusion of progress, I’ve continued to investigate Jimmy’s life after the Nineties, after he quit teaching; a brand-new Jimmy for the 21st century. Without saying too much, I can tell you that a bullfrog doesn’t change its spots.
As I dig deeper into Jimmy’s life, I think of him plonked down in the middle of seven or eight concentric circles. When I started investigating him, I started at the outer circle. Before I realised how many enemies he had, I was convinced that he’ll find out the second I start asking any questions about him. So at first I only phoned people who happened to know him once, and maybe will remember a rumour. Also, the names of Jimmy’s sworn enemies. People’s enemies tend to hang on to dirt, and although you have to be extremely careful with anything you get told by people’s enemies – well, sometimes, some of it is true. So I ask for and hear from his enemies.
But as I leave one circle behind to move inwards to its concentric companion, I get closer to Jimmy and his loyal lieutenants, and so the risk increases. Right now, I still have the element of surprise, I think – he doesn’t know that I know; doesn’t know that I’m setting a trap; doesn’t know his beach days are over – but only if my plan works, and I can stop him.
Still, you would expect Jimmy to find out at some point. He’s a cunning and resourceful man who rules through fear and favours; surely it’s just a matter of time till I ask the wrong person the wrong question and I lose my tactical advantage and Jimmy finds out about me.
My luck runs out in July 2019, as a blast of ice makes its way through Joburg’s normally
temperate subtropical air.
Weather man: Two cold fronts are affecting the country today, resulting in mountain snowfalls for some areas in the Western and Eastern Cape.
SCENE wb contacts DW
It is July 2019, an icy Saturday morning at my desk in the loft, Weather man: Even more cold air to push across just about all of South Africa. And that is going to result in some incredibly low temperatures into tonight and Sunday morning.
and I’m Skyping this guy who is in Asia the day that we can talk. He says to me ‘You must talk to this guy, Ned’. Apparently Ned used to work for Jimmy and then had a huge fight with him; left Jimmy’s company in a huff and a puff. We talk a bit more, then, as I thank him, he says again, ‘You really must talk to Ned’.
I send Ned a message over LinkedIn. It reads, in Afrikaans, “Hello, Ned, I’m a Johannesburg writer and I’m busy with a big justice project about a man for whom you used to work. If you’re willing to have an off-the-record conversation with me about him, I would appreciate it endlessly.” If you’re picking up on my hearty politeness, it’s because I’m Afrikaans.
Weather man: Tomorrow morning, will be very cold across SA. Potentially the coldest day we have had this year, Ned replies the next morning – another icy one, but now Sunday. He says, “Hi Deon, hope you’re well, can you tell me more?”
I respond a bit later. “Thank you so much for getting back to me,” I say. “I can’t expand in writing about” – and then I use Jimmy’s initials only; “I can’t expand about His Initials in writing, but ... can we maybe chat tomorrow?” Ned’s response comes two minutes later. He writes the two initials I gave him, followed by a question mark. He doesn’t get who I’m talking about.
I’ve had enough of our conversation. Maybe, if I give him a bit of time, he’ll get there.
He did get there. It’s a freezing Sunday evening, Riaan is watching reruns of The Simpsons, and I’m cooking a hearty stew of the kind it’s seldom cold enough for.
I glance at my phone as onions soften. There’s a notification from LinkedIn. It says, ‘Jimmy wants you to connect.’ I go to show Riaan. He pauses The Simpsons and hugs me.
I pour a glass of red wine, as I start drinking rather too quickly while paying insufficient
attention to the state of my stew. Jimmy’s invitation to connect on LinkedIn was our first
contact in 22 years. Then I hear another notification. I try not to look, but my curiosity is too much. It’s a LinkedIn message and it’s from Jimmy. Jimmy says, “Deon! My friend Ned says you’re looking for me.”
END OF ACT 1
ACT 2
SCENE Charl du Plessis sets legal hurdle
Now, as you know, Jimmy is not Jimmy’s real name. If I just come out and say his name, that would be defamation, according to my lawyers. I say “my” lawyers, but News24 is paying for them. I did not want to defame Jimmy accidentally so I need to be extremely careful about what South African defamation law says.
If it is something that will bring someone’s reputation down, then that will be defamatory content. This is Charl du Plessis from Willem de Klerk attorneys. He is a member of our legal team. I speak to him one sunny morning in his office in the old Money Joburg suburb of Westcliff.
Deon: Can you defame someone that everyone agrees is a horrible person in any case?
