Even though the kids written about in these blog entries are half a world away, I don’t feel it’s appropriate to use their real names when writing about certain subjects. So, this is an update about the shelter robbery and we’re going to call the two boys involved Max and Thom.
Max was proud Monday when he told me about breaking into the shelter. He was beaming as he recounted how he shattered the windows, bent back the burglar bars and tried to steal from Eluxolweni.
The second robber, Thom, has kept a much lower profile. He came to school early this week—but didn’t say much to anyone. He looked terrible. He had no shoes or socks on his blistering feet, his elbow had half a dozen stitches, his clothes were particularly tattered, even by Amasango standards, and God knows what was nesting in his hair. When I saw him, I didn’t even look at him. I thought he had come to school for two things: clothes and sympathy. I had no control over who gets clothes and I wasn’t about to sympathize with a kid who had just broken into the shelter. I just ignored him.
Like so many other situations at Amasango, things aren’t exactly as they appear. It’s true that Max and Thom tried to break into the shelter. It’s true that when people saw their faces, they both fled. But, that’s not the picture—it’s just a part.
Following the attempted robbery, both boys returned to the township. Agitated about failing to get anything from the store room, a bit nervous about almost getting nabbed and extremely drunk, Max blamed Thom for the failed robbery. In a rage, Max grabbed Thom’s windpipe, squeezing his throat so hard Thom was only semi-conscious when he was thrown to the floor. Max proceeded to repeatedly bash his co-conspirator over the head with a large rock. When Thom regained consciousness, he was covered in blood. He escaped, stumbled into town and beaten and bloody, collapsed on a street not far from Rhodes. A student found him on the ground and called an ambulance. He was taken to the hospital where he’d remain for the next 48 hours.
Early this week, Thom went with Jane to the South African Police Service and opened a case of aggravated assault against Max.
Max, the boy who was bubbling over with pride on Monday when talking about his weekend conquest will not be prosecuted for attempted robbery; he’ll have to answer to a much more serious charge: aggravated assault. What began with two friends drinking on a Saturday night, ended in a blood bath. Max will be arrested, he will be questioned by the police, he will spend a night in jail before being released into the shelter’s custody. He’ll have his day in court and will face the consequences of what he’s done.
Thom feared returning to the township. He was afraid he’d be killed for coming forward. He’s now living in an outside room at Jane’s house until the Department of Social Development finds a suitable home for him outside of Grahamstown.
Thom and I made dinner together two nights this week. He has been an absolute pleasure to be with. He has, perhaps the first time in a long time, felt safe when he goes to sleep.
I still don’t agree with what he did. In fact, I would support opening a case against Thom for attempted robbery, but when I saw his dusty, blister-ridden feet and dirty face at school, I never thought I’d end up sympathizing with him. But that wasn’t the picture—or the whole picture—and when the truth came out, it was a story that would break your heart.
It certainly broke mine.
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