Zephany. Joanne Jowell
and got a call to say I must phone home.
I phoned my wife and she told me the police is there; they’re questioning her about a lost child, ‘but it’s all right, you don’t have to worry.’
I put the phone down and went back to work. Ten minutes later they called me again and told me to go home because apparently the police wanted to come fetch me at work, but because I work at a national keypoint, security wouldn’t have allowed them in. They didn’t really tell me what was happening, just that I must go home. I didn’t know what to think.
The driver took me home but no one was there. Mr Barkhuizen called me and asked me to meet him in Wynberg. I got to this place and saw Miché and all these people around the table there. Social workers, police, people that I don’t know.
They told me that this is the child they were looking for in this Zephany Nurse case. What?! What was happening here?
Miché was scared. She also didn’t know what was happening. And then they told me they’re taking her away from me. I just felt something drop inside of me because she has never been away from us, never slept away from us, nothing. Even one time, during Easter holidays, she went with my in-laws down to Plettenberg Bay. My wife and I drove after them to be with her by the evening. We had to go see if she’s doing fine.
Even if she says she can sleep by you tonight, she will phone, ‘Daddy, come fetch me.’ That’s why I don’t sleep right when she’s not there because I know she’s going to phone any time to come fetch her.
They told me she wasn’t allowed to come home until they had the results of a test they were doing to see if Miché was this stolen child. One of the social workers said she would take her to her house, and Miché was happy with that idea. That made me feel better.
* * *
Michael seems to recall Miché’s vulnerability rather than her maturity in the situation. Mostly, his expression and recollections are fraught with the bewilderment of the day, and his account is still murky with shock.
In my attempt at comprehensive coverage, and with Cassidy out of reach for now, I turn to the officials. Colonel Barkhuizen, famed as South Africa’s ‘top cop’ at the time of his retirement some years ago, and the man credited with cracking not only the Zephany Nurse case but numerous other high-profile cases, is as good at hiding as he is at seeking. No amount of contact calling, Facebook stalking, or well-placed breadcrumbs leads me to him.
I get a raised eyebrow from Miché when I suggest meeting Leanna Goosen, lead social worker. While Miché is not anti the idea, she’s not particularly pro either.
The best fish to catch in this particular net would be Marshionette Jonkerman, the perceived ally poised to rescue Miché from any suggestion of a sleepover at the Safe House. Although she hasn’t been in touch with Miché for some time, Marshionette is amenable to an interview – pending approval by ‘Minister’ and ‘the Department’ – and invites me to her place of work. This is the child and youth care centre in Stellenbosch, which is not far from where she lives.
The thermometer rises by a degree with every kilometre as I approach the famed Cape winelands. Stellenbosch is sweltering today and I seriously hope that the private office Marshionette assured me she would commandeer for our interview is as cool as it is quiet.
This provincial government institution, nestled under the wing of the Department of Social Development, looks more like a juvenile detention centre, and I wonder if this is the type of safe house to which Miché was taken on D-Day. If it is, then no wonder she resisted staying over – it’s hard not to feel as if you’re the one who has done something wrong as you enter the barbed-wire compound. Rows of uniform housing are watched over by a lookout tower and the single entry point demands metal detection, briefcase X-ray, and a cursory pat-down by a security guard.
‘Any weapons?’ asks the guard.
‘No weapons. But I do have a pen,’ I quip.
Blank stare.
‘Well, you know what they say – the pen is mightier than the sword …’ I giggle nervously, ignoring that age-old warning never to joke at a security checkpoint.
Blank stare.
‘No, sir, no weapons.’
I am ushered into a reception area, which quickly takes the edge off the impressions left by the exterior. I take a seat in a comfortable lounge and look around at notices about children’s rights and responsibilities, brightly coloured pictures presumably drawn by kids who live here, the obligatory portraits of Western Cape Premier Helen Zille and Minister for Social Development Albert Fritz (the subjects of the abbreviations ‘Minister’ and ‘the Department’ to which both Marshionette and Miché will continually refer as the story proceeds). There is a happy buzz about the place, which seems somewhat incongruous with the security bars on all the surrounding windows.
A flash of white teeth in a wide smile precedes Marshionette Jonkerman who steers me to her office down a passage.
MARSHIONETTE:
I’m actually not a social worker. I’m a trained nurse, but I work as a facility manager and deputy director in Social Development. My director is Leanna Goosen, who headed up our team for the Zephany/Miché case. The child and youth care centres that the department runs are for children in need of care, but there are different types for different needs. Children removed from their families are in our facilities, or children with behavioural problems that nobody can manage anymore, or children who’ve been abused. We also have the child and youth care centre for children in conflict with the law, and substance abuse treatment centres.
I actually wasn’t originally assigned to Miché. When the investigations into Miché began, we had a meeting with Colonel Barkhuizen and roles were assigned to Leanna and to me. Because I’m also a professional nurse, my role was to make sure that Lavona – the suspect – is fine because she had high blood pressure and heart problems. Leanna was assigned to see to the social side of the child’s needs.
Social Development only got involved when the child herself was involved. Up to then, it had been a search for a missing person. Barki and his team were looking for Miché for a long time. I liked that Barki – such a professional, such a gentleman. It was a huge a team effort and he plotted out each and every task. He’s retired now, but Barki is still one of the best cops I ever knew.
So, on the day, I went with Barki and one of my colleagues to the Solomon house, first thing. When we came there Lavona wasn’t there, she was at work – Lavona’s sister was there. She stays there, at the back of the property. Barki said to her: ‘You need to call Lavona now because we are here for a very serious case. Do you know that Miché is not her child?’
The sister was shocked: ‘No, that is nonsense, no, Miché is Lavona’s child; my sister raised all of us.’
‘We suspect that it is not her child,’ Barki said.
‘How can you say that? It’s my sister’s child!’ She was in total shock. Then she called Lavona and told her to come home right now.
While we waited for Lavona, Barki told her sister what he suspected. All of a sudden, it was like a light came on and she said, ‘Is that why Miché doesn’t look like our family?’ Then she told us how Lavona had had a baby girl when she was sixteen, but the baby died at just a few weeks old. And that Lavona had since had three miscarriages.
When Lavona arrived, she was very calm. Her sister hadn’t said anything to her over the phone. She was smiling and laughing when she arrived. She wanted to give us tea. And then Barki told her about the child that went missing, and what he suspected.
‘No,’ she said gently. ‘Miché is my child. How can you – I can even show you photos.’ She was so friendly and calm – and I sort of liked her.
Then Barki said, ‘But it’s not your child.’ And then, ‘So why did you to go Swartland to get the birth certificate?’
She said no, she was visiting somebody there.