Unsung Heroes.

She walked out of the main entrance of The Star building and turned left, her mind already on what to do next and where to go. In pre Millennium Gauteng one had to keep ones wits about one and not only have a purpose but look like one had a distinct, unique purpose.

Muggers and their corner of Bree and Saur streets were notorious. Changing the odds in favour of ones survival, whilst journeying through this breeding ground, melting pot of non law abiding citizens, meant having a definite destination and not tarrying around in arbitrary fashion.

Loitering around meant that either one was a mugger or a potential mugging statistic.

She had been briefed to write a story about the ordinary Gauteng person. In other words, the unsung hero, the person who’s only input was a vote every four years.

They couldn’t control crime by not committing it. All they managed to do was not add to the turmoilic violence and maybe get through another day relatively unscathed.

Her editor had told her to find one or more of these people and write a story as a counterpoint to the grim, blow by blow, gory and detailed crime reporting.

She lit a cigarette and kept walking. After turning right four times she found herself opposite The Star offices and no closer to the story.

There was a woman sitting on the corner selling sweets, cigarettes, peanuts and hardboiled eggs who never smiled when she caught her eye.

Constant whistling shouting and money changing hands. Newspapers, magazines, peanuts and cigarettes were bought and sold and no patron of a hawker transacted without passing the time of day in a language which she couldn’t understand but thought was Zulu as she had been told that it was a universal form of communication.

Smashing glass, shouts, jostling … a man broke free of the crowd and started to run. Skirting stalls, sidestepping pedestrians and just two steps ahead of two men in plain clothes shouting, “Police. Stop”.

He might have made it had another cop not intercepted him two blocks down. He was neutralised, cuffed and inside an incidental yellow van within minutes. She had heard of the flak endured by the Police regarding this specific intersection and this it seemed was their response.

The old clichéc smash and grab ws popular in this area with cellphones and handbags grabbed through broken windows off car seats.

These brick armed opportunists had ousted muggers from the headlines, at least in this specific circumference with a radius of one block.

She looked around, accidentally catching the peanut woman’s eye and saw again indifference, a distinct non reaction.

During the next couple of hours she saw two muggings, two attempted muggings as well as another smash and grab, this time successful. She bought some peanuts and a cigarette despite telling herself that she never smoked Stuyvessant.

Uniformed police were in attendance but not ever present and she realised that only the plainclothes guys could threaten the criminals dominance.

The peanut woman’s indifference, which had startled her at first now intrigued and almost fascinated her. Although her story writing conscience plagued her from time to time she felt a morbid curiosity as to what might happen next.

She was approached twice. Once by a security guard from The Star and once by a burly policeman. Both stressed the insanity of a woman standing around on her own in this area.

Her press card drew an understanding glance from the security guard and a disbelieving frown from the cop.

The sun passed midway and cruised into an almost lazy afternoon. The peanut woman was still there, animatedly discussing the upcoming Bucs versus Amakhosi soccer game.

Peak hour traffic started building and the scared, wary faces of motorists were stark in contrast to the non smiling indifference newspaper vendors and hawkers. Turning to look at the peanut stall it came as no surprise to see sales if anything booming at that particular moment.

More police were present during rush hour and it was morbidly uneventful.

As she turned towards the office and the inevitable, thumb sucking, innovative, last minute hacking routine to meet deadline, she stopped then walked towards the peanut lady. Unsure and feeling a little silly she stammered a question about the non reaction to potentially violent crime around her.

“I can do nothing about it. The police they seem unable to halt crime and so we have a problem. But I must eat and so must my children and so I continue to sell to passers by.”

It was only on the way up in the lift that she realised in a bit of a panic that the story she had been sent to find had sought her out against her will and the devastating subtlety of life made her slightly dizzy.

All she had to do now was write.