Who needs enemies? Nomia's conviction

Former police officer Rosemary Nomia Ndlovu has been convicted of the six murders of her sister, nephew, nieces, cousin and boyfriend.

She took out life  insurance policies on them, then organised hits and benefitted about R1.4 million in payouts. 

Ndlovu was arrested while attempting to order another hit on her sister and the sister's 5 kids. She's also been found guilty of the attempted murder of her mom.

The hitman sent to take out the mom and a 5-month-old baby actually arrived at the mom's house,  but developed cold feet or grew a conscience upon seeing how old she was. He asked for water to drink and left. Rosemary wanted her own mother dead! How twisted does it get? 

One's head spins trying to keep track of the people she killed or wanted dead.  She has no contrition whatsoever.

That's her posing for cameras in court, with her ridiculous eyebrows and hairstyles that she changed on every appearance like panties, flashing signs and pouting throughout her trial. What a nutcase! Her sentencing is on the 5th of November, then off to jail she goes. But good Lord, who needs enemies with a relative like Nomia! She's the face of evil on wheels.

Close shave

I BELIEVE my life was in danger recently.  Virtual races and challenges have taken the globe by storm due to the coronavirus pandemic, and I’m participating in a 300km challenge, initiated by my sister in Denmark. I try to walk approximately 5km daily. I decided to walk around 4pm. A few metres before I got home, I noticed a man in front of me, covering himself from the head with a dirty blanket. He appeared to be a vagrant. At some point, he stopped to adjust his blanket, and I felt as if he had looked at me as he did so. He dragged his blanket further down, such that it covered his upper face, then he wrapped his purple scarf around his face. Alarm bells started ringing in my head. I was asking myself if he was trying to hide his face in preparation to strike.  Then I thought, maybe I need to stop watching On the Case with Paula Zahn and all the Investigation Discovery programmes making me see danger everywhere, even when people are just trying to protect themselves from the cold weather. It doesn’t help that I work in the media, where the primary focus on the bad and the ugly is enough to get one unhinged.  I also reminded myself that profiling of any kind was unfair. Not everyone who appears down on their luck should be viewed as a thug and potential threat.

The man appeared to have somewhat slowed down after noticing me. I decided to pick up pace, he did too, but not enough to overtake me. I saw another man walking behind us, and felt a surge of relief that my tail would surely not pounce on me with another person in the vicinity. But that man appeared to be in a hurry and soon outpaced us. The man I believe was following me switched to the same side I was walking, and seemed determined not to overtake me. I felt, or imagined, his eyes boring into my back, and was relieved when I got to our complex. Sadly, load-shedding was underway and the electrical gate to our complex wouldn’t open. I was, however, sure the man would just walk on by, seeing I was now home. As I stood by the gate, something made me turn back, and there he was, all covered up by his blanket and purple scarf, with only the eyes showing. He was standing about five metres away from me, gazing at me. Then calmly, from behind his blanket, he tilted his head to sweep his eyes up and and down the road, probably checking if there was any person nearby. I checked too, and there was absolutely no one within sight. It was eerily quiet. Then out of nowhere, a car pulled into the driveway and stopped by the gate, intending to also get into the complex. As soon as the man saw I wasn’t alone anymore, he whispered, "I'll see you, neh?" and walked away.

 Days after the incident, I saw the man begging at an intersection

I was pretty shaken up when someone inside the complex opened the gate for the black car. I got in and just stood there gazing at it until it parked outside a house. I wondered whether to go after the occupants and say thank you for showing up when you did, and kiss their feet. Their arrival probably saved me from something catastrophic. Gender-based violence is at an all-time high in South Africa, and I could easily have become a statistic. Maybe not, but I believe we should always trust our instincts. When someone’s presence destabilises your spirit, don’t second-guess yourself.  We might want to be good sports who see the best in everyone, but there is no space for such toxic positivity in the world we live in. You need to constantly look over your shoulder because there is almost danger lurking in the shadows, especially for women. Not everyone we encounter has our best interests at heart. It is a depressing way to live.

 When I got inside the house, I was so relieved to see my children, and be back to safety. My daughter asked, “How was your walk, mummy?” I told her my walk was bad because I met a bad man along the way. In her innocence, she asked if I had taken a picture. When I said no, she ran and took a sheet of black paper and a felt pen, and asked me to draw him.

I told two of my friends about the encounter, and they all encouraged me to find a walking buddy. Unfortunately, I don’t have one. At the beginning of my walk, two ladies overtook me and they were chatting away. I remember feeling a wave of sadness for a brief moment, wishing I had someone to occasionally walk with. I don’t really mind my own company, and walking alone gives me the rare opportunity to reflect on my life and line my thoughts. Still, it would be great to have someone to call on when I need some company during my walk.

Today I woke up feeling ballsy and determined to walk again. It was cold and   windy, so I wore my warm clothes and got out of the gate, I looked up and down the road, and noticed there weren’t any walkers or pedestrians in sight. Everyone seemed to have developed cold feet due to the wintry weather. Seeing the road so quiet creeped me out as I remembered the unwelcome encounter from yesterday. With my tail neatly tucked between my legs, I went back into the house. He won.

The most fearful journey I ever had

Outside The Royal Belfast Hotel

My trip back to Swaziland after enjoying the festive season in Zimbabwe was quite nightmarish. Somewhere along the way while we were heading towards Jane Furse in South Africa, our car developed a problem and limited speed to just 60km/hour, nothing above that. It got dark and we were on an unfamiliar unlit road for about 60km. at some point, the car must have hit a pothole and veered off the road and zigzagged for a few metres before stabilizing. I noticed that there was a car which was steadily following us all the way and wouldn’t overtake. My husband tried indicating that it was safe to overtake but it just continued to follow us at that slow pace. I was really terrified out of my head and snapped at my 10-year-old who persistently asked me to spell lizard. He had no idea what was happening around him and that my mind was quite a tumultuous place at that point in time. I silently prayed for safety and started removing important things from my handbag while being mindful to leave a bit of money in it, in case we were about to be robbed and the robber would probably just ask for the bag and run with it. A part of me also feared what if they just want to take the car and I’ve put a substantial amount of money, bank cards and driver’s licence in the compartment at the back of a seat? How would I retrieve them? I did not even communicate my fear with my husband because vocalizing them would have probably have worsened our situation by causing panic. Just before a town called Stoffberg, the car tailing us suddenly overtook and sped off into the night. I was, and still really convinced that our lives were under some kind of threat, and was really relieved when the car left us alone. If anything bad had happened to us, it would have been difficult for anyone to know what happened to us because the road was totally deserted.

I suggested to my husband that we used the navigator to find accommodation. There were no visible hotels, but there were some lodges. We tried to go to one but the road leading to it was unlit and untarred. I refused to proceed because we didn’t know the neighbourhood and associated dangers. I insisted that we went to the police station to inquire. The police officer on duty called the one he thought was an option but it was fully booked. He said the nearest place we could get accommodation was in the next town, Belfast, which was about 50 km away. After our episode earlier, I insisted that we put up in the car at the police station. My husband refused and insisted that we went to Belfast. The road was even worse. It was extremely dark and ours was the only car on it. Who knew why other people weren’t using it? What if there was a history of sinister things happening on it? I was back to saying my prayers again.

People get raped and butchered in the comfort of their own homes in South Africa, and there we were moving around in dark places whose history we didn’t even know.  There can’t be worse folly than that. Eventually we got to Belfast and saw an arrow leading to The Royal Belfast Hotel. I had never been so happy to see a building, any building in my life before! Upon getting into the premises, we discovered that it was just a seedy backpacker’s accommodation, nothing at all royal about the place, but who cared! Certainly not me! I’m usually picky about accommodation but I was so thrilled to be off the road, inside a building where I could lock a door!

Inside the 'hotel'. To the right of the wash basin is the toilet

I hope I never have to go through what I went through that day. I remember watching a Steven Segal movie where he left a note for his nemesis written, “The anticipation of death is worse than death itself.” I tell you, if you didn’t know already, feeling endangered is the worst thing ever! We might not have been in danger, but I believe we were. If it were up to me, I’d never have travelled with 2 small kids into the dark night not knowing what dangers were lurking out there. I would have quickly looked for accommodation before sundown. In Shona we say kumhanya hakusi kusvika, rushing isn’t necessarily arriving. I would have gladly put up at the police station. Safety means more to me than comfort. Every time I think about that night, I get shivers down my spine. Who said there’s security in numbers? Sometimes the risk is actually higher than when you are on your own. 

Why most married women are reluctant to report rape

Pic by Mishy Mudekunye

As I was writing an opinion piece on rape (Read it here), I was curious to find out women’s preparedness to disclose rape to their partners, particularly if they were married. It was disturbing to note that not many are keen to report rape either to their husbands or to the police. It scares me to think how many rapists are walking scot-free because of this reluctance to report. I kind of understand where these women are coming from, even though I wish to change that mindset. I also spoke to three gents, who I must say, were incredibly sweet in their approach, but things are easier said than done. When you’re not in a situation, you think and react differently than when you are in it.

All rape should be reported, regardless of the aftermaths. Rapists belong in jail, not on our streets. If a woman doesn’t report rape, she exposes another to the same violation. Let’s speak out ladies (and gents! Increasingly men are getting raped too and choose silence for their own sets of reasons).

This is the question I asked them: If you got raped, would you tell your husband and report to the police?

Za – Yes and no…it all depends on how the rape occurred. Normally I don’t think I’d have a problem with reporting to the police, whichever way it happened, but with a spouse it can be tricky because I will risk being made the author of my ordeal. For example, I might be raped by a boss whom I was close to, maybe to my husband’s disapproval. In that case it’s difficult to tell him. As a person who deals with offenders on a daily basis, with some being perpetrators of sexual offences, I have come to understand that rape occurs under different circumstances. The easiest to report is when a minor is sexually abused by an older person. Then there are instances where one is raped by robbers or waylaid by strangers; that is also easy to report. But when it’s done by someone you know and trust, it’s difficult to report especially if married, because you risk being accused of lying and having had an affair. Husbands feel stripped when the whole community gets to know of the rape, and this in turn leads to the collapse of the marriage. In a case where one has an understanding and supportive husband, when the issue comes out, the man’s relatives tend to persecute the woman, you’ll be regarded as a prostitute when you are just an innocent victim.

Ngoni – Hmmm tricky stuff. As informed as I am, I think I would tell because I would need to seek treatment for prevention of HIV. If I didn’t inform him and he saw me taking the tablets, how would I explain it? I know it’s easier said than done because men are highly unpredictable. As for police, isn’t it automatic that they get involved before you get treatment?  If it isn’t the case, I don’t think I would report. It’s so humiliating and I’ve attended rape court cases. Hmmm you need to be a strong character to be in that dock? I felt sorry for the victims as they were torn apart in the presence of their husbands. Haaa even if he loves you, he won’t get an erection at home after witnessing that. I know a couple who were robbed here in South Africa and the woman was raped in the presence of the husband. Initially he was supportive, though he never touched her again and eventually they separated. So it’s like it was the woman’s fault.

Susan – I think telling him depends on what type of person he is, so to me it would be about knowing his character first. I know men that would blame and accuse the woman for going out to seek the rape. Instead of comforting and seeking the best possible way to assist her go through it, they’ll probably hit and rape you too as punishment. I think if it is someone with whom you have always had a good relationship, it might be possible, but I think I would keep it inside.

Leslie – Yes I would, without thinking twice. First port of call will be a hospital for ARVs. If you hide it, then it comes out like you consented. The risk of issues is higher if you hide it. I know a lot of people would prefer not to say anything, but what if the same rapist comes back for you or goes after your daughter or relative? How would you feel then?

