CHAPTER ONE
Jiggers My Foot!
In January 1968, I joined a new primary school to begin Classin January 1968, I joined a new primary school to begin Class Three. Weeks earlier, my family had moved from our ancestral home to take up ownership of a farm we had been allocated in a government settlement scheme. Being one of many families that had moved into the area, we were basically beginning a new community. Some families had moved in before us while others were yet to relocate because their homes were still under construction.
When we turned up at school that January morning, the school building was half done. The roofing was complete but nothing else. Every inch of wall was no more than upright poles, a couple of yards apart, propping up the roof. Rafters needed to be nailed on to those poles after which the walls would be plastered with mud. But school had to start that morning.
The school was situated next to a run-down former settler compound and there were many loose bricks lying about. We each grabbed a brick, set it on the yellowing grass, sat down and began learning, using our laps as tables. As we walked in and out of that class day after day, the yellow grass soon withered and dried up leaving behind a thin, fine film of dust. And with that began a hitherto unknown experience for us.
Where we'd previously sat quietly on our bricks, one hand holding an exercise book and the other trying to write on it, this latter hand soon began to find it necessary to - every so often - delegate its pencil-holding duties to the mouth, before reaching out to the toes of our feet to administer an urgently needed scratch. Our little minds just could not figure out what was happening to us and our feet.

CHAPTER TWO
What it Means to Be Ordinary
You've probably heard this story before, but let me tell it anyway.
It was in the early hours of the morning and all was quiet in the five-storey, five-star hotel. The last of the guests, most of whom had spent the better part of the night in the bar, the dancing floor or the casino had finally crept into bed and it was peace and quiet all round.
In the midst of this peaceful beginning to a new day, smoke began to billow out of one of the windows on the first floor. The building was on fire. The few workers who were on night duty quickly made their way to the upper floors where the guest rooms were, intent on warning the guests of the fast-spreading fire. As they moved from door to door, they were confronted by signs declaring boldly: PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB.

another day, those little signs would have turned them back. But not this morning, not with a fiery death fast approaching. On another day, the thought of an angry voice shouting: "What's wrong with you, can't you read?" would have been enough to send the breathless men back to their work stations. But not this morning; lives had to be saved.
The workers went from door to door, banging away and shouting "Fire!" A few angry voices did indeed inquire about their literacy and state of mind, but they kept going until everyone was safely evacuated. In the end, everyone was of course glad that those little signs had been ignored.
An ordinary life is often a deceptively "comfortable", quiet life. Having paid our bills and owing no one anything, we feel it's too much trouble committing ourselves to demanding changes and directions that may lead to an improvement in our finances. So we put that little PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door to this area of our lives, pull the blanket over our heads and go to sleep. We know that our marriage is barely holding on, but because "we're not fighting," again we'd rather be left alone. In any case "most marriages are like this, anyway." So we commission the sign artist at the corner of the street to do for us that little sign for the door to our marriage. Before we know it, we have several of these, one for each of the many doorways into our lives.
All the same, I want to ignore those little signs and tap on your door. As I have found out, it is possible to live beyond the ordinary in many areas of our lives. We can overcome the disadvantages of our past and present, and put some transparency into our opaque future. Of course some areas of our lives will probably never go beyond the ordinary but many others can, and should.
Down in Kisii country where I come from, we have a saying that - literally translated - goes something like this: He who has a kinsman gets led by the hand, but the one with no kinsman is left holding on to a dry sycamore twig. For some people, it is easier to dream than for others. All they need to do is dream and someone will be there to give them a helping hand. We don't get surprised when we read about their successful business ventures in the papers. For others, it's not so much that they have someone to help them out. They just happen to be smart and gifted. So they keep moving from one top position to another, their hand well held and guided by their abilities.
Unfortunately most of us are not like that. We literally have to grind through every step in life and, more often than not, our idea of success is to be up to date on our rent and other bills. If we can somehow manage to regularly meet the needs of our families, even barely, we sigh with relief. Thereafter, our lives take a predictable thirty-day cycle; twenty-nine days of accumulating debts and one day of paying them off. Long before we are forty, an unsettling sense of resignation has already settled over our lives.
It is for this reason that I became suicidal when I was twenty-nine. I had been a teacher for five years, but within those five years I was just one step away from reaching the top of what my teaching career had to offer me. So what was I going to do for the rest of my life? And if this was fulfilment, why was I broke financially, emotionally and spiritually?
Two kinds of ordinary
In my opinion, there are two kinds of ordinary. The first is the one that we have described above. Here, we are ordinary by virtue of the circumstances or families into which we are born. We don't choose our parents or race. We don't choose the colour of our skin and I don't think we select an IQ before we turn up. There's little we can do to change any of these initial designations. We can’t determine to whom or under what circumstances we are born. If our parents are poor, we'll be born into a poor family. If they're cattle rustlers, that's the infamy we get born into.
But that does not designate us poor or cattle rustlers for the rest of our lives. You probably have had opportunity to watch the start of a big marathon race with thousands at the starting line. Some competitors are in front while others are way back in that sea of humanity. But you know they don't necessarily finish in that order. Forty years ago you started the race at the rear of that pack. Now that does not explain what you are still doing at the back of the pack four decades later. Here is what explains why you're way back there: the second kind of ordinary.
The second kind of ordinary is ordinary by the choices we make, and that is what we want to tackle in this book. Most people who are doing badly aren't in that condition because of circumstances. Circumstances only affect the beginning of the race. And yes, they can prove a big handicap and draw back along the way, but only so far, only so much.

Chapter 1
‘A woman who sweeps her yard after the sun has risen will make a bad wife,’ Ambition’s mother used to tell Senzeni whenever she was late up. Her brother knew why: You’re happy when you dream of nice things. But, today, although it’s the school holidays, and he does not have to sweep the yard, which is the duty of women, Ambition has woken up very early after a restless night as if someone, somewhere, was trying to tell him something.
Standing at the gate, he looks down Sibambene Street. The sun has just risen, promising another warm autumn day. His mother has already swept their yard, and is now busy washing the dishes by the door. ‘Hawu, up so early Ambi, what’s the matter?’ Ambition rubbed his eyes and yawned, ‘Nothing, Mama, my sleep is gone.’
‘Then you must be missing school, my child.’ His mother smiled, her eyes glancing over him, as if checking, as only a mother can, to see if her son has woken up any taller. ‘Don’t worry, the holiday will soon be over and you’ll be back with your books again.’ She gathers her dishes and goes into the house.
