I. The Sad Man
But at the bus stop in Manzini, she met a man who promised her a different job, and she never made it to Mbabane. The man said his name was Thabiso Sikhodze and that he could get her a position at a chemical company. The job would pay 4,000 emalangeni (a bit less than $500) per month, a very good salary in Swaziland, then and now...
Excited about this opportunity, she ran home to change. When I first spoke to Mable Kgasi, Samantha’s mother, in 2011, she described how hopeful her daughter had been when she came home. “‘Mommy, mommy! I’ve got a job,’” Mable remembered her saying. “‘There’s a man that’s offered me a job.’”
Fourteen years ago, as today, it was not a trivial thing to offer a job to a woman in Swaziland. In 2001, unemployment stood at nearly 30 percent. Men from Swaziland often went to South Africa to work in mines, leaving the women to provide more immediate income. The women and children would be left at the husbands’ homesteads, which often included several buildings with housing for different wives and older relatives as well as land for agriculture and animals. “In that situation of socioeconomic vulnerability, all hope is pinned on this one female member of the family who has gone to look for a job,” said Nonhlanhla Vilakati, a professor at the University of Swaziland who has written about the murder of women in Swaziland. “What becomes important is finding the job, and all issues of personal safety just fade into insignificance.” Most young women actively seeking jobs don’t find them. To turn down an offer, even from a stranger, in a country where it is impolite to not greet everyone in the room, would be unthinkable, particularly when the man making the offer seems to have money.
“I heard nothing that day,” Mable said. The next day, Samantha’s sister-in-law phoned and asked where Samantha was. She hadn’t come home, and the baby was crying.
Around the same time, a man named Simon Motsa reported that his wife, Fikile, a thirty-seven-year-old preschool teacher, and his one-year-old daughter, Lindokuhle, were missing. Simon had last seen his wife and daughter on the night of March 10, when he and Fikile had an argument. The couple did not live together during the workweek, and she had left Simon late to head back to the home of her in-laws. Simon was concerned because Fikile and Lindokuhle would have to walk in the dark. There were few streetlights in Swaziland.
Days later, Motsa found out that his wife never arrived, and her preschool students had no teacher. He contacted Fikile’s family, but they hadn’t seen her. He reported her missing to the police in Matsapha. He called all three major hospitals, in Mankayane, Mbabane, and Manzini, but Fikile had not been admitted. He even visited what he called “diviners”—people who could help Simon through supernatural means—but they “could not see her in their mirrors,” leading Simon to think that his wife was dead.
Then on April 2, 2001, in nearby Eagle’s Nest farm in Malkerns, a one-market town fifteen miles from the city of Mankayane, a worker was answering the call of nature when he came upon the decomposing bodies of two women and a baby girl. The bodies had been in the bush about three weeks, and one of the child’s legs was missing.
Simon Motsa was able to identify two of these bodies as his wife and child. Fikile’s hands had been tied behind her back, and she had deep cut wounds on her head and neck. He recognized little Lindokuhle by her clothes. The third body was not positively identified. A few days later, a skull was found in a plastic KFC bag in the same area. On April 10, six skeletons and a decomposing body were also found, all within a short distance, bringing the total dead to eleven. The police began warning people to stay in their homes at night.
THE FIRST BODIES WERE ALL FOUND in Malkerns, in and near Usutu Forest, a huge man-made forest spreading over more than 160,000 acres. These constructed woodlands of pine and eucalyptus, cut for pulp and timber, cover nearly four percent of Swaziland’s landscape and thrive in the western highveld, where the trees can mature twice as fast as they do in the northern hemisphere. For miles, the long-trunked trees are set apart from one another at perfectly matching heights, like armies of clones. Viewed from afar, the well-ordered forests seem too planned to be beautiful. But they make the natural land of the Swazis even more stunning by comparison.
Swaziland is shaped like a west-facing profile with a hooked nose. It’s about 120 miles from the neck to the top of the head and eighty from nose to ear—not quite as large as New Jersey. A landlocked teardrop in southern Africa, Swaziland is the second-smallest country on the continent, but within its tight boundaries are four distinct geographical regions: the high, middle, and lowvelds, and the Lubombo Plateau. Each veld runs north–south, with the topography getting closer to sea level as you move toward the eastern border.
