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Tau Kelvin, 5th Avenue and H. Chitepo Street, Bulawayo (2026)

Q: What is the address?

5th Avenue And H. Chitepo Street

28/12/2025

Christmas Wasn't Fun. I’ll Be Honest.

Christmas came and went, and somehow I aged emotionally but not socially.

My age mates were home with their families. Their kids running around, wives calling them “babe,” uncles asking about ama-school fees lama-stand numbers.

Me?
I was just… there. Existing. Happy that at least oxygen is still free.

They were cracking jokes about their toddlers doing funny things.
I was cracking jokes about ama-colleagues ami.
Same format. Different levels.

Uzwe kuthiwa, “Mina khonapha umntanami ufuna ngimthengele i-laptop.”
Mina ngapha ngikhala ngokuthi ngakhohlwe i-charger yami emsebenzini.
Nci.

They were talking creches, pampers, and primary schools.
My peers are breaking generational curses while mina lokhe ngisenda ama-messages like,
“So… what’s your favourite colour?”

Family functions were even worse.
Weddings everywhere. Lobola days everywhere.
People pairing off angani they’re preparing to enter Noah’s Ark.

Then there’s me, still in “God will provide” mode.

Financially?
I won’t lie:

December looked at my bank account and laughed.
I was budgeting vibes.
My festive season spending plan was:

1. Wake up

2. Don’t die

3. Drink water

While people were travelling for Christmas,
I was travelling to the shops.

While my peers were talking investments, stands, and bonds.
Mina ngangikhuluma ngesinkwa.

And the worst part?
Wonke umuntu uthi, “Don’t worry, your time will come.”

Yes.
But right now my time is being happy that the shops are still within walking distance.

Christmas wasn’t just bad.
It aggressively reminded me that life has different lanes…
and mine currently has potholes, no streetlights, and zero InDrive coverage.

But we move.
Because one day I’ll be at that table too—telling jokes about my kids.

For now, ngizalitshela ngama-colleagues ami.
Kanti manje ngenzeni?
..

Tau Kelvin

25/12/2025

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25/12/2025

Merry Christmas 🎄✍🏽

Thank you for reading, feeling, and walking these words with me.

May today be soft on your heart, loud with laughter, and full of the people who feel like home.

Eat well, rest easy, and remember: surviving the year is already a win. ✨❤️

29/11/2025

Angizange ngacabanga ukuthi a single song can feel like ibhalwe from enhliziyweni yami, but yikho exactly okwenzakale izolo, ngizwe ingoma okuthiwa ngu "Who Knows", by Daniel Caesar, I clicked on it by mistake, but ngicine sengiyifake ku-repeat.

Inwele zami bezisamanzi from a rushed shower, and my soft lotion cream was still clinging to the warmth of my skin, lokuyi loose black trackbottom kwami kubuthelelene ezithendeni zami. Amagetsi ebesehambile, my LED light was glowing softly, bekuthule and ukungena kwe-voice yakhe into the room, felt like ukhona umuntu, ozwisisa izinto engingazikhulumiyo out loud.

I’ve been drifting through ama-relationships aqala nge-spark, ephele nge-silence. Bakhona engazama ukubavulela inhliziyo yami — women who seemed so good, so put-together, so impossibly sure of themselves. Like, omunye engathi ngiqala ukumbona, wayefake okuyi curled weave, egqoke i-sweater eyi-navy blue, eyigqoke angani it was part of her skin. Lomunye owayele-voice encane kakhulu engaqala ukumbona in a crisp white blouse tucked neatly into her dark female formal trousers, carrying the subtle scent of nutches and rain. They all felt too good for me before anything even began.

Every time, ngangizitshela ukuthi ngizazama. Ngizaba braver, softer, and more honest. And yet, just when something started to bloom, ngangizizwa ngisiba lokuyi familiar tightening enhliziyweni — of panic, of doubt, an instinct to pull away. Ngangicatsha behind ama-casual jokes, delayed replies, or the sudden busyness I'd create just to avoid being seen too clearly.

iLyric elingitshaye angani yi-confession engingazange ngaba lesibindi sokuyitsho:

“I’ll probably be a waste of your time, but who knows?”

