Jozi Journo

No sense, no sensibility

2011-04-11T07:07:00.000-07:00

Julius Malema in court for hate speech, intelligence cop Richard Mdluli trying for bail, another after shock (like how does that work, after a month??) hit Japan - the news today was pretty ordinary.

However, in the little backwater province of Mpumalanga there was a low-key news story that had me gobsmacked. Even though the stuff that comes out of that area is generally weird.

Apparently a taxi association that services the province hired a sangoma from Swaziland to sniff out a dubious unknown character who has been causing them to crash. Mpumalanga taxi crashes have been responsible for 16 deaths in the past 9 months - which they believe are the cause of bad muti after four different sangomas consulted for their insights all agreed that there was a taxi owner using muti to turn himself into a multi-millionaire. Instead of just offering a safe taxi service, he enhanced his own business by causing his opposition to crash.

According to the report, the evil muti caused the taxi drivers to feel sick and their feet to swell so much that they couldn't drive long distances.

So the Mpumalanga Taxi Association consulted with the local tribal council, which governs traditional affairs, for permission for the Swazi sangoma to perform a ritual that would enable him to sniff out the bad muti.

In the meantime some of the black magic and now the taxi drivers are all feeling well and their feet are "in good shape" .

The taxi drivers are now waiting on their permission for the Swazi sangoma to "expose the mastermind" behind all the evil so that they no longer have to live in fear.

Signature of a killer

2011-04-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

Hitman Mikey Schultz, the guy who shot Brett Kebble dead, sends me his best wishes. In writing. Along with his sidekicks Faizel 'Kappie' Smith and Nigel McGurk. Check this out:

So how did such a cheesy event come to pass?

I happened to crack an invite to Radio Chick's book launch the other day. It was a big deal indeed - happening on the 19th floor of the Lister Medical Building at 6pm. It was a mere stone's throw away from Joubert Park and the Bree Street taxi rank. The exact spot that sane and law-abiding people would like to be very far away from come rush hour.

Weaving through chaos, encountering utter lawlessness on the roads, made the drive to the launch function of " Killing Kebble - An Underworld Expose" something of an underworldly experience in itself.

But on the 19th floor balcony the scene was different. Music played, the sun set over the city skyline, people chattered, drinks flowed and it was all very pleasant. The only slightly unnerving element was the presence of several extremely large men in white golf shirts - all bulging muscles, mean stares and important looking wiry gadgets on their ears. The place was riddled with bodyguards.

And then I realised why. The three guys who actually killed Kebble - Mikey, Nigel and Kappie - were all socialising at the launch of the book that so effectively describes how they murdered the mining magnate and completely got away with it.

So I asked them to please sign my book. And they did. Happily!

Strangely bizarre. But weirdly cool.

I haven't finished reading the book yet - but it's really good. I get a passing mention in it! And I'm so chuffed for Radio Chick! The first print run sold out in four days, so in less than a week she's into her second print run. Awesome!

I wonder if my copy will one day be valuable.

Journalist's dog finds headless corpse.

2011-04-04T06:09:00.000-07:00

This morning a rival newspaper completely outdid the daily paper I work for with a cracker of a lead!

I have never seen anything like it. Seriously.

Last week I thought we were running with a bizarre story when my Durban colleagues gave us the story about the former Blue Bulls rugby player who went running around with an axe and killed three people, actually decapitating one of them.

It all quietened down after the guy was arrested and the courts sent him for mental observation.

But now this morning another paper came up with a brilliant new development in the story. The Citizen's investigative reporter, who is apparently based in Durban, decided to take his dog Earl for a walk in the area where the Blue Bulls guy was staying during the time he alegedly took to running around with an axe.

And get this - the dog found a fourth body lying in the bushes. Minus a head.

The headline: "Earl solves a murder mystery". I swear

Talk about pro-active journalism.

Eeeew!

Safe like chickens on any Given day.

2011-03-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

Back at work after a public holiday, smack bang into the first deadline for the afternoon paper and decisions, decisions...

What do we lead with? The latest on Libya? Japan? The hit on dodgy underworld boss Cyril Beeka?

Hmmmm.....

So Libya it was.

And just when that edition is done and dusted, time to think of what to go with for the evening edition. And of course there was lots to choose from. A train derailed in Germiston. A guy walked into the Eldorado police station and shot a cop in his office. And some armed gang robbed an Engen garage in the south just as the cash-in-transit van arrived to fill up the ATM after the long weekend, sparking a shootout.

Decision time:

Meanwhile back in the strange province of Limpopo, a man named Given Baloyi who earns his living by keeping chickens safe for R90 a month caught a python trying to prey on his feathered friends. So he killed it. And is now making a ... erm ... killing selling it off in bits.

“So far the intestines have already been booked for R300. I will charge anyone R150 for the skin and R20 per centimetre for the meat,” he told the rural news wire service in the area.

Plus he upped his chicken security fee with a bit of danger pay and now charges R100 a month. All the vendors who use him were so happy they gave him a R7 bonus.

Happy days!

The snail, the magical penis and six donkeys.

2011-03-09T07:03:00.000-08:00

So while racism accusations, Joburg's billing crisis, the petrol price and tollgates have pretty much been the focus of news reports of late, weirdness has still been happening all the time in Mpumalanga province.

At the Tonga Magistrate's court a group of 12 people - nine men and three women - were released on bail. They apparently killed their pastor.

So why does a mob kill a man of the cloth? It seems the late Albert Malwane, pastor of the Izwi Zion Christian Church was accused of using a magical penis to sleep with women. The details of this incredible situation are not clear - and trust me, I tried to find out. All I know is that he was also something of a Dr Doolittle, because he was said to have been able to talk to the animals. Anyway his actions so enraged his local community that a bunch of people dragged him out of his house to a hill where they burnt him to death. And then they went back and burnt his house down.

Then the angry mob went after Pastor Malwane's wife. She had apparently been terrorising the community by - get this, I'm not making it up - turning herself into a snail. No, she did not transform herself into a puff adder, a scorpion or a man-eating lion. A snail! It must have been one freaky scary snail because they wanted to kill her too. As people do to you in Mpumalanga when you do such stuff. Apparently.

So the whole crowd has been sent home on bail of R1000 each and will go on trial next month. I wonder what the minimum sentence is for burning your pastor to death in that province.

And then this morning a bus crashed. Into six donkeys. The pictures we were sent are disgusting - donkey bits all over the road and some large dents in the bus. I am sure they will make page one of the Daily Sun tomorrow.

It's a tokolosh thing!

2011-03-01T05:07:00.000-08:00

Big news in today is that some members of the Pietermaritzburg community handed in a public petition to the local court claiming that an accused in a murder case uses tokoloshes to steal court documents, and they believe justice won't be done in his case as a result.

Yes, indeed this is true.

The accused is a wealthy traditional healer or witch doctor who apparently told a local guy to behead some other guy and then keep his head in the freezer if he wanted to become rich.

So the co-accused in this case allegedly went off and beheaded an 18-year-old and stored the head, with a snake wrapped around it, in his girlfriend's freezer.

It's not clear whether he became rich by doing this, but he did indeed get himself arrested along with the sangoma.

And now the local community is really uptight about it and set the girlfriend's house on fire and expressed their concern about tokoloshe's being used to steal the docket.

All true.

I swear.

Prayers for Christchurch

2011-02-22T05:48:00.000-08:00

Some days I find it really hard to do my job and remained completely removed from the news events and stories I have to work with. Especially now that I am based on the news desk full time and don't get to run around on crime scenes and things like that.

But this morning when I arrived at work at 6am I was hit by what has been described as New Zealand's darkest day - the quake in Christchurch. It was four hours after it hit.

I recently reconnected with an old friend from primary school days who is now living in New Zealand. I remembered him telling me all about the shocks and after shocks of the quake that hit in September. So I quickly logged on to check his details again and felt sick when I saw his hometown was listed as Christchurch. I mailed him immediately and have heard nothing back.

Then the pictures started coming in.

And the stories. News updates. And then the personal accounts.

They were hard not to read. I went through one of a woman who described how she had said cuddled her little girl the night before and taken her to play school that morning. Then quake had hit at 1pm their time. She survived the wobbling of the building in which she worked. She listened to the news and almost passed out when she heard that the building in which her daughter's day care was based was among those that had fallen.

Hours later she still knew nothing.

I cannot imagine her agony...

May God be with them!

Gone in 60 seconds. For real. Apparently.

2011-02-16T07:26:00.000-08:00

So it seems that Mpumalanga is once again proving my theory that it is a very strange province that seems to be the chosen spot for all manner of weirdo events that would make for a Tarantino-type movie or a Stephen King book.

Like today - a story from a little news agency down that end of the world was dubbed "Gone in 60 seconds". So in Joburg one could assume it was a non-creative heading for stylish car theft racket - you know, like the movie about a master car thief (Nicolas Cage, that creepy looking guy who looks like he'd be at home in Mpumalanga). But no - not in this case.

The thing that disappeared was a brick house. Apparently. Swallowed up by the ground. Seriously. They even sent a picture:

So this was a house built by a guy called Joseph, and which disappeared into the ground four months later. In the Mbongozi section of a place called Driekoppies.

Obviously not deterred by this incident, he and his wife simply went across the yard and built themselves another one-roomed house. As one does in Mpumalanga when the ground swallows up one's first home without so much as a burp or a "thank you very much, that was delicious" .

And now look what's happening to Joseph's second house. I submit:

Joseph's neighbour Dumisa is now afraid that his house will be next.

“I wake up during the night to check if my house is not moving downwards yet. What happened to our neighbour is a nightmare that thankfully happened without anyone getting hurt," he is quoted as having said.

His observation was that the soil in the area was turning upside down every five hours, with the top layer swallowed into the ground. Sticks and stones thrown onto it just disappear. Chomped up by the hungry ground.

The geology expert from the University of Pretoria who was consulted concluded that the area was "unsuitable for residential occupation".

You think??

Jeez!

Ama false teeth going cheap cheap!

2011-02-01T05:16:00.000-08:00

Manic day.

Not only did I man the newsdesk this morning, but I also wrote a story.

Emma - the plucky 15-year-old left paralysed after hitting her head while diving into her pool at home - died this morning.

It was a story I covered when the accident happened, and now sadly - a day short of five months later - at the end of Emma's life.

Her tearful mom told me how Emma hadn't wanted to go to sleep last night and kept calling her mom and sister into her room for chats. She became increasingly distressed about pain in her shoulder, eventually stopped speaking at 1am and then 30 minutes later passed away in her mom's arms.

Sooooo sad.

Then just before I was ready to leave for home we received a tip-off.

Apparently some entrepreneurs in downtown Jozi have taken to ...erm ... recycling disused dentures. The teeth are collected from funeral undertakers al around and flogged off at R20 a pair.

I can just imagine buyers picking up a pair, trying them on, spitting them out and trying another before they find a near-perfect fit. Eeeew!

We were given an exact address where the vendor is punting the second hand munchers. But it turned out not to be so.

But somebody is definitely doing it somewhere.

Check out the picture of ama False Teeth:

Get well soon, Madiba!

2011-01-27T05:30:00.000-08:00

Only one story of interest today!

Nelson Mandela, Madiba, the 92-year-old hero of our nation is not well.

It's a breaking news item that has captured the globe, has journalists and photographers camped outside Milpark Hospital and reporters calling all their contacts for any and every scrap of information they can get.

We early shifters arrived at the office at dawn this morning to relieve our night shift counterparts, allowing them to go home and shower and get some sleep.

By late morning the newsroom was buzzing. Everyone was keen to be part of the story as we waited and waited and waited for some kind of official comment.

Slowly we pieced together bits - Madiba had been on holiday in the Cape when he developed a cough he couldn't shake. It's probably not terribly serious, because he did have TB in prison. But he went for some tests and it was decided that he should be flown home to rest under the watchful eye of his personal physician at Milpark.

The Nelson Mandela Foundation has said he is undergoing some routine tests. Everybody knows he is old and frail. When I last saw him at his great granddaughter's funeral at the start of the World Cup his face was alive with that brilliant beam we all know and love so much. But his body was so weak I wanted to cry! He had to be transported from his car into the hall by golf cart as he was no longer able to walk with any ease.

As he lies in his bed, the hospital is filling up with visitors of all kinds and a massive media contingent remains firmly entrenched outside. Never mind the rain.

I pray for the best. We heard rumours of a pending press statement announcing that he is out of the woods. I hope this is true. The alternative involves a pending story that every media empire is prepared for, but one I have always dreaded.

Long live Madiba!

Spooky Snuki

2011-01-26T05:47:00.000-08:00

One of the cool things about manning the newsdesk in a busy newsroom is that you get to check out all the incoming stories first.

On occasion it's a gobsmacking experience. Of course it's part of the job to double check with the reporter who wrote the copy when you have doubts. But generally it's true and we get to read it first.

Today's big story was a judge's finding that SABC, our public broadcaster, manipulated our news during 2005 and 2006.

It seems that the man who was head of SABC news at that time, Snuki Zikalala, was quite an active force behind what all went down.

According to the evidence, Snuki went to Zimbabwe in 2005 to negotiate the terms on which SABC reporters would cover the Zim elections and decided that they would be allowed in only two days before the election - so no coverage of campaigning (or intimidation and violence) before the time.

While he was in Zimbabwe he apparently “had no problem ordering fresh bread rolls, bottled water and whisky” from room service and so he dismissed all reports of food shortages in the country.

This would be completely hysterical if it weren't for the fact that these actions completely shaped the news we were fed by our national broadcaster at that time.

He was most famous for blacklisting a whole string of political commentators and analysts whose view didn't suit his own, a cover-up that exploded a while back.

It's sad to hear how one man did so much to manipulate news. And then, when contacted for comment now that all his laundry is hanging out in the open air, he slinks away claiming he can't say anything because he hasn't seen the judgement.

Poor poochie, poor pensioners.

2011-01-25T08:21:00.000-08:00

For most of this year so far, I have been office bound. Less than exciting.

I have been manning the newsdesk on the early shift, catching the news that broke in the night and deciding which scoops other papers have that we need to chase down.

So it has been flexing my muscles and working on my bossing-people-around skills and for the most part it has been okay. Sometimes it's hard to hand over an assignment that I would much rather run out and cover myself, but hey - somebody needs to sit in the hot seat. And while I am still stepping around gingerly, nervous about putting my back out again, it may as well be me.

But I have to say, there have been some particularly peculiar stories happening this January 2011.

Like the woman who drove herself to the airport, flew to the Netherlands and checked herself into a mental health facility. Only problem was that she took her dog as far as the OR Tambo International Airport parkade, and then left the poor poochie locked in the car. Eeeeeew! Airport authorities only discovered the now-deceased dog, like three weeks later.

And then yesterday - once again time to dispatch a reporter to the airport for a major big bust. A HUGE consignment of fake Viagra, seized by our very own crafty cops.

As the detective who informed us of this delightful breakthrough put it: "I'm not quite sure how the authorities tested the stuff. Maybe they swallowed one and waited to see what happened. I'm not sure, but whatever they did, they have determined that it's not the genuine stuff".

I am thinking a whole lot of old guys out there are pretty disappointed...

But such is the news of the day!

Happy, happy!

2011-01-06T05:45:00.000-08:00

Six days into the New Year and already I am feeling the need for some downtime.

Half the newsroom, at least, is still on holiday so we skeleton staffers are being worked to the bone. And I get to be in charge on the early shift.

It has been an interesting experience. Covering the matric results for both private and government schools has been interesting to say the least.

Stories of kids with strings of distinctions have been the main focus for days on end. Some have been tales of epic success - like the boy at school in Utrecht (in itself a distinct disadvantage) who promised his mom he would do well as she lay dying two years ago. He then raised his two younger brothers, became captain of the first rugby team, headed the school representative council and then finished up as Dux scholar with five distinctions. So many challenges, every reason to fail - yet he succeeded.

Then there was the boy in Soweto who would stay at school til late in the night to study where he had light, walking home alone in the dark to a poverty-stricken home. He described himself as a rose that emerged from a crack in concrete.

And then the other stories that seem to be sagas of success layered over every advantage. The blonde teenager who notched up 10 distinctions, no shred of nerdiness in sight as bounced along in a mini skirt looking every bit like a promising candidate for Hugh Hefner's Playboy mansion. Or the girl who managed a clean sweep of distinctions while simultaneously taking time out to qualify as a pilot. Or the other girl who was relieved that her exams were now over and she could put her six distinctions aside to concentrate on a career as a super model.

Amazing.

Congrats to the class of 2010!

Julius on a roll!

2010-12-20T07:17:00.000-08:00

Not too much excitement on the news front of late.
However, a very cool present did arrive at the news desk.

How cool is this? Julius Malema's likeness on a bog roll. Fantastic!

And so grinds the old news machine...

2010-12-07T09:22:00.000-08:00

We're into the last slide at the end of the year, but the news machine is not wanting to slow down.

I cannot remember when last I worked as hard as I did today. When I last wrote as many words as I cranked out today.

At 6am this morning I jumped on my first story. A South African man living on Australia's Gold Coast was gunned down in an apparent random shooting. There he was, walking along the esplanade at Surfer's Paradise after a game of tenpin bowling with his kids, holding his wife's hand, when BAM! A bullet ripped through his arm and tore through four of his internal organs.

He had been shot in a violent crime incident in South Africa a few years ago and had relocated his family to Queensland. One would think it was the best thing a family man could do - but apparently violent crime has spread around the globe.

I made scores of calls to Australian journalists and found them to be amazingly friendly. Sweet Henry at the Gold Coast Bulletin even sent me the audio clips of the press conference and the police comments, so for once this Joburg journo could put out a multimedia online version of the story of the morning.

I cannot believe that just three months ago I was on holiday and walked the esplanade at Surfer's Paradise with my family. So weird.

And then it was time to crack onto the Anni Dewani murder story playing out in Cape Town. I don't quite understand why I got pulled into a story in another city, but hey - someone had to put together a piece on the unanswered questions, draw up a detailed timeline and then write a long narrative piece about what happened to the poor young bride in Gugulethu.

As I researched and wrote my heart out, the taxi driver told the Cape High Court how he had been commissioned to do the hit for R15 000 by Anni's husband Shrien.

It was all very dramatic, and all of us in the newsroom were glued to the TV, listening to the whole confession going down.

