Through My Eyes

I have been investigating the Madeleine McCann disappearance from a Portuguese holiday resort of Praia da Luz. Recently the case resurfaced in a form of a court case against the former police chief, Goncalo Amaral who investigated Maddie's disappearance and later wrote a book, The Truth of the lie.

If you are interested in this case, you have to visit his website and watch the documentary, https://www.goncaloamaraltruthofthelie.blogspot.com. Sadly with the families heavy legal clout we will never know what happened to little Maddie in that lonely, cold and empty apartment in Portugal.

My own Praia da Luz moment arrived last Friday at 1:45am, horrifying screams woke me out of my warm slumber. I had just gone into a very deep sleep and for the first couple of screams I thought I was dreaming but after the third or fourth, "Help me, God somebody help me!" I sat upright in my bed and listened.

The screams were coming from my driveway and they belonged to a woman. My next move was to wake my husband who was snoring through the whole episode. I asked him to call the police and whoever else would pick up the phone at this time of the morning.

As I was getting dressed I was trying to see through my window if I could spot the crime scene. At that moment my seventeen year old walked into my bedroom and asked, "Can you hear it mom? We have to do something."

When we walked outside our front gate, car lights were approaching and one of the neighbours has just arrived. What I saw will haunt me for a long time. A teenage girl, in her innocent girlie underpants and a college jumper, was lying in a foetal position in the middle of the road.

She was my son's age and in serious distress. She was balling her eyes out and drooling heavily. At first I was convinced that she was a victim of hit and run but it soon transpired that Wendy (not her real name), was a victim of alleged domestic violence.

The story is unbelievable. Wendy was with her boyfriend that night, chilling at her mother's house, roughly 100m from my home. Her boyfriend at some point accused Wendy of infidelity and started beating her. Strangely, Wendy did not look battered and after a little coaxing was able to get up and sit on the pavement.

Her speech was slurred and she kept repeating the same sentence over and over. "My arm, my arm, he threw me out of the car and slammed my arm in the door."

When asked where her mother was Wendy was not sure. She said that she could either be in Hawaii or New York and because she lives with an uncle who suffers with some mental disorder Wendy had no emotional support.

It was all too much to cope with. By the time the police arrived I was in an absolute state. It was clear that Wendy was seriously intoxicated. The police did not want to get involved, when asked whether she was drinking she replied that she was with her boyfriend sipping Sherry but not enough to get drunk. She lied?

Wendy's nightmare was one sad pile of poop. All at once my mind raced to Maddie and all the children out there left alone to fend for themselves, fighting off the predators.

My heart broke on that cold night, not just for Wendy, but I also realise that out of at least a dozen houses that must have heard Wendy's cries only three came out. One just inspected the scene and then retreated to the safety of his home, not interested.

The truth is that we live in a world where there is just so little compassion and love for our neighbours and my sad little street in Ballito showed callous indifference to Wendy's cries. It's a good way to find out who will come to your aid in time of need.

I hope you are holding your children close to your hearts, Wendy has certainly woken me up?