Colleteral - By Bongiwe Nonhlanhla

Written By: Bongiwe Nonhlanhla

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Bongiwe Nonhlanhla presents a compelling short story titled "Colleteral." The narrative, rich with emotional depth and human resilience, explores the theme of personal sacrifice and the courage to confront harsh realities. As part of the Short Story category, Bongiwe skillfully navigates the complex landscape of relationships and survival, offering readers a profound glimpse into the life of a woman who finds herself entangled in her husband's debts.

About the Work

"Colleteral" delves into the struggles of a woman caught between duty and her own liberation. The story is imbued with tension and poignant imagery, reflecting a life shadowed by debts and the burden of familial obligations. Bongiwe Nonhlanhla's narrative style is both raw and evocative, capturing the essence of despair and the flicker of hope that propels the protagonist toward self-emancipation. The vivid portrayal of emotions and the stark reality of her circumstances make this a gripping read.

Colleteral

Original Submission by Bongiwe Nonhlanhla

COLLETERAL

I am collateral. I stopped being his wife the first time he used me to pay his debt… that’s not true. I stopped being his wife when the other thing happened. Ever since then we’ve become room mates who barely talk. We don’t touch, we don’t kiss and we both go out of our way to get out of each others way…

“Wenzile, you can go now… wait before you go… here.” he holds a wad of cash in front of me.

“No…” I stutter. “No thank you, that won’t be necessary. I kept my end of the deal.”

“I know that. You’ve done a wonderful job and I’d like to pay you for it, and hire you so that you can leave that sorry son of a bitch! Stay… please. The boys love you.” he says, clenching his jaw the same way he clenches his fists.

The boys are his dogs. They used to terrify me when I first started. I got used to them somehow, I grew to love feeding them and taking them on walks. They are beautiful creatures. They always know when I am in pain, physical or emotional. I think their owner’s has trouble finding someone to look after them when he goes away on business trips. They are big dogs and they like to assert their dominance when they don’t know someone, but once they got to know me they became puppies.

“I love them too, but I can’t stay.”

“You can if you leave him.”

“Mr Terance… goodbye,” I say. He takes my hands and gently wraps them around the money and I take it because the truth is that I need it. An even more frightening truth is that I also need this job because I am the one keeping the lights on, but unfortunately, my husband won’t let me keep a job. Despite it being him who put me in this position he doesn’t trust me.

It’s a long walk back to the township. I should take a taxi back home but I walk because this is enough money to pay for the girls school trip. They are the only thing I’ve done right with my life. They are beautiful and intelligent and even though they are old enough to realise that we are dirt poor, I still want them to know that they belong in their fancy high school. They deserve a good education and opportunities.

I arrive home just as the winter sun sets. I am exhausted. The house is clean and the girls have cooked supper. “What about homework?” I ask them both. One of them shows me their mathematics tests. Both of them have scored distinctions, it renders me silent and I take my seat.

“I want you two to focus. I want a better life for you. There is always bread in the fridge, make that and I will cook and clean when I get home. We have a deal.”

“And we’ve kept our end of the bargain Ma, both of us maintain a 70% average.”

“The new deal is 80%”

“Ma, I need new shoes for netball.” she asks shyly.

“Next month Noku, this month we pay for your school trip.”

I take the money out from my purse and they grab the money and run around my tiny kitchen like headless chickens. Everything feels just fine because this is why I make all the sacrifices I make. Noku raises the volume on the radio and each of them takes my hand and we start dancing.

Their father walks in. Its as if the radio has gone silent. I ask them to go to their room because he has that look about him, and I don’t want my daughters to hear what comes next. I don’t want them to think that this is how a man should treat them.

“You need to go…” he demands.

“Not again…” I scream.

“One day, I’m going to hit it big, until that day comes, we all need to make sacrifices…”

“She’s not going anywhere!” my girls yell in unison.

“Girls, bedroom now!” I hiss.

“Ma, we lost our house, we lost our stuff, and we refuse to loose you too!” Noxolo yells.