And then it was time for Shrien's publicist in London, Max Clifford, to give out Shrien's statement in response. He urged people to treat this latest development "with the contempt it deserves". Spoken like a true spin doctor.

This story is going to be great when it goes to trial!!

Laid up!

2010-11-23T08:03:00.000-08:00

Laid up with a bad, bad back ache is what I have been of late. And it is beyond horrible.

In between visits to specialists, trips to the hospital and sending a fairly hysterical e-mail to the one professor I know at the Wits Medical School I have been going in to the office. Hobbling like a geriatric and sitting gingerly with my pink bunny hot water bottle neatly place against the small of my back - but present and at work all the same.

Life goes on and papers go out daily - but it's not so much fun to be part of the process when your back is sore and drains all your energy and enthusiasm to the point where you watch the clock and count down the hours til you can go home and lie down.

But it has not been all bad news. Oh no - I was booked into hospital for a mylogram which, I was told, is a hideous test where you get dye injected into your spinal cord. And that's the fun part.Then you have to lie flat for 24 hours so your spinal fluid doesn't leak out, and you get a crushing headache. However, the radiographers who do this procedure took pity on me and decided to try and see if they could rather do an MRI. This is a whole lot better, and it actually worked!

I got to lie down in a hospital gown, get wheeled into a tunnel and then wait for what felt like about an hour while machines took pictures of what was going on. It was a big machine and I had to wear massive earphones because it all sounded like a bunch of jackhammers around me - but I was not going to complain! It all makes your body weirdly hot, so winds are blasted on you throughout the whole process.

I discovered the power of visualisation as I imagined myself raving it up at Ibiza (never been there, but I figure it's an island, there must be beach breezes) with the thump-thump-thump in my ears being nothing more than really loud, bad techno tunes. And hey presto, it was all over.

Then more specialists, more fights as I declined their polite offers of spine fusion surgery.

So far I am winning.

I got fitted for a lumbar corset today, and on Tuesday I go into hospital for an epidural and spinal block procedure.

Let's hope it works and that I get to spend a few more months happily living my life before I go under the the knife.

A jolly expensive gate indeed. In a state of disrepair....

2010-11-03T08:32:00.000-07:00

Today the Health Department responded to a story I wrote last week. Yay!

It was an expose on the most expensive gate ever built (hopefully) at taxpayer's expense. All about the entrance to the Sizwe TB Hospital in Sandringham. Basically it is a brick structure built to cover two boomed gateways serving the entry laes, two booms for the exit lanes with a little guard house in the middle. Oh ja - the guard house apparently has a toilet in it.

So how much would one pay for such a structure? Well - the Health Department forked out R4.1-million for it!

In response to questions put to them in the Gauteng Provincial Legislature, the department said the company that won the tender to do this had given the cheapest quote with both other contenders quoting more than R5-million. I swear!! For that little brick structure.

So I checked out the opposition companies and found out that one of them doesn't even exist. And now, adding insult to injury, I found out that this little gateway - which is little more than a year old - is falling to pieces. The ceiling boards are hanging loose and the stone cladding on the one side has crumbled off and is lying in heaps on the ground.

That was last week's story.

Now today I hear that the Health Department, apparently quite anxious to prove that they didn't overpay for a soundly built structure, sent out a notice that the damaged ceilings had been caused by the driver of a waste disposal truck who drove through against the instructions of security guards who pointed out that his truck was too high to go through.

Nowhere did they say why such an expensive gateway was not high enough to accomodate the passing through of a big truck (which apparently entered the property without damage to the roof over the entry booms), nor did they say if the driver bashed through the one exit boom and then reverse and bash through the other side too. Because the ceiling is badly damaged over both exit booms.

Eish.

The crumbling stone cladding, they said, was caused by delivery trucks. They did not say how the trucks had crashed into the stone and cement wall situated on the inside of the property at the entrance. From my own observation, this would only be possible if the trucks reversed and crashed the wall, causing the stone structure to crumble without touching the metal gutter in front of it, which remains unscratched.

But hey! Government statements go out, no further information is supplied.

Here is a picture I sneaked with my phone. Check out the damaged roof!

Auction action!

2010-10-25T08:08:00.000-07:00

Stephan Welz & Company are having an auction soon. And they believe that the stuff going under the hammer is so exclusive that it warrants a press release, complete with a photograph of a particularly precious item up for sale.

It's a ginger jar, and looks like this:

According to the description, it's 32cm high on a wooden stand. It is painted with "stylised leaves, flowers and stars against a streaked green and yellow ground, gilt detailing, the cover similarly decordated, all under a lustre glaze".

It's pretty.

Then I saw that this little piece of pottery is expected to fetch between R25 000 and R35 000.

That's pretty expensive for a little item.

And then I saw the Christmas catalogue put out by Makro's liquor outlet. And I realised that R35 000 for a pretty little display item is an absolute steal.

I mean - check this out. R150 000 for a bottle of whisky! I kid you not! Here is the brochure, as photographed with my Blackberry!

And it is not a printing error or other kind of mistake. My colleague Boulders phoned them to check it out. And indeedio - a bottle of 50-year-old Glenfiddich will set you back the cost of a mid-range car!

For that price I would want it to drive me to work, make me coffee and give me a neck massage. At the very least!

Tension in Tembisa

2010-10-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

Today I got to spend a whole bunch of hours in Tembisa. With a few hundred angry residents of the Madelakufa squatter camp - as they referred to themselves. Or the inhabitants of the local informal settlement, as Chief Photographer preferred to call them in the belief that this description bestows them with a little more dignity.

It was a typical protest - angry people cross about having been registered on a waiting list for a low cost house for 20 years and still find themselves in shacks. Apparently President Jacob Zuma paid them a visit in June and promised them that they would be getting houses in about November. And now in late October they have discovered that only about 450 of the 2 500 odd residents will be getting homes in a project set to be phased in.

So now the fight is on - who is going to be among the first to get a house, who gets to choose the priority order and where oh where will the other houses for phase 2 onwards be built because there is apparently no more land!

Chief Photographer climbed up and snapped pics of the raging crowd while the two intern photographers who accompanied us also shot pictures. It was a good training ground - all seething masses, armed cops, threatening chaos but nothing actually ever spinning out of control or getting ugly.

Tembisa is one of those townships with a dark edginess to it - where it's hard to feel comfortable and you feel the constant need to watch your back.

So it was with relief that we watched the crowds withdraw after they were promised a decent written response by the Ekhuruleni Housing Department. Tomorrow. Apparently.

I hope we don't have to go rushing back there in the morning to cover a riot!

Natural Born Killers

2010-10-05T05:53:00.000-07:00

Spending time manning the newsdesk and looking more closely at the stories coming in has me convinced that Mpumalanga and Limpopo are strange places where real-life manifestations of Quentin Tarantino movie-type scenarios unfold with alarming regularity.
I read the stories with horror, knowing that they are real simply because your average sane and balanced person simply could not invent the stuff that goes down there.
Take, for example, the most recent event of this nature. A 42-year-old man from Bushbuckridge has been sent for psychiatric observation to determine whether he is fit to stand trial for the murder of his father.
It seems that 42-year-old Simon spent Friday afternoon chasing a small child around with an axe. His 60-year-old dad Wilson stepped in to stop the nonsense, only to have Simon hit him several times in the head with the axe.
The kid ran to the neighbours who called the cops and an ambulance. But Wilson died soon after they got him to the Matikwane Hospital in Mkhulu. The cops seem to agree that Simon could be a tad mental.
And then yesterday, in Limpopo, another guy found himself in a spot of bother following the deaths of three teenage girls.
Apparently he was driving along in his bakkie when he picked up six young women looking for a lift. He apparently failed to stop at the place where he had promised to drop them off, so the of course all jumped off the back. Three of them bounced in the road and got hit and killed by other cars.
As I say - one could hardly invent these stories!

Ducking and diving and bullet proof vests.

2010-10-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

This whole week, I am set to stay put in the office. A colleague has had a baby and gets this week off for paternity duties at home, and I get to sit behind the newsdesk.

It is not going to be nearly as exciting as, say, yesterday when I got to dash out to fire. The Duck 'n Dive pub and pool hall at Kya Rock shopping centre burnt down, much to the enormous distress of locals. Seriously - it has been a long, long time since I have encountered such a bleak crowd, and I cover Jozi crime! Pale and silent, they stared at their gutted old haunt. I am sure some of them were actually crying, but too embarrassed to admit it. They spoke about the pool trophies, framed t-shirts and teddy bear collection all lost in the fire. Some declared themselves homeless.

So, so sad....

Now if I had been in the newsroom this morning I would have been the one assigned to the shooting at Northgate. Five armed guys stormed into a jewellery store and shot the owner dead in front of his pregnant wife before firing shots into another three people.

Like some enthusiastic adverts are telling us - Christmas is on the way. And so come the armed attacks on malls. So best we start wearing bullet proof vests when we go shopping!

PigSpotter and the Police In Gauteng.

2010-09-30T07:23:00.000-07:00

So PigSpotter - the guy who has been causing a stir round the world with his efforts to alert Gauteng drivers to the presence of traffic cops - is hoping to get his lawyers to negotiate a sweet deal for him in the event that they intend to prosecute him.

If it is up to the Metro cops - PigSpotter will be well and truly roasted. They are really mad with him. Steaming, frothing mad. He has offended their delicate sensibilities by referring to them with all kinds of porky references.

PigSpotter has become something of a cult hero, tweeting away any sightings he has of police activity on our province's roads. Pigs, pork rashers, crackling, swine flu brewing in the bushes - you name it - he had the most delightfully creative turn of phrase.

And he got followers by the thousand - anxious drivers wanting to avoid the ever-increasing number of speed traps, road blocks and the like. Partygoers who might be over the limit, but wanting a safe route home; speed freaks looking to avoid bad surprises or whatever - they are following him madly on Twitter.

Then the cops went public with their disapproval, threatening to sue him for defamation. Their egos are bruised and they're man enough to admit it.

So PigSpotter backtracked a little and said his porky references were not meant to be hurtful. Just funny. I mean Pig is an obvious reference to Police In Gauteng!!

Too brilliant!

I am watching this unfolding saga with bated breath...

Rea Vaya - not so much!

2010-09-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

Gosh - another sudden, unannounced bus strike.

For the third time in four months the Rea Vaya Bus Rapid Transit system failed to operate this morning.

Nobody from the transport department knew why. Nor did anyone from the City of Joburg, or the Rea Vaya Communications office. Not even the Metro Trading Company - the business set up to manage the Rea Vaya stations knew what was going on.

I called them all back just before my late morning deadline and was told the strike action was all to do with a dispute relating to station staff employment contracts set to expire at the end of October.

I dunno, but it doesn't seem to me that going on a sudden strike is the best path to job security. But then again, these BRT workers have gone on illegal, unprotected strikes twice before and got their own way, so maybe it is the thing to do. I have been spectacularly unsuccessful in reaching anyone with authority who can tell me what they plan to do about this situation.

I heard that the Rea Vaya workers were toyi-toying and causing problems at the Thokoza Park station in Soweto and headed out there to speak to them. Dozens were gathered there, most of them lounging on the grass under trees and unwilling to speak - sure that they were not going to work, not so sure about why. The few groups of emotional people talking agitatedly about what other actions to take would also not speak.

A group of us stood in the sun and watched them. A photographer translated the shouts of one of the security workers who was complaining that his salary of R2000 was not enough for him to afford a life policy and that if he got killed on duty his family would be left with nothing.

So - none of the bosses knew what was being demanded of them. None of the workers was saying what exactly they wanted.

I have had to hand this one over to the late shift reporter in the hopes that maybe by sundown or later there will be a voice of reason or some kind of explanation of what happened.

Today was day two of this illegal strike. Still the buses were not running. And still nobody was fired. I called around and discovered that the reason for the strike was now clear. Apparently all the workers' contracts expire at the end of October and they all want to be immediately given permanent employment.

The glitch in the matrix, however, is that the Joburg City Council has apparently promised 40% of these jobs to the taxi industry.

Eish. Caught between a disgruntled worker and the taxi mafia!

So we wait to see if the city's shiny new buses will run tomorrow.

Geraldine and an unfortunate storm in a teacup.

2010-09-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

While I might be non-athletic (although I do have a fairly well-used gym contract) and sports does feature extremely low on my list of passions, I once again had to jump on a sports story today.

A rival newspaper hit the streets today with a big scoop about a retired sprinter having been injected with a "banned" substance. By her team doctor. Two years ago - but hey, it's a doping scandal, right?

The story is all very juicy. The doctor who apparently gave the vials of banned substance was a controversial character from East Germany named Ekkart Arbeit. He once trained a woman called Heidi Krieger who was doped with so many anabolic steroids and stuff that she went on to have a sex change and changed her name to Andreas.

My job this morning was to pick up the story and find out what the people involved had to say about it.

It did not take long for me to realise that Actovegin, the supposed banned drug involved, is actually not banned. It is not listed by the World Anti Doping Agency, nor do our local guys have it listed as prohibited.

So - a bit of a storm in a tea cup. Coincidentally happening on the eve of Athletics South Africa's elections in which Geraldine has been nominated to the Athletes Council.

This scandal cannot be undone. I feel for her!

Big Mac Benni trims down

2010-09-15T07:16:00.000-07:00

Gobsmackingly interesting day!

Mostly because I was assigned an interesting story that revealed to me some startling facts.

The basic story, as broken by the pommie papers, is that our top soccer start currently playing on their soggy little island - one Benni McCarthy - has lost 13kg.

It seems that he went on his personal load shedding mission after he was fined a whopping R880 000 by his football club West Ham United. This, I have to admit, I at first thought was a tad excessive. I mean, how many of us can identify with the poor lad's troubles? But then I discovered that R880 000 was equal to two week's pay.

Jeeez Louise! I had no idea that soccer players earned that much. Admittedly he is a Premier League player. But 40 000 quid? A week!! Compare that with columnist David Bullard's recent noting on his NewsTime website that some SA journalists are willing to work for as little as R35 000 a month (*ahem* that would be 3 150 quid for my international reader) - an amount he further notes is equal to what someone he knows spends on whisky alone in a month.

I am betting that Benni's mom is extremely thankful that he decided to become a soccer player rather than a journalist!

And so after being fined two week's pay, or the equivalent of a townhouse in Weltevreden Park, Benni signed himself into some clinic in Austria where he proceeded to lose 13kg and is now on course to regain his spot in the team.

My contribution to this rivetting international story was to find out what the impact of losing such a vast amount of weight is likely to be on the body of a 6 foot tall professional athlete.

It was a bit difficult considering that the timeframe detailing his weight reduction regime could be found nowhere, so the passionate experts I tracked down agreed that maybe it was good and no harm done because our portly lad had been sporting an unhealthy boep. But it could have been bad if he lost it all too fast because maybe he didn't just dump body fat, and has lost muscle strength and tone.

Who knows?

New crime stats - woo hoo!

2010-09-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

Big excitement today when the cops released the latest crime statistics and anounced that murder is down.

Police chief General Bheki Cele reckons that they have succeeded in turning the tide against crime and that the fact that most contact crimes - the violent ones that we are all so scared of - are down, is proof of this.

Fabulous!

And then he announced that the cops have come across a new kind of crime.

So how is this for genius? Apparently some people buy super duper luxury cars and then insure them five times over. Then, sometime before the five instalments a month drags them into bankruptcy, the car goes missing.

Then they make five insurance claims for, say, R300 000 a whack, and walk away with R1.2-million.

How do people think up stuff like this?

Bad news for Emma

2010-09-07T09:14:00.000-07:00

For two days running I have been writing about a teenage girl who broke her neck diving into her pool at home.

She was airlifted to hospital where they put steel pins in her head so she could lie in traction, with weights stretching out her injured spine. Her family believed she was waiting for surgery that could not go ahead because of our blessed public service strike.

And so her cousin called a radio station and tearfully told how this 15-year-old girl was left waiting.

Fortunately for the paralysed girl Defence Minister Lindiwe Sisulu was listening and immediately ordered whatever military intervention was necessary to ensure that young Emma got the surgery she needed.

So a bunch of high level soldiers marched through the strike action into the hospital to find out what was going on. Hospital bosses scrambled, suddenly the family were told that Emma's surgery was actually scheduled to go ahead.

And it did. Today.

It was a success. But there is now no doubt about it, the diagnosis is final. Four days after her 15th birthday, when Emma hit her head on the bottom of her pool, she became a quadriplegic.

She is still unconscious. Her family are devastated.

I feel so priviliged to have a healthy, happy daughter. She has planned for us to have a pyjama party. After supper we will sit down with popcorn, put on cardboard glasses and watch the 3D dvd she got for her birthday - "Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus Best of Both Worlds Concert". Aaaaargh.

Even so.

I feel so sad for Emma and her family. But never thought I would be so happy to watch anything to do with Miley - simply because I can do it with my perfect little poppet.

Back on the treadmill

2010-09-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

My month-long holiday has been absolutely annihilated!

Three days of work and it feels as though I've been back in the trenches for months.

Approximately 10 seconds after reporting for my first day back at work I was sent running. Week three of the public service strike was in full swing and not about to slow down for me (who had been on another continent for the past four weeks) to catch up with the action.

Never mind the fact that my password had expired and the company had updated the computer system while I was away - I had to make a plan and file on the latest events immediately. A tad stressful but apparently doable - I managed to slam out a front page piece by 7.30am.

Then - no resting on any laurels - there was a gas explosion out in Devland (huh? where? - yeah, my reaction too!). Some guy in an 80-ton digger accidentally pierced a disused gas pipe under a factory and caused a leak that had emergency services closing the air space above, the highway alongside and trundling one poor woman off to hospital.

Day two: a bunch of striking teachers surrounded a primary school and tried to break in and cause havoc.

Day three: More strike stuff to report on. And South Africans stuck in Mozambique because rioters there were causing a ruckus over food, electricity and water prices.

I managed it all.

But I feel tired already.

Perhaps another holiday? Just wishing.

Back from Australia!

2010-09-01T08:15:00.000-07:00

Poof!

In what feels like precisely three seconds my month-long trip to Australia is over. Finished. Done and dusted. Overs kedovers.

