When injustice stalks the customary court
Nnasaretha Kgamanyane | Friday August 22, 2014 11:50
The following scenarios are actual occurrence she witnessed – in this case at Gaborone’s Urban Customary Court or Mosetlheng as it is officially known.
Scenario (Actual event.)
Urban Customary Court. 1145 a.m. The roughly 4x4 metre courtroom is almost filled to capacity. The prosecutor – a tall slender dark man with a bare insignia holder sends an escort a special constable to call the next accused person. The accused, a shabby-looking thin, fair-complexioned man, possibly in his 30’s and slightly shorter than the tall cop, drags himself into the room, looking somewhat confused. He awkwardly sits facing the court president, acutely aware of the dozen or so faces staring at him.
The court clerk reads out the charge to him and he is asked if he pleads guilty or not. “Not guilty,’ he answers.
“You can’t say you are not guilty when you were found in possession of an expensive perfume which we suspect you stole,” chips in tall guy. He turns to the court president.
“We found this and his friends carrying scrap metal at government enclave. We also found in his person perfume and roll-on set amounting to P350. When we asked to produce receipts he failed to do so.”
“ My sister bought this perfume set. I treasure it and carry it with me wherever I go as I am afraid children at home may break it,” the accused answers back in defense.
He also explains that he works for Ipelegeng during the day and for a security company in the evening.
The prosecutor insists he should produce proof of purchase of the perfume, but the accused, who says he has been using the now quarter empty perfume, explains he has brought his sister as a witness.
The sister is your typical middle class member who could pass for your office administrator. She confirms she bought the cologne set for her brother. The two, are real blood sister and brother. Their mother has also come, but sits outside as she cannot stomach what she believes is obvious injustice by the police.
“I bought the perfume set from a street hawker who sells bags and perfumes. I decided to buy my brother the set after he told me his roll-on was finished and he didn’t have money as yet to buy himself one,” the sister explained.
Now the burly old court president: “Let’s throw these two in aholding cell so they can explain where they got the perfume,” then to the sibling, as he jabs the table and points at them, “ You too must decide who takes the blame. Woman bring the receipt to save your brother or you both go to jail.”
The sister: “ I never knew it was a crime to buy from street vendors who don’t produce receipts. I don’t have a receipt, more so that I bought these perfumes a while back.”
Prosecutor bellows: “Mister, tell us what your plea is. If you don’t want to plead guilty we will throw both of you into a cell. Now choose!”
Confused beyond limit, the man pleads guilty. The used perfumed and rolls on are confiscated and given to the state. The man is sentenced to a whipping – four strokes of the case on his bare buttocks. His sister and mother grimace as the sound of the cane landing on flesh wafts to where they stand.