As Qhawekazi gazed out the window, the sky transformed into a somber canvas, with clouds gathering and a light drizzle turning into a steady rain. Her heart sank, worried about her beautiful dress getting soaked. The bustling streets of Durban overwhelmed her, a stark contrast to the quaint town of Umzinto. People rushed past her, their faces set in determined lines, while cars and taxis sped by, horns blaring.
She searched for a shop security to guide her to the Umlazi taxis, but found none. Instead, she approached a respectable-looking man selling apples from a stall. "Excuse me," she said, and he stood up, his face creasing into a smile. "I'm looking for taxis to Umlazi. Can you help me?"
The man directed her to the taxis parked behind Game, but Qhawekazii's confusion about the reference was masked by her desperation to escape the crowd. She thanked him and hastened away, unaware that the young man from the stall was following her.
As the rain intensified, Qhawekazi spotted the bold word "Game" and made a wrong turn into the hallway. The pungent smell of urine and vomit filled her nostrils, and she quickly retreated, her heart racing. Outside, she saw the wrong taxis lined up, and her brief joy turned to dread as a burly man with a scar on his cheek blocked her path. His fists clenched, his glare made her stop in her tracks.