During the rainy summer season in the western highveld, the mountains turn a tropical green that would fit in well in Costa Rica. Dotting the Swazi landscape are enormous boulders, piled high enough in some areas that you can go caving underneath. In between are grasslands and forest. One rarely gets far from a homestead or herd boys with their grazing cows. Rivers and waterfalls are clean and plentiful, but the moisture can make it easy to get lost when the fog comes. It can engulf you as you drive, with vehicles, people, and cattle emerging as if out of nowhere. From the top of a mountain, a view that would stretch for miles on a clear day is swallowed up by the mist, until you feel utterly alone.
“It is a fact that few men who have entered into Swaziland life care afterwards for any other,” wrote the Archdeacon of Swaziland in 1922. “A land of contrasts!” he proclaimed. “The very life of joy and color, and of the gratification of the senses, steals over [a visitor], and he realizes that call of the bushveld which is in the marrow of every old Swazilander’s bones.”
The few outsiders who experience Swaziland’s effortless natural splendor, often international development workers or tourists on a side trip from South Africa’s game parks, come to appreciate the Archdeacon’s words. But even years spent within its borders don’t necessarily translate to anything like an understanding of its esoteric culture. To explore the meaning of the bodies found in Malkerns in 2001, and as an attempt to get inside that complex culture, I started with a ghost story.
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| Solinye Dlamini in 1959 |
STORIES ABOUT GHOSTS ABOUND in Swaziland, but perhaps none is as real as that of Solinye Dlamini, the boy who was not murdered.
At the end of May 1959, Solinye returned to his home of KaMkhweli after a decade away. He had been only a boy when he left, but now he was a man, and it took two days for his mother, her eyesight failing, to be convinced that the person in front of her was her son. A special commission assigned by the British colonial authorities of Swaziland, in those pre-independence days, reported that when he finally persuaded his mother that he was Solinye, she “looked at him with the light of a firebrand and knew him and wept.”
Solinye’s poor mother may have wept because she was happy to have her son back. Or she may have wept because she was frightened. After all, like everyone in KaMkhweli, she knew that Solinye was a ghost. He’d been murdered a decade earlier, and his killers had been brought to justice. As she told the investigators who questioned her upon Solinye’s return, “I was convinced that he was dead.”
Solinye’s poor mother may have wept because she was happy to have her son back. Or she may have wept because she was frightened. After all, like everyone in KaMkhweli, she knew that Solinye was a ghost. He’d been murdered a decade earlier, and his killers had been brought to justice. As she told the investigators who questioned her upon Solinye’s return, “I was convinced that he was dead.”
Back in 1949, at the time of Solinye’s disappearance, colonial police in the KaMkhweli area heard that a child had been killed. When the police investigation concluded, prosecutors presented a harrowing story to the judge: Solinye’s brother had been chosen to be a chief. But the members of the family all agreed that the brother was too weak for such a role, and that he required strengthening in order to become a leader. Strengthening required “medicine,” which, in these remote parts—at least according to the prosecutors—required human flesh. And once it was decided that the brother would need medicine, all that was left was to pick the “buck.” The family chose Solinye.
The prosecutors’ story opened as young Solinye, all four feet of him, was out herding the family cattle. He was seized by several of his family members and tied to a tree near a stream. He was kept there until the “doctor” could come to perform a strengthening ceremony. Witnesses testified that, in order to keep Solinye from escaping, a powder was blown into his ears and nose, “the effect of which was to render him helpless and half-mad.” Another witness who came upon the “frightening sight” of the bound boy in passing told investigators that Solinye, like an animal, was “just going round and round.” For eight or nine months, Solinye was manacled by his own family and subjected to the elements, until “he clearly became demented and he wasted away to skin and bone.”
Finally, months later when the doctor arrived, Solinye was felled with an axe by his “nearest and dearest” and his body was dismembered, with portions of it—including the head, lower lip, and testicles—used to make “medicine” at a subsequent strengthening ceremony. Solinye’s mother, the report said, was present for the ritual, but refused her portion, saying she did not want medicine made with the flesh of her son.
Word of the “medicine murder” eventually got to the authorities, and six men were arrested, including Solinye’s brother, father, cousin, and two uncles. No trace of the boy’s body could be found to use as evidence in the ensuing trial, but nevertheless three of the men were declared guilty, and two were hanged soon after. Solinye’s father was sentenced to seven years in prison. The future chief, Solinye’s brother, was spared. In the 1951 judgment, the presiding judge wrote: “It is quite clear that the people living in the vicinity must have known of Solinye’s existence…But as so often happens in these cases, there was a conspiracy of silence and the child was left to his inevitable fate.”