“Noxolo, Nokuthula bedroom now!” They drag their feet, but at least they are doing what I asked of them. I wish they didn’t know but we live in a shack and the walls are thin.

“I’m not doing that anymore. I’m done!”I cry, not because I’m scared, not because I’m sad, but because saying those words feel freeing. Even if I’m going to cave and do what he wants for the sake of peace, and not getting killed.

He laughs, and it haunts me. “I found your little cash stash. Thabo told me that you wanted to change the locks, and kick me out. That little stash is the reason you have to go tonight. I lost to a woman this time. Get creative like you always do, and when you're done, shower before you come home.”

I scream at him. Tired of being his tool. It does nothing, because we both know how this ends.

“She sent a car for you,” he says. My stomach churns. I walk quickly into my children’s bedroom. I look at twin beds bought I bought them and the big teddy bears for each of their beds, and a couple of pillows that represent their different styles. I put dry wall on the shack walls and I painted their room pink. It breaks my heart that I can’t give them what they deserve.

They sit on Noxolo’s bed and beg me not to go with their eyes, but I have to. I might keep the lights on, I might put food on their table but their father pays for their good school.

I leave my children, reluctantly and get inside the car. I don’t know who he plays against or how he meets these people, but all of them seem to be rich. Most of them send cars, and most of the time I get enough time to ugly myself up. I gave up my beautiful long dreadlocks to look unappealing. I cried when I cut them all off.

When I ugly myself, I smudge makeup on my face and make it look like I have bags and cirlces under my eyes. I wear old underwear and wipe the deodorant off my pits to smell less appealing but its all just armor to make me feel better because men don’t care. The good thing is not all of them are monsters and not all of them are depraved. Most of them won’t touch me because they can clearly see that I don’t want them to. For the most part, I offer them cleaning services, cooking services, I’ll take care of their homes, children, anything but sleep with them and in return I work off his debt.

Some won’t even make me work they just let me go because they can’t believe that I am married to a monster.

We arrive at the hotel and the driver gives me a room key. I walk inside the fancy place and check in. Every hotel has a different name but inside they represent the same thing, and inside of all of them I look like I don’t belong and the front desk lady makes sure that I feel it every time, and this one is no different. She looks me up and down and nods disapprovingly. She tells me where to find the room and I take the elevator to the highest floor in the building. My stomach ties itself into knots with every floor the elevator passes.

I walk into the room. Its big, and bright with a beautiful chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. The woman that I am expecting is a man who looks familiar. He is sharply dressed in an expensive looking navvy blue suit.

I shrink when I realise why he looks so familiar. I reach for the door and he calls me by my name and whatever shred or dignity I was holding onto evaporates. Its too late to run.

“Wenzokuhle…”

“Mdu… Mduduzi… why are you here?” I ask, voice breaking.

“I’m here for you.”

“Why now? After all of these years?” I ask.

“I love you.”

“Please don’t. Every man who’s ever said that to me has done horrible things to me.”

“I know what he does to you, and I am here to free you.”

“No you are not. You are here to offer a better prison. A cushier one but its still a prison.”

“I work in finance.”

I know that. I searched his name on the internet once and I saw magazine articles about him, his net worth, and some of his cars. I was really happy for him when I learned about his wealth. He survived when everyone else told him he would be nothing, even the teachers.

“Where is your wife? Is she the one my husband owes? I can cook, I can clean, and I can work off his debt. Please let me talk to her so that I can leave.”

“She’s not my wife, she’s a friend of mine. If I showed up to the game your husband wouldn’t have bet against me. He’s always hated me, because he knew.”

I’m pissed at him. I make my way to the door and he stops me by gently pulling me back to the centre of the room. I sit on the dramatically big sectional and cross my arms, barely able to meet his gaze.

“You knew?” I ask him.

“I knew.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You didn’t say anything either.”

“It was high school. I was scared, but I made you lunch every day, I defended you even when I knew you did it. I was your friend, I even gave you a flower once and told you I liked you. How much more obvious did I have to make it to you?” I ask fuming.

