Nzwaki had listened closely to Siyabonga’s talk. She kept thinking about Joe, and the shortage of ARVs at the clinic. He was responsible for the stock because he worked in admin. She was connecting the dots in her head, thinking about what the students had said about people stealing pills. She remembered Joe handing that man a package from his car. And the look on his face.

It had been going on right under her nose. That, and his affair with a girl young enough to be his daughter.

After the talk she found Siyabonga in the staffroom. He was chatting to Nora. She could see they were enjoying each other’s company. They were having such a good time that she didn’t want to interrupt: it was not the time to tell him what she suspected. So she congratulated him on the great talk and appreciated how the young man was humble about the praises.

They chatted briefly about some of the things he had addressed and Nzwaki asked when this ARV shortage had started. About six months ago, Siyabonga had said.

Six months ago Joe couldn’t afford a new cellphone, a new lounge set, a plasma TV or even a new pair of genuine leather shoes. But now, the house was filled with these new things and his salary hadn’t gone up. Nzwaki had checked his payslips last night. It all just didn’t add up.

Where was all this money coming from? The answer was obvious now.

She still had time to change her mind, pretend she did not know and let life go on as usual. But then what? Would she be able to live with a man who was selling other people’s lives for a bit of wealth? No, this was the right thing to do. And that man she once loved, would’ve once protected, was now gone.

This man she was living with belonged behind bars for his crimes.

She waited until Siyabonga was leaving the school then she hurried out to stop him.

“Hello Ma,” Siyabonga smiled. “I’m glad you liked my talk.”

“Call me Nzwaki,” she said, returning the smile. Such well-mannered kids, him and Nora, she thought.

“Is there something you want to ask me?”

How was she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to turn on the man she loves – had loved – for twenty three years? And what if she was wrong? Perhaps what she was suspecting was not going on? Maybe Joe really had a new, legal, side business? Maybe this business, combined with the stress of not being able to do anything at work about the ARV situation was stressing him so he didn’t want to talk about it. It was taking a toll on him. New businesses always were rough in the first year.

But no. Her gut was telling her she was right.

“What if I er … know something…” she started. It had come out all wrong.

He waited.

“Something about the ARVs in our clinic. What if a friend of mine’s husband was working in our clinic. What if this friend believes her husband is endangering other people’s lives for his own benefit?” Nzwaki said, looking down. “What then?”

“Then she would have to do what’s right in her heart,” Siyabonga said.

They stood there for what felt like forever as Nzwaki played the words over and over in her head. Her heart knew what was right. And she was doing it now. But why was it so hard? Siyabonga didn’t move or say a word. He just looked expectantly at Nzwaki but without pressurising her to get on with it.

Eventually, Nzwaki took a very deep and long breath. “I think my husband is doing something illegal with the ARVs, at our clinic, where he works,” she said, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Before Siyabonga left, Nzwaki promised him she would call him. They needed to find out the truth about Joe.

*****

“Today I just want us to chat, openly and honestly,” Nzwaki said the next day to her Grade 11 class.

“Will you also be open and honest with us too, Ma’am?” Lwazi, one of Nzwaki’s A pupils, said.

“Yes, Lwazi. I’ll be open and honest too,” she said.

The conversation started with the talk they had the day before. The students had mixed feelings about HIV and how it gets transmitted fast.

“But it’s people in the city that have it and then they bring it here,” one boy said. “That’s how the counsellor from the clinic got it.”

Nzwaki explained how it was not about the environment, the situations, or sexuality or gender, but about how one made choices in one’s life.

“Siyabonga made a bad judgement call and had sex without a condom. Just because he was angry and drunk, doesn’t mean he couldn’t have insisted on a condom. And just because he didn’t, doesn’t mean he was stupid and deserved to be infected. Sometimes the choices we make affect us in ways we hadn’t calculated on,” Nzwaki said thoughtfully, taking each one of her students in with every word.

The topics moved on to multiple partners, to gays and HIV then to sugar daddies.

“Married men, and women, usually use protection when they involved in extramarital relationships. Men wouldn’t want to get a young girl pregnant because it would bring problems to the marriage. Sugar daddies alone are not the main cause of transmission.”

“Yeah, their old and ugly wives are to blame,” Asanda said, punching into her phone. Nzwaki hadn’t noticed that she was on it. She tried to keep calm as the girl continued spitefully, “I won’t make my man wear a condom if his wife is starving him already. He’s safe. They, like, don’t have sex, like forever.”

Nzwaki felt a stab as Asanda delivered each word, and her girlfriends in-the-know about Nzwaki sniggered. How had this girl ended up so callous? She was relieved when the bell rang.

As soon as she got home Nzwaki phoned Siyabonga. They talked for a long time and when they were finished they agreed to meet the next afternoon after school. It was time to be brave. It was time to do something – put an end to both the stealing and her humiliation at her husband’s and this vindictive girl’s hands.

***

Tell us what you think: Could Nzwaki do anything about Asanda in the context of the school? Was Asanda doing anything illegal by having an affair with |Joe?