Except Solinye’s fate was not as the colonial authorities had determined. The child Solinye had not been killed. He had simply gotten up and left the village to look for work. He brought nothing with him except a blanket and the loincloths on his person, one white and one red. For several days, he walked, sleeping at night near the Great Usutu River and eventually in the hills of Hlatikulu. He walked until a storm came, and a man in a car stopped and asked what he wanted. Solinye said he wanted work.
He was taken to the southern town of Nhlangano, where he found a job with an Afrikaner farmer. He took the name Joseph because he thought Solinye was too difficult for his white employers to pronounce. For most of the next ten years, Solinye was sixty miles away from KaMkhweli. And then, in 1959, Solinye came home.
According to the 1960 report on the mysterious case of Solinye, after his return, it was determined that a murder had in fact taken place, but that the victim was a “person unknown.” In following up on the case after Solinye’s return, it became clear that many of the witnesses had been coerced during the original investigation into testifying that Solinye had been murdered.
Part of the difficulty the police faced was that they had no body, only evidence from so-called accomplice witnesses. The commission wrote that “the witnesses spoke of the police threatening ‘to kill them’” if they did not testify. Though the commission did admit that threatening to kill people was improper, it did not recommend disciplinary action for the original investigators because of how difficult it is to obtain evidence in such cases.
Of medicine murder, the commission members said that “as a rule the offense is committed at the instigation of or on behalf of some person of authority”—in this case, Solinye’s brother, father, and uncles. And of the typical witness to such murders, usually an accomplice, the commission stated: “He knows quite well that if he speaks he will incur the wrath of a large number of people, one of whom is nearly always a witchdoctor, who, in some cases for their own safety, would quite likely revenge themselves on him in a most unpleasant manner. Further, it is a well known fact that witchdoctors form an elite which is very much feared in primitive societies.”
However, the witnesses were motivated to lie by fear, not of the supernatural as much as of the territorial authority, according to the commission. The consensus of the inquiry was that two men were executed for the murder of a boy who had been alive all along, and the original witnesses had finally said they’d lied because they were scared of the interrogators.
BY APRIL 2001, WHEN THE BODY COUNT reached eleven dead women and children, two of the nation’s top cops, Superintendent Jomo Mavuso and Senior Superintendent Khethokwakhe Ndlangamandla—with a combined fifty-three years of experience on the force—were assigned to head the investigation. Their cell phone numbers were printed in the newspaper, and they led a team of nine other officers. On April 12, 2001, they brought more than 200 police officers and soldiers to comb the Eagle’s Nest area. An additional thirteen sets of remains were discovered, some just loose bones, but several more recent victims with flesh still remaining.
The total was now twenty-four, and with news of the bodies spreading to all corners of the country, reports of missing women began pouring into police stations. All of a sudden, women who had been absent for as long as sixteen months, whom no one had heard from, were displayed on the front pages of the dailies. Sizakele Letsiwe Magagula, twenty, of Emalangeni, under Chief Hhobohbobo, had disappeared weeks earlier. Siphiwe Goodness Ginindza, seventeen, of Feni, under Chief Myengwa, hadn’t been seen since September 2000. Nelsiwe Ndzinisa, twenty-five, of Madlenya, under Chief Madlenya, had vanished in December 1999. The list went on and on.
The deputy police commissioner at the time said, “Never in the history of the country have we experienced such a spate of killings.” In Swaziland currency, the emalangeni, a reward of E50,000 (a bit more than $6,000 in U.S. dollars) was posted for information leading to the arrest and prosecution of the guilty party. That amount was roughly equivalent to the yearly pay of the job offer that had led Samantha Kgasi-Ngobese to her death.
In a country with a reputation for peace, the bodies in Malkerns were a rude awakening.
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| Samantha Kgasi-Ngobese (second from right) |
THE SWAZIS DESCEND FROM a group that came down from East-Central Africa hundreds of years ago, along with the ancestors of the Zulu and Xhosa peoples. On their journey south, these Swazi predecessors were faced with the mighty Zambezi, a river so big that it forms Victoria Falls and helps divide six countries. Oral history has it that the settlers, both farmers and domesticators, crossed the Zambezi on rafts of reeds, and Swazis now say savela eluhlangeni, “we came from the reeds.”
