‘Your Worship, the accused does not deserve to be granted bail because the parents of the victim are still grieving their deceased daughter, who took her own life because of the actions of the accused. We plead with the Court to deny him bail.’ The tall prosecutor sat down furiously, her robe swashing behind like a cloak.

‘Council,’ the voice of the Magistrate croaked, peering down from up the bench.

‘Thank you, Your Worship.’ Mr French Shady stood up slowly from his bench. ‘Hmm. Your Worship, my client is a seventeen-year-old, who is in Grade 11 at Palmside Secondary School. He lives with his two parents who are as sad and as shocked about the serious allegations levelled against their son as any parents might be. However, he doesn’t pose a flight risk, no. Hmm. I believe the Court should grant him bail, so he can be with his supporting family through this hardship, and prepare for the trial that will test all of them. Hmm. Thank you, Your Worship.’ Mr Shady sat down, adjusting his black robe beforehand.

The Courtroom got silent. Only the sound of the air-conditioner was heard, whirring overheard. Mojaba was sitting on an elevated bench, just behind his lawyer. To the side, there was a swarm of newspeople with cameras and microphones pointed at him, some writing notes on their notepads, while others typed furiously on their phones. The courtroom was full of spectators behind him, and Mojaba was scared to turn around and look at his parents because he might see Pontso’s family, who were in the audience, and so were the community members he saw when he was led inside the courtroom, up the bench by the humming court officer. Mojaba faced down.

‘Mrs Cooper,’ the Magistrate said after a couple of moments of silence, and the prosecutor looked up at the Magistrate. ‘Mr Shady is right. The defendant is only seventeen, and he does not strike this Court as a flight risk; therefore, I will have to side with Mr Shady on this and grant the defendant a bail of five thousand rand.’

The aahs came from the spectator behind Mojaba as soon as the Magistrate stopped talking. Mojaba couldn’t believe it. He was granted bail! He was going home. But, no matter how happy he was, he couldn’t smile or celebrate, so he remained glued to the bench.

‘Next case!’ the Magistrate said dismissively.

Mr French Shady looked up at Mojaba as he was led down the bench, out of the courtroom by the humming officer, and smiled at him. Mojaba looked to his right and saw his mother crying in his father’s arms, who was serious and staring at him deadly. Pontso’s mother, on the other section of the spectators, was crying, leaning over the bench, as if she was going to fall head-first, but her husband held her and rubbed her back. Mojaba disappeared down the steps, outside the courtroom.

****

A month later, Mojaba was sitting in the living room with his mother. They were waiting for Mr French Shady, who had updates on his case that was starting in a month.

Indeed, Mojaba’s case had been the topic of the country since it broke out. At first, just like his parents, he had thought it would fade in a couple of weeks, but he was wrong. After he had received a bail of five-thousand-rand, multiple N.G.O.s lambasted the Magistrate and the entire justice system for what they considered ‘a slap in the hand’ for the crime of his magnitude. An N.G.O. called Women In Solidarity, especially, organised a march against Mojaba to the nearest police station, demanding for him to be re-arrested, awaiting his trial. Some women had camped outside Mojaba’s home with loudspeakers, chanting slogans like, ‘Hey, hey, Mojaba! Jail, jail, Mojaba!’

T.V. and radio talk shows were also talking about this case. Mojaba tried to avoid them, but he managed to catch snippets of them here and here.

‘This is proof that the law in this country will always protect men, no matter what,’ one woman said on the desk panel of the popular S.A.B.C. 3 talk show called Talk Bold. ‘I mean, the proof is there, we all saw it, the video of this young, sweet girl, filmed in a compromising situation, but they still gave this boy a bail of five thousand rands. Five thousand! They might as well have left him go for free!’

The law expert on the panel weighed in that no matter being granted bail, this was the last time the young man would be free because the evidence was overwhelmingly against him. According to the Film and Publication Act of 1996, the expert had quoted, the law was clear, under Paragraph 24E, Any person who knowingly distributes, private sexual photographs and films in any medium including the internet and social media, without any prior consent of the individual or individuals in the said sexual photographs and films with the intention to cause the said individual harm shall be guilty of an offence and liable upon conviction, to a fine not exceeding R150,000 or to imprisonment not exceeding two years or to both a fine and such imprisonment. The expert continued, Any person who knowingly distributes, private sexual photographs and films in any medium including the internet and social media, without any prior consent of the individual or individuals and where individual or individuals in the photograph or films is identified and identifiable in the photographs or films, shall be guilty of an offence, and liable upon conviction to a fine not exceeding R300,000 or to imprisonment for a period not exceeding four years or both a fine and such imprisonment. And that, the expert had stressed, applied to the case of this young boy because the butterfly tattoo made the deceased victim identifiable. All the prosecutor had to prove, was that the victim killed herself because of this, and then the boy would be found guilty. The panel had exploded in applause, and Mojaba switched off the T.V. in anger.

A car stopped outside, and Mojaba knew it was his lawyer. What did he have to offer because every law expert said this case was a closed-and-shut one? Mojaba wondered pessimistically.