The high stakes of misjudged bail decisions
The risks of bail backfiring
From King Henry II’s reforms to the streets of Windhoek, the principle of bail is meant to protect the innocent – but, in the case of Elias ‘Small Boy’ Haifete, it appears to have become, according to the charges he is currently facing, a troubling lesson of misjudged justice.
The idea of bail – deciding whether someone accused of a crime should wait for trial while in custody or at home – took shape in 12th-century England under King Henry II. Before then, justice was a local affair in which sheriffs or lords detained or released suspects as they pleased, often in exchange for favours or bribes.
Henry II saw how these officials abused the system, granting freedom to the wealthy while the poor languished in cells, and he sought to restore fairness and order.
To do so, he issued the Assize of Clarendon (1166), which laid down early rules for criminal procedure, and later the Assize of Northampton (1176), which went further by listing crimes that could or could not qualify for release before trial.
These reforms curbed corruption and introduced the key distinction between bailable and non-bailable offences – a principle meant to balance fairness with safety. Minor or less violent crimes were bailable, allowing an accused person to be freed if someone guaranteed their return to court.
Serious crimes such as murder, robbery or arson were non-bailable, keeping suspects in custody because they posed a danger or flight risk.
That logic still shapes modern justice systems, including Namibia’s, where courts must weigh public safety, the risk of reoffending and the seriousness of the charge before granting bail.
Troubling consequences
And yet Elias ‘Small Boy’ Haifete walked free on bail after being granted N$15 000 bail in December 2024. His release, intended to allow him to stand trial as a free man, has since been linked by police to a series of subsequent violent crimes – a decision many now view as a licence to sow fear and destruction.
Police and community members fear that Haifete turned his freedom into a campaign of terror across Windhoek – a series of incidents that, to many, now serve as a chilling reminder of what can happen when the justice system opens its gates too soon and society pays the price.
Haifete’s name quickly became synonymous with fear. He was linked by police to armed robberies across the capital – from Namcor service stations in Soweto and Khomasdal to a cash-in-transit heist at the Choppies supermarket in Katutura and another at the Total Service Station in Lafrenz.
Police say the robberies were carried out by a coordinated criminal gang, often targeting businesses late at night or during cash collections.
Haifete reportedly did not act alone.
He is alleged to have operated with several individuals – Amon Henghali, Lukas 'Big Show' Simon, Pinehas Induwa and Lotto Haindongo – all names familiar to detectives investigating violent crime in the capital.
As the gang’s operations grew bolder, their violence escalated. They struck with military precision, vanishing before police could respond. But as their confidence rose, so did their carelessness.
By July 2025, an intelligence-led police operation in Windhoek’s Lafrenz Industrial and Monte Christo areas brought the group down in a series of raids.
Murder suspect
What the public did not yet know was that, before his arrest, Haifete had allegedly already claimed an innocent life, according to police investigations. On the night of 22 July 2025, he reportedly crossed paths with 39-year-old Fiina Nghifikwa, a woman looking for a room to rent.
Police said that under the pretence of showing her a property on Kigali Street in Wanaheda, he allegedly lured her into a trap. There, he reportedly robbed Nghifikwa and another woman at gunpoint.
During the attack, police claim he shot Fiina, who was rushed to the Katutura/Black Chain Clinic, where she was pronounced dead on arrival.
Another round of bail
When Haifete appeared before the Katutura Magistrate’s Court, Fiina’s family stood outside carrying placards demanding justice.
Inside, prosecutors confirmed that investigations into her murder were still incomplete and asked that the case be postponed to 26 February 2026.
That announcement left many in disbelief. What more is there to investigate? Police had already linked Haifete to a chain of violent robberies, recovered weapons and gathered eyewitness accounts.
How long does it take to build a case when police say their investigation uncovered a trail allegedly marked by evidence and blood?
The longer these investigations drag on, the weaker the case becomes. Witnesses lose interest or disappear, evidence fades and public anger cools into frustration.
By next year, Haifete could be standing before the same court applying for another round of bail, possibly free again to unleash more mayhem on a city police have said is already scarred by his violence.
Haifete and his co-accused were remanded in custody, facing multiple counts of murder, robbery and possession of firearms without a licence.
On the issue of bail, even former South African police minister Bheki Cele once voiced his frustration, rebuking the courts for granting bail to what he called “repeat killers and serial robbers”.
