The rolling hills of the Eastern Cape speckled with huts and footpaths – connecting main roads and houses, crisscrossed the green hills. Homesteads here were built in the traditional circular rondavel style on outcrops of land, with small vegetable gardens close to each home. A rooster had begun to crow in the valley and his strident call carried for miles, bouncing off the undulating hills and ringing in the gorge below. The sun had risen, but the clouds kept the early morning sun at bay. It was all grey sky, green valleys and hills.

As Karabo and Isla turned to start following Mr Venter and Mzi, William appeared next to Ms Peters. ‘I think I should accompany them, ma’am,’ he stated. ‘You never know …’ he said, looking around him as if bandits might appear at any moment. Isla flared her nostrils, but before she could tell William to bug off, Ms Peters responded, ‘OK, William, thank you, that’s very kind.’

Mr Venter’s large muscular legs strode down the footpath towards the large hut, his arms pumping by his side. Mzi had to run-walk to keep up with the man, and the girls lagged further behind, with William behind them, all in single file.

The rural villages between the two private schools were usually just part of the scenery. Now, it felt strange to be out of the bus, in amongst the hills. Karabo liked the smell of the fresh dew mixed with farm smell, and she slowed down to look around and take in the whole valley. With a sweeping view for miles, it took her breath away and the wide-open space made her feel incredibly small. William caught up to her and she could feel his eyes on the side of her face, watching her carefully. Quickly, she turned and picked up her pace again, noticing that Mr Venter was nearly at the first hut. He started to knock on the door.

‘Hello,’ he called in his deep voice. There was no response from inside, and as Karabo, Isla and William arrived outside the door, they watched Mr Venter knocking and calling again. Mzi turned and noticed William was with them for the first time, the look on his face showing his surprise. After a minute when there was still no response. Mr Venter huffed and turned to Karabo. ‘You try, Karabo!’ he demanded and indicated she should come to the door. Mzi stepped aside, folding his arms over his chest.

Karabo called out, ‘Molo,’ and stepped back. Within seconds, the door squeaked open to a crack. Only an eye could be seen watching them. Slowly, an elderly, stern-looking woman appeared, a heavy blanket drawn over her shoulders. She peered out, taking in Karabo and the rest of the bus-rescue party. She spoke quickly to Karabo, who responded in turn. The old lady nodded her head, peered around Karabo to Mr Venter and said, ‘You must go up that hill – that is where you will get the best reception. There, can you see?’ she said, pointing to a not-so-close hill. ‘Can you see that square yellow shop there?’ she asked.

Mr Venter turned to see where she was pointing. He nodded and said he could. ‘Then go there and get directions from the shop and you can make a call too. You are going to be late,’ she told him. Mr Venter’s mouth was hanging slightly open. Perhaps he was surprised by her perfect English, or the fact that she knew where they were going and would now be late.

‘Right kids, you all go back to the bus. I’ll meet you back there when I’m done,’ instructed Mr Venter. Karabo stopped him. ‘Sir, won’t you need me to help translate?’ she reminded him. He agreed, ‘Yes, you come with me Karabo, the rest of you go back to the bus,’ he decided, and started to turn, before being stopped again. ‘You won’t need the girl. The shop owner, he went to college. He speaks perfect English. Leave the children with me. I want to talk to them; I don’t get to speak to children that often. Just quickly, I promise. I will send them to the bus shortly,’ said the old woman, eyeing Mr Venter carefully.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sure,’ he said, and started walking. His boys needed to get to their matches – they’d practised hard and he wanted to show them off and hopefully squash St Joseph’s. No harm in letting an old granny chat to the kids.