I have always wondered whenever people talk about long term love as if it is something that is meant to be natural, a great part of life, faith. I look at the definition of love and look at life as we live it nowadays and this always leaves me more puzzled than grateful.

My cousin, Themba Ndlovu is the only child from my father’s sister. We never knew his father. My aunt met Michael Msomi from Matubatuba while he was working for a construction company in Pietermaritzburg. He disappeared just before my cousin was born. They had tried to find him but with futile results. Themba and his mother lived in Sweetwaters, an area just about five kilometres from Pietermaritzburg town. She passed away just after Themba finished his matric. Although working as a domestic worker, my aunt did manage to save some money for my cousin with a desire that he was going to go to a tertiary institution after matric. That dream was shattered by the untimely thief, death. He decided to do a driving licence with some of that money instead. Themba is a very energetic and highly enthusiastic individual, he is in his early fifties but looks a little older than his age, perhaps because of his mature appearance or maybe because he is happily married to a beautiful wife and have four beautiful children. Eversince at a young age me and my cousin were very close despite an almost ten year age gap between us. He would visit my home in Mpophomeni township, which is roughly eight kilometres from Sweetwaters and I would do the same now and then. My cousin is a great storyteller, impeccable, I have duly learnt to accept that. I once asked him how does he manage being a good family man. “Let me tell you a story so that you will really understand.” He said. This story is one of many he has told me almost every time we are together.I have listened to many of his stories over these years, fascinating stories too. At some point I think most of his stories are sometimes exaggerated but pretty interesting altogether. His story goes like this: ” Just before I joined the the SAPS in 1995 I saw this girl, in Howick while in town. I can still remember vividly that fateful Saturday. It was the end of the month and the small town was very crowded during that hot December day. This girl was so beautiful that I felt something like a heart attack when I saw her. Love at the first sight if you ask me. I was with my best friend Dumisani Nene that day. I wanted to talk to that girl but found myself glued to where I standing. Dumisani quickly noticed my current situation and he quickly approached the girl and told her that I wanted to speak her. The girl was not able to do that because her mother was nearby. She lived in KwaMevane township, she had said. Her name was Janet Mthembu. KwaMevane is a small township which is just within a walking distance from the town. She had recently finished writing her Standard 10 exams and was now waiting for results.” My cousin paused and looked at me as if he wanted me to say something. I know KwaMevane, I was born and bred in Mpophomeni, so Howick is about fifteen minutes drive from Mpophomeni, I know Howick like a doctor knowing his Hippocrates oath. My cousin knew that, but there is one thing I have to take my hat off for that guy. He is a master in game called sarcasm. This was one of his sarcastic skills, so I simply nodded. Then he continued. “That Sunday I went to look for her in KwaMevane. I found her house and with the help of a young lad l managed to call her out. She was surprised and scared but she pointed a secure spot where we could talk. Away from grownup’s sight. That was how things were done back then. All in the name of respect. We talked, I told her my story about her. She denied my proposal. I went back home, but hopeful. I spent most of my time travelling that month to and from Howick, two or three times a week, persuading Janet to open up her heart for me. She kept rejecting me. Dumisani thought that I should throw a towel to avoid pain and disappointment, I reluctantly agreed. A week passed. Two weeks, Janet’s picture started to fade away in my mind.

1995 was a year of uncertainties and bittersweet memories. After that historical 1994 democratic elections in South Africa, everyone was happy but scared at the same time. Change is always good but change always have some resistance factors. Nobody knew at that time how those who were supporting the apartheid regime would respond to the country’s transformation. The apartheid supporters did not know what to expect either. By coincidence during those times of uncertainties I was called to do preliminary tests to be recruited by the South African Police which was now a South African Police Service. I was both elated and scared because I was not sure if I was ready to take that responsibility despite the fact that I liked to become a policeman. Was it a good time to persue that infamous career? Would I survive the much talked about police training? Would the community accept me given the reputation of retro SAP of brutality?

It was early January that I decided to go for those tests. They were made up of psychometric, physical and medical test. The tests took place in a police training facility in Pietermaritzburg. We started as group of fifty but only twenty of us made it through the physical test and thirty did not make through. The following week we signed our contracts and we were told to prepare to go to our respective colleges for intensive training. From our group there were only two girls who made it through. I silently admired their perseverance, determination and courage. We were all told that we were expected to report for college in the next seven days. It was Monday so that meant we were to report on the following Monday for college training. Me and one guy were going to Phillipi in Cape Town. I silently cursed, I was expecting to go to at least Chartsworth in Durban.

