How dare you? The question stood, one I couldn't fathom—how come she wasn't sorry, how come she wasn't even bothered? To have done something so terrible and remain so nonchalant! You could tell it had broken her inside; she was just masquerading with pseudo-contentment. If only she knew how deep my perspective ran—how I could see beyond the surface, how I could read energy itself. She was bleeding empty within. She must hate someone for letting her go through with it, must spend nights crying herself to sleep.
The system subjugates women into thinking idealistically, and I guess Zinhle was no exception. We upset nature's natural order and think we can get away with it, but it always catches up to us. Eventually, the mind fills with regret. You could see she wished she could go back, but it was already too late.
I wish I could help her, but people rarely admit their true feelings. They would rather lie and put up a charade because vulnerability invites attack. Sometimes we're coerced into making the wrong decisions simply because we're naive at the time.
At least I got what I came for. It was clear now what I had to do. I was somewhat angry with her—she had to understand that back then, we were both young, and I was just as naive. We could have made it work. I'd better call Ayanda; I haven't heard from her in a while. I can't believe how much I miss her. We need to patch things up. I'd better head back quickly; I'm not even safe here, knowing how Zinhle lashes out when confronted. I have to run away like a madman.
The question I asked her was simple: "When we were together, did you fall pregnant and kill my child?" Maybe the last part was too blunt, but I needed to know. And I got the gist—her teary eyes confirmed it. I even remembered her describing symptoms. She had indeed fallen pregnant and had an abortion. She was in her first year of varsity; maybe it would have derailed her from graduating on time.
The system is cruel like that. Living in Joburg makes people adopt shallow urban lives, cut off from their roots and clueless about who they truly are. It hurts to see. I have so much work ahead—waking people from indoctrination will be hard. People are stubborn, convinced they're fine, and no one wants to look weak or ignorant.
I got Zinhle's aura like Gogo Nomusa required; it should be easy to reach the next stage.
"I'm sorry if you feel ambushed, Zee," I told her. "But I do remember a phone conversation where you described symptoms of pregnancy. I'm sorry I was never supportive at the time. I wish things had been different…"
"I remember how you reacted when I told you," she replied, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I felt rejected when you disputed my claims. I was so angry—and naive. You have no idea how difficult my life has been since." Then she stormed off.
I had called her a murderer—me and my stupid mouth! But such things happen when dealing with sensitive topics; tempers flare, and terrible things follow. Zinhle might just decide to sell me out. Having never woken from the collective programming, she was still a puppet to the powers that be, willing to do anything to save face.
On my way back to Smanga's, I spoke to Ayanda on the phone. Still a little upset, but she accepted my call, and I could feel her happiness to hear from me. I told her what had happened the night before. She was relieved I was still breathing. Then she urged me to take a taxi back immediately—she had a bad feeling. "Mlotshwa is a resourceful man," she warned, "capable of doing whatever it takes to win. And how do you fight a man even the police fear?"
I should listen to her—Ayanda was hardly ever mistaken. As soon as I got to Smanga's, I planned to pack my bags and head out. I had to get home. My trip had been successful, though I had mixed feelings. This thing had been holding me back for years. Maybe things would have been different—all those sleepless nights, the anxiety, the bad luck. But it's never too late; I still have so much to do.
Who's that parked at Smanga's gate? Why do they look so cozy? I couldn't see his face under that hoodie, but that was definitely Mlotshwa. What the hell, Smanga? Are you selling me out? I can't go back there. I don't know what Mlotshwa has in mind—or who told him where Smanga lived. Has Smanga been playing me all this time? Or did Zinhle give him the drop?
I head straight for the taxis. Smanga thought I wouldn't be back for hours. That means I'm still safe… for now. My phone rings. Damn—it's Smanga! They probably hear my phone. I better run! And crap—they've seen me! Now Mlotshwa and his men are after me.
I'm jumping fences, cutting through people's yards, desperate to find a taxi. This running business has to stop at some point; I can't live like this. I spot a good bushy spot and crouch down, heart pounding. Mlotshwa's car roars past on the nearby road. From now on, I'm going the other direction. I've got just enough for an Uber—I just have to make it to Wanderers rank.
Good thing I have a little data. The Uber will be here in a minute. Joburg is no longer an option—not until I'm done with everything.
That was close. At least the driver doesn't know who I am. I left my bag at Smanga's—maybe I should have stayed at a lodge or a hotel. This could have been prevented. Imagine if I had lost most of my clothing.
"You look like you've been running, bro. What happened?" the driver asks, eyeing my pants and the blackjacks stuck to them.
I have to be cautious—this guy might know the druglord. I give him nothing. "I got too turned last night, mfethu—uyazi nawe." He laughs. I chuckle along. That settles him a bit.
I start brushing off my clothes. "Drive faster," I say. "I need to catch the train."