I am writing you this long letter to let you know how much of a pleasure it is knowing you. See, you and I made each other’s acquaintance at one of the commonest but rather unfriendliness of places in Gauteng Province, the train station.

The train, station though specific in its nature, serves many purposes for various people. It is a place of employment for others. A place of licit and illicit business or money making schemes to some people. A place of worship to some. A place of entertainment to others and to quite a few I might say, a place of making meaningful acquaintances.

During the four odd years of my studies at the University of Johannesburg, I used to board the train so much. In fact, it was the sole means of transportation I could ever afford to use. As you well know; it is affordable obviously. Convenient? Well, partially. Reliable? Not so much.

Anyway my dear, during that time and until quite recently, I have had my fair share of making meaningful acquaintances at the train stations. Others lasted a day, others lasted a week, and others lasted only but a moment.

Amongst all the acquaintances I have had the sweet pleasure of making, I prize yours above all else because of some obvious reasons.

Firstly, because of the special relationship you have with God almighty. I admire this in you because it isn’t customary for people, especially those who are within our age group, to speak with such passion and alacrity about the Most High to complete strangers as you did with me when we met. Secondly, because of your fondness for reading, as that’s what you were doing when we first met in the train. Thirdly, because of the unassuming, kind and sweet demeanor you possess. Lastly, because of your authentic and natural appearance; your beauty and grace is more than words can ever explain.

Meeting you at such an unlikeliest of places was one of many ironic life’s lessons I’ve learnt yet. Tis’ true after all that greatness can be found from anywhere. I found one of the greatest friends I could ever ask for at the least of places I dared never to look at.

You showed such devotion and commitment to our encounter from the very first time we spoke. Though to me at the time, meeting you so unexpectedly was just another random encounter in the train, I was convinced that like many of its kind, it would amount to nothing. But my conviction was short-lived I dare say.

Along the way, during our train ride, we talked about quite a few intelligible topics, mainly religion and faith. You told me that you are particularly interested in agriculture but you were considering pursuing Information Technology because of its financial prospects. I had let you know of my interest in the pursuit of literature, and even showed you one of the novels I am currently working on. You seemed rather intrigued by the bit that you read and you so eloquently expressed your admiration for my artistic ability. You even let me know how keen you were on reading my finished product.

To prove that you meant what you said, before I alighted the train you offered me your contact details so that you and I can stay in touch. This was the first time ever in my life that someone offered to give me their contact details so as to ‘stay in touch’. I had come to believe that no one ever wanted to stay in touch with someone like me, an anxious, antisocial and paranoid bookworm.

Even though I had taken your contact details and had even added you as a friend on Facebook, I remained ever so reluctant to offload and share with you as much as you wanted me to. You told me that I can trust you but still I wasn’t as convinced that I really could. You once asked me why I was the way I am, why I could not trust anyone.

Instead of answering your question straight away, I asked what we were to each other? Why you so adamantly wanted me to open up and trust you? You answered simply that you wanted us to be friends. And not just any other friends, but good friends to each other, to share whatever there was for us to share. You told me that you had never opened up to anyone the way you did with me and that you believed that you could learn quite a lot from me.

I was very taken by what you said and so I thought very carefully and soberly about it. I had reached a conclusion in my mind that I too stood an even better chance of learning so much from you. I was twice as productive in my writing as you had unwittingly become more than just a good friend to me, but my number one muse of all time as you inspire me to write on and finish whatever piece of prose I write. You made me feel the urge to finish off what I started, rather reluctantly, to write because you also awaited for it in an unflinching and impatient way.

The impact you made in my life is stupendous and rather unexpected in my part. It is unexpected because never in my whole life of writing had I ever had a muse. I was my own muse all along and you can only imagine how hard it tends to be to urge oneself on to finish a creative and solitude endeavor such as writing a fictional story. One tends to lose interest along the way because no one compels them to finish it. It is more probable for an artist to abandon a project he or she is working on simply because no one cares much for their art. Thank you for giving a damn about mine.

Yours affectionately,


Tell us: Do you have a muse? How do they inspire you?