By Mathe Ntsekhe (@MatheVK)
Read more from the 2014 Summerx500 Digital Anthology here
I have a hot tale to tell. A glorious tale that for some warped reason reminded me of you —or rather, the idea of you.
To be precise, you as a medley of songs, sang by the eternal living: your Marvin Gayes with healing notes fused and grounded by voices that lead you directly to my ancestral spirits—balimo ba ka! Please don’t get lost. Here I am talking about the likes of Frank Mooki Leepa; a man who understood long before we could see the end of apartheid that, we, the descendents of Ham, were made for joy; and, indeed, a huge part of the struggle was about getting to the point of being “Malala pipe, no more!” Or simply put, the struggle was about self-actualisation.
And, in relation to the tale I want to share with you, this actualisation, extends to the body. The body and its need to be emancipated: to truly be free to feel that which it must and was meant to fully experience.
At this point, I do realise that I am holding you in suspense, but it is because I have no clue where to begin with my tale.
Suffice to say, all was happening in the small haven I call my bed. I was in the act of satisfying a very basic urge—or doing what in Sesotho translates to sharing blankets, ho arolelana likobo.
I was sharing my blankets with my friend, Mudiwa, from the other side of Limpopo—not the side closer to home, to be convincing that Clarence Carter can be used as pun. But, I refuse to let technicality get in the way. Not when I am sharing something so important. Tsala, I was in an act of being extremely “neighbourly”.
The mboro was inside me, and with every thrusting motion, I was edging towards speaking in tongues. This I know and remember vividly. What I can’t quite remember is the exact moment that I asked Mudiwa to give me the vernacular name of this titillating organ that was inside me.
It was all surreal. My body was in a total state of bliss. I was between two worlds, communing with the living and dead. Yet, I was also present. I was rupturing and rapidly understanding why the season of ultra-warmth is glorified. I was simultaneously ‘coming’ while grasping deeply why the heat factor makes you a cherished season.
Afterwards, smile laden, like Semomotela, I understood that some things are as natural as the earth orbiting the sun. I was appreciating that, you, summer, must be embraced with enthusiasm not merely because of the heat you bring. But because of the soulful dimension you bring, which colours and scents what beautiful sex is and should be.
Haha…now, do you see why I had to write this letter to you? You, my friend, based on a glorious moment of pleasure, I coupled you up with sex; since you both share some blanket in Sesotho (pun intended).