Seasons change


By Mankhokwe namusanya:

Then you love her. Real love. The kind of love that hurts both of you. Deep, slow and beautiful love. Her heart beat syncs with yours. Her dreams become yours. Her fears become your nightmares. Her joys become your triumphs.

She becomes your little world. Your future centres around her. When she says she will marry at 30, you say you will marry at 32. When she laughs heartily, even at another man’s joke, it is your ribs that hurt.


You both cherish that. Or so you think. Your friends think you have the perfect thing. They call her mlamu. She celebrates in that. There is no need to say what her friends call you. She never has any. The moment you kissed her for the first time and snatched her from the jaws of that other guy, she discarded all her friends. She adopted yours. Again, your world merged.

When you lost your cool owing to her not picking up the phone, she rushed to apologise. When you refused to offer the forgiveness, she went on hunger strike. Her friend, your friend, had to approach you at that tower of vanity to tell you how she was suffering. You forgave.

“Now, I have her,” you thought.


And, having her you did. She became that sweet little obedient girl. You asked for this, she offered. For that? She gave.

She became your little slave. You disguised her position as one resultant from love. You said it was love actually. Like the kinds people see in television stations.

That day, the day she left, was the hardest.

At first, you thought she was joking. It was such a simple issue. You called at 1am, her line was busy. She had told you ‘good night’ at 11pm. You kept trying and the line stayed busy until 2am.

When you got through, you were seething with fury. You were planning to punish her for two weeks straight, no communication. You would act broken up with her until she put on sacks to plead for mercy. First, however, you had to know whom she had been talking to. Deep down, you knew it was her sister from the United Kingdom who had been on the other end.

“I thought you slept at 11,” you had the nerve to be sarcastic.

“No, I was lying. I wanted to attend to the call…”

“Meaning you have been on the line since 11?”

“Not really but from somewhere around that time.”

“Talking with who?”


“Which Chifuniro?”

“Chifuniro,” she mentions the surname as a suffix to the first name.

It was not her sister she mentioned. It was a friend you loaned to her. A confidante he had become. He was the same one who had been pleading with you that time you had escalated your tower of vanity.

“Discussing what at this hour?”

She hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was cracking sort of. She said she could not live a lie anymore. She quoted from one of the sleazy poems you wrote her on how one had to follow their heart. Only this time her quote did not end with the following of the heart; meaning, being with you. It was Chifuniro who was mentioned.

You struggled to grasp it. Your stomach turned. You wanted to go to the toilet. Yet at the same time you wanted to get clarification. You thought maybe something was not right, maybe she was confused. She said she was not.

“I have been confused for long but now I have finally taken a stand, it’s him I want. I was confused until now. Now, I have a clear head.”

You wanted to know how long they had been seeing each other behind your back. She refused to tell. Has there been any sexual inter course?

Silence. Hesitation. Then…

“I would rather not talk about that.”

You knew what that meant. You were on the toilet seat in minutes. You diarrhoead.

When you came back, her line was busy. The same was for Chifuniro’s line. Later, they both were dead. The lines. You went mad. Crazy. You texted everything.

“Please return and we will act like nothing has happened,” you texted to a dead line.

You wrote every sentence in the ‘how to call her back’ textbook. You waited and waited. Nothing.

In the morning, you went to Facebook and declared your love. You posted her photos and said every sweet little nothing.

In the afternoon, you discovered you had been blocked.

Your friends, the same friends for Chifuniro and her, gradually became unreachable on their phones. When you followed them to their homes, those you accessed acted as if they were busy for the friendship with you.

Only one was honest enough to ask if, all along, you had been oblivious to the machinations of the two. You said you had been.

“Like with no suspicion?”

“No, man, Chifu was a friend.”

The other friend laughed then told you that the two had been deceiving you at least for six months.

“And nobody cared to tell me?”

No, they could not have because you had wrapped yourself around her. You had been drifting, from the brotherhood, and therefore people stopped regarding you highly. They hardly regarded you as a friend. Besides, it was not to be anyone’s business – the situation of your relationship.

You went livid. Kept hunting for Chifu, or her, or both of them. And, someday you met me at a small drinking place. You told yourself with a suppressed tear. I never told you I would write the story you tell. You do not look like one who likes reading so, I think, you will not even read this.

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