Charl du Plessis: You can be a totally rotten person with a horrible reputation. But your reputation is still an inherent part of your right to dignity. And you can’t strip someone of a right … an allegation of criminality is always defamatory allegation and it is always going to up to you to provide the justification for the publication of that defamatory material.
Deon: What I need to prove is that I have the right to defame the real Jimmy in the public interest.
Charl du Plessis: If something is true and in the public interest, it is not wrongful to publish the defamatory material. The the defences remove the wrongfulness,
Deon: If this podcast goes to court, if Jimmy tries to get an interdict against me, the lawyers will need to present enough evidence to the judge to convince him my defamation is in the public interest.
Charl du Plessis: If you can’t get together evidence that would sufficiently justify one of the defences to defamation, then you would be vulnerable in such circumstances and I am speaking in a general sense to anybody who wants to name and shame, as it is known publicly, a sexual offender. You will always be susceptible to being sued for defamation. In addition to that , if you were to lose, you will also be looking at the costs of a high-court application which that would almost be …. It is the really expensive part . It is a very high stakes game, the publication of material that is defamatory
So until my evidence is rock-solid, I’m the only one who knows about Jimmy, not the people who really need to know: the families getting ready for their well-deserved yearly holiday with music and song and festivals on the beach.
For some people, it’s the seaside town that has it all.
[Music]
But it’s a seaside town with a bullfrog problem. If I can’t find the evidence to convince a high-court judge, I can’t tell people’s sons to look out, because there’s a bullfrog in town disguised as something human.
SCENE Ben reveals more
It is 2019 again, and I’m sitting in the wind again outside a Thai restaurant with Ben. The two of us are still chatting about 1990; about Ben the schoolboy who walked into Jimmy’s room just before he saw what he saw.
But that’s not all that Ben saw. Now Ben is telling me about another day – a Saturday
afternoon at Grey College in Bloemfontein. We are back in 1990.
Ben is walking from his dormitory – House Brill, by the tennis courts – to Jimmy’s house on the circle of green. Jimmy used a trick to get Ben alone that afternoon. It’s the same trick that Brandon told me about – he’s the guy from Episode 2 who talked to me from an empty conference room, and then stopped talking to me just as he got started.
Ben is in Jimmy’s room, his leg is sore, and he’s no match for Jimmy’s cunning. On that
Saturday afternoon, Jimmy did what Jimmy does and got his hands on the teenage penis of Ben who was 15.
Actually, legally, I can be a bit more precise than that. On that Saturday afternoon, in a
house on a broccoli-green circle at Grey College, Ben’s teenage penis was the successful target of a man called Willem Breytenbach, the man you have gotten to know as Jimmy.
SCENE DW introduces Jimmy
It is time I introduced you to wb, who is one of the men this story is about. Today, wb is 55, and lives in Three Anchor Bay, a picture-pretty Cape Town neighbourhood with views of Table Mountain and the Atlantic Ocean. wb was a teacher at Grey College, and, largely, he was liked, but not by his chosen few.
Thirteen days ago, wb removed all his social-media profiles – that’s the day after Episode 1 came out. Until then, if you went to wb’s LinkedIn page and studied it closely, you might have been struck by a strange gap – the seven missing years between his graduation, in 1988, and the so-called start of his working life in 1995.
After wb left Grey College in 1990 – and that is an event we will get back to next week – but after wb left Grey College in 1990, in disgrace, back up he popped in 1991, at a small school called Willowmore High, in the tiny town of Willowmore in South Africa’s Eastern Cape. When my bullfrog left Bloemfontein, he didn’t travel the thousand kilometres to Cape Town and the sea. He made a 600km journey to a tiny and poor farming town called Willowmore, in the barren Eastern Cape interior.
wb’s disgrace was complete. Or so you would have thought. But at Willowmore High School, in the following years, wb would carry on doing what wb does.
SCENE DW contacts wb
It’s 5 August 2019, and w is turning 55.
It’s been more than two weeks since wb’s message to me, and I still haven’t responded. I’ve decided to say something to him – my first words to him in 22 years. I write him one sentence, and one sentence only.
You see, I’ve also been digging my way into w’s own high-school years; he finished in 1982. I spoke to a woman on a farm and when I told her wb’s name, she laughed and said, ‘Oh Willie b? We never called him Willem; always Willie.’
So as w’s birthday gift from me, I send him a message and I call him something he’s not
been called in 37 years. I write, ‘Congratulations on your 55th, Willie’.