Lobengula Township sprawls over a series of rises in the western townships of Bulawayo. Named after last King of the Ndebele, it can be clearly seen on the skyline from Luveve, Magwegwe, Njube and Emakhandeni. Ambition and his family stay on the northernmost rise, the one that faces towards Luveve and Emakhandeni.
Although it’s early, a radio is already blasting gangster music from one of the houses along the street. Ambition knows it’s 3Pac’s. He’s the one who’s always the first to switch on his radio. 3Pac was a strange man. Gangster music, Ambition thought, was not for men his age. He should be listening to traditional music like imbube, which his father liked.
He can also hear the shouts of children playing ‘hit me,’ and guessed Ntando must be with them, for his friend was always an early riser, sometimes sitting outside Ambition’s door waiting for him to wake up to go and play.
A few women – one, two, three, four, five: one big mother and four thin mothers – are sweeping the five yards of their five houses after the sun has risen. Five bad wives. Suddenly, MaVundla stops and pulls herself upright. She’s the big one whom his father says is too clever by half. She looks in his direction. Even at a distance, Ambition can see that her mouth has opened in surprise or shock.
Then she turns to her neighbour, a woman Ambition does not know as she’s only recently arrived in their line. MaVundla seems to say something and the other woman jerks upright and they both stare in his direction. Then, one by one, from both sides of the street, all the sweeping women straighten up and stare at him.
Ambition’s mind races. Has MaVundla gossiped about him, or his family, or Senzeni, and so early in the morning, although the way they’re standing seems to suggest something else? They appear poised, as if about to drop their sweeps and explode into their houses. But they also look as if they’re playing Statue, and only waiting for Ambition to call ‘relax’ so they can continue their work.
When a call comes, it does so from behind him, and it’s the cry of an adult, ‘They’re coming!’
He turns. A man is running towards him.
It’s Mr Nkani, the bald teacher who left Lobengula II High at the end of the year, whose picture is on some of the election posters now pasted all over the township. People say he wants to be an MP for the MDC.
As he draws closer, Ambition sees blood flowing down the left side of his face. It’s stained his shirt as if somebody has sprayed him with raspberry juice. ‘Run! Hide!’ Mr Nkani shouts as he races past him. ‘They’re behind me!’
‘Ambition!’ his mother screams from the open window of the kitchen, dread on her face. ‘Quick! Come into the house!’ Ntando’s chubby face appears beside his mother, his eyes seem huge with fear.
‘No, Mama.’ Ambition hitches up his sagging shorts.
‘No!’ MaNdlovu’s face disappears from the window.
Ambition looks down the street. There’s nobody in sight. Mr Nkani and the sweeping women have disappeared.
He looks up the street, as a gang of youths turn into it running hard and in silence. Only the fury of their pounding feet and pumping arms signals their intention. Green Bombers in green T-shirts. The country’s flag streams above them as if they’re accompanied by a brightly coloured bird.
His mother appears behind him, snatches him up in both hands, and runs into the house with him, as if he were weightless.
So, Ambition now peers at the action through the kitchen window, as if he were watching a forbidden movie on television. His mother is beside him, her mouth rigid with fear; Ntando is on the other side, his face pressed against the glass, and Ambition can feel excitement radiating off his body.
The Green Bombers zip past the gate. Nobody needs to be told whom they want to catch today.
***
Ambition, Ntando and some friends had been returning from a soccer game in Luveve Township just a week previously when they’d seen the Green Bombers near Lobengula Hall. They’d been chasing a man and a woman wearing MDC T-shirts, just as they were chasing Mr Nkani now. The couple had been caught in front of their eyes and had been kicked and stomped on until, covered in blood, they lay on the ground as if dead.

Chapter 1
‘A woman who sweeps her yard after the sun has risen will make a bad wife,’ Ambition’s mother used to tell Senzeni whenever she was late up. Her brother knew why: You’re happy when you dream of nice things. But, today, although it’s the school holidays, and he does not have to sweep the yard, which is the duty of women, Ambition has woken up very early after a restless night as if someone, somewhere, was trying to tell him something.
Standing at the gate, he looks down Sibambene Street. The sun has just risen, promising another warm autumn day. His mother has already swept their yard, and is now busy washing the dishes by the door. ‘Hawu, up so early Ambi, what’s the matter?’ Ambition rubbed his eyes and yawned, ‘Nothing, Mama, my sleep is gone.’
‘Then you must be missing school, my child.’ His mother smiled, her eyes glancing over him, as if checking, as only a mother can, to see if her son has woken up any taller. ‘Don’t worry, the holiday will soon be over and you’ll be back with your books again.’ She gathers her dishes and goes into the house.
Lobengula Township sprawls over a series of rises in the western townships of Bulawayo. Named after last King of the Ndebele, it can be clearly seen on the skyline from Luveve, Magwegwe, Njube and Emakhandeni. Ambition and his family stay on the northernmost rise, the one that faces towards Luveve and Emakhandeni.
Although it’s early, a radio is already blasting gangster music from one of the houses along the street. Ambition knows it’s 3Pac’s. He’s the one who’s always the first to switch on his radio. 3Pac was a strange man. Gangster music, Ambition thought, was not for men his age. He should be listening to traditional music like imbube, which his father liked.
He can also hear the shouts of children playing ‘hit me,’ and guessed Ntando must be with them, for his friend was always an early riser, sometimes sitting outside Ambition’s door waiting for him to wake up to go and play.
A few women – one, two, three, four, five: one big mother and four thin mothers – are sweeping the five yards of their five houses after the sun has risen. Five bad wives. Suddenly, MaVundla stops and pulls herself upright. She’s the big one whom his father says is too clever by half. She looks in his direction. Even at a distance, Ambition can see that her mouth has opened in surprise or shock.
Then she turns to her neighbour, a woman Ambition does not know as she’s only recently arrived in their line. MaVundla seems to say something and the other woman jerks upright and they both stare in his direction. Then, one by one, from both sides of the street, all the sweeping women straighten up and stare at him.
Ambition’s mind races. Has MaVundla gossiped about him, or his family, or Senzeni, and so early in the morning, although the way they’re standing seems to suggest something else? They appear poised, as if about to drop their sweeps and explode into their houses. But they also look as if they’re playing Statue, and only waiting for Ambition to call ‘relax’ so they can continue their work.
When a call comes, it does so from behind him, and it’s the cry of an adult, ‘They’re coming!’
He turns. A man is running towards him.
