She wore stress across her face like a dress in her body. Fazi needed something to cheer and motivate her young self. Even her body language spoke loudly about how she felt after the tragedy. The breaking in and shooting at her house left the 15-year-old girl twisted and torn apart. Her family was gunned down in front of her during that silly night. Sometimes, she would wish she never missed gunshots because now all she thinks of is that night.

Young, devastated Fazi got lucky and was taken by her neighbor until her issue was well attended to and settled by the social workers. She lived the standard life a child would want until the social workers took her away. She was then given up for adoption to the family, who pretended to be kind and warm-hearted. The Hlela family took Fazi to what looked like a warm home for two days only, and next, she, too, like other young girls, was taken for human trafficking.

The view of drugged and squashed sleeping young girls got her eyes wet with tears and her eyes shaking. So they’ll make me like them, she whispered to herself. Tears started rushing down her innocent cheeks. God has to help out this filthy and disgusting place. I was well off with my neighbor or those social workers who thought I was being given to the right family. A tall, ugly, and powerfully built man came to her and told her that they would sort her out the next day. After that, he left Fazi in that stuffy room packed with drugged girls who hardly opened their eyes.

Fazi’s mind kept racing, and she was thinking of a way out of there while still sober. She wanted to escape this hell, but it was already dark, and she couldn’t remember the way. Her face became like a punched balloon, filled with disappointment. Being a child, sleep crept in through her frazzled mind. Around about 2 a.m., she stormed up awake. Quickly, she saw an opened window they must have forgotten to close. Good for me, she whispered. She climbed her way out. It was not easy, but her willingness to leave the place made it look easy. 

Within the blink of an eye, she saw her scary young self surrounded by trees. She climbed up in one of the trees and made herself comfortable until early morning. Around 4,a.m. when dawn crept in from the sky, she got off the tree and started running away. She would run and hide from any human she saw. Not very far away, she saw a lit house, her face lit with joy. She drew closer and was afraid to knock lest she put herself in hell again. She sat folded under the tree for a few minutes until she saw a washing fence with a woman’s clothes. She was then relieved to see that a woman lived in the house.

Looking frail, drained, and fatigued, she dragged herself towards the light room, and so scared and softly she knocked. The woman inside prepared her gun as she opened the door l. Fazi saw the weapon, memories of her family came rushing, and she immediately fainted. Being kind, the woman picked her up. After 30 minutes, she woke up between warm blankets with that unknown woman by her side. ” You are awake, little one,” she said kindly. No more guns; I want to help you. Who are you l? Me? I’m Fa… with a breaking voice. She was weak even to whisper. Her inability to speak concerned the woman who wanted to help her. Please slow down, little one; I have porridge for you. She then fed her and gave her a glass of water to calm her nerves and help her to gain strength. Come again, then.

I’m Fazi from Lolly. So, tell me, what brings you here? I’m a fugitive; I escaped, Fazi replied. Has she run where? Human trafficking, she added. I nearly became a victim. Eat up, rest, then I can safely take you home. Fazi cried uncontrollably when the home was mentioned. The woman became curious and asked why. My family died in a house shooting; I’m the only one who survived. The woman couldn’t hold back her tears; she was hurting too because she had heard the same story in the news, and now the 15-year-old girl left alone was in front of her and sleeping peacefully on her bed. She wanted to help Fazi. She thought about taking her in. With a sorry voice, she ordered her to sleep some more and wake up when she was ready to bathe.

She then left the room to think and get some fresh air because her blood was rushing through her veins. Looking worked up and worried, she needed to do something quickly. She took out her smoke and drank her glass of wine, ensuring all this was hidden from the still so-vulnerable Fazi. Night came, and she asked her to share the bedroom with her so she could feel safe. Fazi agreed. All night, Fazi was stuck to her new mother for safety. The woman, too, was still but not quiet. Her mind was busy embroidering the current situation. She battled with her mental cross-stitching.

She wanted to take Fazi to be her child, but as a psychologist, she dealt with such issues and knows the process. Fazi didn’t wish for her matter to go to the social workers.

This was written by our contributing writer, Duet Mlotshwa.