It felt like someone had cracked open my ribs and read the words directly from enhliziyweni yami. I had said that line kanengi, and ngendlela ezihlukeneyo — subtly, quietly, in the corners of conversations, ngendlela leyana eyokuthi I'd brace for disappointment before anyone offered it.

Yimi engangihlala ngiphuma out of rhythm, overthinking every beat, couldn't help but stumble even lapho okwakumele izinto zizihambele lula khona.

Ngangisithi whenever nxa ngimile, besides women who looked effortlessly composed — shirts ironed, sleeves crisp, wearing confidence like a second skin — I felt like akula mfazi onje ongafuna ukuba lendoda elenwele eziphothana zodwa, indoda etshengisa ukuba confident and cheerful but actually nervous and uncontrolled ngaphakathi. A man carrying a heart too noisy to be elegant.

And yet, ngangihlala ngizizwa ngifuna. Ngifuna umuntu ozahlala even when I felt unsure. Ngifuna someone who wouldn’t flinch when I faltered. Ngifuna someone who’d hold my trembling honesty ezandleni zakhe without dropping it.

When Daniel Caesar sings about being a coward wrapped in softness, I feel that in my bones. Kunini ngicatsha behind being “the kind one,” the man who gives and reassures and accommodates. Kunini ngi-gentle, not because I didn’t want to take up space but because I was terrified of being told I shouldn’t.

Isikhathi esinengi, ngiyabacabanga abantu asebazama ukungithanda even though ngangisehluleka ukubahlangabeza halfway. Lokhe ngilama messages, awa-last of last year, from my primary school friend that tried to get close to me — someone gentle, patient, familiar. I remember warning her away, even listing ama-flaws ami wonke engakwanisa ukuwacabanga, as if exposing my worst parts early could save us both.

She replied, “Sometimes women are willing to accept all of that.”

Then she followed it with something that has stayed with me ever since:

“Umfazi ozamayo ungabomvalela phandle. It's a situation that's already hard for umuntu wesifazane, so mnike i-space sokuzama at least. Even if imzamo yakhe ingaze icine isiba pointless, at least she won’t regret trying.”

Angizange ngabakwazi ukuthi ngenzeni with that kind of sincerity. So I folded into myself again, overwhelmed by someone who was willing when I wasn’t man enough to be.

Sometimes ngiyake ngibacabange abafazi engazama ukubathanda. The one with dimples that appeared every time singaxoxa ngama-movies. The one with the neatly faded short hair and the leather jacket that made her look like she belonged in a slow-burning black American indie film. The one with soft eyes and a quiet laugh that always made me want to lean closer. Each of them was a universe I convinced myself I wasn’t ready for.

Things always ended before anything began. Those women were never wrong for me. Yikuthi ngangizitshela ukuthi they deserved someone braver, someone steadier, someone ongasabi ukuthandwa.

Listening to that song, I realized how much of my life has been built on hesitation — on hovering at the doorway of my own desires, choosing safety over possibility, ngizitshela ukuthi I wasn’t enough, way before anyone else could.

But then the lyrics slip into a gentle refrain — “but who knows?” — like a small rebellion against my own certainty. Maybe things don’t have to unfold the way they always have. Maybe kuyavuma ukuthi lami ngibe lethemba. Maybe phandle lapho ukhona umuntu ozabona something I haven’t learned to recognize in me.

Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like to let someone close. Someone ongahlala across from me in a café, smiling whole heartedly, wearing a soft beige sweater that makes her brown eyes look warmer. Someone whose smile makes my fear unclench just a little. Someone ozangibuza ukukhula kwami and engilalele like it truly matters.

But then the future presses in uncertain, unpredictable and I wonder if I’m built to share it with anyone. I see myself reaching out, ngisesaba ukuthi my touch will drive them away. I remember all the times I loved quietly from a distance because nearness felt too dangerous.

