A confidant who almost was my best man,Sifiso ‘Bru’ Sibisi

With only twelve days to go before my wedding, on Monday the 30

of September 2007, a great friend of mine died. Sifiso “Bru” Sibisi was myconfidant and was, until that tragic event, supposed to be my best man. Hisdeath, as is expected when someone very close to you passes away,shocked and rattled me. I had last seen him 48 hours earlier when, together with the bridesmaids and the other groomsman, we met to do the dry run of the wedding program at my brother’s place in Westville Durban. He was - asusual - in high spirits, joking around and looking forward to the wedding.He died of a suspected heart attack. Even today, I still cannot believe how a33 year old energetic fit young man could leave us so suddenly. As expectedof us black people, soon after his death, there were some grumblings (andgossips) about him being bewitched and so forth and so on. You know theusual story: neighbours were jealous of his success, achievements andprogress in lifeA few days later, as I was slowly starting to come into terms with his death, Ikept asking myself ‘why now.’ My life was distraught. My friend, confidant anda man who was supposed to be my best man was no more.“Not a good sign for your wedding and marriage” one person told me. Within aday or two, I received a lot of unrequested advice from a lot of people. