As a special-education teacher on the KwaZulu-Natal coastline, Pooven Govender is in the metamorphosis business. Not every child that comes under his care is transformed because, as he says, some are brain-damaged or carry illnesses that never allow them to make progress. "It's a calling," he says of his profession. "Sometimes to see a 16-year-old write ABC for the first time is an accomplishment. That's what we teachers do it for. It's what gives us the energy to carry on."

In 2002, a ten-year-old short in stature arrived at Schola Amoris in Umzinto on KZN's south coast. Nawaaz Khan's demeanour reflected the shock of being told that he wasn't going to make it in a normal school. "He had low self-esteem," says Govender. "And he was a bit of a scampie."

An epileptic from the age of nine months, Nawaaz had reached Standard One in South Africa's education system before a teacher noticed that he just wasn't remembering things. The boy was sent for psychiatric tests, which showed an IQ under 70, classifying him as intellectually impaired. His mother, Zakiya, sat her son down and had a conversation that would break any parent's heart, explaining the difference between a normal school and a special school.

Nawaaz came to Schola Amoris bursting with energy but unsure of how to channel it. Too often it led to trouble, but one day Govender had an idea. He was in charge of physical education, so he hauled some old cricket bats out of the storeroom and started a game. "I showed him how to bowl, and it came on so automatically for him. At that time he was very, very short so he had a height disadvantage to some of the other boys, but he used to bowl very well. I realised this kid had a lot of talent, so I couldn't hold him back."

More than the impressive statistics, what struck everyone about Nawaaz was his enthusiasm in the field, which earned him a nickname: Power Ranger

As Nawaaz encouraged those around him to get involved and even began to teach them, Govender arranged inter-school matches. He applied to Lotto - the national lottery that gives some of its proceeds to charities - and received enough funding to buy a fold-up pitch and a full set of cricket kit. "That's when Nawaaz started to shine," Govender says. "And he just got better and better with it. Also, he had this hunger for cricket. He loved it. As he channelled his energy into cricket and sport, his behaviour started to improve. He had a purpose, and his self-esteem just rocketed and holistically he just flourished. Although he was intellectually impaired, he still improved in terms of special needs - some kids never learn to do things, but he improved in all areas. His strengths helped him with his weaknesses."

Nawaaz's life became all about cricket, and the game took him places. George, Potchefstroom, Bloemfontein, Paarl, Rustenburg. Not exactly glamour cities, but for a young boy from a poor town travelling with the KZN Coastal Intellectually Impaired team, these were bright lights.

In 2013, after a record-breaking run at the national tournament, Nawaaz was named South Africa's Intellectually Impaired Cricketer of the Year. The local paper ran a story on him, in which Nawaaz made mention of Govender's role in his life.

"I was so chuffed when he mentioned my name in the article. It really touched me," says Govender, before his voice trails off. When it returns, it is weaker. "I tell you, my heart was just broken when I heard the news. We couldn't believe it."

The idea of witch doctors and muti, traditional medicine, may seem foreign in the plusher suburbs of Durban, but drive an hour south and the tropical air begins to take hold. The land on either side of the highway gives way to rolling hills covered in sugar plantations, and just off the N2 lies Umzinto, a busy little town with an African feel to it. While the large trading stores all have names that betray Indian ownership, the clientele on the dusty streets is largely black. On the penultimate day of 2015 the fireworks salesmen are doing a strong trade, and even children are carrying long, colourful boxes down the main road.

A school-years picture of Nawaaz Khan: his life came to be all about cricket, and cricket took him places © Nawaaz Khan family

Turn right at the first traffic light and head out of town, and soon the road meanders before going over a bridge. As it begins to ascend the next hill, a turn-off on the right is vaguely marked for Gandhinagar. In 1995, around 500 low-cost houses were built here on a sugar plantation, and a population largely of Indian descent moved in. Nawaaz Khan's great-great-great-grandfather had left India around the turn of the 20th century. Nawaaz was five when his family moved to Gandhinagar. It is a close-knit community where unemployment is rife.

When it came, the news that Nawaaz was intellectually impaired was devastating. With an IQ of 68, Nawaaz was one of the higher-functioning intellectually impaired children, so he had merely come across as an overly exuberant child rather than one with a disability. Even as he grew into a young man, a casual observer would not have picked up his condition based on appearance. Zakiya found it hard to explain the situation to him. "But he was such a loving child that he accepted he has to go to special school," she says, before the memory brings tears to her eyes. A light returns to them quickly, however, as the conversation moves to cricket.

"As he was attending Schola Amoris he picked up this trade, cricket. It wasn't so much about using the brain. It was all about using his hands. He could bat, he could bowl. He started teaching children in the school because there were disabled children there. Letters started coming in to say that Nawaaz was selected to go and play at a school in Phoenix [an Indian township just north of Durban]. The principal used to send him on a special bus to play the game. He went to Cape Town, Rustenburg. He's been places."

