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W hen my mother was shot, so much happened so quickly. We were only able to piece the whole story
together after the fact, as we collected all the different accounts from everyone who was there. Waiting around
at the hospital that day, we had so many unanswered questions, like, What happened to Isaac? Where was
Isaac? We only found out after we found him and he told us.
When Andrew sped off with my mom, leaving the four-year-old alone on the front lawn, Abel walked over
to his youngest, picked him up, put the boy in his car, and drove away. As they drove, Isaac turned to his dad.
“Dad, why did you kill Mom?” he asked, at that point assuming, as we all did, that my mom was dead.
“Because I’m very unhappy,” Abel replied. “Because I’m very sad.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t kill Mom. Where are we going now?”
“I’m going to drop you off at your uncle’s house.”
“And where are you going?”
“I’m going to kill myself.”
“But don’t kill yourself, Dad.”
“No, I’m going to kill myself.”
The uncle Abel was talking about was not a real uncle but a friend. He dropped Isaac off with this friend
and then he drove off. He spent that day and went to everyone, relatives and friends, and said his goodbyes.
He even told people what he had done. “This is what I’ve done. I’ve killed her, and I’m now on the way to kill
myself. Goodbye.” He spent the whole day on this strange farewell tour, until finally one of his cousins called
him out.
“You need to man up,” the cousin said. “This is the coward’s way. You need to turn yourself in. If you
were man enough to do this, you have to be man enough to face the consequences.”
Abel broke down and handed his gun over to the cousin, the cousin drove him to the police station, and
Abel turned himself in.
He spent a couple of weeks in jail, waiting for a bail hearing. We filed a motion opposing bail because he’d
shown that he was a threat. Since Andrew and Isaac were still minors, social workers started getting involved.
We felt like the case was open-and-shut, but then one day, after a month or so, we got a call that he’d made
bail. The great irony was that he got bail because he told the judge that if he was in jail, he couldn’t earn
money to support his kids. But he wasn’t supporting his kids—my mom was supporting the kids.
So Abel was out. The case slowly ground its way through the legal system, and everything went against us.
Because of my mother’s miraculous recovery, the charge was only attempted murder. And because no
domestic violence charges had ever been filed in all the times my mother had called the police to report him,
Abel had no criminal record. He got a good lawyer, who continued to lean on the court about the fact that he
had children at home who needed him. The case never went to trial. Abel pled guilty to attempted murder. He
was given three years’ probation. He didn’t serve a single day in prison. He kept joint custody of his sons. He’s
walking around Johannesburg today, completely free. The last I heard he still lives somewhere around
Highlands North, not too far from my mom.
—
The final piece of the story came from my mom, who could only tell us her side after she woke up. She
remembered Abel pulling up and pointing the gun at Andrew. She remembered falling to the ground after
getting shot in the ass. Then Abel came and stood over her and pointed his gun at her head. She looked up and
looked at him straight down the barrel of the gun. Then she started to pray, and that’s when the gun misfired.
Then it misfired again. Then it misfired again, and again. She jumped up, shoved him away, and ran for the
car. Andrew leapt in beside her and she turned the ignition and then her memory went blank.
To this day, nobody can explain what happened. Even the police didn’t understand. Because it wasn’t like