Over the centuries, the people who crossed the Zambezi formed clans. Peacefully or by force, weaker clans were absorbed into stronger ones. The Zulus became a power to the south in what is now the Kwa-Zulu Natal region of South Africa. One clan that showed strength in the southeast, near the Tembe River, in what is today Mozambique, was led by a man called Dlamini, a name that would later become synonymous with Swaziland and its royal family. By the beginning of the 19th century a Swazi kingdom was birthed, and for at least another century the Dlamini clan continued to absorb other semi-independent clans in the area, including the Zwane, Shongwe, Tsabedze, Hlope, Kunene, Mabuza, Motsa, and Ngwenya. The names of these clans and many others are the names that survive today in Swaziland. Spend just a few weeks there, and you will meet their descendants. Clan names have become surnames.
There are written records of Swazi leaders, all from the Dlamini bloodline, going back until the late 18th century. Sobhuza I was a particularly impressive Swazi king who ruled from 1815 to 1836. It is said that shortly before his death, Sobhuza I had a vision in a dream where white people would come to his land and bring books and round metal. He said to accept the books, which are now known to have been Bibles, but to avoid the round metal, money. The Swazis listened very well on one account. Swaziland is now about 90 percent Christian.
Sobhuza’s son, Mswati II, continued aggressively uniting clans who sought protection from the Zulu, and eventually the people living under his rule became known as bakaMswati, or the people of Mswati. Europeans called them the easier-to-pronounce “Swazi,” and their territory Swaziland.
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| King Mswati III (center) Photograph by Ravi Baji |
The land of the Swazis in the late 19th century was situated in just the right place to stay under the rule of locals. But due to a combination of fear, illiteracy, greed, and lust for power, Swaziland’s leaders signed away nearly every inch of workable land during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, sometimes three or four times over, leaving Swazis dependent on colonialists to survive. Despite occupying one of the most fertile lands in Africa, by the 1930s Swazis could no longer feed themselves or the cattle that were and remain so important for survival, prestige, and traditional rituals. Swazis were also made to live in “native areas” that were situated like a patchwork quilt across the Swaziland map.
After the British won the brutal Second Boer War—ending in 1902—the victors began a “conquest by pen” of Swaziland until it was effectively under British rule. An independent Swazi nation in the modern sense would not be real and true until 1968.
Still, despite all the land-grabbings, concessions, and de facto rule by outsiders, Swaziland is perhaps the least artificial state in Africa. As Swazi historian Alan R. Booth put it, “It is inhabited by a fairly homogenous people living on the same land as their ancestors. They are bound by countless customs and traditions that unite them and permit them to pull together when necessary. This has been a definite strength when they have been attacked by other African peoples or subverted by Western colonialism, and it permitted an exceptionally smooth transition to independence. But these traditions can also be a weakness when they hamper progress toward more ‘modern’ social, economic, and political practices.”
BASED ON THE LOCATIONS OF THE BODIES and the last places the missing women had been seen, the police traced the routes of the victims. Most of them were last seen in, or known to have been traveling to, Malkerns or Manzini, towns where job seekers might head in Swaziland. Manzini, along with its next-door neighbor Matsapha, is the center of industry in the country, and comes closer than any other city to a truly urban atmosphere. Malkerns, by contrast, just a few miles down the road, is situated in a picturesque agricultural valley of maize and pineapple fields, lined by unsullied mountain ranges where Swazi royalty are buried.
Police also attempted to track down those who had last been seen with the victims. Different names were floating about. It was clear that the killer or killers were taking advantage of women desperate for money, for jobs of any kind. Several victims had last been seen with a man who had promised them work at a garage or a packing plant, or even in a police station. Because of the great number of victims, an officer told me, they were certain they were looking for more than one murderer.
South African police officers were brought in, including specialists in forensics, investigative psychology, and profiling. “As part of our effort to solve this historic mystery and to bring to book these heartless killer maniacs we have solicited assistance and support from our neighboring force,” said the Swazi police commissioner. Besides assisting with the investigation, South African police were meant to help identify the bodies using DNA profiling and facial reconstruction, expertise not available in Swaziland.