It didn't take long for Nawaaz to impress coaches in his inter-school games, which at that time were played between 26 schools for the disabled in KZN's coastal region. From that pool, a team would be selected each year to compete at the national competition. Lennon Joseph has managed intellectually impaired cricket in the region and has coached the KZN Coastal side for the past 15 years. He first came across Nawaaz in 2004, when he was about to turn 12. The boy's talent was clear, and Joseph would have picked him if it weren't for the age restrictions, which stipulated that players should be 15 going on 16. "In 2006, Nawaaz was 14 turning 15 but his standard of cricket was much higher so we took him," Joseph remembers. "He was still so short he had to bat with the wicketkeeper's pads on. We lost the final but he ended up playing for us every year after that."

When he left home on the 31st of October last year, nobody knew where Nawaaz Khan had gone

With Nawaaz playing a key role with bat, ball, and occasionally behind the stumps, the team went on to become national champions in 2007 and 2008, and were always there or thereabouts in the years that followed. In 2007, Nawaaz earned himself a place in the South Africa Intellectually Impaired team, where he became a regular.

More than the impressive statistics, what struck everyone about Nawaaz was his enthusiasm in the field, which earned him a nickname: Power Ranger. "He used to field at point for us, but if a guy took a catch down at fine leg he would be the first guy there," recalls Joseph. "And he'd call to all the other guys, 'Come everyone!' You could hear him anywhere, anytime."

For all of his achievements in intellectually impaired cricket, perhaps Nawaaz's greatest accomplishment was becoming a regular for Saints, an able-minded club side in Umzinto that he joined in 2007-08. Saints play in a social league but as Calvin Govender, their founder member and chairman, says: "It's competitive. Guys don't just play to socialise."

Nawaaz was considerably smaller than everyone else, but held his own and was never victimised because, Govender says, he was respected for his abilities as a cricketer. "In a situation like his it's only human nature that you feel different from the others, but despite that he coped."

Nawaaz Khan had the honour of receiving his 2013 CSA Intellectually Impaired Player of the Year award from his hero, Hashim Amla © Nawaaz Khan family

Nawaaz's game matured from playing against able-minded adults, and in 2013 his batting reached its zenith at the national intellectually impaired competition in Rustenburg. All games at national tournaments are 25-over affairs, which is one of the reasons that nobody had scored a century in them. The other reason is that, because of their impairments, players simply can't concentrate long enough. This is not visually apparent on or off the field. Most players can have a conversation about cricket tactics and field placements but tend to have difficulty following strategies through. Mistakes are therefore common and scores are generally low.

"Our kids, when they start playing they just want to hit fours and sixes - 'six or nix'," says Suren Sewnath, assistant coach of the KZN Coastal team who also oversaw Nawaaz's development. "But with Nawaaz he'd work ones and twos and wait for that loose ball to come along. He was a very intelligent child even though he was intellectually impaired. He could read the bowlers and the players in the other team. He was very street-smart."

Nawaaz and Joseph had an understanding. The batsman would play himself in with a few singles and twos and then glance at his coach. When Joseph felt the time was right, he would give permission to cut loose with a nod of his head. On that day in Rustenburg, against Gauteng, approval was granted earlier than usual. "Everything just clicked," says Joseph. "He played every shot in the book." Two of them landed in a house across the road from the ground. "It was quite funny because there were a lot of dogs there, so they couldn't get the ball back," he chuckles.

By the end Nawaaz had made 114 not out - the first century in the competition's decade-long history. His big prize came when CSA selected him as the Intellectually Impaired Player of the Year for their 2013 awards gala. A letter arrived in Gandhinagar inviting Nawaaz to travel to Johannesburg to receive the award. "He was so excited, but he was also scared, because that was the first day he was going in a plane," says Zakiya. "I never dreamed that a boy from a special school would travel by plane. I was supposed to accompany him but due to work, I couldn't go."

Nawaaz stayed at the Sandton Sun, a high-end hotel in the heart of Johannesburg's shopping Mecca, where international cricketers have been put up for decades. "You know, coming from here where our living conditions are not great, and going to sleep in your own room in a hotel like that, it's like heaven," says Zakiya. "He sent me a video of the room and the bathroom."

"The case is going to take a while, but as a mother, all I want is justice to be delivered"

The best part was still to come. At a breakfast function the next morning Nawaaz was presented with his award by his biggest hero, Hashim Amla. Photo shoots on the hallowed turf of the Wanderers followed. "He was on top of the world," remembers his mother, pulling out pictures. The CSA award stands proudly on the coffee table, surrounded by smaller trophies from Nawaaz's club career. "That day at the airport when he got back, he hugged me and said, 'Mummy, I'm going international.'"