Still, ingoma leyana ingikhumbuze ukuthi ukuba unsure isn’t a crime. Ukuthi doubt doesn’t make me unworthy. Ukuthi tenderness doesn’t make me weak. Even if I'm alone now, my heart still beats toward something bigger.

I want to believe ukuthi ukhona umuntu ozahlala eceleni kwami without expecting perfection. Someone who will see the mess, the fear, the softness — but ahlale anyway. Someone who doesn’t need me to be put-together to choose me.

Kwesinye isikhathi I picture a version of myself sitting behind my laptop, wearing a white vest and scotch boxer shorts, sipping tea. Kulomuntu eceleni kwami, with sleepy eyes and a soft smile, engikhangele angani ukungithanda isn’t work at all. And I wonder if that’s something I’m allowed to hope for.

Reality pulls me back. The pattern repeats itself no matter how gentle I try to be. Yonke into idilike before it even stands — not ngenxa yakhe, but because I fold too early, scared of what might happen if someone actually stays.

Then that line plays — “Maybe we get married one day, but who knows?” — and it doesn’t make me think of marriage. But it makes me think of possibility. Of the future not as something I must fear but something I could walk into with someone holding my hand.

I tuck that thought away gently, delicately, angani it's a fragile stone engisaba ukuthi lingangilahlekela.

And when he closes the song with “I know that I’ll love you always,” bukhona ubuhlungu engibuzwayo ngaphakathi kwami — not for someone I’ve met, but for the version of myself that is ready to allow love to reach him fully.

So for now, I'm holding this song close. Letting it speak for the man inside me who has always been too scared to commit to love. I'm letting it remind me that even after years of pulling away, of believing I’m not enough, of convincing myself that I ruin what I love — there might still be love out there, for me, that doesn’t ask me to shrink.
..

Tau Kelvin

20/11/2025

Nice Things Were Never Meant For Me

Part V (Finale)

So, mhlaka 29 August, 2019—ngatshayisa emsebenzini ngagada ngiqonde eNtabazinduna for the first time in five weeks. Ngasengile 19 days ngingambonanga, and after what felt like a long busy month, I was over the moon to finally visit her.

Kwakuyi-birthday yomntanakhe. Ngamphathela ama-presents: a t-shirt, Sesame Street socks, and a children’s book, elezinyazamana. Kwakuyi first time yami ukuthengela umntwana womuntu engithandana laye i-present. That meant something.

Ngafika ngo6:30, her daughter was spending the night kogogo wakhe, so it was just us. I walked in and kissed her angani angiphindi ngithole elinye ithuba. Ngamqhubela okuyi PAX Pen lokunye okungama treats engangimphathele khona, saqala ukuxoxa. Sihleka. Stories and jokes. For 2 hours. It felt like magic, before ngibona amehlo akhe eqala ukuthatheka, ekhangela longingly off into the distance.

Wathula. And then waseqala.

“So … mbona angani.. sokuyisikhathi sokuntshintsha i-relationship yethu.”

I cocked my head and felt myself snap to attention. “Ohhhhhhh..?”

“Yaah…” she said and paused, angani wethula umthwalo osindayo — the most serious she’d ever sounded.

“So, I messed up when I slept with my ex,” she told me. “And I realized I’m still not over him, and I want so badly to be over him, and I realized it’s not fair to string you along while I’m still processing that, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that unless I’m able to spend time alone … and I’ve never, ever spent time alone.”

Watsho ngelizwi elincane, lingathi liyaqhaqhazela, "So... ngiyakwazi ngamosha ngize ngilale le [handsome tech genius] ex yami.." Wakhangela phansi wathula okwesikhatshana, waseqhubeka.

"Lokho kungenze ngananzelela ukuthi lokhe ngimthanda, kodwa ngiyafisa kakhulu ukukhohlwa ngaye ngiqhubeke ngempilo yami, njalo akukho fair ukuthi siqhubeke engathi yonke into i-right, while mina ngizama uku-mover on ... futhi angiboni ukuthi ngizayenelisa ukukwenza lokho ngaphandle ngingaba ngedwa, ngichithe isikhathi ngingedwa, okuyinto engazake ngiyenze empilweni yami."

