Zithembe took me to his house and showed me to my room. “Don’t look so nervous,” he said, standing outside my bedroom door. “Once you are done here, come have dinner with me.”

I sat on the bed when Zithembe left, feeling vulnerable and alone. More tears came spilling out like an overflowing dam. I couldn’t believe that my own aunt had sold me just like that, as if I was nothing. I wish I had stayed behind and let the social worker take me to welfare.

After what felt like eternity, I heard Zithembe’s voice calling out for me, telling me that dinner was ready. I reluctantly went to the dining table where I found him already sitting. I dragged a chair out a bit further away from him and ate my food quietly, trying to ignore Zithembe, who kept staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. He didn’t say a word.

I excused myself once I was done with my food and went to my room. I curled myself into a ball and cried.

“Why did you have to leave, mama?” I said in a whisper, before sleep could envelope me in its warmth.

I woke up early the next morning. I went to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like someone else, someone unrecognisable.

When I went back to my room, I saw a white dress on my bed. I swallowed the lump in my throat and put it on.

“You look beautiful,” Zithembe said, as he walked inside my room. He held a veil, which he placed on my head. He hooked my arm around his and made me walk out of the bedroom with him.

The wedding was held in his living room. There was only a pastor present. The pastor looked as dodgy as Zithembe. He skipped every part of the ceremony and announced us husband and wife. “You may kiss the bride.”

Zithembe removed the veil from my face and smiled, showing his rotting teeth.

Tell us: Do you think there are other people who find themselves in a similar situation to Bongiwe?