The final exams had started, and we were writing English Paper three. I was so ready and I knew I would ace it.

During my study session with Bongani I could only concentrate on him rather than what he is saying. That meant I had to study on my own at home or else I’d fail. But then again concentrating on Bongani’s cute face was better than concentrating on my parents’ arguments.

What terrifies me the most was that my teacher once warned me that education stands alone, so we mustn’t let anything stand in our way of concentration with education. Because if we concentrate on anything else, chances are that we will fail. But I was afraid of cutting Bongani off. And how could I even think of doing so. Now this was all confusing!

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Bongani said unlocking the door. I had been waiting outside his house for quite a while now.

“No it’s fine, I haven’t noticed the time,” I lied.

“So how was the paper?”

“It was awesome and yours?” I asked.

“It was great too. So when are you writing Paper three for IsiZulu?”

“Uhm, on the eighteenth,” I replied sitting down.

“Okay how about we study IsiZulu?” he suggested and I agreed.

But as he spoke, I was lost. I was concentrating more on him than on what he was saying. He was handsome. But here was this one physical thing that made him different from other boys at school. He had a scar on his head; it looked like a line made intentionally. But it was from an accident. But to me it was like God put it there intentionally, for me to be charmed.

“Khensani, where is your mind?” he said with his sweet voice.

“Oh I’m sorry!” I apologized for staring at him.

“What’s on your mind?” he persisted.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Come on seriously, tell me what’s on your mind!” he said calmly.

“Okay, okay, it’s your scar!”

“What about it?” he asked confused.

“What happened?” I asked back.

“I was in a car accident!” he began and I stared at him to hear more.

“My father was leaving to start a new job in Joburg. And he said we must meet him before he leaves the station. We came early so wouldn’t keep him waiting. But then we saw him entering another car and going the other way around. So we followed the car and we lost it along the way. And after driving for a while we recognized it again. But a car came and knocked our car as we tried to follow it. And the next thing I saw was my mother’s blood all over the steering. When I turned to the window next to me, the car was gone,” he said in tears.

I rubbed his back with my hand trying to console him.

“I got too scared and ran out of the car. I left my mother all alone and ran away. I didn’t even try to call an ambulance, maybe she would have survived. But silly me was too scared to face his mother with blood all over her, rather than being too scared of losing her. My father never came back or communicated with us! My mother died and I ended up living in the orphanage, but only till I was adopted by the Mathosa family who were originally from Diepkloof. But because they died during the burning of our shacks, I now live here in this shack, with a lady who was my neighbor previously, Sis Phindile.”

“I’m sorry, Bongani. I didn’t mean to remind you of this terrible past.”

“Appreciate your parents while you still have them, no matter how cruel and unfair they can be. They say you only realize how valuable a thing is when it is gone. So don’t be one of those people who experience that!” he advised solemnly.

“Spell the word brave!” I said breaking the tension.

“B-R-A-V-E,” he replied.

“That’s what you are, brave. You wear a smile on your face every day, even when days are dark. And I’m ashamed that the only thing I can say to encourage you is that carry on being brave! And God will make a way for you,” I said and as I checked the time.

I was shocked to see it was eight o’clock and I was required to be at home at seven. So I kindly excused myself and Bongani accompanied me and left me half way home.

While I was walking alone, I saw my father going into the bush. I hid as he came closer, and when his back faced on me, I followed him. We kept ducking branches as we walked in the bush until we appeared on flat ground.

I watched as my father entered some tin shack up ahead.

I came closer to the window when he entered. I saw other three men inside as the curtains weren’t properly closed. Two men looked younger than my father and the other one looked as if he was older than all of them.

“Guys I hope you haven’t told anyone about what we’ve done!” I heard my father say. The other three men shook their heads.

“Great, now guys we need to do something; we burned the shelters so we can have brick houses, not to live in these tin-houses. So we need to do something to get our houses fast!” my father added.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I wished to bang the window and shout “What did you just say?” But instead I ran away.

I was angry and didn’t want to ever go back home. How can I live in the same house with a murderer? And how would I tell my mom? Would she even believe me? And what if she also knew about this but kept it secret so as to defend her husband, as usual? I asked myself as I sat in the bushes crying.

The one thing I kept thinking was how will I ever manage to look at Bongani, knowing that my own father is the one who murdered the only family he had?

This was a living nightmare.

***

Tell us what you think: What would you do if you were Khensani?