ICASA ****

ICASA **** that could have been avoided had a single ICASA office i the country answered their phones, after umpteed phone calls. Take a recent encounter as an example: Monday morning, 10am, still half-asleep on my day off. A call jolted me awake.

The caller introduced himself as Themba Maseko, claiming to be from Icasa (the Independent Communications Authority of SA).

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As someone who had recently app**** for a job there, I initially thought this was a follow-up – maybe bad news about not getting the position. But no, Maseko had something far more sinister in store.

The hook Maseko started with a seemingly innocent question: “Do you recognise the number ***?” He informed me that it was a Telkom number recently registered under my name and was now allegedly being used for ******* advertising and harassment.

I responded honestly:

I do have a Telkom line, but I never use it. The SIM isn’t even in a phone. He then rattled off my identity number and full name without a single error. That’s when my sleepy brain snapped to attention. This guy had all my details.

He explained that a case had been opened at Moot Police Station in Pretoria and urged me to visit the station to clear my name.

When I casually mentioned that I’d go later, his tone became urgent, almost panicked. “No, Mr Lebuso, you need to go there within the next two hours, or this will escalate into something serious!”

This was the first red flag. Anyone fami**** with SAPS knows our boys in blue rarely operate with such efficiency, let alone impose deadlines. But I played along, curious to see where this was heading.

The digital trap Sensing my hesitation, Maseko presented an alternative. He offered:

I can connect you directly to Moot Police Station to handle this digitally. Alarm bells were now blaring in my head, but I decided to let the **** play out.

After some hold music, I was “connected” to a supposed Sergeant Mkhize. The sergeant seemed clueless at first, but once I provided a **** case number – 306/1/2024 instead of 306/10/2024 – her story suddenly aligned perfectly with Maseko’s.

This was the final straw. I ended the call, knowing full well it was a ****. Later, a quick search on X confirmed my suspicions. Others had experienced nearly identical calls, with the same tactics and even the same Telkom number.

A victim’s ordeal X user Nishin8ya shared their experience in vivid detail, revealing just how far these ****mers are willing to go.

The **** started with a call from a woman claiming to work at Icasa. She alleged that Nishiny8ya’s identity had been used to register a Telkom number linked to ******* activity.

As in my case, they were told to open a case at Pretoria Central Police Station but, being based in the Western Cape, Nishin8ya declined. The caller then offered to connect them directly to a sergeant at the station.

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Once connected, the sergeant requested personal details, including ID number, address and even qualifications.

The victim was informed that their identity had been linked to a suspect named “Thabiso Thato”, supposedly involved in money laundering and human trafficking worth R5.39 million.

The next step? A WhatsApp video call with a “prosecutor”, who used ************ tactics to extract banking details.

The prosecutor demanded immediate payments into a so-called SAPS account, claiming the funds were needed for a verification system to clear their name. They were able to **** Nishiny8ya out of R880.

Fortunately, Nishin8ya grew suspicious and stopped cooperating before losing all their money.

How they operate The ****mers rely on fear, urgency and official-sounding jargon to manipulate their victims. They use ****** personal information to appear legitimate, and their coordination is impressive. From **** sergeants to prosecutors, they create an elaborate web of deceit.

The goal? To gain access to victims’ bank accounts and siphon off their money under the guise of a “verification process”.

Authorities respond After my encounter, I contacted SAPS spokesperson Athlenda Mathe, who confirmed that this was most definitely a ****.

“This sounds like a ****. I will check with our cybercrime unit,” she said, though there was no update by the time of writing.

Icasa spokesperson Zanele Ntuli also weighed in, acknowledging similar complaints. “Icasa would never call individuals to inform them of such issues, nor would we connect them to SAPS. We advise the public to report such incidents immediately,” Ntuli said.

How to protect yourself ****mers thrive on panic and confusion. Here are some tips to avoid falling victim:

1. Verify the caller: If someone claims to represent an organisation such as Icasa or SAPS, hang up and call the official contact number directly. The number they called me on was ***. 2. Guard your information: Never share personal or banking details over the phone, especially with strangers. 3. Trust your instincts: If something feels off, it probably is. High-pressure tactics are a common red flag. 4. Check online: Search for similar ****s to see if others have reported the same approach. With the festive season fast approaching, ****mers are likely to become more aggressive, knowing people are distracted by holiday preparations.

Stay vigilant, and don’t let these grinches ruin your holiday cheer.

As for me, I’m now triple-checking every call and sharing my story in the hope that others won’t be caught off guard. ****mers may be on the prowl, but knowledge is our best defence.