Living in fear of the ‘blanket men’
‘My ribs were broken. They didn’t care, they just continued to rape me. That’s why I can’t tell you my name, because if you write it, I will be killed’
After the horror last week when illegal miners allegedly gang-raped and robbed the cast and crew filming a music video, police have cracked down on zama zamas in the West Rand. But their ‘disruptive raids’ have not consoled the women who lie awake at night in the former mining estate West Village, writes Leonie Wagner. When the cops are gone, the terror will return, they say.
Tears stream down her face as Sehloho* takes a long puff of her cigarette. Wearing a faded yellow towel around her waist, she begins to unwrap it, lifting her hoodie to reveal scars on her back. “I’ve been raped three times. The third time they threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave the area,” she says, nervously pacing. It’s late afternoon in West Village, Krugersdorp, a goldmining town on the West Rand. Sehloho and a group of women are walking to the tuck shop at the “swimming pool”. Broken beer bottles, tattered clothing and plastic bags are strewn about the dilapidated structure which was once a recreational centre with a public swimming pool. The smell of urine and alcohol permeate the air as the rain clears and the sun begins to shine through the dark clouds. On July 28, West Village was in the headlines when eight women filming a music video were reportedly gang raped by illegal miners operating in the defunct surrounding mines.
For Sehloho and other women in West Village, the horrific incident was not unusual. According to these women, it’s zama zamas living in the area that are responsible for the heinous crimes in the community, including the recent mass rape.
The phrase zama zama is derived from the Zulu word zama meaning “try again” or “take a chance”.
Colloquially it now refers to people illegally operating in abandoned mines in search of precious metals and materials.
Having gathered the courage, the women gave a glimpse of the horrific ordeals they have experienced.
“There were two guys, they kept trying to talk to me and I refused. I asked them to leave me alone, but they didn’t want to. They took me to the bushes. When we got there one of them forced himself on me. They made me lie on the rocks. I kept screaming that it was painful, but they kept raping me and swearing at me. When they were done, they took me to a back room where they were staying. I was kept there for a day,” Sehlolo said.
She described how multiple men took turns raping her over 24 hours. This first incident happened last year but the scars on her back have not healed, nor have her ribs, which were broken.
The second time she was raped, she was taken from her house at gunpoint to what she called the “white mountain”, a mine dump along the R28. She was raped by several men and only set free in the early hours of the morning.
Her hands, which still have burn scars from an unrelated incident, begin to tremble as she lowers her voice, saying: “They accused me of reporting this to the police, but I didn’t. They threatened to kill me and told me I needed to leave West Village. I only
This place is a rotten place, like tomatoes
told some people that I was hurt, because while they were raping me my ribs were broken; they didn’t care, they just continued to rape me. This is why I can’t tell you my name because if you write it, I will be killed.”
Despite her fears she tells me her name, which loosely translated means death.
The 35-year-old mother, who believes she’s living on borrowed time, said her 14year-old daughter has also been raped.
The girl shares how she was raped months ago by men in balaclavas and blankets shortly after she had a miscarriage.
“I cried, they took me from my stepfather’s house and raped me. I had just had a miscarriage, I was still in a lot of pain but they didn’t care,” the girl says.
Another woman adds that some of the young girls drink with “these men” at the local taverns, unintentionally creating a quid pro quo situation, which sadly always ends in rape.
“These girls drink with the zama zamas and when the men ask for sex and the girls refuse, they are raped. Some of us don’t drink with them, but we still get raped. There are many of us who have been raped by these men,” said a woman, who spoke on condition of anonymity.
As the women share their traumatic experience, community leader Queeneth Ngope notices a man in maroon pants loitering nearby. Fearing he may be a zama zama, Ngope expresses concerns that the women who so flagrantly spoke against their assailants could face consequences for sharing their stories. The women, who also spotted the maroon-clad man, became less outspoken about their ordeals.
Their fear is visible. It is the same fear several others show when speaking about areas in West Village they refer to as “BBR” and “C-Row ”— apparently zama zama hot spots or headquarters.
Ngope said they haven’t always lived in fear. When she moved to the area from Durban in 2018 the situation was bad, but it has become worse.
“It’s a nightmare living here; in West Village life is scary. I can’t explain it but it’ sa dangerous place. You need to constantly be aware of your surroundings and know when and where you are at all times. There’s a woman who was raped five times. I know of a man who also confessed that he was raped alongside his wife. With the zama zamas they don’t distinguish between man, woman or child, if they find you, they will rape you while your children are watching,” Ngope said, fearfully looking over her shoulder.
An elderly man interrupts the women, also wanting to share his experience of life in the area. Solly, 62, says he has been living in a part of West Village known as “Skoon Plaas” for more than two decades. Holding back tears, Solly describes how in the past five years he’s witnessed crimes unlike anything he had seen before.
“You can’t go to town, you can’t go anywhere, we feel trapped, we live in fear. There are zama zamas running around here and pointing guns at us and robbing people,
especially the young boys. I don’t feel comfortable about my children visiting me, especially my daughter. When she visits, it’s always a quick visit, a few minutes and then she leaves because it’s not safe. “This place is a rotten place, like tomatoes.”