All that is left are some precious memories, awesome photographs and renewed respect for my five-year-old Little One who is about the best travelling buddy I could have wished for. She handled airports, jetlag and long boring flights like a trooper.

So, what lessons does one learn when travelling the globe as a single mom?

Firstly - don't try and take your brother tins of chakalaka stashed in your handluggage. You will NOT get it through the South African security check and even get on the plane with it. Trust me - I tried. But noooooooo! Got all three tins taken off me by a staunch security official.

No amount of reasoning or logic would budge him. I would perhaps have understood if he said that canned goods were regarded as lethal weapons on the basis that one could cause far more physical harm with them than you could with other banned items like, say, a deadly nail file. But this was not the case - apparently if the tins contained peas or baked beans there would be no problem. The fault with chakalaka, he told me, was that the spice content was "too high". No amount of reassuring him that I had zero intention of ripping the can open with my teeth midflight, or careful pointing out that my cans were labelled "mild" would convince the guy that allowing me to take the stuff to Australia was not a security risk.

But this was not the last of the airport security busts I fell victim too. While I had carefully packed Little One's left-handed kiddie scissors in our luggage on the way to Australia, she had unfortunately packed them in with her crayons and colouring-in book when we embarked on a flight from Sydney to the Gold Coast. And they got spotted on x-ray and the crack security guy decended on her Dora the Explorer bag like a Beagle on a bag of cocaine. Quickly he pulled the offending item and held it up, proclaiming "This is not allowed".

No amount of pleading that they were extremely difficult to find left-handed scissors garnered an ounce of sympathy. No amount of pointing out that these were small, pink plastic and girlie, not terribly sharp blades with blunt ends convinced him to relent. Rules were rules and the scissors were confiscated as lethal weapons.

But apart from that, we had an awesome time. Adventures galore.

In four short weeks we explored the Southern Highlands, checked out Sydney, walked the Gold Coast beaches and visited Surfer's Paradise, flew to Tasmania and played in snow on the top of Mount Wellington and spent a day in Canberra viewing the nation's capital.

My Little One saw snow for the first time and decided that she likes it only "when it's already fallened with a bit of sun on it, not when it is freezing cold and smashing in my face".

"I need a break from snow," she proclaimed after her first experience of white stuff that left her hands so cold they hurt, as she proceeded to fall asleep in her car seat minutes later.

All in all - totally amazing.

And then we spent 15 hours on a plane flight home. We arrived home to mile-long queues at passport control as only two officials were on duty thanks to the ongoing public service strike.

*sigh*

I miss Australia already.

Macabre madness

2010-07-29T10:14:00.000-07:00

There is something macabre about sitting in court and listening to graphic details of murder from men who, when they are done, are perfectly free and entitled to step of the stand and come and sit in the gallery. Right next to you. If that's what they feel like doing.
And that is pretty much how things have been this week with the start of the Brett Kebble murder trial. We journalists covering the saga have been sitting for hours, listening to hitmen talk about how they were contracted to take guys out in a non-gay romance kind of way.
All of them have immunity for prosecution if they simply are "frank and honest with the court". That's all. So here you have people who have literally blown other people's brains out just telling how and why they did it so that Glenn Agliotti goes down for the murder and they get to walk away scot free.
We've had some quite clear descriptions from Mikey Schultz, for example, on how he aimed his gun at Kebble (who wanted to die so badly he apparently chased them round the neighbourhood when they aborted their first murder mission because his wife's car engine was overheating), watched Kebble look at him and then stare ahead and raise his shoulder a little in a protective motion before Schultz pumped him full of bullets.
Some absolutely amazing revelations: security man Clint Nassif who ruled the roost and took payments in the millions for setting his henchmen loose actually has only a standard six education.
A few glimpses of humanity: Schultz turned down an offer to go and chat to Brett and actually meet him on grounds that it would be uncomfortable because he would have to shoot him dead later.
Some gob-smacking info on the tactical workings of hitmen: Nigel McGurk on how he disposed of Stephen Mildenhall's property after their connections shot him a bunch of time in the shoulders to keep him away from the office for a couple of months. Apparently he and his friend Kappie broke Mildenhall's credit and bank cards into pieces and then chucked them out the window while driving from Cape Town back to Joburg. At one point they stopped and made a fire on the side of the road to burn the wallet.
Ja - like some unbelievable parallel universe.
And then while that was all going down some guy in Mpumalanga lost his tiger while taking it to the vet. So for 48 hours there was a big hunt for a big cat on the go.
Too bizarre for words.
But on the plus side, I am now on leave!!!
Two more sleeps and Little One and I board a plane for Australia.
Woooo hooooooooooo!
Oh ja - they found the tiger last night.

High noon in Germiston

2010-07-21T08:08:00.000-07:00

Germiston Magistrate's Court was where my action was today. The R250-million drug smuggling matter involving the Paparas family.

Quite boring for the most part apart from the few exceptional showdowns between the prosecution and defence.

The prosecutor on this case was one Advocate Gerrie Nel:

He is the same guy who has just successfully prosecuted our former police chief, dirty Jackie Selebi. He might be a small guy, but put him in court and he throws his weight around and pulls some impressive punches.

Squaring up against him today was Advocate Sita Kolbe SC:

She is basically a female version of Gerrie. Put her in a courtroom and she is like a Rottweiller let loose.

So letting the two of them go head to head against each other is quite entertaining.

This morning's first witness was an undercover Scorpions agent who had raided a plot where the two-ton hashish consignment had been stashed. He had filmed it all with a hidden camera and recorded it in his investigations diary.

Once done with his evidence, Sita let Gerrie know that she took exception to his nodding and shaking his head during her cross examination, implying that he had been communicating with the witness when not to answer and how to respond.

Gerrie took huge exception, revealed her allegations to the court and placed on record that he most certainly never, ever would do such a dastardly thing.

Then Sita accused him of adding in an undisclosed witness as a stalling strategy designed to get the case postponed because he knew she would not be available next week.

Again, he furiously denied this.

And on and on.

And it continues tomorrow.

Oh joy!

A bush surgeon gets a visit from the gods

2010-07-20T07:18:00.000-07:00

The gods have appeared to Maine Thifhulufheli Nemavhulani, owner of a circumcision school in Limpopo. Actually they appeared to him in 1982 already, but he is only taking heed now.

According to a rural news agency, Nemavhulani says the gods have instructed him to go to the Eastern Cape to help stop the mess-ups made at circumcision schools in that province.

Apparently the guys in the Eastern Cape have made so many botch-ups at this past winter circumcision school that 42 young boys actually died and scores more have been left maimed in hospital.

Nemavhulani however, has a clean record. In fact he was recently invited to a party held for all Vhembe circumcision school owners to celebrate the fact that "not a single life was lost during this winter's circumcision period inVhembe district. And it was here that he revealed the gods desire for him to go and help out in the Eastern Cape.

Nemavhulani, of Tshimbupfe village near Vuwani, said the gods came to him in a dream and were apparently extremely angry with the Eastern Cape crowd - as one can imagine.

Now I understand that we have various customs and cultures in our country, and we have to respect that.

But I do feel intensely sorry for the mothers who have to send their boys out into the cold winters' nights to attend initiation schools where they could so easily end up dead. And as for the poor boys... I have no words.

Innovative ideas to get over the getting-over-the-World Cup blues

2010-07-19T23:53:00.000-07:00

Body searched for Selebi!

2010-07-14T11:02:00.000-07:00

Another day in the Joburg High Court's courtroom 4B - for the sentencing hearing of one Jackie Dirty Cop Selebi. And, like many, many, many other occasions it turned out to be a bit of a damp squib with a fair bit of talk, no action and ending in a disappointing postponement.

And, in honour of the fact that today's proceedings were all about sentencing, security was out in full force. Oh yes indeedio. So, like usual, we all passed our bags and laptops through the x-ray machines at the front court entrance, stepped through the metal detectors and handed our phones to the strange guy who oversees it all.

Then a climb up to the fourth floor because none of the lifts work. Ever. And if they do, trust me - the experience of cramming yourself into the single occasionally operation lift in the building with umpteen other characters all thrilled at the chance to skip the stairs is horrrrrible!

At the entrance to the fourth floor court passage is yet another metal detector, security guards who search through your stuff and a register that you have to sign with all your details - ID number included. Today's extra special added delight for us visiting females was a body search. I kid you not! We had to individually enter the enclosed entrance to another court. Behind the closed door we were asked if we were prepared to be searched before the female security official then patted us down all over. Truly - even my shoes!!

Once in the court it was the usual bunfight for plug sockets and space on the gallery benches. A growing crowd of interested spectators ensured that the wooden benches of the public gallery were truly packed to capacity.

An old guard cop was called to testify. A white Afrikaans guy waxed lyrical about what a brilliant cop Jackie Selebi had been, and how much brilliance he had brought to the SAPS in his time. The fact that Selebi had gone on to take wads of cash from criminals and show them classified documents did not seem to bother him in the least.

The RadioChick arrived in court - fresh off a plane from Spain, having cut her trip short by a day to continue covering this story.

A few minutes later and it was all over. Postponed until after I am in Australia - so I shall not get to witness the final sentencing.

Can't say I'm crying about it.

Cheers, Jeremeeeee!

2010-07-12T06:11:00.000-07:00

Today is a sad day.

The soccer that has thrilled and united us is over. And Jeremy Mansfield was on the Rude Awakening this morning for the last time.

Tomorrow Joburg will be different.

No more Jeremy. No more Frikkie Geyser and his "very, very, very good friend Gawie". Never again will we hear that Afrikaans accented "hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, how aaaaare we?" greeting. No more Simphiwe the reprobate taxi driver. No more Lovemore Sibanda and his relatives Eet-Sum-More, Lovechance, Tupperware and Mistake Sibanda. No more Professor Wim Beukes with his post nasal drip and disgusting snorting.

Yes - all these characters were Jeremy himself.

The time has come to bid farewell to the big guy who is leaving for a life without alarm clocks and leave breaks planned 18-months in advance. He has been lured away by the promise of "an unstructured life" .

Considering that he had to get up every morning well before 4am, and had go through leukaemia treatment publicly, it's understandable that he now wants a quieter existence where he can dabble in all kinds of other stuff.

But Joburg's gonna miss him. Love him or hate him, Jeremy has been a huge feature on the Joburg scene for ages. He cried like a baby when he said goodbye today. As did many of his callers.

Cheers, Jem!

Paul the Psychic Octopus

2010-07-08T08:42:00.000-07:00

World cup fever reigns supreme!

Another day of writing about airport chaos, demands for hotels in Joburg ahead of the final match and all the rest.

A local communications dude sent in a pretty interesting press release in which he reated the top World Cup campaigns pulled off by creative marketers on a shoestring budget, bypassing Fifa's mafia-like iron grip and control over all things related to soccer.

Of course Bavaria breweries with their orange dresses in the ambush marketing campaign was up with with the best. But strangely enough, they were topped by the aquarium in Germany which has managed to go global with their Paul the Psychic Octopus.

Paul, it seems, has maintained a 100% correct prediction rate in picking the winning team in all Germany's matches.

Yes, this squirmy creature in a tank has managed to accurately identify which team will win simply by picking his food out of glass boxes marked with flags. Each time he has whipped his mussels or clams or whatever octopi eat out of the box with the flag of the team which then goes on to win the match of the day.

So far this has been limited to matches in which Germany plays - and since they lost to Spain last night, perhaps Paul's psychic abilities will no longer work - since he is a German octopus.

However, a Dutch colleague of mine who has been walking around in orange for weeks and is a huge participant of the Hup Holland Hup brigade, is hopeful. He bounded joyfully through the newsroom this afternoon after Oracle Paul apparently picked his food out of the Netherlands box when presented with the flags of the teams that have made it through to Sunday's historic final match.

Yes - Paul picked the Dutch team over Spain.

Methinks Paul is dicing with death and might end up as calamari after the weekend!

So strange to see the hopes of the world swayed by the whims of an octopus.

Traffic on Sunday

2010-07-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

As the World Cup final approaches swiftly, so South Africa is planning to ensure that the biggest sporting event on earth is a giant success.

And so today I was the lucky soul who got to write about the road closures, parking arrangements, highway blockades to protect bigshot dignitaries and visiting heads of state. It's going to be a huge day. With a bunch of chaos. Definitely - if we're writing about Sunday's traffic on Wednesday for Thursday's paper.

Ke nako. And all that.

A Burmese python named 2010201

2010-07-05T10:23:00.000-07:00

A snake apparently used to control the progress of certain teams in the soccer World Cup has been seized by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA), the organisation said on Monday.
"The Cape of Good Hope SPCA in Grassy Park rescued a Burmese Rock Python from a sangoma in Nyanga on 30 June 2010," said SPCA regional spokeswoman Sarah Scarth.
"It is alleged that the snake was illegally transported from Natal to Cape Town specifically for the Fifa World Cup.
"The sangoma is alleged to have accepted money from soccer fans who requested that he communicates to the ancestors and appeal to them to allow their specific football team to progress in the game."
The snake -- which was found to be underweight and suffering from dehydration, mouthrot and pneumonia -- was apparently kept in a shack and car with no food or water.
It has since received medical care.
On Monday, the Daily Sun reported that the sangoma Siyabonga Mthethwa, 25, said that he was "forced" to hand over the snake, named 2010.
"2010 is my snake and I will teach them a lesson. They say a black man can't carry a snake."
Mthethwa alleged that the SPCA was not familiar with sangomas.
"Everything I said does not make sense to them."
Mthethwa said that the snake was "troublesome" when he was taken away.
"I know that he will give them many problems. I will make him disappear or kill him in their care."
He said the snake would not "last long" without him.
"I know everything about his life. I will go home and bring all my other snakes and see what they will do then."
The newspaper reported that Mthethwa owns eight other snakes, of which 2010 was the smallest.
Wildlife Unit inspector and supervisor Brett Glasby said he believed the sangoma had seven snakes in all but that the others were in KwaZulu-Natal.
Glasby said the relevant authorities had been notified about the snakes.

Headlines, shmeadlines...

2010-06-28T21:45:00.000-07:00

So I am wondering what life would be like as a journalist working for a paper that publishes headlines like this one.

Quite interesting, I imagine!

The Dutchy dress goes global!

2010-06-22T07:04:00.000-07:00

The Dutchy dress - that bright orange skimpy little number worn by the Bavarian babes in the ambush marketing campaign - has been the focus of my day.

I got to cover the second court of the two blonde Dutch women who were arrested last week for their part in what I think was the most brilliant marketing ploy by Bavaria.

It unfortunately ended up with two women being arrested for wearing Bavaria's little orange Dutchy dresses to a soccer game. But hey - a direct competitor to Budweiser (sole brewer at World Cup matches selling glasses of beer at R30 a shot!) that was once a small Dutch operation is now known all around the world.

So we - local and international media - gathered at the court this morning waiting to catch the next appearance of these two blonde babes who were facing jail time for what Fifa was pushing was a crime.

It was a two-hour wait for an appearance that was over in a few short minutes as the state withdrew all charges against them.

The girls were relieved, supporters gave them orange roses and they were ecstatic to get their passports handed back to them.

A diplomatic incident was averted.

Apparently Fifa decided not to pursue a prosecution against the accused on grounds that Bavaria settled with them out of court.

Huh! We may not get to hear what the settlement was - but I am betting that Bavaria scored global attention that money just can't buy!

Now it's time for Bafana to kick some French backside. Hopefully.

Go Bafana!

Waka waka eh eh and all that.

Soccer and a faceplant!

2010-06-14T08:02:00.000-07:00

As the whole of South Africa celebrated the kick-off of the long-anticipated World Cup I got to enjoy the experience in granny mode, seated gingerly on a cushion keeping my distance from anyone who could bump me, dosed up on anti-inflammatories and painkillers.

So just how is it that this cutting edge reporter who likes to run close to the action end up being a lamer who now has to hand in a sick note excusing her from work and life in general on the most momentous occasion of this century?

First of all I blame three solid days of sitting on a hard court bench following the closing arguments in the Jackie Selebi trial as the triggering cause. This led to a dull pain in my lower back on Thursday morning that saw me organising a driver to drop me off at the Joburg High Court for day four of this ongoing boring event that was being overshadowed and overwhelmed by joyous crowds and vuvuzelas. I usually walk to court with my laptop in a backpack - but on Thursday I opted out of the 12 block trudge to look after my ailing spine.

However - this did not go so well. As Nelson the driver, in a scratched Tazz, dropped me off at court I stepped out and promptly performed a faceplant into the street as I clumsily hooked the heel of my boot in my trouser leg and bailed spectacularly onto the pavement.

I jumped up smartly and hobbled off, realising that my back pain was now somewhat increased. And court is not a fun experience for anyone with a sore back that feels pain when they have to move. I got through the morning by keeping as still as possible and successfully managed not to wail out loud every time we had to stand and bow when the good judge entered and left the room.

Slowly my back stiffened up and I realised that this was not a pain that planned to leave in a hurry. When it all thankfully came to an end and I could happily leave to write that the entire matter has been postponed for three weeks for judgement, I decided not to wimp out and call for Nelson to come and fetch me, but to instead walk back to the office.

As the day wore on, so the pain in my back increased. I filed my story, stood up to leave and the room swam in front of my eyes. My news editor Evil Incarnate ordered a junior reporter to escort me to my car, which he did obediently carrying my bags.

I went straight to the doctor where I was injected with Voltaren and sent home to rest and told to stay warm and still.

So yes - as South Africa celebrated the the kick off of the 2010 World Cup - I spent the day in granny mode.

Today I was one of the numerous lamers who handed in a sick note excusing their absence from work on the momentous historic day that June 11 was!

Rock on!! NOT.

First the high, then the low

2010-06-07T11:20:00.000-07:00

On Friday I had the most amazing experience!

I got to be on top of the Nelson Mandela suspension bridge when the giant posters of Madiba's face - well-fastened by daring abseilers to both sides of this magnificent structure - were unveiled ahead of the World Cup.

It was supposed to happen at 8.30am according to the Joburg City Council programme. But in true Africa time, it happened close to 10am. So many people in soccer paraphernalia parped their vuvuzela's and the media skulked around as we all waited in the freezing cold while the most unexpect 80's music (we're talking Bros!!) blasted from giant speakers.