I sat in stunned silence, ngezwa umoya wami ubaleka, umzimba wami usiba nearly empty sengivuma ngekhanda kuphela, angani nginguRobert De Niro, in those old mob thrillers, when he’s coming to terms with plans not going as … planned.

“Mana … uthi awukaze ube wedwa?”

“Angikaze,” she said. “It's either bengiyi-girlfriend, umfazi womuntu, a friend-with-benefits... something. So, ngicabanga ukuthi kumele ngike ngibe ngedwa, to finally break out of into leyi yokuhlala ngi depender on omunye umuntu.”

“But kimi awuzange utshengise ukuba ngumuntu ofuna uku-depender on omunye umuntu.”

“Maybe not kuwe,” she said. “But I felt it. I felt it especially le-ex yami. And akungichazi.. Zwana … ngithanda yonke into ngawe. You’re amazing. Ngiyazithanda ingxoxo zethu. Ngiyabuthanda ubungane bethu. Ngiyakuthanda okwenzayo, and ngiyakuthanda konke ongenzela khona.”

“So … i-problem ingaphi?”

“Yi khonokh... ukuthi ngicina ngisiba lomuntu ongekho emotionally available. And nxa umuntu oba emotionally available sengimtholile, ngiyasaba. Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe saphangisa kakhulu ukutshelana ukuthi 'ILoveYou'. Kwangithinta. Kwavuselela ukuba avoidant kwami. And ngenxa yama unresolved feelings wonke lawo … I just can’t. We can’t be in a romantic relationship. We can’t have s*x. Not until I figure things out.”

I sat there. Flat-lined. Wangikhangela, amehlo akhe eqala ukubuthelela inyembezi.

“Ngiyaxolisa. Uzangizonda ngiyakwazi.”

I thought about how I would’ve handled indaba engaka kudala kwami. Ngacabanga uku-reasoner konke engangizakwenza. Ama-desperate attempts wonke engangizawazama ukuthi ngimvumise otherwise. Ukuzisola engangizakwenza. Zonke izikhathi engangizaphakamisa khona ilizwi lami or ukuzwa igazi lami libila. Ama-worst-case lama what-if scenarios engizakuba lawo ekhanda lami, or amanye ama-theories engangizakuba lawo to convince myself that somehow, ngabe zikhona izinto engazenza just a little better, or ngabe ngazama a little harder, or ngabe angenzanga ama-mistakes, konke engangizakuzama to prevent all this from happening. Then ngambona esekhala. I could see her, and truly feel ubuhlungu abuzwayo, and I just gave her a hug.

“Kukhona yini akade ngingakwenza differently? Angizange mbone angani bengi too needy or clingy. Or maybe benginjalo? And angazi ukuthi ungaba lokuyi constructive criticism yini, ukwenzela … next time?” [Lami angikwazi lokuthi u “next time” wami wayesitshoni in this case.]

She paused, sniffled, wahlikihla amehlo akhe, wanyikinya ikhanda. “Hayi … hayi. Wena vele asuwe i-problem la. Awuphambanisanga lutho. You are amazing.”

Ngahlala nje khonaphana, just limp and lifeless, lost and confused, for 45 seconds that felt like 45 days.

“Angikwazi ukuthi ungangi hugger yini?” She replied.

Finally, lami ngaze ngaphendula ngelizwi elingazwakali angani ngimumethe eyinye into emlonyeni. “Sho, akula problem.”

We held each other for ten minutes. Ngangingafuni ukumekela. But ngangikwazi ukuthi — nxa ngifunde anything from ukukhula kwami konke, ukubhala, i-therapy, lesikhathi engasichitha laye, it's that — pushing too hard or reasoning or ukumncenga, asiyo indlela yokumntshintsha umqondo wakhe. Yayingekho indlela enjalo. Sometimes uthando luyaphela nje, kungela eyinye reason engaphandle kokuthi omunye, phakathi kwabantu ababili aba-involved, just can’t seem to awaken it up anymore.