It’s Mr Nkani, the bald teacher who left Lobengula II High at the end of the year, whose picture is on some of the election posters now pasted all over the township. People say he wants to be an MP for the MDC.
As he draws closer, Ambition sees blood flowing down the left side of his face. It’s stained his shirt as if somebody has sprayed him with raspberry juice. ‘Run! Hide!’ Mr Nkani shouts as he races past him. ‘They’re behind me!’
‘Ambition!’ his mother screams from the open window of the kitchen, dread on her face. ‘Quick! Come into the house!’ Ntando’s chubby face appears beside his mother, his eyes seem huge with fear.
‘No, Mama.’ Ambition hitches up his sagging shorts.
‘No!’ MaNdlovu’s face disappears from the window.
Ambition looks down the street. There’s nobody in sight. Mr Nkani and the sweeping women have disappeared.
He looks up the street, as a gang of youths turn into it running hard and in silence. Only the fury of their pounding feet and pumping arms signals their intention. Green Bombers in green T-shirts. The country’s flag streams above them as if they’re accompanied by a brightly coloured bird.
His mother appears behind him, snatches him up in both hands, and runs into the house with him, as if he were weightless.
So, Ambition now peers at the action through the kitchen window, as if he were watching a forbidden movie on television. His mother is beside him, her mouth rigid with fear; Ntando is on the other side, his face pressed against the glass, and Ambition can feel excitement radiating off his body.
The Green Bombers zip past the gate. Nobody needs to be told whom they want to catch today.
***
Ambition, Ntando and some friends had been returning from a soccer game in Luveve Township just a week previously when they’d seen the Green Bombers near Lobengula Hall. They’d been chasing a man and a woman wearing MDC T-shirts, just as they were chasing Mr Nkani now. The couple had been ca,ught in front of their eyes and had been kicked and stomped on until, covered in blood, they lay on the ground as if dead.

‘Don’t blame me for your failures!’ MaNdlovu blazes.
Before Ngwenya can respond, Ambition darts to the door, opens it, and runs out. It bangs closed.
His mother’s cry follows him, ‘Come back, Ambition!’, as the boy slips through a hole in the delele hedge between his home and Ntando’s.
Tracked by the white-hot eye of the mid-morning sun, he runs across Ntando’s backyard. There’s nobody in sight, only the shirt and trousers of a police uniform hanging on a washing line, looking like an upside-down officer. Gangster music is blasting over the township again.
Ambition squeezes through another hole in the hedge on the other side of the yard and into MaVundla’s property. There’s no one there either, and he quickly runs past a vegetable garden flooded with sewer effluent.
Slipping through the strands of a wire fence on the other side, he observes MaVundla standing before the open door of the house from which the music is pouring. Looking angry, she’s holding a pair of children’s black school shoes in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 3Pac comes out, a cap back to front on his head, a bottle of beer in one hand.
‘I want my money right now!’ MaVundla yells at him.
‘Bring those shoes back before I hit you!’ 3Pac shouts above the noise of the music, waving his bottle at her. ‘How many times have I told you that they belong to a client?’
3Pac and MaVundla are so angry with each other that even though Ambition is in full view, they show no sign of having seen him.
‘You’re going to hit your grandmother’s buttocks not me!’ MaVundla points at him with her cigarette. ‘What kind of a man are you that picks up women and then fails to pay them after you’ve satisfied yourself?’
‘I’ll hit you if you don’t watch your mouth!’
‘Hee-hee-hee!’ MaVundla laughs shrilly. ‘Hit me and see what’ll happen to you, boy!’ She throws the cigarette at him, and 3Pac’s bottle flies at her. Quick as a flash, MaVundla ducks, and the bottle whizzes past Ambition’s head. Seeing the bottle miss his target, 3Pac leaps at MaVundla and she races away, the old man in hot pursuit. As she runs, she yells, ‘I want my money! My body is not for free!’
‘Prostitute!’ 3Pac shouts as he chases after her. He’s running as if he’s wet his trousers, legs wide, one hand gripping his trousers by the belt as if they might fall down. Pursuer and pursued disappear around the house, as Ambition runs across the yard and climbs over the fence.
Finally, he emerges into Sibambene Street, six houses away from his home. He walks fast, heading east past pockets of people, mostly agitated women talking in hushed tones.
He walks purposefully on, until he emerges into Masiyephambili Drive. He waits for a long distance haulage truck to roar past, and then skips to the other side. He’s in a small bushy area between Lobengula and Njube townships, where a tall marula tree provides shade. An Apostolic Faith Church group is congregated there. Ambition heads towards them.
Chapter 3
The congregation is not very large; its members, all singing, are kneeling before the priest in neat rows, their white gowns contrasting with the monotony of the earth colours of the autumn bush. When the priest, Siziba, sees Ambition, he raises his long staff over his head, as if he wants to hook something above him. The singing stops immediately. Ambition stops before him and hitches up his shorts.
The priest regards him silently. He’s an elderly man with a clean-shaven head and a long white beard. A huge red cross is stitched to the front of his gown.
‘You’re late today,’ Siziba’s voice is low and grating. ‘It’s past eleven now.’
‘There were Green Bombers in the street,’ Ambition replies. ‘My mother didn’t want me to leave the house.’
‘We saw the fighting from here,’ Siziba acknowledges. ‘Has your sister returned home?’
Ambition shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘She was with the Green Bombers today.’
Siziba raises his face to the sky, closes his eyes, and breaks into a song. The congregation do the same. Still singing, Siziba hands his Bible and staff to the woman kneeling beside him, his wife MaSiziba. Beside her is MaChivanda, the money-changer who lives in the big yellow house behind Ambition’s home.
Then, stretching his arms towards Ambition, his eyes half-closed, the priest flicks his fingers in and out, beckoning him nearer. Ambition steps forward and kneels in front of Siziba, who grips his face in both his hands, and looking up to the heavens breaks into tongues, while the women sing. MaChivanda is leading in a light but beautiful descant.
Ambition feels Siziba’s palms on his cheeks squeezing them so that his lips pout. It makes him feel silly. Given a choice, he would have preferred the priest to place his hands on his head, as he does with the adults.
Finally, the prayer ends, and Siziba joins in the singing again, smoothly taking the lead from MaChivanda. Removing his hands from Ambition’s cheeks, he takes a strip of red cloth from a bag at his feet and, still singing, he ties it around the boy’s forehead. Then he takes a length of white cloth from the bag, pours a little water on it, and hands the cloth to Ambition.

