A rumble of thunder as the storm circles back for its final crescendo. zenzile means business. She grabs her purse and a black umbrella and pushes the wheelchair angrily into position, cursing in isiZulu as she goes. Lights shrink around the scene as she takes her seat for a final showdown with pink nails.

zenzile: I waited for over eight hours in that queue before pink fingernails looked up from behind her computer. [Speaking to pink nails.] Yah, uphelile u two years manje. Two years of you telling me the same thing, and today what's your story, child?’

pink nails [pretending not to recognise her]: Igama lakho?

zenzile: Don't play games with me. [She strikes the desk with her umbrella.] You know my name. Wazi kahle ukuthi ngizokwenzani la.

pink nails: I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask …

zenzile: Let me speak to your manager.

pink nails: He's not here today, Gogo.

zenzile: Then let me speak to that man there in that picture behind your desk. [Pointing with her umbrella.] Get that man on the telephone and tell him I wish to speak with him.

pink nails: That's not possible.

zenzile: Ngobani?

pink nails: That man is the president of South Africa.

zenzile: And what is his problem? Does he think he is too important to take my calls … to care about my little life? Does he not remember how much of my own life I sacrificed so that he can sit there and smile like that when he gets his picture taken? Does he not yet know that it's us … us … the gogos of this nation who hold it together when others are just prepared to sit back and let it fall apart. [Beat.] No, I will teach that man to care.

pink nails: I’m going to need your full name and ID number to process your query, Mrs …

zenzile: Zenzile Maseko.

pink nails: Spell that for me?

zenzile is about to spell out her name but pauses for a moment. There is a rumble of thunder and flash of lightning. She spells out each letter forcefully.