In six months, azange sixabane. Azange kube le bad moment. Or ama-broken promises. Or bad s*x. Or missed plans. We split emotional labor evenly. It was the healthiest relationship I’d ever had. And then … yayingasekho.

Ngasukuma gingerly ngathi, “So, kutsho ukuthi kungcono ngibuyele kusahambeka.” Ngakhuluma ngikhangela around endlini yakhe, for ngangikwazi ukuthi sokungokokucina. I packed konke okwakungokwami, ngamtshela ukuthi egcine ama-gifts 'omntanakhe and the little goodies I left endlini yakhe.

“Uleqiniso ukuthi awukufuni?” She asked me.

“Hayi. Angizange ngithi ngilama conditions. Ngithenge ngenhliziyo yami yonke. Asikho ukuthi bengikuboleka.”

Ngatshibilika, and this woman with the most luscious locks of wild ginger, a cozy summer shirt and denim jeans drew in eceleni kwami like a grieving friend I could no longer touch. Ngamkhangela … heartbroken … mesmerized. We hugged again. Thirty seconds? Fourteen hours? Kwazi bani.

Ngamhlikihla inyembezi as she sobbed. Ngamkhangela, slack-jawed, stunned by how I just so happened to find, then so quickly lose, someone so rare.

Ngavala isikhwama sempahla zami, and stepped out into the warm night. Her eyes sparked faintly phansi kwe moonlight. She hugged me okokucina.

“Ngiyabonga,” she said.

“Ubongani?”

“Ukuthi awungitshingelanga.”

“Ngiyabe ngitshingelani?”

“Bonke abo guy engahlukana labo bangitshingela ... when I ended things.”

“Aah … angisibo abo guy bona labo.”

She squeezed me even tighter. “I’m so grateful for what we had.”

“Lami,” I said. “So much ditto.”

She sighed and released her arms from around me. “So. Much. Ditto. Bye-bye.”

Ngaphuma ngisiyagada. Kwaphela kanjalo nje. Yena ebuyela phakathi. Mina, just like the first night we met, koBulawayo. A poetic bookend to a story with more blank pages than words.

Ngangena endlini ngo11:30 p.m., ekhanda ngilokhe ngisizwa okuyi-echo kuka "bye-bye" wakhe engivalelisa. Lokhe ngisehlulwa yiku-avoider the same sad, surprise ending, eyiyo eyaqala okuyi-process khona lokhu okwe-self-discovery through writing publicly, in the first place. Kwakungela warning, kwakungela soft landing. Just ... over.

She’s probably reading this. Wayengithole through my writing, after all. Into leyi yayiqale njalo — 14 months earlier, she’d read a long piece of mine and it sparked the greatest love story I’d ever lived. Until it wasn’t.

So sengilapha futhi. A man with decent charm, sharp wit, and a deep curiosity about the next woman I’ll fall for.

Ebengowami, bengingowakhe.

Just like that … kwaphela.

---

Tau Kelvin

18/11/2025

I’m so glad Bulawayo is finally speaking up against being forced to support "local".
If the work hits, people support naturally.
If it doesn’t, artists shouldn't act like the city owes them an applause — you have to earn it.

Thank you so much to those who've said this publicly and unapologetically. Some have always thought I'm a jealousy hater nxa ngisithi, "it's not like ama artists akoBulawayo avalelwa phandle, but okunengi it's just half-baked kaak nje."

12/11/2025

Nice Things Were Never Meant For Me

Part IV.

Umjolo engangiphume kiwo wawuphele kabuhlungu: ngafika endlini from emsebenzini kuyiFriday, 30 April 2018, ngathola izinto zomuntu wami zingekho, kungela ncwadi yokuvalelisa, kungazange kwaba le-warning yokuthi sokuphela, kungelanto esiyikhulumileyo to signal the finale. Wayekhona... then wayengasekho.

Desperate for answers, ngahlala phansi lemicabango yami—sort through my feelings, untangled the story of our love—ukuthi ngizame ukukuchasisa ngendlela yokuthi even people who didn’t seem to care might understand, just a little.

