Countless stars were shining in the dark heavens after the rain. It had rained buckets in front of the limewash house at the foot of a refreshing green plateau. Inside the eight bedroom house, once a lodge for tourists, was a cat and mouse chase—her father was the cat and she was the mouse. Her father was Khonzani and she was Milå. Her father was angry at her but she believed she was innocent.

“Dear, she must be hiding in the bathroom!” Upendø shouted from the kitchen; informing her exasperated husband about the whereabouts of their solitary child, Milå.

Milå had turned seventeen in the previous month, November, her foot speed had also increased, and that hour it became even more difficult for Khonzani to keep up with her. Being a beer-bellied man, Khonzani had arrived home tipsy—understandably so, he being in his forties meant youthful Milå escaped from him before he could blink or undo his orange tie; a neck-tie that was fed up with unfruitful job interviews.

“Give me that!” Khonzani snatched the nthiko [wooden stick] from Upendø in the kitchen. The same nthiko Upendø used for stirring nsima [hard porridge], their potential supper, turned to be the weapon that came in handy to punish Milå.

“Are you sure she ran into the bathroom!?” Khonzani asked Upendø for the green light.

“Yes, dear,” Upendø responded, taking another nthiko out of the cupboard to replace the goner. Her gas cooker could not wait for her, so she had to hurry to keep nsima from overheating. “The bathroom has become her hiding place these days,” she added, adjusting her apron.

With that said, Khonzani ducked out of the kitchen. “Milå! Open the door!” he yelled outside the bathroom.

Inside, Milå was drenched in sweat, unsure of the extent of her father’s punishment that night. She had locked the door as if her life depended on it and the key lingered in the small pocket of her true skinny jeans.

“Milå! I’ll break down this door!” Khonzani warned, peeping through the keyhole.

Behold, the bathroom door swung open, and a trembling Milå appeared with the key also trembling in her hands.

“Daddy, I don’t have a boyfriend. Mommy is lying again,” Milå pleaded, and slowly stepped backwards while keeping an eye on the nthiko.