“Hey, fellas, make sure you don’t roam the streets at night. There are grizzly bears in the neighbourhood, waiting to pounce on human flesh,” Bra Slash rolled his eyes, like he was telling a frightening story to kids – but he wasn’t joking.

“I mean it, guys, there’s a new gang operating in Zone 1.”

“They call themselves the Grizzly Bears?”

“Like grizzly bears, they rip flesh apart.”

Bra Slash worked at the nearby spaza, the Star Café. Sandile and I were just about done making our phone calls at the spaza when he warned us of the new gang in our township.

“Last night they butchered five people down in Zone 1. They are searching all over the ghetto for easy targets. It’s best you fellas lock the gates early.”

“Eish, Clifford, let’s go man,” said Sandile.

Luckily for us, Sandile and I were neighbours and the Star Café was not far from where we lived. The gravel road we ran home along went downhill. We ran, crunching on the gravel and stumbling on loose rocks as we flew past concrete houses and open plots along our way. It was about half past five, but already it was starting to get dark.

We slowed down, out of breath, as we turned into the street where we lived. It was strange. Nobody here looked like they knew about the gang. People were chatting and laughing on the street as it grew dark. People were coming from the taxi rank, strolling on the pavements. The mood was relaxed. None of them were running to get home like we were. Was it all a joke? Had Bra Slash been laughing with the others in the spaza as he watched us run away?

To be safe, I locked all the doors in the house and shut all the windows, before I went to prepare supper for Uncle Edward and myself. Uncle Edward worked as chief carpenter at Edo-Mill industrial site, in a factory called Pinewood Limited. He was tall and bald, with a long grey beard. We shared a close bond as he was the only family I had here. Should I tell him about the gang? If he went out to visit friends he might be putting his life in danger? But if it was a joke, I would worry him for nothing.

But it wasn’t a joke.

I found Uncle Edward in the sitting room watching the evening news:

“… Tragedy has struck Edo-Mill township. Five people were brutally gunned down in Zone 1. The police fear the death toll will increase if the alleged gang, the Grizzly Bears, is not arrested soon.”

“Hey, Clifford, are you hearing this?” asked Uncle Edward loudly.

“Yes, Uncle.”

There was a lump of fear in my throat when a clip of Edo-Mill township came on. A journalist stood in front of a mob of angry residents in Zone 1; it looked like a war was about to break out. One or two residents spoke, voicing their anger.

“Our children are dying because of these gangsters. We are asking the police to come and help us, please! These kids have become something we don’t know. Not a single day goes by without a death on the streets. We are being shot down and we are living in fear,” an elderly woman cried out in despair.

I thought about my friend Sandile. I knew that he was also watching the news. Come the following morning, Sandile would be the first one to tell everyone about the broadcast. The news would spread like wild fire in our neighbourhood.

“All I can say, Clifford, is that it is a total disgrace,” said Uncle Edward, getting up from the couch. “It is the first time that I have seen Edo-Mill township on the television screen, and not for the right reasons. Pity for us! No corporate business will invest here now.” He turned to look at me. “I’m going to bed. Sleep well, Clifford.”

“Same to you, Uncle,” I responded kindly.

“And, Clifford,” he added, “be careful.”

It was dark outside and the crickets were chirping. I switched off the lights and lay in bed listening for the sounds of gunshots. The gang was out there right now, I thought. It would be a matter of time before they hit Zone 5 where we lived.

* * *

Question: How do gangs manage to control whole areas of a township?