Chapter 21: When the World Knows Your Name
The article dropped at 06:42 AM.
Naledi was stirring porridge over the fire when the first WhatsApp message came through.
Lutho:
"It's out. You're on the front page. 'Burned by the System: The Hidden War on Independent Women.'"
I grabbed the phone, heart pounding. Naledi abandoned the pot and joined me on the mattress as I clicked the link.
And there it was.
Zukhanyi N.
Naledi T.
Embers & Ash Charcoal Cooperative.
A full exposé with receipts, voice notes, surveillance footage — the flash drive had delivered everything.
The journalist's voice was sharp. Fearless.
"Two women. One small charcoal business. One big lie. They were labeled criminals, linked to dangerous underground markets. But the real truth? They were targets. For being smart. For being independent. For being different."
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Naledi whispered, "We're out."
I nodded, voice caught in my throat. "No more hiding."
That afternoon, the chaos began.
Vendors who once ghosted us were now flooding Lutho's phone.
"I need 15 bags by Thursday."
"Can I book 50 in advance?"
"Is this the business in the article? I want to invest."
In 24 hours, we made over R5,800 in new orders.
Naledi smiled, wide and unapologetic. "Let them talk. Let them watch. We move like thunder now."
But with light comes shadow.
By nightfall, the threats began.
First: a burned bag left on our doorstep.
Then: a drone hovering above our storage shed.
Finally, a call from an unknown number.
"You're loud now, huh?"
"You think headlines protect you?"
"Keep playing hero. Let's see how long she lasts."
I didn't answer. I just ended the call.
"We need protection," Naledi said, pacing. "They won't wait long."
"We don't have money for guards."
"No," she said, eyes narrowing. "But we have firewood. And brains."
By morning, we had tripled production.
Charcoal orders were flying out faster than we could bag them.
Zukhanyi sketched a plan to build three hidden storage bunkers underground — in the forest, beneath the chicken coop, and behind the old library ruins.
Naledi updated our order system, using coded phrases like "black pearl" for quality grade and "smoke dance" for delivery zones.
By the end of the week, we had earned R13,700 — the biggest number yet.
"I want to take us overseas," Zukhanyi whispered one night, curled against Naledi. "Quietly. Build a link with buyers who'll never ask what we escaped."
Naledi kissed her shoulder. "Then let's do it. Let's take the silence global."
But just as the path started to clear…
A voice from the past returned.
My phone buzzed.
PRIVATE NUMBER.
I answered.
"Zukhanyi?" the voice rasped.
I froze.
"I'm sorry to call. It's Mama Noma. From the orphanage."
Blood left my face.
"I thought you—"
"I survived the fire."
Silence.
"I didn't tell anyone you caused it," she said. "But someone else did. And they've been hunting you ever since."