Our not-so-eloquent Mayor arrived and gave an appaling speech, thereby retaining his legendary status as one of the really, really bad speakers of our time and living up to his name generally quoted as Mayor Amos ummmm ... erm ..... uhhhhhhh .... ummmm Masondo.

Then they cranked out some World Cup tunes and there was diski dancing. With his lips tucked firmly between his teeth, I have to say that the Mayor pulled off a fairly impressive diski.

The vibe was awesome.

Incredible.

But the high was swamped by today. Another day in the Joburg High Court. Day one of the closing arguments in the Selebi trial. The prosecutor started at 10am. Court closed for the day at 4pm. He was not finished.

We go back tomorrow when he will continue.

Aaaaargh!

Chariots and choices

2010-06-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

I am feeling quite bleak!

Last week the motoring guys gave me a car to test drive. It has been awesome. For a week I have been driving around in a 2 litre top-of-the-range Hyundai i30. It has leather seats, a sunroof and buttons on the steering wheel that allow you to control your environment. It was silver, new and stylish. Somewhat above the level of my 1400 high spec Getz - which is black and looks like a little FBI car because the smash-and-grab protection I had put on the windows made them slightly tinted.

For one week I have been driving like those jerks that annoy 1400 drivers who can't quite keep the traffic gaps small enough to stop the smirking drivers of powerful cars and snarling taxi drivers from cutting them off at every opportunity.

Alas - my time is up.

Today I had to hand the shiny chariot back to the dealer. All that is left is to write up the experience.

I now have the choice. I can upgrade my paid-off car to one of these stylish numbers and deal with the payments, fuel bills and speeding fines that come with it. Or I can save my money and go overseas with my Little One.

So. Dilemma quickly sorted by the purchase of a couple of air tickets. Little One and I depart on July 31 for Australia. We shall be hitting the beaches of the ever-sunny Gold Coast and the snowy slopes of Tasmania and visiting family in Sydney.Woo hooo!

I may be back to driving a sluggish little car tomorrow. But I have a divine holiday to look forward. Not a bad situation at all.

Not so psychic, it seems

2010-06-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Being the sceptical journalist that I am, I have been reluctant to write up my feature story about the psychic from Alberton who claims to have helped the cops solve a murder. This is the woman who told me that detectives asked her for help and took her to the home of a woman who had simply disappeared.

This red-headed mystic told me that she walked into the woman's home and, through her connections with "the other side", was able to watch how the woman was trapped in her home by her domestic worker and accomplices. How they stabbed her, rolled her body in a carpet which they then stashed in the boot of her car before dumping it in a manhole near a squatter camp.

The mystic was apparently able to describe all of this to the police, and all they had to do was go and arrest the suspects and drive out to the place she told them about and find the body.

So I called the Kolonel who is commander of the Germiston Trio Task Team that solved the whole murder and found the murdered woman's body. I informed him of the claims his local fortune teller had made to me and asked him for his view.

"That lady, all those things she is saying, it is complete krepp," was the official line from the man in blue.

He further explained: anybody will know that if a carpet is missing from a crime scene that it was used to roll the body in. You see it in the movies all the time. Nobody ever steals a carpet unless it is a Persian rug, so no - we were not told something we did not know.

With regard to her predicting where the body was: in the 24 years he has been investigating murders, he has discovered that if someone says "the body is somewhere near water" they will be right in about 90% of the cases.

And did she point out where the body was found? Absolutely NOT, he maintains. The suspects themselves showed where they had hidden the corpse. Had they not done so, the body would never have been found - "not even by sniffer dogs".

Ah - somehow it's just what I thought!

Mystic pizza

2010-05-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

Today I got the information I need for two massively huge, earth-shattering stories.

The downside is that the source of these impressive scoops is somewhat dodgy: a woman who refers to herself as a mystic.

She describes herself as a "weird" woman with psychic powers that enable her to see exactly what happened to murdered people, missing kids and the like. She can channel the dead - either in person with you present, over the phone or via skype. It seems technology has aided telepathy indeed. At a price of course. A heft one actually: R700 for her to remove spells, R1 500 to take bad energies out of your house and R700 to speak to your child's invisible friend for 45 minutes. In English or Afrikaans. Payment in Rands, Euros, Pounds or dollars.

She works from her home in Alberton and apparently solved both the Leigh Matthews and Sheldean Human murders although the top cop credited for the successes pretends he doesn't know who she is. She has sessions with clients all over the world apparently and is apparently one of only three people on the planet with her level of psychic abilities. Last week she led the cops to the body of a murdered woman and the killers. The reports I have seen on the murder make no mention of her and refer only to ordinary detective work for the success, but I have not yet followed this up with the police themselves so it all could be legit.

It was while getting the whole lowdown on the murder she solved in Joburg's southern suburbs that I slipped in some subtle questions that gave me the info for my two big scoops.

Mystic: Yes, I have solved a lot of murders. The police call me up all the time and I just work through another dimension and connect with what happened. I can't really explain how this works.

Jozi Journo: So do you perhaps know what happened to the six missing girls that everyone thinks Van Rooyen snatched.

M: Well, I have never, ever told anyone this before. But one day I was on holiday in Durban when a woman came up to me on the beach and asked me to go somewhere with her. My husband didn't want me to go, but I knew I would be fine and told him not to worry. This woman put a blind fold on me and took me to somewhere I don't know and introduced me to a man. I knew immediately he was one of Gert van Rooyen's victims who had never been identified and had been hiding since he ran away from home as a child. He told me all the things Gert and Joey Haarhoff used to do to them - torture, electric wires on their private parts and rape them and horrible things like that. Gert murdered those girls and took them to a funeral parlour up the road from his house where he hid them in coffins underneath the bodies of dead people, so they got cremated and the bodies will never be found.

JJ: Ooookay. So why does this guy not want to tell anybody else his story? Why would he not want to give the information to the police, or the families?

M: Well, he's very freaked out mentally and I did promise him that I would never, ever tell anyone about him. And also he is still scared because there were other people involved.

JJ: And would you perhaps know what happened with Madeleine McCann?

M:Yes. Her uncle did give me a call and I told him to have them spray the flat with luminol and they would see the child's blood everywhere. Those two guys you saw on the TV after her disappearance, those are the ones who killed her. I saw them throw her body overboard on a boat somewhere. So that's why she has never been found.

So there you go - two of the biggest mysteries clarified.

Why would I doubt her?

When I was leaving she said she also runs a non-profit organisation that feeds white children. She often takes clothes and food to one of the houses nearby where these destitute children stay, and the woman looking after them apparently gave her a funny feeling. She couldn't put her finger on what was wrong til she went there at the wrong time one day and bust the woman selling the clothes that were meant for the poor white children. AND she suddenly saw that Albany was giving the woman "200 breads every day", which the woman was also selling. Could I please investigate this matter and expose her?

So I am thinking that someone who charges lots of money for her insights - more than a psychologist in fact - should have been able to pick up on that one!

I asked her for the Lotto numbers. Seems she can't see these. Her psychic powers however do enable her to predict winning horses, but she only ever betted once to win the R16 000 she needed to divorce her first husband.

I am not sure how I am going to write up this story!!

A different view

2010-05-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

One of the cool things about being a journalist is that you generally get to start your day by reading all the newspapers. All supplied and paid for by your company of course. After a while it becomes a kind of daily routine that you don't really think about. It's an interesting exercise, seeing how different publications cover the same unfolding news events of the day. What is important to one title, may not even make it into another - assuming of course that the story was left out by choice and not just accidentally missed. Like for example, today's Daily Sun took a story that nobody else had or perhaps wanted as their front page scorcher.

This little tabloid has a view on the world that often completely escapes me. But a helluva lot of people certainly click with the paper as it has more readers than any other daily paper in the country.

So today's Daily Sun scoop was a suicide story. My paper generally doesn't ever cover suicides, so I know that we would not have been interested in this piece even if it had been syndicated on the wires. Daily Sun, however, managed to take the story and see the link to the ongoing transport strike and scaled down rail services.

Anyway - here is their story. I have copied it exactly - down to the last capital letter and exclamation mark:

"Mpumelelo Stulo (47) wanted to die so he went to sit on a railway line...

But there is a rail strike on. And not many trains were running...

SO THE UNHAPPY MAN WAITED FROM MORNING TILL LATE AFTERNOON - WHEN HE FINALLY GOT HIS WISH!

People said Mpumelelo covered his face with his hands just before being run over by the wheels of steel.

It happened yesterday on the line between Wellington and Cape Town.

Poor Mpumelelo had been there from 11 in the morning to 4.30 in the afternoon."

Ah - but the story does not end there. They continue with quotes from an unnamed witness who describes how they shouted at Mpumelelo to get off the tracks, and how even the train driver tooted his whistle - with Mpumelelo sitting firm until he was hit and killed.

Then you turn the page and continue reading under this headline: THE BIG PAGE 1 STORY CONTINUES

"The dead guy's brother, Thembilizwe, said: "I could not believe it. I do not know what got into my big brother:"

"He was a very nice person who did not talk too much," his sad brother said.

Ah. So tragic. Not sure I would have written the story in this same way myself, but it's certainly creative.

Tell me why I don't like Mondays!

2010-05-24T07:20:00.000-07:00

Days that pass by in a haze of busyness are awful.

Like today. At about 7am I was sent out to cover the oil tanker that crashed on the N3 highway during the early hours of this morning. The driver wasn't hurt, but apparently the smashed up tanker caused the highway to be blocked off completely in both directions causing absolute traffic mayhem - moreso than the ongoing roadworks apparentely. News indeed.

So off I was dispatched, along with my photographer pal JeansAndTackies to cover this incident.

We had no idea what we would encounter. We sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic for more than an hour before we arrived at the alleged crash scene. We had been strategic in our approach, figuring that if the N3 was completely blocked, then we had to find a cunning new route to get to the N3 at Marlboro. Which we did.

The transport manager, keen to help, had told us about a garage where we could park our car and then walk towards the highway bridge that would offer us a fantastic view of the highway. So we parked and ran to the spot where we stood and watched traffic flowing fast and freely in both directions. No obstruction or mangled tanker whatsoever in sight.

Back to the office without a story.

At least I have a research project to work on that kept me busy for most of the rest of the day.

And then another 2010 planning meeting to brain storm and bash out story ideas.

Eish - at least Monday is done and dusted!

Day two down!

2010-05-17T08:46:00.000-07:00

Day two of my working week is done and dusted - courtesy of my having spent all of yesterday at the office dutifully serving out day one. Which means I have Friday off. Fantastic - but still a way away.

This week the early morning news editor guy is on leave, so I have the privilege of acting as him. Pretty cool, because I get to boss people around, organise the news diary for the day and send whoever I want wherever I want. Within reason of course - but it is a bit of a thrill to be able to choose who will cover the next JuJu press conference and stuff like that. Who knows - I may be the person who assigns a journalist who will go on to be revealed as a "bloody agent" or get touched on their studio or something like that. Possibilities indeed.

But it was a pretty mild day for the most part. Just a big bunch of cops gathering in Sandton, blocking off roads and jamming traffic in their efforts to show how tough and ready they are for the World Cup and how capable they are of smoothly directing heavy traffic through popular areas. Seriously. They had helicopters and everything in their "show of might".

Dancers taught Sandtonites to diski. A journalist on top of the open media bus got whacked by a tree and the whole parade was brought to a halt while he got medical attention.

Another journalist from City Press unfortunately got shot by a stray bullet when robbers went on the rampage at Campus Square.

A one-legged pensioner went into his grand-daughter's room, dropped his crutches and raped her 12-year-old friend.

Advocate Barbie wore a purple top blouse when she acknowledged her name being added to the sex offender's register before trotting off to jail.

These things I know because I was on top of the news today...

Convenience in a can.

2010-05-13T07:48:00.000-07:00

Another hectic day - running around tracking down families of the poor souls killed in yesterday's Afriqiyah Airbus crash in Tripoli. I was lucky enough to get hold of the Dutch Foreign Affairs representative just after little Ruben - the only survivor - was reunited with his aunt and uncle. So something happy at least in the swamp of misery surrounding 103 tragic deaths.
And then a friend of mine sent me some interesting pictures of canned food. Things you can keep in your cupboard that won't go off and that you can open up whenever you need to rustle up a meal.
These have renewed my faith in canteen food. They removed my appetite for the longest time by leaving me feeling slightly nauseous for a few hours. And who knew pigs brains were so high in cholesterol?

Look and learn, dear reader:

Rea Vaya mystery

2010-05-10T08:44:00.000-07:00

At long darn last the Selebi trial is beginning to wrap up. The defence has closed its case. All we wait for now is final arguments as the long-long-long awaited light looms at the end of the tunnel. I am so happy. Now I can work on some other stuff. For a change.

But - not so much fun as I anticipated today. A miscommunication mix-up saw me stuck in the office today and not hightailing it off to the metropolis of Ventersdorp for the bail application of one Chris Mahlangu who stands accused of hacking one Eugene Terre Blanche to death with a panga or some kind of farming implement.

And so from my desk I covered this morning's mysterious Rea Vaya bus strike. Mysterious, I say, because nobody seems to know how or why it simply happened. Everybody was cross about it, the council pointed fingers at the union, the union denied involvement or responsibility - and somehow every bus driver stayed away from work today in an impeccably organised strike action. I tracked down the cell number of one of the bus drivers at lunch time, shortly before the 2pm deadline that would see the whole thing declared illegal.

Me: Hi, are you a bus driver. One of the guys on strike?

Bus Driver: Yes. How did you get my number?

Me: Never mind. I just want to know, are you on strike?

Bus Driver: Yes. But if I speak to you, you may not mention my name, okay.

Me: Okay. So why are you striking?

Bus Driver: Ummmm. It's a complicated situation that I don't really understand.

Me: Oooookay. So you don't know why you are striking. Can you tell me who called on you guys to strike? Who is behind this?

Bus Driver: I don't actually know. But everybody is in meetings with management and we are going to go back to work now.

Ja. Well. No. Fine. Enlightening indeed.

I think I would rather have gone to Lolly Jackson's funeral!

Groundhog Day

2010-05-05T07:21:00.000-07:00

Another day of the Jackie Selebi corruption trial. My life has become a boring version of Groundhog Day - same routines repeated countless times over.
Get to work, check e-mails and communicate with relevant characters.
Walk to the Joburg High Court with my large enviro friendly bag containing my notebook and pen, newspapers, bottles of water, wads of toilet paper (yip - there is none in the ablution facilities outside courtroom 4B) and throat lozenges to ward off any sudden and embarrassing coughing fits while court is in session because the germs circulating around the media bench have everyone sniffing and croaking.
Arrive at court and put my bag through the x-ray machine and walk through the metal detector. Greet creepy guy on door surveillance duty. Walk to the lifts and decide that it's just not worth fighting through the crowds for the place in the only working public lift servicing the building.
Climb eight flights of stairs. Go through a second security set-up on the fourth floor. Have my bag searched. Sign in and take the tear-out security slip labelled with the number of the stupid red security tag-on-a-lanyard that has to be worn by THE MEDIA. Never mind that you have signed in umpteen times before and never presented a security hazard of any kind. Never mind that cops can just walk on by and park off wherever they want in court armed with rifles. Oh no, Sunshine - we journalists pose such a danger that we must be marked and set apart.
And so to the press bench where our dysfunctional media family sets up camp. Literally. I am talking little pillows (to ward off piles?), blankies, beverages and munchies, notebooks and laptops lie scattered around. We hunker down and embark on oversharing of personal information - pregnancy scares, the relevance of a feature headline "Will I Never Have Sex Again?" to our lives and stuff like that.
The court starts. And carries on. And on. And on.
Rarely a highlight or a smidge of entertainment. Mind you - today we had the appearance of an undercover SA Revenue Service investigator. Called as a witness, he stood proudly in the dock in a dark grey suit, hair long and curly. Italian? Spanish? We had not yet been told who he was, so we debated whether - given a white flowing cotton blouse and a sword - he would be better cast in a Robin Hood movie or Pirates of the Caribbean.
We heard he was an undercover investigator. Cool! He was asked for his name: Johannes Hendrikus Helluvalongafrikaansurname.
Total mismatch.
And that was it.
Postponed. For another witness who is still in Mozambique.
So we all have to return again another day.
Groundhog Day!

Selebi and his stuff

2010-04-29T02:06:00.000-07:00

Today will be day number eight that I will spend seated on a hard wooden bench at the Joburg High Court watching our former chief of police give evidence in his own defence. I would rate banging your head against a wall, sticking pins in your eyes or having sulphuric acid squirted into one's armpits as more enjoyable, but hey - this is a job, and somebody has to do it. Somebody has to let the nation know what goes down in courtroom 4B, where the security guards stationed at the door make you sign in and take a stupid red tag on a lanyard with you into court so that you can hand it back to them when you leave again. Never mind that this trial has been ongoing for over 40 days already - stupid tags remain the order of the day.

The crowd of journos covering the trial has become like a small dysfunctional family, sharing intimate details of personal lives, squabbling over plug sockets for laptops, offering opinions on the body odour of the strange characters who cram in next to us on occasions when movement is limited to the length of your cable and the open space on another bench is just not an option for the hacks and knocking over each other's cups of coffee bought from the little extortion racket, I mean coffee shop across the road.
Yes - there have been fun moments. Like when Selebi has forgotten his politeness and revealed his arrogance and badness. Or when he mistook a documented R10 000 payment to "Clinton's Balustrades" for home repairs and admitted to having paid out R10 000 for his son Elton's matric farewell suit. Yip - classic slip I reckon, misreading 'Clinton' as 'Elton'. Claiming that you have no "alternative sources of income" to your R32 000 salary, and then letting slip that you sprung 10 gorilla's in cash for your kid's matric monkey suit! Oooopsie!!
Anyway - another day of court antics ahead. It has been intense. It has been boring. I have notebooks of information and can reliably tell you stuff like Selebi spent R197.05 at the Pick 'n Pay in Britz on March 1, 2005. Lots and lots and lots of facts like that.
But I won't.
It is for me to bring you only the exciting story, sifted out of the junk that is spewed over hours and hours of court proceedings.
*sigh*

The bogus profit and bogus prophet

2010-04-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

Another day at the Joburg High Court. All day long on a hard wooden bench. Yes, it is sometimes fun to watch prosecutor Gerrie Nel going at corruption accused Jackie Selebi like a Rottweiller, but even that loses its appeal after a few hours solid.