The victims’ families and dual police forces were not alone in their quest to find the murderers. “There was this hype,” the husband of one victim told me. “Immediately after the bodies were found, all of Swaziland got worried. Everyone contacted the investigators, and everywhere, everywhere there were prayers. Religious people were praying, women were marching, saying ‘the killer must be found.’” As part of a prayer service at the national soccer stadium during the Easter festival, the Indlovukozi, the king’s mother and co-ruler of Swaziland, asked the nation to work with the police to find the people responsible for the murders. As one newspaper writer put it, the Indlovukozi “called upon Christians to pray for the country, as it was apparent that the demons of the devil have taken its toll.”
Also offering help was the Zionist Christian prophet, Simanga Mthalane, who vowed to assemble a team to use divine powers to aid in the investigation. Mthalane said that he and his team of prophets would find those responsible and bring them to the authorities. “This is war,” he said. “Everyone should come together and work towards getting the killers.” Before he got started, Mthalane requested that the police provide his team with protection, in case his investigation led to people in power.
With radios blasting about dead bodies; people reporting missing women from all over Swaziland; and the diviners, the Swazi community police, and detectives from two countries under such pressure to find out who had killed what was now at least twenty-eight women and children, the manhunt did not last long.
David Thabo Simelane, a.k.a. David Mhlanga, a.k.a. Phephisa Yende, was recognized at a supermarket by the husband of a missing woman and arrested on April 25 in Nhlangano. David was brought to the station by local police, who called in the investigative team and who, in turn, said David confessed to the crimes then and there, without coercion. The head officer told David that he was investigating the deaths of the women and children who had been found in Malkerns.
“Calm and collected,” one of the original arresting officers told me, “that man said it was him.”
DIVINERS WHO CAN COMMUNICATE with spirits make up one part of the body of Swazi customs and practices. These traditional healers, also known as sangomas or inyangas, are for many Swazis the first line of defense against hard times, whether caused by illness, romance, or poverty. They are called upon to harness the power of traditional medicine, called muti, and heal wounds both physical and spiritual. In 2000, there were as many as 8,000 traditional healers in Swaziland, versus 150 medical doctors.
In July 2013, I spoke with Lydia Makhubu, a retired Swazi chemist who studied traditional medicine for much of her career. As vice-chancellor at the University of Swaziland, Makhubu was key in creating a department at the school to study the effects of the sangomas’ treatments. We met in the living room of her large house on the outskirts of Manzini. The walls were covered with items picked up from her travels around the world. Makhubu did her undergraduate studies in Lesotho, earned a Ph.D. in chemistry in Canada, and then returned to Swaziland to conduct research on traditional healers.
Makhubu had grown up with healers, so when she decided to study their work from a chemist’s perspective, they welcomed her in. In 1984, she wrote a paper with Edward C. Green, an American medical anthropologist, on how the medical community could work with healers to improve Swazi healthcare. They found that one in every twelve rural homesteads had a healer living on the premises, and that an estimated 85 percent of Swazis used their services. “The traditional belief system,” wrote Makhubu and Green, “provides answers to the basic questions that perplex people.”
Healers act as both medical doctor and psychologist in one, providing much more than medicine for particular symptoms. They “treat the whole person” and “know how to calm a patient’s fears, explain how and why he became ill, and perhaps even make sense of his problems with neighbors and family.” The authors found that some traditional medicines appeared to be effective in controlling diarrhea, sedating patients, easing pain, and reducing swelling. And healers would often have a strong psychosomatic effect on patients, who sometimes stayed with a healer for days or weeks, removing them from stressful situations at home. “Swazi healing practices,” they wrote, “are based on a belief system of magic and religion that parallels Western science and Christianity in its attempt to find order, regularity, and simplicity in the apparent chaos and randomness of nature.”
The social anthropologist Harriet Ngubane, who died in 2007, wrote about the role of Swazi traditional healers in society. “They are seen as fully possessed of professional skills and professional responsibilities, in quite the same way as Western practitioners are,” she wrote. “The difference lies in what is expected of them.”
A Western doctor is expected to fix some sort of chemical breakdown within the body, and while the same may be asked of a healer, a healer may also be asked to treat such things as bad luck or unpopularity. They may be paid to help an unsuccessful business or to boost a chief’s rise to power, as in the case of Solinye’s brother in 1950. Traditional treatment for such ills may include eating or inhaling powdered herbs and actions by the patient, including self-induced vomiting or the sacrifice of livestock. Medicines are derived from plants and animals and are prepared in many different ways, including boiling and burning.
