After Emira got the rest of her stuff from the flat they once shared (after also returning Azania’s polo-neck jersey, reluctantly so because she made an excuse to keep it again, said it was dirty and needed washing but Azania told her it’s fine, she’ll wash it herself.) Emira invited her to McDonald’s for lunch. “Why you so sad?” She asked.

“I’m not sad,” Azania said.

“You look sad, chomz.”

“Then stop looking, urgh!” It came out rude, unintended, Azania faced her and had to apologize. She told her all that has happened.

“It’s true,” Emira nodded. “The stuff they say you must deliver isn’t exactly that. It’s always something else.”

“Like what?” Azania asked.

“Drugs, guns, weapons, people, stolen goods…you actually the first one I’ve heard who delivered bombs, wow.”

“Did you say people?”

“Yes, people. Anyone. Men, women, children, grandpa, grandma, even newborn babies,” said Emira as she laughed….laughing alone. Azania clearly didn’t get the joke.

“Listen,” Emira dropped her voice to a whisper even though the surrounding seats nearby were unoccupied. “Last week for my delivery, Reef gave me this van, a covered van at the back. He told me it was flowers and that I shouldn’t look.

I said okay, cool. Besides, I didn’t give a fuck about what was in there. As long as I could deliver that shit and get my money. I didn’t look at the back. After a long drive I got at the destination, this port area with large containers everywhere. It was deep in the night, I admit I was scared. This guy came over, buff and all, I told him who sent me. They opened the back of the van and that’s when I see these two white girls tied up on the legs and arms, mouths taped shut, tears all over their little faces.”