Today's highlight was Selebi admitting that he used his power as national police commissioner to declassify a secret police document just so that he could show it to his druglord mate Agliotti.

I suppose Selebi set the standard hey.

I found an amusing press release from one Captain Mnayadza Ralidzhivha (one of those moments where you give thanks that you are not a radio reporter because I would have some difficulty pronouncing his name). Captain Ralidzhivha is alarmed and wants to warn the Tembisa against a bogus prophet.

Apparently the bogus prophet targeted a 19-year-old woman in Esdangweni section by approaching her in the street, asking if she knew where he could find a salon.

Now I quote directly: "The whom she was walking with started to prophet the unknown. He told him of his secrets. He started also to prophet her. He also told her her secrets".

Scary stuff indeed.

And then the cunning prophet told the poor girl to put down her handbag and all her belongings and continue "to walk past 10 poles of electricity" without looking to the back or side. At the 10th pole she could then turn around and come back.

Surprisingly (or maybe not) when she got to the 10th pole of electricity and turned around, the prophet was gone. And so was all her stuff.

So let that be a warning to you people out there who let strangers pull psychic stunts on you. Or, as Captain Ralidzhivha puts it so unsuccinctly: "Never allow anybody to pray for you on the street. You know where to get the real prophet are than to meet an unknown people who will start to tell you stories. They know that there is nobody who does not have problems."

Quite.

Fun in Ventersdorp

2010-04-14T09:13:00.000-07:00

Ventersdorp is a small town, forgotten in time. Black people are not allowed in the local church, they fly the old South African flag and most white residents wear khaki clothes. It is in this not-so-delightful little dorpie that I found myself yesterday after being assigned to join two of my darker-skinned colleagues to cover the second court appearance of the two men accused of murdering AWB leader Eugene Terre Blanche.

We got there and joined other local and foreign media in a virtual camp set up across the road from the Ventersdorp court house. Our lawyers arrived to lodge an application to have the matter held in open court because one of the accused is a minor, meaning that legally it should all be done behind closed doors. They all left quickly in their natty suits after it emerged that the teenager was abandoning his bail application because, for the first time in his life, he was being kept in a place where he could sleep on a bed, eat three meals a day, wear shoes, go to school and watch TV in the evenings. The media battle will go ahead on another day.
Limited seats in the tiny courtroom meant that only a few journalists could actually attend the court hearing of the older accused, so many of us were left outside in the Ventersdorp sun where we watched the local action. Union members participating in the municipal strike made use of the opportunity to toyi toyi in front of cameras.
And then AWB heavyweight Andre Visagie - yes, the tall Afrikaner who made news last week after storming out of that live TV interview with a show host who coined that delightful new phrase "Don't touch me on my studio" - came to address us.
It was a cringy experience. He spoke a load of rubbish and said stacks of offensive stuff like "we boere are not available as a brick for President Jacob Zuma to use in building his rainbow nation".
It was hot and dusty and fairly boring for the most part.
And we all get to go back for the next appearance in a month!

In labour

2010-04-13T08:53:00.000-07:00

The Labour Court in Braamfontein has to rank high on the scale of tedious places to have to go in life. Like up there with prison or the dentist.

This is the spot where our South African Local Government Association lodged an urgent application to have the current ongoing municipal strike declared illegal, and hopefully get our rubbish collectors, electricity technicians and all the rest back to work. Their union was there to oppose, because they apparently like staying off work, causing chaos and general mayhem and dirtying up our cities.

So off I popped to the Labour Court in Braamfontein and sat on a wooden bench and waited for the matter to be called. A few radical workers in red t-shirts came to watch. It was hot. Very, very hot. The air conditioner was on full blast and made such a racket that it was difficult to hear anything. Some journalists nodded off in the hothouse-like conditions. Legal eagles stripped down virtually to the bare minimum, faces shone and the sweat flowed.

Then a cellphone started ringing. The Judge called for the owner to switch it off. The flustered owner sat there looking at her swanky, shiny little red phone with the trendiest of tunes emanating from it. She pressed buttons on it to no avail. The jaunty melody continued. She pressed frantically, tried to turn it off and looked completely helpless.

"Try and take the battery off," someone hissed.

Eventually it stopped.

Then we were suddenly called out.

Salga had apparently withdrawn their application. We attended a brief press conference in the lobby where all parties made it clear that the strike was to continue, the negotiations were ongoing but the court battle would happen on another day.

Ah yes - another day another dollar.

And so the rubbish builds up.

Beetfroot, binny kigs and balancing it all out.

2010-04-12T09:52:00.000-07:00

Being back at work today was tough.

I took some days off to rest and spent them at home. Going nowhere. I was feeling quite wrung out after one helluva hectic start start to the year and felt the need for a bit of time out from the big, bad world out there. And it was quite heavenly indeed. Unfortunately starting with a cold that saw cold sores battle their way up my nose, but then turning into gentle days filled with enough time to tidy my cupboards, get my car serviced, shop for a new bed throw and all the stuff I have been wanting to do for ages but just never got the chance.

And of course loads of time to bond and play and cuddle with my Little One. My just-turned-five-years old daughter who is the sunshine of my life. The little soul who loves big, long words yet still calls a feather a thedder, refers to beetroot as beetfroot and just simply cannot pronounce "guinea pig". They are called "binny kigs" in our house, in just the same firm way as Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" hit has been renamed "Bedroom Ants".

But it all came to an end today when I had to go back to work and put my partly-healed nose back to the grindstone. First task - get a grip on what's happening with the municipal strike and find out that Pikitup most definitely is not collecting rubbish today. Second job: get to the Joburg High Court to cover Judge Joffe's ruling on whether or not our former police chief has succeeded in getting his case thrown out of court or if he has a case to answer to.

He does. It all continues on Thursday.

And all the while I spend running after the breaking news of the day, I miss that little girl who giggles when tickled, is perplexed by the fact that Lady Gaga doesn't wear long pants or skirts over her brookies and who breaks out in the brightest, happiest smile when I arrive back home.

A grey day for the guy who hired the getaway car. And his mates.

2010-03-30T06:18:00.000-07:00

This morning's armed robbery story was one of the more bizarre I have had to cover in my time as a crime reporter.
While the robbery itself was pretty much a garden variety hit on a garage shop, the outcome was somewhat different from the usual.
It was just after 2am this morning when seven armed men held up staff at the Engen garage on Allandale Road. The cops caught wind of it and a helicopter roaming the area was there in a flash.
Robbers scattered and took pot shots at the chopper. Chopper crew shot back and nailed Suspect Number 1 in the leg.
Grounds crews joined the chase and followed the fleeing robbers in their white Toyota Yaris. Suspect Number 2 jumped out and decided to take his chances on foot. Bad choice it was as he got cornered between some houses near Rabie Ridge and also got popped in the leg. He was arrested and found to be carrying two stolen boxes full of money.
The cunning cops meanwhile ran the fugitive vehicle's registration number through their computer system and discovered that it was a rented car. So detectives headed out to the establishment early this morning to make enquiries as to who had rented this car and all the rest. While they were there Suspect Number 3 arrived to politely return the car, and got arrested on the spot.
Damn! Can you believe that? I couldn't, so I called the chief cop spokesperson on duty to check that I had my facts straight.
"Yes. That's what he did. We couldn't believe it either. Maybe the guy was just trying to be honest," he told me.
"So what's your message to the four other guys out there who are still on the run?" I enquired.
"They must know that we will place our feet squarely on their backs," he said.
Honestly.
He seriously talks like that! I am just so disappointed that we weren't there to get pictures.

Baying for the blood of Jub Jub and Themba

2010-03-17T09:02:00.000-07:00

So another day has passed with me once again passing many hours in the Protea Magistrate's Court where hip hop star Jub Jub and his unemployed mate with a liking for fast cars applied for bail.
Last week the two crashed their Mini Coopers into a group of six school boys walking home, killing four and leaving the other two in a coma. Nine days down the line, with the funerals done, the people of Soweto are now burning with outrage and ready to lynch these two boys in the streets.
The cops, apparently responding to numerous threats of violence and all the rest, barricaded the road outside the court, locked the gates and made everyone plead their case as to why they should be let in. Sorry for the journos who left their press cards behind!
Once inside, the next obstacle was the door to the court where burly cops were posted to check out the validity of press cards and allow only relatives of the accused and victims in to join the media in watching the whole hearing go down. Once the place was neatly filled (not squashed beyond breathing like last week) the doors were closed and everyone outside had to stay there regardless of their credentials.
Lucky me - I got a prime spot on the front bench. Thankfully I had not had so much as a cup of tea before I got there, so knew I would have several hours before a bladder burst. Quite amusing to watch a TV journo and her producer sip on bottles of flavoured water only to eventually give up one of their prized seats for a toilet dash.
As the proceedings droned on we could hear the masses gathered in the streets outside causing mayhem. Then a police chopper hovered overhead.
"Do you think we are safe in here?" I wrote on my notebook and showed it to the woman next to me, who shook her head sternly.
A few minutes later she received an SMS from her newsdesk telling her that rubber bullets were flying in the street outside. Clearly the place was under siege.
The cops pulled in the big crowd control water cannon and aimed it at the masses, causing them to back off a bit.
After almost seven solid hours - well, apart for one 10-minute break for a chat in chambers - the magistrate finally ordered that the matter stand down and continue again in the morning.
*sigh*
So more fun and games tomorrow!

Deeds indeed.

2010-03-15T10:34:00.001-07:00

Hectic day, what with the taxi strike, service delivery protests and sweet Julius being found guilty of hate speech. All very busy indeed.
In amongst it all my colleague Ballerina and I took a walk across to the wrong side of town to go and locate the title deed of a property belonging to a prominent person for a scoop that shall hopefully come to be in the near future.
First discovery: the deeds office has moved to the other side of town. In an even more dodgy area. So off we stepped, sweating in the sun, eventually managing to locate the new office.
What a flipping drama! We had to supply a friendly woman at the door with the erf number of the property we wanted to know about. She checked it out on the computer, asked if the owner listed to it was who we were tracking and then handed us a form and told us to take it to another woman seated behind a counter with two chairs in front of it.
SecondWoman indicated to us to sit down and wait as she sat there and made a couple of phone calls. Then she tapped a bit on the computer while Ballerina and I surveyed the surroundings only for her to spot a passport lying on the floor at my feet. I picked it up and handed it to SecondWoman who immediately clicked her tongue and disappeared with it.
We waited. And waited. And then she came back, tapped a bit more and handed us a piece of paper to take to ThirdWoman who we would have to pay R36.
We did this and duly got sent back to a bank of chairs to wait to be summoned again by SecondWoman. It took a very long while.
But suddenly we got the document.
Another long walk back to the office in the midday heat and it was all over.
What a mission!!

A message from Jules

2010-03-11T05:57:00.000-08:00

It seems that people are disbelieving of Julius Malema's claims (made while drinking a glass of pink Moet) that he is sincerely aligned with the poor.
Someone was rankled enough to go and create this little poster, uttering what I gather is a sentiment shared by many:

Arrogant man, angry people.

2010-03-10T06:34:00.001-08:00

Horrible, uncomfortable, challenging and draining are the words that come to mind when I think about the events of today.
On Monday our Soweto hip hop star Jub Jub and a friend allegedly downed some alcohol, jumped in their Mini Coopers and went dicing down a two-way suburban road. As one would expect during afternoon peak hour traffic, they encountered an oncoming car so the one in the wrong lane dodged back, clipped the other and they both lost control.
Their cars ploughed into six teenage boys walking home from school, killing four of them.
Jub Jub - fresh back from his appearance on Celebrity Survivor which he walked out of voluntarily after developing a rash on his manly bits - and his mate were duly arrested while the media scrambled to cover what is turning out to be a HUGE story.
Today was their first appearance in court.
I have never seen such chaos. The case drew such attention that the police had to lock the gates to the court, causing thousands of people to gather in the streets. The court building itself was packed out and the courtroom where Jub Jub and friend were to appear turned into one big, heaving, hot, uncomfortable squash. For almost two hours.
It didn't take very long for the matter to eventually be postponed for a week, despite Jub Jub's smooth lawyer's argument that "yes, we have lost four innocent souls, but Your Worship this was an accident...". Ja. His real court submission.
Jub Jub's family were there to support him. His dad, his sister and another guy looking very Michael Jackson in tight pants, bouffant hair, lots of bling and a man bag dangling from his wrist. His mother Mama Jackey - known as the Angel of Soweto before she was branded a liar and convincted of assault - was absent.
And so Jub Jub and mate were escorted back to the cells. Then they were taken away in an armoured van, which was a good thing for them because the angry, angry mob outside stoned it. I think he should be grateful that he was not released on bail.
I got back to the office and filed the story for tomorrow.
There was a bit of a commotion in the newsroom when an anonymously sourced e-mail arrived with photographs of the Jub Jub crash. It was beyond disturbing. Sharp, clear images of dead children that look like they were taken for forensic evidence purposes. Young boys staring lifelessly up at the sky. One with blood dripping from his mouth. Another looking as though his legs were torn off.

Sticks and stones at UJ!

2010-03-04T06:56:00.000-08:00

Throw rocks at the cops if you want a free tertiary education.
I swear - this was the mentality of students at the University of Johannesburg who went on a riot this morning to try and get Government to listen to their demands. They want free education for poor students.
Totally unbelievable.
They toyi-toyied. They jumped around and sang struggle songs. They threw rocks (plucked from the decorative rockery outside the residence), kicked over cement dustbins and burnt stuff.
The cops arrived in riot gear, fully prepared for a clash. Ready for battle

A large guy, claiming to represent the ANC Youth League on campus, did a bit of rabble rousing, hyped up the crowd and was very much part of the political action. Another student arrived with a printed message, also purported to be from the ANCYL, which said the ANCYL distanced itself from the protest. Unfortunately he would not let me keep one of his three flyers, nor was I allowed to even copy it down which is a pity because the grammar and spelling were ... erm ... unacceptable for a teenager let alone someone busy with tertiary education.
It was all noisy and boisterous until the students went too far and annoyed the cops who opened fire on them with their crowd control water cannon. It was brilliant!
The jets of blue dye were followed by sprays of yellow solution that apparently contained CFC or some kind of pepper spray or tear gas designed to start a nasty burn on any wet spots hit by the dye. The students screamed and ran and then continued their taunting.
So they got blasted again.
We laughed from the sidelines until a side wind sent tear gas in our direction and had us coughing with streaming eyes.
All in a day's fun I suppose!

Zuma has lunch with the queen.

2010-03-03T09:54:00.000-08:00

So our president didn't make too much of a good impression in London today.
It seems the British press were less than impressed with our JZ. According to the Mail Online: "Jacob Zuma is a sex-obsessed bigot with four wives and 35 children. So why is Britain fawning over this vile buffoon?"
The Daily Mirror described him as a "sex slave like Tiger Woods" and referred to him as a "goat-herder that caused outrage by fathering a child with a pal’s daughter."
The Guardian was perhaps the kindest, describing him as exuberant with a "colourful CV".
But still, he got to have lunch with the queen. And also ask the Brits to please stop imposing sanctions on Zimbabwe.
Now that I totally fail to understand!

Selebi delay

2010-03-02T06:06:00.000-08:00

Surprise! Surprise! The corruption trial of our former police chief has stalled. Again. For a month!
It's frustrating to be called on cover court case after court case that drags through our criminal justice system, where bad guys are given good deals in exchange for their evidence and the proceedings drag along and cost taxpayers a fortune at the end of the day.
We journalists spent hours in court this morning covering what amounted to be an extremely short amount of court time in which it was decided that the matter would stand down so that Selebi's legal team could put together their application for his realease on ground that the state has failed to present a compelling case against him.
With heads down we took notes or tapped away furiously on laptops and netbooks, filing news updates to our respective media houses.
But for the most part we sat and chatted and teased the media spokesman for the National Prosecuting Authority. We were all in firm agreement - the age of journalism where reporters were old hacks with alcohol problems are long over. Today newsrooms are juniorised to the extent where most reporters are under 30. And with technology making it possible for stories to be filed unendingly - for the internet if not a specific deadline - NOBODY has time to stop for a drink!!!

The girl with a lot of tattoos

2010-03-01T09:38:00.000-08:00

A young woman was supposed to be sentenced today for stealing R1.3-million from the legal firm she worked for.
Nicole Romy de Villiers was arrested a year ago along with her husband and father-in-law, and the three were accused of being part of an organised crime family. It was a strange situation in that it looked like the woman - the youngest - was the kingpin running the show.
But since then the State realised that the father-in-law and distraught husband had absolutely nothing to do with it and they have been released. In fact they were asked to come back to court today to testify that they are good people who will happily take the little four-year-old daughter and two-year-old son back into their home when Nicole gets sent to prison. At least that's what they are hoping for.
Yes - she has pleaded guilty admitted to having taken the money. But she's still trying to shift the blame by saying that her husband and father-in-law actually made her do it.
And it seems that she has got a whole lot of people believing her story. The parole officer from social services asked for correctional supervision and house arrest as the punishment. The social worker - a sweet, older lady who seemed to be testifying for the first time ever and kept referring to Nicole as "the defendant" instead of "the accused" - was adamant that no young mother should ever be sent to prison. In fact she kept saying that Nicole had not benefited at all from her crimes apart from maybe having an elevated lifestyle. Well helloooooo - what is one supposed to do with a whole bunch of money?
Then the Rabbi testified to say that Nicole was remorseful for sure, and in fact he thought she was put up to the whole theft thing.
I am wondering if these people who are so keen to keep her out of the slammer have done her more harm than good. Because if the State can prove that she acted alone, then she has quite plainly hoodwinked everyone near and dear to her - including her therapist - and there is no doubt that she is still lying and shifting the blame.
Ah well - a postponement means we will have to wait almost two months to find out....

The state of our province...

