In a country riddled by crime, we surround ourselves with high walls, keeping ourselves completely separated from our neighbours, never giving them a second thought. Isn’t it about time we did?

Neighbours: A Brush with Danger

I live in what could be considered a relatively safe area in Johannesburg, suburbia almost. During the day couples take their Labradors for gentle strolls around the neighbourhood, joggers can be seen taking their usual paths and, of course, security guards circle the area.

We feel safe, boomed off to any danger that could come our way. At least that is how I once felt. You see, one day I heard the deafening scream of someone running towards our door. My mother, brother and I leaped off the couch while my dogs became hysterical; barking instinctively at the shrill that came closer and closer.

Our first thought was, ‘fuck, we are about to become another robbery statistic.’ But, no, it was far more sinister than anything that typical. The noise became clearer. ‘Help me! Help me!’

We peered out the window and there she was – drenched in blood.

Neighbour from Hell

My mother bolted to the buzzer that opens our gate and let the bloodied woman in. She was young, about 24 years old, beautiful and, upon closer inspection, pregnant.

‘He is going to kill me this time!’ she shrieked, as my mother helped her to the couch.

‘I’ll kill the bastard!’ my brother yelled, grabbing a cricket bat. ‘I’ll fucking kill him!’

The woman became stern, her eyes darkening, ‘Do not get involved. He’ll kill you.’  

This was serious. My brother was shaking with anger at the evil that had been inflicted on this defenceless woman and my mother pushed the panic button we hardly ever used. Shaking and speaking through tears the woman whispered, ‘Thank you.’

You Never Know

Before the woman went away with the cops she told us she would leave her husband, disappear and that she was ready to get out of her abusive, drug fuelled situation. We hugged her goodbye through our own tears. Where did she come from?

She came from a house just down the street and had been living there for three years; suffering terrible abuse at the hands of an unassuming businessman. We had no idea – no one did. If screams were heard from her house in the middle of the night, nothing was reported and it was simply ignored.

This was a woman living in suburbia with a high ranking businessman as a husband who abused her constantly in their drug den and she was just a few houses down the road. It became apparent to me then that you never know what goes on next door.

Vanessa and Raymond Jackson: Hell House

She was a kind woman who took in orphaned children and fostered them with the love they so richly deserved. Raymond, her husband, and Vanessa were the saints of New Jersey. They eventually adopted five of their foster children. Bruce (19), Tre Shawn (14), Terrel (10), Michael (9) and a girl named Keziah who was less than a week old in October 2003. 

But then something horrific was discovered. What was thought to be a seven year old boy was found digging through a neighbour’s rubbish bin, searching for anything remotely edible. He was skin and bone and close to death. The neighbour immediately alerted police and upon arrival it was discovered that this was actually 19 year old Bruce, who was slowly being starved to death by his saintly adoptive parents.

Wickedness Next Door

How did they keep such an evil crime hidden from their community for so long? The boys were kept away from the outside world as much as possible and, if seen, onlookers would be told that they had a genetic or eating disorder. Wickedness lived amongst the unknowing; wickedness lived next door. And no one was the wiser.

But it turned out, on investigation, that some were the wiser, but chose not to see. Tre Shawn had told his teacher, but she refused to believe him and reported the matter to Vanessa. The mother, who kept a padlock on the fridge and only fed the children occasional scraps, responded by taking the kids out of school.

From then on they only ever went to church. Did the faithful not notice these emaciated children, bulked up with jerseys even in summer, as they beseeched their God?  

Living with the Devil: Joseph Fritzle

For 24 years Josef Fritzle of Austria kept his daughter hidden in a cellar in the home he shared with his ‘unknowing’ wife. For 24 years he raped and abused his daughter, fathering seven children with her. Three of the children were kept in the cellar with their mother while the others lived inside the house. Fritzl had engineered the appearance of these children as foundlings discovered outside his home.

Fritzle kept his secret by claiming his daughter had run away to join a cult. He was eventually caught when his child/grandchild became ill and had to be taken to hospital. Fritzle’s captive daughter had placed a note in the sick child’s pocket, authorities were called and Fritzle’s double life was exposed.

For 24 years the neighbours suspected nothing, the authorities suspected nothing (even though he had previously been convicted of sex offences) and the woman who lived under the same roof as him suspected nothing. If anyone had noticed something strange in his behaviour and his routine, most notably his wife, it was simply ignored. If someone had just ventured downstairs… 

Is it my Business?

‘It is your business when the wall next door catches fire.’ (Horace)

Damn right it is. So how come we don’t see the flames? How come when cases like these are exposed we all express shock and gnash our teeth? How come, like with the kid found chained in Soweto, the neighbours saw nothing even though they were only separated from the house by a diamond-mesh fence?

The Form of the Devil

Is it because we have become disjointed from our social roots? Is it because we have this quaint view of suburban bliss? Is it because we choose not to know because then we don’t have to become involved? Is it because we have a neat idea of the devil as someone who carries a trident and has pointy ears and a tail? Is it because we refuse to acknowledge that Satan looks just like you and me?

Sure, we can’t call the cops for every random noise emanating from a neighbour’s house. They might, after all, be having an orgy, which really is none of your business. But it really is your business when the woman next door has a black eye; when the child in your kid’s class seems especially accident prone; when the sweet girl next door suddenly becomes withdrawn; when the four boys in your neighbour’s house disappear from view for years on end…

If you have a suspicion and you do nothing about it, or if you turn a blind eye, then it says as much about you and your community as it does about the perpetrators of horrors. It is simply not good enough to say I did not know.