Chapter 4: Thug-life is Brutal

…continued from 13 May 2026…

WARNING – THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, ANIMAL ABUSE, FOUL LANGUAGE, SEXUAL ABUSE AND RACIAL PREJUDICE – DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU.

The gangs were in-turn ruled by untouchable gang-leaders whose power reached right up into government and religious circles and even when some of them had to spend time in jail, they ruled the Flat Lands from behind the prison walls. They had a hand in everything from prostitution and drugs to money laundering, and now, the latest venture of interest to the cash engorged gang world was, believe it or not, property.

Many had invested huge cash sums in acquiring property and renting it out to mostly foreigners.

Some properties in Cape Town fetched astronomical amounts of money, but unscrupulous property agents seldom asked questions when there were large amounts of cash bandied about.

In addition, no new construction projects, government approved or not, proceeded without the blessing of Cape Town's "Property Mafia."

When Johan met with Shawn, he asked him if he could arrange a meeting with each of the gang lords, the top bosses, individually. He had no idea how many there were, but he knew that when it came to the ultimate top dogs, there would be only a handful, two maybe three, not more than five.

“It can be arranged, but these guys are suspicious and you have to pay for the privilege of their time,” Shawn said.

“I understand,” Johan replied.

“Besides they would need an incentive, what do I tell them, why do you want to meet with them.”

“Tell them I have a business proposal for them that will launder all their drug interests Permanently, and tell them I’ll pay R100k for the meeting.”

“Wow, you are serious about this.”

“How long will it take to arrange?” Johan asked.

“Gimme a couple of weeks.”

“Okay, but listen to me, the meetings with all of them must happen in the same week.”

“Sure,” Shawn replied.

Malik Sufyan peered through the windows of his bullet-proofed Toyota Fortuner 4x4 as it drove through the narrow, litter-filled streets of Bonteheuwel on the Cape Flats. He was tired, so tired of it all. Every day was a grind to survive, to eke out more money to provide a good future for his kids.

At 46 he had lived long enough to know how to survive on the Cape Flats. It took many years, many of them spent in prison, and a ruthless lifestyle which included brutal murder, gang rapes, torture and mutilation.

Not to mention the countless armed robberies and police killings. But had it all been worth it? The leader of the notorious and most feared Virgin Breakers gang thought so once, once when he had taken over the leadership of the gang by killing the former boss. In a ritual of brutal blood lust, he cut out the man’s heart in the presence of several of his lieutenants and proclaimed himself the new leader.

That was then, now he was tired of looking over his shoulder. The kids were getting younger and more brazen. The ritual murders and rapes had spilled over and affected his own kids, when one of them came home from her expensive private school and asked him “daddy what is rape”. When he asked her why, she told him that one of her school mates had been raped and stabbed 22 times during a field trip to Mannenberg.

Malik was worried. His eye was beginning to twitch again, it had not twitched in a long time.

It was a definite sign that he was under prolonged stress.

Living the gangster-life had kept him lean and sharp, his huge house included a gym and a cellar. Two stories of the house were underground, complete with an intricate network of escape routes. He had many of the cops on his payroll, but since the fall of apartheid the black cops had become less reliable. The underlying racial tension permeated through everything. Malik hated blacks. They were less than human and should have remained apes. He was sure they were an aberration of nature. This of-course blinded him to the fact that by being Coloured, he himself had to have some “black” in his genetic make-up.

In his day, when he was young, all you had to do to join a gang was rob someone. These days young kids gleefully joined up by mutilating live animals. Just recently there was a report in the press about a horse found still breathing after it had been mutilated with a hot poker in its genital area. And it got even worse, young girls, barely pubescent were discovered raped and sodomised with their throats slit. The perpetrators were held in high esteem by other gang members. Some of them were caught and sent to jail.

However, the jails had their own system. The notorious prison numbers gangs took care of their own. With their own system where you could progress from a corporal to a general over a period of years.

Here too violence and killing was a prerequisite for progress. The so called 26’s were known as the "businessmen" and specialised in generating wealth and managing contraband in prison and on the streets; the 27’s are supposed to be the "lawmakers" who's role is to enforce gang laws and be keepers of the peace between the other gangs. While the 28's are known as the "Warriors" and are primarily focused on fighting and dominating prison life, acting as the "senior" gang. In prison, extreme violence, including sodomy, mutilation and gang-rapes was considered the "way of things" and it often left deep generational trauma wounds which the communities are still living with.

Malik’s driver pulled into his driveway as the electronic doors of the double garage slowly lifted. Once inside the doors automatically closed. Malik exited the vehicle and immediately walked down the stairs to his office in the basement level.

His lieutenant and bodyguard, a tall athletic fellow with a sullen expression and bald head, followed him down the stairs. The bodyguard was armed and knew how to handle himself, Malik felt very safe around him. Kamali (the body guard) was pitch black and his features were distinctly black African, yet he was classified as Coloured.

This again highlighted the unusual situation in South Africa, where the fact that you looked white or black, did not necessarily mean you were either. Foreigners could not tell the difference, however, any Coloured South African would have no trouble making the distinction.

Once down stairs he switched on his computer. Immediately the machine announced that he had a new email. Through a complex rerouting system and a series of coded messages Malik visited a very public website which was part of an online gaming message service.

Continued tomorrow 15 May 2026, before 12pm