Busi stared at the girls on the stage. They were her friends. Why wasn’t she up there with them? The answer was simple – because she hadn’t entered Hamony High’s talent competition. She couldn’t sing like Ntombi, dance like Lettie, or tell a joke like Asanda. No, the only talent she had was being late for school! A loud cheer went up around her: “Usebenzile!” In front of her Unathi leapt from his seat and punched the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I knew they could do it!” He turned and grinned at Busi triumphantly. “Aren’t they great?” Busi looked away from Unathi’s stupid, grinning face. She turned her back to the platform where Lettie, Asanda and Ntombi stood smiling, waving and blowing kisses at their adoring fans.

“Let’s give a round of applause for our dream team. We are proud to have three such talented students at Harmony High. They are going to go on to do great things!” Busi had never seen Principal Khumalo so excited. “Ntombi paved the way for Harmony High with the Teen Voice Competition. Now her two friends are proving that they are just as talented.” His words made Busi sick. She was Ntombi’s friend too – her third forgotten friend.
There were more announcements – about the soccer game that weekend and the extra lessons that were being offered after school. One of the teachers found a pair of underpants in the girls’ toilets. “Could the person responsible please come forward,” the teacher said. The girls in front of her giggled. They were so childish, thought Busi. She couldn’t wait for assembly to end.
Once the teachers left the hall everyone crowded around Ntombi, Lettie and Asanda, wanting to be their new “best friend”. When Lettie turned and smiled and waved at Busi, she couldn’t smile back. She picked up her bag and pushed her way to the back of the hall, where she told a prefect that she needed the bathroom. “
Now,” she said. The prefect nodded.
* * *
In the girls’ toilets she stared at herself in the mirror. “Why?” she asked her reflection. “Why are you so useless? Why are you so ugly?
Why aren’t you talented like your friends?” Tears welled up in her eyes.
The clapping in assembly finally stopped. She dried her tears and washed her face. But she wasn’t ready to go back into the hall. What she needed was a way out. And there it was. One of the windows in the bathroom had been taken out to be fixed. She could see the blue sky through it.
Her bag went first. She threw it out, climbed onto the toilet and squashed herself through the narrow window frame. Good! She landed in the sand and brushed herself off. Then she picked up her bag and ran for the fence. She lay against it, her heart thumping in her chest. No one had noticed. She stood up again and pushed her way through a hole and out onto the road. Freedom!
* * *
Then she heard music – the thump, thump, thump of a bass beat as a taxi slowed down and crawled along the pavement next to her. She stopped. Should she turn and run? But where? Back to school? She had no plan. And now the taxi was stopping and the driver was leaning over and opening the passenger door. He beckoned her to get inside.
Busi looked back down the street. There was Mr Soci, the Life Sciences teacher, staggering in through the gates of Harmony High – late again, and drunk. He turned around and stared at the taxi. Before he’d had a chance to work out who she was, Busi jumped in.
“Running away from school?” the driver asked, jokingly. His shirt was undone to show off a smooth, muscled chest and the gold chain around his neck glittered in the sun. He gave her a lazy, sexy smile. She knew the drivers who stopped at the school on their taxi route and she didn’t recognise him. Why had she never seen him before? She was surprised by how handsome he was.
He turned the music down. “Hey, not everyone likesLoyiso. It’s not every girl’s choice,” he laughed.
“What’s that?” she said, distractedly. She hadn’t heard him properly, she was worried Mr Soci had recognised her. Was he walking to Mr Khumalo’s office right now to report her? But then Mr Khumalo would smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I said,Loyiso isn’t every girl’s fantasy. Is he yours?”
“He’s okay,” she shrugged.
The street ahead of them was empty. Where was he going, and why was she the only passenger?
“Did you get bored with school?” He revved the engine and put the taxi into first. She still had time to open the door and jump out. “I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “You can have much more fun out here. How old are you? You can’t be more than fourteen?”
“Fifteen. I’m fifteen,” Busi said quickly, suddenly wishing that she was older and that she wasn’t dressed in her school uniform.
They were driving further and further away from Harmony High. He was taking a right, then a left, weaving between the narrow streets in the township. She would never remember the route.
“Am I so ugly that you can’t look at me?” he teased. She smiled – she couldn’t help it. Driving around in his taxi felt so much better than some stupid English class. He had stopped to pick her up and he let her sit up front. She was
somebody in his taxi, not the untalented nobody she was at school.
“So, which lesson are you missing?” He reached over and stroked her cheek lightly with his finger.
“English,” she said. “Romeo and Juliet, actually.”
“Those star-crossed lovers – like us, baby girl …,” he said softly, his voice silky smooth. She stared at him. “How come a taxi driver knows Shakespeare? Is that what you’re thinking?” he laughed, and Busi felt herself blushing. “Well, I’m not just any old taxi driver. I own a fleet of taxis. And that’s not all …”

So he was rich, good-looking and clever. But she shouldn’t be letting him drive her around like this. And she didn’t have taxi fare. “Never talk to strangers, Busi.” That’s what her granny always told her. “And if you are in trouble, call me. Day or night. Uyandiva?”
“Ewe, Makhulu. Ndiyakuva,” she always replied. And here she was talking to a stranger and letting him drive her who-knows-where. She didn’t even know his name.
“Parks,” he said, as if he had read her thoughts. “My name’s Thando, but my friends call me Parks.” He reached over to shake her hand. His hand was warm … and he held hers a little too long. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”
“Busi,” she said.
Then she heard a rasping cough from the back of the taxi. She had thought they were alone. Swinging around, she saw a man lying across the back seat. Dirty jeans and a filthy old T-shirt covered his thin body. He coughed again and his whole body shook. Then he spat phlegm out onto his hand and wiped it over his pants. It was disgusting. “Don’t worry about him,” Parks said. “He’s got a problem. I’ll have to get a new
gaadjie soon.”
She wouldn’t look back again, not even if the gaadjiespoke, she thought. “So, what are you going to tell your teachers when they ask where you were?” asked Parks, as he pulled into a garage to get petrol.
“I’ll tell them I’m not well,” Busi said. Right now that was true. She was feeling car sick from the petrol fumes and the thought of the
gaadjie on the back seat.
When the tank was full Parks asked her, “So, where do you want to go?” And then, “Don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to kidnap you.”
“Home,” she said quickly, suddenly fearful of what she had done. “Can you take me home?”
“Of course.” He stared at her for a minute. “I mean, if that’s what you want?” She couldn’t look at him; she just nodded.
