A shocking introduction to the law...

13 March 2024

Just a heads up for a few trigger warnings. This is based on real events and might be traumatic for some people.

Watching TV shows and videos, you observe how people get arrested and bailed out of jail. You always laugh at how panicked the person is, or how they try to phone someone who will be the least angry and provide them assistance. While living in South Africa, you think, "Eh, the criminals run rampant, and who will stop me?" "The police are so corrupt, a KFC 2 piece with pap, and I'll be free." Until you come face to face with the law, and you're the one in a cell.

So, a little backstory: desperate times hit in South Africa, people aren’t getting paid enough, and you still need toilet paper. As a woman, you need either your pads or tampons, but if you can't afford them, what do you do? Many turn to shoplifting. It normally starts with toothpaste here, and a toilet roll there. But in the end, it always goes deeper, and you take more expensive items. You learn to look for the cameras, where the scanners are, and even where the staff are. You double-check the changing rooms: are there cameras, and is someone counting the items you have in your hand? You get sly with how you bend down and place the items in your bag.

When you walk out with your stolen goods, you feel invisible or like crap. It's either-or situation. People tend to shoplift out of necessity; you are unemployed, and your children cry for food. Your SASSA grant only covers so much, but you know you need more to cover your basic needs. The statistics for shoplifting increased from 2023 to 2022. If you look at the statistics for 2022/2023, you will see a spike in people being arrested for shoplifting. So, you can see, out of desperation, people are turning to stealing to keep their families fed and clothed.

Now back to the experience at hand. As someone raised in the middle class, you never expected to be that person who would steal just to survive. You were raised to give an R2 or R5, or more if you could, to the beggar at the side of the road. You were also raised to pray that your deity would provide you with the bread you need to survive a day. But what if he does not provide? What if you earn so little you cannot keep yourself alive? What if you started to do it because you felt like you needed a rush? It all started with lipstick here, a chocolate there, but then it got more.

You started to steal food and toiletries because you needed them and did not have the money. You realized that Clicks was an easy hit or that Mr. Price was a quick take-and-go operation. But then you got too cocky. You thought you knew better. And then the faithful day of the law hits you.

If you believe in karma, you can see it as karma hitting you. Because what comes around goes around. It was around the time the EFF had a march, so you know the cells were full. But on the public holiday that followed, you went to a mall... Out of all places, why there? Anyway, let’s continue. You enter the Dis-Chem, and you see the toiletries you need, but your bank account says R6.89, and you know that your lotion is finished. Your heart is racing when you take the tub and bend down to put it in your bag. You walk further through the store and take more stuff because what will happen, your system works.

And then you see, in the corner of your eye, the shop security guard following you, and you brush it off. You keep adding stuff and swapping things around in the store. You head to the entrance, waiting for someone to exit, and you cross the scanners with them. If something is tagged, they look suspicious, not you. But a man is standing there, and he is intently watching you.

Your heart races, and you muster the courage and walk out and speed walk till you hear, “Excuse me, Ma’am, excuse me, ma’am.” A hand wraps around your arm, and you are pulled away. Your anxiety is through the roof, and you go, “Oh F@3k I’m caught.” You think of excuses and ideas on how to get out of this. As an individual who was raised in a strict religious house, you know you don’t have anyone you can phone because what will they say? You are already in the black books because of your tattoos. You follow the guy down the aisles, and suddenly the security guard is there. You start shaking. What is going to happen? Following them down corridors, you finally end up in their security room.

As the only white person in the room, you feel excluded. They speak in a language you do not understand, and they grab your bag. You are officially caught out. What are you going to do? Your mind goes to hundreds of different excuses and reasons. You start by saying no, I bought it somewhere else, I just lost the receipt. They don’t fall for that. So you sit there, your empty bag is next to you.

They look over the footage, and you are not allowed to see it. You just want to message someone, but they confiscate your phone, saying you are recording them, and that will cause you jail time. So, you just sit there. Finally, the manager enters the room, and the look of disgust on her face says it all. You try pleading, you beg her to let it go, and that you will pay. But she does not care.