The days before leaving were very busy days for me as I was preparing for my important career trip. I was trying to do many things during that shot time as I knew I would going for a long time. I had to deal with showers of farewells and congratulations from family members, even those I had forgotten they even existed, friends and from what looked like the whole community. It happened during those days either by chance or fate that while I was in Howick I met Janet, as beautiful as ever. Someone I thought I had buried in my mind. She came to me. ” Good morning, l thought you were dead, I last saw you before Christmas last year, what happened?” She asked smiling as if intentionally showing of her dimples on her cheeks. I was stunned. Dumbfounded. ” You look thin, have you been sick?” She inquired. The last part of her questions got me thinking a little. Have I suddenly lost weight? Have I been emotionally sick without me noticing? But most of all, was I in dream of some sort? I was not sure, but there was one thing I was certain of at that moment. Dream or no dream, sick or not, the angel that was infront of me was real and she was definitely the cure for my sicknesses.All of it. That fire I thought was gone inside my heart reignited even more. I quickly recovered from my temporary state unconsciousness. ” Good morning Janet, how have you been? I have been very busy for the past few weeks.” I lied.

We spend almost the rest of the day with Janet talking and laughing like old lost friends who had just reunited. Love was in the air. We talked a lot. She was was very confused when I had suddenly disappeared, she too developed serious feelings for me, she said. She told me that she was offered a scholarship to study medicine at University of Witwatersrand in Johannesburg. I also told her that I was going to be a policeman. “Wow! My future husband is going to be policeman!” She said jokingly. I blushed, bemused. I was twenty two years old, she was eighteen. We sat in the park that day not noticing time until it was afternoon. I had to accompany her to her home. Just as we were cruising we heard a loud but familiar voice shouting. Well I’d be damned, if it isn’t the long lost love birds!” The voice said. I quickly knew whose voice that was. It was the big boisterous Dumisani. I was supposed to meet with him in town. I had forgotten and I was late with four hours. He had thought that I decided not to come to town, he said. He was very angry with me, but given what he was seeing he would take back his anger because he was ” a Christian.” We all laughed. I continued with Janet and I left her near her home. It was Wednesday so we promised each to meet again on Friday. It was going to be a very special day. We said our goodbyes and I went back to Dumisani. He saw me and smiled. He was always smiling as if showing off his missing front tooth. Dumisani was tall with broad shoulders and huge athletic body. We grew up together. He lost his tooth during a fight with four local boys. One of those boys hit him with a brick on his face. He lost his tooth that day but three of those boys spent two weeks in hospital, with broken ribs. Nobody said anything out of line to him ever since, not even the older boys. We were still in high school then.

We took a taxi back home. On our way home we spoke a lot about Janet and that day’s revelations and about how affectionately peculiar it had turned out to be. I also thought about that moment while I was sleeping at home. I thought a lot about Janet, her strikingly light brown eyes, about her smile and her dimples. For the first time in life I had a purpose, a willingness to succeed in life, in all this, I thought,Janet was the dilation of my capabilities. I went to sleep that night feeling happy and highly motivated. That night I dreamt that I was walking in a park and I noticed two people sitting on a bench, as I got nearer I noticed that they were women, chatting and laughing. I also noticed that one of them was my beautiful Janet. I just stood behind them trying to hear what they were talking about and I could only hear murmurings. I came a little bit closer but still could not make out their conversation but they both looked happy. I still could not see who the other lady was. In my dream again, it now looks like they were now in my home, sitting close together on a sofa. They were still murmuring and giggling. As I came closer I could now see that other person. It was my mother. She was very happy. Laughing.

The special Friday came, I woke up early and prepared. I went to the taxi rank and luckily got a taxi short with one person. I arrived at Howick around 10:00. I bought some chocolate, chips, cakes and fruit juice. I went to our usual rendezvous as we were to meet at 10:30. She was wearing a light brown dress which I thought was regal to her unusually light brown eyes. She smiled. I could not miss those dimples on her face. I melted. Her friend’s parents were away so she had organised with her that we would use her friend’s room to get our love story going. That particular Friday was one of those unforgettable days of my life. We stayed until afternoon and eventually we had to say our goodbyes. It was a painful scene, the goodbyes I mean. She gave me her postal address and I gave her Dumisani’s on account I was not going to be at home for some time. That would also an advantage as she was also to leave for university.

