I watch his lime green shirt vanishing down the road. Then I throw myself down on my bed and cry. This is not how I want to see myself. Accidentally pregnant and broken because my boyfriend doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life with me and the child.

But Phaka was so untrusting. He could so easily have said, ‘Let’s think about this,’ and, I don’t know, we could have shared our feelings and thoughts, not gone straight to ugly accusations.

I feel like such a failure.

After one year Phaka and I talked about the sex thing. We agreed to stay faithful so we can’t get any STDs. We agreed to use no condoms because we were in a long-term relationship. I’ve been totally faithful but now I have messed up. Forgetting my injection, then on top of it wanting to have the child. Wishing my boyfriend would want it as much as me.

I can see how unreasonable I am being. But there is this other part of me, some instinct as a reproductive woman, some animal part of me that wants the things my mind knows are wrong for now. I am, as they say, a jumble of confusion. Ndiyabhidwa. I can tell you right now: none of this would go down well in my gender studies class!

Lulama from next door calls from the kitchen, “Bulelwa?”

I sniff up my tears. “Yebo.” I don’t bother to pretend that I have not been crying. As I said, we have kind of witnessed everything about each other’s lives. He holds out a packet of rice.

“Tell your mama, thanks. And I brought you some fresh carrots from my garden.”

He has washed them and chopped off the ends. They look like a witch’s gnarled knuckles. I giggle, despite my sadness. “They’re a funny shape.”

He pretends to be offended. “Don’t insult my carrots. They are very handsome.” He offers me one. “Taste.”

He knows me this boy. He knows I have been howling. He can see the misery all over me, but he is distracting me. I take a little bite. The carrot is deliciously sweet.

“Mmm. Thank you.”

My tears start streaming again. I catch a glimpse of my hair in the lounge mirror. Totally minced. So much for my classic look. Lulama darts into the toilet and fetches me toilet paper. He unwinds too much. I giggle at this too.

“Who is this for, an elephant?” I take half of it, blow my nose.

“What’s wrong?”

***

Tell us what you think: Will Lulama be sympathetic to Bulelwa’s situation?