“Looking good, Noli!” called one of the girls who lived five shacks down her street as Noluvuyo ran past to meet Joseph at Philippi Park once again. They had met on Saturday and she had cried in his arms. She had told him everything. He was sure her sister was at the Mitchells Plain police station, because that was closest to the tavern where she’d been arrested. But when she had wanted him to take her there, Joseph had calmed her down and told her to wait until they could get legal help. And he knew just where to go. Today there would be no more crying.

“Where you off to, girl?” it was Siphokazi, who lived down the road.

“I’m going to campus,” said Noluvuyo, trying to keep the conversation as short as possible.

“Go do your thing, girl. We need more girls like you around here.”

“Thanks, Siphokazi,” said Noluvuyo, surprised at how positive Siphokazi was today. Usually she would just be cursing at how bad her life was.

Noluvuyo walked out the section with the shacks and into the main road. A Bellville taxi drove past. It was so full that its metal frame made creaking noises as it went by. If there was any change to the situation at home and she passed matric well, it’d be her in that taxi next year, going to university. She looked forward to that.

The park was in sight. It wasn’t enclosed with a fence like the parks in Bellville and the other areas, but the grass was a pretty green. And the kids looked happy playing there.
She saw Joseph sitting on one of the benches next to where his brother’s car was parked.
“Hey, Joe.”
“Noli!”
The two hugged. Joseph tightened his arms around her. He was pretty skinny for a tall guy, but he had a good heart and a great smile. That’s all that mattered to Noluvuyo.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I had to feed the kids and take them next door again.”

“No stress about that,” he said, as the two walked to the car. It was warm inside, out of the cold wind that swept up the dirt and sand on the road.

“You sure they can get Mavis out?” she asked Joseph. She was so anxious that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all since Friday night, and she was exhausted.

“There’s only one way to find out, I guess. They’ve helped a friend of mine before. Let’s hope.”

Joseph started the car and soon they were weaving their way out of the streets of Philippi. It didn’t take long for them to reach the entrance to the university. Joseph was at UWC, studying law. He made Noluvuyo feel safe. He would know what to do. He would stay calm, even if she couldn’t. She kept thinking of her sister locked up in a cell, or worse, alone on the streets somewhere, injured and helpless.

Joseph parked the car and he took her hand as they walked through the glass doors and to the Legal Aid office at UWC. Noluvuyo was expecting a queue, but it was early and they were the first there. The two signed in at reception and it didn’t take long for them to be called in by a lawyer.

The sign on the office door read: Michelle van Vuuren. As soon as Joseph and Noluvuyo walked in, she stood up to shake their hands and introduced herself.

“So how can our legal-aid clinic help you?” she asked with a smile. Something eased inside of Noluvuyo, like she could breathe freely again at last.

“My older sister was arrested on Friday by the Philippi East police and we don’t know where she is and what’s happening to her in there. Her name is Mavis Nolubabalo Fanteni and she’s 33 years old. She has two kids. One is a 10-year-old boy and the other is a six-year-old girl. I’ve been worried sick all weekend that they were going to ask me where their mother is …” – at this, Noluvuyo couldn’t stop herself from crying. Joseph squeezed her hand for reassurance.

“She’s probably in the Mitchells Plain holding cells. I’m guessing that they haven’t allowed her a phone call to get a lawyer, or to inform you guys about what’s happening. They are supposed to by law, but sometimes that doesn’t happen. You haven’t heard from her at all?”
Noluvuyo shook her head. “She might not have her cellphone. I …”
“Does she know your number?”
Noluvuyo nodded.
“Then the police should have called you. She is also entitled to a lawyer. But you have to understand, though, that when we get there she may not want me as her lawyer. She has a right to represent herself.”

“My sister is an alcoholic …” Noluvuyo whispered. “She needs help.”

“And I can be that help,” said Michelle. “You were right to come here. You were very brave,” she told Noluvuyo. “If something like this happened to me when I was your age I would not have coped as well as you are. When I was your age I didn’t have to play mother and father to young children. That’s not right.” She smiled at Noluvuyo, then she got out a pad of paper. “I’ll need some further details from you before we can go to see your sister. By tomorrow I will have organised to visit her in the cells. You can come with me.”

“Thanks a lot, ma’am,” said Noluvuyo, as she stretched out her hand to Michelle, wishing she could just jump across the table and hug her instead. “I really appreciate all your help.”

On the way back to Joseph’s car Noluvuyo held his hand a little tighter. She felt something stirring in her heart. That something was hope.

***

Tell us what you think: Why is it important for Mavis to have a lawyer to represent her in court?