I walked in as my son was being asked the words, those famous words, "Do you have an attorney, or do you wish to have the state appoint an attorney for you, or do you wish to present yourself in this matter?"
Looking at the young man squirm in the dock, it was obvious that he had no clue of what the court expected of him.
"Um, ah... I dunno. I can answer the questions..."
Two days before the end of the December school holidays, this seventeen year old had sprouted a fashionable mop of hair, which was, by now, late afternoon, matted and unruly. His shirt was hanging out, and he had just been woken up from the wall outside the entrance to the court room where he was told to wait since 8.30am.
His misdemeanor was simple. But his inexperience, lethal.
It all started on the weekend. Friday night we had a family braai. Daniel was offered a Smirnoff Storm. He drank this over a three hour period, and took the last sip before he sat off on his scooter to visit with friends in Margate at 8pm.
He noticed the road block, and had ample oppertunity to take a side road, or even to turn around and drive away, as the long line of motorists parked in the line in front of him streched down three or more blocks. But he did not suspect that he had done anything wrong, and patiently awaited his turn to be breathalised.
He was horrified to hear that he was over the limit. The meter read 0.5%
Now, in my limited knowledge of how the system works, I know the limit to be 0.05%, and also that should the breathaliser reading be higher than this, a blood test is usually taken within an hour for a more accurate reading.
You are kept in the police station for at least 4 hours, and then, depending on your condition and behaviour, the police captain could let you go, or decide to prosecute you, in which case bail could be set for your release or you could be let out on your own recognaisance until court room opens.
It appears, fellow South Africans, that this is no longer the case.
Firstly, the breathaliser reading is now totally accepted in the court, and blood tests are an exception, rather than the rule.
This, in my opinion, is rather shaky, as cough medicine could give you a reading as high as 0.7%!
I did ask the Margate police captain who was on duty if a blood test could be taken from my son, as I knew that there was just no way that he was anywhere near intoxicated. The reply was another shocker.
Yes, if he insists on a blood test, it will be taken. But then no bail will be set until he appears in court, as the blood test results can take months.
Secondly, the limit on the breathaliser is read as 0.5% instead of 0.05%. During the festive season, the limit in fact, lessens to 0.25%
I checked on the internet for any collaberation of this new law, but could find none.
Whilst standing in the police station it was interesting to see that there were other people with similar problems.
A mother, who had consumed a glass of wine, had been arrested en route to pick up her children from the movies.
She was denied a phone call to tell her family where she was until her four hours of incarceration had passed.
Another lady attempted to enquire from the desk clerk what procedures to expect in the release of her husband. Before the clerk could reply, the captain interrupted their conversation, telling her, in no uncertain terms, that she must not ask his staff any questions, as they do not make the laws.
At this point, I must explain that this is not a race related matter. Both the ladies mentioned, and the captain, are white. He is just not as attractive as they are!
Anyway, with a very humble attitude, she started to explain that she was not trying to be difficult but she really needed answers.
Once again he interupted her, staing that she is harrassing him and his staff, and should she speak another word, he would have her locked up as well!
Thank goodness for the kindly constable, a white lady, who took pity upon my son. She advised me to find R1000 bail.
It was now well after 10pm. I explained that I only had R500 available in my bank account. At this point the captain turned his attention to me, and promised that if I could not produce the R1000 before 7am, Daniel would definately be locked up with the hardened criminals until Monday morning. In the interim, he would be held in the holding cells.
Frantically I started phoning friends and relatives. Those that were not asleep by now, had switched their celphones off. FInally, by 1am, I managed to wake up a business aquantance, and she obliged.
I ran into the station with the R1000 bail by 1.15am. By now the road block had dissolved, and the officials were handing their guns in, which the captain was recording meticulously. I saw no sign of my son.
By 2.30am, the lady constable once again took pity upon us. She asked the captain if she could fill out a bail slip. He replied no, of course. She asked why not, and he grumped, sighed, and passed her the book. She wrote out the slip, returned Daniel's bike keys and helmet, and reminded him to produce his bail slip in court on Monday morning.
Once again, as I know the procedure, he was to appear in court to plead his innocence, and the magistrate would set a date for his case to be heard. This, usually, allows you a few weeks at least to save up some money for the fine. Which, also, is usually allowed to be paid off in the course of a few months, should you not have the full amount at hand.
On Monday morning I grudgingly gave Daniel a further R1000, just for in case, and he caught a lift to the Ramsgate court where he was to appear.
Being a single mother, living and working 80kms away, I thought nothing of it, smug in my acceptance of letting the law take its course, and depending on the maturity of my young man in the house, to learn from his experience.
Along with about thirty fellow felons of the road block, they were ushered into the public prosecutors office. Fines were issued, and those that could not pay, were given a few months to find the money. Of these people, Daniel was the youngest. He was dealt with last. By now its after 12pm and he is a hungry young man.
He was given a R2000 fine. He offered the R1000 he had on him, and asked if they would accept his bail money for the balance.
The answer, of course, is no. As I had paid the bail, they needed my signature to release the money. A further no to allowing him to pay the difference the next morning. At this point he phoned me, and I assured him I would come and sign the bail slip, and I wanted to tell the public prosecutor (who was a black gentleman) myself that I was on my way. However, this gentleman refused to speak to me on the phone, swore and turned his back on Daniel.
As I do not have my own transport, I arranged for a friend to take me through to the court room. As we arrived, at 2.30pm, I saw Daniel being called and ushered into court.
I walked in as he was asked if he had representation. Realising immediately that he was in serious trouble, I interupted the court and announced myself.
The magistrate, a kindly black lady, allowed me to sugest that we pay the R2000 admission of guilt fine and not waste the time of the court any further.
To my surprise, the public prosecutor announced that the fine is now R3000, as Daniel did not have a drivers licence.
Once again, this ignorance of the youth was lethal. It turned out that the public prosecutor was under the impression that Daniel had been driving a car. In fact, Daniel was driving a scooter. When asked if he had a drivers licence, he said no. He was not aware that he should have said yes, he has a learners licence for a motor bike.
I looked the magistrate in the eyes. "Your honour, it is the first time that Daniel has ever appeared in court. He clearly does not understand what is going on, and cannot possibly defend himself. I have no further money. In fact, I borrowed most of the money we have on us today."
She looked at me ponderously, and then said that it is not up to her what the fine is to be set at, but that the prosecutor will let me know shortly. I was told to wait outside.
At 3pm another lady in uniform approached me to tell me that the magistrate reduced the fine to R2500, and that if I could not produce this money, Daniel would be locked up until such time that I could. She gave me 30 minutes to find the money.
At 3.25pm his aunt drove in with the R500 shortfall.
The uniformed lady sighed "thank goodness" and returned to the public prosecutor, who was still in court. She emerged with the sad news that they do not take money after 3pm, and swinging the lock up room keys in her hands, called Daniel closer.
Fortunately, two men came out from the court room with money in their hands which they were obviously going to pay for their own cases, and calling Daniel, I followed them, found the cashiers room and stood in line. The uniformed lady sighed again, and explained that she was taking Daniel to have his fingerprints taken again.
He was taken to a room, dark as a pit, where over a hundred trial awaiting inmates could be heard. The stench was overwhelming.
I took out the R1500, signed on the back of the bail form, and promtly passed over the R1000 bail money as well. "Why are you paying so much?" I was asked. "The fine is only R2000!" I gave back his aunt her R500.
By 3.40pm his fine was paid, and ten minutes later he emerged from the lions den with a smile so broad and tears in his eyes.
At least one thing he did right. "Daniel, did you pray for help?"
"Yes, mother. Twice!"