SCENE DW regrets his message
I spend the afternoon at home and on edge. As I pace from one room to the next, I regret sending the message. Why couldn’t I just leave it? Should I have called him ‘Willie’ – I mean, that’s quite disrespectful, just suddenly calling him Willie. Then I stop myself. Disrespectful of what? I may have spent all these decades being scared of him, but why should I treat him with any respect? I know what he is now – and so do you. He rapes teenage boys and young men. And my idea of disrespect is calling him ‘Willie’? How do you disrespect the man who has nothing?
Then again, w is smart. He’s doing the smart thing now, and ignoring me. It’s what I did to him, and now he’s doing it to me, and I don’t like it one bit, and I shouldn’t have sent the message.
SCENE wb responds to DW
It’s the next morning, Tuesday 6 August 2019, and at 9.08am, I receive a message from
yesterday’s birthday boy. In Afrikaans, he says, “Deon. Thanks a lot. Where can I phone you?
Advice needed on the industry that you know?”
That’s when I know w’s had a bad night. By sending a message at 9.08AM, he gives the
whole game away. See if you agree with me: it’s a Monday afternoon, and you receive a
distressing birthday message; a message that shakes you to the core. Do you respond
immediately, or do you sleep on it? I would sleep on it. Or, rather, I wouldn’t sleep on it.
I will roll around all night. Brooding. Cursing. Mentally, you write your response in 15
different ways, then change your mind 15 times.
It’s 1.05AM as you turn over onto your left side. You slip into a half-sleep for a minute, but you’re being chased in a dream and you have no breath and you wake up gasping. It’s one minute later. For a moment you’re relieved that the nightmare has ended. Then it hits you all over again: the real nightmare is the one you’ve woken up to. You turn back onto your right side, and, even though you know you shouldn’t, you check the time. It’s another minute later.
Eventually, you can’t stay in bed any longer. w is an early riser, even when he’s not freaking out. I picture the scene in his house in Three Anchor Bay. Inside the house, a lone and bulky figure lurches through the dark, panicking and plotting. He sits down behind his laptop, and he writes the most recent version of the message he’s spent all night composing. Is it the right message? Do I give anything away? Does this bit sound weird? Nah, it’s right. But yet he can’t send it, not yet. If you send a message at 5am, clearly you’ve been up all night thinking about it. So you wait for a decent time. A decent time, and sunrise.
Not that you’d see the sun in Cape Town today. Sunrise was supposedly at 7.07am, but the morning has been overcast and misty, I hear from a friend who lives close to w. Finally, it’s 9am, and all of South Africa is open for business. w’s finger hovers over the Send button and then he presses it. It’s 9.08am.
That’s the scene as I imagine it; it’s not like he posted online about it. I do hope he hasn’t had an unhappy birthday.
I check my little mental flight of fantasy. Is w even in Cape Town today, or is he on one of his frequent travels? There’s one way to find out. I phone his office.
The operator answers the phone, “Lightspeed Digital Media, good morning!”
“Good morning,” I say. “Can I speak to wb, please?”
END OF ACT 2
ACT 3
SCENE DW phones wb
It wasn’t at all my plan to talk to w; I was going to put the phone down while I’m being
transferred.
The operator says, “He’s not in, do you want to leave a message?”
I say, ‘Will he be in later today?’
‘No,’ she says, then adds in a surprised tone, ‘He actually called in sick today.’
[Tape: publisher’s sick-leave story]
w is in Cape Town. So either he’s home, trying to recepurate from a dreadful night – maybe some dodgy line fish at his birthday dinner? – or maybe he has other things to do: loose ends to tie up, evidence to destroy, that kind of thing. He’s even more worried than I thought. The walls are closing in around wb.
SCENE: DW fingers Hartenbos
It is 2019 and it’s 21 November, and you would have noticed me saying wb’s name a lot
today. It’s because I want it to be remembered. I will do my best to stop saying wb in every single sentence real soon.
But how come I get to say wb’s name so comprehensively today? Where do I get enough evidence to go this far? Well, there is my affidavit, about what he did in 1997.
And there is Ben’s affidavit, about what he did in 1990. Both are extremely detailed; have compelling supporting documentation; and are in possession of News24’s lawyers.
The lawyers are happy, and News24 is as happy as News24 gets, and even if Ben’s affidavit was the only one other than mine, would you believe us? I mean, you can’t possibly think I’m making all this stuff up, can you? Can anyone possibly think that wb didn’t do what wb does?
I do need to get back to w’s seven missing years, but first, we need to talk about this
December, 2019, when wb takes his summer holidays right next to the Afrikaner family
resort that some would say has it all.
While the rain was a welcome relief, it quickly turned into a nightmare for some homeowners in Hartenbos. They are still shocked after seeing their quiet streets turned into raging rivers.