West Village residents had some peace in 2019 after a joint operation by the police and the Red Ants to end illegal mining in the Mkhulugama informal settlement in the area. The shacks were destroyed, makeshift mining equipment was confiscated and several undocumented foreign nationals were arrested.
But fast-forward to today, residents are again living in fear, so much so that they’ve imposed their own curfew from 6pm to 6am.
Unlike other areas in Krugersdorp, West Village does not have a community policing forum. Ngope said that the curfew was not discussed but started as an unspoken rule among residents, as most of the criminality was taking place after dark.
“As a woman, I don’t feel safe here. I am a mother of a 10-year-old, I’m so scared for my little girl. My children go to school and when we pick them up they stay inside the house. Even my 16-year-old son is always indoors. In West Village we are not free,” said Ngope.
This was illustrated when two teenagers were seen running to a local store and then racing home carrying a loaf of bread and milk. Life in West Village wasn’t always like this, but stories of hot summer days playing soccer or swimming at the recreational centre sound like a myth.
West Village was once a private estate for mineworkers. The vandalised security house at the main entrance suggests that the area was previously secured with boom gates. According to Mogale City mayor Tyrone Gray it was privately owned by First Wesgold Mining. It was home to mining managers, supervisors and general mineworkers.
Said Gray: “From the late 1990s when those former mineworkers received their severance packages and moved out of the area, the homes were bought by non-mineworkers. By the early 2000s, there was a slow influx of illegal miners and by 2005 the situation had worsened. According to our records there are between 500 and 700 formal dwellers living in West Village. For every one resident in the area, there is also a zama zama. So my estimate would be that there are between 500 and 1,000 zama zamas in the community.”
The numbers seem hard to believe — barring the racing teens buying essentials and the women at the “swimming pool”, the area looks and feels abandoned. In most towns there will be a stray dog or children playing in the street, but not in West Village. There’s no ambient noise, it’s completely void of the usual tyres screeching, an engine revving or even laughter.
Many homes look desolate while others are reminiscent of a war zone. C-Row is known to locals as “Iraq”.
The only attraction is Cowboy Town, a cowboy themed market with antique stores, stalls and other novelty stores. Visitors can enjoy a cold beer or boerewors roll in Cowboy Town. This kitsch spot is where the music video crew started filming before leaving for a nearby mine dump where the 22-strong crew were robbed and the women gang-raped.
In response to the gang rape last week police conducted numerous raids to remove illegal miners and undocumented foreigners in Krugersdorp. While in West Village we spotted drones and a low-flying helicopter hovering near a hill along the R28.
A large contingent of police tactical response teams, armed with rifles and wearing bullet-proof vests and helmets, headed into the bushes where suspected illegal miners were hiding.
Two men were arrested and officers recovered headlamps, gas canisters and equipment used to melt and crush the gold concentrate.
The teams then made their way to homes in West Village. The first stop was in a section regarded as the zama zama headquarters and also known to host a brothel ring. The K9-unit is sent in. As police officers kick down doors, several undocumented men are arrested. Their hands are bound with black cable ties and they are made to lie face down on the dusty ground.
Across the road, a man peeps through a broken window. Similar raids take place in “Iraq” and U-Row, which is close to a tavern where zama zamas hang out. A pink house in U-Row is believed to be home to several undocumented nationals.
When police enter, one suspect runs into the wall in an attempt to escape. The suspect is apprehended and police continue to bust down doors. In a onebedroom house in the back yard a baby is crying. As the sound of shattering glass travels the cries become louder.
Six suspects are arrested and their hands are bound with cable ties. While police search the house for more suspects they find headlamps hidden in the ceiling. The men are asked where they’re from. Two say Mozambique and four say Zimbabwe. When asked for their ages, police officers chuckle as each suspect says “17”.
“This is a tactic, they know how to play the game because this is not the first time they’ve been arrested. It’s like they’ve been briefed that if they’re arrested to just say they’re 15 or 17,” a warrant officer explains. They believe they will receive softer treatment from police if they pretend to be under age.
It starts raining and the men are moved under a carport. One man is covered in light brown dust, similar in colour to the mine dumps. When the police officer asked why he was covered in dust, he says he was playing soccer.
During these “disruptive operations”, which started earlier in the week, police arrested more than 130 undocumented foreign nationals. It’s unclear whether any of them are linked to the rapes and robbery of the film crew and models.
The headlamps found suggest that some of the men are zama zamas. For Ngope, it’s not the dust or headlamps that identify them, it’s their language, balaclavas and Basotho blankets.
“We don’t call them zama zamas, we call them blanket people. That word zama zama, we are scared to use it. We are scared that if they find out we’ve spoken about them they will hurt us. I can’t even call them people because of what they are doing to us. I am justified to say they’re animals,” Ngope says.
In one of the sections where raids were conducted earlier in the afternoon, a man covered in dust and holding a headlamp casually walks from the veld and across the road to an old house. For Ngope, it’s this brazen and fearless behaviour of the blanket men that keeps her up at night.
* Not her real name.
There are between 500 and 1,000 zama-zamas in the community Mayor Tyrone Gray