Deadly greed: Babita Deokaran murder probe reveals police failure, enduring graft and fading hope for justice

This excerpt of crime reporter Jeff Wicks’s investigation into State Capture calls out the bumbling Hawks and looks at Tembisa Hospital’s endemic corruption, especially during the pandemic. 

Fumbling the investigation

The Hawks had hardly covered themselves in glory during their long investigation of Babita Deokaran’s murder. The primary detective on the case, Percy Chauke, by this point promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, was central to this failure. From what I had established, he did little to pursue the paymaster of this crime, turned a blind eye to potentially valuable evidence and jeopardised the prosecution of six izinkabi [hitmen]. It was he who ordered the release of Khanyisani Mpungose, the alleged gunman, who himself was murdered months after he was set free.

But Chauke should not shoulder the blame alone. As a detective, he fits into a command structure. His dockets and investigation diary would be checked and scrutinised regularly by his commanders, who seemingly also did nothing when they should have intervened. Babita’s murder inquiry is a case study that reveals the systemic failure of the police to deliver on their constitutional mandate: investigate crime, rid society of dark elements and ensure a safe and prosperous South Africa.

For her family, only memories of Babita remain. Her fortitude, a torch that illuminated vast corruption in the shadows, is beginning to flicker and fade. For Thiar Deokaran, Babita’s daughter, each day dawns with the weight of her mother’s absence, a cold reminder of a life cut short for a noble cause. 

Every day, on a Facebook group, Babita’s sisters publish a picture of her with a tally of the number of days the person or people who paid for her death have remained free. Every day they implore President Cyril Ramaphosa to take action and give them closure. The number of days has now reached the thousands, and I am not sure if Ramaphosa has even seen their daily appeals.

The uncomfortable reality they must confront is that Babita’s murder is unlikely to be solved. Evidence has been destroyed. Memories have faded. The Hawks have lost the impetus they had in the days after the hitmen were arrested. In writing this book, I asked Gauteng Hawks boss General Ebrahim Kadwa to speak to me. Chauke’s reporting line ended with him, and he was there at Turffontein Racecourse when Phakamani Hadebe and his taxi hitmen were nabbed. I wanted to know if he shared my view that his subordinates had botched a high-profile assassination investigation.

If there was no justice for Babita, did he ever consider what message this transmitted to other whistle-blowers? How many would choose to stay quiet because law enforcement had failed? Would there be consequences for Chauke and others? Did he still feel he had to claim that every possible avenue was explored during their probe?

His response:

Good morning, Jeff.

Apologies for delay in responding to your request.

The investigation into Babita Deokaran is still ongoing and our policies do not allow us to authorise lateral interviews for any other purpose outside investigation, as this may have an effect on ongoing investigation and trial. This request can be revisited once the case has been finalised.

Hope you find this in order.

Well, no, I don’t find that in order. Once again, those who should face a grilling for their bumbling missteps will hide behind the refrain of “an open investigation” that will drag on for years. If history has taught me anything, this investigation is likely to amount to naught. By definition, it is now a cold case.

Babita’s final internal investigation threatened vast networks of extraction led by a trio of men, some with deep-rooted political ties and the protections that no doubt come with them. She had dutifully gathered documents and built her case. She had described rampant procurement corruption as a genocide, and I think she was right. It requires a special kind of psychopath to steal from a hospital, but any mote of morality was overwhelmed by greed. 

For doing her job, Babita was betrayed. A person or group within the Gauteng Health Department must have tipped off powerful actors who turned to the criminal underworld to protect their interests. Directly or indirectly, the izinkabi were probably paid by taxpayers’ money intended for the benefit of patients at Tembisa Hospital.

Babita was a casualty of the shadow state, a parallel criminal world designed to prey on public funds. This realm and its secret economy flourish unseen. Crooked health officials ensured that R2.3-billion was channelled to extraction syndicates, and money meant for the hospital was diverted to privateers. This is not where the felonious economy starts and ends. These garish businessmen still need to spend their loot, which they did through splurges on property, expensive cars and billionaire lifestyles. They are enabled by car dealers, estate agents and lawyers, all funded indirectly by the taxpayer. They are also protected by hapless or corrupt police officers and an endless army of hitmen who take their deadly stock in trade to the highest bidder. This is why Babita had to die.

***

A long history of corruption

Long before Babita’s warning, Tembisa Hospital was widely regarded as a feeding trough empowered by officials in both the supply chain management office and the executive suite. That no one took action could be seen as a tacit endorsement, or they could simply claim that they were blissfully unaware. After Shonisani Lethole, riven by Covid-19 and clinging to life, was starved and mistreated at Tembisa Hospital in June 2020, the Office of the Health Ombudsman started a far-reaching inquiry. Among the hundreds of nurses, doctors and other officials the ombudsman interviewed, one witness remained hidden: nursing services manager Wilfred Mothwane.