He argued that such leniency turns police work into a revolving door – officers risk their lives to arrest hardened criminals, only to see them walk out of court the next morning, guns and bravado intact.
The idea of bail – deciding whether someone accused of a crime should wait for trial while in custody or at home – took shape in 12th-century England under King Henry II. Before then, justice was a local affair in which sheriffs or lords detained or released suspects as they pleased, often in exchange for favours or bribes.
Henry II saw how these officials abused the system, granting freedom to the wealthy while the poor languished in cells, and he sought to restore fairness and order.
To do so, he issued the Assize of Clarendon (1166), which laid down early rules for criminal procedure, and later the Assize of Northampton (1176), which went further by listing crimes that could or could not qualify for release before trial.
These reforms curbed corruption and introduced the key distinction between bailable and non-bailable offences – a principle meant to balance fairness with safety. Minor or less violent crimes were bailable, allowing an accused person to be freed if someone guaranteed their return to court.
Serious crimes such as murder, robbery or arson were non-bailable, keeping suspects in custody because they posed a danger or flight risk.
That logic still shapes modern justice systems, including Namibia’s, where courts must weigh public safety, the risk of reoffending and the seriousness of the charge before granting bail.
Troubling consequences
And yet Elias ‘Small Boy’ Haifete walked free on bail after being granted N$15 000 bail in December 2024. His release, intended to allow him to stand trial as a free man, has since been linked by police to a series of subsequent violent crimes – a decision many now view as a licence to sow fear and destruction.
Police and community members fear that Haifete turned his freedom into a campaign of terror across Windhoek – a series of incidents that, to many, now serve as a chilling reminder of what can happen when the justice system opens its gates too soon and society pays the price.
Haifete’s name quickly became synonymous with fear. He was linked by police to armed robberies across the capital – from Namcor service stations in Soweto and Khomasdal to a cash-in-transit heist at the Choppies supermarket in Katutura and another at the Total Service Station in Lafrenz.
Police say the robberies were carried out by a coordinated criminal gang, often targeting businesses late at night or during cash collections.
Haifete reportedly did not act alone.
He is alleged to have operated with several individuals – Amon Henghali, Lukas 'Big Show' Simon, Pinehas Induwa and Lotto Haindongo – all names familiar to detectives investigating violent crime in the capital.
As the gang’s operations grew bolder, their violence escalated. They struck with military precision, vanishing before police could respond. But as their confidence rose, so did their carelessness.
By July 2025, an intelligence-led police operation in Windhoek’s Lafrenz Industrial and Monte Christo areas brought the group down in a series of raids.
Murder suspect
What the public did not yet know was that, before his arrest, Haifete had allegedly already claimed an innocent life, according to police investigations. On the night of 22 July 2025, he reportedly crossed paths with 39-year-old Fiina Nghifikwa, a woman looking for a room to rent.
Police said that under the pretence of showing her a property on Kigali Street in Wanaheda, he allegedly lured her into a trap. There, he reportedly robbed Nghifikwa and another woman at gunpoint.
During the attack, police claim he shot Fiina, who was rushed to the Katutura/Black Chain Clinic, where she was pronounced dead on arrival.
Another round of bail
When Haifete appeared before the Katutura Magistrate’s Court, Fiina’s family stood outside carrying placards demanding justice.
Inside, prosecutors confirmed that investigations into her murder were still incomplete and asked that the case be postponed to 26 February 2026.
That announcement left many in disbelief. What more is there to investigate? Police had already linked Haifete to a chain of violent robberies, recovered weapons and gathered eyewitness accounts.
How long does it take to build a case when police say their investigation uncovered a trail allegedly marked by evidence and blood?
The longer these investigations drag on, the weaker the case becomes. Witnesses lose interest or disappear, evidence fades and public anger cools into frustration.
By next year, Haifete could be standing before the same court applying for another round of bail, possibly free again to unleash more mayhem on a city police have said is already scarred by his violence.
Haifete and his co-accused were remanded in custody, facing multiple counts of murder, robbery and possession of firearms without a licence.
On the issue of bail, even former South African police minister Bheki Cele once voiced his frustration, rebuking the courts for granting bail to what he called “repeat killers and serial robbers”.
He argued that such leniency turns police work into a revolving door – officers risk their lives to arrest hardened criminals, only to see them walk out of court the next morning, guns and bravado intact.
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