They force you to sign a document saying that you are banned for a year. Finally, you get your bag back again, and they escort you out of the shop and mall. Now you head to the mall cells. You finally get a moment to call someone. You cave and call your mother, the only person you know who will not judge you and who will come and help you.

The mall cells are dirty and gross, the men look at you like you are a piece of meat, and now you regret wearing a summer dress. The mall officers strip searches you and accuse you of theft for everything in your bag, even the old peppermint that is stuck to the bottom.

Everyone keeps asking why you are there, but no answer satisfies them. Finally, you sign a document stating you agree to a lifetime ban from the mall (which is not true, as the officer told me you can try again after 6 months to see). They also take your picture to show do not let this person in basically.

After waiting for what feels like hours (it was only 30 minutes), the police officers are here to arrest you. Thankfully, they value your reputation and don’t pull out the cuffs. The ride in the back of a police van is hot, shaky, and very bumpy. No amount of experience driving in the back of a bakkie will prepare you. And also, there was a random tire there that squashed your legs.

But since it is around lunchtime, your officers get hungry, so while you are in the back of the van, they drive to the closest McDonald’s, reverse in, and go and get themselves lunch. When they finally get back, they take their own time eating and talking crap with you sweating in the back of the van.

Nothing prepares you for what happens next. You enter the police station from the back, and you're told, "Run and we'll shoot you in the head." As a scared individual, you don’t know how your legs would even work.

Your mother is finally there and she can come to your rescue. As you sit in the office waiting for them to do your paperwork, your mom joins you. She tries to find out what the process is. But as a criminal, you are seen as a lowlife and do not deserve answers. Finally, a friendly detective tells your mother that she will stay there and once the paperwork is complete, bail of R1000 can be paid, and you will appear in court the next day.

Your mother leaves as she is told not to stay. She also takes all your possessions as you are told you’re not allowed to have anything on you as a person. But you get moved to a jail cell. And since there was a march, you feel awful because you have to walk past all of the cells. The whistles and calls make your skin crawl. The one phrase that sticks out is: “If you pay my bail, I will not r#pe your family.” Not a lot of reassurance... but you make your way into the cell, the officer guiding you locks the door behind you. It is gross, there are no other words for it. The mats are dirty, the few blankets are smelly, and they look like the last time they were washed was when they were bought. So, you sit on the floor. The toilet to your left with no toilet paper. You are literally an animal in a cage.

Hours pass and you finally get called; your release papers need to be signed. They just push the door open, meaning your cell was not locked... that makes you feel safe. You are back in the office again. This time you wait at a desk and a detective finally comes. You answer the questions, but suddenly the paper is printed in the wrong way... And now you wait.

It starts getting dark, and no one is in the office, you are all alone. Your bladder is pushing. And still, no one is around. The detective who was supposed to be back is no longer in sight, guess it is after 5 pm and he had to knock off.

Finally, the rain sets in and the tears just flow down your face, you wish you can take the day back and try again. You pray for the first time in months, who knows you need all the luck there is. By your guess, it is almost 7 pm when the night shift finally arrives. You beg them just for a bathroom, and they finally take you. Again, the warning of "run and we kill you" is said over and over. While crossing the parking lot, you beg to see your mother’s car, but nothing.

A lady comes in and tells you she is here to process your paperwork. You know it is late so you will not be released. You put your fingerprints down and get your pictures taken. Now the question remains, where will I be sleeping?

The cold sets in, and you shiver. The officers finally relent and allow you to wash your hands, grab a blanket, and let you sleep in the office. Please do note that you were not provided any food since you arrived at 12 in the afternoon.

To be honest, you are grateful for staying in the office because who knows what might have happened and which cells are not locked. You try and make yourself comfortable on three chairs; they are old and lumpy but you did the crime, you have to do the time.

The hours drag past, load shedding hits and it gets really dark, but still no sleep. When morning finally creeps in you get the spirit scared out of you because the officers just come to check if you are still there, with a flashlight full in the face.

