Zamageda his heart

chapter 1 'Zama weds Zipho how catchy'

As we settle in, the conversation flows effortlessly. Nkosi, likely in his 40s, is a bit reserved and doesn't say much, but Lwazi compensates with his non-stop chatter, making us feel like old friends. Just as we're getting comfortable, a younger version of Nkosi approaches our table, dressed in black formal pants and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His dark, full beard adds a touch of sophistication to his features, and his lighter complexion sets him apart from Nkosi.

He introduces himself as Zipho, shaking our hands with a firm grip. When he holds mine a bit longer, his expectant gaze lingers, and I sense a spark of curiosity. After I share my name, "Zamageda," he responds with a charming smile, "Manzini, Zama weds Zipho - how catchy!" I chuckle at his clever remark, impressed by his ability to pick up on my clan name, a rarity when sharing my full name. The way he effortlessly connects the dots raises an eyebrow, and I find myself intrigued by this unexpected connection.

Liz and I continue drinking, enjoying the entertainment provided by Lwazi and Zipho. Nkosi had excused himself earlier, and Lihle is now cuddled up with Graig. We're on our third bottle when Lihle leaves, and I know Liz will want to finish it, living by her motto, 'Soze ndishiye utshwala kemna' (I won't leave alcohol behind). I'm too far gone to attempt leaving, barely able to form coherent words. Lwazi joins in to help us finish the bottle. We gather our things and stumble out, with Zipho taking my hand, concern etched on his face. 'You're out of your mind if you think I'll let you drive in that state,' he says, leading me to his car. I tell him my address, and Lwazi follows with a passed-out Liz. he offers to drive my car behind us, as they had arrived in one vehicle. I'm grateful for their care, feeling a sense of safety with these strangers 

The rest of the weekend blurs by in a haze, with Liz spending it at my house. I drop her off at her apartment on Sunday evening, then dedicate the rest of my day to catching up on work and filling my mother in on my recent escapades. 'Finally, she gets a life!' she teases, amused by the details. She's been trying to coax me into going out since I moved here, but this is Kimberly - a desert town with limited options beyond museums and mines

Monday morning arrives, and my alarm jolts me awake. I drag myself out of bed, getting ready for work in a gloomy weather-inspired outfit: a green pantsuit, white shirt, black coat (instead of a blazer), black boots, and silver hoops. I keep my makeup minimal, opting for lipliner, lip gloss, and a touch of mascara to define my lashes.