Posted in Fiction

Harare’s Matchmaker 3

Breakups suck. People who tell you that you can cry and you would feel better are wrong. You just don’t cry and it stops hurting. It’s not like going to the ladies where you pee a while and then afterward it stops. It takes a little time. Of course, there is the denial stage and the first few weeks of hurting and then the rainbow pot of happiness after a while. But I didn’t have a while, I had now and with my job you needed to be a jolly good fellow 346 days a year. There wasn’t any time or room to be the Grinch of love *sigh*. But after a while of crying and watching sad movies and annoying your friends with tales of his betrayal you start to shave your legs again and putting effort into your outfits.

I didn’t have time to cry and watch movies like nay cliche romcom, I had money to make and my grandparent’s hut in the village needed some asbestos to complete it.  Tonight, I would drink my sorrow away in black pants, white crop top and a dash of lipstick. All I can think of is whether I picked the right shade of lipstick after all I had never worn it before. But after hours of searching on the blessing that is google, I pretty much had a shade.

Zororai Club located just 20 minutes away from my home was known for its notoriety and it’s well-endowed bouncers and barmen.  Don’t judge me, I am not looking for a warm body to show my yoga moves or lips that could whisk me to paradise. I just need to get drunk and dance the pain away and nurse a killer hangover tomorrow. I arrive in the club before it really gets busy and my mistake was arriving a few minutes before my friend ‘The Club Queen’  who knew the ropes to clubs.

She arrived forty minutes later and I was already on my fifth bottle of the night.  The thing about a drunk me is that my senses fly out the window like a bird with misplaced coordinates. I watched her dance with a random guy and I couldn’t help being envious of her. She was funny, smart and she had a handle on the alcohol.  I scolded myself for being the mom of the group and just standing in a club staring at people like a human-sized stationary statue of the Monalisa.

I got my sixth bottle of the night and dance with it and what a sight I might have been. The thing about alcohol is that even your two left feet like they were ballet trained and your ass twerks for days not stat-twerk and I felt good. The room began to get blurry and maybe it was all the head-spinning I was doing. I felt my feet give way and all I remember was hands catching me and everything else was a blur. Did I puke? Who caught me? Did I just die? Who caught me? are the thoughts that circled around in the hollow pit I call brain as I officially signed out for the night.

I was woken up by my ancestors beating drums in my head and the smell of bacon wafting into my nostrils. I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar house, naked except for my bra and undies. Why didn’t I wear matching undies I thought as I took in the room. I was worried, I was drunk last night and I couldn’t even remember whose house this was and how I even got here. Did I get laid last night? I quickly looked under the sheets as if my lady bits were going to suddenly scream out “hey, we got some last night after a long time. Thanks a lot !”

So this is what the walk of shame feels like huh. How was I going to catch a kombi in just my undies and what if I opened the door to a group of armed men waiting for me to escape? Sometimes I just want to get on a plane and move to New York City where Uber is a thing and not have to walk to a kombi. I jumped out of bed, walked to the wardrobe got a pair of jeans that were most probably twice my size and a t-shirt and prepared to escape.

Barefooted, embarrassed and full of questions I tiptoed out of the bedroom and went for the door I assumed was the exit. The smell of toast, bacon, and tea wafted into my nostrils and I figured what the hell I could probably grab a slice and feed my growling stomach. The food looked so appetizing like something those food channels show on DSTV. Before I could grab a bacon a deeply drop-your-pants-kinda voice said ” You were going to leave just like that ?” and I stood rooted on the ground not sure whether to turn or whether to show off my javelin skills and throw a pan at him and run away.

At that moment I thought about that chicken I never slaughtered for my ancestors or that Sunday I missed church.How can I be so unlucky?  my feet having a mind of its own turned and my eyes looked up to see the source of the voice that had my heart bellowing ” Hello Adele-style” and the drum ensemble in my head coming to an abrupt halt. My piercing eyes stared into those gorgeous eyes as my toast tumbled to the ground.

“You …..” I said as I pointed to him…He just smiled and I stood jaw dropped and with a million questions……………..

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