Sandra – many people don’t want to tell their hubby because they want to avoid future problems like divorce. Also, they might not report because they are afraid of the shame that rape brings to a woman. Not reporting might result in the woman suffering from depression. As for me, I would rather tell my husband and report to the police. It’s good for the husband to know, just in case you contracted HIV or any other STI, and can protect him.

Dulile – It leaves a lot of unanswered questions. No man wants to sleep with a woman who has been raped. The thought of knowing that someone was eating your cake is a complete turn-off, especially for men. Their tool is very sensitive.

Namatayi – I’d definitely inform the police.  I would not tell husband unless there was risk, i.e. if tests revealed an STI or worse. Men are unpredictable. He may torture me with that in the near future as if it was my fault to have been raped.

Rejoice – I would tell my husband, just in case I’d have contracted a disease, but not the police because they are not reliable. I’d, however, ask the husband to keep it to himself. But if the husband is not the caring type, I will not tell him.

Bubu – Eish, tough one. He needs to know but you would have to kiss him goodbye.

Kholiwe – Rape is very traumatic incident, so I believe I would tell him to help me deal with it.

Faith – Yes, I would tell hubby and report the case, but it depends on how caring your hubby is. If he’s good, he’ll help you pull yourself together during that time and make sure the rapist is behind bars. But if he’s uncaring, you would be in trouble. You’d probably just need to stay quiet and not report to the police.

Chinga – I would tell him and report to the police as well. If I don’t tell him, it would appear as if I’m hiding something, that I did something and then decided to call it rape.

Fortunate – It depends with the situation – how did you get raped, but for health purposes, you will tell hubby and report to the police for you to get prophylaxis drug.

Nyaradzo – yes I would tell my husband and make sure that the culprit goes behind. If you don’t report, the stress will kill you.

Sihle – Yes I would because that issue will eat you alive if you don’t talk about it.

For the men: How would you react if your wife told you she had been raped?

Ernest – I would want to know and would go for counseling on how to handle the situation so that my love for her would not change. A cheating wife, if raped, would not report.

Tavonga – I would shoot the mother@$% that did it! It’s hard. The thing she would need from me more than anything is support and understanding because she will not be the same person emotionally and mentally. I would not reject her because a person doesn’t choose to be raped.

Greatman – that’s a tough one, but I honestly wouldn’t want my wife to suffer the effects of such a tragic incident alone. If it is genuine rape, I really would love to support her. A man knows when his wife is lying or not. Besides, intimate details around the rape will give a clue as to what really happened. The culture you cultivate with your partner will, however, determine if she will be free to tell you or not. I believe it’s easier to deal with the pain associated with the truth than the pain associated with lies and secrets.

Reporting rape will reduce more cases

While sentencing a rapist recently, Chief Justice Bheki Maphalala lamented how the courts were overflowing with rape cases. A report released in July indicated that there were 124 cases of rape between the months of April and June, an increase of 11,7 percent in comparison to the same period last year. It is disturbing to live in a violent society where you have to look over your shoulder all the time. What should disturb us even more is the reality of many rape cases going unreported, which might be exacerbating the situation as the criminals continue to roam freely, preying on more women.

People don’t report rape for reasons varying from fear of being shunned by the family if the assailant is a member of that family, promises of recompense, lack of faith in the justice system, fear of being judged by society, and where married women are concerned, fear of being rejected by husbands.  The society we live in is not always sympathetic to rape victims, unless if it happened during a home invasion or the woman got waylaid. If the aggressor is known to the woman, she is usually made to feel like the architect of her ordeal – “What was she doing there in the first place? What was she wearing? She must have seduced him. They must have been in a relationship.” It suddenly stops being about the dastardly crime that has been committed but justification of why it was done and how the woman could have avoided it if she didn’t want it. The rapist becomes the victim: poor man, what could he have done with the woman delivering herself to him on a silver platter like that? Men who rape don’t do so because they were provoked in some way. They do so because they are criminals, and criminals belong in jail. Rape can happen to anyone. Even men are not immune to it. If it was your mother or daughter that got raped, would you try to justify why it could have happened to them and exonerate the attacker?

