It was five years ago. Yes, five years ago. I was sitting in my last class for the day, and I was beyond bored as the teacher went on about that day’s assignment. I could not help but drift off and think about other things, like how I could not wait until graduation in order for me to finally be able to get out of my mother’s house.

You see, my mother is what you might call an extreme Christian. Trust me I did not use that term lightly. Monday to Sunday, you would catch my mother at church, cosying up to the pastor. She had an idea that a woman should be in a position of power, and that with that position you would be something in life. She also believed that the only way to get to that position was to marry a successful man.

I had had this idea drilled into me since I was young, but for reasons that were beyond me, my mother gave up on the hope of me snagging up a successful man. Unlike my sisters, I was always a problem child. My older sister, Sindisiwe, was in her last at the university, and she was engaged to get married to her long-term boyfriend who was in the army. Then there was my younger sister, Nonjabulo, who was two years younger than me. She was the apple of my mother’s eye, and she was the up and coming star of our local high school.

While I was thinking, the school bell rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

**********

After grabbing my things, I rushed out of the classroom, and that was when I bumped into my friend, Lwazi. I had known Lwazi since I was a child. He used to be a sweet kid, but now he was what you would call a hood rat, or a thug, that only came to school once a while, so seeing him on that day was a total surprise to me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“Eish, I had to come through today. The principal has been calling my Gogo, bugging her about me missing school,” he responded, explaining with a smirk on his face.

“You would not have to worry about that if you just came to school!” I said, lecturing to him as we walked away.

“School sucks! I have money to make, and sitting in these classrooms all day is making me miss out,” he responded.

“Speaking about that, what is it that you actually do to get all this money?” I asked, staring at him.

“I am a handyman, and that is all you need to know,” he responded smoothly before walking away from me.

“This is not over, Lwazi!” I yelled before making my way to the front of the school.

Once I was outside, I rushed over to Hloni, who was another friend of mine. I had not known her for as long as I had known Lwazi, but she was there for me whenever I needed her. She was 5’4m tall, and she had a head full of dreadlocks that complimented her dark skin.

“Hey girl, are you heading home?” she asked.

“No, not today. I think I am about to get Sipho to come pick me up and we will get a room,” I responded.

“Mkhozi, I do not know how you can lay underneath some old man like that,” she said.

Tell us: What do you think we need to do in order to stop old men and women praying on young school learners?