He smiles, and sits a little closer to me. “I had nothing to offer you.”

“I didn’t care!”

“I was a thief, who barely had a parent.” He says.

Its true. His father was a drunk who used to beat him on most days with no reason.

“You where trying to survive Mdu, that wasn’t you.”

“You always believed in me. Why?”

“You where the smartest person in every classroom we walked into. I watched you pass math with a distinction despite what your father did the previous night. The teachers hated you, because you kept correcting them and making them look like idiots, and everyone knew that version of you. I knew the truth about you. I saw your book with all of the things you stole in it you wrote what they cost, and the names of all of the people you stole them from. No one keeps a record of their thieving unless they plan to make it right someday.”

“ how did you… it doesn’t matter. I made it right with everyone but you.”

“You never stole from me Mdu.”

“I didn’t, but I know that you got in trouble for making extra lunches.”

“That was nothing.”

“You still care about me.”

“I’m married.” the words taste bitter as they leave my lips.

“I know that, but a happily married woman, says I’m happily married, or I love my husband, not I’m married the way you just said it.”

“That’s because I hate him.” He touches my waist and I flinch. He immediately pulls away.

“What did he do to you?” he asks.

He didn’t really hurt me. Not in the way he thinks. He’s said nasty things to me, he’s called me names because in his head I sleep with all of the men he owes, but there are limits to his cruelty. It was one of his gambling buddies that caused me to be this way. He reached for my waist as I begged him not to do it, not to touch me. He ripped my clothes off so violently that it left bruises on my skin. I did everything to ugly myself that night, I didn’t shower, I didn’t brush my teeth, in fact I ate raw garlic but it didn’t matter to him. He took what he wanted and left me broken on the floor, and ever since that day I have hated my husband.

“He sent me to get raped.”

“I am not letting you go back to him.”

“And I am not going to stay with you. I have twin daughters. I can’t leave because he pays for their education. I can’t get a job because he’s right, I’m not smart.” In the deepest parts of me I know that its not true, because I have gotten jobs before, he just makes me quit or makes them fire me because he wants to make sure that I don’t leave him.

“Let me help you with no strings attached. You won’t owe me anything. I just want to see you leave that monster.”

“No Mdu, you don’t….”

The door opens and my husband saunters in. Mdu and I are not sitting suspiciously close to each other but I feel myself moving further away from him, ashamed, as if I am doing something that I am not supposed to do.

“Wenzokuhle! We are leaving.”

“You still owe me.” Mdu, calmly says.

“I don’t care. I will not pay you with my wife.” He flashes his gun.

Mduduzi, moves in front of me and it only irritates my husband.

“You will never know how subtle her breasts feel. You’ll never know what she feels like because I won.” my husband says. It’s a disgusting dig, but it affects Mdu.

“You didn’t. I walked away because I thought you could give her a better life, but the truth is, she settled for you. She never loved you.”

“Manzi, please…” I whisper. He has the gun pointed at Mduduzi, and Mduduzi refuses to let go of me, he won’t let me get between them.

His fingers dance around the trigger as I beg him with tears in my eyes not to do this. I get out of Mduduzi’s tight grip and get between them. With hands shaking I lower my husbands hands. Tears stream down his face as he loosens his grip on the gun. I take it.

“You are leaving me?” he asks, slowly.

“Yes. But I am not leaving you for Mduduzi.”

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is an esteemed platform celebrating diverse voices in literature. This competition invites writers worldwide to showcase their talents across various categories, including Poetry, Short Stories, and Creative Writing. It aims to foster creativity and provide a global audience for emerging writers. Participants have the opportunity to share their unique narratives and connect with a community of fellow creatives.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Bongiwe Nonhlanhla for sharing her poignant short story, "Colleteral," with the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your narrative sheds light on the resilience and strength found in the face of adversity. Thank you for contributing your voice and enriching the tapestry of human experience through your storytelling.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.