Yikho okwaba yikuqala kwe two-year journey yama-writings ami kuFacebook — ngangena deep ekhanda lami—walked down a quiet corridor into the quiet corners of my mind. Ngathulula yonke into, onto the screen and hit "post" just to see how off-base I was.

I felt like lokhe ngisondela duze leqiniso: angani ngisondela toward the key that unlocks what it means to truly show up as a partner. So, ngaqhubeka—ngicabanga, ngibhala, ngizama. And every answer led to a new question, so I followed that trail all the way down to the raw center of who I truly am.

Kuthe sekunguDecember, after that surprisingly clear-headed trip through a deep reflection—which is part of my yearly ritual to reflect and reset—ngacabanga ukuthi I’d finally uncovered the core issue behind all my relationship failures.

Ngananzelela indlela engangiphila impilo yami ngakhona: I was constantly chasing validation, love, attention, grace, and compassion. And it hit me: ngangikwenza ngoba I couldn’t give those things to myself. My inner voice had been cruel okwesikhathi eside, I didn’t know how to be kind to me.

Ngangilama-boundary issues, and ukuthi ngikuchasisele kahle, ngizasebenzisa okuyi self-created parable about umehluko womganu lenkomitsho:

Ungathela amanzi emganwinini, agijima fast esiya kuma-edges—and nxa ungekho careful, amanzi lawana acina echithekela phansi. Ukuba yispatalala komganu yikho okwenza umganu ungawabambi kahle amanzi; so ayatshayelela ayeqe ephuma, esiyachithekela lapho ongawafuni khona, kuhle kube yi-mess. Even if you accidentally splash okungamanzi duze lawo umganu, uyabona umganu ugama and uthwala amanzi akade ungafuni engene emganwinini lowana. That’s the thing: umganu kufuze usebenze way too hard to keep what it needs, and it can too easily hold water it shouldn’t have to.

Whereas, ungathela amanzi enkomitshweni, the liquid takes the shape of the cup, spreading to the vertical sides. Water stays put enkomitshweni, akula drop ozalibona eceleni, nxa uthele kahle. Try to splash water into it, and you’ll probably miss. That’s the thing ngamankomitsho: they don’t have to fight to keep what’s meant for them, and they’re good at keeping out liquid that doesn’t belong. Ama sides lawana? Ngama-boundaries.

Up until 2018, I was definitively more of umganu than inkomitsho. Ngangingela ma-boundary.

Ngangizi attacher too close, too often, with too many potential (or actual) partners, or I’d team up with someone needy, ngoba ngangicabanga ukuthi yi-sign yokuthi umuntu uyangithanda and that they genuinely cared for me.

Sengikhangele emuva, kwaba clear ukuthi ngilama-serious boundary issues.

Through ama writings ami, lokuxoxa labantu abangincedisayo to piece things together, ngaqala ukunanzelela ukuthi ama patterns ami lawa abuya from small, but childhood wounds—okungama micro-traumas okwakungathi kuncane but kulokhe ku-grower louder as I got older, especially through my teens and early twenties.

Most of how we view setting boundaries is fundamentally backwards. Ukuba lama-boundaries akutsho ukuthi sekumele sithi “no” to izinto ezinengi. Cha! But kumele sithi “yes” to ourselves more. We've to make sure we’re always doing, having or becoming enough of what aligns with our soul’s true north, that way, we fill our cup — pardon the pun — to the brim, ngezinto ezisincedayo, so we aren’t tempted to let in things that don’t. For me, that meant scaling back at work. I spent the six months (September 2018–February 2019) saying yes to only myself, and launched a full-on campaign to reclaim my mental health.

Ngenxa yamaFacebook posts ami, I befriended a licensed counselor, a life coach and a psychiatrist. And gained some therapy. I exercised regularly. Ngaziphekela most of ukudla kwami. Nganatha amanzi kakhulu.

