The day was Friday, March 12, 2021, and something devastating had happened.
I was on my way to our Highveld shop at 6:05 in the morning. At that stage, Highveld was still our only shop, and as I lived in the area, I would often be the one opening up, turning on the machines, and putting chairs out before opening time at 6:30.
At 6:06, I received a call from Justin Kamfwa, who was on his way to work. Justin has been with us from our first day as a company, starting as a shopkeeper, and these days, he works at our head office as Operations Manager.
“Rassie, I’ve been stabbed, it’s really bad. I’m under the N1 bridge on West Avenue.”
I immediately phoned 911 and rushed toward the location that Justin had given me. It was approximately 1 km away from the shop, so I got there a few minutes later.
I arrived at a horrific scene, something that was really tough to comprehend in the first few seconds. Justin was sitting on the sidewalk, legs straight and leaning back, anchoring himself with his right arm. His left arm was cut open from the bicep all the way to his forearm. He was shaking, and blood was gushing out of the massive, gaping wound. Blood was all over his clothes and had formed a pool of about 1 meter around him. Horrifying.
Growing up on a farm, I had seen a lot of blood in my lifetime, either through hunting or butchering. But this was human blood, and the effect it has on you is vastly different. I once had to lie down when Lara cut her finger open while cooking—again, human blood—but luckily on this day, some sort of adrenaline or “fight for survival” instinct kicked in. After seeing Justin sitting in his own blood, shivering profusely, and having a terrified look in his eyes, I genuinely thought he could lose his life.
I took off my shirt and tried to wrap it around the wound to stop the bleeding. It helped a little bit, but the nature of the wound was so bad that the blood still kept pumping out of Justin’s arm. So, I tried to position him to cut off the blood supply to his arm, but this, too, was fairly futile. Luckily, a few minutes later, the ambulance came charging in. The two paramedics immediately took over and seamlessly stopped the bleeding. They had a weird pulley belt thing that they wrapped around his upper arm, and they pulled it ridiculously tight. I realised then and there that these people are obviously experts in what they do, and I felt a little more assured that Justin might be okay.
Justin had been attacked, robbed, and almost killed—all for just a laptop. The perpetrator, armed with a panga, tried to cut the strap of the laptop bag to make it easier to grab, but in the struggle, he hacked at Justin, severing most of his left arm’s soft tissue.
Sitting there, waiting while they were busy loading Justin into the ambulance, I couldn’t help thinking that no one bothered to stop and help in the 10 minutes before I could reach Justin. A man quite clearly attacked in broad daylight on a fairly busy road, bleeding profusely, and people just drove by.
I remember thinking that we as a society have to be better, however, keeping in mind that maybe people just didn’t see Justin or genuinely didn’t know what to do even if they did stop.
Three hours later, the medical team at Unitas in Centurion finally got Justin stabilised. They did everything they could, but he still needed an operation. Severe nerve damage meant that a specialist orthopaedic surgeon was needed, and without medical aid, one doctor told me that the cost could easily go above R500,000. After speaking to Dr. Glanvill, whose team was incredible at stabilising Justin, the decision was taken to move him to Kalafong Hospital in Atteridgeville. At a state hospital, Justin would be eligible for the correct treatment and knowing that Kalafong had a renowned orthopaedic surgery department, my mind was a bit more at ease.
Later that afternoon, Alban (Justin’s cousin) and I went on a quest to try and find Justin at Kalafong. We set out through Friday afternoon traffic and crowds of people. His phone was off, and we were told that he would be heavily sedated, but we wanted to make sure he was okay and in good hands.
After asking around and seemingly scaling the whole hospital, we were eventually greeted by Sister Sekhukhune upon arrival at the resuscitation ward. She was professional and to the point, with an odd word of humour in between conversation. I was heavily impressed by her demeanour, and she subsequently introduced us to Dr. Breedt.
We then found Justin, albeit heavily dosed with morphine. He was okay, “through the worst” as he managed to state his condition. He was being taken care of by a small team in the ward, and these people literally blew my mind. They were so professional, dedicated, meticulous, and caring in the harshest of circumstances to people they knew from no end and with injuries that were all life-threatening in their own regard.
I realised again in that moment that despite everything happening in our country, truly good people, in every sense of the word, still offer themselves up to help others with absolutely no conditions attached. The way all the medical professionals, from the ambulance, to Unitas, to Kalafong, just assertively helped to save a man’s life with no questions asked was truly remarkable.
Justin was told that he would have to await his time to get surgery, and eventually, a few days later, he was discharged after a successful operation. The severity of the attack meant that he only had a 50/50 chance of ever regaining the use of his hand, and upon receiving that news, we were all, obviously, taken aback quite a bit.
Little did we know that, in a testament to Justin’s character, and in a testament to the genuine caring nature of our customers, the Abantu community would rally behind Justin’s recovery efforts in a way that was genuinely awe inspiring.
We started a back-a-buddy campaign with the aim of R10,000, which was quickly achieved. People from all over South Africa and the world chipped in to help out in whatever small way they could.
Justin was eager to get back to work, even though he was booked off for weeks. The nature of his work responsibilities meant that he could perform most of his duties, even with only one functioning hand. One of our regular customers then introduced Justin to Isabel Mischke, a world-renowned occupational therapist who practiced out of Kloof Hospital in Pretoria. Upon meeting Justin and hearing his story, Isabel offered to provide Justin with 6 months of occupational therapy completely free of charge. It was truly amazing to see that, through the work of Isabel, a seemingly lifeless hand slowly began to function over time. Her work was meticulous, and at times frustrating for Justin, but the nature of the damage meant that new nerve pathways had to be established. Time and effort, along with a lot of patience, was the only way to get it done.
As the lifeless hand began showing signs of gaining autonomy again, the long road of rehabilitation was only beginning. As a sportsman, even though I’ve been lucky enough not to have had many big injuries in my career, I’ve seen the process of rehab unfold with varying degrees of success, and I’ve seen what it takes to get back to full functionality.
At the time, I had been playing for the Lions in Johannesburg for a few years already, so I consulted with our team physiotherapist, Ziyaad Mohammed, regarding Justin’s injury, and without skipping a beat, he also offered to help Justin out, also free of charge. Ziyaad is widely considered one of the best sports and rehab physios going around, so to know that this extremely important and challenging situation was going to be overseen by him was extremely reassuring.
Over the next few months, the miraculous happened. Justin regained full use and full strength in his hand. The humongous scar on his arm serves as a reminder that life can change in an instant, but also of what can happen when a community pulls together.
A business is nothing without its customers, and a company is nothing without its people. Despite all the bad things out there, this story always reminds me of how lucky we are to do what we do and to live in a country where good will always overcome bad.