Lerato was her name

Lerato was her name I have always wondered whether I am deliberately oblivious of the subtle gestures of affection from a woman or more pathetically, why those gestures mean absolutely nothing.

This anchor fixation remains a bewildering personal mystery. It becomes a cold case file in which I lie on this bed alone and prone to freezing this winter. The nightwalkers in Game of Thrones did alert me about this dreadful winter but I chose not to be susceptible.

The consequences of my ignorance are excruciating. My sleep is burdened with dreams invaded by disheartening graphic images of Lerato and Connor in the most playful sexual adventure you can possibly imagine, deeply and concisely exploring each other's physical limits. I had no clue there were so many sex positions. “I can't anymore!” my emotions are vocalised. This was not going to go away. My heart surged with despair and fury, coinciding with immense passion. I had to go and find Lerato.

Alas, I am faced with a growing contradiction and a soliloquy starts in my head. Am I harbouring a self-righteous endeavour to dignify my dismantled ego by wooing the tantalising, and overtly romanticised gem that is Lerato. “You egocentric scumbag!” Or, is she maybe the chosen one by the universe to bring me down to my knees and kiss my pride goodbye. I'm a lover not fighter but at this particular moment in my life, Cupid has to use his arrows in the battlefield.

Its 4 o'clock in the morning and dawn is creeping in. I gaze at my packet of Marlboro cigarettes, in the corner of the room and stubs decorate my desk. I've been blowing smoke since 1 o'clock attempting to harness my raw thoughts into a strategic plan to conquer her heart. “You're so cheesy, my goodness!”

My cigarette is lit, inhaling the first puff, exhaling only after I feel the full depth of it seeping through me. I reach for my phone. Lerato is already enlisted on my speed-dial. It is 4:25 and I can't call now. However, she mentioned that she jogs every day at 5 o'clock and surely she must be awake getting ready by now or if not, I can be her alarm. But, I have to sound sexy, a soothing deep monotone must play in her head. I coughed three times, to make sure that I do not squeal and ruin my attempt to look like a macho man. I press the dial button. She picks up. “Hello?”

* James Jamu is a Bachelor of Journalism and Media Technology student at the Namibian University of Science and Technology. Jamu is a firm believer of Pan-Africanism and black empowerment.