I began to confront izinto engasengizikhohlwe kudala—little and not-so-little traumas, in every shade and shape, stretching as far back as before ngiqala ukufunda. My brother who severed communication with me years back. Abangane engabalahlisayo. Bosses who’d fired me. Ama-decisions engawenzayo ngazisola. Ama-decisions engingawenzanga and ngazisola ukuthi angiwenzanga. Even my ex who moved out engangivalelisanga. Ngabakhangela straight emehlweni, ngabaxolela right in the moment. And I forgave myself, too. “Akula problem,” I told them. “Khululeka.” And then they would leave.

As I continued my course of therapy, I was reminded of one of my ex’s most astonishingly accurate explanations for life:

"Impilo ikunika ama-moments, ama-memories, lama-feelings...” she’d say.

“... engama-pieces angatsho lutho nxa ezimele wodwa. Kungumsebenzi wakho ukuwahlanganisa, and make sense of them."

And lokhu nxa kuliqiniso, kutsho ukuthi once usenza njalo, usunga-shifta i-perspective yakho u-responde ngendlela engakusiza. Usungaqondisa ama-problems akho, with more clarity and less confusion.

Something profound had healed ngaphakathi kwami. And with this new love I had found: I woke up each day feeling a little lighter, a little freer, and a lot more confident than the day before. I was now profoundly grateful for my partner. After 3 decades, I was finally able to offer my best self to someone who truly deserved it. For the first time, I felt safe, loved, and supported.

By learning to say “yes” to myself, I built boundaries strong enough to say “no” to what no longer served me. My world felt lighter. My life began to flourish. The codependency and approval-seeking tendencies that once defined me had faded.

I felt reborn—grounded in ease, warmth, and empathy I’d never known before. And I was sharing that with a woman who not only reciprocated those feelings, but grew alongside me.

So, together, we planned a trip to Victoria Falls for the New Year’s Carnival, on the 31st of December 2018, where Prince Kaybee was set to perform. It wasn’t just a getaway—it was a celebration of everything we’d healed, everything we’d become, and everything we were building together.
..

Tau Kelvin

10/11/2025

Nice Things Were Never Meant For Me

Part III.

Nkosi yami — kwakungathi umdalele mina umuntu. Yonke into ngaye yayingichaza — her humor so twisted ngangihleka even lapho okungamelanga ngihleke khona. And even yena wayewathanda ama-jokes ami, every bit of my sarcasm and every terrible pun.

Wayethanda ukuzi-describer njengomuntu ole-cash talk, wayenga-sugarcoat izinto but she knew how to keep it respectful.

And umzimba wakhe? Let’s just say wayelama curves okufuze abe lama-warning signs abhalwe take it slow, even though you wouldn't.

She was a self-confessed geek who could, in no particular order: paint, weld, drill, code, draw, and build. A systems admin, software developer, deployment consultant, and speaker.

She tossed out wild, half-thought out plans by the hour, and each day delivered a fully-cooked, outrageous plan that somehow felt destined to succeed.

She made conversation come easy. And she came easier.

She had been married before. Had dated the man for two years. Wahlala emendweni for six more years.

Six years in a zone where the weight of love was never evenly shared, lopsided financial, emotional, domestic burdens—and traumas you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy.

That union produced a child — a delightfully witty and whip-smart firecracker with dreadlocks and a natural liking for rainbows, dogs, dolls, Sesame Street and all things pink.

But at the time ngisibamazi, wayesanda ukuphuma kweyinye i-relationship — an on-again, off-again romance to some handsome tech genius with a daughter of his own, his and my partner’s child around the same age and fast friends.

I met him, and ubaba wengane yakhe, within 20 minutes of each other, the day ngiqala ukumtshayel' i-round eNtabazinduna.

Ngangingakaze ngijole lomfazi olomntwana before. Kwangenza ngaba anxious. I wanted so, so badly to be the type of man that the daughter would trust, look up to, and enjoy spending time with. Ngangifuna kube le-perfect balance between “definitely not your dad” and “positive influence with wisdom and jokes to spare.” I fell for her almost as quickly as I fell for umamakhe, and she quickly warmed up to me.