We are in Hartenbos, a seaside town that has just been hit by a flash flood a few months ago. This is a resident.
[Tape: Hartenbos woman on SABC]
Resident: And while laying in bed I actually heard a sound like sjoep sjoelp sjoelp and
[More tape]
I searched around quite a bit, and the only non-Afrikaans tape I could get about Hartenbos was that clip, Resident: And I wondered what it could be and actually when I stood up I stepped like ankle height in waterand another regional-news report, mentioning that a very small disaster- management conference ......
[Tape of SABC anchor] : disaster- management conference being held at Hartenbos, near Mosselbay went off without a hitch
[Tape of SABC anchor] : The conference is looking at major disasters facing South Africa and how officials are equipped to deal with it.
It seems Hartenbos has had it’s share of thinking about disaster, yet nobody was killed or maimed by anything they thought of. This is not the last time we will talk about Hartenbos. What we need to say today is that wb loves his summer holidays at Hartenbos,What we need to say today is that wb loves his summer holidays at Hartenbos so if you see wb in Hartenbos, please, keep an eye on him, because wb is up to no good.
SCENE Ben and DW become brothers
I’m sitting with Ben outside a Thai restaurant, and we’re on our third glass of red wine. For months I’ve been going at this all alone, and here I am laughing and loving this sweet heterosexual guy I met just this evening.
We’ve both been there when w does what he does, and to me, at that windy table, Ben and I become brothers. We are still in touch, and he’s consented to everything I’ve said about him today. He doesn’t want his name known, but Ben, thank you. Meeting you gave me the big break I needed, both factually and emotionally.
Ben promises to write an affidavit, so that he can help to stop wb. It’s been 29 years since wb helped himself to Ben, but he continues to see the impact it has had on his life, and even after all this time, he struggles talking about it, even to me.
But even though it’s unpleasant, he does write an affidavit. He is one of the heroes of this story. Ben, not only are you my brother, but you were the first to say to me Me Too.
This episode is dedicated to you.
As we get up to leave, I try to shake Ben’s hand, but he says, ‘Come on, give me a hug’, and I do.
‘Thank you,’ I say. Then I say, ‘Um, can I have another one?’
‘Of course’, he says.
SCENE DW reveals where wb was
I have asked you to keep 1990 and 2019 in mind, and thank you for doing that. It’s not a bad idea to keep those two years in your head anyway; they both will be around for much of our story.
But here’s another year, 1996, that’s not terribly exceptional to anyone but me, because I am 16 and it is the year that I meet wb. By this point, the seven missing years are over. After everything that happened at three different schools – and we’ll get into that next time – but after all that, wb talked himself into a job as a reporter at a daily newspaper in Cape Town.
It was an Afrikaans daily called Die Burger and it was his first job in the media, his first job at Media24 and the global media titan Naspers. In the next two decades, w would rise through the ranks to become one of its most senior executives. Bullfrogs land on their feet.
wb’s time as a teacher had ended, but that doesn’t mean he had left schools. Die Burger appointed him as education reporter, because you can’t make this stuff up. As Die Burger’s education reporter, he managed to devise a whole new scheme that would give him access to all the high-school boys his heart desired – me too.
Next time, the events of the present overtake the events of the past in this year’s final
episode of My Only Story.
Song: Hartenbos O Hartenbos - my hart verlang na jou goue strande Hartenbos O Hartenbos
As you may imagine, today’s episode of MyOnlyStory is opening the most massive can of worms, wb is on the run, he has fled his house in Three Anchor Bay, and LightSpeed Digital Media closed its doors the Monday after Episode 1 came out. The news is moving very fast this week and for the blow-by-blow developments go to news24 and press the refresh button as often as you like. And of course, this year’s final episode of my only story, is out Thursday 28 of November 2019 at 5 AM South African time. What will wb do next? Please subscribe on your favourite podcast af, follow myonlystory at facebook and twitter or get in touch at MyOnlyStory.org
END CREDITS
My Only Story is written by me, Deon Wiggett.
The producer is Alison Pope.
The sound engineer is Sean Jefferis.
Our original score was composed by Charl-Johan Lingenfelder, and
our artwork is by Carla Kreuser.
News24 is our publishing partner. Its editor-in-chief Adriaan Basson is our editorial adviser.
The following is hugely important: if anything came up for you while listening to this story,
please, please talk to somebody. At MyOnlyStory.org, there are loads of links to people to
talk to, depending on where you are in the world. If you’re in South Africa, you can always,
always phone Sadag on 0800 456 789.
My Only Story is out every Thursday in November on your favourite podcast app and
News24. This has been a production of Fairly Famous.