“Here,” she said when they got to her street. She pointed to a house a block away from their shack. The last thing she wanted was for her granny to see her arriving in a strange taxi with a man old enough to be her father. She didn’t stop to think why Parks hadn’t asked her for directions, how he knew where she lived.
“Bye, sweetie.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be watching out for you. How does a free ride sound sometime?”
“Good,” she said, uncertainly.
Chapter 2
Busi stood outside the shack where she lived with her granny. She had to get her story straight before she went in. Her grandmother would ask her a hundred questions. Where were you? Why weren’t you at school? She would say that she had stomach cramps. Her granny would believe that. But when she finally opened the door and went inside, she wasn’t there. Something was wrong.
Her grandmother was old and didn’t get out much. She went to the clinic on Wednesdays and she had umgalelowith her friends on Fridays. But today was Monday – she should be at home. Busi went out into the yard to check if she had fallen. But the yard was empty. If she went to ask the neighbours, rumours would fly. No, she would wait a while and see if her granny came home. Perhaps she had gone to visit a friend. If she came back after three o’clock she would never know that Busi had come home early.
It was cold lying on her bed. Their shack was dimly lit and an icy wind was blowing through a hole in the zinc sheeting. They would have to fix it before the winter rains. If only they had more money. Her mother and father had gone to Jozi to look for better jobs, but they hadn’t sent any money back. Then she thought of Parks with his fleet of taxis. He was rich, and he liked her. He made her feel like a queen and he wasn’t awkward like the boys at school. Yes, that was the difference. They were boys and Parks was a man.
She thought of his smile. What she had done was dangerous – she knew that. If she saw him again she would just keep walking. But what if he stopped and opened the taxi door? What would she do then?
Parks had joked about kidnapping her. But it happened every day. She read The Sun. There were so many photos of children who had gone missing. She remembered one little girl’s trusting face. Her name was Cheryl and she disappeared the day before Christmas. She left to go to the shop and never returned. Where were those missing boys and girls?
But Parks had taken her home when she’d asked him to, and he had opened the door for her. He was a gentleman. Busi fell asleep and dreamed of him.
* * *
When she woke up it was already late in the afternoon. She could smell the wood smoke from fires in the street, and the sweet smell of roasting meat on the fire drums. Then she heard the familiar sound of her grandmother’s cough, and the clatter of dishes. “I wondered if you were going to sleep until tomorrow,” her granny said when Busi pushed back the blanket that separated the bedroom from the kitchen. She wasn’t sure when her grandmother had returned. She wasn’t sure if she knew that she had missed school.
“I was feeling ill,” she said, to be safe. “I came home early.”
“I know.” Her grandmother put her hand against Busi’s forehead. “Are you feeling any better now?”

“Yes,” said Busi, trying to see if her granny believed her. “Thank you.”
“I was feeling ill myself earlier. I went to the clinic. On the way back I passed some friends of yours from Harmony High. That boy, the nice one, greeted me. You know, the one who helped me carry my shopping that time.”
“Unathi?”
“That’s it.” Her face lit up, remembering. “He told me you weren’t at school. He was worried, Busi.”
Busi thought of how, not so long ago, she had written love letters to Unathi. And how upset she had been when he returned them unopened. He seemed so cool and sexy and all she wanted was to be his girlfriend. But now that she had met Parks, Unathi seemed so young and inexperienced – such a boy. Now she had met a real man.
“Why should Unathi worry?” said Busi quickly. “He doesn’t really care about me.”
“No? That’s not how it seemed to me.”
“What did they say at the clinic, Gogo?” Busi asked, trying to change the subject. “Are you sick? Did they give you something to make you better?”
“It’s just my blood pressure. I forgot to take my pills.”
“I can help you to remember to take them, Gogo. I can even get a pill box for you. Asanda’s granny has one. It has a place where you put the pills for every day of the week. You can easily see if you have forgotten one.”
“That sounds like a very clever thing. Thank you, Busi,” her granny said, taking her hand. “You know something, my child? I like to have you living here with me. I am lucky to have such a kind granddaughter.” Busi smiled and hugged her. “I’m sorry it’s sometimes boring for you,” her granny continued. “But I am blessed that you are such a good girl. I know you would never do anything stupid. Utata Nomama abanangxaki. They have nothing to worry about.” She looked at Busi closely.
What did her parents care what happened to her, Busi thought. They had left her here with her grandmother. When last had they phoned her? It was easier for them without her. Hadn’t she heard her mother tell their neighbour that she wished she hadn’t had a baby so young; that Busi had ruined her chances in life?
“I’ll go get us some meat for supper,” Busi said. “Before it gets too late.”
“Come straight home,” her granny cautioned.
Out on the street she felt better. Her head felt clearer. It had been dangerous climbing out of the window and getting into Parks’s taxi – dangerous, but exciting at the same time. She was lucky, she told herself. Things could have gone differently. He could have taken her away, raped her and left her for dead in a ditch somewhere. It had been dangerous. But she knew she would do it again.
She heard a shout from the end of the road. It was Lettie and Unathi. They were waving. She waved back. This time when she came up to Lettie she gave her a big hug. “Well done for winning best dancer in the talent show. Mtsalane!” she said. And she was surprised to find that she really meant it. Suddenly it didn’t matter so much that her friends were popular. Now she had something of her own. Something exciting that her friends didn’t share. She had her own thrilling secret – and his name was Parks.
“Where did you go?” Unathi asked her.
“Why does it matter to you?” Busi said cheekily.
“It doesn’t really,” he shrugged.
“So, why are you asking?”
“Mr Ntlanti wanted to know where you were. I told him you had stomach cramps,” said Lettie.
“Phew, thanks,” Busi said.
“Didyou have stomach cramps?” Unathi questioned her.
“Yes, I did. Do you think I’m lying?” she snapped.
“How come you didn’t tell anyone that you were sick?” He wouldn’t leave it alone. He was like a dog with a bone.
“Enough with the questions,” joked Lettie, seeing Busi’s face. “Uyadika!”Then, as Unathi walked away, she said quietly, “It’s just because he likes you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it,” Busi replied.
Where was he last term when I liked him, she thought? With another girl! Busi had bad luck with boys. She thought of Ebenezer. She had dated him until that day when they’d had a terrible fight. He’d pushed her and she had fallen hard onto the tar behind the sports shed. At the sound of her screaming, Asanda and Ntombi had come running and Ebenezer had fled, leaving her with a broken arm. Parks was different, she told herself. He was a gentleman, and so funny and good-looking. He had taken her home when she had asked him to and offered her free rides in his taxi.
