Young looter nabbed for two boxes of custard

South Africa has had a lot of practice at violent riots – and driving through the streets of Johannesburg and Mamelodi, I dare say it’s a skill we’ve honed to near perfection.

The back streets of South Africa’s economic hub resemble little more than a war zone, with carcasses of tyres burnt to near ash, their wire skeletons creating spindly shadows on the streets in Jeppe, while trash and rocks are strewn around the roads and pavements.

They are “ghost tyres” because nobody knows where so many are found on such short notice.

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Dotted around Jozi streets are metro cop cars in little clusters of two or three, their engines idling to keep the bitter cold at bay. We are driving with our windows open in case we catch a rock, so at least we won’t be cut to shreds by broken glass.

Our heater isn’t coping. Evidence of the rampage of hungry, angry, criminal and the disenfranchised who have reached boiling point is evident everywhere, shop doors and steel shutters hanging open.

It’s these the unmarked vehicles are watching, hiding in the shadows, engines turned off so as not to draw too much attention.

Before the 9pm curfew, a few stragglers walk quickly, heads down, not looking for trouble. As 9pm rolls over, the streets clear, leaving the streets to journalists and the police.

Working our way into Alexandra, the streets through Cyrildene, Orange Grove and Orchards are eerily quiet, the walls of the old Doll House roadhouse hiding in the dark behind a sagging fence.

As we draw closer to Alexandra, the acrid smell of gunpowder, fire and smoke hangs in the air. It’s windows down time again.

Outside the magistrate’s court, amid the rubble of hundreds of grapefruit-sized rocks, is a parked a SA Army Mamba, an armoured personnel carrier, it’s engine rumbling in the quiet.

It looks at home amid the chaos. Our little white sedan is decidedly not and we move on, passing small groups of soldiers huddled around fires, trying to keep warm in the open air. The air stinks because of the rubbish.

Small groups of people huddle around flaming braziers but we can’t reach them because the streets are littered with rocks, and those open are small, dark with no apparent escape route.

Leaving the vehicle isn’t an option as, while we may escape harm, the chances of finding it in flames with the aluminium engine melting are too great.

Windows up, we move to Mamelodi near Pretoria, where metro and SA Police Service officers are in running battles with looters.

The temptation of Mams Mall is still great and the occasional rock flies over the rooftops. Invisible in the dark, they announce their presence with a loud bang and then a thud when it hits the ground.

Two Tshwane metro police vehicles chase off to bracket the rock throwers, with us in hot pursuit. The officers fire rubber bullets at their man, easily identifiable in an orange top and blue pants; pah, pah, pah – but with the speed of Apollo, he runs past them. We don’t see him again.

Next to the wrecked Mams Mall, a small group of young men huddle around a brazier. They mock the cops, who ignore them… until they don’t. Making a sudden move, cops run down and grab one youngster, little more than 18 years old.

Constable Manana Gololo of Tshwane Metro Police Department comes out of the dark, shaking her head and carrying a carton of Ultra Mel custard, torn open.

“This is what they took,” she says, noting two boxes are missing.

We journalists stare at each other. For two boxes of custard, a young man has probably destroyed his life.

amandaw@citizen.co.za