All of my life I have never seen an evil man like you, Sbusiso Moloi. You are a curse instead of a blessing. How do you sleep at night? That is what I keep thinking when I take a look in the mirror.

Who is this man? My name is Sbusiso and if my parents knew what I was about to become they would have not named me that beautiful name and my mom would had terminated a prime evil that was growing inside her womb.

My mom is a good woman who believed people deserved second chances but I do not. I always blew my chances and she never gave up on me. My father however did not want anything to do with me. He disowned me. I was a loose cannon and I remember the first time I laid hands on my old man. He looked at me with those eyes that burned with hatred and I knew deep down I had put a dagger in his heart.

He shouted, “You are no longer my son. Get your ugly ass out of my house. I do not want to see your face.”

I said “Fine.”

I packed my luggage and was ready to go. My mother sobbed and begged me not to leave, saying my father acted out of rage, an impulsive decision. This time I did not listen to my mother’s pleas, I moved out like the old man said.

I became the hood rat. I ate from dustbins in towns and lived like a hobo, in fact, I became one. I mixed with the wrong guys, who only had evil in their conscience. Bra Shiny Shoe was our boss and taught us how to survive in the streets. In the hood a lowlife is called, “Iphara.” I was a lowlife who could rob people during broad daylight.

I remember the first time I killed a man for his car.

The guy begged for his life but I pulled the trigger. I saw him dying and there was so much blood. I couldn’t sleep that night and my hands were shaking. I kept seeing my hands full of blood. I washed them but still there was so much blood. I spent all night long washing my hands.

Bra Shinny shoe said, “Stop being a sissy cheese boy. It is normal to be like that if it’s your first time killing somebody. Just grow a pair of balls and be a man. It will pass. I know what you need is a puff.”

He was referring to marijuana. I smoked it and it felt like the walls were moving in spirals and flies were laughing at me. I slept horribly, that dead man was tormenting me.

I yelled in fear, “I do not know who the hell are you but I killed you. Accept it.”

Killing somebody is no child’s play. I guess when they say blood’s got a voice, it’s true.

I went to consult my problem to a sangoma to make me strong, heartless and to exorcise the guy I killed. Things worked out for me as I even got myself a suburban girlfriend Pearl. Pearl’s family disliked me intensely and they saw a low life in me. They said that she should be with someone on her league, not a hooligan like me. They said someday I would snap and kill their daughter.

They were right.

Once a killer always a killer. I strangled her to death. I beheaded her, putting her head in a refrigerator and her body under a bed. Who does that? What kind of monster am I? I became a fugitive after the pungent body and her head was found in the refrigerator. This time there was no escape or covering my tracks. I was caught and now I am in orange overalls.

I am writing a suicidal note. I do not deserve to live.

To the Khumalos, I am sorry for taking your daughter’s life, jealousy consumed me.

To my mom and dad, I am sorry for being a bad son.

They will find me tomorrow in my cell, dead. I am about to hang myself because the fate of a criminal is death.


Tell us: Do you believe that criminals deserve to die as punishment for all they have done?