2010-02-22T09:58:00.000-08:00

Boom, boom, rah, rah!
This morning was our Premier Nomvula Mokonyane's time to shine. Her moment of glory as she delivered the State of the Province Address, laying out all the progress made during her last eight months in office.
It started out with a stack of streets being blocked off for the event. It caused unbelievable mayhem in the streets for hours on end. There was road rage aplenty as motorists stood still in gridlocks around the Provincial Legislature building. Traffic officers, obviously fearing for their lives, took to standing on pavements instead of in the streets, waving their arms frantically as they were ignored by taxi drivers and the like.
Fortunately my office is walking distance from the Legislature building, so I got there ahead of time with no parking worries or anything like that, ready for the pomp and ceremony.
But it was a challenging assignment indeed. I am completely confused by the dress code. This event was taking place in Africa, in summer, in the midday heat. Yet everyone looked like they were dressed for an evening function, in Europe in winter. There were brocade jackets, shiny fabrics and sequins in abundance. Women sporting wigs and hair pieces as well as glorious hats had on stockings and heels so high they made your eyes water to look at them.
Now cram this warmly dressed crowd into a small space, and the sweat is bound to be a-flowing. Yes indeedio. Flow and flow.
The police band (all dressed for winter) played their hearts out in the sun. The guests were herded together into their seats.
Nomvula, nattily attired in a warm gold long-sleeved ensemble eventually gave her address.
But unfortunately for her, the event was overshadowed by the ANC Youth League's Julius Malema who held a press conference apparently to say all the media reports about his apparent huge wealth were obviously obtained by journalists who sleep with their sources. As my colleague stated: my, how lucky are we?!
Of course Sweet Julius still gave absolutely no explanation as how his houses, cars, designer clothes and R250 000 watch were paid for!

Superjumbo arrives!

2010-02-18T07:53:00.000-08:00

The day after the Budget started quietly - anxiously looking for angles that hadn't been covered or an analyst that hadn't been quoted. And of course the first of the new Zuma jokes linking his shenanigans to the Budget - like the one above.
But then it tumbled into one of those fun days that had me wondering how it is that I actually get paid to do what I do.
It was a momentous day - the arrival in Johannesburg of an Airbus A380. Only the largest commercial airliner in the world!
PicturesEditor and I headed out towards OR Tambo International Airport to scout for the perfect spot to witness the touchdown of the monstrous beast. We found scores of plane spotters packing out the Boksburg roads that circle the airport, and they were ready. They had flasks of coffee, cups of tea and their cameras all ready.

There were shouts of excitement everytime a Boeing appeared, and then it would die down to enthusiastic chatter. And then the great white spectacle loomed, distant in the sky. It came in low over the East Rand Mall and appeared to hang for a while before zooming in with engines roaring.
The giant bird that had flown in from Paris landed on the runway, dwarfing all other planes. The spectators clapped and cheered and whooped in delight.
Strangers became friends in a moment of joy.
I am glad we could head back to the office after that. I pity the 538 passengers on board who had to go and negotiate the newly extended baggage carousels to find their luggage and take a place in what was bound to be a congested customs hall!

Bravo for the Budget?

2010-02-17T07:35:00.000-08:00

Our new Minister of Finance Pravin Gordhan made his maiden Budget speech today. The financial experts and analysts have all praised him and said it was good.
However, I am absolutely gobsmacked that he made not even a single reference to crime, security issues, policing, courts, the criminal justice system or prisons.
We're a crime-rattled society with an average of 50 murders a day. Government has regularly claimed that our unacceptably high crime is among its top five priorities.
And then today nothing gets said about it. Not a word.
I'm totally amazed.

Tata ma chance...

2010-02-16T04:11:00.000-08:00

So the poor deaf guy from Cape Town who has gone into hiding after he apparently won R91-million in the PowerBall draw is not the real winner.
Lottery operators Gidani quickly called a press conference this morning after it emerged that the alleged winning ticket displayed in various media around the country had in fact been bought the morning after Friday night's draw and is therefore only valid for tonight's draw. Total bummer!
So I was sent to cover the press conference aimed at clearing up all the conclusion, setting the record straight and all that. Before leaving I made a quick dash to the loo and found that someone who had been there earlier had left a pamphlet in the cubicle. A pamphlet about suicide and how it impacts on everyone left behind. Dear God - I know things are hectic and chaotic at work and bunches of people are off with stress or burnout, but I hope to goodness one of my colleagues is not planning to top herself!
The off to Gidani's offices on the building site that is the intersection of Allandale and Old Pretoria Road. But it was for happy news indeed!!
It seems the real winner of the money is a happily married mom to two teenagers who slipped her winning ticket into her husband's wallet and booked them into a hotel in Cape Town for the weekend before claiming her prize this morning. She wants to remain anonymous and who can blame her after seeing what chaos and mayhem has befallen the mute cleaner who was outed as the winner by a tabloid paper??
She sounds like a brilliant person. She has no plans to go nuts with the money, not even prioritising a holiday right now as she and her hubbie don't even want their kids to know that they are the new holders of a truckload of money. She is super-impressed that her windfall - R91-million - was from a draw commemorating the life of 91-year-old Madiba and his 20th anniversary of freedom. And she's going to buy a car for her kid who starts university next year.
How cool is that?
While I have a whole lot of experience at winning random e-mail lotteries that I never entered and have never claimed - no day goes past without me getting some or other offer of large amounts of foreign currency, this is the one I would REALLY like to win. And like this latest lady - I wouldn't tell anyone!!

Power puzzles.

2010-02-15T09:44:00.000-08:00

I cannot say I have ever had quite so much of a puzzling time as I did today.
The challenge: readers called in from a couple of different areas reporting power outages in their areas. They had been unsuccessful in their efforts to find out the cause or how long it would be before their electricity would come back on. An inconvenience to say the least.
The first attempt to find out what was going on: I called the spokesman for City Power. His landline went unanswered. His cellphone rang for ages before cutting out dead. No voicemail facility to even leave a message.
So I called another big boss at City Power, and it was the same story.
Second effort: I called the Joburg Connect call centre. A recorded message - no date or time given - stated that the city was currently experiencing power supply problems in the city centre, the eastern suburbs, Randburg and surrounds and Roodepoort and surrounds. Technicians were working on this and the problems would be resolved as soon as possible. Ooookay!
If I am not mistaken, that would leave pretty much Soweto, southern suburbs and East Rand as the only places with lights.
Third effort: I called a spokesman for the city and he did not answer his phone. I phoned another spokesman and he offered me only his sympathies. He has been trying for DAYS to get hold of the City Power guys to find out the lowdown on what's happening around Jozi, and has been a unsuccessful as I was. He in fact tried the MD and the MD's PA as well with no joy.
Fourth attempt: We sent reporters out to various areas to find people without power. But it seemed that things were fine. We couldn't find anyone battling along with no electricity. And no traffic nightmares due to robots going down. At least not more than usual.
And still the Joburg Connect call centre continued to deliver the same recorded message. And the spokespeople remained uncontactable.
Puzzling indeed....

The thug and the judge

2010-02-09T09:52:00.001-08:00

Today saw thug Gary Beuthin bounced out of court and into jail for the next seven years.
He's a bad boy with umpteen previous convictions for driving offences, public violence, malicious damage to property and assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.
But today this bad boy met his match in the form of Judge Kathy Satchwell - South Africa's own Judge Judy, who would without a doubt make for an excellent subject on a reality TV show if we were less American here and allowed cameras into court. But alas, Judge Satchwells actions in court remain the domain of the print media.
After a fight with the guys at prison who wanted to bring him to court without his three giant bags of court documents, Beuthin finally made it into the dock at noon. He bristled in his leg irons, flexing his muscles and grimacing at me and the only other journalist in the courtroom.
Beuthin has admitted to trapping a former Hell's Angel and then beating the guy's legs with a bat til his calf muscle popped out through his skin. The guy, who is about the size of a small truck, was left unable to walk for four months.
And so Judge Satchwell arrived in court and worked her way through Beuthin's plea agreement. She was gently and kind with him, urging him not to stress when he appeared flustered as he flapped through pages and assuring him that he had plenty of time. She reached the bottom line and when it came time to utter her consideration she made Beuthin stand up as she yelled at him like a little kid.
"You are almost 45 years old. You are big enough and ugly enough to know better," she yelled at him, rebuking him for "this kind of thuggery".
He hung his head in shame and looked embarrassed.
She did not hold back.
It was brilliant!!

2010-02-08T08:35:00.000-08:00

Another day of the Jacob Zuma love child saga. And all the academic debate around polygamy, culture and all that. Loads of jokes about our "father of the nation", the "spear of the nation" and Zuma's version of Thabo Mbeki's "I have a dream" speech being "I have a big wet dream".
Was he sincere when he apologised to the country for his embarrassing behaviour? Considering that it came a week after his love child was made public I think it was spurred more by a painful prodding from the leading party than a place of genuine sincerity.
I don't understand why there was not more of an outcry from the country when Zuma was tried for rape. I don't understand why he was able to disband the Scorpions, go on to be sworn in as president of the country and then scupper the corruption case against himself. I find it unspeakable that he condoned the unfair paroling of his best mate from prison.
And now one four-month-old baby girl born out of wedlock - hardly an event of significant political importance one would think - and the country is screaming.
I just don't get it!!
Now - imagine if there were more love children out there? And imagine if it was made public?

The zoo in Zuma

2010-02-04T06:28:00.001-08:00

Another day, but more of the same continued chirping about Zuma, his wives, his mistresses, his friends and their daughters and his growing brood of children.
It seems that Zuma and his latest love child are the topic of the day and it's not likely to change for a while. I guess that's what happens when you, the president of a country, sleep around outside the marital bed or beds as the case may be. And get your mate's daughter pregnant.
And so the debate has turned to other things - such as the raising of children in polygamous households, the fathers who have jobs like running a country and their responsibilities to all their 20 offspring, and how we can possibly believe that our president believes in gender equality. I for one would love to know what he would think of a woman who took several husbands and then had a child outside of her marriages.
Plus all the brouhaha after he admitted to having fathered the baby and paid damages as dictacted by his culture. I was gobsmacked to hear that he was blaming the media coverage as "harsh" and "unfair", as by his own admission the information reported on was the truth. Any harshness or unfairness, it would seem, is purely from his own actions.
And then, get this for the kicker, he asked "I would request that the dignity and privacy of the affected individuals in this matter be respected."
Seriously! I fail to see what dignity we are asked to respect.
It's all become a bit tiresome. Zuma himself is so exhausted by it all that his office announced today that he will be taking two days off after a "hectic week".
I am wondering if his wives are going to lovingly welcome him into the home and pander to his every need while he rests, or if they are more likely to punch his lights out.
I know what I would be doing if he was my husband.

Men and monsters

2010-02-03T07:41:00.000-08:00

The world is a strange place indeed.
Today was supposed to see the start of the Brett Kebble murder tiral. Yip, the mining magnate who was shot dead in his car in what was apparently an assisted suicide plot.
So while the matter was basically postponed for another half-a-year, all the key players in the story were at court. So that's how we got to mingle and hang out with them. It's the strangest thing.
There we had the murder accused himself - Glenn Agliotti, a large Italian guy who must have spent a significant amount in the tan can ahead of the trial judging by his brightish orangish complexion. Or else he has been violating his bail conditions and hanging out in the Bahamas or some-such sunblessed spot cos it could not have happened in Joburg during our month-long rain episode. He is a self-confessed druglord and one very, extremely rich guy.He is extremely pleasant, friendly and does not look how one would expect a person to look when they are in the dock facing a murder trial. He jokes a lot and shares intimate details of his life, such as the fact that in the three years he has spent under house arrest he has developed piles. Talk serious overshare! When asked for a comment by RadioChick he leaned into her microphone and whispered "I love you, babe", leaving her gasping "What the heck am I supposed to do with that soundbyte?"
And then there were the actual hitmen. The guys who pull off murders for money and have been given immunity for prosecution in exchange for their evidence against Agliotti. A surly bunch of burly boys indeed.
There we had Mickey Schultz, a bad boy who once ran with the Hells Angels and was boss man of the Elite Bouncer mob. He has a face like an angel and is now a boxer. He has said that the gun jammed the first time he tried to shoot Kebble. But he apparently had it in him to keep on trying, and shot the guy dead. He wore a suit that covered all his tattoos and smiled politely.
Then there was Nigel McGurk. A tall ex-bouncer who wore a white shirt and pristine white tie. A lawyer led him into the courtroom before the proceedings started and pointed out the witness box, the dock and other points in the courtroom. It was surprising as I know McGurk is no stranger to court. A few years back he was implicated in the death of Patrick Caetano who was stabbed to death with a butchers knife outside the Blueberry Grill.
Charming people indeed.
So there you have it. The human side of the type of a few characters you would imagine should all be locked away from civil society.

Baba, some dignity please!!

2010-02-02T08:40:00.000-08:00

For two days solid now our newsroom has been abuzz with banter. It seems, like just about everyone else in South Africa, my colleagues all have strong opinions on the recent discovery that our first citizen, President Jacob Zuma, has fathered his 20th child. With a woman who is not one of his five wives, nor one of the two wives-in-waiting who he has paid lobola for. Ah yes, she is instead the daughter of his mate Ivan Khoza the soccer boss.
There were sentiments of outrage: "I don't care, people can call me Pan Africanist if they want, but honestly, Zuma is a total disgrace".
Then jokes: "So can you imagine Zuma enjoying a social visit with Ivan Khoza, and then leaning over and saying 'my, but you have a beautiful baby granddaughter'?"
Disgust: "How the hell can a person visit his friends and see their baby daughters in nappies with snotty noses, only to wait a few years and then find those little girls sexually attractive?"
More outrage: "If you consider that the woman who accused him of rape was his best friend's daughter, he has a habit of sleeping with his friends' kids".
Some understanding: "At least he is proud to wear leopard skins and jump around and roll on the ground and is proud of his Zulu culture."
More jokes: "Hey, if he wants four better, four worse, four richer and four poorer he still has a way to go".
Ai yai yai.
The timing is soooo bad. It all comes after Zuma appealed to the international community to view his polygamy as African culture and not judge it as inferior to the western norm of monogamy. And as government tries to launch its 'One Love' campaign to encourage safe sex and Aids education.
Seems our man JZ is a bit of a joke.
Almost like having a Minister of State Security finding out that his wife is involved in an international drug smuggling ring.
Oh ja, that happened too.
What is happening to our nation's dignity?

Tattoos and toilets

2010-02-01T07:15:00.000-08:00

Two high profile trials hit the Joburg High Court this morning - both in front of the same judge in the same courtroom.
Our former police chief Jackie Selebi on trial for taking money from bad guys in exchange for a bit of preferential treatment and self-confessed druglord Glenn Agliotti on trial for murder for his part in masterminding the assisted suicide of Brett Kebble.
All very interesting and promising of juiciness and excitement in court - but unfortunately not to be. Both ended in postponements.
*sigh* So disappointing.
There we all were at court, a whole big bunch of journalists who had passed through two banks of metal detectors, signed our way in and been issued with red cards to hang around our necks. I am not sure why - maybe it was so you could go to the toilet and come back without going through the whole security rigmarole again, but I am not sure as I do my absolute utmost to avoid the high court toilets. They are ceramic loos with no seats, no toilet paper, no doors in some cases and generally no working taps at the basin. Best to be avoided unless you are absolutely desperate and have your own supply of tissues and that nifty waterless handcleaner stuff.
We were hoping for action and sensation, but there was none. We thought we might see the tattooed boxer Mickey Schultz - the gunman who shot Kebble dead and has immunity from prosecution for it, only to discover later that he'd dressed neatly and kept out of sight.
And then it was all over. A bunch of us sat on the court steps afterwards, hoping that something else would happen or one of the mystery witnesses would suddenly appear and talk to us. But alas, no such luck.
The photographers sauntered back to the restaurant across the road where the pizzas they'd ordered while waiting for use to leave the court had been delivered and were now growing cold.
I walked back to the office.
And will have to return on Wednesday when Agliotti's trial will start for real.
It's going to be fun!

Opening the flood gates.

2010-01-28T09:48:00.000-08:00

I am tired.
I am sunburnt - but today was great!
I cannot say I was terribly excited when I was sent racing out of the office at 7am to a tiny little town on the Free State border called Deneysville.
It is here that you find the Vaal Dam offices where the people who monitor water levels and pressure and all that scientific stuff are based. And it's here that they open the sluice gates to let water through so that the Vaal Dam, which is now 109% full after the past few weeks of constant rain, can drop a little. It's the first time they've done this in 14 years.
And so Chief Photographer and I were lucky enough to be present when two of the gates were opened.
It was incredible to watch the water thunder through and literally raise the level of the river below. But then the challenge: how to put the figures into amounts that make sense.
I spoke to the experts. But midday today they said the outflow of water would be 2 040 cubic metres of water per second. I asked them how many pools at my local gym that would fill. The reckoned about 20! A single cubic metre of water weighs a ton. So we did the sums.
The final figure we eventually got to was two million litres of water per second. It was deafening. The spray kicked up high in the air and made a rainbow.
People stopped on a bridge nearby to watch.
It was spectacular!

Telkom explodes in Yeoville.

2010-01-27T08:42:00.001-08:00

A Telkom Exchange building exploded in Yeoville this morning. Quite spectacularly.
Just after 8am apparently one of their technicians was tinkering about with a giant electricity transformer when it just blew up.
It rocked the suburb something chronic, shattering windows, damaging cars and cracking the pavements up to a block away. A guy driving past suddenly had his front and back windscreens shattered, the bumper ripped off and one side of his old white Corolla completely covered in mud. He got such a fright that he drove on for a little bit and then abandoned it, keys still in the ignition, in the middle of an intersection. Fortunately it was still there when he recovered enough to realise that he had not been shot or hit by a dump truck and went to fetch it.
Paramedics rushed the poor Telkom technician off to hospital along with another woman who wasn't badly injured but needed to be treated for shock.
So there we stood, a glum collection of journalists, photographers and cameramen all gathered in the drizzly weather waiting to get near to someone, anyone, who had information. And, as often happens, a bunch of stroppy men had taken control of the scene and cordoned off the area so that we were kept far, far away from the action.
I felt sorry for myself as my hair frizzed, until I saw a bald cop walk past and noticed little rivers of water running off his head and down his neck.
Little kids at a playschool nearby were evacuated for "safety reasons", which I later worked out to be some concern that there might be another explosion.
We waited while rescue workers dug through the rubble to check that there were no more victims. It took a few hours.
And then I spotted the cast iron cover from a manhole that was ripped open by the explosion. It had been flung clean over the church hall across the road and landed on the pavement a block away.
Sheesh - so much damage and so little injury and no loss of life. Quite a miracle.

