I woke up to the screams of women, my heart racing. It was dark, and I could only see shadows.

This can’t be happening. I felt chains around my foot. I had seen this in movies before. I’ve been kidnapped!

Last night, I went clubbing for the first time. Disco lights flashed and thumping music played as my newly found friends and I took a table. They were “newly found” because I had met them at the library.

I was sitting by myself, headphones on, a book in my hands, trying to avoid everyone. It’s my first year, and I had told myself no friends; they would only be a distraction. A group of girls approached my table. But why, when there was a sea of empty tables? “It’s your first year, right?” they asked. I read their lips from the buzzing music in my headphones.

I pretended I didn’t hear them, but they were so bubbly and bright that they took off my headphones and asked again. I nodded, I had no choice, and just like that, “friendship” began. I found myself agreeing to go out with them.

Lost in thought, I was pulled back to the present as the room suddenly went quiet. The screaming stopped, and all I could hear were footsteps echoing. A huge shadow stood in the middle of the room.

“Do as I say! Don’t try to escape, and you’ll be okay,” a deep voice commanded. As he spoke, I could hear women stifling their cries, fighting the urge to scream.

He grabbed two women, they screamed, so did everyone else.

“Quiet!” he shouted. “No one’s going to hear you here. No help either. You are never getting out of here. Do as I say to survive,” he said, dragging the screaming women across the floor.

As he opened the door, I could see some of the women in the room where the light reached. The clothes they wore showed they were from clubbing, job interviews, or work.

I was puzzled—where were my friends? Were they here too? Or… before I could think of the worst-case scenario, the man returned.

This time, he grabbed me and two other girls. As we were led in darkness, shivering in fear, I heard more women screaming, begging for forgiveness. At this point, I knew we were going to die. I knew I had to fight. I knew my grandmother would never be able to look at my lifeless body.

I saw light in the room we were about to enter, I saw blood on the floor and a man with a hacksaw looking at twenty terrified souls.

“If you have two or more children, stand on the red side. One child, yellow. No child, green. And if you’re a virgin, the white side,” said the man with the hacksaw.

“We will let some of you go, just be honest,” he added. As he said this, I was on my way to the white side, but I remembered a book I once read where virgins were sacrificed for rituals.

There were six girls in the white zone, seven in the green, four of us in the red, and three in the yellow.

Yes, I decided to go to the red. I recalled when my “friends” kept asking if I was a virgin. I found it strange but still revealed that I was. I was their target all along! Now my body was shaking not only from fear but also from anger. I refused to let this be the end of my life.

Sandwiches and drinks were passed around, and they claimed we were being freed. I knew better. Those drinks were probably spiked. I decided not to eat but pretended I had.

One by one, they fell. I had to pretend too.

“Get rid of the red zone—they are of no use to me—and bring in the white zone so I can take out the required parts,” the man said angrily.

Panic set in as I heard the saw cutting through flesh and bone. I realized I had to escape, and fast.

As we were dragged to a van with painted windows, I took a peek, trying to look for any clues I could remember to help when I got out. I told myself I was not going to die here. “I’d rather die fighting.”

I saw a huge lemon tree filled with ripe lemons.

“Shit! We’re low on petrol,” said the driver, and I knew it was now or never.

The van stopped, and as soon as he opened the door to check if the gags were still in place, I kicked him hard—right where it hurts. I had managed to free my feet and bolted straight to the petrol garage just a few steps away.

As I reached the garage, I pointed at the speeding van, screaming, “Take the number plates!”

After that, everything went dark, and I woke up in the hospital, the police, a doctor and uMakhulu by my side.

Tears streamed down my cheeks when I saw her smile. 

I had escaped!

I told the police all I remembered about the place—the lemon tree and the time it took to reach the petrol garage. Luckily, someone had taken the number plates, and they were apprehended before reaching the harbour. All the men involved were caught and jailed, even the ritualist and my so-called “friends.”

Unfortunately, two of the virgins had already been dismembered, but with my escape, I saved seventy women that day.

I am Nomandla, and I refused to die.