I find myself staring at nothing but seeing everything. Feeling nothing but experiencing it all. It is depressing watching the whole thing unfold.
I’ve been thinking about her lately, her death hit too close to home.
If today I told you she was my friend, it would not only be a lie but also a strong yellow piss on her grave. It would be a shameful disservice to label her my friend. We were just classmates. Since we completed our course years ago she and I never spoke a single word. Even when I met our mutual friends I’d never ask them to pass along my regards to her.
But I knew her right?
Suddenly her face was everywhere.
Her name was on every lip, bouncing on every conversation.
I flipped through my phone and there she was; the feature of the DPs. I turned on the radio and her name came up tenfold.
Her story even featured on the BBC.
The first thing that came to mind when I heard of her passing was a decade old memory from journalism class; she was the only person amusingly defending Mugabe’s policies during debate, and bragging about him being the smartest president in Africa. She stood by her support of him and nothing swayed her stance no matter what was said.
What annoys me now about the uproar that followed her passing is that it led to nothing. Everything and everyone just quickly jumped on the likes, follows, shares, and tags.
Now all of that doesn’t seem to mean anything.
We’ve moved on to the next thing – whatever that thing is
But I cannot seem to move on.
I don’t delude myself that I hold any moral authority on how she ought to be remembered, seeing how I didn’t even go to her funeral.
I could be wrong here I know.
It’s just that I feel guilty.
We have forgotten too easily. We had a chance to do so much more. But it hasn’t been a year and already we’ve moved on like nothing happened.
No follow ups.
I can’t even find her pages on social media where there was so much noise and advocacy.
Sometimes I think we’ve misunderstood and underutilised this social media platform through our fleeting attention. We are like a bunch of spoilt kids with a toy whose power we assume we understand but clearly we don’t. Grown-ups behaving like Richard in Word Processor of the Gods, we think we can press delete or execute and the world responds to us how we want. If you’ve read that story, well then, good you get my point. If not. I guess that’s good too.
But I could be losing focus yet again.
As I find myself staring at everything but nothing of her anymore; experiencing her absence with a deafening feeling of silence. It is quite sad to see how the whole outcry simmered into nothing.
I still remember though and I miss you very much Sithembile
Rest in Peace..
(My Intellect’s Loud And Noisy-MILAN)