Kefentše is shattered; she very nearly collapses as Ms Seanego helps her out of Mr Morovhi’s office. Shaking with anger herself, Ms Seanego leads Kefentše to the empty staff room where she makes them both cups of hot, sweet tea.

Ms Seanego: I should have expected that. These men always close ranks to protect one another.

Kefe: I knew he wouldn’t believe me.

Ms Seanego: This is not over. I’ll call the district office this afternoon, Kefe. I promise, I won’t stop until they take you seriously.

Kefe: OK…

Ms Seanego: But now I want you to go to the clinic for tests – for pregnancy, for HIV, and for sexually transmitted diseases.

Kefe: Ma’am! No…

Ms Seanego: Kefe, it’s important. I know you said he used a condom, but it’s better to be safe.

Kefe: What will I say to the nurse?

Ms Seanego: You don’t have to tell them what happened. You just ask the nurse to do the tests. It’s your right; they can’t refuse you. Take this R50 to pay for any charges. You can give me the change later. OK?

Kefe: I’ll go, Mam.

Ms Seanego: Good girl! You’re strong, Kefe. You’ll get through this.

*****

The queue at the small clinic is mostly women. Some are not much older than her, carrying babies; some are her mother’s age; some old grannies. They look at her and whisper to one another. She can imagine what they are thinking.

After waiting in the baking sun for nearly two hours Kefentše is called inside by the nurse, an impatient-looking woman of about fifty. Kefe is shaking inside with fear and humiliation.

Kefe: Thobela, Sister.

Nurse: Mmm, nka go thuša kang? (How can I help you?)

Kefe: I … I need tests, Sister.

Nurse: Teste! Teste ya eng, wena? (Tests for what?)

Kefe: For… um … pregnancy, HIV, and STDs.

Nurse: Ga o swabe nganenyana towe! (You should be ashamed, girl!) What did you expect? Girls like you are so easy! You let boys use you and then you run to the clinic for abortion.

Kefe: No, Sister, I’m not…

Nurse: You wouldn’t be here if you had been on contraception. O ngwanyana o mo bjang wo go se ke hlokomele? (What kind of a girl are you who doesn’t take care of herself?)

Kefe: But it wasn’t my fault…

Kefentše can’t take any more; she has no more strength to fight. She runs out past the passive faces waiting in the sun, and keeps on running, blindly, until the muscles in her legs are tearing and her lungs burn. She finds herself at the ruined hut, a place of sanctuary, filled with the innocent memories of childhood. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, she curls up and soon falls asleep.

*****

Tshereletšo is frantic; he hasn’t seen Kefentše since early this morning, but he knows something has happened. The whole school is talking about it. Mr Morovhi came to Mr Pootona’s classroom in a panic, they went outside to talk, and next thing Pootona starts shouting about his ‘reputation’. Then they both closed themselves in their offices and no-one knows what’s going on. Tshereletšo decides to speak to Ms Seanego, but by the time he finishes classes she’s already left.

He sends his excuses to the coach with a teammate and runs to Kefentše’s home, but her sisters haven’t seen her either. There’s only one other place he can think she might be. He runs there and finds her curled up like a stray dog in a corner. Kneeling down beside her, he gently touches her shoulder. She wakes with a start, looks up at him with big eyes, and then pulls him to her and holds him, drawing strength from him.

Kefentše fills him in on what has happened since this morning.

Kefe: When I left the clinic I just wanted to run away. I was so embarrassed. These people have got no feelings!

Tshere: It’s all so unfair! I wish I could take you away from here.

Kefe: Ms Seanego said it was going to be tough, but shoo…

Tshere: So what happens now? We can’t just give up.

Kefe: I don’t know exactly. Ms Seanego said she was going to report it higher, but she also doesn’t know what happens after that.

Tshere: Are you going to come back to school?

Kefe: I don’t think so, not yet. I’ll study at home until I know what’s happening. But it makes me more angry. It’s like I’m the one who’s done wrong, while Pootona carries on as normal!

The following morning Kefentše tells her mother that she’s going to study at home, and that she will look after the children.

Minutes after her mother leaves, Ms Seanego pulls up and hoots for Kefentše to come to the car. She quickly tells the news: she spoke a labour relations person in the district office of the DoE who was very helpful. They arranged that officials who are visiting a nearby school tomorrow will add in Kefe’s case and come to take an official report.

Kefe: Tomorrow!

Ms Seanego: Yes, can you believe it! He said it usually takes weeks, sometimes even months, to send investigators. We’re very lucky they can take your statement right away.

Kefe: ‘Take my statement’. What does that mean?

Ms Seanego: It means you tell them exactly what happened, just like you told me.

Kefe: Will you be with me?

Ms Seanego: If you want me, I’ll be there. Listen, I must get to class. Are you OK with all this?

Kefe: Yes. This is what I want. I only hope they take me seriously, that they believe me.

Ms Seanego: I’m sure they will take you very seriously, Kefe. Twelve at school, OK? Bye!

***

Tell us what you think: Is this a true account of how young people are often treated at a clinic? Should Kefe go back and have those tests? What should she say to the older nurse?