It made sad reading when the woman that was allegedly raped at the Manzini Wanderers Clubhouse, and initially chose not to press charges against her alleged assailants, was flogged via social media. One person said she brought the rape on herself by dancing seductively. Dancing in a certain way or drinking at a certain hour is not an invitation to violation. Others questioned why she was drinking at night with men. A reader even misdirected his sympathy by saying, “Poor husband!” I refuse to believe the cliché that men are dogs which can’t control themselves. Rape is not really about irrepressible urges. It’s an expression of power by cowards who target those that they presume are vulnerable to them.

Senelisiwe Zwane, a social worker who deals with offenders, said in about eight out of 10 cases, rapists never own up to their offence. The few who do admit twist the facts in ridiculous ways to make themselves look less guilty. She gave the example of an 80 year-old convicted of rape who blatantly claimed that he was asleep under a guava tree which his granddaughter climbed with no panties and unfortunately fell and landed on his manhood. Zwane said most of those who admitted claimed to be in relationships with the victims.

In a random survey, out of 12 married women, only five said they would definitely tell their husbands and report to the police in the event of rape. (Read their exact responses here.) The others were wary of telling “uncaring” husbands for fear of the blame being laid squarely at their feet, preferring to just report to the police. There were many “hmm, aaahs, we’ll have to see”. There are horrific tales of men whose wives got raped and the men became so repulsed that they did not want to touch their wives again, resulting in the collapse of marriages. One woman, Rejoice, said she would tell her husband but would not bother to tell the police because she had no faith in them. It’s hard to blame her, considering what happened to Cebsile Khumalo of Nhlangano (Swazi News September 19). She bravely fought off an aspiring rapist and reported him to the police, but the case never saw the light of day after the police reportedly concluded that there was no witness hence struck the matter off the court roll. Rapists don’t usually rape people at a crowded market place. Usually the victim is the only witness and should get her day in court, which makes the way this case was handled quite perplexing. If allegations that the attacker had raped before are true, then it is a much bigger problem.

Regardless of cases like Khumalo’s falling through the cracks, there is reason to have faith in our justice system. Rapists are getting convicted almost on a daily basis, although more continue to commit the same crime. It’s now time to roll in the big guns on this scourge, no more treating it as a hush-hush affair. What probably needs to be done is to sensitize the public a lot more about rape: that it is a revolting and violent crime that everyone should fight against, all cases must be reported, and victims need support and sympathy, not verbal abuse on top of the psychological torment they already have. There needs to be even more discussion with younger children too, and listen carefully to what they say. Gone are the days of “children should be seen and not heard”. We should tell them over and over to report anyone who touches them in any sexual way or abuses them, even if they are threatened.

McolisiColani Vilakati was jailed 30 years in July for raping two children under the age of 10 (Times of Swaziland July 28). The children told their grandmother, but she sat on that intelligence and thought they meant he proposed love to them. What a letdown! It is important to report rape timeously in order to get access to a prophylactic within the stipulated time to avoid sexually transmitted infections, and emergency contraception to prevent pregnancy. There might also be need to collect evidence before it gets tainted and for the rapist to be caught before he gets time to spin his web of lies. Reporting rape is not easy because of the delicate details involved, but in the interest of justice, it has to be done. One has to consider the repercussions of not reporting. You will always know that the maniac is out there, ready to pounce on his next victim or even come back for you. Maybe you will even see him every day if he’s known to you, gloating and walking scot-free with an extra spring in his step while you’re crumbling inside. Not getting reported makes the attacker more brazen and the attacks may escalate to serial status or even murder. You don’t want it to get to that; it has to be nipped in the bud.  

Damn the news!

Article from The Times of Swaziland

My friend Hazel used to keep her TV switched off on the basis that the news was very depressing.  I remember her specifically saying, “You switch on the TV and all you hear is Boko Haram this Boko Haram that…” That left me rather perplexed because I thought everyone wanted to know what was going on in the world. I always want to be on top of things, first with the news. Lately, though, Hazel’s attitude seems to have rubbed on to me.

