On Sunday, my target didn't drink. I tracked her using what my boss called Social Engineering Tactics; you send phishing emails or messages that appear legitimate asking your target to click on a link and provide personal information in the hope of a desirable prize. There are many ways to do it. You could get someone's date of birth by simply asking them "If we can subtract ten years from your age, how old will you be?" People will comment "14". We know you are 24, which means you were born in the year so-and-so. We are going to check your birthday. This could be your password. We will get your number by maybe promising to send you free data. We will look at your photos and see your area from your background. You are wearing a school uniform. We know where you go to school. We will find you.
Lelo was lonely and vulnerable. She needed companionship. Her suicidal ways 'thou were her only demons. A village girl from Butterworth who refused to go home without her diploma. She stayed with her roommate in the students' rez in town and attended classes at the North campus.
Lelo Maci had lost her NSFAS funding. Without telling her parents, she decided to fund her studies through sex work, which solved her problem but brought more others. Her so-called clients violated her. She couldn't do anything, fearing that her parents would know about her secret trade if she laid any charges. Her roommate had caught her cutting her wrists. She had also turned to drugs for solace. A pregnant junkie and she didn't know who the father was. She had gone to the hospital for an abortion, but they couldn't help her. Her stomach was getting bigger, which spoiled her business.
We met in the park where I asked for her services. After we agreed on the price, she drugged herself, but when we got to the car she passed out. Driving as fast as I could, I wanted to deliver her in her sleep and elude trouble. A few miles away there, the girl woke up with her eyes pulled out and her hair all messy.
"Where are we going?"
"To my place."
"No, I don't want to go to your place, put me here."
"Miss, I can't stop here, this is a freeway."
"I don't care, put me down. Put me down. Put me down now," she yelled and banged the windows.
We were on the N2 freeway, and the car cruised through others at 160km per hour. The sound of the door opening and again closing came before a daunting silence haunted the car. Traffic went fast, and I couldn't take my eyes off the road.
'Crazy girl.' I thought.
I headed to The Point to lie low for a while. I feared that someone could have taken my registration number.
"What if I'm in trouble with The League itself? What do they do to people who are in trouble with them? I could be killed."
I made a turn to Markman towards The Point.
"Damn Lelo, where are you?" I shouted with frustration.
"I'm here, hear, I'm here… Who's asking?"
"You are here… Thank God."
Lelo had blacked out in the back seat due to her drug problem. It was probably those junkie blackouts that came with amnesia.
"What happened?" she asked.
"You must go to your client behind that gate. Go, go on."
"Okay, what's his name?"
"Ask for a Gift; tell them you are looking for Gift."
"Okay, thank you."
She handed herself into The Point…
The day is Friday, the 8th of April. The time is 8:23 pm, and I'm driving to Thole's Tavern, a cozy little place in a nearby neighborhood called Kamvelihle. A warm settlement of government RDP houses built for the poor. The place is an addictive bottomless pit for the junkies of a fun time. Once you come in here you never want to get out again. Where every kind of girl roams: from the slay queen to the ncuvist, from the bhesha to the girl next door. The stars reflect against the shiny zinc roof of the rainbow-colored RDP houses. The big bright Somali-owned spaza shops stick out in every ten homes. Most people in this area get around on foot. And a smell of happiness tastes from the air of the place. Kamvelihle never ceases to invite visitors to chill; it's a Vegas of Motherwell, a groover's paradise where music plays all night up to dawn.
I drove past a drunken couple who stirred their index fingers to me. Thinking my car was a jikeleza (local taxi), shame on them. The guy was a bit drunk, and the lady looked good. Holding each other's arms, they were wobbling across the road. I stopped.
In the blink of an eye, I got out of the car leaving the door open and I snatched her hand off the guy.
"Do you know this man?"
"No, I don't. I just met him, and he bought some beers."
"Now, where are you going with him?"
"I am not going with him. I was going home, he chose to walk me."
"Okay, thank you, sir. That's gentlemanship of you but I will take it from here," turning to her, "Get inside the car." She didn't hesitate.
I got into the car, leaving the guy stationed there like a pillar of salt behind the dust of the tire.
"What if the guy kidnapped you? What were you gonna do?"
"I don't know bhuti. Thanks, you helped me."
I stopped at the gate, sounded the horn, and got out to open her door.
"Is that Likhona?"
"Yes, mama, it's her."
"Wow, Gift, thank you for returning her home. I was getting worried."
"No problem, mama. She is safe. Bye, Likho."
"Bye-bye, bhuti(big brother),"
I went inside the car and sounded the horn before taking off:
"Bye-bye, mama,"
"Bye-bye,"
These kids grow fast. It feels like yesterday when she used to visit me as a 10-year-old. The neighborhood kids always loved me. Now made me late.