Even the concept of ownership is an illusion. They may have erected their shack there but it isn’t their property. They, like so many thousands of other people, squat without formal permission to do so, living as much in fear of the bulldozers as of the shack fires that occasionally flare up and tear through the camp. The government and the police pose as much a threat as the elements.

Zodwa is relieved when the raindrops die away, and has just struck a match to relight the candle when her mother suddenly sits up as a fit of coughing seizes her. The dog, who’s sleeping curled up between Leleti’s legs, gets up too.

Leleti has lost so much weight in the past few weeks that she’s all edges. When Zodwa reaches out to place a hand on her mother’s knee, the sharpness of it feels like a rebuke. “Mama. What can I do?”

Leleti waits for the coughing fit to pass before wheezing her reply. “Nothing, my child, but thank you. Try to get some rest.” The dog whines in response to her voice and licks her hand.

“I can’t sleep. Let me help you. I’ll go and wet the cloth so that you can hold it against your face,” Zodwa says, beginning to rise.

Her mother indicates the pot full of water next to her, the cloth floating uselessly inside it. It’s stained with blood that seeps out in ribbons, painting the water in swirls of pink. “It makes no difference.”

Finally, the assault subsides and Leleti lies back down, the dog settling with her. Zodwa just thinks her mother has fallen asleep when she speaks. “You should go home.”

“I am home, Mama.”

“No, back to Ulundi. In KwaZulu. Back to the village.”

“I want to stay here with you.”

“I am sick with this coughing disease, Zodwa. It is not getting better and I cannot take care of you or the baby.” Leleti continues, “You will need help to look after it when I am no longer here.”

“Do not speak like that. You will get better.”

“This is no place for you. I should have left you there with your grandmother. She said it was a mistake to bring you but I was selfish wanting you with me.”

Zodwa can’t help but think back to the day they were reunited in the township just over fifteen months before. Leleti had sat for hours on the side of the road in the blistering heat, waiting for the taxi that would finally discharge her daughter.

“My child,” Leleti had said, her frown of concern turning to relief when Zodwa finally stepped from one of the dozens of minivans that had pulled up. “Look what a beautiful woman you have become.” After almost twelve years apart, Leleti was a stranger to Zodwa.