Innocence Lost

When I made my commitment to become involved in the fight against crime a while back I never in my wildest dreams knew what this would expose me to. In the last few months I have seen a seamy side of life that makes me wonder where it is all going to end and why do I live here and what is it all about.

This commitment also comes with a price. You give up your time - a good two to three hours of patrolling over weekends, you attend meetings, you fight with the police to get things done and you lose your innocence. Nothing is taken at face value anymore, you lose your trust and faith in mankind. This is not surprising when you see what goes on in the streets after dark.

Last weekend we were scheduled to patrol from 04h00 to 06h00 on Sunday morning. Better have an early night we think.

At 21h00 I walk out onto the front porch and see a car parked across the park. I am immediately suspicious, as I was told that drug dealers are active in the area.

I call the guys on patrol to take a look. Before they arrive the car leaves only to return shortly afterwards. It is not long before they arrive and drive past the car, turn and drive up to my front gate. I go out to greet them and they tell me it is just two guys sitting in their car. Before I can start to convince them to take another look, we see one guy climb out the car and walk to the perimeter fence and stoop down. We think he is making a drug pick up.

How fortuitous, a police patrol van comes past and we flag him down. The police quickly intercept the vehicle and search the suspects and their vehicle. They don't find anything and the both cars drive off. "They probably threw it out the window." I think to myself.

Just then a familiar car, belonging to a local pimp I exposed the week before, drives up. He parks next to the flats and walks down the path to the perimeter fence, bends down, picks something up and puts it in his pocket. How wrong we were. This guy was making the pickup. The other two were the runners. He walks back briskly to his car.

I phone 10111 to get a police van dispatched to the area, but the operator is unable to understand me. She hands the call over to another operator, who has no sense of urgency or understanding of the problem - she must go through the bureaucratic red tape. I see the lights of the car turn on as it starts up and watch him drive away.

In exasperation I call to Suzi-k to phone our neighbourhood watch leader, who is in direct contact with the drug squad. I then tell the operator not to bother and hang up.

The neighbourhood watch and drug unit spring into action to see if the suspect vehicles can be located at any of the local hot spots.

Our leader drives up to our home after a having done few circuits in the area and I accompany her to Govan Mbeki Avenue.

Most of the street lights are not working because of extensive road works, and the area is lit by the shop lights. People are wandering up and down the road. Pimps, prostitutes and drug dealers. All ready to offer you their services at a price. We drive slowly down the street and but do not find any of the cars. We do a u-turn and drive up the other side of the road.

There is an atmosphere of brooding evil that makes one want to get out of the "rats nest" as quickly as one can. We carry on.

A big four wheel drive bakkie (truck, ute) with CW registration plates, is driving slowly in front of us. He quickly turns off the road, into some off street parking bays. As we pass him a tall, slim young woman, with blond hair, barefoot and wearing tight shots and a T shirt strolls along the pavement. Two other young girls wearing mini skirts and knee high boots are standing in the shadows propositioning passers by. I look at them with sadness and wonder what it was that brought them down to this level in life.

We decide to do another circuit and a car stops on the side of the road in front of us. The driver climbs out, steps onto the pavement and urinates against a shop window. As we drive past he walks back to his car doing up his fly.

Across the road we see the blond lass climbing into the vehicle with the CW registration places. "I wonder what his wife would say if she knew what he was up to?" I say.

I suggest that maybe we should try and see if we can get help for these young woman, with one of the local support groups, such as The Potter's House.

Cynicism, or is it a reality check, creeps in. It probably won't work I am told. The pimps make sure that their "charges" are so addicted to drugs that they will never leave. I am reminded that many of these young women never became prostitutes by choice, but are victims of human trafficking syndicates.

Our impromptu patrol yields no fruit and we head for home. It is going to be a long night.