During one trip sibuya koBulawayo, she drew a stick-figure drawing nge-mighty marker — of her, my partner and I. Ngayinamathisela efrijini, ngayigcina khonaphana. Ngokwazi kwami, that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Kwelinye ilanga, ubaba'khe wabuya ezomthatha, and she ran ezonginika i-hug le-kiss, and I embraced her and said, “have fun twanaa!” And then I felt this strange tinge of fullness I’d never before experienced in my life. “Yi-feeling bani leyi?” I thought to myself, as she offered me the last of her cookies, and my heart grew twice its size that day.

Ngaba lethuba lokuba yi-role model, lokuba yi-occasional problem solver (ama-common problems akhona included: ingaphi i-make-up yomntanami (udoli wakhe)?) for an impressionable, charming, and positively brilliant young girl, without any of the not-necessarily-wanted hassles of ukuntshintsha ama-pamper.

I read her bedtime stories — in my series of silly voices at first, until she gently coerced me into, “hayi … hayi … ungantshintshi i-voice yakho, Tau!” Yebo, kulungile, ke. I did my best ukumculela ama-lullabies, aze ajumeke in between us before we tucked her into her own sleeping space.

I felt deeply honored ukuba empilweni yakhe, without demands or assumptions. Kungama-terms akhe, at her invitation, and whenever life allowed, with no weight of expectation. And she offered me the same grace.

Kwamanye ama-weekends she’d swing by just ukuzongikhulumisa, sometimes with her daughter in tow, sibukele inyonyi eziphapha zidwebe u-V ngezikhathi zantambama. I’d catch amehlo awomntanakhe stretching wide with wonder, her gap-toothed grin glowing against the dusk like moonlight.

Mina ngasengike ngaba ku-long distance relationship — from 2015–2018, I partnered up with a woman at West Nicholson, a distance of some 170kms along A6 — and knew how quickly a location stalemate could fuel resentment. Ngasengisifundile isifundo sami, so we laid out the ground rules right away: I would never ask her to move to Bulawayo; she would never ask me to move to Ntabazinduna; and, knowing we wouldn’t be able to rendezvous more than three weekends per month, our relationship would be ethically open, so long as we told each other any time we strayed. She did once, and — as promised — wangitshela. “Ngike ngaba le-ex yami,” she confessed one night elele embhedeni wami.

“Akula problem!” I replied. “Ngiyabonga ukungitshela,” and we talked about some loose ends before we made love until we both fell asleep, blissful, satisfied and exhausted.

Savumelana ukuthi asisoke sibe lomtshado, or umendo, or omunye umntwana sonke. Lokhu angizange ngaba le-problem lakho. We then workshopped an idea where we’d have, instead of umtshado, a “pre-divorce party,” where instead of ukutshada, we’d host our friends and family for a braai party, kube ngabakhaphi bethu abawosayo, and the officiant as the MC.

We figured a live music venue would be the perfect spot. Sasiza-order ama-shawarma from the place we first met. And kick things off by ceremonially signing the “Terms and Conditions,” which would be absolutely hilarious — but absolutely necessary — then kulandele ama-wedding vows that everyone would wish they’d written themselves, the two of us laughed so hard we could barely breathe as we came up with all the promises worth adding.

Ngihlala ngisithi, and I’ve yet to hear a convincing argument to contrary, you don't need to tick every box on some list for uthando ukuthi lusebenze — but she went ahead and ticked them all anyway. Yet, kwakungama same qualities wona lawo awayenza kwaba lula for us to fall into each other’s world, kwaba angani it was always meant to happen: we adored spending quality with each other, we liked each other about the same amount, we expressed our feelings toward each other in the way the other preferred to receive them, and we were equal parts hungry for more and impossible to slow down between the sheets.

Akazange engifundise ama-lessons lawa explicitly — ngasengike ngabhala ngawo before — so much that I kept asking myself why she, of all people, had my soul so locked in I’d need special clearance just to get it back.
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Tau Kelvin

Tau Kelvin

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