Rebuilding after two-year hell in African prison

Update

NATIONAL NEWS - How do you pick up the pieces of a life paused for 28 months?

That’s the question Frik Potgieter (55) and Peter Huxham (57) are still coming to terms with after returning from a two-year, four-month ordeal in a prison in Equatorial Guinea, sentenced after a trial they’d barely understood, for a crime they hadn’t committed.

And in Potgieter’s words: “People disappear in Africa.”

The police arrested them at the Anda China Malabo Hotel in Equatorial Guinea on a complaint believed to be related to a shipment of cocaine found on an international flight. It was said that the drugs were discovered on the plane that the men arrived on from Singapore on 4 February. But Potgieter and Huxham were not on that flight.

The men are both employed by a Dutch oil and gas company, SBM Offshore. These two innocent South Africans had been working on SBM’s offshore vessels in Equatorial Guinea when they were arrested on their way back home to South Africa after a normal five-week work rotation.

Although they were arrested on fabricated drug-related charges, no drugs were ever found on them or in their luggage.

In July 2024, the United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention also found that their arrests and ongoing detention were unlawful and called for their immediate release.

Shock for Sonja

For Frik’s wife, Sonja, the shock of the arrest on Thursday 9 February 2023 came two days later.

“I only found out the Saturday after it happened,” she recalls. “I couldn’t get hold of him. Then his lawyer phoned and said they’d been arrested, and that HR would be in touch. I couldn’t believe it. Drugs were the absolute last thing I would’ve imagined. I didn’t understand why they were being detained.”

Their first court appearance took place six four months after their arrest, conducted entirely in Spanish.

“The charges, the proceedings, everything was in Spanish,” says Frik. “The interpreter only spoke to us when we were addressed directly. No evidence was presented that we had drugs. They didn’t even ask us if we used any.”

Five days after their appearance in court, Frik and Peter were sentenced to 12 years in prison and given a US$5m fine each (about R90m each). It happened on Frik’s daughter Jolene’s birthday.

Lollipops and pig feet

They were initially held in Black Beach Prison for one night, a notorious facility known for its harsh conditions.

“We were taken into a large hall with four cells along the sides, each with five bunk beds, and people sleeping on the floor. Outside the cells, in the hall, about 250 people were sleeping on the floor like sardines,” says Frik. “Even the wardens didn’t go in. They left us at the gate, and the so-called big shots inside the prison came to collect us.”

At Black Beach, inmates had to buy their food and water. “They cooked food, but no one touched it. It could kill you,” he says.

“There were kids as young as 14 in there, some for something as small as stealing a banana. Many hadn’t even seen the inside of a courtroom.”

The following day, they were moved to a political prison on the other side of the country, a newer facility that was cleaner and more structured.

“There it was different. Every day, the place was cleaned. If we didn’t get a bait sardine with our bread in the morning, we got a boiled egg. Sometimes in the evening we got spaghetti, or a chicken drumstick, turkey neck or fish - lots of fish. If you deep-fried the sardine, we called it a ‘lollipop’,” he says, smiling faintly. “One day we even got pigs’ feet.”

Kindness behind bars

Despite the surroundings, support came from unexpected places.

“We were moved to the general population area and then later to the education centre, where we met five Nigerians who could speak English. That helped a lot, even if they were only there for two or three months before being moved.”

Frik recalls the kindness of some of the fellow inmates. “I couldn’t eat the dry prison food. I’ve had an operation and can’t swallow dry food. A prisoner had dished up for me, and when I tried to give it back, he asked why. When I explained, he brought me beans with sauce from his food. I felt terrible when I realised he’d given me his portion.”

Frik and Peter shared a 3m x 3m cell, and although they spent nearly every moment together, they hadn’t known each other before their arrest.

“We came from the same industry, but you can’t talk about work the whole time. Jokes were far and few in between,” he says. “We were together all day, every day, and that’s not always easy.”

They were allowed outside for just one hour a day, from four to five in the afternoon. “Every time I stepped outside, I looked up at the sky and thanked God. I knew Sonja was probably doing the same on the other side.”

First phone call

Sonja and Frik managed to speak for the first time eight months after the arrest.

“We had about nine conversations in total,” he says. “Sometimes we received letters, but sometimes we never got them. That first call was incredibly emotional and full of tears, but after that, it became a bit easier.”