“Are you coming to soccer tomorrow afternoon?” Lettie asked, interrupting Busi’s daydream. She put her arm around Busi’s shoulders. “You’re the best goalie our team has ever had,” she coaxed. “You know how we lose when you’re not there.”
“Maybe.”
“We can take the taxi together. I’ll wait outside the gate after school.”
“Sure,” said Busi. But as she walked back with the meat for supper, she wasn’t so sure she would be going to soccer. She found herself thinking about Parks again. She couldn’t get him out of her head. Why had he come past Harmony High? Why had he changed his taxi route that day?

Chapter 3
“Something’s happened to you,” Asanda said at school the next morning.
“Not that I know of,” Busi lied. They were trying to finish their homework before the siren went off, and it was Busi’s turn to press her book against Asanda’s back.
“You could’ve fooled me,” Asanda went on.
If there was anyone who could read people, it was Asanda. She always knew when something was going on with Busi – she would have to be careful. Asanda knew her too well. She could tell that Busi had a secret she wasn’t sharing. And Busi wasn’t ready for Asanda to know – not Asanda, or Lettie, or anybody for that matter. They might spoil it for her. They might try to stop her from seeing Parks.
“Is something wrong? Are you upset because we were in the talent show? I know it must be difficult for you. You know you can tell me anything.” Asanda sounded concerned.
“I do know that,” said Busi.
“Good! Now, can you hurry up? My back’s going to break. I feel like a donkey.”
“Finished!” Busi announced, shutting her Maths book.
“Phew! At last!” Asanda replied, stretching. “Did you do number 5? It was so hard. I felt like my brain was exploding.”
“I left it out,” said Busi.
“Why don’t you ask Unathi to help you? He told me he finished all of them. You know how clever he is,” said Asanda, as Lettie came up and joined them.
“Yes, Busi. You’re the only one he’d give answers to. If you asked nicely, of course,” Lettie chipped in.
“I swear he just doesn’t know how to tell Busi that he likes her,” Asanda laughed.
“What happened to his girlfriend in Jozi?” said Busi. Last term she had caught Unathi staring at a photo of a very pretty girl and she had been filled with jealousy. It seemed like such a long time ago. Things had changed so fast. Everything was different now.
“You know how people talk,” Lettie said, “Don’t believe everything they say about Unathi.”
“I won’t,” replied Busi. “And I won’t believe anything that Unathi says. Anyway, I’m not into boys.”
“Oh?” Asanda and Lettie said together. “It’s like that, hey?” Busi hadn’t meant to say anything. She shouldn’t have opened her big mouth.
“No, I’m not into boys … I’m into men.” She tried to sound casual.
“Men? So Harmony High boys aren’t good enough for you any more?”
Luckily the siren went off before their interrogation could begin. “Don’t forget. I’ll meet you at the gate after school for soccer practice,” Lettie reminded her as they went upstairs to class.
“If you’re not too busy chasing M-E-N!” Asanda teased.
* * *
When the final siren went Busi was the first out of the school gates. She waited for Lettie and Asanda. She decided to go to soccer and even changed into her soccer gear. If she was going to see Parks, she would have to be careful. She would have to make sure that her friends didn’t find out. And if she missed soccer today they would become suspicious.
But Mr Ntlanti made Asanda and Lettie help him carry books back to the storeroom after class. She was alone at the gate waiting for them when she heard loud music from a car radio. She recognised Busi Mhlongo’s Zithini iziswe. Her heart skipped a beat as Parks’s taxi turned the corner and cruised to a stop next to her. She looked down at her soccer gear. Oh no, she thought, he can’t see me like this. I look like a guy in this gear, not the pretty girl he said I was yesterday. If only I was wearing my netball clothes. But it was too late to run back and change into the short skirt that showed off her legs.
Parks opened the door and she got in – like she knew she would. She looked back quickly. “Let’s go,” she said, not wanting her friends to see her leaving in his taxi.
“In a hurry today?” Parks teased. “Not the shy girl of yesterday!” And then, seeing her worried expression, he added, “I’m not complaining! I like assertive girls. Assertive and sporty!”
There was a wheezy cackle from the back of the taxi. It was the
gaadjie. Today he was awake, if you could call it that. He reminded her of those boys she had seen under the bridge, with that spaced-out look from sniffing glue. It was like their bodies were present but their minds were somewhere far away. The gaadjie was lost in the music that pumped from the speakers. He swayed back and forth to the beat. But when Busi looked at him he stuck his tongue out at her. She quickly turned to the front. He gave her the creeps.
“Thula wena!”Parks shouted. The
gaadjie stopped. “He knows who’s boss, but he’s crazy,” laughed Parks. “Remind me to get rid of him.” Busi didn’t want him there, leering at her. It would be so much better if it were just the two of them.
“Doesn’t he put the customers off?” she asked Parks, whose taxi was empty again today. It was strange – usually the taxis around Harmony High were packed. Parks laughed.
“I’m off today,” he said. “I came here just for you.” Then he gave her that easy, sexy smile and Busi felt her heart beat faster.
As they turned the corner Busi looked back to see Lettie and Asanda at the gate searching up and down the road for her. She could have jumped out then. But she didn’t. “Why are you so nervous?” asked Parks. “Relax. I’m sure they’ll find a sub for you. On the other hand it will be tough replacing someone as cute and sporty as you are …” He changed the music to something slow and soft. “I’m flattered. Do you know that? I’m flattered that you’ve chosen me. I’d have thought all the boys would be after such a sexy girl.” Busi blushed as she thought of Unathi. He wouldn’t even know what to say to Parks. Unathi knew nothing of the world outside his street. Parks was a man. He had seen the world, and Busi wanted to see it too. Her life had suddenly got a lot bigger than Harmony High.
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With what money? thought Ntombi, but she knew if she questioned him out loud, he would get angry and her mother would only take his side. She was forever saying, “Now don’t upset Zakes,” or “He’s only teasing; don’t be so sensitive,” or, even worse: “Maybe you should take his advice. You know he’s a very successful businessman.” And once when she was really mad, she shouted at Ntombi: “He is my boyfriend and you must respect him. His word is law!” Their mother had become a stranger. Ntombi wanted her old mother back.
Even when it was just the three of them it wasn’t the same. Zakes still messed things up between them. “What does he do?” Ntombi asked her mother on one of the few nights that her mother was home these days.
But her mother had looked unsure and started picking at her nail polish. “He’s in business…” she said uncertainly.
“What kind of business?” Ntombi wasn’t going to let her mother off the hook so easily.
