That night, after the concert, Aluve returns home to find bags packed and waiting in the dining room. Her mother is standing in the kitchen, talking on the phone.

“I cannot do this anymore. Mbolekwa is climbing over my head,” Nonzwakazi whispers into the device.

“Mama, what is happening?” Aluve asks when she walks in.

“We will talk later.” Nonzwakazi quickly ends the call and announces to Aluve, “We are leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“We cannot stay here. We are going to stay with your Aunt for a while,” her mother replies.

“Honestly Ma, what are you and Baba fighting over?” Aluve asks.

“Money. Your father has been burning through money and he won’t tell me why. There have been rumours of him with other women. I did not want to believe it but now–” Nonzwakazi stops and stifles a sob.

She gathers herself and continues: “I recently found his bank statements and they confirmed my suspicions. He is blowing through money and getting secret loans. Worst part is that the bank is threatening to take the house because he hasn’t been paying the bond! I tried to confront him and you saw what happened. He has never laid a finger on me before. I don’t know… I am tired of living like this. I don’t want to be the dumb ignorant housewife anymore.”

“You are not a dumb housewife. That’s rubbish,” says Aluve. “I can’t believe Dad would…” Aluve shakes her head in disbelief.

“Get your things. Your uncle is coming to fetch us,” her mother instructs, wiping away tears.

Aluve marches to her room. She packs her essentials and selects a jacket to keep warm. She emerges into the dining room just in time to see her father walk through the front door.

“Why are all these bags here?” he asks.

“I put them there!” Nonzwakazi answers from the kitchen.

Aluve’s father stomps in the direction of her voice. Aluve follows close behind.

“Where do you think you are going?” Mr Mbolekwa shouts as soon as he finds his wife.

“To my sister’s house in Springs,” her mother answers defiantly.

“I hope you are not taking my child with you!”

“Aluve is my child too, Mbolekwa!” Nonzwakazi yells back.

“Not according to our culture. I paid lobola for you, meaning, she is mine.” Mr Mbolekwa points to Aluve.

“Oh? So that gives you the right to run around giving money away? To hit me?” her mother asks.

Mbolekwa is fuming, clenching his fists.

“Go ahead!” Nonzokwazi shouts, “Hit me! Show your daughter the kind of man you are!”

The tension is broken by a blaring car hooter outside. They all pause and listen; it blasts again.

“My brother-in-law is here to fetch us,” Nonzwakazi says.

“You can go,” Mr Mbolekwa sighs. “But leave my child with me. If you want to take her, call a family meeting.”

Nonzokwazi looks at her daughter apologetically before she heads out of the kitchen.

Everything now unfolds quickly: Aluve runs after her mother as Mr Mbolekwa snatches Aluve’s bags and dumps them back in her room. Aluve pleads with her mother until they get to the gate.

Night has fallen outside. Nonzokwazi places her luggage in the back of an awaiting white bakkie before she dives into the passenger seat, refusing Aluve’s pleas.

“I will come back for you Alu!” her mother calls through the window as they drive off.

“Aluve, get in the house!” Mr Mbolekwa instructs from the front door.

Aluve drags herself back into the house, and as she walks into her room, her phone rings.

“Hey,” she answers, hoping its Ntsiki.

“Hi, it’s Lwazi,” a voice shatters her expectations. “I am sorry. I got super busy today and I couldn’t do anything cheesy like walk you home. So, how about we go for ice-cream tomorrow?”

“Yah sure,” Aluve replies absently, and quickly ends the call.

Then, after slamming and locking her door, she breaks down and cries.

***

Tell us: Do you think paying lobola gives ‘property rights’ over wives and children of a traditional marriage?