#1 Letho noKhayone
Letho is knocking at my hotel room door. I had initially assumed it was my friend Mel, so I walked to the door as I was. But something told me to check the peephole before opening because Mel would be shouting “girl, what the fucks taking you so long” by the time I get to the door. She has zero patience. I wanted to throw up a little when I looked and saw Letho. What!
We met on social media and had a fun banter that I loved. Letho is actually a clown, but a clown that went to private school because her execution knocks me out. She’s a ninja clown. And because of how loud I laugh, I’ve had to restrict myself to checking her text during lunch breaks. There is never a dull moment. And to be honest, I’m captivated by how her mind works. Her perspective is often the reason why I share certain things with her. And she’s opinionated, so I always get a paragraph response – we have that in common. Ayebo yebo !!
We’ve been chatting for months. We’re both in long distance relationships and some of our conversations are like we’re in a support group. And once a month, we wallow up to our necks in self pity. It’s a very comforting activity. She once made a joke about how our spirit animal must be a camel because we need affection stores and longevity. It wasn’t one of her best but it is true. Her partner, Yaara, is in Swaziland. There have been multiple instances where we’d be at OR Tambo at the same time. She’d be coming back from visiting Yaara and I’d be going home. But even so, we never spoke about meeting. I know why I have never brought it up and maybe one day I’ll ask her what her reason is.
Our conversations include work travel, so we knew that our London trips would have some overlap. Still, no one said anything about meeting. I think the most I had said is that she must go see the Lion King in theatre. I love that production!
I had just put my phone down and started changing into my pyjamas when I heard her knock. After the first wave of nerves subsided, I felt glad that we’re finally meeting. I open the door and all the pent-up energy fills the room. She says she’s glad that she found me because “this is happening”. So I guess I’m the only one who needs a moment to process this. Okay. She walks in towards me and I realize that it’s the first time that I’m seeing her face. But this doesn’t explain why am I walking backwards away from her so I stop and she reaches me. The last button of her jersey is unbuttoned so she lets it fall to the floor. Zulu, so much Zulu. I think she’s doing it on purpose because she knows that vernac makes things more intense with all its connotations. My heart is racing and I can feel it in my throat. And without breaking eye contact, she locks her hand in mine and closes what little space we had left between us. “Unjani” she finally asks and smiles. I wrap my hands around her waist and she places her free hand around my shoulder. “Wena unjani” I ask and we both let out a silent laugh.
We wake up the next morning after what seemed like days of catching up. We covered most of our teens last night before passing out. She looks at me and smiles. A different smile to last night though. With my hand on my mouth I laugh at how goofy she looks. She gets up and heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth. And I go in when she’s done.
I need food, so I suggest we get room service and sit outside on the balcony. She says no, says she’ll have breakfast at her hotel. I get up to walk her out but she holds out her hand like a crossing guard and says “it’s alright, ngizoz’hambela”
Noma the writer 