Mothwane told the ombudsman that he tried to warn his management that designating the facility as a Covid-19 reception facility was a bad idea. At the heart of his concerns was the shortage of PPE. While smocks, masks and gloves were purchased and donated to the hospital, a shortage remained. Protocols were not being followed, and the infection was spreading. Only those frontline workers dealing with pandemic patients were issued with protective gear. Those who weren’t simply refused to work. This prompted strike action. Hospital kitchen staff, nurses and others flatly refused to enter wards lest they contract the virus. Shonisani starved to death while meals were left at the hospital unit’s door and never actually delivered.

On the day Shonisani was admitted, Mothwane was nursing patients on the ward. He left his office because his staff had revolted and people were dying. When the ombudsman’s investigation began, Mothwane was off sick, as he had tested positive for the virus. However, he sought out the ombudsman on his own despite Tembisa Hospital CEO Lekopane Mogaladi trying to prevent him from giving testimony.

Mothwane had a story to tell, and it was devastating. His warnings had been ignored by hospital management, and Shonisani wasn’t the only one to die in inhumane conditions. There were many others, he said.

In August, two months after Shonisani died, Mothwane wrote a letter to then-Gauteng Health Department MEC Bandile Masuku, pleading for an urgent investigation into the hospital. He also asked Masuku to verify the true Covid-19 death toll at the facility.

“I, as the nursing manager, was instructed to underreport Covid-related deaths. I want the deaths investigated to see if the actual death numbers were reported. I feel an investigation into this matter may yield useful information in identifying discrepancies in the reporting. I think they are trying to hide something.”

He also raised the issue of corruption around how PPE was purchased. He had discovered that donated PPE was being passed off as purchased. “This indicates that actual stock ordered was never received but paid for.”

Tembisa Hospital was chosen to face the brunt of the pandemic, but its leadership was hapless – and people died as a result. It should never have been designated as a centre of care, but the management of the hospital was resolute and firmly on this path. Mothwane had an explanation. With Tembisa seeing Covid-19 patients, the procurement budget swelled and there was more money to steal. He had seen the warning signs and called for an urgent investigation, but he was ignored.

Had someone in authority acted and directed that the hospital’s procurement office be audited, those trawling through the payments would likely have found the shell company networks, price gouging and irregular contract manipulation, as Babita did. At that stage, they were already in the system.

Perhaps if Mothwane’s allegations had been probed, Babita might have been alive today. It is yet another failure that allowed syndicates to thrive. There is an anecdote of a PPE supplier who had a key to the departmental warehouse. When he received orders, he would simply slink into the store and lift stock, repackage it and sell it back to the same people from whom it had been stolen.

Corruption and graft have become a disquieting mainstay in the Gauteng Health Department. It is everywhere and, to me, it is little wonder that the department’s R65-billion annual budget runs dry. If procurement was fair, transparent, accountable and based on a real need, with a drive for value for money, Gauteng’s public hospitals would not be in this dire state.

What do we learn from the resistance and lack of political will to modernise the procurement system with an electronic portal? It’s astounding that in 2025, bid submissions for Gauteng Health Department work are entirely paper-based. Tembisa Hospital staff perfected the exploitation of loopholes in this system, and an electronic alternative would flag problematic transactions in real time.

The frailty of this paper-based system was exposed when, in April 2025, Tembisa Hospital was targeted by arsonists. Two fires were set in archive rooms, using petrol and paper. The blaze threatened to consume the finance office – an uninspiring room decked with stacks of files on every available surface.

Fire is the ultimate destructor of evidence, and someone at that hospital wanted to erase something from the record.

What Babita found were the first hints of syndicate activity. It was a fraction of what the Special Investigating Unit unravelled: billions bleeding from a delicate health system and a money-laundering operation the likes and scale of which they had never encountered. It was sophisticated, and it was a well-kept secret.

And where are those company owners and enterprising “businesspeople” first outed by Babita? Most have disappeared, but others have remained in the headlines. From what I can track, they are thriving.

Sello Sekhokho, an ANC office-bearer, has his eye on higher office. While there was a lull in his business, in 2024 he returned as a supplier to the Gauteng Department of Health, this time flogging toilet paper. 

Stefan Govindraju was criminally charged for failing to keep up with his tax obligations related to another little-known entity. When I had a look, I found another five companies making money from Tembisa Hospital – shell companies that Babita never found. 

For most, it seems accountability is a ways off. DM

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R35.