Grade 8 pupil Justin Abrahams took his last breath outside Mount View High School, where his mother worked. On the other side of the security fence was the only institution that could have offered him a chance out of Hanover Park, the heart of the Cape ganglands. But the road to Mount View High School is dangerous and the slopes to achieving success for a child from the ganglands are steep.
Mount View teacher Peter Hendricks sighs as he walks over and carefully takes down a laminated poem from next to his desk. His class of 2016 had penned it for the slain Justin.
For a man who has dedicated his life to the community he grew up in, the words are a reminder of a child he looked at through the eyes of a father but was unable to save.
“I will always love you no matter where you are. Your footsteps have gone silent and your memories live on. Be assured that your name is written in gold in my heart,” read the poem written by Hendricks’s Grade 8 class of 2016.
A couple of days later his mother came to me and she said, Mr Hendricks, don’t worry, everything is sorted out.
Justin was 15 years old. He was a goalkeeper, recalls Hendricks, who believed strongly in the power sport could have in the lives of his pupils.
He recalls the day Justin was stabbed to death outside the school gate in 2016.
“It was an incident that happened from outside, but then it came into the school and one day they were looking for him and Justin jumped the fence then ran away,” he said.
“A couple of days later his mother came to me and she said, Mr Hendricks, don’t worry, everything is sorted out. That week she went to these small gangstertjies – not gangs, they are small and want to become gangsters. She went to their house to go and talk about it and it was sorted out,” he said.
“That very same day when I was at home, I think about 5pm, they phoned me to say Justin was stabbed outside the school, just on the field here,” said Hendricks.
“I said, OK, but is he OK? They said, no, he died. He lost too much blood.
“By the time he got to the doctor he was dead.”
Hendricks was devastated by Justin’s death. Shortly before he was killed, he scored 93% for a test. .
“We were sitting right across from each other. At that time I didn’t know anything was going to happen to him. He got 28 out of 30 for that paper. I said that to his mother as well. At that time she was working at our school. She was so proud of him. I gave her that exam because I wanted her to keep it there for memories,” he said.
Hendricks is a good speaker, but when he was asked to talk about Justin during a school memorial service he declined.
“I said to them, please, no. I can talk a lot of things, but don’t ask me to do this. I was going to break down. It hits here in my heart. I wrote a couple of things down and I asked the principal if he can maybe just mention this also,” he said.
“He wasn’t a naughty boy, man. It’s just that at some stage when you’re out there you get involved with maybe just one of two wrong people who lost their way and everyone just links you to that gang although you’re not part of that gang.”
Hendricks is now the Grade 9 head of department. The Grade 9 class of 2020 has a wicked reputation. By the time children get to high school, their socialisation is nearly complete.
I said to them please, no. I can talk a lot of things, but don’t ask me to do this. I was going to break down.
“On Monday morning I had a boy come to me, probably about 15 or 16 years old. He told me his dad woke him up at 3am in the morning and asked, where’s your mother?” said Hendricks.
“He came to me with tears in his eyes. His father asked him, where’s your mother? and he said he doesn’t know, then his dad started beating him. He showed me the bruises on his body. For me it was … traumatic. In cases like this I just can’t close my eyes,” he said.
“Most of these problems come from home. Social conditions are not good. Sometimes there’s a mother but not a father, or a father but not a mother. Perhaps they’re staying with a guardian who in most cases is a grandparent. Mom and dad are around, but they’re intoxicated, maybe alcoholics or drug addicts or whatever,” said Hendricks.
“The child comes with lots of baggage. At our school in general, we have 70% odd children that come from a broken household. Honestly, this is not an exaggeration,” he said.
After the lockdown, Hendricks said staff dreaded the return to school. Six Grade 9 girls were pregnant. The kids arrived at school in the mornings high on dagga or other substances.
