Cape Town’s Cape Flats is a war zone where young men are mowed down as if they are dispensable, simply collateral damage in a senseless battle for turf between rival gangs. Many of the young men who are killed are either caught in the crossfire or are the victims of initiation practices that involve murdering someone, anyone.

It is no longer an option for those living in or visiting Cape Town to look away. The heartbreaking stories of the mothers who lost their children need to be heard and acted upon. The list of what can and must be done is long and complex. Social workers need to step in and deal with overwhelming social challenges including trauma, the police need to transfer and prosecute those cops who are not doing their jobs or are in the pockets of the gangs, prosecutors who delay cases for years for no good reason and detectives who do shoddy work need to be held to account.

A group of mothers on the Cape Flats have formed a group, Moms Move for Justice, as a form of support and to talk to those “who understand”, but also to try to seek legal justice from a system that is failing to deliver any form of justice or closure.

Maverick Citizen is featuring the stories of some of these heartbroken mothers as well as voices of experts who have intimate knowledge of the causes of gang violence. The mothers are telling their deeply personal and devastating stories because they seek solidarity and do not want others to suffer their fate — not because they want pity or charity. Their stories are also cries for help, a desperate plea to try to change a system, a way of living, which gives unemployed young men very few options outside of joining gangs that end up killing men and young innocent boys. Their stories need to be told, they need to be heard and they need to be acted on.

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When Jasmina Karriem’s son Fuad was shot, she had to battle to get to the crime scene. Hanover Park is a dangerous area and for a single mother living with two daughters it is even more unsafe to leave your house in the middle of the night, even if there is an emergency.

“I got a call at 2.30 in the morning telling me that Fuad, 38, was shot,” recalls Karriem, 59, drawing on her cigarette. Fifteen minutes later her life shattered when she received a follow-up message on her phone telling her that Fuad had died.

“I knew it before the message even came through. I just had this feeling that he wasn’t with us any more,” she said.

The details of Fuad’s death are still unclear and Karriem has many questions that are still unanswered five years later.

Karriem says her son was not a troublesome child. He had been arrested for being in possession of a tik pipe, but other than that there were no signs he was involved in gangsterism.

“I can’t say he was, or that he wasn’t, I don’t know. I just know that he dabbled in drinking and smoking dope, but that’s what youngsters do, you know,” says Jasmina.

She remembers Fuad as a good child, who looked after his siblings and  enjoyed cooking and baking.

“You know, Fuad was his sister’s other half. If he did anything wrong she would cover for him without thinking twice,” she says smiling.

In October 2014, Fuad was killed in a wendy house, not too far from where Karriem lives with her two daughters.

Those who were with Fuad said that before he died he spoke about his family, called his son’s name, said a prayer, and then told those around him to tell his mother that he loved her. He asked his family to forgive him and finally, he asked that they never forget him in their daily prayers.

Karriem is suddenly lost in thought. When she breaks her silence she says, “I’ve still got the clothes he was wearing the day he died. My daughter refuses to let them go. But every time she sees his pants in the cupboard she just breaks down.”

When Karriem finally made it to the crime scene, the police tried to stop her from entering it.

“I told them, ‘No way, this is my son’, and I pushed my way through.”

There were three dead bodies, and Fuad was lying in the furthest corner of the wendy house.

“Whatever happened that night, my son fought,” she recalls. When Karriem inspected her son’s body, she noticed that the sole of one of his sturdy Caterpillar shoes had broken off.

“Those are strong shoes, I think he must have tried to close the door or something.”

Over the past five years, Karriem has speculated over her son’s death. It makes no sense to her that he was allegedly sitting on the bed, but his body was doubled over in the furthest corner of the wendy house.

After Fuad’s death, Karriem said she received no assistance from the police.

“The investigating officer was so arrogant, for eight months I didn’t hear anything about Fuad’s case.”

A few months later she heard that one witness was in custody and another one had died. Karriem later heard that one of the witnesses had disappeared, and about a year and a half later she resurfaced in Hanover Park, yet still nothing was done.

One morning Karriem encountered the detective in the neighbourhood while she was outside cleaning her yard. She caught his eye as he was leaving a neighbour’s yard, and that was when the detective casually told her that the case had been struck off the roll. No explanation.

The matter simply went away, as if a life had not been lost.

Fuad’s death tore his family apart. Two years later Fuad’s younger brother died. “He couldn’t bear the stress any more,” Karriem says. Fuad’s brother had always been a timid child, he generally kept to himself, but after his brother died, he became even more quiet. He wouldn’t speak at all.

“I asked him one day, ‘Do you miss your brother?’ and he responded softly, ‘Yes Mummy, I miss him’ and the tears just ran down his face.

“My daughter lost her job and my other daughter could not finish her studies. She was so smart, she had been elected to attend Oprah’s school, she passed her matric with four distinctions, and got into UCT. But after her brother died, she was unable to keep up with her school work and eventually dropped out.

“I look like I am okay, but I really am not, I wanted to cry, but I knew I had to be strong for my daughters, and now it’s just me and them,” she says as tears roll down her face.

Even though the matter was struck off the roll, Karriem is not satisfied. She wants justice for her son, she wants the perpetrator to be brought to book.

“I will go to the highest court in the land – it is my right as a South African citizen. Those police should have protected my family… if I could just make it to The Hague,” she says.

Karriem’s frustration is palpable. “When the gunshots go off, we have to crawl in our own house in case we get hit by a stray bullet, and yes the army is there but it’s still not safe,” she says.

“People think we want attention, but they don’t know the pain we’ve been through. Nobody can tell you how to mourn, this thing has torn my family apart and still nothing is done. I have told my story for years, but still nothing changes. The world must know what we as mothers have to live with.” MC

 Maverick Citizen is profiling the lives and voices of 10 mothers who lost their sons, side-by-side with opinion pieces by among others Rehana Rossouw, Don Pinnock and Gun Free South Africa.