“You didn’t say you were coming,” says a short guy with green eyes and blonde hair that’s only five inches away from sitting comfortably on his shoulders. I don’t know his name, all I can think of right now is how completely ridiculous he looks in these linen pants with a white shirt decorated with sunflowers. Either he’s taken the oversized trend to the next level or the shirt belongs to his fat uncle because it is wearing him, he is basically drowning in it. Is this an island party, why is he wearing that flowery thing in his head?

“Mims…”

“Mims…”

He says as he draws me out of my thoughts.

“What?!” I say.

“Did you come alone?”

“No, I came with my imaginary friend,” I mouth back.

“Touché!” he says. He opens the door wide enough for me to scurry in.

How does he know my name? Whatever version of it that was. I hate it when people call me Mims, I have never introduced myself as Mims to anyone, ever. Mihlali, what is so difficult in pronouncing my name? I mean it is better than Milali, like, what happened to the ‘h’?

“Cute dress, chocolate face!! Wrong place though, shouldn’t you be at some wedding?” scoffed a tall dark-haired guy in a white golf shirt, chino shorts, medium length socks and sneakers. The brunette on his arm, matching his exact outfit, elbows his chest, almost tipping his beer over.

“Hey! What the f*ck are you doing, my beer almost fell! Have you lost your mind? Is she your friend or something?” he asks his brunette, as if accusing her of a serious crime.

“There’s no need to be rude about it, Tom. You don’t even know her,” responds the brunette.

Tom. I register his name and looks so I can make sure I pick a corner that’s as far away from him as possible for my short stay at this party.

“We go to the same class, what the f*ck Meg?” says Tom, as he trails after the brunette.

So, the name of the brunette that saved me from narcissistic Tom is Meg. I should remember her and thank her if she also goes to the same school. You’re probably wondering I know that Tom is a narcissist. The first sign is he described me as confectionery. OK, that doesn’t really count, it’s just ignorant, nay, it’s objectification. You don’t see me referring to him as caramel or vanilla anything, right?! But the narcissistic signs are there, it’s all in the way he talks, how he spoke to Meg, tell-tale signs right there!

Ugh, did he say he goes to my class? FML!

I peek into the living room and notice a bunch of girls huddled over someone who speaks as though he tried to swallow a whole carrot but it got stuck in his throat instead. As I scan the room, I find the suspect with the carrot in his throat: it’s Mthawenkosi, the chick-magnet. I’ll never understand why they all hover around him like bees in a hive. He is so short and his face is not that interesting but he is light-skinned so I guess that wins him some ‘attractive guy’ points!

He goes by the name ‘MT’ though, I guess to be accepted in these white circles we find ourselves in. He is the pure definition of the term ‘palatable Black’. To be tolerated by white people in ‘their spaces’ you have to look a certain way, speak a certain way, and behave a certain way, and Mthawenkosi hits all of those three things right on the nail. He keeps his ‘fro super short, ugh, he even has that Mandela road thing, that haircut should be abolished! Also, he has no beard, he sure does not miss leg day at the gym, and I think he goes for a regular mani and pedi. Good for him for keeping a strict grooming schedule. He takes good care of himself, maybe that’s why the girls can’t help but lose their logic around him.

I spot a doorway leading to the dining area, where all types of snacks, food, and more drinks have been placed on the tables and counters.

Will it be weird if I grab a plate, pick the food, go sit in the kitchen by myself and eat? I saw when I passed that not a single soul was there.

I tiptoe my way around the living room to the dining room. Just as I open the door, I hear Carrot Throat call me…

“Mims…”

“It’s Mihlali,” I say, calmly, as I turn around.

“Which is the long way to say Mims. What’s wrong, chocolate face, you don’t like your nickname? Be a doll and grab me a beer and some snacks!”

That’s the second person to call me by food in under 30 minutes. If I had the power to erase someone from existence, I’d make use of it right now. This is my problem with the ‘MTs’ of this world: they twirl too much to hold and keep a space in their little circles, and in the process hurt the very people that always have their back when it comes down to it. I know for sure if I were to be in any trouble here, Mthawenkosi would sit there and watch.

“That’s a very lazy insult, especially coming from you. I hope when you look in the mirror again you feel super proud of yourself for your contribution to the marginalisation of your people!” I retort, and open the dining-room door. I grab a plate and pick two slices of pizza. Then I grab a bowl and add different snacks.

Tell us: What do you think of the other characters’ treatment of Mihlali?