At the end of the school day, Nandipha walks home alone, sad that Simo has missed school again; it has been happening more often since she met Kaizer after the June holidays. She sends her a WhatsApp.

Hawu Si, what happened?

No reply.

Nandipha plugs in her earphones.

“This is unfair. Our parents are working minimum wage jobs and NSFAS doesn’t help enough. We will not accept this!” a fuming student leader spits into the reporter’s mic.

Nandipha does a little dance at the red robot. There will be a march, she is sure of it, and she can’t wait.

Nandipha tries to do her homework but she cannot concentrate; the news reporters are not saying anything relevant about the march. She lies restlessly on her bed, then she hears her mother entering.

“Nana, I’m home,” Nandipha’s mother calls from the kitchen. She brings with her a box of Chicken Licken hot wings, which she places on the kitchen counter.

Nandipha walks lazily into the kitchen and finds her mother standing by the zinc, filling the kettle to make herself a cup of tea.

“What is it?” her mother asks, knowing this ‘look-at-me-I’m-heart-broken’ expression.

“What is it?” Nandipha asks in return, opening the plastic bag containing the suppertime goodies.

“I know that look Nana. Talk to me,” her mother says, as she takes two plates from the cupboard. She doesn’t like the damp smell of take-out boxes.

“Did you hear about the tuition increases Mama?” she asks sombrely, almost grovelling for pity.

Nandipha’s mother laughs out loud and says, “Maybe I should stop buying our midweek take-outs and start saving for registration,” she says jokingly.

Nandipha ignores her mother’s sarcasm as she starts to dish up. “I really wish that all of this ends up in a march. Imagine what free education will do for so many South Africans,” she says, and stuffs a couple of limp fries into her mouth.

“Nandipha,” her mother says, using her full name to indicate her concern, “I know that university means a lot to you. But you have heard and seen the casualties of marches of this size. Please promise me that if the march happens, you will not go.”

Nandipha doesn’t promise her mother, and the two eat their shared favourite in silence.

*****

“Good night Ma,” Nandipha calls out, as she closes her bedroom door. Her bed is littered with books and her homework is not done. “I wish I were Simo,” she says to her reflection on the mirror, “wanting only to live my best life, now.”

She opens her window slightly to take in the mysterious sounds of Hillbrow by night. It’s amazing how foreign sounds are soothing, she often thinks to herself. Then Nandipha organises her books and starts to do her homework. But she is soon distracted by thoughts of Simo.

“Si, you have to discover your full potential,” she’d always say.

“And who says I can’t do that as a model Nands?” Simo would shoot back.

She worries that Simo will turn out to be one of those girls who ends up with a reckless taxi driver and amounts to nothing.

Tell us: Are you more like Nandipha or more like Simo? That is, do you plan long ahead or live for the moment?