“That’s crazy, friend!” said Phabi. “What if you just ignore it?”

“Then I could get arrested. Obstruction of Justice, I think my mother called it.”

“Well, I still think that’s insane. They can’t force you to testify.”

“Hey, are you alright?” asked Phabi.

Phabi and I had met four months ago when I moved here, after I’d fled Mlanjeni Township. Had it not been for her standing up for me when a bunch of senior girls tried to bully me, I wouldn’t have been able to adjust to living here.

I trusted her, but not enough for this. “Sure.”

An hour later, I faked period pains and was sent home before lunch break.

The journey to Mlanjeni was four hours by bus. I endured it despite the diesel fumes making me nauseous. The cute baby inspecting me from behind her mother’s shoulder in the seat ahead made for a good distraction. Her beady eyes darted from my pink braids to my headphones, scrutinising me from head to toe. I played hide and seek with her by covering my face with my palm, from behind which I would peer and cause her to giggle in surprise. The mother, deciding I was harmless, gave up trying to discourage our game by turning the baby over and possessively drawing her to her chest.

My throat clenched up when the bus arrived at my stop. A few locals recognised and greeted me. Was it pity that I saw in their eyes?

The yard was cordoned by razor wire. Not that there was anything left to steal. I walked around the circumference of the site where our house once stood. Grief swept over me like a hurricane. I sat in the dust, crying, not caring what passersby would think. In that scorching sunlight, I sat on the red soil and cried.

I vaguely remember blacking out. It was happening again. This time I was in Gogo’s body, seeing everything through her eyes.

*

Malusi knocked in the ndumba.

“Come in.”

He took off his shoes and sat down. Laid a R100 note in front of me. I lit the candles and turned my back momentarily. The flames. My ceremonial cloth was on fire. He stood there, laughing. He took a bottle of methylated spirits out of his pocket and poured it around the hut.

“Why are you doing this?” I pleaded, in tears.

“Because you helped my girlfriend leave me,” he said,

“But you’d have killed her if she stayed.”

“That’s exactly why you must take her place, old witch!”

I screamed and help did not come. I managed to scratch his face right across the left eye.

He jumped out the window. My door was locked. The fire grew uncontrollable. I was surrounded by it. My plastic containers, animal fats and cloths fed it more.

Coughing didn’t help clear my lungs. Senzi was due back from school anytime. The smoke was unbearable. I was starting to smell my flesh burning. Horrified, I said one final prayer. Asked my ancestors to relieve me. Inkanyamba opened the gates of the oceanic underworld. I sat in the middle of that fire, hugging my legs to my chest. Just when it reached its unbearable height, the agony was over. I watched the charcoal statue of an old crone, being devoured by the flames.

Only Senzi’s blood-curdling screams made me distraught.

“It’s time to go,” inkanyamba told me. My spirit rose from the ashes and oscillated around the hut one last time before taking to flight alongside the serpent.

*

Someone was trying to shake me awake. A slap across the face did it.

When I came to, I was back in my own body. A lone tear travelled down my eye. The coughing fit died down. My skin still felt scorched and my lungs were suffocating. The smell of chargrilled human flesh still hung in the air. Gogo …

“Mama?” I said in a husky rasp, still disoriented.

“I knew I’d find you here,” she said.

“How?”

“That old woman at the church told me—”

“The nosy busybody?” I laughed.

My mother rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Calm down, I didn’t say I’d suddenly turned into a believer.”

“So what actually changed your mind?” I asked.

“Let’s just say I haven’t been completely honest about why I’ve been against all this,” she said, cracking her knuckles nervously.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Look, I watched my mother struggling to balance her own will and the ancestors’ demands. I guess I was hoping to protect you …”

“But you know you can’t protect me though. Besides, your mother’s journey isn’t mine,” I said.

She sighed and nodded, her hands raised in protestation, cutting me short. Tears fell down her face.

I leaned on her as my mother helped me to my feet.

One of Gogo’s neighbours offered us a place to sleep, which my mother reluctantly accepted. Alone in the guest room, I told my mother about the seance I’d had. She broke down in tears.

“So what happens now?” she asked.

“I’ve decided to do it.”

Tell us: What do you think about the idea that parents should protect their children?