ZULULAND LETTER: The Zululand drug squad

MANY years ago, before the dismantling of the specialised SAPS units, a highly effective branch of SANAB (South African Narcotics Bureau), stationed in Richards Bay, kept the law and order in Zululand, under leadership of Captain Stan Turketti and a handpicked team of specialised detectives and admin personnel.

They wreaked havoc in the underworld and business was bad for drug dealers in the Bay.

Their stock was confiscated, they did a lot of running and jumping, paid astronomical legal fees, spent a considerable time either at the Richards Bay Police Station or the court cells, posted large amounts of bail, were snitched out and ratted on by the little fish and had to sleep with one eye open.

I prosecuted numerous SANAB cases and often frequented their offices to work through dockets and consult witnesses.

It was during this time, that I often said to myself: ‘This can only happen in Zululand.’

Captain Turketti was the personification of a Hollywood police chief and even his surname sounded like the title of the new American law enforcement series.

The team was tight as a wolf pack and often as disagreeable.

Internal disputes were settled by ‘Jamalling’ the culprit when he least expected it.

Jamal, I quickly established, was a type of Indian bean resembling peanuts, but with a less windy, more solid (or liquid) after-effect.

Whenever a member botched an operation or dropped the team, that man was afraid to eat at work, locked his lunch box in the safe and said ‘no thanks’ for the delicious breyani and samoosas someone’s wife made.

As soon as he dropped his guard, he was completing his investigating diary on the toilet.

One day, SANAB received information that some corrupt traffic officials patrolling the John Ross Higway, were pulling over vehicles and pocketing bribes on grand scale.

So, the team set out to find the biggest coffin on wheels they could lay hands on.

In Zululand, it was a small challenge and they could have their pick of vehicles which looked like they were driven over the Grand Canyon by Evil Knieval.

The ‘skora-skora’ kombi was missing a door, had a toilet seat on the passenger side and a vice grip for a steering wheel.

It backfired black smoke every couple of metres, had no number plates, a cracked windscreen and one tail light was kicked out.

The ‘taxi driver’, sported an Orlando Pirates cap, darkies, a golden tooth and a massive juke box on the back seat.

And so the undercover officer departed, marked police money and all, hell-bent to bag some corrupt officials.

Inside info confirmed that the corrupt shift was right at their usual spot and it was all systems go.

Show-time!

With the back-up team in place, the officer came cruising down the John Ross highway with his gangsta rap top volume, backfiring at regular intervals.

Near their spot, he slowed down to give them a good look at their next meal ticket.

They did not even blink.

So, he figured, he did not commit a traffic violation and with that made an illegal u-turn.

Then he started to speed and weave.

Then he stopped on the traffic island and so forth and so forth. By the time he had committed every traffic violation in the book, he considered handing himself over.

But before he could, they amicably waved, packed up for the day and went of shift.

Hours later, the disappointed team sat around on the kitchen counter sipping coffee and eating donuts.

‘What happened man?’

‘Eish Captain – I’ve got a police face.’