RCA In-House, Short Stories

Let It Be Done

IMG-20160608-WA0027
By Ayanda Xaba, South Africa:

I have been hearing girls – young women – fantasizing about cute boys with cheesy attitudes, and if not, they fantasize about rich men because of their fat wallets. Whatever happened to real men? I’m not trying to ridicule your crushes ladies, but I’m just trying to be real here. What is one supposed to do with a man that spends even more time than you in front of the mirror? These cheese boys will be the death of me I tell you. A man in a skimpy outfit with a blonde haircut, Lord, no!

What I want is a real man. A man that oozes creativity. He has a commanding appearance that makes you bow. My guy has dreadlocks; carelessly hanging over his face – that’s his crown. He walks bare footed, shoulders square and confidence on fleek! Like the king that he is. It doesn’t matter how this idea has been commercialised but money won’t buy my joy. A man isn’t a man because of his wallet; wealth is something you gain and something you can easily lose. Why choose a man because of earthily things? Let me paint for you my fantasy:

I look forward to the day I’ll meet my Menzi. I love that name for my man, it means Creator and I believe that my guy is the true image of God. Remember the bible says God created men in His image. Menzi will be walking to a patrol station – bare footed – in slow motion. Perfection cannot be rushed! He walks in, talks to the patrol attendants as he continues to the garage shop and notices me. Me – short in an African attire with a roughly combed afro – buying chips for my trip.

“Nkosazane,” he greets

I melt.

“This surely is a good day because I’m standing next to a real life goddess.”

He speaks! Lord, does he speak!

He has a deep voice; so deep it burns a hole through my heart. I’m speechless. How can one be called a goddess and actually have a comeback? Menzi is a poet; he writes words that leave one’s soul bare, naked, totally exposed. When he speaks my body trembles to the rhythm of his voice. I did say he oozes of creativity; you can see by just one look that he either paints or photographs for a living. The writing is just something he was born with; his gift that he gladly shares with the world.

“Your name, Your Highness?” he continues

“Yenzi,” I manage to say

He smiles… Lord he smiles! He has teeth we call ‘uthotho‘ in Zulu. Perfectly shaped and even teeth, bright and white. A smile to literally die for.

“I’m Menzi. It would be an honour to get to know you.”

I bow!

I can foresee our walks in the park; how crazy our laughter would sound. I will be taking snapshots occasionally – my camera helps me to hold on to the memories. Yes, I am a photographer. We would sit on the grass with our legs crossed in front of us. The music in our hearts shadowing the birds' singing. When our eyes meet it feels like we are the only people that exist in the world. Like there is no world that insists on me wearing fake hair to be considered beautiful, the world where a brand determines worthiness of a man. Our world embraces our fluffy hair – black and rough hair – exactly how it's meant to be. The world where our African design prints our personalities. This is who we are.

So Menzi and I are walking in the township street and this taxi passes playing our song out loud. Menzi dances out of the blue and sings;

Thambo lam lekhentaki

Sambulela sam

Sambulela sam selanga

Sthuthuthu sami

Sokujika emadrayini ah we mama

Welcome dova baby

Stofu sam samalahle

Ngikthanda nom' uvutha baby

IyhoIyho! Iyho!

I blush, I laugh.

Who could’ve thought an old song like Stimela Sase Zola would have such an effect on me. Menzi does the craziest pansula moves, makes all-star sneakers seem like magic dancing shoes. He is like a bomb of creativity just waiting to explode. And damn does he explode! My crazy Kentucky fried chicken bone…

Only a few people will understand Menzi and I because unfortunately few people are true to themselves. We dance to the jiggles and African drums. We burn incense to appease and communicate with our ancestors. Our romance is deeply grounded on tradition that even when you see us together you can tell; Menzi is an African King with his African Queen Yenzi.

As I wait for the day Menzi walks towards me Lord, let Your will be done…

1,518 total views, 7 views today

Share this entry: