I love to write ,yes, but even more than that , I love to read. I'll read anything from the back of a milk carton to The Complete Works of William Shakespeare via the African Writers Series. In the era of social media we find many 'writers' because we are given space for our 'status update ' and while most people display unpalatable narcissism and horrendous grammar others with no great effort pen down the most captivating observations of life. One such person is Maropeng Ralenala. Pinch me twice and slap me silly...this girl is good. I enjoy her banter so much I knew I had to have her in my little piece of the world. And this my friends is how she has become the first ever guest blogger on Sleepless in Polokwane. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you:
YOU HAD ME AT GOODBYE
By Maropeng
Ralenala
It’s 17:10 and I
am standing in the longest knock-off hour checkout queue at Woolworths Foods. I
am wanting to kick myself for it, questioning why I didn’t plan to get to the
shops early enough to avoid the infamous maze long 5pm queue. You know, the
kind that begins at the frozen foods section, long before you even reach the
demarcated checkout lanes. Whilst contemplating all of my regret and self-created
misfortune, the queue shuffles along slowly but steadily. Eventually I reach
the beginning of the actual checkout railing and as I look up ahead, I am at
least glad to see that all of the tellers upfront are operating during this peak-shopping
hour. Along we continue shuffling.
As one does when
having to walk through any Woolies Food store checkout lane, you have got to
prepare yourself for battle… for you and your fellow unsuspecting checkout-ees are
about to enter the Sugar Warzone…
Blood-sugar
spiking hand-grenades of red and gold-wrapped fudge and nougat bars explode in
all directions, as you duck and dive for your life. Creamy Lindt chocolate rifles
fire ruthlessly at your exposed wounds; liquorice torpedos launch from their
twisted black hiding places threatening detonation. Carbine cartridges fire carb-loaded
ammunition of savoury crisps. Marshmallow machine guns lay in wait, disguised
as pink and white clouds of innocence, firing only when you’re close enough for
the perfect aim. And just when you think you’re about to make it out unscathed
and alive, bright rainbow-coloured gummy candies landmines await you right at
the end of the queue to blow up what little self-control and dignity you have
remaining after walking through the valley of the shadow of sugar death. I
watch the lady in front of me in the queue crash and burn, going up in flames
as she succumbs to a hand grab of Hazelnut Ferrero’s, a peanut crumble and a slab
of caramel chocolate; I want to cry out, tell her to stay strong, but it’s too
late, she’s bleeding from too many places now as she finally reaches for a tub
of jelly snakes; they watch her coyly from behind their transparent plastic
cage, hissssing at her, ready to strike her fatal blow. I watch her throw it
all into her trolley, her trolley filled with leafy green vegetables and lean
meats. Another one bites the dust. Another casualty of the ruthless Sugar War.
The queue suddenly
begins to feel like it’s refusing to move. So in an attempt to distract myself
from the surrounding sugar ambushes, I begin to aimlessly look around at the
people surrounding me. A lot of mommies
with their children, some young adults looking tired at the end of a work day,
a middle-aged couple walking side by side through the store without any
exchange of words. And then I turn to look behind me… and spot the most
beautifully wrapped man standing right behind me in the queue. I hardly even
notice what his face looks like. I turn back forward very quickly to not stare
at his dressed perfection. But I had to look again, get a better glimpse of the
exceptional style and panache I had just witnessed. He was a very tall and lean,
dark-complexioned man, looked maybe just a tad older than me, dressed a.b.s.o.l.u.t.e.l.y
impeccably. He quite literally looked like he had stepped right out of a Vogue Hommes style guide. I tried to get
a proper look, but also didn’t want to be inappropriate and have him catch me
staring, so I just played the sneaky side-eye trick; the oh I’m-just-looking-at-something-next-to-you-not-at-you maneuver. So I did,
and after a full appreciation of this stranger man’s suave, I wanted to exclaim
out loud to him, “Wow, you are really dressed well!” But I stopped myself.
If this was a
woman I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second- I compliment stranger women that
are well-dressed all the time and anywhere. But somehow I knew that saying the
same to this man would be perceived somewhat differently. Just because I’m a
girl and he’s a guy. I felt so disappointed as we kept going onwards in the
queue, thinking how I really just wanted to be kind and compliment his efforts,
but that such a simple spontaneous compliment now had to be thought through for
the potential consequences it could yield, consequences I wasn’t interested in
entertaining.
Now I would never
normally afford this much pre-thought to interacting with the opposite sex; I
usually freely and spontaneously enjoy interacting with them, whether stranger
or familiar. But as we stood there, with nothing else to do, I just began to
contemplate all of the unspoken intrinsic complexities of boy-girl interactions,
considering the potential traps that a well-intentioned gesture could create.
