“When did you realise she was missing?”

“I don’t know how it happened. I sent her to the spaza shop yesterday and she just disappeared. She has gone to that spaza shop many times before. This area is safe; Mosko is very safe. The people here look out for each other,” says Dudu, tears cascading down her cheeks.

“What time was it? Where is the spaza?”

“It was around 8:30 p.m. because Generations had just ended. She wanted Fanta Orange, her favourite cold drink. She had been asking for it since the afternoon. The spaza shop is right over there.” She points out of the door to the spaza shop, hardly a hundred metres away.

From the couch in front of the TV where Zandile sits she can see all the way there. At night it would not be so easy, but there is a tower light nearby, she notes.

“When she had not returned after fifteen minutes, I began to worry. I sensed that something was wrong. A mother always knows. That’s when we started searching. And nothing. Nothing. We called the police as soon as it was light.”

“What was she wearing? And do you have a picture?”

“I took one of her yesterday. She looked so pretty. She’d had her hair braided. I’d promised it for coming top of her class. I got it printed in the mall in D section, but she stayed at home because she was tired. She was asleep when I got back. And only woke up in the evening, asking for Fanta Orange.” She looks at the photo with a longing sadness and hands it to Zandile.

Philasande, the missing girl, is a pretty child. In the photo she is making a peace sign and beaming a hearty smile. She is a bundle of colour. Her braids are red and blue, her top is lime.

“Have you spoken to her friends?”

“Yes we did. None have seen her. She is only nine years old. I should never have let her go alone to the spaza. But Mosko is safe. We have never even had one break-in here. The people make sure that nothing funny happens in this area. Never in Mosko.”

“Did she get to the spaza?”

“People that were there said she did not.”

“Where did she go to school?”

“Gugulabantu Primary School.”

Zandile writes the name down on her pad and puts a star next to it. All the missing girls went to this school. That’s one thing they have in common.

“You sit where you sat when she left. I will walk the path she took. Tell me to stop in the area where you last saw her,” Zandile says.

Zandile walks the path, looking back frequently. Dudu breaks down with each step Zandile takes. Zandile knows it must be heart-breaking for Dudu to re-live what may be her little girl’s final steps, but for Zandile this is crucial. Besides getting a clearer picture of where exactly the girl disappeared, she hopes this will jog a memory in the girl’s mother. A detail that may have skipped her mind.

Zandile walks thirty metres down the road. Dudu can still see her from the couch while the door is open.

“Stop!” Dudu shouts and nods. “I last saw her there.”

Zandile digs her boot into the ground, marking the spot and walks back to Dudu.

“I last saw her where you were,” Dudu wails.

“Did you see anything else? Try to think. Behind her, in front of her? Was there anyone looking at her? Try to think Dudu; anything can help.”

After thinking hard, Dudu says, “I don’t remember anything, I am sorry. I looked away from her to the TV because Isibaya had started,” Dudu starts to sob.

“It’s OK,” says Zandile, comforting her. “It’s not your fault.”

“If she comes back to us she will lead you straight to the person who took her. She has a photographic memory, you see. And she runs like the wind.”

The children join Dudu in a huddle, all in tears. Zandile joins the huddle. “We will do all we can to find Philasande,” she promises.

Detective Gloria Ngcobo and more police officers arrive in Mosko a few minutes later. They find Zandile still locked in the huddle of tears with the missing girl’s family. A trauma counsellor takes over.

Zandile wipes away tears and leaves the house.

She walks the path that little Philasande Edith Zulu took. She crouches at the spot she marked earlier with her boot. Sweat and tears fall in the morning heat.

Zandile looks around. To her left – an elderly couple sit in the shade of their shack. To her right – rowdy youths look like they partied all night. In front – the spaza shop. Behind her – Dudu’s house.

In her decade on the police force she has shown the gift of piecing things together. But when each of these girls has gone missing, she has not had a clue.

***

Tell us: Have you got any ideas about what might have happened to Philasande?