“Ready?” I say, and I’m shaking with nerves.
“Who’s going first?”
“You have to, Sanele.” Zifikile gives me a little push. “It was your idea.”
“I’m so scared, but I lift my hands to check my headscarf is in place. It’s faded black, made of some silky stuff, and it belonged to Gogo. The other girls all wear scarves too, ten of them, including Aadilah.
When she decided to join us, she said, “Nothing to do with religion, everything to do with freedom.”
Assembly is just getting going, with Mr Selepi on the hall’s raised platform, clearing his throat, ready to speak.
My knees feel so weak, my legs don’t want to hold me up as I walk into the hall and up to the platform. I’m sweating as I look up at Mr Selepi and the other staff, then turn and face the school. Everyone is staring, and I want to run away.
My voice shakes so badly, but I say the words loudly to make up for the shaking: “I am Faiza.”
Then I stand there. Next comes Zifikile, repeating exactly what I’ve done and said. Then Dominy. Then all the others.
“I am Faiza.”
“I am Faiza.”
“I am Faiza.”
Selepi is shouting orders and reprimands, instructing someone to get us out of there. Two teachers come off the platform, and and some senior leaders hover around helplessly, not sure what to do.
We’re a line of girls wearing headscarves. We are Faiza. I see Musa looking at me and smiling.
Selepi is getting louder. “You’ll regret this! You’re all sin-binned, and that’s only a start. I’m calling in your parents or guardians–”
Then another loud voice from the hall entrance, a voice that has always reminded me of a drumbeat.
“School! What is going on?”
Our real principal, Mr Ndubane, back.
Well, it takes another week, another assembly to bring it all to a close. Faiza has been back at school three days, and she’s the first person Mr Ndubane mentions to the school.
“We respect each other’s beliefs here, as shown by the girls who demonstrated last week. In future, Faiza will be allowed to wear a headscarf to school, preferably in the school colour, navy blue, otherwise black, white or dark green. No bright colours or fancy patterns. Faiza has agreed. Fair?”
There are nods and murmurs of agreement.
“The other thing you need to know is that I will be consulting the local leaders of all faiths and cultures represented at this school – imams, priests, pastors, traditional leaders, the lot – to inform myself as to what is important and what’s not. If you come to school claiming your religion or culture requires you to stand on your head at the start of every class or wear a tattoo of a mermaid on your forehead, you can be sure I’ll be checking the truth of this. Fair?”
More nods and murmurs. Then clapping. Zifikile and I look at each other, grin, and fist-bump.
Leaving the hall, I find Musa waiting for me.
“Like I said after last week’s assembly, that was well done, Sanele.” One of his smiles wraps itself round me. “You’re Faiza’s hero. Mine too.”
I don’t know what to say. I shake my head. “It just felt right.”
“It was right, I think.” A pause, another smile.
“Sanele, I’ve wanted to ask you … will you come to the matric dance with me?”
I’m asleep. I’m dreaming. I have to be.
No, I’m not. This is happening. I can smell his zesty aftershave, feel his warmth as he moves closer to me.
“You asking me because of Faiza and what I did?” I need to keep it real.
“I’m asking you because I think you’re amazing.”
I’ll take it. “Then yes, I’d love to,” I say.
He takes my hand, the first time we’ve touched, and suddenly we can’t stop smiling at each other.
***
Tell us what you think: Happy moments for Sanele and Musa, but can their attraction ever have the true happy ending of a proper relationship? Or will their families and religious communities make it impossible?