Women wearing weekend heels and fake lashes teeter out of smoky nightclubs, arm in arm. Drunken partygoers in stovepipe pants skulk against walls, waiting for the cold of the night air to give them a second wind.

The smell of beer and sweat clings to the air. The streets in Sunnyside, Pretoria, are buzzing — just before midnight on a Saturday. It was about this time on an autumn evening in May 2015 that July Chitlango and his friend Thabiso decided to call it a night.

They left the buzz of the bars and clubs on foot, and drew into a quiet part of the city near home. But then Chitlango stopped abruptly. Frowning, he leaned forward and grabbed his friend’s arm. “Listen,” he breathed, eyes wide.

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