Sadly that dream was never fulfilled. Plans for South Africa to compete in the All Abilities Cricket Championships in Melbourne in March 2015 never came to fruition due to a lack of funds.

When he left home on the 31st of October last year, nobody knew where Nawaaz Khan had gone. Finding work was hard enough in a place like Gandhinagar, never mind if you had no qualifications and were held back by a disability. For Nawaaz, life was largely about filling the gaps in between cricket matches once he had turned 18 and left school. At one stage he and his uncle got a job repairing the fence at a prison. For the most part, he would either be around town or accompanying two friends who worked as drivers for a hardware shop in Umzinto. Sometimes deliveries took them as far as Kokstad, 200km inland, or Mthatha, a four-and-a-half-hour drive away.

"We had no idea where Nawaaz had gone, because he used to go out with two guys long distance," says Zakiya. "He used to pass his time and try and help them. He was like a conductor. He used to go two or three days without coming home, so it never ran through my mind that something had gone wrong with him. It was only on Sunday, when he was meant to be playing cricket and Calvin was phoning my dad and asking where Nawaaz was because he wasn't at the ground. We said, 'This is strange, because this child never misses a game.'"

On Monday, Zakiya met the first driver, but he had also been looking for Nawaaz. On Tuesday there was still no sign of him. On Thursday the second driver, Thandowakhe Duma, also claimed ignorance.

Zakiya had a thought: Nawaaz received a disability grant from the government on the first of every month, from which he contributed to expenses in the house. She checked his account, but the money hadn't been withdrawn. On Friday she checked again and the money was still there. Beside herself with worry, she went to the local hospitals and mortuaries, phoned hospitals in nearby Port Shepstone, and reported him as a missing person.

Nawaaz Khan (first from left) and fellow winners at a Wanderers photo session for the 2013 CSA Awards © Nawaaz Khan family

The next day, the first driver came to tell Zakiya that Duma had been seen in Margate, a town 75 kilometres away, trying to sell Nawaaz's shoes. She told the investigating officer, but before the police could get hold of him, Duma came to see Zakiya.

He told her that he had been playing soccer with her son on the morning of October 31, but had not seen him since. Duma had scratches on his face, which he said were from a fight with his girlfriend. He promised to help find Nawaaz. But Duma's conscience caught up with him later that day. He broke down in a conversation with an off-duty policeman, and then led him to Nawaaz's body. It was headless. Duma made a shocking confession: he had murdered Nawaaz on the advice of a sangoma, or traditional healer, that he had enlisted to solve his family problems.

Sangomas remain a part of many African cultures. In South Africa they are prevalent in rural areas but can also be found in the townships of major cities, helping Xhosa or Zulu clients overcome illness, bad luck or money problems. Brewing traditional beer and overseeing celebrations are some of their more light-hearted duties; they can also be enlisted to cast spells on enemies, sometimes with the aim of killing them. Usually such spells require ingredients from nature - the bark of a particular tree, the hair or faeces of some animal - but in Duma's case he was told that he needed an Indian person's head. Nawaaz was the perfect victim.

Nawaaz's burial took place without a head. That was found a few days later, after Duma told the police where to look for it. It was wrapped in plastic bags in a gum plantation just off the road that leads into Umzinto. Duma also revealed the identity of the traditional healer who allegedly assisted him with the murder, and soon after, the police arrested Elias Sihle Mchunu; he carried the nickname "Maak 'n Plan" (Afrikaans for "make a plan"). The pair will go on trial in August.

As the most traumatic incident in Gandhinagar's short history, Nawaaz's death has had a profound impact on the community. Some went for counselling

The waiting has been hard on Zakiya. She had put on a brave face during our interview in December, but by the middle of March the grief of losing a son, particularly in such horrific circumstances, was taking its toll. "She's not well," her mother said during a short telephone conversation. "She's been suffering from depression and has been in and out of hospital. Even I haven't been well. This has been very difficult for us."

"The case is going to take a while," Zakiya had said in our meeting, "but as a mother all I want is justice to be delivered."

As the most tragic and traumatic incident in Gandhinagar's short history, Nawaaz's death has had a profound impact on the community. Some went for counselling. Even non-Muslims attended the 40-day prayer. A stranger who read about Nawaaz in the newspaper drove all the way from Pietermaritzburg to meet Zakiya and console her.

In life Nawaaz Khan inspired those who knew him. His death was so shocking that it shook even those who did not.

Tristan Holme is a freelance cricket writer who covers the game in South Africa and Zimbabwe. He is working on a book about Zimbabwe cricket

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