Orlando Pirates have just won the ABSA Premiership title but one Buccaneer fan is not looking forward to the festivities. It’s 6 pm and Snothi Mahlaba is about to go into the office but he will not be wearing corporate clothing. Instead, Constable Mahlaba of the South African Police Services in Pinetown swaps his black and white t-shirt for his blue uniform, the skull and bones symbol is replaced by epaulettes and his vuvuzela is set aside as he holsters his 9 mm service pistol.
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He stands at attention to greet a passing senior officer, back straightened like Clark Kent revealing his Superman suit. He is about to start his shift that will stretch through the night. As communities in Durban’s Western suburbs enjoy their sleep, Mahlaba patrols the streets on the lookout for trouble, ensuring that our cars are where we left them and our homes secure.
As a father of two, Mahlaba knows the value of peace of mind knowing ones family is safe, “I landed up in this line of work because I wanted to make a better life for my son”. His game face softens as he says this. It may not be what he initially intended to do for a living but he says being a policeman “makes me a man”. He would not , however want his son to follow in his footsteps saying it is not a safe profession as people target cops for doing their jobs.
In Pinetown CBD, he slows down outside a pub. With each explosion of drum and base, more people spill out more onto the buzzing streets. “Things can get a bit crazy on nights like this, people sometimes go overboard when they are celebrating,” he says. But there is no trouble here and we move on, only to stop a little way alongside a young man running with a plastic bag in his hand. They greet cordially in tsotsi taal, exchange brief words and we drive off.
Sitting behind him in the SAPS Condor, as he drives purposefully even though we have no particular destination, I try to catch his gaze in the rear view mirror but his eyes wonder, focused, everywhere. They dart deliberately into the dark abyss of the road ahead, side to side at the streets and into people’s yards.
“154 come in, 154 come in”, blares a voice over the police radio. A crackling sound is followed by a beep as the operator waits for Mahlaba’s response. Like the movie scene when the cops are called to the scene of a crime just as they settle for lunch, I picture them tossing away their barely eaten doughnuts and steaming coffee still full to the brim and speeding off with screeching tires leaving a cloud of smoke. There is no such drama here, Mahlaba calmly responds. I finally see his eyes as he turns, game face on, to tell me that I cannot come with him. He drives off, blue lights flashing like Superman’s cape flapping in the wind.
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