Babili (Part 3)

Babili (Part 3)

By Ayenziwe Mpila, South Africa:

Seconds after I had left the door, Thabo comes running after me. He has something in his hands.

“Please…keep it, I don't think I can anymore.”

It's a pocket-photo of us.

This just took me back to our happier space. Damn!

Damn you Thabo, I thought.

I look at the photo. We had just came back from a jam session by some of his friends. I can't really remember the details because I used to love everything he introduced me to. It was like every day I  would go on a new adventure.

One time we went to an event. It was a jazz event…he liked those a lot. I always thought jazz was for old people, until he introduced me to these gatherings. So in this particular one, the MC said he was going to play a song and choose any couple to come sing karaoke. I knew there was no way he was going to point at us because…well…you know…I was new there! Unexpectedly, they called us first!

I said to him, “Thabo, I'm not going there”.

He smiled softly and said, “Too bad”.

He picked me up and went up to the stage with me. Everyone there was cheering for us.

Crazy jazz people. I thought.

The song that was on was Whitney Houston's My Love Is Your Love. I was not familiar with all the lyrics of the song, but of course there was a screen with lyrics before us. I was a little shaky in the beginning but by the end of the song I has zoned in! Got everyone to start singing with us. It was a beautiful night.

My mind is busy reminiscing on what just happened. I can't believe I just pointed a knife at Thabo. What was I thinking really?! Was I really going to stab him? I know I'm not in love with him anymore but that reaction! That wasn't me in there. Something got inside me. I look back at the door. It's closed now. I don't remember hearing Thabo shutting it.

I've been waiting for Kefiloe for 30 minutes now. I hadn’t been aware. Well, he didn’t mention how long it will take to get here but where is he? I glanced at my watch again.

Let me call him again, I thought.

When I put my hand in my pocket, my phone is not there. I check the other pocket, nothing. I check my overnight bag…nothing. I try to recall where it might be. After I called Kefiloe to fetch me, I don't remember putting it back in my pocket. I left it on Thabo's bed.

To be continued…

Founder and Editor in Chief of the Readers Cafe Africa

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