Lala kuhle.
I can’t even put in words (even though I am)what a great loss this is . This is a tribute to my beloved friend, Nompilo.
Nompilo has been one of those friends I’ve always said I’d spoil rotten as soon as I get my money right because she has always come through for me in difficult times. She was so generous! It’s so crazy to speak of her in the past tense.
I’ve known Nompilo since high school. I’ve been racking my mind trying to figure out how we became friends because we were in different classes. I guess we met at basketball. Nompilo was a basketball star, from the Panthers to the Lakers, she always shone. I would watch their games and even as a spectator, they always made me feel welcome. Nompilo made lunch time! It was ‘illegal’ to go out of school premises for lunchtime. But Nompilo would go to Mr Chips and Lobels and buy us chips and plain buns.
In the common room we would have so much fun.We were always laughing about something, anything. When we were finally in the same class, we sat together in Mathematics Class in A level, in the notorious school of arts, where we were mischievious for the sake of it. We had so much fun! Outside of class hours, we’d work on homework together and it made the class so enjoyable. Sake sadubeka ngezikhathi zika Sir Alex Ferguson. GGMU nsuku zonke. I don’t want to meet anyone who supports Manchester United more fervently than Nompilo did.
In aduthood, we had so many good times and conversations in spite of the distance. I remember the day we spent the day at the Bulawayo passport office so fondly— processing our passports together made the whole process bearable. We laughed the entire time, at everything! Nompilo was so wise and laid back about it all.
Nompilo was so generous! Whenever I hadan emergency at home, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask her to lend me some money. She wouldn’t hesitate. I remember when I had just returned to Zimbabwe and had lost my job and we needed funds for my younger brothers fees, she gave me the money and was so flexible with the repayment terms. She was so loving, kind and reassured me everything would work out.
I texted Nompilo on Tuesday and on Wednesday she was gone. I cannot wrap my head around it all. Like the next time I go to Bulawayo there will be no coffee date? No more texts to cheer me on. No more, “Will, bra.”
Hayi, kodwa impilo leyi. Lala kuhle Nompilo.
If the dead could see our tears, they’d rise in protest.
If the dead could feel our pain, they’d be.
If they could see our hearts.
If they could read our tributes.
If they knew how much more time we wanted.
If, if, if.
But they no longer are.
We are left with the tears, the pain, and broken hearts.
They no longer feel. They no longer are.
Feeling is for us. Feeling is for us who can love.
Who loved deeply.
Feeling is our way of making sense of this wretched world.
They no longer are. We are no longer the same.
Broken, shattered, defeated, crushed.