He might think
that I’m trying to get his attention, am using the compliment as a means to
chat him up, or any other possible myriad of societal boy-girl scripts that
follow us everywhere we go, particularly in a world where sincere kindness has
become a myth, where hidden ulterior motives are the prevailing reality. That
me saying “Hey, you look really nice” might just as well be a frontage for “I wanna
have your babies.” :-/ But, I think to myself, perhaps he’s an evolved mature
gentleman who won’t immediately jump to the conclusion that by saying he’s
dressed well that I am secretly wanting to take those beautiful clothes off of
him; for I certainly wasn’t. Or what if he
would try to start up a new conversation after I compliment him? I noticed that
he didn’t have a ring on, but I just hoped that he wasn’t available in whatever
form and wouldn’t care to cross any lines of interest if I was to try and be
nice to him. Because despite how great he looked, I had no interest for a
suggestive door of any sort to open up.
We were now finally
edging very close to the end of the queue, and I began to feel insolent towards
the invisible barriers between our mars-venus male-female planets. And so, as happens
whenever I feel caged in by societal expectations, the rebellious anti
status-quo impulse in me decided not to conform, and so I slowly but boldly turned
around and looked at him straight in the eye.
“Hi, I hope you
won’t mind me saying this, but I just wanted to tell you that you have amazing
dress style.”
He looked back at
me with first a surprised look then a mischievous smile, and mumbled “thanks”,
but so quietly under his breath that I could barely hear it. I smiled in
response and turned back forward. I felt so proud of myself; I was true to me despite
the risk of unwanted social innuendos. It felt good to be genuine and well
intentioned regardless of how it would be perceived.
It was then finally
my turn as I reached the tellers and the display screen red arrow indicated that a teller was
now available and the robotic voice dictated that I was to proceed to “te-ller-num-ber-four”.
I walked to the till and paid for my groceries. As I finished and was walking
away and then out of the store, I silently congratulated that stranger man for not
being opportunistic like some tend to be, as all women regularly experience,
who would have turned an innocent gesture of kindness into extraneous opportunity.
You see Maropeng, I began telling myself, don’t make assumptions about people
that way, many will surprise you! And then, as I reached about a few meters
outside of the store, I heard hurried footsteps coming closer and closer my way,
together with a call out: “Heyyy, sorry…”
Oh no, I thought,
as I pretended not to hear it. It was too good to be true, he’s going to try
and start up another conversation after all, isn’t he? The simple moment from back
in the queue was about to be ruined. I immediately wished I had trusted the
cautious inkling to keep the compliment to myself. He eventually caught up to
me and I couldn’t pretend not to notice him any longer, “Hi, hi sorry” he
stuttered. I stopped and I turned
towards him, a little sad that my niceness was about to be jaded. “Hi”. He said
again. “What’s your name?” he asked with the same interesting smile, as I
thought, great, well here we go Maropeng, you should’ve known. “It’s Maropeng,”
I say, trying to be polite in return. “Oh, OK Maropeng. I’m Khutšo. Uhm… I just
wanted to say thank you properly… your compliment really took me by surprise
back there.” “Oh, no problem at all,” I replied. He smiled a big smile and
nodded his head, pausing, then mischievously added... “Uhm are you rushing off
to go and make dinner for Mister
Maropeng?” Seriously? I think to myself almost wanting to say it out aloud with
laughter, how disappointingly predictable. “No. There’s no Mister Maropeng.” I say, smiling knowingly at the blatant tactic. He
smiles even bigger at my response and then says, “Well, I hope you have a
lovely evening.”
I hope you have a
lovely evening. Wait, huh?? Confused, I quickly reply “Thank you, you too.” He then
began to walk off heading towards the parking lot, as I was too.
Wow. OK. Just a
sweet friendly guy then, he really just appreciated the compliment. It IS
possible to share simple kindness with an opposite sex stranger without it
being turned into something sinister. I felt so impressed by the brief, mature
and genuine encounter; that, as far as he displayed at least, he didn’t assume
that I had additional motives through my kindness, nor did he himself try for
anything when he could have. How wonderful to experience, how refreshing
indeed! Restoring my idealistic hope that a stranger guy and girl can in fact
enjoy and appreciate genuine kindness between each other.
So why is it then,
that I quickly reached for my super-lustre shine lip gloss in my handbag, and
flash-fixed my hair, quickly before reaching the parking lot…
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| "A bit of sugar, a little spice , but mostly all things nice" Maropeng Ralenala |