The death of Top Billing presenter Simba Mhere ruined my whole day. Although I only saw him on TV, he was so young, infectious, and had a brilliant career ahead of him I felt as if a friend had passed away. Before hearing about it, I had just read online about the suicides of five young Zimbabweans, one of them just 12 years old. Just as I was processing the tragic news, I heard of the beheading of Japanese war reporter Kenji Goto, one of many beheadings lately, then the Jordanian pilot who was burned alive by ISIS.

I really hate how I feel after watching the news or reading the papers. There’s just too much doom and gloom overload on my brain… talk about Taliban and Boko Haram killings, the Stellenbosch killings in South Africa, the recent Australian hostage drama, the political squabbling
in Zimbabwe, disappearing passenger planes, and the Charlie Hebdon gun killings in France. Here in Swaziland there appears to be a suicide being reported on every other day, a businessman was recently murdered by his wife and their kids, and a mini bus with more than 13 people was washed away by a flooded river. There were no survivors.

Article on Stellenbosch killings:The Sunday Times

The news just raises awareness about how unsafe the world is. We begin to be afraid of our own shadows. But I know for a fact that there are a lot of other beautiful things happening in the world, but no, the bloodthirsty media doesn’t want to focus on those. They are obsessed with the macabre, shocking, and tear-jerking stuff.

When we were still resident in Joburg, I started booby-trapping the door just before bed. One day my former colleague, Nontobeko, came home and when I told her why there was a bottle by the door side, she said, “One day that bottle is going to just fall in the middle of the night, just nje. What are you going to do?” I had no idea what I was going to do in the event of that happening.  Maybe I’d have got time to call for help, bring my son to my room, barricade the bedroom door and say my prayers. All that madness and paranoia started when I began practicing as a journalist, especially when I got involved in court reporting. Sometimes I’d sit in court from 8am to 3pm waiting for a case I was covering to be heard, and while waiting I’d hear all manner of depraved human beings talk about what bad things they did to innocent, law-abiding citizens. To actually see and hear a person who looks ordinary talk about such things made me want to jump out of my skin at the slightest bump in the night. One alleged criminal actually winked and leered at me while being tried for murder and I was sitting directly behind him so that I could clearly hear all the proceedings. I was traumatised for days.  I used to be very obsessed with court dramas like Law & Order, and thought being a court reporter would really be glamorous. There’s actually nothing sexy about it at all and I stopped watching Law & Order from the time I started court reporting.

Yes, it’s really a gory and debauched world out there, but we don’t need to have that shoved into our faces every day. We could do with some pick-me-up type of stories too. There are there, but beautiful and heartwarming stories rarely make it to the front pages.

Article obtained from The Sunday Times

But will I stop watching the news because it scares me? No. Better the devil you know. If there’s a serial killer in my area, I will be scared out of my skin but I want to know about it so that I can take precautions. If a plane has disappeared in Asia, I will feel very sad and depressed, but I want to know about it so that I can remember to thank God for each and every day that I see the sun rise and set together with my family, every long trip that we’ve embarked on and come back home safely, every outing we’ve had and weren’t accosted by some gun-toting extremist.  That should never be taken for granted. 

My 2 Cents on the life and death of Senzo Meyiwa

Just as disgraced top athlete Oscar Pistorius has started his new life as a jail bird for the shooting death of his girlfriend ReevaSteenkamp, and while ShrienDewani is still singing the blues in court for allegedly hiring hit men to shoot his bride Annie Dewani, Orlando Pirates goalkeeper and BafanaBafana skipper is gunned down, purportedly in a robbery.

