The Judge pauses and looks at us sternly over his glasses.

“In the meeting I’ve just had in my chambers it has been agreed that given both the dilapidated state of the building, and the emergency that has arisen due to the hostile take-over of the building, all tenants of City Views are to be given safe temporary emergency accommodation by the municipality.”

We gasp collectively. I really hadn’t expected this. I thought we’d end up staying in City Views for ages. I’d heard the stories about temporary accommodation – and I know it usually takes forever to organise.

“Arranging this accommodation is a priority, and the City of Johannesburg is ordered to support these families in their move to safe new premises within five days. They’ve assured me they will make this happen.”

We all gape at him in shock as we take this in. This is all so fast!

“The current problem of illegal occupation of the building is far bigger than the issues we had planned to address today,” continues the Judge. “For now, go home, pack up your lives, and get ready to move. I wish you all a safe move. Court is adjourned.”

*****

Jabulani is playing with his toy truck on the living room floor of our new flat. It’s a few blocks from City Views, but closer to Aphiwe and her sister, and to Khanyi and her family. So basically it’s the same neighbourhood.

We may have escaped The Confiscator for now, but we haven’t escaped some of the poor living conditions we had at City Views. Our flat is a much smaller block, but we have got one more tiny room than we had in our old home. It’s still pretty cramped. We had to fit our own door handle and a lock on the door. The electricity goes on and off all the time, and sometimes we get warm water and sometimes we don’t.

I feel quite down about it some days, especially when I am missing the rooftop view of the city during thunderstorms. But it’s still a step in the right direction, I guess. At least the municipality is our landlord and not a dangerous criminal.

I’m settling in here. I still walk the same streets to school. It’s just a bit further. In fact Aphiwe and I walk past City Views every day on the way to school and back. It’s a strange feeling. Not everyone moved out, despite the court order. Lots of my old friends still live there, along with hundreds of new faces. The Confiscator is still running the building, and he’s still on the police’s wanted list. It makes my blood boil how a situation like that can continue.

Aphiwe’s changed the line she always uses when she can see me start to burn. Now she says: “Uh-oh. Your ’fro is smoking. Watch out world. Pheliswa’s gonna kick your ass!”

It makes me smile every time, but she’s right. I’ve changed. Aphiwe’s sister Cebisa doesn’t even have to report to my gran on my rebellious behavior anymore. It’s because I don’t feel helpless anymore. I know what I need to do when the fire burns in me. Taking our eviction threat to court began a journey that has opened my eyes.

I want to get into law school and when I’m done I want to fight for people’s rights to access to housing and fair inner-city evictions. I know right from wrong, and I want to learn how to use the law so that it works how it’s meant to. Khanyi’s learned how, and so can I.

As for Mr Besturd, well, hopefully he realises how lucky he was to get correctional services volunteer work and a huge fine, rather than time in jail. But I somehow doubt that. Khanyi’s taught me her self-defense moves in case I ever run across a nut like him in a dark alley. I wonder if he will ever get his block back from that The Confiscator?

“Pheliswa? Are you ready to rock the boat?” Khanyi calls, grinning as she sticks her head around the front door.

My gran shakes her head, but I know she’s proud of me as I leave to go to work with Khanyi. She’s arranged for me work with her as an intern at CALS every school holiday. She’s the coolest.

I grab my handbag from the couch on my way out, and kiss my brother goodbye.

“Let’s go make some waves!” I laugh, winking at my gran as I walk out the door.

On our walk through the inner city I keep an eye out for that homeless boy with the book in this pocket, the one that I saw from the taxi that day. I think about him all the time, knowing I could have so easily been out on the streets just like him. I want to help him. And I’m not going to give up until I find him.

***

Tell us what you think: Has Pheliswa found her groove for life? Have you found a life path you feel passionate about yet?