The streets are so clean and clear. It’s a rainy and windy Saturday morning. Alone, I’m standing in the bus depot nearby the Police Station, waiting for Sihle. I am wearing warm clothes. There are no people on the road. Only vehicles are visible.

I smile as Sihle steps out of the bus with his sports bag, white plastic, and his phone. My tummy is big. Any day now I will give birth. It keeps a distance between us as we hug each other.

“Hi Sihle.”

“Hello beautiful,” he says softly.

We walk home chatting, as it is not that far from the Delft main road.

“This is it?” he asks, as we turn into my aunt and uncle’s yard.

“Yes, it is sthandwa, my love.”

“So where’s your Uncle and Auntie ?” he asks as we go inside.

“They went to do groceries at Spar.”

“Sabelo asked me to give you this. Your mother begged me to go and see him in jail. She believes he is now seeing the truth about himself. He had this for you. How could I refuse?”

For a while I stare at him silently, terrified of the letter. I’m not sure if I want to read it or not. I look at it. It’s a piece of a folded, faded dirty paper. I open it slowly.

My beloved Sister
I so wish to undo the past or make it disappear.
Things happened so quickly. I lost control. I should never have listened to Lwando. It was wrong – the reason I’m in jail today. Every day I’m living pretending that nothing happened. Deep down I’m dying. Please forgive me Mntasekhaya – my sister! God help me!

With lots of love, your only brother,
Sabelo

I can’t forgive him. Not yet.

That night when I lie in bed I remember everything. It is like a door opens and I can see through the darkness and make out the shapes of figures who raped us. I have come back to the party with another bottle. Sihle was working at his house. He was writing an exam the next Monday. He told me. “Don’t miss out on the fun…go to the party. Enjoy yourself. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

I open the door of Nosiviwe’s house and there is Sabelo. Something is wrong, I knew it then. But I didn’t know what. I had no idea of what was about to happen. He looks like he has seen a ghost. I smile at him.

“No,” he says and tries to push me back outside. “Don’t come in. Where is Sihle?” He sounds angry.

Then Nosiviwe comes running to the door.

“Chommie, chommie yam, my friend…” she screams happily, then we hug.

The next thing: boom! The door is closed. Phggg. The room goes dark. I and the girls run to Nosiviwe’s parents’ bedroom which has lights on. We are screaming. Giggling. We still think this is a joke the boys are pulling on us. Even when that room’s lights go off, we still think it’s a game. Then Lwando shines his cellphone light at us. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You are making my head go mad,” he is shouting.

It isn’t a game anymore. I start to cry. “What are you doing?” Nosiviwe asks them. She is braver than I am. I look for Sabelo. Surely he can’t be part of this? But there he is – I think I can make out his shadow by the door.

I am confused – not sure of anything. Then a voice says, “This is a knife. I will cut all of you if you keep screaming.” We are squashed against the wall. In the corner.

They start to pull us so that we are lying on the floor.

“Refuse to play with us and all of you will be history by tomorrow morning. Dead, and with your great grandfathers. Hey, wanna see them quick!?’ They pin us down. They are all over us and we are crying silently. I remember my face wet with tears.

“Aaaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaaah!” One after the other they attack us, moving down the line. How long it took, I don’t know.

Three guys raped me on that evening.

Then I remember. I look over to the doorway. I can make out the red hoody, the white Nike sneakers of Sabelo. He is standing with his back to the door. Had he been there all along, watching? The others are zipping up their jeans. He is standing so still. Just staring.

I must have fallen asleep because much later I wake up in a pool of water. My bed is wet. I call out and my auntie comes running. My waters have broken. They rush me to the hospital. At Red Cross Hospital, Siphukhanyo is born, with Sihle by my side.

I owe it to my child to try to love her, as Sihle has it in his heart to love her. She needs a mother and a father to love her.

I have not spoken to Sabelo, but I have spoken to Cikizwa and she remembers what happened that night. She remembers Sabelo raping her. She phoned me after the birth and told me what she now remembered. She remembers the hoody falling forward, half covering his face as it brushed against her neck. She remembers something else. She remembers after he raped her, he stood up and walked to the door. He did not move on to me. I was next in the row. She remembers. And her memory has set me free.

But I wanted to be very sure. A week later we did the paternity test. The results came back. There it was in writing. Sabelo was not the father.

Do I want to know who is? It is too late. Mama told me that the other two boys who raped us that night were later killed by an angry mob. Dead and buried.

Months have passed and Siphukhanyo is growing bigger by the day. Sabelo is out of jail, there was not enough evidence to convict him. I am not ready to see him yet. My daughter calls Sihle, Tata. My family is the only family Siphukhanyo will have now. We will take one day at a time, and if she wants to do the rituals we will be there to support her.

I want her to be free of fear and free of shame. I want us to be free together.

***

Tell us: Do you think Noni will ever forgive her brother for his crime? Should she, in your opinion?