The township, or as we like to call it, “The hood,” is a place teeming with stories so dynamic you’d think they’re straight out of a movie. Any township in South Africa is filled with drama—events so perplexing you’d be convinced they were scripted. But no, this is our reality.
Today, I want to share a few of these stories. The reason for this is that I recently saw the guy who features in two of them—he’s now a completely different man. If I hadn’t been driving past, I would’ve stopped to ask him, “What was going on with you back in the day?” But for now, let me focus on the stories I experienced firsthand. First, though, let’s dive into some random ones that left me in shock, especially since they happened right next door—well, not literally next door, but close enough. Be warned, some of these stories are graphic, so if you’re sensitive, you might want to skip the first two.
The Goat
Imagine you’re passing through the supermarket, and you see a familiar face in the newspaper. You’re like, “Hey, I know that guy! Or at least, I know that place.” You read the headline and suddenly wish you didn’t know either. The headline reads: “Man Impregnates Goat / Man Caught Red-Handed Raping Goat.”
The more I read, the more I found myself trapped between laughing and being utterly disturbed. This guy, caught by the hood in the act, was raping a goat! Damn, bro, you couldn’t find anyone else?
My friend, who was with me at the time, sees the headline too and bursts out laughing. He knows this is my town.
“Bro, y’all f#@k goats in your hood? Kanti e_Willow ninjani?”
Now I’m stuck trying to defend my hood. Did I mention I’ve seen the guy in question? Nope, all I can say is—small world.
Last Words in Death
Ever heard something so shocking it rocks you to your core? This next story is exactly that. Remember when I said to skip if you’re sensitive? Well, this story is why.
I came back to the hood for a weekend visit. It seemed like every weekend in the hood, someone sadly passed—at least it felt that way. This weekend was no different, except this time, it was someone I knew personally. She was a neighbor, just a few houses up the street. I used to help her with math. She (Sli) would ask for help with very simple equations. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too, but let’s let bygones be bygones.
When I heard what happened, I was rocked to the core. To make it worse, the fact that the person who did this was still walking around shook me even more. The guy is well-known in the hood—owns a lucrative tavern and other businesses. You could say he’s a powerful man, and stories about him using muthi circulate.
He had a “fight” with my neighbor Sli. Actually, I wouldn’t call it a fight—more like abuse. It wasn’t the first time he’d laid hands on her or another woman, but this time, he took it too far. He beat her so badly that he left her for dead. Believing she was gone, he drove off in the middle of the night. But by some miracle, Sli survived long enough to crawl her way home.
Yes, she crawled—her family heard her screaming, not with the energy of someone who’s okay, but with the weak cries of someone clinging to life. They found her, bloodied and barely alive. She asked for silence so she could detail everything that happened and who did it. When she was done telling her truth, she succumbed to death.
You’d think after such an atrocity, the hood would be in an uproar, that the neighborhood would be shaken to its core, and that man’s house would burn to the ground. But no—life just went on. The man disappeared for a month or two, then came back. Apparently, no jail time. Nothing. That’s murder.
Actions like this in the hood happen or have happened constantly. There seems to be a weird acceptance of them. No consequences. How? I remember an era when these actions were met with death by tire or stone. Of course, not all those deaths were fair, but they struck fear into the hearts of wrongdoers. My hood is quiet now—there aren’t any stories or events like these anymore, at least not to my knowledge. I refrain from going out in case I find myself at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Baba ka Nkanyiso
We’re now confidently buying cooked meat from this guy I’m about to talk about. Apparently, he sells the best cow hooves in the township—packed neatly and dripping with delicious sauce. Unfortunately, I didn’t try one, but from my brother’s moans, I could tell he was enjoying them.
People change—either circumstances make them, or they make the decision themselves. Now, have you ever seen movies where the CIA/FBI/DEA, or whatever agency, comes through with helicopters, men sliding down ropes, sirens blaring, and dust flying from vehicles bursting onto the scene? And finally, a single man is dragged outside and thrown into a van. In your head, you’re like, “That is goddamn awesome!” Well, unless it’s happening to your grandma and mother, who keep screaming, “Get the f#@k away from there! Come back to the house, you idiot!”
Baba ka Nkanyiso, or Baba ka Nka as we called him, was rumored to be a soldier—a very skillful and dangerous dude. Growing up, you hear these stories and think, “This dude? Mxim, come on.” But later, you kind of find out that, yes, that skinny dude is as dangerous as the rumours say.
It was like watching a movie—men sliding down from the helicopter in brown uniforms onto the roof and into the house. Many cars, not just any police—white police. When the Boers came to collect you, it must have been for some serious shit you did.
They took this man—we watched. I mean, what could we do? He wasn’t even thrown into a van; they put him in one of the cars in the back seat. And just like that, it was over, like the film had ended. The neighbors all rushed to the house, asking questions.
I don’t remember if it was weeks or months later when this man waltzed back to the house as if we didn’t see him getting kidnapped in broad daylight. He came back with a backpack and better-looking clothes than when he left. And he had left wearing a trunk or was taken in one. The man remained a sort of legend that slowly dissipated with time. My personal interaction with him came in a story that has many layers—a story I’ll share in the next writing/podcast, so keep your ears and eyes open. It’s rather interesting, as it involves this man and a penis.
Now, after hearing some of these hood stories, what unforgettable tale comes to mind about your hood? Share your experience—let’s keep the stories alive.