'You are lucky,' Mandla says to me one night. We are sitting outside on a bench, eating oranges from a nylon, and watching cars and motorcycles drive by. 'Thabisa fell sick before you even arrived here. You cannot understand the pain I feel, without her here. It is like there is a hole in my heart. A hole that expands and aches me every day that passes by without my Thabisa. You are lucky, because you don't feel this pain.'

I do not like the way Mandla eats his oranges. He squeezes them hard, like he is strangling a man, and he sucks with his full black lips, making irritating noises. Mandla is a nice man, but sometimes I wonder how he managed to find himself a wife as beautiful as Thabisa. I often feel the urge to ask him, but I do not know how to bring it up without insulting or upsetting him. Thabisa has been bedridden for too long now, although I do not even know what sickness she suffers from. I have to ask her nurse the next time I take food to her.

Mandla is right. I do not feel his pain, but I do feel something much worse in my heart. Something I cannot even begin to explain. But I will not tell Mandla of my dilemma; I do not expect him to understand. I direct my gaze to Onyebuchi's shop—or rather, what remains of it. Last night, after Onyebuchi closed for the day, some men came over with petrol and set his shop ablaze. Apparently, Nigerians are involved in selling hard drugs in the neighbourhood. Burning his shop is their way of trying to send the Nigerians away. Mandla has assured me that as long as I stick with him, I will be safe.

We stay outside some more until the nylon of oranges is empty, and the neighbour's generators begins to shriek and drive us inside. Mandla lights a lantern in the living room and sinks into an armchair, while I head to my shabby make-do room and try to get some sleep.

Two nights later, Mandla asks me to take some food to Thabisa, before he leaves the house. As usual, I obey. There are two paths to the bus park. The first path is shorter. This path takes me through a large market, which inevitably leads me to the park. This is the path I usually take. The second path leads to Madam Kholwa's territory. I know I should not take this path, it only causes me misery, but if I do not face my troubles soon how else will I put my mind to rest? I have to see Jabu, and for the first time I know why I am going there. I always knew there is something off about Jabu. The way he picks on me... it is different from the way his friends pick on me. His is usually harsher. More extreme. Like he takes it personal, because it is personal—to him. He hates me, not because I am queer, but because I am not ashamed of who I am. Like he is.

Madam Kholwa's store is still open. I am standing at a distance with Thabisa's food in my hand and I see a white bulb in front of the store still on, with insects dancing around it in frenzy. The night is dark and filled with songs of chirping crickets and the bass of toads. Jabu is sitting on a bench in front of the shop, with two of his friends. They are talking loudly and laughing amongst themselves. I tread closer, and closer, and closer, until I am standing right behind the bench. They do not see me yet. I look into the shop. Madam Kholwa is glaring right at me. She has that look in her eyes again—the one that completely unmans me. I swallow and look away. Just like that, all my fears return. My heart increases its pace. What exactly am I doing here? The boys are still chatting away. They are talking about football.

'Jabu,' I call, and they cease their talk abruptly.

They swivel their heads to look at me. Jabu's friends are smiling, like they are happy to see me—excited, the same way I might smile when my favourite show starts on television. Jabu is not smiling. His mouth is slightly agape, and his eyes are glazed.

'What are you doing here again, this boy?' Madam Kholwa says, somewhat dramatically. She gets up and comes outside. 'What is it?' She stands akimbo. Her voice has no trace of kindness. I am speechless now, and I feel very stupid. Jabu's face changes. He is smiling now, but in his eyes, I can see that his smile is fake.

'He wants us to deal with him this night,' he says, and his friends snicker.

Madam Kholwa laughs dryly and returns to her shop, leaving me in the hands of the boys to do as they please.

I wait until Madam Kholwa is seated before saying, 'I just want to talk.'

'Go away,' Jabu warns.

'Looks like he brought food for us,' one friend says

'How did he know we are hungry?' the other friend says.

They get up and grab me. Both of them are even bigger and stronger than Jabu. I grunt and curse, and try to fight, but it is all futile. One of them steals the flask of food from my hand, while the other holds me tight. His body stinks of sweat and God-knows-what. He smears his armpits on my body without even realising it. It repulses me, and it makes my skin crawl. Jabu remains seated and watches the scene in silence. The boy with the food begins to unfasten the cover of the flask, with a mischievous smile on his face. He is going to eat Thabisa's meal.

