Babalwa’s face glowed, and she laughed – shakily, but at least it was a laugh. “I’m very good at following rules, Miss. That’s why my parents are never going to believe this.” She looked over at Fungile and frowned. “Should I take of Fungile too, Miss? He’s looking terrible.”

“So good for my ego, Babs.” Fungile squeezed the words out.

“Do you think I’ll make it to the papers, Miss?”

“You will if I have anything to do with it. Just keep breathing, Fungi, nice and slow, nice and slow.” She’d sent a message to Jama already, but sent another now to remind him, praying it would go through.

Don’t forget the pump and the dressings.

Jama’s answer came in as the van doors opened.

Got everything ready. We nearly there. 5 mins max.

Tuesday, 9 February 2016

8.55 p.m.

“Miss?” Seven pairs of eyes looked towards her.

“We’re okay,” she said to her students. “I promise. We’ve got people coming and they know the law. They’ll protect our rights, even if this lot don’t. For now, just remember, you only have to give your name and home address, nothing more. They might charge us, they might not, but my friend Jama will handle all of that. He knows the whole process. He won’t let them trip you up.”

She looked to the doorway of the police station. Vuyani was standing there. Watching her as she was manhandled in.

“Nearly nine hours in a police van, Vuyi,” she called out. “What’s Mom going to say about that?”

Her brother shook his head and walked away.

“You can’t even say sorry,” Nolitha whispered after him.

“Miss!” Cebo was right beside her. “Is that him? Your friend?”

Jama was standing in the doorway, his dreads a halo in the harsh light. “I don’t care,” he was saying. “I am going to speak to her.” He shouldered his way through the throng of students, counting heads as he went.

“Thirty-seven minors?” he said, his voice incredulous. “You guys have arrested thirty-seven minors? Man, the papers are going to have a field day with this.” He was next to Nolitha now, and his huge hand was holding hers gently. “And for what?” He looked back over his shoulder, beckoned to someone standing outside the door. “Ngenani. Come in, guys.”

A bearded man walked in, a large camera on his shoulder.

“Out!” Nolitha recognised the policeman who had screamed into the megaphone. “This is police property. Phuma! Out!”

“Mamela, maan. Listen, man.” Jama spoke calmly. “This has been handled badly enough as it is. Do you want it to get worse?”

“Take that man’s camera!” Spittle flew as the policeman screamed. “Take it away now.”

But there was another reporter in the room now, and then another.

“Miss, Miss?” One of them caught her attention. He shoved a mike in front of her face. “How did this all start?”

“It started with a bookcase,” Nolitha said quietly. “All we wanted was a bookcase and some books.”

“Out!” screamed the policeman again, and Jama laughed.

“Got enough, guys?”

“Hell, yeah,” one of the reporters laughed.

“Then run!”

The reporters broke from room and dashed across the yard.

And so it ended:

  • Headline news coverage of thirty-seven students sitting quietly on the floor of a police station.
  • Interviews with state officials failing to explain why the school was so badly equipped.
  • Queries about the whereabouts of Principal Mahlangu, first seen boarding a plane at Cape Town International Airport, next seen being apprehended at Oliver Tambo International, on his way to London.
  • Cebo becoming the spokesperson for a new student movement.
  • Students from other schools being interviewed about conditions there.
  • Camera crews on the properties, following them around as they pinpointed out the conditions they were supposed to learn under.
  • And, finally, Nolitha’s face on all the news stations, locally and overseas, exhausted, her voice ragged, saying: “It started with a bookcase. All we wanted was a bookcase and some books.”

    • That was the last word – or it would have been if Fungile hadn’t been watching Nolitha and Jama closely. “Hey!” he croaked. “Dubula, Faniswa, what did I tell you? The sharpest man on the block, and he’s definitely her boyfriend. Right, Miss?”

    Nolitha just smiled.

    ***

    Tell us what you think: If you wrote the newspaper story about this incident, what would your headline be? Do you think Mr Mahlangu will be punished?

    The End