You remember your manners and fold the blanket and put it back in the storeroom. Now you have to wait again. Your stomach growls as the police station starts to hustle and bustle. The friendly detective is back and shocked because you are still there. According to the night shift, something was wrong with your paperwork and no proof of residence could be provided.

They finally start to book out the inmates. Take note because of the illegal marches there are a lot of people. You are told to sit in the chair by the door. And as the men filter through to have their records marked and fingerprints scanned, they touch your arm, leg, and some even your face with the words, “I’ll take good care of you, or hello beautiful.” Nothing makes your skin crawl like that.

As they head out of the door, they get food, but you still sit there hungry, tired, and shaking. Finally, it is your turn. You are booked and now just waiting to be escorted to the courthouse. The friendly detective comes to your rescue after you muster the guts on how are you getting there? And in his kind heart, he allows you to phone your mom. Thankfully she answers; her first concern is are you okay? You answer truthfully that you are okay just hungry and that you will need a lawyer. When you confirm the courthouse and time, you finally feel some of the anxiety leave your body.

Now the waiting starts again. Between 9 and 10, you are finally told it is your time to leave. This time not in the back of the van but rather the front seat. The ride is short, and driving in, you see your mother’s car. Relief floods you that you will get out today.

The way down to the court cells is clean and daunting. Now you need to be booked here and either call your own lawyer or get a court-appointed one or wait your turn till you sit in the court bench to receive one. The officer calls his “friend,” a very friendly lawyer that allows you to use her phone to phone your mother. You finally have a lawyer. Now you wait again. The lawyer arrives again with your mother. Both are just happy you are okay and they will work together to get your bail paid so that you can get home.

Now that is sorted. You are moved to the cells in the courthouse. All women are together and the men are separate. You really see some interesting characters. Some are druggies who got caught, some are illegal immigrants who got caught, while others are shoplifters, protection order breakers, or protesters. A whole range of women who sit together. We are all waiting for our turn in the courtroom.

The shaking and dread are back; there are flies everywhere and you have an open toilet with only half a roll of toilet paper that needs to be shared between multiple women. You swap stories about why you are here, all while trying to stay strong.

Every few minutes, an officer comes and calls names and they are led away and then more people enter your cells. That’s when a lady enters; she has a bag with her, she exchanges a few things in her bag with a lady for a few minutes on the phone. Finally, her partner arrives and for R200 she can go see him; he provides her with a few boxes of cookies, a pack of smokes, and a crack pipe with a few crystals.

You are obviously shocked that a few smokes and a few bucks can get you in a prison cell. But you say nothing and keep your head down, hoping this is either a dream or will soon be over. The ladies talk about prison and how bad it is. You need to bring your own pillow, bowl, and toiletries because you are treated like an animal in the South African prison system.

Your name is called, and it feels like heaven. You make your way down a corridor to the courtrooms. It is tight, cramped, and there are 30 of you waiting to be called. They call up five at a time. Now you wait for your turn. The people around you try to calm you, but you just want to go home. When you finally go upstairs, you see your lawyer and mother both ready and waiting for you. You sit on the bench; the police officer there looks at you as if you just killed the president himself, when you've just made a mistake and are now paying the price for it.

Your lawyer presents your case, and you finally get to move downstairs. Now you have to wait again. Finally, you are moved away. You and a few others are kept separate. Your fingerprints are taken again. This time when they take you away from the group, you hear that you have made bail. You can finally go home.

Your mother’s arms are there as you cry your eyes out because finally you can break down. Your lawyer is there to tell you the next steps right before you get to leave.

Now you need to go through the judgment at home. Are you ready for it?

Overall, the experience is traumatic and has truly affected the way you look at the law. You also see a lot of flaws in the system. But honestly, I do not recommend shoplifting. It is the worst thing to do, but I do understand why some people do it.

I also recommend that people who have gone through this or something similar get counselling to deal with the trauma. Also, speak to your lawyer about what you can do to get your record cleared or what the next steps are.

Please note, this submission is based on the opinions and experiences of a female in her twenties. This is based on Johannesburg and the Sandton police station.