It’s all set up to go smoothly, but it doesn’t. It goes wrong pretty fast.

I’d worked out how to get the tenants at City Views together to meet with Khanyi about our rights to housing – in a way that would not get me noticed by the gangsters.

It felt damn good to have a plan after feeling so powerless. And my plan was so simple and obvious that I couldn’t believe it had taken me a few days to think up. Still, my guts were a nervous knot when I got up before dawn, sneaked out of the flat, tiptoed up to the rooftop – and pegged the CALS Housing Rights pamphlets to the washing lines! My hands shook. It was dark and I was alone – what if one of the gangsters came up here?

A rat over the roof, and I got such a fright I nearly ran, but I took a deep breath and carried on, encouraging myself under my breath.

“You can do this Pheliswa. When the sun rises women will come to hang their washing up before work and taking kids to school. They’re just the kind of responsible people we need on the tenants’ committee. And I need a committee behind me, for the sake of my family, for us all. It’s my best chance at fighting this eviction and keeping our home. Just calm down girl, and keep pegging. It’s worth it!”

I’d set the meeting date with Khanyi for the following week and had hand-written the details on every pamphlet. She had agreed early morning was best, when the building was quietest and safest. Our theory was that gangsters get into bed at dawn. I hoped we were right!

That part all went fine – amazingly well actually. The message got out. When I peeked my head out onto the rooftop at sunrise today, the meeting day, a group of women was waiting. And – relief – there weren’t any gangsters waiting to ambush us.

Now I feel excited but jumpy as I run down to meet Khanyi at the front door of City Views. She smiles at me as if she is totally relaxed, but I’d seen her checking up and down the street nervously before she spotted me.

What we hadn’t counted on is the purple-faced man who jumps out of his parked car and grabs Khanyi roughly by the arm as she walks towards me.

We both scream in shock.

“Don’t you go putting ideas into these people’s stupid heads, lawyer lady,” Mr Besturd sneers at her.

I stand frozen and speechless, but Khanyi is unbelievable. Even though he’s squeezing her arm, her voice is calm and even.

“Mr Besturd, I’ve explained to you that as the owner of this property the law requires you to meaningfully engage with the people living here before evicting them. I’m here to explain their rights as residents, and to answer any questions. I told you about this meeting as a courtesy, as part of meaningful engagement. Please respect that.”

I’m taken by surprise when Mr Besturd responds by viciously twisting Khanyi’s arm behind her back.

“If they’re not out of my building by the end of the month those people are going to get hurt. They’ve done enough damage to my assets. Do. You. Understand?”

Spit flies out of his mouth as he rages.

“Let her go Mr Besturd! You’re hurting her!” I shout, not knowing what else to do to help her.

“It’s you – the little troublemaker who threatened me at my own home! I’m going to…”

My distraction helps Khanyi make her move. He stops speaking as she suddenly holds out her phone and snaps a selfie of the two of them. Then, in a flash, she twists away. Mr Besturd loses his grip on her for a moment, then grabs her by the hair!

Things move so fast I lose the detail in the blur. But somehow tiny Khanyi manages to knee big Mr Besturd hard – in the crown jewels. He lets go instantly, doubling over, clutching his crotch. I miss the next bit, but when he looks up he has blood running out of his nose.

He screams some words that I shouldn’t repeat.

Khanyi is now videoing him shouting the obscenities, so he flounders and tails off, and then she makes a call.

“Yes, it’s me, Khanyi. Listen, I need your help. I’ve just been accosted by a Mr Besturd outside City Views in Sixth Street.”

Khanyi pauses for a moment and rubs her arm.

“It’s alright, I’m OK. But can you get here fast? He’s still here and I need to go into a meeting.” She pauses as she listens. “Thanks, I knew I could count on you. Oh yes, and by the way, I took a photo and video during the assault. I’ll submit them at the station later when I come along to lay a charge.”

“You’ll never get–”

Khanyi speaks over the landlord in a voice of steel: “We’re going inside for our meeting now Mr Besturd. You stay here. You heard what I was saying on the phone. Just so you know, that was a very reliable policeman I was speaking to. He’s on his way over to take you in.”

