A mother’s search for justice and protection
The alleged killer of Sandiswa Mhlawuli was freed without bail. Now her mother fears for her own life, writes Bongani Kona
ON December 10 2013, Sandiswa Mhlawuli, a 27year-old unmarried mother of two, was murdered. Several eyewitnesses alleged that her former boyfriend, Nkosinam Xabadiya, pulled her from a stationary van and stabbed her multiple times.
Months before her lifeless body lay on the ground in Dutywa, a small rural town in the Eastern Cape where Sandiswa worked as a hairdresser in a salon, she had sought a protection order against Xabadiya, who worked as a driver ferrying people between the town and the village of Chafutweni.
It was an arduous process, recalls Sandiswa’s mother, NomaItaly Mhlawuli. One police officer even told Sandiswa it was not his place to interfere in domestic affairs. The protection order was finally issued, but she was stabbed to death the same day. The court papers were folded in her bag.
For a time, the wheels of the criminal justice system seemed to be moving forward. Xabadiya was promptly arrested and charged with murder at Dutywa police station. “The accused did wrongfully and intentionally kill Sandiswa Mhlawuli by stabbing her with a knife,” states the charge sheet. He has not yet pleaded.
Sometime in late January, Xabadiya appeared before a district court and was granted R1 000 bail. It was there that things took an ugly turn. “He states he can’t afford bail at all. The state is not opposed to his release or it be [sic] reduced,” states the court document. Despite being caught as he fled the scene and eyewitnesses confirming it was he who stabbed Sandiswa, Xabadiya was released without bail and the case was adjourned.
The state’s decision left many troubling questions unanswered. Principal among them is why did the state not consider that he might intimidate witnesses and so jeopardise the case? Why treat murder like a petty crime? The questions hung in the air like a cloud of mist.
Patrick Godana, a gender activist in his late forties who doubles as a Lutheran minister on Sundays, is agitated when he gets wind of the case from his office in Cape Town. He works for Sonke Gender Justice, an NGO that seeks to promote healthy relationships among men, women and children. Sonke trains people in communities to prevent and respond to gender-based violence.
Godana decides to travel to the Eastern Cape to attend the trial with other gender activists. Chafutweni, the village where Sandiswa lived with her 47-year-old mother, is replete with familiar scenes from South Africa’s hinterland — cows grazing, gravel roads, thatched mud huts, donkey carts, and that feeling of time passing slowly.
About 30 people, including Sandiswa’s mother, are there to greet Godana. Plans are already in mo-
The protection order was finally issued, but she was stabbed to death the same day. The court papers were folded in her bag
tion to stage a protest the next day, Valentine’s Day, demanding justice for Sandiswa. The mood is sombre and expectant.
“USonke loo abamaziyo abazange bambone (Sonke is a force to be reckoned with),” says Godana. It is a rallying cry that is repeated countless times during the next day. He conveys his condolences to Sandiswa’s mother.
By morning, the heat is sweltering. Godana has arranged to meet the community in front of the court building in Dutywa at 9am.
Packed in vans and dressed in matching white T-shirts supplied by Sonke, supporters arrive in droves. More than 60 people disembark from the vehicles, singing songs of protest and chanting.
It is a ritual that dates back to the days of the anti-apartheid struggle. Some are carrying placards with bold black lettering: “I RING THE BELL IN MEMORY OF SANDISWA MHLAWULI.”
The noise catches the attention of passers-by and another local women’s group, Dutywa Women’s Support Centre, decides to join in.
Sometimes, the only way ordinary people can make themselves heard is by making a noise.
On her own, as a barely literate woman from a rural area, Sandiswa’s mother’s voice would have been rendered inaudible by state institutions infinitely more powerful than she is. Not now. Not today. When we arrive inside the court, the case is not on the roll. Godana establishes that the court date is actually February 26. No one had told Sandiswa’s mother, who had heard it was February 14.
From the group outside, a party of five are chosen to speak with the representatives of the court to find out why Xabadiya was released without bail and why Sandiswa’s mother did not receive notification of the court date.
The public prosecutor, who is there to greet us, is visibly shaken and beads of sweat drip from his brow. A lengthy discussion ensues and he listens attentively.
Afterwards, he tells Godana, who has assumed the role of chief interlocutor, that the best course of action is to seek answers from the police. There is nothing his office can do to overturn the court’s decision, he explains.
Outside, the march continues to the police station, where a senior officer redirects questions about the case to the office of the National Prosecuting Authority (NPA), another block away.
There, the same party of five convenes in the office of a Mr Matshoba, second-in-command of the district unit. The investigating officer, a constable Tshikila, is also present.
Finally, answers start to emerge.
Sometimes, the only way ordinary people can make themselves heard is by making a noise
A two-page A4 document from the court says the accused was released without bail because of an “unfinished charge sheet”.
Sandiswa’s mother, who has spoken little during the morning, finally breaks down.
“I came here to report that I am not safe,” she says as tears begin to stream down her face. “The child is no more, I know,” she says, “but what I do not like is to be continuously made to feel hurt.”
She says she no longer sleeps in her house because she is afraid of Xabadiya, who, she says, threatened to kill her on the night before her daughter was murdered.
Even though she, too, has a protection order against him, she and her granddaughters, Sandis- wa’s two children, aged five and eight, do not feel safe. Her pain is tangible. “I am not a well-to-do person,” she tells the officials, “[but] to be made to suffer, my child to be killed . . . and, on top of that, to not receive any care, that means I don’t know what I am living for in this world.”
The weight of her grief is almost too much to bear and a hush descends on the room as she collects herself.
Mr Matshoba says that although it is beyond the NPA’s powers to overturn the decision of a court, it will ask it to reconsider the decision to release Xabadiya without bail first thing on Monday, after taking a statement from Sandiswa’s mother.
It is a small victory for a day’s work, but at least the wheels of justice seem to be moving again.
As we drive the three hours back to the airport, I wonder if Sandiswa’s mother will ever feel whole again. Her daughter’s alleged killer is still free.
The most she was able to get was some promises to do better.
On March 12, Godana returned to Dutywa and joined the Chafutweni community action team, as well as the Commission for Gender Equality, to protest outside the regional court in Willowvale. Xabadiya, who has still not been ordered to pay bail, will now appear in the Butterworth Regional Court on April 24. .
Kona works for Sonke Gender Justice