It’s tear-jerking even for someone like me who doesn’t follow South African soccer. A young, healthy sportsman in the prime of his career and life itself smoked out of the planet just like that. Senzo had a lot to contribute to his nation, his soccer team, his community, and last but not least, his family. His death reminded me of reggae star, LuckyDube’s equally senseless death at the hands of thugs who wanted his car. I wish there was some dungeon somewhere so we could just throw away criminals, somewhere they can never come back from. Hearing horrendous tales like that puts people in a very vulnerable position. It’s outrageous that people have to constantly look over their shoulders on the roads to see if they are going to be accosted by some lunatic. Now they have to also look over their shoulders while having dinner in the comfort of their homes.  What kind of life is that? You start thinking of booby-traps for your doors when you go to bed, check and recheck if everything is secure, and contemplate security upgrades. You are ready to jump out of your skin at the faintest bump in the night.

Senzo’s family, sports people, soccer fans, politicians, and people from all walks of life are dismayed by his death.  True to what happens when someone popular has died, everybody has lovely things to say about Senzo. Wonderful guy, infectious smile, very helpful to his family and community, great team player and captain.

Senzo was a married man who died at his girlfriend, Kelly Khumalo’s house. His wife, Mandisa, and children never got to see him in his last moments of his life. It was a known fact that he wasn’t a faithful person as he openly posed for magazine pictures with Kelly while still married to his wife.The two women in his life once fought on a street somewhere, which resulted in Kelly being charged with assault. Senzo notably took his mistress’ side and said his wife was the one that started the altercation. No, Senzo, you started it by bringing a third person into your marriage. I hold no moral high ground to lambast him for how he lived his life, I have my own blemishes. But I also have an opinion which I’m entitled to express.

As if the court story hadn’t humiliated Mandisa enough, now she has to deal with the public knowledge that her husband met his death while at his girlfriend’s house, that he spent his last moments with the other woman. The humiliation will persist for some time. I foresee Kelly belting one or two songs, or writing a book about her life with Senzo, how he loved her so much, how she treasures their last few hours he spent with her, probably how he took a bullet for her and died in her arms. She wrote a book about her convicted killer ex-boyfriend, JubJub. She could be writing another now.

This story also exposes the double standards that society employs when dealing with men and women. If a married woman of as much high standing as Senzo had died at her boyfriend’s house, her transgressions would have overshadowed whatever good deeds she performed in her living years. The scandal would have stunk like a skunk. 

I won’t go to town about Kelly as a home wrecker, she didn’t have a contract with Mandisa. The one to blame for Mandisa’s humiliation is Senzo. He made a choice to be with another woman while his marriage still subsisted. I’ve heard many sisters accuse other women of taking their husbands, and I don’t subscribe to that line of thinking. No one abducts another’s husband, maybe at knife or gun point, but certainly not at vagina point. Men make a decision to walk – one, two,three – towards another woman. But I digress. My issue here is that a lot is left unsaid when someone like Senzo Meyiwa dies.

I won’t get a lot of love from Buccaneers, but that’s OK. I’m not writing this to get some love. Senzo Meyiwa’s death is a tragic and senseless robbery of a person who had a lot to contribute to the lives of many people. It’s shameful and depressing for South Africa to have such high crime levels, especially gun-related ones. It’s just too sad and words fail me.

Senzo was evidently a very good person to a lot of people. But Senzo was quite rough around the edges. Senzo Meyiwa was an audacious philanderer who juggle women off the field as he juggled balls on the field. It emerged after his death that he had three or four other children with as many women.He cheated on his wife, and by default his children, and broke their hearts.  In one of his last pictures on earth, he’s with his mistress and her sister, having fun. Those pictures are the ones his children with see when they are old enough to look up things online. They will see that he left their mom and spent his last moments with the other woman. In my opinion, that kind of desecrates his memory. A number of women in my circle also had a few words to say about this married man who died at his lover’s house. One friend said if she were confronted with a similar situation, she would just heal her heart with the money that he left, with a little help from a Ben 10. My sister said she just wouldn’t bother to shed her precious tears. And what would I do? I would probably sit in a corner, on the blanket meant for the widow, and request that they dim the lights in that corner. Dim the lights so that I could discreetly dig into a bag of my comfort food, mild Nandos chicken.

