Friendship LoveLetters: Chikomborero Kamba

I say this all the time: my close friends are the great loves of my life. I have and will experience other loves in this life: magical irreplaceable experiences much like my friendships. I think our collective relegation of platonic friendships to secondary status is a mistake. Here I do my bit to undo some of that damage one anonymous letter at a time.

The rules: I will do my best not to incriminate you but this will contain a no holds barred account of our friendship as I see it (read: see you). Should you recognise yourself and consent, your name and picture will accompany the post. Should you write a letter back, it will be published alongside your post.

The first letter breaks these rules on account of her birthday and specific insistence that she receive one when I pitched the idea to her (I hadn’t even gotten to the anonymous yet part so I daresay she consents).

We met at a Jammie stop in 2011 (or in a Jammie? It’s hard to remember) but it was O-Week, we were freshers and you sat next to me on our way to Signal Hill. You were wearing an eclectic mix of things: bright lipstick ( a signature), a golf shirt, what might have been a skirt, white sneakers and what I knew from high school as an uncomfortable hat we were forced to wear on Sundays called a ‘basher’ (now fashionably called a straw hat so even then you were way ahead of the fashion curve). You introduced me to Miguel’s debut album and boldly declared that you liked sexy music. Considering that I was trying to get you into an India Arie song, I figured we probably wouldn’t be seeing much of each other.

Fast forward to my birthday in 1^st year (a wild night if ever there was one) that included some violent yelling at Res intruders and a punch that many will never forget and lots of …giggles. In the intervening time I’ve become your catholic buddy, celebrated that we have the same sized feet only to balk at the sheer height of your heels (I took them off immediately because, quote: “I’m too high above the ground!”), put up House Comm campaign posters for you and, inexplicably, become your friend.

By 3^rd year we’re living together in the infamous “Flat #4!” and seriously contemplate taking our show international. At this point I’ve starred in a criminal (on your part) pyjama dancing video, saved you from some greenery more than once and consider you one of my closest friends. We don’t know it yet but we’re about to become Wifeys and #GalavantersInChief and we’ve even got a playlist for our routine (and adventure filled) late night trips to the beach where watch the waves, pour our hearts out and try our best not to be voluntarily human-traffic-ed by nice rich ladies and her mysterious foreign friends in Camps Bay.

Fast forward through lots of laughter, a little heartbreak, a sob session or three(don’t be Schmidt about this please), a lot of studying and adventures and now we’re living together in the best possible way: separately but one ”Do you have tomatoes?” WhatsApp away .You’re apparently my mom’s future plastic surgeon and the biggest fight we’ve ever had *knock on wood* was about an onion. You can’t wait for my “edible babies” and I cant wait for yours. Until then we’re channeling he spirits of Tracee EllisRoss AND Rihanna and the world simply isn’t ready.

You’re one the coolest people I know. You prefer succinct non-Child Health related things (preferable with the accompanying smell of cautery), you have an incredible eye, expensive tendencies, a beautiful heart and excellent taste in music (99% of the time). I can’t believe it’s not as obvious to you how cool and brilliant you are. Given what happened to Kanye West, I wouldn’t mind my mom’s face in your hands and I can think of no higher praise than that. I love you friend, you’re stuck with me for a long time. Happy Birthday!!!

Free plug: @cukamba