Last week, on Women’s Day, the suburb of Woodstock lost one of its favourite sons in a senseless shooting. In this latest #SliceOfGasant, Gasant Abarder reflects on how his friend and brother’s life epitomises all that this curious Cape Town suburb, filled with contradictions, is all about.
Abarder, who recently launched his book, Hack with a Grenade, is among the country’s most influential media voices. Catch his weekly column here.
The life and times of Muraad ‘Junior’ Kitching is the story of Woodstock. A suburb at odds with itself.
On the exterior, it is a gateway to a new, thriving economy of art decor boutiques and pretentious, overpriced eateries.
On the interior, it is a cold and hard place to grow up. You get searched by the police in your pre-teens for just crossing the street because drug abuse, poverty and gang violence have been a feature for those who live here.
Junior bucked the trend. When friends went left, he went right. The right path. A few years younger than me, I remember Junior as a mischievous lad. But when I met him again about three years ago, I was proud of the man he had become. Over the last year or so we had become close through a language we both loved and cherished: Football.
I write about Junior in the past tense because last week on Women’s Day he was brutally shot dead in front of his house. His killer or killers are still out there. The way these things go in Woodstock, there may never be an arrest.
Junior leaves behind a young son and a daughter who absolutely adored him. He lived for his wife and children and wouldn’t hang around after our two-hour-long sessions of football on a Sunday for chit-chat. He was in a rush to get back home to be with them.
The Woodstock Wanderers Football Club, which we were part of, does this every Sunday as a way for the chaps from the suburb and beyond to bond as a brotherhood. We practice interfaith and do everything with a prayer and a du’ah. We’ve been doing this since 1996: Creating diversions through football to keep young men off the streets.
In June, we merged with NPO, Salt River Celtic Football Club, to create Celtic Wanderers Football Club. We retained the NPO status because a core of the junior membership we inherited with the merger are orphans from nearby homes, children born to refugees who settled in Woodstock and Salt River and youngsters at risk of drugs and gangs.
On Women’s Day, I had been to an executive committee meeting of our newly established NPO where we discussed how to change the narrative and improve youth employment prospects. How do we bring the people who live in the guts of these two suburbs into the economy? How do we create food security and keep kids in schools?
It had not been 10 minutes after leaving the meeting that our WhatsApp chat went wild with news of Junior’s death. I couldn’t believe it. None of us wanted to.
We didn’t cry in public for Junior. But I am willing to bet I was not the only one in our club who shed tears for our brother.
On Sunday, we expressed our feelings on the football field where he always pushed us to the limit. If you played on his side, he brought out the best in you. If you played against him, you’d feel the strain in your muscles the next day. He loved creating goals for his teammates and celebrated that harder than when he scored himself.
This was junior. An absolute beast of a footballer. A gentleman – shy, bashful and unassuming – off it. We all channelled our inner Junior on Sunday. Passing like prime Barcelona, pinging teammates with Hollywood crosses, first touches Messi would be proud of and scoring goals that would make Junior break out in his trademark smile.
We laughed and tried to remember how Junior may have reacted to a scenario. We repeated many of his catchphrases. Like, ‘Just one more (pass), Uncle’, ‘Online baba’ or swearing when we scored and then apologising to the goalkeeper. This was his way. A man of great character who moved the imam at his burial to describe him as the most respectable man of his entire mosque congregation.
It was not an exaggeration. He was widely loved and respected by everyone. Neighbours speak fondly of the guy who kicked ball with the kids every day until sunset and would talk non-stop about the most recent Manchester United win.
Junior may be gone but he will never be forgotten. His spirit inspires our NPO to re-double our efforts to ensure the people of Woodstock and Salt River are not left behind as the area takes on new residents and changes its complexion.
How I wish, though, I had one last dance with Junior on the football field.
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Picture: Quaniet Richards