“When the first kids came back after Covid, the Grade 10s and 11s, the Grade 12s had been here for a couple of weeks already, there were no problems here in terms of smoking, substance abuse, discipline problems in the class, there was none of that. But when the Grade 9s came back, we started seeing those problems again,” he said.
“They come to school after having already smoked dagga, so they are intoxicated by the time they come to school. That creates a big problem for us because they come from home already dik gerook and they create serious problems.
“When they’re in that state they don’t feel like learning. You can try to talk to them and explain the work to them, nothing goes into their heads,” said Hendricks.
When they’re in that state they don’t feel like learning. You can try to talk to them and explain the work to them, nothing goes into their heads.
The lockdown has eroded much of the hard work Mount View’s teachers have done over the years to keep gangsterism out of their school.
Gunfire can often be heard from the classrooms. The school is situated on a corner, between blocks of government housing, each controlled by a rival gang. The fighting is constant.
It was here at these benches where Franklin Jantjies (not his real name) sat before dropping out and becoming one of Hanover Park’s most feared shooters. Sunday Times Daily interviewed Jantjies for a previous article in this series.
Despite these challenges, a group of dedicated and burnt out teachers manage to bring love and respect to the lives of children who don’t experience it at home.
“We’ve got lots on our minds. You’re a teacher, you’re a social worker, you’re a father, you’re security, you’re a first aider,” he said.
“They become very close to you. At some stage you can call yourself another father, because most of them don’t have a real father in the house. Someone that can guide them. Someone that can tell them this is wrong and this is right. Someone that can encourage and motivate them,” said Hendricks.
“You feel bad because it feels like your hands are tied. You’re a teacher and you have to report these cases to a social worker and most of the time things are not really followed up by the social worker.
“The child will come back to you and say, sir there was no one at my house... You need to draw a line also because then you become so emotionally involved, where I just feel I’m getting into my car and I’m driving there myself, which I’ve done in the past,” Hendricks said.
But the violence is getting worse and all the more senseless, and Hendricks said his devotion towards returning safely home to his family each night remained a priority.
“When kids hear the gunshots in the mornings they won’t come to school. We as parents are willing to wait here for the kids to come on days like that, because it’s safer here than out there,” he said.
“In the afternoon when we hear the shots, and we know school is about to come out, now during Covid we let the kids go out in a staggered approach. We’ll wait for everything to be quiet before we ring the school bell, and we’ll wait for the police to arrive, for one or two vans to get here first,” he said.
The gunshots are part of the background noise these children are accustomed to.
“Many of the kids are so trained; they sit here, but they will be able to tell you exactly where the shots are coming from. For them it’s an everyday occurrence,” he said.
“My biggest fear is always that our kids don’t have emotions when people are shot dead anymore. It’s like they just live with it. It’s become a norm,” he said.
“I tell them, if someone is close to you, you should feel something, but no, they just go on as though nothing happened. That’s my biggest fear, that they get caught in that trap. As a teacher it scares me, because you no longer have an impact on that child to change their mind.”
We’ll wait for everything to be quiet before we ring the school bell, and we’ll wait for the police to arrive, for one or two vans to get here first.
Hendricks is motivated by the success stories, those children whose lives he was able to help change. He often writes to local newspapers in an attempt to solicit sponsors for his pupils.
Reformed gangster and Ceasefire intervention team member Albert Matthews said teachers like Hendricks held the line against gangsterism in his school and his community.
“I can vouch for Mr Hendricks. A lot of the students will talk about Mr Hendricks. This is what the schools need. Schools situated in gang-infested areas need teachers that have a heart for students beyond the classrooms. I think many teachers just come and they think, you are my student now and that’s it. I only teach you,” he said.
“But there are things happening outside the school that have an impact on the child sitting here at the desk, and I think what Mr Hendricks does is just marvelous. He goes beyond his teaching duties to be a father to many other students and I think this is the kind of teacher we need. We need more of Mr Hendricks across all these gang-infested schools,” said Matthews.
This the third in a series of features on schools in the Cape ganglands. Read the first two features here.