For Sonja, just hearing Frik’s voice and knowing he was still positive helped put her at ease.

Throughout the ordeal, Sonja found strength in her faith and the support of her church community. “I had to be strong for our children and our family,” she says. “From that first call, I won’t lie, it was hell. But by the end of February, things started to settle. It became a little easier.”

She also made the heartbreaking decision not to tell Frik that her father had passed away while he was still imprisoned. “He loved my dad so much. I knew it would have crushed him. I waited until he was home.”

Faith, support and survival

Looking back now, she’s surprised by her strength. “I’m strong. Stronger than I thought I was.”

Frik credits his survival in large part to the endless support from the outside. “I feel sorry for anyone in that prison who didn’t have the support I had,” he says. “I wouldn’t have survived 12 years. I knew I’d never see my parents again. I didn’t know what would happen to Sonja and the kids.”

Escape, though tempting in the darkest moments, was never a real option. “You’d die trying. The prison is surrounded by thick jungle. They give you Crocs and an orange jumpsuit - you’d be spotted a mile away. If they locked me up for 12 years, I wouldn’t have come out the same. I wouldn’t have made it.”

Suicide didn’t cross his mind, but he says some days he prayed for the world to end.

Communication was made possible by his employer, SBM Offshore, as well as the South African and UK governments. “If it weren’t for SBM and them, I would have disappeared, and Sonja wouldn’t have known where I was,” he says. “They were involved from the very beginning, coordinating embassies, supporting our families, and even providing psychologists. They’re still helping us now.”

Frik admits he kept some details from Sonja to protect her. “Not because we were assaulted or tortured - we weren’t, but I didn’t want her to worry about everything else. I was in the hospital for three days with malaria. There were medical services at the prison, but they were limited. Sometimes they didn’t even have paracetamol or plasters.”

Kathy McConnachie and Peter Huxham share a smile in Langebaan after their nightmare. Photo: Supplied

Uncertainty of release

Even the moment of their release came wrapped in uncertainty.

“We’d heard so many rumours before that we were going to be released, and none of them came true,” says Frik.

“The week before we landed in South Africa on Saturday 21 June, the director of the prison called us in and told us we were being released, but we didn’t believe him,” says Frik. “You’re constantly waiting, always in anticipation.

On Tuesday afternoon, a warden told us to be ready at six the next morning to shower. When they came to fetch us, and gave us white overalls. That was the moment we started to believe. Only the ones being released get those. Still, you never feel sure. They can change their minds at any time.”

It wasn’t until the plane took off and cleared Equatorial Guinea’s airspace that Frik allowed himself to believe it. “That’s when I knew we were free. The first thing I ate was a big chicken burger.”

That first night of freedom, he didn’t sleep at all. “I just kept eating and watching YouTube to catch up. You crave all the nice things again - proper food, human contact, a hug, a smile. You miss that.”

Now, after months of silence, survival and uncertainty, Frik and Peter are beginning the slow process of healing. They’re learning how to live again, surrounded by families who never gave up on them, by employers who stood by them, and by a community that continues to embrace them.

“Africa won’t see me again,” says Frik. “The only place I’ll still visit is Namibia.”

And so, with quiet determination, faith and the people who carried them through the darkest days, they begin the long journey back to a life they can call their own.

Frik Potgieter and Peter Huxham are home safely. The Minister of International Relations, Ronald Lamola, and the two men’s family members gave them a hero’s welcome.

Wedding bells

Besides Jolene getting married early next year after she had to put her wedding on hold while her father, Frik, was in prison, Peter and his fiancée and life partner of 32 years, Kathy McConnachie, can finally also make their way to the altar.

After spending 28 months in a foreign prison, Peter says coming home has been deeply emotional and overwhelming.

He’s cherishing every moment, from hugs and shared meals to simply sitting peacefully with loved ones. While he grieves the time lost, he’s focused on healing, reconnecting and living fully in the present.

“If there’s one thing I’ve come to understand through this ordeal, it’s that family is everything. That even in the darkest moments, there are people, many more than you ever realise, who stand by you, pray for you, and carry you when you can’t carry yourself. And I’ve learnt that forgiveness is not weakness - it’s a quiet kind of strength, a choice that frees you as much as anyone else.”

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