Watermelons and fat cats.

2010-01-26T07:59:00.000-08:00

A very varied day today. Starting off with even more financial opportunities my way - this time an old duck on her death bed has selected me, her "Dear Beloved" to inherit her fortune. While she apparently doesn't know my name, she believes in my inherent goodness and worthiness. Unfortunately, since I don't trust in her inherent goodness, I am not about to pass on my bank account details to her.
But anyway - on to more important things like watermelons. Yes indeed. Today the biggest ever watermelon seen by the head of the Joburg Fresh Produce Market's Watermelon Panel (I never dreamed such a title existed), who is apparently also known as The Watermelon King (this one I can believe!!), arrived at the market.
So off I went to check it out. And there it was. A monstrous 73kg hulk of a fruit. It was a Carolina Cross watermelon grown by a Free State farmer from some seeds his brother in America sent him. Pretty cool. One of the customers bought it for R400 and is going to use it for "advertising purposes". Well. Okay. Like, obviously.

Back to the office for the next task of the day. Not an easy one, unfortunately. I had to track down the salaries earned by the CEO's of our country's biggest parastatals. Sheesh. Where to start, where to start?
I headed off to the business section to find someone with an idea of how to find this information. I now know that in the organisation's annual report, where the financials are listed, you can find a section on directors' earnings. And it's here that this juicy little tidbit is presented it all it's many zeros and accompanying bonuses and such. I now also know that I totally missed the mark in picking a career that would earn me bucks like these guys.
So it seems that the guys who do a good job all earn around the R3 to R4-million a year mark. But the guys who mess up do spectacularly better. Like Kaya Ngqula of SAA who got fired for incompetence. On top of his salary he got paid a R9.3-million bonus to please leave. And Dali Mpofu of the SABC got R11-million to do likewise. Now Eskom's Jacob Maroga, the man who led us into darkness and price hikes, is apparently going to score another R9-million after leaving just in shares that were signed over to him and have yet to pay out.
*sigh*
And still he complains and wants more!

More money coming my way...

2010-01-25T06:21:00.001-08:00

A weekend away from the office and this morning saw me returning to another wave of e-mails informing me that I have won lotteries I have never entered and offers of co-operation deals that are - well - too good to be true.
Even Captain James Brown, the guy who wanted to give me stacks of money last week, mailed me back. He seems to be getting a bit tetchy about my apparent reluctance to assure him that I am telling nobody about the millions he found in Saddam Hussein's house and that I am working a plan to help him give me 30% of it. I figure I shall continue my silence...
But then I received another good news mail from one Ms mary Brown. I am wondering if she is perhaps related to our Captain James Brown.
Ms mary Brown sent me a letter with a Shell logo on it as well as a photograph of a bunch of people sitting in front of a Royal Dutch Shell plc banner and a USA flag emblazoned on a jolly notification that I - yes me, the one and only "Dear winner" - am the winner of "the 2nd category of our Shell Management free Net Lottery Promotional awarddraws held on 23rd Jan 2010" . I am getting 800 000 pounds only.
"We wish to inform you that your total prize money of £800,000.00 Pounds has been Returned to us by our Lotto claims delivery company as unclaimed prize after their initial letter to your address for your award payment was not successful."
Clear as mud, eh?
All I have to do is send them all my details and then notify them when I have received my money. Only a small warning: "ANY BREACH OF CONFIDENTIALITY ON THE PART OF THE WINNERS WILL RESULT TO DISQUALIFICATION. WINNING RESULT MUST BE KEPT SECRET TO AVOID DOUBLE CLAIM WHICH WILL RESULT TO YOUR LOST OF PACKAGE."
Ja, well. I would not want to suffer a lost of package now, would I?
But then some bad news after all this happy stuff. It seems the media has annoyed some activists by giving a whole lot more coverage to the Miss World pageant than the Mr Gay SA comp. Logically speaking, I would think this would be an obvious situation, given that South Africa had to pay something like R50-million to host the Miss World bash, and Mr Gay SA has, well, kind of a limited audience.
Can't win them all, hey!

Tough and tragic times.

2010-01-20T06:55:00.000-08:00

Two days of HECTIC running around. This afternoon, as I finally sit still and take a moment to breathe, I can honestly say I am starving as I haven't had a chance to eat breakfast or lunch. It was that manic!
Yesterday's run around was all about the e-tv debacle - tracing the guy who killed himself. He couldn't handle the fallout from his TV appearance on Friday night when he publicly declared that he was a criminal planning to prey on foreigners coming her for the soccer world cup. This had triggered the wrath of our Safety and Security Minister and the chief of police who set detectives out to hunt him down.
I spoke to various people and pulled together the threads of the story, working together with my colleague SuperGirl who headed out to Jabulani in Soweto to speak to the dead man's family.
The suicide note he left told of his fears about what he had done, and implored the journalist who did the story to take care of the daughter he left behind. All very tragic indeed.
I have tried to reach the reporter who did the story, but he is nowhere to be found. I wonder if e-tv knows where he is, as the Hawks haven't been able to find him. I wonder how he is dealing with the awful, awful effects of what must have been a sensational scoop of a story he landed two weeks into his new job.
We've been pondering this at work amongst ourselves in the news room. It's a terrible thing to have happened. But it may become worse if it is discovered that the men who made brazen threats of violents and cocked a gun on national TV were not the real bad guys that they claimed to be, but were instead hamming it up for a bit of attention or to cause a bit of a reaction. What if?
We've heard from the family that the man who took his own life, who must have disappointed the optimistic mother who named him Lucky at birth, was once a criminal. But he had apparently paid his dues, served jail time and was rehabilitated. He had agreed to do the e-tv story in order to express his opinion of the police's shoot-to-kill policy.
It's going to take time for the facts to emerge. But they may not be of comfort to the bereaved family, an ambitious journalist, a daring news editor or a mourning daughter.
It makes me sad. One story and so much damage, pain and hurt.
I live for the happy stuff!

Buenos dias Senor Diego Maradona

2010-01-18T06:28:00.000-08:00

So soccer icon Diego Maradona arrived in South Africa this morning. Now that his two-month ban from the sport for being disgustingly rude to journalists is over, he is allowed to rejoin the soccer world and do his thing.
And his thing, as the Argentinian team manager, would be to come here and check out the place ahead of the 2010 world cup. Being that he is such a legend, (according to one foreign journo who I have since discovered was not pulling my leg) they even have a church of Maradona in his home country, this was HUGE news this morning.
Despite my immensely limited knowledge of all-things soccer related I landed the task of heading out to OR Tambo International Airport to cover the arrival of the man named FIFA player of the century.
A growing media contingent, awaiting the arrival of SAA flight 227 from Buenos Aires, gathered restlessly at the arrivals terminal. Journalists, cameramen, photographers, TV and radio reporters - there we all were, ready to record the event for the world.
It was a bit like that scene in the film The Wrestler (which I only saw recently and have placed it on my list of all-time never-to-be-repeated, hideous, depressingly boring movies) where an extremely unattractive Mickey Rourke is approached by another equally unattractive wrestler. The guy asks him, in an extremely polite and dignified manner, if he may please attack him with a staple gun when they go up against each other in the ring. Mickey Rourke cheerfully agrees after establishing that it's not too painful.
Then they hammer each other to a bloody pulp in the ring in a spectacular fight. And when it's over they shake hands and chat like mates back in the change room. Then Rourke vomits and has a heart attack - but that's besides the point.
As we waited for Maradona's big arrival we chatted politely with each other, shared thoughts on what direction the soccer great would walk and stuff like that.
Then he stepped out and it was a free-for-all. Mayhem erupted. Suddenly cops are manhandling photographers and ripping out rifles. The sweet woman you were just chatting to elbows you viciously to get past. Every man and woman for themselves!!
Senor Maradona, with jetblack wraparound sunglasses, stepped smartly across the terminal into a waiting van with tinted windows. In a couple of minutes it was all over. He briefly teased the crowd by popping his head out to give a smiling thumbs up - but other than that he did not say a word.
And then the vicious marauding mob transformed back into a genteel bunch of colleagues, as we swopped observations and our opinions of what went down.
It was thrilling and fast and challenging. I have some bruises to show for it, but I loved it!
Bring on the world cup. It's going to be awesome!

Captain James Brown wants to give you, yes you, a bunch of money.

2010-01-14T07:20:00.000-08:00

Almost every day I receive an e-mail telling me I have won some or other lottery jackpot in some or other country I have never visited. Of course in order to claim the squillions of Euros of whatever that is mine, all I have to do is contact their agent - who is someone with a hot-potato-sounding name who cannot spell or write a grammatically correct sentence in English. I have no doubt that if I did ever contact these people I would either be asked to give them the details of my soon-to-be-cleaded-out bank account, or else pay some or other administration fee in order to be put forward a step in the claim process which would no doubt entail many more steps that need hefty payment.
Today's windfall was a little more orginal and certainly more entertaining. The subject of the message came through like this: [SCAN SPAM DETECTED]I need your response shortly.(view attachment).
It was a message from one Captain James Brown (I swear!!) who said he was an army officer attached to the US Army. Oooookay. So what would he want with me?
Apparently he and some other guys from his batallion were working in Iraq when they happened to find US$700-million hidden behind a false wall in Saddam Hussein's palace. As army guys do! Unfortunately this poor lot only managed to grab 7.5-million from the mighty stash which they flew out to a secret location in the Middle East, where they all swore each other to secrecy while the war just carried on like nobody had found a truckload of discarded $100 notes.
But then lucky Captain James Brown's streak of remarkable good fortune just carries on.
He claims: "But unfortunately, the rest of my crew members lost their lives to the wicked Iraqi insurgents, as you know we were being attacked by insurgents everyday and car Bombs. I have kept this a secrete within me for 6 years now since I am the only survival now and I cannot leave the boxes in the security company anymore as this attracts more expenses on demurrage as long as the boxes is still with the security company."
Ah yes - American grammar schools!
So what does an army captain with a six-year-old secretion inside of him want?
He spells it out: "I am now in desperate need of a "Reliable and Trustworthy" person as partner to assist me transfer these funds into an account and invest the funds without further delay since I cannot come out openly to claim it and at the same time five US soldiers are currently being questioned by military officials after some of Saddam Hussein's money was allegedly stolen following It's discovery. You can click on the web site for more details of my story. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/2988455.stm"
Obviously one to share his wealth and survival, Captain James Brown offered me 30% of his "secrete" stash for my help in moving the millions.
"Please assure me of your keeping this topmost secret within you so that my life would not be jeopardized and to protect my Country's image and my name. You can call me at +447031747863 for clarifications."
So I thought I would put his story on this here blog and put the phone number out here for anyone who cares to call him. Tell James Brown I say 'Hi'!

Back to school!

2010-01-13T07:46:00.000-08:00

Crazy day. Complete chaos. It was the first day of the new school year - for every single one of the nine provinces in the country.
We had teams of reporters and photographers out in the field to catch all the tears and drama. Deadlines whizzed by.
Most people missed many of them.
Tension headaches ruled.
Then it was over.
*sigh*
Until next year.
I am glad I have a while before Little One starts Grade One. I am hoping I will not be a sobbing mother.

Set the Garmin for the Bahamas, and let's go!

2010-01-11T06:37:00.000-08:00

For years I have travelled the same route to work, hardly ever diverting from the known highways and back roads. But recently I decided to place myself in the trusty hands of my Garmin - the nifty device I use to guide me to random crime scenes and the like, and see what route it would choose to follow from my home to my parking bay in the Joburg CBD.
The distance we are talking about here is about 15 to 18 kms, depending on traffic diversion tactics deployed and the status of the ongoing roadworks all around the giant building site that is our city. And blow me down - it took me through parts that I never knew existed.
I have now driven this route several times in both directions and am still making some remarkable discoveries. There are businesses, apparently thriving happily, that I would never have guessed would have been dreamed up by anyone to start off with. Like a giant supermarket named Vaganza. I am serious. I am imagining somebody decided to open up a new supermarket one day and decided to be creative about naming it and smooshed two words together to come up with a whole new one. Now, assuming that the second word was 'bonanza', I cannot imagine why they chose the other one - unless they couldn't spell vegetable properly, and intended to go big on the fresh produce line. I mean - Vaganza?? I still find it quite an alarming name for a place where people do their grocery shopping.
And then there is a little medical centre. Here, in a country where doctors are not allowed to advertise, there is a place with large wording on the door offering patients the services: "Warts" and "Small operations" at discounted prices. Really.
For the cash-strapped, I have found Kwikfin - seemingly some kind of loan shark set-up with jolly vibe, where you can get a speedy loan.
Best of all, on the border of an industrial site, I discovered this entertainment spot which has appeared to be a less-than-rocking joint every time I have passed it. In fact, it is in such a dodgy area that I photographed it while driving past, unwilling to stop and get out for fear of jeopardising my safety.
Yes - I present the "Bahamas", complete with the weird Statue of Liberty image along with a cheesy "In Music and Fun we trust" logo that is sure to annoy every passing American.
Check it out. I am sure you can feel the vibe already. Next best thing to the real deal, for sure!

A stabbing, a hacking and the tooth fairy comes to visit.

2010-01-06T07:53:00.000-08:00

Another day, another murder. I was busy writing about yet another day of power cuts in the city when an anonymous caller phoned to say that there was a body in the Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet two blocks away from our office.
Since everybody else was busy with matric stories in anticipation of tomorrow's big reveal of the final matric results, I was the not-so-fortunate soul who landed the task of checking it all out.
So I hooked up with the photographer fondly referred to by the newsroom as BinLaden, and headed off to find the alleged body lying in the KFC. It was lunchtime and the place was pumping, Streetwise Two's and Snack Boxes galore, but no corpse to speak off.
We continued walking a bit further and two blocks down the drag we encountered the gory scene. A guy who had been selling smileys (braaied sheeps' heads) at the taxi rank had apparently annoyed another guy. Who then chased him with a knife, slashed him across the face and then stabbed him in the chest. Killing him. There in the open street. At lunch time.
It was a nauseating scene. Crowds gathered as the police took close-up pictures of the wounds, shifting the body and causing more blood to run. A metallic taste pervaded my mouth. I still feel a bit sick.
So now this afternoon, after spending time with my Little One I feel a little more cheery. I am determined to remain focussed on all the brilliant things that happened on the few days I had off over Christmas.It was a time of blessed events, milestones and new discoveries.
A first: Four year-old Little One took advantage of a bit of quiet time alone, access to a small pair of scissors and hacked off a good chunk of the fringe she hates so much.

Discovery: My local Spar gives away free pieces of dry wors to all customers, kids included, on Christmas Eve.
Another discovery: If your kid eats a Ben 10 icecream AND a piece of dry wors and then goes swimming with you, you can expect a sudden episode of projectile vomiting in the pool. It takes the mother absolute ages to swim around the pool and collect all the puke fallout with a sieve so that the pool can be clear, sparkly and chunk-free on Christmas Day.
A milestone: Little One developed a wobbly tooth just before Christmas. It has since fallen out, and she is beyond proud.

Roll on the happy days!!

Oh dear, oh dear.

2010-01-05T09:43:00.000-08:00

This year has kicked off fast.
While much of the world enjoys their last few days of holiday, it's back to the routine crime and disaster checks for intrepid reporters on the beat! As usual, there's much in the way of depressing stuff to keep us busy.
Like today - the emergency services, police divers and all the rest were called out to a river in Ivory Park where they launched another big search for a suspected drowning victim. They had no idea who it was they were looking for, it was all just based on a report given in by three women last night who claimed to have seen a man struggling in reeds on the bank of the Kaal River, and they thought he may have been washed away.
Next disaster to follow: a woman who was taken in for questioning by police apparently got so stressed that she collapsed and died.
I didn't quite believe this one, but it does indeed seem that the poor woman had been minding her own business, sitting on the grass under a tree drinking orange juice when a guy got mugged nearby. The attackers apparently got away, but the victim pointed out poor innocent woman as a witness.
And so she got taken in for questioning. She claimed she had been in her own world when the whole mugging story happened and, since she didn't know any of the attackers nor could she recognise them, she was unable to offer any useful information.
But this was not satisfying for our dutiful cops who are so hard-pressed to catch the bad guys that they continued with their questions and stressed her out a bit more. To the point where she literally dropped dead.
I called the cops for their side of the story and have been given all kinds of promises that bunches of people are investigating and all kinds of bosses are asking all manner of probing questions to get to the bottom of what happened to the poor witness.
All very tragic indeed.

Back to work and crimes of fashion

2010-01-04T07:34:00.000-08:00

Back to work today. *groan*
What a day it was indeed. Half the newsroom is still on holiday, and so our currently depleted work force was but a bleak shadow of its glorious self today. This, of course, meant a doubling up of duties.
I landed the dubious task of manning the newsdesk for the first half of the day, and then writing about the 50 candidates shortlisted on fashion designer Simon Rademan's top 10 lists of the best and worst dressed women in South Africa.
I was less than thrilled to get the assignment, I have to admit, as apart from my complete disinterest in fashion and celebrities, I intensely dislike the nastiness and mean-spiritedness of the worst dressed accolades.
Last year one of the Idols finalists got landed the title of the worst dressed woman in the country because she was photographed with a bit of her tum peaking over the top of her tight jeans. This, it seems, was a fashion crime that doomed her to utter humiliation as a close-up shot of the offending tummy roll was posted next to her name along with the snide comment " We're glad you fitted all of it in, angel.... or almost".
It seems this years shortlist knows know bounds. Rademan, who sports a cheesy picture of socialite Edith Venter and her apparently stylish dog on his home page, has put out this list of 50 names, declaring that 10 of them are the best dressed and 10 are the worst.
Our beleaguered trans-gender runner Caster Semenya appears on the list, which I think is completely and utterly unfair. The woman is an athlete, why does Rademan wish to rate her in terms of fashion and style? And while the list is specified as being for women, handyman Riaan " Die Nutsman" Venter has also been thrown into the mix.
Last year Rademan similarly named an actor on his worst-dressed list, along with the hardly-explanatory comment: "I am not saying a word about this one... except: "You go, girlfriend!" He-he".
All I can say is that I hope Rademan - who claims he creates this list in order to inspire South Africans to dress better - is less spiteful with his comments this year. And may those who come in for a hammering rise above the shallowness of it all!

