To most, it was Youth Day�a celebration of courage, sacrifice, and defiance. But to Mabena, it was a scar. A memory lodged in the marrow of his bones. The date always pulled him back to his roots, to the reason he�d ever put on the uniform.
His father�now long gone�had also worn the badge. One of the few black policemen during apartheid, a time when the uniform stood for everything the people despised. Mabena had watched his father wrestle with himself�torn between duty and identity, loyalty and betrayal.
His childhood had been a warzone of whispers and side-eyes. The community never forgave their father for his position. The family lived under a quiet cloud of suspicion, as though the sins of the state had rubbed off on their skin. Making friends was a nightmare. Local kids were warned to keep their distance�terrified that something said in innocent play might be used against their families.
It left scars.
But as Mabena grew older, he began to understand. He didn�t hate his father. He didn�t excuse him either. The old man had often reminded them how privileged they were�safe, fed, clothed�because of his job. But Mabena knew deep down that if the choice were his, he wouldn�t trade comfort for silence. His siblings�older, bolder�despised the badge. Yet even they had never dared voice their anger. They had simply learned to live with the isolation that came with being a policeman�s child.
Mabena chose a different path.
He vowed to rewrite the story, to redeem the uniform. If he joined the force, he would do it right�no shortcuts, no compromises. And when the day came and he buttoned up that shirt for the first time, he kept his word. Every regulation was gospel, every case, a mission. And just like in childhood, that righteousness earned him the cold shoulder�this time from his colleagues, many of whom didn�t share his appetite for integrity. They didn�t need to prove anything. Mabena did.
It was that fire�relentless, incorruptible�that propelled him through the ranks. His university degree made him stand out. His discipline made him feared. And eventually, it made him a Mamba.
The Mambas Brotherhood was no ordinary unit. These weren�t just elite officers�they were handpicked predators. Surgically selected from within the South African Police