After being swindled out of what was left of his pension, Gideon was left destitute. Cape Argus deputy news editor Lance Witten spoke to him as part of #TheDignityProject.

Gideon had worked in the hospitality industry almost all his life, contributing to a pension fund for 22 years. In 2001, he resigned, committed to starting his own shuttle business.

Over the years, Gideon had taken out two loans against his pension, one of R10 000 and another of R17 595. Gideon says he had paid it back, but when he got his payout in March that year, the two amounts had been deducted from his lump-sum payout. Instead of the expected R60 000 after tax had been deducted, he only received R18 000.

The company had switched pension fund administrators and Gideon was sent from pillar to post trying to find out whether he could get what was owed to him, but to no avail.

Resigned to the R18 000, Gideon decided to forge ahead with his business anyway. He paid R10 000 for a second-hand Volkswagen Kombi to set up his business. He wanted to ferry children to and from school.

The vehicle needed repairs and maintenance and his funds were soon swallowed up. When Gideon began to fall behind on the rent of R1 400 a month for his Milnerton flat, his wife began talking about getting a divorce.

“My family started to turn their backs on me.”

But things were to get worse for Gideon.

“A struggling couple arrived at our home. They were interested in starting a security business with me and offered my wife and I a 40 percent share in the business. The man had worked as a security manager at a company before. This told me he had experience in that field.

“Later, my wife and I agreed to accept 40 percent in the business. The man told me that he and his wife had no money to put on the table, but they would be bringing their expertise to the business.”

Gideon needed to raise R15 000 for the start-up and registration costs of the new security business. In order to do so, he roped in two former colleagues who had worked with him at the hotel.

“Together, we had three meetings to discuss whether or not we would invest in this security business. Eventually we agreed to put together R15 000 to get the business off the ground.

“The man who had first approached me about the business urged me to pawn my Kombi so that we could have cash for the business. This was to cover the registration costs of the company. My wife and I agreed and I pawned the Kombi.”

He was given R4 000 in cash by the owner of a local supermarket who also wanted a stake in the company. “But that man said ‘no’, it’s only us in this venture.

“They told us, my wife and I, not to worry, when the company was registered, they would bring us the papers to show to my former colleagues – the other investors who must put in R15 000 – so they can have peace of mind.

“Then they promised they would draw up the investment contract with an auditor. Once we have the R15 000, we will buy back the Kombi for R5 000 from the shop owner.”

Gideon gave the man R3 500 to register the company and accompanied them to the head office of the security board, PSIRA.

He had his fingerprints recorded and the three were invited to a meeting where the regulations of the industry were explained to them.

“This was in July of 2001. We had the papers and we went to the auditors to draw up the contract. I was very proud of my achievement,” he beams. When Gideon smiles, his eyes shut as his cheeks expand. The deep, weathered wrinkles cut deep.

“I mean, 40 percent owner of my own company.”

In September, they approached the department of public works to tender for contracts and were successful.

“They then went behind my back to the investors, my former colleagues and friends, to demand the R15 000 from them. When they asked where myself and my wife were, they lied. They took the money and ran.”

By October 2001, Gideon was flat broke.

“The landlord demanded that we vacate the premises. The security business people were gone. The supermarket owner couldn’t believe what had happened. I’ve lost my Kombi and the R4 000 I got for it. My last hope. Gone. I was in panic, I cried and cried. What was I supposed to do now?”

Gideon contacted the auditor, who told him the couple had instructed him not to send Gideon’s documents for registration. He was not a registered partner in the security business.

“My entire world turned upside down. Our last remaining household goods were standing outside our beloved flat.

“What this couple did to us…their intention was very, very bad.”

Weeks later, the man contacted him, advised him to apply for administration and agreed to pay back the R3 500 in R300 monthly instalments.

“I signed away all my possessions and this man never paid back a cent.”

Gideon could not afford the lawyers fees of R7 000 to sue the man and instead went to the police. The investigation took seven years.

During this time, Gideon and his wife took refuge at The Ark on Old Faure Road in Macassar. It became too much for her and she eventually moved back home with her family, leaving Gideon alone.

“In 2008, they arrested this man. He was supposed to appear in March, but the case was postponed to July. I noticed that this man and the prosecutor seemed to be friends. I complained to the court, but my claims fell on deaf ears.”

The prosecutor dropped the case against the man and he was free to go.

Gideon was left with no recourse. His wife filed for divorce in 2008 and he has been living on the street ever since.

He now volunteers at The Service Dining Rooms and helps out on various expanded public works programmes.

He still wants justice, but has no idea where to turn.

Gideon believes all his documentation and evidence remains safely locked away at Cape Town Central police station. “But time is running out. Look at me, I’m old.”

Cape Argus