Mr Besturd splutters, but Khanyi continues regardless.

“I came to you in good faith to try and facilitate meaningful discussions between you and your tenants. Your response – what has happened here this morning – is unprovoked and unacceptable. I want you to know that if you further raise a finger to harm anyone involved in this case in any way, you will be in much deeper trouble than you are already. I will use the force of the law to take you down. I will make sure you pay a heavy price.”

Mr Besturd snorts, blowing revolting strings of bloody mucous out of his nose. But I can see he’s starting to clock Khanyi’s strength for the first time. He’s starting to look seriously worried.

“Also, don’t even think about running away before the police arrive,” adds Khanyi. “I’ll tell them where to find you. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

As we head into the building the police van pulls up, blue lights flashing. I glance back before I turn up the stairs, and see Mr Besturd putting his hands in the air.

We step out on to the rooftop to see the women re-enacting Khanyi’s self-defense moves – they had seen the whole thing from above and clearly none of them are fans of Mr Besturd! When they spot Khanyi watching they laugh at being caught out and then clap admiringly.

Despite her bravery I think Khanyi is a little in shock. I notice her hands are shaking, and she doesn’t laugh along with the women.

“Morning everyone. I think I need a moment to gather myself, so I’m going to change my plans and start by showing a quick CALS video on my laptop. It explains your rights and the process to follow when faced with eviction.”

I keep one eye on Khanyi as I watch the video, and by the time the comments and questions come at the end she seems herself again.

“I like the bit about ‘together we can go far’. I think it’s best we women work together rather than alone,” says a tall woman with a scarf wrapped around her head. “I vote we form The City Views Eviction Committee,” and challenge this eviction collectively!”

There are nods and people shout out their agreement.

“But wait,” says another woman “I’m not sure. I’ve lived here a long time and I’ve often seen the law fail to help the people.”

A murmur of agreement runs through the group.

She continues: “I’m not sure that I trust following the legal route. Will it really help us? Maybe we are better off with The Confiscator. I’ve even heard him on the radio. He was promising to fix up a building nearby and to protect the people there from neglect by government and abuse by the owner. Maybe that’s what we need?”

More than half the group interrupts her with a wail. I’m relieved I’m not the only one who has realized The Confiscator is a very good spin doctor, a liar.

“One thing is certain,” says someone else, frowning. “It’s best to stay here at City Views. My friend has been in the same situation. Like your video said, she told me that if the landlord gets us evicted then the City of Johannesburg must give us temporary accommodation. But that took ages, and then the place was just as bad as the block she’d been in before!”

“In that case, why don’t we just stay here and do nothing?” asks another woman. “That’s what a lot of people are doing. Maybe it’s better if we don’t get anyone involved, and hope that things turn out for the best.”

Again, there’s loud disagreement from some of the women.

An old woman steps forward and speaks. “I think it’s better to do something. To get support and do this the right, legal way. We mustn’t do nothing and just wait, for all the wrong reasons,” she says. “I want to fight cleverly and not be powerless when the roof over my family’s head is at stake.”

I nod. She’s hit the nail on the head. Me too.

The conversation bounces back and forth between the believers and the doubters. But in the end most of the people up here in Jozi’s rising sun unite and sign up to join The City Views Eviction Opposition Committee.

It feels like a celebration as we all say goodbye, leaving the lines of clean, brightly coloured washing, fluttering like brave flags that stake out City Views as our home.

I’m on a high all day. Only my grandmother brings me down a little. I knew she’d recognized my hand in this, and I know what she’s thinking. “Don’t rock the boat Pheliswa.” I can’t be cross with her. She is afraid for me.

I don’t tell Gogo that I feel like I’ve found the reason why I’ve always had such a fire burning in me. As Aphiwe always tells me: ‘Your head is so hot your ’fro looks like black smoke’ and now I think I know why. My burn is to fight battles like these. I think this is what I was born for.

The next big fight is coming, and I don’t feel helpless. I’m ready for it.

***

Tell us: Have you ever joined a group to fight for something? Did it help?