"How about we make this love thing real, yeah?"~Qaphela Makhathini.
In this fleeting span of mortal existence, Ayize and Qaphela are graciously granted another opportunity to love each other. However, circumstances don't appear to be as delightfu...
"Yoh, Ayize? Sizay'thini ke le?" She pumps me for a solution while I anxiously chew on my manicured nails.
In lieu of a solid response, I groan. Swiping the thick, never-ending tears from my tender cheeks. I've been rubbing them, brushing them, patting them, and poking them for the last two hours. Abusing them, essentially. They have never been at the receiving end of so much turmoil. The ride back from Valerie's practice was a torturous one.
"I don't know mntase. I—I just want to die this instant. I'm done for, Nangamso," finally, I admit with flailing hands and a shake of my head.
"In all of this, I hope you remember the pledge we took years ago," she reminds me, creasing her eyebrows in the process. She then proceeds to shove a handful of the Steers fries into her mouth.
"A high value woman never commits foetus deletus," I recite the words passively, in defeat. Well, I only affirmed that to her when life made sense.
She blows out a stream of air and intertwines her greasy, sticky digits with mine. "That's it. Come on, let's pray," she offers, catching me off guard. "Nontombi please, we both went to a Christian school, I know how to pray. Now close your eyes."
"Fine, Nanga!"
"Dear Heavenly Father, we come before you in praise and in thanksgiving. Lord we thank you for blessing my sister's womb with a gift, despite the person it picked to procreate with. Yoh Ta'G, kumanzi phantsi bhudda yam. But I know you'll pull through for my Ayi Ayi. Love you loads ke nono. Amen," she swiftly concludes. You can't miss the flummoxed expression etched on my face.
"You're crazy."
"And you're in deep shit," she retorts.
"I hate myself," I mither. The loud roaring of my stomach reminds me of the unbalanced dieting I decided to unintentionally partake in since my arrival. Suddenly the carb counting and low sugar intake doesn't matter. I want to feed my face with whatever my mood suggests. And, right now, I want nothing more than whatever Nanga's having.
Echoing my thoughts, Nanga shoves a sticky pork riblet into my mouth, piping me down.
"Thanks, now sing to me," I entreat with a full mouth, pouting my lips at her.
"Hai Ayize, this is not your man's territory where you get whatever you want. Out of here with your spoilt ass," she complains, playfully swatting my arm.
