A boy I knew from the street pushed the gate open halfway and peeped in,
his sandals scraping against the dusty ground.
“Your uncle Sibusiso is calling you,” he said, breathing fast as if he’d been sent on a mission.
My heart dropped.
Rebecca froze mid-step.
Our eyes met instantly —
a silent exchange of fear, confusion, and readiness.
“Where is he?” I asked.
The boy pointed with his chin.
“At the stoep… by the corner… at Lions hup.
Three houses away.”
My breath caught.
That spot — “Lions hup” —
was where men from the street gathered,
a place for opinions, gossip, loud debates,
and everything that could ignite tension.
Rebecca stepped closer to me without saying a word,
her hand brushing my arm gently,
as if to remind me:
You are not walking into this alone.
I nodded onc