Police training Phillipi was intense but home sickness was even more unbearable. The weather was worse. Unpredictable. During my first week I wrote a letter to Dumisani asking how life was at home. I also asked whether he had heard anything from Janet. I received a letter from Dumisani two weeks later, asking me how I was holding on. He mentioned that many people around home sent their regards and that Juba said if I get a chance l should phone to his home telephone. He gave me the number. In those days telephones were scarce. A rare commodity. Juba’s home was one of those commodities. Although Juba’s house was a distance from where we lived but we would go now and then whenever there was a need for a telephone, which was seldom. Juba was also popular amongst our community despite the fact that his home had a telephone, some say he got his name because he actually looked like a dove. He was responsible for delivering messages to other households when their relatives called. Dumisani mentioned in the letter that he had seen Janet in Howick few days after my letter. She had asked for my address and Dumisani give her.

I waited in anticipation for the letter from Janet but it never came. The first month in college was very difficult in many ways. Of all twelve instructors, eight were white and also speaking Afrikaans, two were coloured also spoke Afrikaans and two were black and spoke IsiXhosa. I quickly gained popularity especially amongst Afrikaans speaking fraternity because of my fluency on the language. I spent most of my time during my childhood with the child of my mother’s employers who were Afrikaans speaking. I taught him IsiZulu, he taught me Afrikaans. Most people at college referred to me as ” ‘n Boer van Natal.”

We were divided into seven groups of twenty students and those groups were called platoons. Our platoon, like six others was made up of twenty students, six were from around Cape Town, four from Free State, four from Johannesburg and six from KwaZulu Natal. We became friends all of us that came from KwaZulu Natal. I guess it was a natural human instinct that those from Johannesburg also formed friendship and so on. We became a divided house. There were many instances where there would be conflicts based on our backgrounds but we would always seek common grounds. Eventually we were forced to become a one platoon. We formed a strong bond with Jacob Makhoba. He was from Durban.He had just married and had a son. Each platoon had it’s own bungalow, a place to sleep. There were four other coloured constables who would come now and then to help. They spoke English mostly but did speak Afrikaans. We would wake up at 4:00 in the morning to bath clean our bungalows and get ready for inspection at 05:00. After that went to physical training which started at 6:00 till 09:00 and went for breakfast until 09:30. The rest of day was all about running, attending academic classes, more running, lunch from 12:00 to 12:45, running and sometimes tactical training, running and dinner at 19:00 to 20:00, sometimes physical training or tactical at anytime of the night. This was to be our daily schedule for the next nine months or so. Many people left within the next first month citing many reasons like, their families were rich or they own lot of cattle and one even said that he had just married therefore there was no way he was going to live nine months like this. Most of us who were not rich, and probably did not have anything to hold onto when leaving stayed. We held on. There were many occasions where the thought of quitting would creep in but the thought of holding on would always prevail within ourselves. We learnt to give each other courage even though we came from different directions of the country.

The second month became better. That month I received two letters. One was from Dumisani and the other had a stamp from Matubatuba, in Natal. I opened that unknown letter first. ” My Dear Themba” the letter said. It was from Janet. She missed me very much. She really wanted me to be close to her. She understood though that, that would be impossible for now. She said many sweet things that brought me happiness and pain at the same time. They were relocating from KwaMevane to KwaMsane in Mtubatuba. They were relocating because her father had been promoted to a principal in a local school there. She was not going to Wits University as planned but would go the University of Zululand. She would write to me as soon as they settled down. She promised. I should not forget that no matter how apart we may seem to be but she still loved me very much. After reading that letter, I felt my heart pounding faster than usual. I found myself in a pool of thoughts, uncertain thoughts too. I was broken. Will I ever be able to see Janet again? Did I make a mistake by joining the police? Clearly if I was there I would have found a way to make her stay behind. But she had said that she would write to me as soon as she settled. That gave me hope. I drifted away amid my thoughts and slept. In a dream I saw Janet sitting on that sofa in my home, but this time she was alone. She was shaking.No! She was crying. It looked like I was trying hard to come to her in order to comfort her but some unknown strong force kept pulling me back. I tried harder but this force was pulling me. I started to cry. Themba! Themba! Somebody was shouting. I jumped and woke up, sweating like a horse. My roommate, Makhoba was waking me up. “What’s wrong? You are having a bad dream.” He inquired. I nodded and went back to sleep. I forgot to read Dumisani’s letter.