'Stop! Don't open it,' I cry.

He ignores me and keeps rotating the cover until it comes off.

'I have to take that food to the hospital. Cover it back!'

'Shut up.' The boy holding me slaps my head. I try to use the opportunity to escape, but he grabs me again. Tightly. The other one smells the food and nods in excitement.

I do not know what I would do if they eat Thabisa's meal. The hospital would most likely feed her, but if Mandla hears that I failed to get the food to Thabisa, how would he react? I am not interested in finding out. The boy holding the food is wiping his hand on his shirt. He is going to dig into the food. There is only one option I have left.

'Jabu is gay,' I say, probably more loudly than I should have.

Jabu starts, rising from the bench. His brows are furrowed, with deep wrinkles on his forehead. His eyes are murderous again, and I wonder if he still has his pocketknife. 'Shut up,' he spits.

The boy holding the food, fastens the cover and drops the flask on the floor. He is not smiling anymore. The other releases his hold on me. I face them all. Madam Kholwa gets on her feet again. Now, I realize exactly why I am here. This is what I want—to force Jabu to come out of his closet. It is the only way I will truly be free. If Jabu was bluffing about killing me, I will not be bullied anymore, and Madam Kholwa will feel sorry for herself after she learns that her only son is what she detests.

'What did you just say?' one of the friends asks.

I bend to pick the flask of food 'I said—'

Jabu rushes forward and grabs me by my collar. 'I said shut up.'

Madam Kholwa is outside now. 'What is happening?'

Jabu takes his hands off me. He retracts his steps.

There is no going back now. I must admit, I am terrified, but I try my hardest not to let it show. I try to look as confident as possible. Madam Kholwa is frowning. Jabu is angry—his fists are clenched and the wrinkles on his forehead will not wear off.

'Jabu is gay,' I say again. 'He k—kissed me. The other... The other night,' I say. 'Tell them, Jabu.'

Madam Kholwa turns to Jabu. She does not look impressed. 'Jabulani, what is this homo talking about?'

Jabu's lips are pursed. The look in his eyes do not falter. He keeps his gaze fixed on me, as though he can bore holes through me.

'Jabu?' one friend says.

'Jabulani, what is he talking about?' Madam Kholwa repeats, this time, hysterical.

Jabu takes a few steps backward, before he turns around and flees. He runs faster than I have ever seen, into the dark night, leaving everyone lost for words.

I do not wait for permission. I run as well, and I do not stop running until I get to the bus park.

At the hospital, I do not see Thabisa's nurse. I take the food to the ward Thabisa stays. As usual, Thabisa is unconscious, and is not looking any better. There are other people sitting by Thabisa's bedside, people I have never seen before. One is a young man, maybe in his early thirties. The other is an elderly woman holding a flower, and sitting on the chair I slept in days ago. Their faces are sullen, and they are looking at Thabisa with love and sadness in their eyes. Cautiously, I move closer.

'Good evening,' I greet. The man looks at me with the same sad expression. He looks away again. I walk even closer. 'I brought food for her.'

The woman turns to look at me this time. 'Food?'

I nod and show her the flask, raising it. 'I always bring food for her.'

The woman frowns. 'What are you saying! My daughter has been in coma for months now. Who are you?'

I am confused. I look closer to confirm it is really Thabisa—Mandla's Thabisa—laying on the bed there. It is. 'My name is Tunde. I know Thabisa's husband.'

The poor woman squeezes her faces in confusion. She opens her mouth to speak, but she stays mute.

'Look, Tunde,' the man speaks up. 'I think you are in the wrong place. There is no Thabisa here.'

'B—but...' I point at the young woman on the bed. 'That is Thabisa.'

'That is my sister, and she is married to no one. Her name is most definitely not Thabisa.'

'Ah.'

Thabisa's nurse—or, the patient's nurse—rushes into the ward. 'Come here,' she says to me.

I hope she can see the shock on my face, because I need some serious explanation. I walk to her. 'What's happening?'

She snatches the flask from me. She opens it, and looks inside, then she closes it again. 'Nothing is happening. Just go. Go now.'

'I don't understand. Who are those people?'

'Go away,' she says dismissively, and walks away with the flask, leaving me lost for words.