African Justice

I’ve been robbed—a few times, and it has happened again. After an attempted robbery during my first stay on the African continent, I pretty much expect it to happen any time I live here for any length of time (foreigner=rich=”you goin’ get robbed my friend”). So when I saw a FB post by a friend about the killing of criminal offenders, one of which was burned alive, by ordinary citizens in the capital of Malawi I was not as shocked as some of her other friends by the mob style punishment. In some ways, I understand how people could be pushed to react that way, especially when you have lived all your life under a justice system that repeatedly fails you.

My first experience with crime was in Botswana. In the first house I lived in, the thieves were able to enter the property even though we had a high wall and a security guard. Our guard told us that he had actually got his head entirely through the burglar bars and he was watching me: creepy yet admirable at the same time as those bars were pretty narrow. But we were lucky we had such a good security guard on that night as he ran for help and the sound of the police sirens scared the burglars away. Our other security guard would sleep, openly, all night. One night we drove into our driveway, with the car headlights on, all the way up to him as he leaned back on the chair with his mouth open. I mean, the headlights were boring into his eyes as if he were being interrogated by a CIA agent. Dude didn’t flutter an eyelash. Needless to say, he didn’t work for us much longer.

The second experience was stupid and I put myself in danger. It was the night of a 2010 World Cup Final game. I wanted to go watch it at my friend’s house, but I didn’t have cab money to get there. SO I thought I would bus it to her house. Big mistake. There were no buses as everyone was at home or at the pub watching the game (well, yeah, gf!). As I was standing all alone on the street corner a few guys passed by me with commentary—some I could only guess were “Hey baby, can we talk” remarks--- however a few of the older men I’m sure were saying “You dumb-ass white girl, get off the street corner at this time of night!” as they had very concerned looks on their faces which made me worry enough that I started to walk toward my friend’s house. Of course. No, wait. WHAT?!?! Not to my house one block away, but toward my friend’s house many blocks away. Yeah, like I said, dumb, dumber and the dumbest.

I was followed at first at walking pace by two guys, one behind me and another on the other side of the highway. When I started to sprint, the guy across the way fell back but the guy behind me sprinted after me. I ran out into the middle of the road hoping that someone would stop their car to help me—but that never happened. As he got closer, he pushed me hard and I stumbled across to the metal highway stop rail that serves to separate the road from the sidewalk. He picked me up and threw me over it, and then rummaged my pockets--all the while I was hitting him in his face and cursing at him. After all that effort, all he got was a stupid phone which later I would receive texts from his friends as I blocked outgoing calls but was able to keep my number. Could the criminal be more stupid “Yeah, hi, I’m a thief and so I will keep using the number so the police can trace it back to me.” However, I never reported the incident. I couldn’t be bothered with being treated as a delinquent by the police—as a friend of mine earlier in the year was robbed in her car and instead of helping her they treated her as if SHE did something wrong. I’ve been left with a slight problem in my left hip where I landed when he threw me over the rail—but it serves as a reminder never to be so foolish as to walk alone in Africa once it gets dark.

My third brush with crime was in Malawi. I wasn’t in the house when the attempt occurred but my domestic worker was and unfortunately he got a bit roughed up by the burglar when he confronted him. After tumbling through most of my bedroom and throwing everything about, he didn’t get what he wanted as I did a good job of locking everything up in a secured room and closet. I also had my secret hiding spaces. But because they were secret I can’t tell you where they were, as I still use my “think like a thief” tactics wherever I live. But I think if I did share them with you, you would just look at me and say, “Really girlfriend? I don’t think that is such a secret place.” But I digress. The attempt in Malawi taught me that your house is more likely to get burglarized during the rainy season when it is difficult for people to hear a burglar enter for when the rain hits the tin roof it makes a racket. My house was one of many houses hit within a 3 month time span. In the other cases where he (we believe it was the same guy in each theft) managed to take things and the police were summoned, they didn’t arrive until 2 or 3 hours after the incident occurred. The police station was only a few blocks away from us.

When B and I lived in Zobue, in the rural area, we were called to Maputo last year on a family emergency. Guess what happened? Our house was broken into, and regrettably they did take a lot of stuff. Because the emergency was an emotional and traumatic one, we didn’t have the calm to think about how to protect our stuff before leaving the house. Therefore, if your house is going to be robbed, it will also most likely occur if you leave your house completely empty. I had a friend from Barbados who was constructing a house but he was not residing on the property. In a woeful voice and face full of exasperation he told me what happened: “The first time they took all the pipes for the plumbing. The second time they took the window frames and doors. And then you know what they took? Do you!?! My dogs. My. Dogs.” Evidently the night guard was in cahoots with the burglar and would just let the thieves in. So he bought two Rottweilers to patrol the grounds at night. Clearly if pure breed as well as highly trained security dogs could not protect an unoccupied house I’m pretty sure the mangy mongrels that took up residence on our property and our borderline feral cat weren’t going to serve as much deterrence. Well, maybe if we kept a meat bone tied to the veranda just out of their reach they would have been hungry enough to bite those bastards if they came too close.

