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On a street in a sprawling Johannesburg township, near a shopping center looted during last week’s unrest, police open a refrigerator door and throw away packages of vegetables and milk.
They then pull him up, squeeze him between brown sofas and an already loaded bed in the back of a white van.
On top of that, there’s a leather chair, followed by a blue kid’s quad that wobbles precariously until it’s securely strapped in.
South African police, who helplessly watched the crowds rampage last week, are now campaigning to recover stolen goods in plain view of television cameras.
“Everyone should be able to show us the receipts for those flat screens, refrigerators and all that,” Police Minister Bheki Cele told local television earlier this week.
“It’s going to be a very difficult time in many houses … you have to give us the receipt for the device, and if you don’t have the receipt, bad luck.”
Officers in Alexandra Township in north Johannesburg stuck to their boss’ words, weaving their way down alleyways just wide enough to descend, grabbing anything that looked new but had no receipt .
Soldiers deployed to help quell the unrest stand guard, cradling guns as residents watch timidly from the side of the road.
With the initial booty loaded, the men return to the maze of narrow lanes that crisscross the sloping township.
They pass corrugated iron, plywood and plastic houses huddled together, brushing against lines of laundry stretched out in their path.
A policeman climbs on stacked concrete blocks marking the small front yards to look over the shacks and shout directions.
“Do you have something here?” A soldier asks, looking into a cabin.
They enter and leave houses with bags of clothes and other stolen items. Some would have been sold, others kept for personal use
A few residents are perched on their roofs, from where they watch the parade.
It appears that larger looted items are stored on rooftops due to a lack of interior space in the small makeshift structures that are part of some South African townships.
Busy streets
Without a ladder, an officer is given a push to climb up a rusty corrugated iron creaking loudly under his feet – all to see if anything else is hidden on the rooftops.
His colleagues urge him to exercise caution and avoid the dangerous tangle of electric wires feeding the township.
A printer, a sound system and a vacuum cleaner are lowered to the ground.
The latter would probably have been sold to an informal car washer, suggests an officer, hammer in hand.
A woman looks out the front door, warming her hands over a steaming cup of tea.
She greets the officers and watches them return to the vehicles.
The soldiers remain in place to secure the area as all remaining goods are crammed into the vans.
The street around them is teeming with life. Meat sizzles on outdoor grills as a group of people burn a pile of garbage higher up the hill.
As the confiscated goods make their way to a warehouse where business owners identify them, the vans pull away, leaving butternut, onions and spinach strewn on the dusty road.
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