Emotions are running high in the courtroom. The women of The City Views Eviction Opposition Committee are dressed up in their finest, and listening carefully to every word that is being said. Our lives hang in the balance. This is the day when the Judge will decide if we get to stay in City Views, or if we become homeless. My mood is up and down like a seesaw. I’m full of fight, but I’ve bitten my nails to the skin. We’re really living on the edge today.

Our Committee has shrunk a little. The doubters have put some of the others off. But it’s OK, we still make up two rows of people in the courtroom. Its much better than me being here all on my own. And my gran is here, steadfast. She pats my hand throughout Khanyi’s presentation, which makes me smile with love, even though the subject matter is deadly serious.

Our landlord’s face is flaming red with anger. He’s sitting next to his lawyer, a huge man who reminds me of a crow. His thin straggles of greasy hair are combed sideways over his shiny, bald scalp. Every few minutes Mr Besturd whispers urgently into his ear, while glaring at Khanyi with undisguised contempt.

Khanyi finishes presenting our case.

“That is all your Hon–” She halts in surprise as the door bursts open.

I recognize the security guard who made my gran sign the eviction notice. His hair is dishevelled and blood is trickling from a dark patch on his temple as he stumbles into the courtroom.

“What is going on here?” demands the Judge.

“Your Honour! Mr Besturd! City Views is being hijacked. An illegal occupation! I’ve come straight from there. It’s live on the local TV news station.

All the women from our block leap to our feet. Panic sets in.

Bang! Bang! The Judge slams his gavel. “Order in the court. Order!”

My gran has her hand at her throat. Jabulani! All our families!

“What are you doing here? I told you to protect my building, you stupid fool!” shouts Mr Besturd, standing up and lunging, fists first, towards the security guard.

“Arrest that man!” orders the Judge.

Mr Besturd throws a punch at the policeman who approaches him. In a flash he’s brought down face first on the floor, and his hands are cuffed behind his back.

“City Views is my property. I have rights! The system is broken! If you’d let me do it my way the building would be empty and secure by now. I wouldn’t be here. There would be no illegal occupation happening. My investment would still be worth something!” he yells.

“Get him out of here!” orders the Judge. “Orderly, fetch the evidence TV immediately and set it up in here. Let’s see what’s going on over at City Views.”

The Committee suddenly seems to recover as one from the shock of the news. Women grab their handbags and leap to their feet, shouting and wailing.

The Judge bangs his gavel again: “Order in the court! Sit down everyone. Let’s not panic before we understand the situation. Order! Quiet!”

By the time our voices have calmed to a low buzz the TV’s switched on. My heart lurches as an image of home fills the screen. Gogo clutches my hand. The ribbon across the bottom of the screen scrolls: ‘Breaking news; self-styled Robin Hood takes over bad building in inner city.’ A reporter is talking in front of the building: “City Views, this dilapidated building behind me in Joburg’s inner city, is being taken over by an alleged gangster known as The Confiscator. He claims to be doing it on behalf of the residents and has been live tweeting throughout the occupation this morning.

“In his tweets the man, with the twitter handle @TheConfiscator, claims that, and I quote, ‘No decent civilians have been harmed or evicted from this building this morning’.”

My heart lurches. I wish we’d brought Jabulani with us today instead of leaving him with one of the people who share our flat.

“He goes on: All drug dealers and pimps have been forcefully removed from the building’.”

I know that what he means is that all rival drug dealers and pimps have been kicked out. This guy is bad-ass.

“And then: ‘All women and children are safe, well and free to remain in the building’.”

I hope he’s telling the truth.

“The Confiscator further claims: ‘City Views landlord, Mr J. Besturd of Houghton, is responsible for the disgusting state of this building’.”

“That’s not true!” shouts Mr Besturd, who is cuffed but still in the courtroom.

“I said get him out of here!” roars the Judge.

The reporter is continuing: “He claims that, ‘My company will fix the basic facilities in the building and make it a decent, secure place to live’.”

This is what The Confiscator says every time he hijacks a building, but I’ve heard the stories. I know it’s not true.

The journalist goes on: “He said in a statement, ‘Until landlords and the South African government play their part in sorting out inner city Joburg, I have no choice but to take over these buildings to ensure a better life for all.’”

There’s a furious outburst from our Committee.

The Judge bangs his gavel loudly and barks: “All in the court, I shall be taking a short break. Council, in my chambers. Now! All present may use cellphones to check on your families. Do not leave.”

Airtime burns frantically for ten long minutes. My gran phones our flat mate. I feel sick with worry.

“It’s OK Pheliswa,” she says when she’s done. “Jabulani is safe. The gangsters have been to our flat and left already.”

I feel a bit better, but I won’t be able to breathe normally until I have Jabulani back in my arms.

The Judge strides back into the room and sits down. When he speaks he is brisk and clear.

“Firstly, while I realize that you Committee members have been legal, rent-paying, occupants of City Views, I need to point out that the illegal occupants have the same rights as you do. None of you can be evicted without a court order.”

My gran looks at me in shock, and there’s a confused clicking of tongues from the Committee.

“Every human being has the right to a home,” he says. “The law demands that we take all circumstances into account to make sure that the law works as it should.”

I flashback to that homeless young man I watched from the taxi. The Judge is right. Anybody can end up in a terrible situation through no fault of their own. It’s only fair that the law takes circumstances into account.

“I’ve discussed this emergency situation with all legal representation present, including the local municipal representative,” continues the Judge. “The law requires both government and property owners to meaningfully engage with tenants before eviction. It’s clear that this landlord has failed to do that.”

A murmur of agreement passes through the courtroom.

“It’s regretful that the City of Johannesburg has not engaged with the Committee present here. However, I understand that they have many pressing housing issues. I also understand that owners of buildings also have rights.” He paused. “Taking all this into account, I have arrived at my verdict.”

The courtroom is silent, and we all lean forward. Are we safe from eviction? If so, for how long?

***

Tell us what you think: Is it right that landlords can be prevented from doing what they want with their own property? Why or why not?