I am pregnant. No doubt about that. The clinic sister has the results. The clinic smells of medicine. It is stuffy. I am nauseous. The floor is dirty, and the chairs are filled with women with big tummies. I am stressed, and angry at the sister, who is smiling.

“You don’t seem happy at all,” the sister says, looking at me. If she only knew why, I think she wouldn’t be smiling. How can I be happy?

“There are other options,” she says quietly. “You can put the baby up for adoption. It is too late for an abortion.”

“You talk as if you know how I got into this situation,” I say quickly.

“It doesn’t matter now. All you have to do is to decide. You won’t change the fact that you are pregnant.”

I walk out of the clinic in a daze.

On the way back home I can’t see through my tears. I am angry and sad and confused and embarrassed. What will I tell my aunt and uncle? What will they say when they hear that I am pregnant? They have been understanding, but when they hear this, I am not sure if they will be anymore.

A car hoots as it swerves to avoid me. I realise I am walking in the middle of the road. A man shouts. “Sibhanxa, idiot. What is wrong with you girl? Are you mad?”

Peep! Peep! Peep! The driver of a taxi hoots and shouts, “Hey you bitch! Are you fucken crazy? You were lucky I didn’t hit you.”

Part of me wishes he had.

A pedestrian asks, “Girl, what’s going on with you?”

“I’m not a girl…” I begin, then give up. You don’t know what I’m going through, I think. They all have no idea.

I should go home but I can’t. So I go to the Italian House, in distress.

As I turn the corner into the street I see a couple walking down it, away from me. She has her head on his shoulder. Their backs are to me. She is laughing. He holds her hand. It’s Sandy and Sandile.

I stand and stare. I think of the other night, how she flirted with him. I think of him SMSing while he was with me, and now I am sure he was SMSing her. I go into the bar to order a drink, using the money my uncle had given me for transport to varsity. I shouldn’t be drinking, but I want to numb these feelings.

“Barman can I get a J&B.”

“We are not yet open. Can’t you read on the door?”

I plead, “Please tog, just one shot.” I hand over the money. “I’m drinking my own money, not a man’s money here.” Tears are pricking my eyes.

He mumbles, walking away, “Tjo, women are complicated, just like cars.”

“Don’t you dare talk nonsense!” The anger is rising in me.

When I leave the tavern I have found the courage to do what I know I have to do.

I was raped. I will lose Sihle. Now I’m pregnant. I have nothing to live for.

There is nobody at home. I take a pen and a paper to write a letter.

Dear Uncle and Aunt

I have found out that I am pregnant – a child of a rape. I will lose the man I love most and the career I am working towards…Even Sandy has betrayed me…There is nothing left to live for. Find it in your hearts to forgive me.

With lots of love,
Nonyaniso

It is the only way out. I go straight to the garage, looking for my uncle’s ladder. I find it. I look for a rope. Underneath my uncle’s Bantam bakkie I find one. I take it straight to my room. It doesn’t take me long to set everything up. I attach the rope to the outside door handle, sling it over the other side. The noose is made. I stand on a stool. My head is in the noose. Then I kick the stool away from under me.

* * *

Tell us: Do you judge Noni for this drastic step, or do you sympathise with her? What should she have done?