Run away bride: should I trust him?

CHAPTER 15:RUN AWAY BRIDE-( PRANK?)

Next morning, I woke up before the alarm. 4:50 AM. I didn't sleep properly. The phone was still off.

I went outside to sweep the yard like Ma Dineo taught me, before school. The morning was cold, Soweto mist everywhere. Bra Solly was still sleeping.

At the gate, something white was flapping.

At first I thought it was a Shoprite plastic bag stuck on the gate. Then I got closer.

It was a paper, folded, hanged on our gate with a piece of wire. Like someone came in the night and put it there.

I looked around. Street was empty. Only a cat.

I took it. My hands shaking.

"Police can't save you from me" that's what the note said. I found it hanged on our gate.

Handwriting was bad, big letters, with a blue pen. The paper was from a school exercise book, torn at the edge. The same words repeated twice: "Police can't save you from me. You are my wife. - A"

A. Arjun.

I felt like vomiting. My dream Big t-shirt suddenly felt too small, I couldn't breathe.

Someone came to our gate in the night. While we were sleeping. While Ma Dineo was praying. While Bra Solly's knobkerrie was by his bed. Someone touched our gate and left this.

I wanted to scream for Ma Dineo. But I folded the paper small and put it in my pyjama pocket.

The whole day went by and I didn't learn anything in class. I can't afford to be like this.., exams are fast approaching.

At Dube Centre, Mrs. Ndlovu was teaching Accounting. Debit, credit. I wrote "Police can't save you" in my notebook instead of numbers.

The taxi driver learner next to me whispered, "Top learner, are you okay? You look sick."

I said, "I'm fine, just headache."

But my eyes kept going to the window. Is blue Golf outside? Is someone watching? I checked my phone every 10 minutes even though private numbers were blocked. No calls. That was worse — silence is worse than calls.

Lunch break, I sat alone and took out the note. I read it again. I tried to think — is this Arjun? But Arjun is in Nigeria. Deported Tuesday. Yesterday was Wednesday. Today is Thursday. How can he be here hanging notes?

Khathu thinks I should tell Ma Dineo and Bra Solly everything happening. But I don't support the idea.

I video-called him during break, hiding behind the toilets — ironic, toilets again.

"Milondo, you must tell them! That's a threat! That's evidence!" Khathu said, his face angry on screen, his crutches leaning against his hospital bed.

"If I tell them, they will be scared. They will say I must leave their house because I brought danger to their house," I whispered, crying now. "You don't know, Khathu. People here are kind but they also don't want trouble. If Arjun's boys are here, Bra Solly will be in danger again."

"So you will face it alone? Like you did in Tshidimbini?"

I didn't answer.

It's possible all this is a prank. Maybe it's not Arjun. Maybe it's one of the girls in class who is jealous because I am top learner and Lieutenant Jerk gave me a lift. Girls can be cruel. Maybe they found my story from court and think it's funny to scare me. The note looked like a girl's prank — torn exercise book paper.

I want to believe it's a prank. Because if it's not a prank, it means Arjun's network is real, and they know where I live, and the deportation meant nothing.

And plus Ma Dineo's daughter Busi is coming back today. I can't allow her to think I'm here to cause trouble for her parents.

Ma Dineo told me last week, "My Busi is coming from KZN. She works in Durban, in a hotel. She is coming for one week to visit us."

I have heard about Busi. She is 25, beautiful, has her own child. This house is her house. Her room is my room — I am sleeping in Busi's old room, with her old posters of Beyoncé on the wall.

If Busi comes and finds a note on the gate saying "Police can't save you," what will she think? She will think — who is this village girl my parents brought? She brought thugs to our house. She will tell Ma Dineo, "Mma, send her back to Venda."

I cannot lose this home. I cannot lose Ma Dineo and Bra Solly. They are the only parents who chose me.

So I tore the note into small small pieces in the school toilet and flushed it.

I will handle it myself. I will be brave.

After school, I walked home not using short cut. I used main road where many people are. I held my backpack tight.

When I reached our street, a taxi was parked outside our house. And a woman was there — tall, with long braids, wearing a red dress, holding a small boy of 4 years.

Busi.

Ma Dineo was hugging her, screaming, "My child! My Busi!" Bra Solly was carrying her bags.

I stood at the gate, frozen.

Busi looked at me. From top to bottom. Blue jeans, Dream Big t-shirt, backpack, scared face.

Ma Dineo said, "Busi, this is Milondo, the daughter I told you about. She stays with us. She is like your sister."

Busi didn't smile. She said, "Oh. The Venda girl."

And I knew — my trouble was not just Arjun anymore.