Nonzwakazi has locked herself in her room. She will not come out, even when Aluve knocks that Saturday morning, to let her know that she is going to the charity event.

Her husband had not returned the night before and the shame and anger about getting slapped lingers along with the sharp pain of her swollen cheek.

Aluve leaves without getting permission, and when she steps out of the gate, Ntsiki’s grandmother waves at her from across the street.

“How are you Gogo Ngwenya?” Aluve calls out.

“Unwell my child,” Gogo Ngwenya confesses as she crosses the street. “Have you seen my Ntsiki?”

“No. It has been a while.” Aluve cringes with the lie.

“I have been up and down, looking for her. Eiy, she has never disappeared for this long and she won’t answer my calls.”

“Don’t say she has ‘disappeared’. I am sure she is at a friend’s house or something,” Aluve shrugs.

“I hope so.” Gogo Ngwenya sighs.

“I am in a bit of a hurry so please excuse me,” Aluve says, as she walks away.

On the way, she pulls out her phone to text Ntsiki:

Hey, your granny is seriously worried about you.

The music is loud enough to draw a large crowd to the field. A stage is tucked into one corner beneath a few trees and there are food stalls scattered about the space. From amidst the bustle of people, Lwazi appears.

“I am glad you came,” he grins. “I guess your friend couldn’t?”

“Yah. Here I am. Alone,” she says, immediately regretting the lame answer.

“Don’t worry. You are going to have fun. Come on, I want you to meet someone.” He takes hold of her arm and pulls her into the excitement.

He effortlessly weaves his way through the crowd, greeting people as they pass. Finally, they walk up to a tall young woman standing guard over a cold drink stall.

“This is Cindy, a close friend of mine. Cindy, this is …” he looks over at Aluve questioningly.

“Aluve,” she fills in.

“Aluve, my new friend!” he announces dramatically. “Please take care of her.”

“Sure,” Cindy smiles. “Do you guys want Coke? We can steal a few.”

Cindy dips into a cooler box at her feet and hands them cans. Cindy is beautiful, with a dimple to her smile and long, straightened hair.

“Lend me your phone quickly.” Before Aluve can stop him Lwazi has taken her phone and punched his digits in, saved them, and sent a text to his phone. He flashes her a charming smile.

“I have to check over a few things, so call me if you need anything,” he says, when he hands it back.

Cindy waves him away with mock irritation before she pulls out two camp chairs from the back of stall. She sets them up and the girls sink into them, watching the stage.

“How long have you known Lwazi?” Aluve asks.

“Since forever. We have been in the same schools and classes a few times,” she says casually. “He appears everywhere I go. What about you?”

“We were in the same high school once but we only formally met yesterday,” Aluve responds.

“Ohhhh!” Cindy opens her eyes dramatically. “So, you don’t know much about him?”

“Not really.”

“He is a bit of a rebel so just watch out for that.”

Cindy notices Aluve’s confused expression and continues, “You did not hear this from me, but he had a crazy-rough childhood. His father was an abusive drunk. Sometimes I think Lwazi latched onto this campaign, not to try and get justice and stop gender-based-violence, but to get back at abusive men like his father. And not just with words …” Her voice trails off. “Sometimes he just gets so mad …”

“Why are you telling me this?” Aluve asks.

“Because I know Lwazi and I can see he that likes to you. So just … be warned. He’s not always that charming,” Cindy whispers.

***

Tell us: Do you think victims of abusive men, like Lwazi, deserve to claim ‘revenge’?