The next day Luniko walked Xoli to school in the hopes of catching Makhomeni in a new light – that of the hopeful early morning. The streets were already buzzing with excitement. There were people off to work, children on their way to school, vendors already setting up at their stalls at the market place. Makhomeni was not as bad as her sister described. Luniko felt a new hope rising within her.

But, there were no new developments, except for a crèche and one of those parks with the exercise machines that nobody ever used. When the bustle of early morning had died down, the town looked shabbier.

Luniko walked to where the library had been. The building was gone. All that was left were a few burnt bricks, and a container that now served as the library. She walked in and found a woman sitting at a desk, with an old computer in front of her. She didn’t even look up when Luniko walked in.

The bookshelves were dusty and there were old, outdated magazines on some shelves. She picked a book up from one shelf, its spine newish and pages untouched. There were no stamps on the inside cover, meaning it had never been taken out. She read the blurb and decided to check the book out. At least she’d have something to read when she got home.

She walked up to the librarian, who still hadn’t looked up at her once.

“I’d like to take this book out, please,” she said.

The woman looked annoyed and fiddled for something under the counter. She took out an exercise book, like the ones they used at school for maths. She opened it to the first page, put it on the counter with a pen, and turned it to face Luniko … all the while looking at her computer game.

Luniko signed her name, the date, and the title of the book. She slid the book back to the librarian and waited, for what, she was unsure.

The woman looked at the book and saw her name.

“Luniko!” she said as she recognised the name. “Heeeeee, I thought you were in Joburg. When did you return?”

Luniko was unsure who the woman was.

“A few days ago,” she said. The woman, noticing her uncertainty, introduced herself.

“You can’t even recognise me, he? I’m Nandi, Nandi Mangaliso. We were in school together.”

“Of course, Nandi. How are you? It’s your hairstyle, sorry,” Luniko lied. The woman looked much older than her age-mate.

The two chatted for a while, Nandi catching Luniko up on the latest gossip. She told her about the strikes that went on, the library burning down, how she would have to travel to the nearest town to scan and send documents to apply for jobs. Nandi, and many others, had done it.

“But money soon runs out; it always does,” Nandi said.

Luniko thought of the JobGazette that they got for free at the university. She missed all the freedoms and access to the world she had in Joburg.

Nandi told her of who was married, who had kids, who had died and who had made it out to Joburg or Cape Town.

“But your boyfriend is still around though,” Nandi said.

“My boyfriend?” Luniko asked, surprised. She had not dated anyone in high school.

“Jezile, man,” Nandi said. “His mother died, shem, and he now takes care of his old man. The father’s butchery closed down and he’s all alone, poor man.”

Luniko found herself sweating at the mention of Jezile. Ayabonga Jezile, Luniko’s biggest crush.

“He’s still hot, yho!” Nandi said, fanning herself. “But he lives in town now. Maybe you’ll see him around. Here, take my number; we should hang out some time.” Nandi wrote her name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to her. “WhatsApp me. I’ll show you the new spots in town.”

Luniko said goodbye and walked out into the hot, unforgiving sun of Makhomeni.

Tell us: Do you blame Nandi for being so disinterested in her work running the container library?