"Jacaranda"

9.20.09

It's especially hot today. My favorite time to walk. The youth in school, the elders and unemployed hiding in their thatched roof huts, children asleep under trees, dogs under cars- too hot- too lazy to give a damn of my presence. Simphiwe is free, alone for once- undisturbed. I say hello to my favorite tree- jacurranda. She's smiling just as I am. I come to *Mctosa's home. Door open, dogs asleep, I find him reading the Swazi Times, shirtless, hovered over the coffee table, rubbing his brow.

"Knock. Knock." I say. *Mctosa stands. "Simphiwe hlalapass." Have a seat. He says. I sit on his couch and pick up the paper from the table to read. *Mctosa picks up my copy of, "The Constant Gardner". He opens the first page and points to the last paragraph. "Read." He says.

"...and brown grass and sore eyes and heat ripping off the city pavements. ...... Under the same jacaranda tree. His face was leather too." It read.

I never knew how it was spelled. But there it was. My favorite tree in my favorite story. As I'm reading, I look up and see tall, lean, muscular, *Mctosa in the doorway, scars on his back, bright light shinning past him- illuminating his dark body. An epic sillohuette, a graceful shot. I think for a moment I should grab my camera and capture this moment. But I decide to live in the moment instead. *Mctosa stares outside, whistling at the cattle to get off his lawn. His back to me he says in his slow low voice stopping at each word, "So. You. Are. Tessa." I laugh. He continues, "Tessa from your favorite story, "The Constant Gardner". Tessa with the heart of a lion. Not afraid of anyone or anything. Determined to help." "I'm no Tessa *Mctosa. But she is an inspiration to me." "You leave your home." He continues. "Your family. Your friends. Your dogs. Come here to get harrassed by me and everyone else and yet everyday I see you walk by with your head held high. Courageous heart. I can see why you like this story." He says.

"Mctosa we need to talk." I explain to him about the rumors, about my family's warnings, about my reputation. "So. You have found the Boo Radly of this small town.""What did you just say?" I ask. "'To Kill A Mockingbird'- a great novel. Do you have it? I'd love to read it again." I laugh. He and my mother have the same love for the same book. "A scapegoat he was. Everybody always blaming Boo Radly and all Boo Radly wanted was to be left alone in his big house. Never trusting anyone. People are jealous Simphiwe. I read a lot, I speak English very well, I'm the best at soccer, and now I have the pleasure of being the new white girl's friend. Jealousy."

"And the ex girlfriend on ARV's?" I ask. "Your loss of weight. Your watching what you eat. No sugar. No soda. No drugs." "So it's a crime to take care of one's self?" He asks. "When did you last get tested Mctosa?" "Two years back." He replies. "Well clearly you aren't using condoms- you knocked up your girlfriend within those two years." "You want me to get tested?" He asks. "Yes." I say. "OK. Tomorrow- we'll go." He responds.

I sit back-that was easy. I tell him since my reputation is everyting we can only have our talks during the day when the youth is at school. He agrees. "Mctosa, how are you so different from the others? Is it all these books you read?" I ask. "I don't read them. They read me." He smiles. I roll my eyes. Like Mctosa does in any silent moment between us, he begins to sing. Issac Hayes, Brian Mcknight, Tracey Chapman, Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Al Greene. I laugh. "Mctosa, you have got to be the only African who cannot sing." He leans in and whispers, "Yes, but I can dance." He turns up the radio, pulls me up off my feet, and begins to spin me around his hut. If this were a Hollywood story- Mctosa and I would be secret lovers in this disapproving world- and our sweet story would end with his death- AIDS. But this is not Hollywood. I am writing this story. So there we were, two friends spinning, dancing, and laughing. Mandla begs me to sing- and like everytime he asks I say "NO."

"Why do you like me Simphiwe?" He asks. "Why do I like you?" I repeat. "Because you are unique. Not once have you asked me for marriage, love, money, emasweetie. That despite your overbearing culture - rich in tradition and stubborn beliefs- you are who you are because of you, and you alone. That's a rariety. You have escaped from your sorroundings. I admire your strength." "Simphiwe, like i've told you. No one can feed me, no one can clothe me, no one can entertain me. OK- sometimes, yes, you do entertain me." He smiles.

I look above his head. A picture of a muscular handsome man leaning against a recently made dressser. "Who is that?" I ask. "It's me- 2004" "Mctosa no it's not. That can't be you." Mctosa 2009- wasted thin. "This does not help your case Mctosa." "Tomorrow we will go, but Im telling you Simphiwe. I'm negative." "How do you know?" I ask.

"I know."