How Senzo lived his life, however, won’t change how I feel about the manner in which he died. At the end of the day it is between him and God.  I remain revolted and enraged that his life was taken prematurely. How did human life become so cheap?”

I pray for Senzo’s soul to rest in peace. May the good Lord take care of his loved ones at this very sorrowful time, especially those that depended on him financially. I will be praying that the perpetrators of this atrocity are brought to book and get life imprisonment, since South Africa does not subscribe to the death penalty, so that they never know freedom in their lives ever again. I pray for his wife to find strength to go on, toeventually show her face in public after suffering the humiliation of her husband dying at his girlfriend’s house.

Family is for keeps

The curtain on the Oscar Pistorius trial, and his life as he and everybody knew it, has finally come down. He was sentenced to a maximum of five years in prison for the shooting death of his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp. Speculation is rife that he will be out in about 10 months. What a tragic thing to happen to happen to a young man that was so full of promise, inspired a lot of people, and made South Africa and Africa proud. I feel extremely sad for Reeva’s family, but I also feel very sorry for Oscar himself, as well as his family. Who in the world has been following the trial doesn’t know Uncle Arnold, Carl and Aimee Pistorius. There were brothers-in-law, aunts and more uncles supporting him in court. His brother, Carl, also continued coming to court in his wheelchair after a car accident.

The trial evidently took an emotional toll on Oscar’s whole family. I’m sure they couldn’t wait for the verdict so that they could go back to their lives, which will never be the same. From the day Oscar gunned down Reeva, that family hasn’t known peace. They have consistently come to court for all his appearances, thereby losing a lot of productive time. They must all have good bosses. Either that or they are their own bosses.

When I was a court reporter, I used to witness the same kind of scenarios in court, a menacing-looking thug on trial for heinous crimes would appear in court and his poor mother would break down in tears. A weeping girlfriend would blow kisses and the thug would return the gesture with a soft look on his hardened features and mumble, “Don’t cry, my love”. Moments like these always left me spellbound.  Someone raped or killed somebody out there, and people still cry for that person and miss him, wishing he was out there walking our streets?”Sometimes I would try to interview the offender’s family and their invariable answer was usually, “He’s innocent. He’s a Christian.”  I guess everybody has a soft side to them that makes it hard for their loved ones to believe they could ever put one foot wrong.

My very first court story involved some young men from Soweto who murdered a teenager for his debit card.One of the young men was only 18 and had to drop out of Grade 12 to go to prison. His sister would bring a different brand of cigarettes every time she came to court, and I figured they were not for him to smoke but to buy favours or for protection inside. I remember thinking, “Oh so they are still worried their little brother will be sodomised even after he killed someone?” I suppose I would also go and weep in court if someone close to me was to be found on the wrong side of the law. You can’t automatically forget all the good times you had or the good deeds that person performed after they commit a crime.

I guess that’s among the prices we have to pay for having some people in our lives. What a wonderful life it would be if everybody carried themselves responsibly to protect their loved ones from the pain of seeing bad things happen to them. People just chose to live on the razor's edge because they feel their life is their own show to run, but when things come a cropper, others are left to pick up the pieces. If bail money is wanted, it’s the innocent that have to run around to keep the offending family member out of jail. You can’t just wash your hands of them and say, “You made your bed, now lie in it.” That would be like going to hospital to see a person who just had a heart attack and whisper, “You know, if only you had jogged and eaten less KFC, you wouldn't be in this mess.”

This is not just about crime. Some chose to be promiscuous, then fall pregnant without two cents to rub together, and their families are the ones that have to cater for their medical bills and upkeep of the baby after it is born. Others also contract illnesses through recklessness and then expect emotional and material support from their families. Others make lousy life decisions that end up costing everyone. Like Oscar. It was him, his guns, his friends, and his money. His world has come crumbling down, friends deserted him and threw him under the bus in court, and it’s now just him and his family.

Lesson learned: everything else is ephemeral, but family is for keeps, even though some people do not realize it.