“I’m suing you”, I intoned in the deepest, most menacing of voices.
Threatening. “You heard me – I’m suing you!”
Worried, now. “What did I do, baby?”
Laughing. “Aiwa mhani, ndakusuwa iwe“.
See, there’s nothing more depressing than having to go without your significant other for a long time. Two months and counting, in my case. The occasional visit helps, of course, but nothing can beat having her around every day.
I’m not talking about loneliness – modern communications have taken care of that. It is almost impossible to be lonely with Skype video, WhatsApp and phone calls. Being lonely is not the problem – being alone is.
You start to miss things. The little things you took for granted, or thought you could do without. The meals, the impromptu visits at work, the beer sticks and back rubs and hugs. When nobody gets you beer sticks every time they pass through TM Newlands, that’s when you know you’re fucked.
I remember the exact moment I knew I was fucked. It’s pretty much the last time I was ever happy. Curled up with Minnie Mouse in front of The Good Wife, a smile on my face as wide as the sea, my spirits as high as Kalinda’s skirt. Just before she headed back up to Northern Rhodesia for another spell.
I can still remember the last sight of her, her eyes squeezed shut as she hugged me goodbye, ticket clutched in one hand, bag hanging limp in the other. It had hurt, to have her dragged away from me all over again. A painful night, all in all, one I’d never expected to live through. The sting from that moment of loss has faded with time, but the dull ache of being without her never will.
I remember the smell of her hair, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her back, pressed warm and soft against my belly while she slept. Well-used memories, picked over and worn thin like a favourite rugby jersey.
Despite all this, you actually miss them the worst when they’re almost right in front of you. It’s like holding out nyama yakagochwa to a hungry man, so close he can smell it. Then tell him to wait a few days before he can put that cheeky chilli to good use.
Thursday, you distant, distracting, depressing bastard of an evening.