By Kabelo Mollo
Here we are at the end of January. If you had resolutions, they’re likely no longer intact. The “new year, new me” folks have eased up on their gym going habits and reverted to type while those who had vowed 2022 was going to be their year have already learned that the year belongs to no man. I kid of course. The universe is pregnant with opportunity. There is something different in the air. I can’t quite articulate it, but it requires a person be ready to seize the day as it were. After two years of tough times, it’s time to manufacture the good times for ourselves. I should say a big thank you to the Prime Minister and his team at Nacosec who have done the right thing and rescinded the (dormant) curfew. Not dormant for me. I sleep at 9, but I know many Basotho were getting home in the wee hours without even a thought about “The curfew”.
Now that we’ve navigated through Jan and all its worries, it’s time to look ahead to the month of love. Specifically, the 14th of February. A date so etched in misery for some they have already declared their abhorrence of it. While others have shown their anxious anticipation for the day. It’s a battle of wills really. Who’ll blink first? Will the sceptic persevere with the anti-romance rhetoric or, will sanity prevail and spoiling of the romantic be the order of the day?
When I was a teen boy, Valentine’s day was the worst day in the calendar. The whole school would be gathered in the hall. We would be segmented in to our grades and made to wait for what would be an eternity for presents from the opposite sex. Standard 6 was the worst because in your first year of high school where how were you supposed to know girls? And yet, some guys got six and seven roses from admirers, friends and even to my surprise, lovers! I couldn’t fathom it, at thirteen years old all I thought about was Manchester United, the Boks, and the Proteas. Where were guys finding time, and even wherewithal for girls?! Also, why weren’t they scared of them? What kind of big steel shiny cajones does one need to possess to be asking girls out at thirteen, fourteen years old?!
Anyhow, my stock eventually improved and by standards eight and nine I knew I could expect at least five roses (and not the tea). I had good enough mates, and potentials that I could walk out of there with my head held high. Then, strangely in my matric year I was pegged back. Not a single thing. Not one rose, no chocolates, not even a card. It was more unsettling than embarrassing, I mean how could a socialite like me walk out the hall empty handed. I had grown so accustomed to getting my share that I genuinely couldn’t understand what happened. And then it struck me, everyone was paired up. All my friends had long term partners. My constant companion remained United, the Boks and the Proteas, none of whom would be sending me Valentine’s greetings.
As I got older and grew in to my ears I began to understand the significance of the day better. It wasn’t about showing off how many girls you knew. It wasn’t about your popularity at girls’ schools, nor was it about how many girls you “pulled” (The lingua franca for kiss at the time) no, it was about celebrating a beautiful thing like a steady relationship. It was about showing your partner just how much you appreciated them. Yes, appreciation should be a daily thing, but this is an even more special occasion. A day for the fellas to tell their partners “I love you” and “I’m here for you”.
You never count your blessings but some amongst us have been truly blessed with amazing partners. People who turn the good days in to great days. Those who remove the gloom from the grey days, and who remind us that love trumps all the other emotions. Some of us are lucky enough to have these traits in one person but shout out to you who have to go to different sources for different vibes. I see you. I ain’t mad at you.
This will be my first Valentine’s day as a husband (and a dad). I hope I don’t fumble the proverbial bag! My beautiful wife deserves all the flowers, cards and candy in the world. She deserves to be showered with love every day, but that one specifically, so I’ll go all out to make it special. Finally, good luck to those grade eight boys at St Stithians college. Remember lads, failure’s never fatal!
