Most people who disappear end up in South Africa after being dismembered

A number of infants, teenagers, adults and elderly people have disappeared in Zimbabwe without trace. Could they be vanishing into thin air and, if not, what is really consuming these people, where, how and why?

The nation has been left guessing and, in most cases, the disappearances have left people clueless.

But two men, Senior and Junior (not their real names), could provide  the missing link.

Born 25 years ago, Senior claims that most of the people who disappear mysteriously end up in South Africa, but, sadly, stashed in suitcases, satchels and handbags after being dismembered.

Junior, a self-confessed kidnapper and murderer, revealed that human body parts were on demand on the other side of the Limpopo.

But what are these body parts used for and what exactly is driving the demand?.

A three-month investigation by The Sunday Mail In-Depth has revealed that most people who disappeared in the country ended up victims of ritual murders.

This reporter managed to unearth despicable and gruelling acts some people are engaging in for selfish gains.

This follows a series of child kidnappings which include the cases of Clint Given Matapure (3) who went missing at the Exhibition Park in Harare last year, Samuel Madzima (10) from Epworth and an infant who was kidnapped in Marondera and later found mutilated, among others.

But interestingly, a link (identified as Dube), only came to the fore during a beer drink in Bulawayo, some 439 kilometres from the capital Harare,  and provided what could be an avenue to possible answers.

Those behind the acts claim that kidnapped people are killed and their bodies chopped into pieces, which are used in traditional rituals by some sangomas in South Africa, especially in the Eastern Cape and theThohoyandou area of Limpopo province.

The sangomas allegedly use the body parts and vital organs such as the head, lips, intestines, heart, eyes, breast and male and female genitals to prepare traditional concoctions requested by people seeking riches, personal power and health.

Disguised as a businessman daring to go to any lengths in boosting his business, this reporter finally managed to meet Senior after two failed attempts.

Despite getting assurances from Dube that Senior was the right man, it was hard to imagine that this young man could provide any answers.

Was he credible? Did he have the finer details on the kidnappings, how and what role, if any, did he play? Would he be willing to share what he knew with a total stranger?

What if he had a hand in these kidnappings and my cover got blown, where would I end up?

These were the questions that kept ringing in my mind each time I visited Bulawayo during the last three months.

But, finally, last month, after a series of trips coupled with booze and other money-spending adventures; and after I had contemplated giving up, I heard words that jolted my brain into action.

"You are a brave man who makes his own money; I like the way you enjoy life and I think I can help you to get even richer," shouted Senior, as he tried to speak above the noise emanating from a powerful sound system in one of the popular night spots in Bulawayo.

The place had become our favourite drinking hole each time I was in Bulawayo.

We would drink away the greater part of the night, talking about a number of social issues.

I did not know when to introduce my subject and I had tried to be patient so as not to raise suspicion.

"What money are you talking about? I think you are now getting drunk and I should give you a ride back home," I said while trying to pretend as if I did not need anything from him, but also luring him to continue talking.

"No, I don't get drunk that easily," replied Senior. "Your friend (Dube) says Harare has fast life. I have never been to Harare and would love one day to pay you a visit.

"People who go there say there is a pub where women salivate when they see a man. That is what I call life, my brother."

I assured him that was not a tough task and I could arrange for him to pay a visit.

"I promise, you will love Harare and would not want to return. Maybe I can consider you in some of the deals I do back there so that when you come women will be kissing your feet," I said trying to maintain the tempo of the conversation.

At that moment, Dube, who had never told Senior of my intentions, got up from his chair and asked for money to buy us and some ladies who were sitting at the other table another round of beers.

Nonchalantly drawing wands of United States dollar notes to give the impression that I was not concerned much with my spending, I handed Dube a wrinkled US$50 note after which he headed for the bar.

"I can organise a Toyota Quantum for you," said Senior, this time in a lowered voice, which instantly convinced me he knew what he was saying and that he was the man I had been looking for.

I wanted the information but somehow, I got stuck.

"Why is it that when some people get drunk they suddenly become different; you are now a car dealer?" I quizzed sarcastically.

"(I am) Serious, my brother, I have organised that for some people and they have become rich overnight," he added.

"But since you are still around and will probably be coming back to Bulawayo again, I will give you details when I have sobered up to show you that I am serious."

"Oh, my God, I have blown the golden opportunity," I thought. The topic was shelved for the rest of the night until we decided to take a rest.

I drove Dube to his place before proceeding to drop off Senior with the intention of returning to town where I was booked.

As we drove, Senior asked me if I could accompany him to Tsholotsho where he wanted to do some "business" that morning.

I had no choice. I agreed, but he then pulled a shocker.

"Since it is nearly 5am and I want to leave at around 8am, I think you should put up at my house," said Senior as he disembarked from the front seat.

I was petrified. As his wife opened the door for us, a pungent smell of paraffin greeted us and I knew the house was not electrified.

After lighting a candle, exchanging greetings and introductions, I discovered that I had entered a two-roomed core house.

The house had an inside bathroom that also doubled as a toilet, located on the left just after the only entrance.

A small corridor led to a room with a small kitchen cabinet, probably made in a backyard carpentry shop, a wooden television stand, a 21-inch Chinese-made colour television set and a small cheap kitchen table surrounded by four chairs. On the other side, some kitchen utensils were neatly arranged in a small kitchen unit. The room also doubled as kitchen and lounge. The house clearly belonged to someone struggling to put his life together. So how was he benefitting from trafficking human body parts?

Senior brought some blankets and prepared me a place to sleep on the floor.

"Don't worry. Soon, we will be up, it's just for a few hours. Don't worry also about your car; it's safe," he said in assurance. At 8am, Senior woke me up and we started preparing for departure.

I telephoned Dube about my journey to Tsholotsho, but he said he could not come because he was engaged elsewhere.

After some errands in Bulawayo, we later travelled to Tsholotsho Business Centre, arriving after 1pm.

There, we were joined by another young chap clad in a black pair of faded trousers, an old green high school soccer jersey, a pair of cheap sneakers and an off-white sun hat.

The man (whom I will call Junior and who appeared to be in his early 30s), was introduced to me by Senior as a close friend.

After a lengthy talk and few rounds of beer, Senior picked up from our previous conversation.

"My brother here wants a Quantum. He has money and I want us to help him," said Senior.

Looking rather hesitant, Junior said: "Yes, we can help you. We have some links in Jo'burg (Johannesburg) who are resident there. So, you can deposit your money and they buy a Quantum on your behalf; that is if you promise not to default on paying your monthly instalments."

"How much do I need?" I asked.

"About 10 grand (US$10 000). A Quantum costs about 35 grand. Many people are buying these cars on credit, you know," replied Junior. He was uneasy.

I then decided not to put him to the test. I just played along.

We spent the rest of the day chatting. I occasionally left the two alone as I played the game of pool in a bid to give them time to discuss what Senior had proposed.

At about 7pm, Senior suggested that we return to Bulawayo and I told them my plans were to leave for Harare the following morning.

It was then that Junior, who was now drunk, asked again: "So, you want a Quantum? It is easy; we can arrange that for you, but we have to trust you and know that you are strong."

Just then, Senior intervened and told me how his uncle had become a well-known businessman who owned a fleet of Toyota Quantums "envied by many people". To my shock, Junior confessed that he was in the business of sourcing human body parts on behalf of some businesspeople.

Senior admitted that he knew where the parts ended up as he had accompanied his uncle several times.

We struck a deal. The plan was to work out our next move.