Soooo…did anyone in our neighborhood or the police close the door and make sure no one else got inside? Negative. Did anyone come to tell us who robbed our house even though they were probably sitting in their front yard sipping away at Chubuku (African moonshine) and watching it happen? Negativo. B is not from the tribe that is predominant in the central region where we were living in Zobue and I’m from the U.S., therefore two outsiders get no help. And clearly the police closing the door and securing it with some string would have hurt someone’s hand too much to make the effort.
I’ve only worked as a lawyer in two African countries but after going through a year-long legal process in a criminal case for a member of B’s family, I feel confident enough to say that the justice system for the average working person is not a viable option. I would venture to say that it parallels the US in that if you are a poor person of color entering into our criminal justice system there isn’t going to be much justice doled out on either side of the table. The lack of financial resources and personnel as well as years and years of corruptive practices imbedded into daily protocol have left citizens without faith in the system and compelled to take matters into their own hands.
The way things were done about hundred years ago is pretty much how people feel confident to keep crime in control today: if you are caught committing a crime you are going to be severely beaten by more than one person and then dumped in front of the police station. At this point it should be taken into consideration that in many African countries if you are an offender that is arrested, and your family has the money to pay the police off and find you a passport to escape the country, you will never be brought to lady justice for the crime you committed. In our neighborhood alone people have been released from jail, I mean completely Scott free, after being arrested for murder, rape and child molestation. And on several occasions the perpetrator was not arrested for the first time for committing these crimes. In the face of a failed legal system, where does your faith lie in seeking justice and putting a stop to repeat offenders, in the justice system or in your own vigilante hands?

Prior to actually being robbed a week ago, we experienced two attempted robberies in two weeks. The first time, three weeks ago, I happened to be lying awake in the wee hours when I saw our window slowly opening, and I yelled out “HULLO” and they ran off. The second attempt was last week. It had rained heavily all night and during the early morning hours therefore we didn’t hear the thief enter into the house. The guy actually walked into our room while we were in bed. If we had not gotten up 15 minutes earlier to use the toilet, we would have been in a deep sleep and he could have robbed us blind. But we weren’t and we both jumped up when we heard the curtain to our door sweep aside. All three of us looked at one another stunned. We at first thought it was B’s brother or one of his friend’s sleeping over, but then it registered, no, this is a bloody thief! It must of registered in his brain “Snap! I’m gonna get a whoopin” at the same time-- because as we scrambled to get out of bed, he ran off in Carl Lewis fashion.
B, his brother and his brother’s friend who was spending the night over, ran out after him, barefoot and in their underwear. B was able to grab a large wooden beam and he said he got about three whacks to his head and back, but when he grabbed him he slipped through his hands because he was slick from the rain. B stepped on a broken glass bottle so wasn’t able to jump the wall the intruder scaled over to get away from him. Not three days later, someone came into our yard and stole one of our ducks. When we told one of our neighborhood Grannies, do you know what her first response was? “Beat them. Beat them hard so they know that they can’t come back here to commit more crimes, that we will not tolerate it here.”

When I am working within the justice system I do my best about advocating for improving the quality of work conditions and increasing police and lower court staff salaries. Improved salaries would lower the corruptive practice of pay-offs and provide more incentive for stakeholders to actually do their jobs. For example, a junior level police officer in Mozambique makes about $50/month but the most basic food basket (rice, salt, sugar, oil, bread) per month is $30 and then rent and utilities have to be taken of. How else will a junior level police officer who is the primary bread winner make ends meet if not finding a way to issue a fine or to receive a pay-off? Southern African people are surprisingly patient when it comes to low level crime but everyone has their limits. Living in Mozambique as a middle class person, rather than a privileged development worker, has made me look at the justice system from many different angles, and in some ways, made me re-define what justice is—a definition that does not necessarily fit into a nice square box to be checked off.
When B went in the next day to talk to a police officer about our duck, the guy on duty was curled up in a fetal position sleeping on a bench at 10 in the morning---I laugh at that now because it was about a duck. But I’m sure a mother looking to remedy the murder of her child would not find such lack of professionalism and duty of care so amusing. Instead, I believe such a display would utterly frustrate a person living like this his or her whole life. And this person could very well be pushed to extreme acts of retaliation like the mob in Malawi, because at some point, a people are going to let you know that they will not be mistreated any longer---no matter what side of the law you stand on.