It's Sunday and time for work.

2009-12-20T04:39:00.000-08:00

A newsroom duty shift at this time of year is agonising if there's no big news story on the go.
It involves phoning the cops, emergency services and traffic authorities for news checks.
Monitoring other media in case they know about something you don't.
And checking the news wires for updates, news snippets and breaking news alerts. Generally the wire stories are one long scrolling lists of traffic wraps, weather updates at holiday destinations, the odd political announcement (e.g the Minister for Women, Children and Persons with Disabilitieshas called on parents not to abandon their children during the festive season when they hit the shebeens over Christmas and New Year - as apparently is the custom in some places), the holiday road death toll and stuff like that.
And so a day in the newsroom, with glorious weather outside and virtually everyone you know enjoying a holiday, can be torturous. And oh so depressingly loooong.

Flying and the Tiger flag.

2009-12-15T08:03:00.000-08:00

Christmas travel plans for people flying on British Airways were turned upside down this morning. It seems their cabin crew staff all voted to strike over the busiest, most chaotic time of year when airfares are THE most expensive. Not a bad move for a crowd wanting to make some noise around the planet, but totally awful for travellers looking forward to Christmas and New Year with loved ones faraway.
It's all still in a maddening state of chaos as BA goes hammer and tongs at re-arranging their entire flight schedule. It took a full day of phoning travel agents, airlines, travel agent associations and tour operators to determine that nobody actually knows anything more than the bland "We don't know/can't say anything yet" statement posted up on the BA website and read out in soothing tones on a recorded voice message on their landline if your call is picked up by their computer.
It's a frustrating and worrying time for many people who have their holiday hopes pinned on Britain's national carrier.
And like most days in recent times, yet another Tiger Woods mistress emerged with a sob story about how, like the other 10 or 20 or whatever, had thought that his marriage was on the rocks and that she was the only "other woman".
Like Accenture, a couple of other companies who fly the Tiger flag distanced themselves from him and have scrapped his face from their product advertising.
His main backer Nike is standing firm in their support of the guy. I don't find this at all surprising. After all, he can hardly be accused of not living the brand of a company whose slogan is "Just do it"!

Clutching out....

2009-12-14T10:29:00.001-08:00

Survived the second day in a row at the office today. While people are winding down and looking forward to their holidays, I have drawn the short straw in the form of two Sunday shifts in a row PLUS the December 16 public holiday. In this climate of low energy levels and not much on the news front compounded by a 6am start every morning, I may just as well shoot myself!
But I am hanging tough and being strong. Sort of. Yesterday a staircase collapsed on 70 people in church. Luckily nobody was killed or I would have felt REALLY bad about the awful office jokes about "no staircase to heaven" .
Today the juiciest story by far was the latest development in the woes of Tiger Woods who, in a single day, lost more money than I have earned in my entire life because Accenture dropped him as the face of their brand - something about feeling tetchy over the integrity issue or some such. And his growing list of skelms apparently now numbers 14 including a madam who's dishing out the goss on how much he spent on ladies of the night at her upmarket house of ill repute.
I spent ages going through an entire page of things to do over the holidays. And since I will have a couple of days off due to me after working all these grim shifts, I plan to undertake a few mom-and-daughter adventures with Little One. And there are awesome things out there: bum boarding on carpet slopes, drag racing round an indoor track, sand skiing down mine dumps. I am so stoked.
And then on top, I found Jozi's very own Boksburg-by-the-sea - the Wild Waters fun park. I phoned them to ask if they are snotty like Valley of the Waves at Sun City where they search you at the entrance in case you take so much as your own box of Smarties instead of paying their extortionate prices for whatever rubbish hamburgers and junk food they want to flog you.
"Skattie, you can bring whatever you want with you. Even some meat and have a braai. We just don't allow any glass bottles or alko-holl, and no music," said the delightful lady manning their phone.
Excellent! It sounds even more exciting than the fun balls for kids at Cedar Square. Little One is going to have a blast!

Surviving the silly shopping season...

2009-12-10T05:39:00.000-08:00

Early this morning a gang of armed robbers hit Hyde Park. Soon after that another gang hit a Pick 'n Pay in Soweto. The silly season is well and truly upon us. I came up with the idea of writing a survival guide to Christmas shopping in Jozi. It's not like one you will find in London or Sydney or Hong Kong. I can't think of where else one would start a shopping guide with expert advice that says: if you hear screaming when you enter the mall assume there is a robbery in progress, look around for the nearest exit and leave when safe to do so.
Anyway...
Then it was hot wings and pizza for lunch. All courtesy of The*Editor who sprang for it as a gesture to mark a farewell to my colleague The Brat. She of the mini skirts, thigh boots, lingerie-style tops and long tresses. She is leaving us for a career in TV.
It's a loss to our newsroom. Sad to see her go.But as she says, we will still be able to see her on TV and maybe laugh our heads off at her as she learns the ropes.
Bye Brat!

That time of year...

2009-12-08T05:39:00.000-08:00

We're in the downward slide to the end of the year - that awful time when it takes effort and energy to blink, and everyone around seems to have cosmic fatique or whatever you call that lethargy pervading office spaces where people are hanging on and counting days til they go on leave.
It was in this state that I sat at my desk this morning and was asked to rush off to the Jozi High Court to assist my colleague in his efforts to interview the relatives and victims of Ananias Mathe - the slippery character who was sentenced to spend the next 54 years in jail for something like 79 counts of robbing, raping and pilaging. The judge was apparently not overly impressed with his claims that he became a damaged soul when he was turned into a child soldier at age 11.
So I rushed down to transport to get a drop-off. But there were no drivers. So I had to walk all the way across town, arriving just in time for nothing. Seems all the family and victims had stayed away from the sentencing procedures. So there was nothing for me to do but walk all the way back.
And continue working on the pile of stuff I am trying to get through.
Then a friend mailed me this little personal ad. I thought it was great:

AN ACTUAL PERSONALS AD

To the Guy Who Tried to Mug Me Downtown night before last.

I was the guy wearing the black Burberry jacket that you demanded that I hand over, shortly after you pulled the knife on me and my girlfriend, threatening our lives. You also asked for my girlfriend's bag and earrings. I can only hope that you somehow come across this rather important message.
First, I'd like to apologize for your embarrassment; I didn't expect you to actually crap in your pants when I drew my pistol after you took my jacket. The evening was not that cold, and I was wearing the jacket for a reason.. My girlfriend had just bought me that Kimber Model 1911 .45 ACP pistol for my birthday, and we had picked up a shoulder holster for it that very evening. Obviously you agree that it is a very intimidating weapon when pointed at your head ...... isn't it?!
I know it probably wasn't fun walking back to wherever you'd come from with that brown sludge in your pants. I'm sure it was even worse walking bare-footed since I made you leave your shoes, cell phone, and wallet with me. [That prevented you from calling or running to your buddies to come help mug us again].
After I called your mother, or "Momma" as you had her listed in your cell, I explained the entire episode of what you'd done. Then I went and filled up my tank as well as those of four other people in the petrol station, -- on your credit card. The guy with the big motor home took 150 gallons and was extremely grateful!
I gave your shoes to a homeless guy outside Vinnie Van Go Go's, along with all the cash in your wallet. [That made his day!]
I then threw your wallet into the big pink "pimp mobile" that was parked at the curb ..... after I broke the windshield and side window and keyed the entire driver's side of the car.
Later, I called a bunch of phone sex numbers from your cell phone. The phone company just now shut down the line, although I only used the phone for a little over a day now, so what 's going on with that? Earlier, I managed to get in two threatening phone calls to the DA's office and one to the FBI, while mentioning President Obama as my possible target .
The FBI guy seemed really intense and we had a nice long chat (I guess while he traced your number etc.).
In a way, perhaps I should apologize for not killing you ... but I feel this type of retribution is a far more appropriate punishment for your threatened crime. I wish you well as you try to sort through some of these rather immediate pressing issues, and can only hope that you have the opportunity to reflect upon, and perhaps reconsider, the career path you've chosen to pursue in life. Remember, next time you might not be so lucky. Have a good day!
Thoughtfully yours,
Alex

The jerk and the arrest threat.

2009-12-07T05:42:00.000-08:00

So I almost got arrested today.
I was sent to cover the launch of the festive season anti-crime campaign at Primedia House in Sandton. Off I went, directed by Gina, my Garmin, who decided the most direct route was the easiest. However, a Metro police officer had blocked off the bottom of Fredman Drive – to make life easier for all the diginitaries attending this event no doubt. For heaven’s sake!!! It’s only like one of THE busiest routes in Sandton.
So I did a quick u-turn and came back to ask the burly cop manning the slip road he had blocked with plastic cones if I could please go through.
“Hey! You! Don’t you see that I have blocked this road. Do you want me to arrest you?” he yelled at me, as I told him that I was a journalist for a large media house and desperately needed to get to the smart function he was obviously blockading off.
No joy.
“I want you to reverse and go out and around another way,” he yelled at me, menacingly.
So I stared back menacingly, unable to go anywhere because of the flow of cars behind me. So I pulled out my notebook and pen and made a big show of writing down the registration number of his traffic cop car parked arrogantly across Fredman. But I failed to intimidate him into letting me through.
Thanks to Gina I found another way around and got to the function in time to see our new police chief Bheki Cele, the deputy minister of safety and security and a whole bunch of other high ranking cops all standing for the national anthem.
Then almost two hours of speeches. All about how the cops are gonna take hands with the nation and shoot dead every criminal they come across.
Bheki reiterated his controversial policy: “I have never told my men to shoot to kill. I just said they must use deadly force.”
The talk was tough: the time for criminals to see their graves is nigh, the lucky ones will spend Christmas in orange overalls behind bars, mothers who know their sons are up to no good should now come forward and report them.
The talk was long. Then celebrities took to the podium. Apparently Lira has been a crime victim. And Hip Hop Pantsula as well, according to his ABC t-shirt (“affected by crime” ). And Kurt Darren has been robbed twice and attacked by six guys in his home who tied him up with cable ties.
Everybody was talking tough. Everybody’s had enough. I would be ecstatic if traffic cops were assigned to real work instead of threatening to arrest civilians who dare challenge the placement of their stupid plastic cones.
I hope that not too much blood will flow this Christmas.

How much did you spend, Mr Mayor?

2009-12-03T10:04:00.000-08:00

Joburg's Executive Mayor Amos Masondo is a politician indeed.
Following some not-so-positive media reports about his recent trip to China, Vietnam, India and Russia he quickly called a press briefing to do a bit of damage control.
So off I headed to hear what he had to say. Not surprisingly, he revealed nothing more than was already known. That he had taken 15 people - three of which were "support staff" or aides with him to four countries on a "trade mission".
He lost no time in telling us what a punishing schedule they had. How he sympathised with his fellow travellers when their feet were swollen at the end of the day (perhaps the aides were taken along to massage the tender footsies at the end of the day). It was gruelling, but they did it for the people. The needs of the people were core to all of this.
All of us journalists wanted to know one main thing: exactly how much did this jaunt cost Jozi ratepayers?
First round of questions. First question: "How much did this whole exercise cost?"
Answer: One comma something million rands.
Second round of questions. First question: "Can you be more specific on the cost, please? Can you give an actual figure?"
Answer: When you are talking about these things, it doesn't matter if you spend R1 or R2. You need to weigh it up against the value of what you get at the end of the day, and that is what is important here. We spent something more than a million. It was more than a million, that's all we are saying.
Third round of questions. First question: "Please put an exact figure to the cost of this trip or tell us why you cannot make the cost known. And how do you measure the value, what measures or monitoring process do you have to quantify the value of the trip?"
Answer: You can never quantify these things. There is no way to measure them, but the value is inestimable and will come out in the long term. You see nothing in the short term. But the reports we write will not gather dust, I can assure you. The final cost will be detailed in a report that will be made public in due course".
How is that? The mayor takes 15 people with him to Vietnam, India, China and Russia and now refuses to divulge how much it all cost. Stuff ratepayers, public interest or any other argument we put forward.
He simply refused to say. And there was nothing we could do about it.
So once again the extra-mural activities of Tiger Woods made for the most interesting news of the day.
One of the subs sent me this spoofed Tiger on holiday pic. Classic!!!

Death on a treadmill

2009-12-02T11:05:00.000-08:00

This morning a man working out at the Southgate Virgin Active gym died on a treadmill.
One of the people working out there called the paper to say that this had happened. So I scooted off there with PixEditor, who was sure this was going to be one of those difficult situations.
And so it was.
We arrived at the gym and there, through the front windows, we did indeed see a body on the floor next to a treadmill. It had been covered with one of those silver space blanket jobs, and there was a mobile screen placed next to it - but even the very presence of death was not going to stop the fitness fanatics of the south from getting their morning workout. The rest of the treadmills were buzzing as the gym bunnies did their thing.
The cops were on hand going about investigations - photographing the body and talking to people.
So we entered the front door and encountered the general manager who explained, as one could so easily predict, that he could tell us nothing. They were checking with their lawyers, running their bland statement by a billion top managers for clearance and so we could expect a comment sometime later in the day.
We left. But then PixEd decided to turn back and shoot some images through the glass. This annoyed the gym staff highly and they came storming out, ready to kick butt. The confiscated the camera and stomped off back inside where they handed it to the cops.
PixEd was highy irate by this time, I was on the phone to the newsdesk and the newsdesk got hold of the lawyers. A whole bunch of intricate wranglings went on and the upshot was that PixEd was made to erase his pictures and leave without his R80 000 camera, now in the hands of the police.
We've had to make statements to our lawyers who now have to go the legal route to get the camera returned.
But it seems the story was popular. A mere half-an-hour after my short little news piece went online it had received 3000 hits.
Who would have thought?

The woman who did not want to wear black.

2009-12-01T11:14:00.000-08:00

Not much action for me today. Another stint on the newsdesk, ordering everybody else around.
This was not the case for my colleague The Brat who had one very exciting day. Which made my day more exciting because it meant I had better stories to offer for the late edition of today's paper.
So poor Brat was out covering the Jackie Selebi trial. Government was arguing why some intelligence guy should not be allowed to testify when a woman in black decided to shake things up.
While court was in session she decided to demand attention for a case that had apparently gone unheeded. The judge walked out and security was called in.
The woman apparently remained adamant that someone listen to her story in the middle of the corruption trial of our former police chief, asking that she be killed if not allowed to talk.
Seriously.
True quote: "I am asking to be killed if my matter is not going to be addressed."
Security started dragging her out, so she tried to rip her clothes off.
They didn't listen to her. But I don't think they killed her either.
Bizarre!
It's now back to boring business.
As I say - it made for a decent diary item for tomorrow's paper.

A bad day for a stressed guy at Standard Bank

2009-11-30T07:19:00.000-08:00

A policeman overheard talk on police radio this morning about some or other drama unfolding at Standard Bank in town. He called a journalist colleague who phoned it in and so ChiefPhotographer and I were sent out to find out what was going on.
We arrived and found a group of people standing around at reception chatting - apparently barred from going up to their offices. We went to ask what was happening, and we were told to go and ask at security. Security said they couldn't help us - nobody was available to say anything.
Then three cops with rifles came storming in. They marched off and soon came storming out, jumped in their car and disappeared. Then two cops with dogs came in and then left in much the same way. Bank security came to tell us that they were aware of our presence, but weren't going to tell us anything.
We went back to the office and eventually received their formal explanation of what happened. Here it is, full and complete:
"A Standard Bank employee, who showed visible signs of distress, created security concerns at Standard Bank Centre, 5 Simmonds Street, Johannesburg, at 8am today. As a precautionary measure employees in the immediate area were evacuated. As a further precaution members of the SAPS were also engaged as well as Standard Bank’s professional counselling service. The staff member is currently receiving counselling and normal business has resumed."
So, just a case of a stressed out guy!
Then after lunch we got another call. Apparently more drama at Standard Bank.
Seems the same guy got stressed again. The second statement of the day:
"A Standard Bank employee, who showed visible signs of distress, created security concerns at Standard Bank Centre, Johannesburg, today. The staff member is currently receiving counselling.
As a further precautionary measure in order to check and secure our premises, all employees at Standard Bank buildings in Johannesburg (3 , 5, 6 Simmonds, 25 Sauer, 42 Fox Street) were asked to leave the buildings before 15h00. All our disaster recovery sites have been invoked and are fully operational. We do not expect any disruption to the business .
All Standard Bank employees were asked to go home and return to work in the morning. SAPS and emergency services are on site as a precautionary measure.
Further communications will follow should there be any further developments."
So a stressed out guy has a city bank invoking all its disaster recovery sites, calling in the cops and paramedics and sending everyone working at all their offices in the city home early? Seriously??
He must be having a really, really bad day!

When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad...

2009-11-27T05:44:00.000-08:00

Five weeks ago today exactly I was in Austria as one of the journalists invited on the BMW EuroStyle 2009 tour. At about this time I was standing in one of the theatres in the Salzburg Festival grounds. We had eaten a splendid lunch of Wiener schnitzel and had visited the flat in which Mozart's widow had lived. A music professor had handed out whistles, triangles, wooden clackers, drums and an assortment of noise-generating implements and had, as he sat before a piano, had played conductor and guided us along in an unexpectedly charming mini symphony. It was glorious!
And so it was that, five Friday afternoons ago, I came to be standing in the arena where they filmed the end scenes of The Sound of Music - one of my all-time favourite movies when I was a kid. Right then an SMS message came through from home. "Are you going out to the family murder scene in Orange Farm?"

At that very moment it hit me how far away I was from my ordinary life in every sense possible. No, I was not rushing off to some blood-stained crime scene in Jozi. I was absorbing the delights of a different existence. As we walked on to join some of the festival staff in a room overlooking the Salzburg scene as we drank Champagne and ate Mozart chocolates I felt a sense of joy bubbling inside me.
Today was back to real life. I spent the morning at the Newlands Regional Court where a man was supposed to be sentenced for shooting a four-year-old child in the head. It was one of those unintentional accidents. His own son had been mugged and had his cellphone stolen, so he had gone running after the muggers. He fired at them, the bullet ricocheted into a creche and struck another man's son and killed him.
It seems not even four-year-olds at play school are safe in Joburg.
It chills my heart and makes me long to be where the hills are alive...