“I don’t know. He’s a car dealer, a sales rep.” Her mother sat up on the bed, where they had been lying. “Anyway why all the questions? Are you the police?” Her mood had changed and she was glaring at Ntombi. “All I care about is that he treats me good, and that he’s got a good job. You’ve seen the way he dresses, and the car he drives.”
“Mama, you used to tell me those things didn’t matter. You used to tell me it was what was inside that mattered. You told me you married Dad for love…”
“And look where that got me!” her mother interrupted. “I don’t see him in this room. Do you?” That was the end of the conversation. Her mother had got up and gone through to watch a soapie on TV.
* * *
Ntombi didn’t trust Zakes one bit. He was a fake through and through. And what was worse, she didn’t like the way her mother acted when he was around. Like she was their older sister, competing over guys, rather than their mother who should be looking after them, giving them good advice, and protecting them from men like Zakes.
When her dad left a year ago, just after her fourteenth birthday, her mother was very sad, but at least they still felt like a family. They cuddled up on the couch together and watched Bold, and laughed and cried together. And then, one day, Mama came home from the rich private school where she worked cooking lunches, and told them she was going out that evening. The kitchen staff at the school had persuaded her to join them at Thabiso’s Tavern and she thought it might be good for her. Ntombi had helped her choose an outfit: a nice denim skirt, just below the knee, a tight black wraparound top with a white denim jacket. And to top it off, some gold earrings. Mama looked great. She had kissed her mother goodbye and wished her luck. Little did she guess that that night her mother would meet Zakes and their lives would be turned upside down again.
Ntombi knew the first time she saw Zakes, with his gold chains and flash smile that didn’t reach his eyes, that he would bring nothing but trouble. Even his car looked like a fake. It had been resprayed and that could mean one of two things: he had been in an accident, or the car was stolen. Things felt wrong when Zakes was in the house. He seemed too big for their small couch, sitting there with his beer, interrupting their conversations with his loud voice. He loved to say things like, “Girls, you are my daughters now. Go fetch another beer for your father.”
“Do as he says,” their mother would add if they hesitated, as she cuddled closer to her new boyfriend. There was no time for Ntombi or Zinzi when Zakes was around.
* * *
“Here.” Her mother handed Ntombi a five rand coin from her new gold bag. She smelled of some strong perfume Zakes had bought her. “Buy yourself some sweets at the shop,” she said as she rushed out, putting on lipstick as she went.
“Mama, I’m meant to be at singing practice. The competition is next week and…” But her mother was already out of the door and in the seat of Zakes’ resprayed BMW with its fluffy dice bouncing from the rearview mirror and couldn’t hear her. All she could do was watch as Zakes reversed with a squeal of tyres, and then they were gone.
Chapter 2
Ntombi looked at the five rand coin in her hand. “What does she think I can buy with five rand?” she thought. One small bag of chips at the spaza, and a small packet of sweets, which she’d have to share with Zinzi. It wouldn’t buy her what she really needed – just ten minutes of time with her mother, when they could sit down and watch TV together, or talk, like they used to.
Just then Zinzi came in. She had been playing soccer in the street and her knee was grazed and bleeding. “Where’s Mama?” she asked Ntombi.
“Guess,” said Ntombi. “It’s not that hard.”
“Zakes?”
“Where else?”
“I thought you had singing practice this evening?’ said Zinzi as she slumped on the couch and dabbed at her cut with a tissue.
“Not any more. Mama said I’ve got to stay home and look after you.”
“I can look after myself.”
“You’re twelve,” said Ntombi, fetching the Dettol from the bathroom and dabbing it on Zinzi’s cut.
“Ouch!” Zinzi complained. “Stop it. You’re hurting me.”

“Don’t act like a baby. You don’t want it to get worse, do you? Do you want to go to hospital with an infected cut?”
“Why are you in such a bad mood?”
“Wouldn’t you be if you were missing a chance to go to the national finals of South Africa’s Teen Voice Competition?”
“I thought the judges were only coming next week?”
“They are. But every practice is really important. Mr Masondo says that we have to work hard and make Harmony High proud. Otherwise he won’t let us compete.”
Ntombi had been chosen, along with ten others at Harmony High, to perform for a panel of talent scouts that was travelling around the country auditioning high school students for the Teen Voice singing competition. If she was chosen out of the ten students from her school then she would go on to the national finals in Jozi. The prize was R10 000 and a recording contract. Ntombi had promised herself that she would work as hard as she could, attend every practice, and go to the nationals. Sometimes she even let herself dream of winning the competition. It would change her life – she would work really hard and produce an album. She’d buy a proper house for her family, and make sure her sister finished school. With the money she could go to university and study to become…
* * *
Just then there was the sound of girls laughing outside in the street.
“It’s the giraffes,” Zinzi said from the couch where she was watching
Days on TV. She called Ntombi’s three girlfriends the giraffes because they were taller than other girls. In turn, they called Ntombi “shortie”, although she was average height. Ntombi opened the door and hugged her friends Busi, Asanda and Lettie. At least she could rely on them for support. Asanda and Lettie had also been chosen to compete in the singing competition and Ntombi could see that they were on their way to the practice. Busi was going along to watch in the hope of attracting the attention of Unathi, who was also competing. At the last practice she sat in the front row seats in the hall, blowing kisses to Unathi and holding up a big piece of paper with “I love Unathi” painted in lipstick. Unathi had just smiled and waved. Ntombi had told Busi that Unathi had a girlfriend back in Jozi, where he was from, but Busi wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want to hear.
“Come on, lazy girl,” Asanda laughed. “We’ll be late.” The practice was in the school hall, a taxi-ride away.
“I can’t go,” Ntombi told them.
“You must be joking!” Lettie said. “What’s wrong with you? I thought this was your dream?”
“Mama went out and I have to look after Zinzi.”
“You know what this means. Mr Masondo is not going to be pleased.”
“I know.” Ntombi was close to tears and her friends could see it. Mr Masondo was their singing coach and he was strict. Two missed rehearsals and you were out of the competition.
Asanda gave her a big hug. “Listen, we’ll bring you the lyrics back and help you practise. Cheer up. I’ll tell Mr Masondo that you got food poisoning.” Asanda was the queen of excuses, and with her charm the teachers always believed her.
“Thanks chommies. You’re the best.” Ntombi tried to smile bravely, but she felt terrible.
“By the way, there’s a party on Saturday at Thabiso’s Tavern. We’re going,” Busi said. “Why don’t you come? It should be fun. Unathi’s going to be there with his cousin from Jozi.”