For many Swazis, everything that happens is caused by the ancestors. Like those who believe Jesus is present in every moment, Swazis believe the ancestors are watching them and often speaking to them. “They are our guardians, the spirits that really want to look after us on Earth,” wrote one famous traditional healer. “If we don’t listen to them, and don’t start their assignment, then there is a high chance that we will die early. Then the tasks that were assigned to us will be passed on to the next generation.” The ancestors have a social structure after death, as they did in life. They have personalities that change over time and grow much as those in life. A traditional healer is often thought to be able to speak with the ancestors better than the average person.
The most extreme version of muti involves ritual murder, also known as muti murder or medicine murder, in which a human is killed and his or her body parts made into a concoction or charm.
It’s hard to believe that ritual murder still occurs, but it’s important to understand that in southern Africa, it is at most a fringe practice, and yet a brutal reality. Rarely does a week go by in Swaziland without rumors or reports of a person killed for body parts, with victims ranging from albino children to old women to healthy teenagers. It’s been a part of Swazi history as long as it has been written—in the 1950s with Solinye’s faux death, certainly, and well before that.
AFTER ARRESTING DAVID SIMELANE—whom the public would soon simply call David—the police and prosecution spent the next five years building a case against him. By 2010, both senior investigators had died, and apparently taken their paperwork with them to the grave, so how exactly they built their case will never be known. But through court records, newspaper archives, and interviews with police officers, journalists, and the families of victims and others, a sort-of chronology began to appear.
The police had their confession seemingly the instant that David was caught, though getting it on paper was more of a challenge. Two written confessions were submitted as evidence during the trial, one from the day after he was arrested, and the other taken twelve days later in front of a different magistrate. Though the common language of Swaziland is siSwati—a click language similar to Zulu—the confessions were written by a translator in English, the language used for police and court records.
The man they arrested was forty-three years old and had not finished high school. When word of David’s arrest reached the public, there was speculation that he was going to be very good looking, an Adonis even. How else could he have led so many women to dark places to kill them? He had to be charming, rich, educated, and good with the ladies.
But when he first appeared in public, David let the gossipers down. He was far from an Adonis by almost any standard. As one Swazi writer put it, “when David Simelane stepped out of a white minibus, handcuffed to a police officer, numerous lower-lips fell to the ground in disappointment. He was dark in complexion, with a broad forehead, average-size bloodshot eyes, an apology for a nose, and a mouth that must have been carved with a pencil knife. David was anything but handsome. He was dressed in blue jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt with a red stripe and a brown windbreaker—a rather unsavory color combination.”
He was not a looker and he was not rich. At his most recent known residence, he had been paying E60, or seven dollars a month, for a single room with one lightbulb and no electrical outlets or running water.
He was born a Mhlanga, his father’s surname, but was raised from infancy on his aunt’s Simelane homestead, located in a remote part of the country far from a paved road. In exchange for herding the family cattle and helping with the harvest, the Simelanes paid his school fees. But after he finished the 10th grade, he stopped going to school, according to his aunt, and “was all over the place.”
He would spend nights in the forest, eat from other people’s fields, and come back to the homestead and sleep in the kraal, a domestic animal pen. “Even when he was in school,” said his aunt, “he was someone who was leading a nomadic life.” But she also called him a “very brilliant child” who started school later than some of his peers and soon surpassed them. “We do think a lot about what went wrong in his mind,” she told me one night as the sun was going down under the mountains on the family’s rural plot. “What really caused him to have such a bad heart, to brutally kill people?”
He was first arrested at age nineteen, his aunt told me, for stabbing his girlfriend. She didn’t die, and he served fifteen months in prison. Police records show that he was convicted of indecent assault, robbery, and housebreaking in the late seventies and early eighties. He once went to jail for threatening to stab a woman with a knife in order to steal a handbag containing the equivalent of two dollars. One of his ex-girlfriends who I tracked down told me that, “He seemed like a very kind man. But when I looked deeply, I noticed that he had a subtle violence in him that he was trying to suppress.” In the early nineties, he was arrested for rape and robbery, and was sentenced to another five years in prison...
More Information : http://www.thebigroundtable.com/stories/killers-swaziland/
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