Against all the odds. Life must continue. I waited for Janet’s letter again but none ever came. Life must go on. It is funny how a person always find hope and draw strength from people around him if he is willing to. Despite coming from different backgrounds my platoon mates, seeing my deteriorating situation tried very hard to support me, giving all sorts of advices and emotional support. Some advices were very funny. That gave me courage to pull even harder. During that emotional struggle, l learnt a valuable lesson. No matter how hard life might be, with necessary support anyone can overcome any challenges, but that person must be to able to accept that support. During those months I received many letters from home most of them encouraging me to hold. Some even promised me that they would look for ‘my Janet’. Put her on radio announcements if they had too, they had said. I slightly wondered how did they know about Janet. But I quickly figured out who the culprit was.

I slowly forgot about Janet, not completely, but forgot. I mentioned before that 1995 was a year of uncertainties. Changes were now obvious. That year the were talks of the establishment of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission which was aimed at dealing with apartheid crimes and also reconciliation. Nobody knew what was going to be an outcome for that initiative but we were told that if something happens we would have to be ready to protect citizens. So there was a slight change in our normal prescribed syllabus. There was also that historical Rugby World Cup. We were required to assist there to in terms of manpower. Everything went well. Time flies whenever you have many things to do. Within a blink of an eye it was towards the end of the year. We passed out. Throughout these months I had saved money for Dumisani and some of the guys to come to my passing out parade. Dumisani was now a taxi owner, with three taxis in his name. They did come and they were very happy and cheered almost throughout the whole event, even when we went back home. Back home many people were waiting and the celebrations were in order. How I wished Janet was there.

After college I came to work at Taylor’s Halt Police Station which is on the far side of Pietermaritzburg. I still thought about Janet over the years. Wondered what happened. I had few relationships that did not last long. I focused more on growing my career instead. I finished my Policing Diploma four years later and B. Tech. two years later. I got promoted to a sergeant in between and I was transferred to Specialised Crime Unit in Durban.

While I was still in Durban I met with my old college friend, Makhoba. He was a detective at Durban Central. He was still married and had three children now. They had a house in Mayville. We spent a lot time with Makhoba and one weekend he invited me to her youngest child’s birthday. “My wife has a very beautiful friend and I think you would be interested in her” He said. He also had something interesting to show me, he had said. I went to that party with another colleague of mine. We came earlier but there were already few cars outside the house, some parents and some teenagers and younger children. As we were about to get out of our car. A beautiful boy came and stood near my door. He was about eight years old and I reckoned it was one of Makhoba’s relative. He just stood and smiled. I greeted him, not really knowing what to do. I looked at my colleague, he looked at the boy and looked at me and was more puzzled than I was. We got of the car, I held the boy’s hand and we went inside assuming that the boy was sent to show us in. When we entered the room, there was Makhoba, another man and few young women talking. We entered and everybody became unusually quite. I felt embarassed. I was about to apologize for nothing in particular when I quickly noticed a much familiar face amongst the women. Those light brown eyes, the dimples and that beauty were not forgettable features. They had always been there, not really forgotten but well preserved at the back of my mind. I was not dreaming. That was Janet I was seeing. I felt young again. I saw those tears running down here cheeks. I moved forward to reach her, expecting something to pull me back. It did not. I reached her, I hugged her. Everybody in the room were stunned, not knowing what was happening. Everyone, except Makhoba and his wife.”

After telling this story, my cousin looked at me, his eyes bright and I thought I saw a tear in his left eye. His face looked much younger. He looked more alive. I have always admired my cousin’s stories. They may sound unrealistic sometimes but his story telling ingenuity always leaves me with something to think about deeply. According to his story, after relocating to Mtubatuba, Janet lost the addresses. She had tried to look for him and even came to Howick on several occasions. She never married and had always hoped that they would meet again. Not only because she made that promise but also because they shared a common bond. A child. Yes, during that special Friday when they got intimate, a new life was formed. That child became a flame of hope for her. After she finished her degree as nurse she came to work in Durban, King Edward Hospital. That is where she met Joanne, Makhoba’s wife and eventually Makhoba. Makhoba had always suspected because when he looked at the child it did have a striking resemblance to Themba but could not remember clear details about that college story. Everything was unsettling back then. Janet did not talk much about the father of her child until Makhoba met Themba in Durban and the pieces started coming together. He told his wife Joanne and they agreed that they should both be invited to the party. That is how my cousin got his wife and a strong family.