“How many times do I have to tell you Unathi has a girlfriend?” Ntombi despaired of Busi. She really lost her head over boys and forgot who she was – the intelligent and charismatic girl who had a great future if she could just stay focused.
“He’s never mentioned her,” said Busi. “And anyway evidently his cousin is even better looking, and I’ve always wanted to go to Jozi. They say the men are hot up there.”
“You’re going to burn yourself one day,” joked Ntombi. “Just be careful.”
“Yes, Mama,” the girls laughed.
* * *
Ntombi watched as her friends ran down the road to catch the taxi. They were laughing and chatting. She went back inside and shut the door. The girls were right to call her ‘Mama’ – that’s what she was at the moment, and she was only fifteen. It was like her mother and her had swopped roles. The other girls used to complain about their strict mothers and tell Ntombi she was lucky. But Ntombi had noticed they didn’t say that anymore, not since Zakes had arrived on the scene. And Ntombi did not want to be a mother. Not for a long time. Not until she had finished studying and definitely not with someone she didn’t love and respect!
“I’m hungry,” complained Zinzi, who was watching The Bold and the Beautiful.
Ntombi wanted to just walk away from the house. But she knew she couldn’t.
She put the last bit of mielie meal into the pot. Sometimes she loved porridge for supper. But she was getting tired of it now. Before Zakes, her mother had always made sure that there was enough food in the house for them. It was a struggle on her salary, but she would always cook them a good meal in the evening and they would sit together and chat about the day. She had been sad a lot, but then they also had good times together. They went shopping in town on Saturday at the end of the month when her mother would give them each pocket money to spend. Now she didn’t have time for them any more. Ntombi had been telling her how the fridge needed to be fixed (it kept going on and off) and that the drain at the back of the house was blocked again. That’s when she really missed her dad. He would have fixed it by now. And where was Zakes when something went wrong in their house – out selling cars?
She served the pap onto plates. “Careful, it’s hot,” she warned.

“Not this again,” complained Zinzi.
“Don’t tell me, tell Mama,” said Ntombi.“If she’s ever here to tell.” As they ate, on Bold, a soapie star reclined on a lounging chair beside a pool somewhere in America – somewhere hot and lush with lots of money. A butler handed her an ice cold cocktail… she didn’t have a care in the world. Her nanny was looking after her kids, and Ntombi knew that her fridge would be brimming with food. Just then there was a sizzling sound and a bang from the back of the TV. The smell of burned plastic filled the room.
“No!” screamed Zinzi. “Not the TV! My life has ended.” And she buried her face under a cushion.
“Don’t be such a drama queen!” yelled Ntombi. She went into the bedroom to get away from her sister, before she exploded like the TV. She lay on the bed she shared with Zinzi and started paging through a magazine. But she wasn’t reading the words. She kept thinking of Asanda and Lettie standing on the stage of the school hall, learning the words of that new song, and them all laughing and having fun as they got one step closer to the finals, while she was stuck in this dump with a younger sister who was driving her crazy and not helping one bit around the house.
She looked down at the glamorous pop stars in the mag. Who did she think she was, trying to compete with girls like this? Maybe she was dreaming after all. Maybe Zakes was right. Maybe she didn’t have what it took to be a Teen Voice star. “Why bother entering the competition,” he had said. “These days you have to have the whole package: the looks, the sex appeal and the voice. You’ll only be setting yourself up to be taken down.”
Her dad would never have said those hurtful words. He had told her that he was so proud of her when she had got into the choir at Harmony High. And when he had his employer’s car for a few days he had taken her to practices himself. Once when she wanted to go and get her ears pierced he had said, “Why spoil something so beautiful already?”
Now she didn’t even know where he was, or who he was with. Maybe he had a whole other family somewhere, another daughter, whom he loved now, more than her?
* * *
As she lay there she thought of the three promises she had made to herself on New Year’s eve three months ago. First: to enter the singing competition and go all the way to the final. Second: not to go out with a guy unless he was kind and respected her – not like the guy Busi had dated in the holiday, who had seemed the real deal – too good to be true – because he
was too good to be true. He was good looking and clever, but he had left her with a broken heart and a broken arm after he had pushed her and she had tripped and fallen hard. If Ntombi and Asanda hadn’t run when they heard her cries from behind the sports shed at school, things might have been a lot worse. But when they appeared Ebenezer had left her and run – a coward at heart.
The third promise was to find her dad and bring him home. There was no way that she was going to let Zakes move in with them and pretend to be their father.
Chapter 3
Ntombi woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night. In the dream she was wearing a long pink dress with lots of frills and her friend Asanda was putting a tiara with plastic flowers in her hair. They were in the changing rooms at the church hall where the auditions were going to be for the Teen Voice competition. First Ntombi thought she had won the competition and she was really excited. She was ready to walk out on the stage in front of hundreds of people and be given flowers and a recording contract. Pink wasn’t really her colour, but who cared, when she was about to become a pop star? But when she walked out into the hall there were no screaming teenage fans and no sign of a microphone. In fact the hall was full of men and women dressed in suits and formal dresses. And there at the back, next to the door was her mother. She was also dressed in a huge pink dress, with more frills and lace than Ntombi’s. For a second Ntombi thought that this might be her own wedding, and that at any minute the handsomest, coolest guy was going to appear, walk towards her and announce that he was her fiancé. But then Zakes walked in, and Ntombi realised that this was no fairytale wedding and she definitely wasn’t the princess. She was a bridesmaid at her mother’s wedding to Zakes. The dream had just turned into a terrible nightmare.
Her mother was smiling and kissing Zakes. He was smiling that fake smile. Before she knew it her mother was calling her to the bridal procession. Her sister appeared in an identical pink dress. The whole thing made Ntombi feel sick.
“What’s wrong, Ntombi?” Suddenly her mother had the face of a witch. “Can’t you be happy for us?”
“Just wait.” Zakes gripped her arm and led her away so her mother couldn’t hear what he was about to say. His breath was warm and stank of beer as he lowered his voice.“There’s no escaping from me now,” he said. “You will do exactly as I say or there will be trouble. I am the boss in your house.” He let her go and she rubbed her arm; his fat fingers had left marks on her skin. She watched as her mother took Zakes’ arm and walked up the aisle and up the stairs to the stage where a priest was waiting to marry them.
Ntombi had to do something to stop them – nobody else was. She tried to run but her feet were glued to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream but no words came out. Zakes took the ring and was about to slip it on her mother’s finger.
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