Nandipha starts the story from the day when Simo first missed school and got into her boyfriend’s vehicle, and stops at the afternoon in Simo’s house.

“She must report that Kaizer,” Nandipha’s mother says and stands up, as if heading to the police station herself, but she turns at the door. Her mother flashes her a concerned look and Nandipha explains what Simo had said about the police. Her mother sits down, almost defeated, and takes Nandipha into her arms.

“Nana I don’t know what to say. She’s probably right. Can I call Simo’s mother to talk some sense into her? She needs to be here for her daughter,” Nandipha’s mother says.

Nandipha blows her nose with the tissue her mother gave her and stands up to make her mother a cup of tea. She washes her hands and fills the kettle with water.

“Enkosi Nana,” Nandipha’s mother says, as she adds sugar to her tea before sending Nandipha back with the tray.

Nandipha starts supper. It’s already well past six and she takes out a tin of fish to eat with pasta, her go-to meal when she doesn’t have a lot of time. Her phone rings as she’s cutting carrots to add, but she lets it ring.

Nandipha replays yesterday’s incidents in her mind, trying to think of how she could have helped, but she can’t think of any way.

Instead she starts to sing Iyoo Iyoo Solomon silently to herself, to prepare for the march. Her mood improves and she starts to sing louder: “Iyo, Solomon, Isoja le mkhonto we sizwe (Solomon, a soldier of the spear of the nation).”

She imagines herself in the future, accepting an award for outstanding journalism, and how she will talk about the importance of being soldiers in a time of need. She will remember the #FeesMustFall march and how it was a pivotal moment in her path.

She imagines students walking out of the Wits Great Hall, thousands and thousands of learners walking out in slow motion, with their newly-earned degrees – thanks to free education. This is her march; she is going to stand up for what she firmly believes in, Nandi thinks to herself, as she starts the song again.

“Hey, stop with those mzabalazo songs! I’m trying to watch Skeem Saam,” her mother shouts from the sitting room.

“I love you Mama,” Nandipha shouts back and laughs, feeling grateful to have her mother around to guide her.

Her phone rings again as she’s about to put the pasta into the boiling water. She puts down the pasta and runs to her bedroom to answer. It’s Simo. She takes a deep breath and answers.

“Si, uright?” Nandipha asks.

“Check your WhatsApp,” Simo says. Nandi can hear panic in Simo’s voice.

“Askies, I was in the kitchen. Let me check it now,” Nandipha says, anticipating a disaster.

“Sharp ke,” Simo says and hangs up.

Nandi opens her WhatsApp and finds seven messages from Simo, the last of them a combination of exclamation marks and angry emojis.

I’m going to have an abortion.

Can you please come with me?

Do you think I should tell Kaizer?

Say something please!

Come on, you said you’ll be here for me no matter what.

Nandipha, are you there?

!!!!!!!!!!☹☹☹☹☹☹

Nandipha reads the messages and suddenly her knees can’t support her. She collapses on the edge of her bed, but before she can become overwhelmed by emotions her mother calls to her.

“Are we going to eat sometime tonight?” she asks, clearly irritated.

“I’m coming Ma.” She stands up from the bed and takes a look at herself in the mirror. She can’t let her face give her away. She must hide her emotions. Before she leaves the bedroom, she sends Simo a voice note.

“Si, let me finish cooking, we’ll talk in 30.”

***

Tell us: Abortion is legal in South Africa, but it is still a very hot issue. Some people do not believe a foetus of less than three months is human and alive, others do. Is abortion a solution to unwanted pregnancy, or like murder? What do you think?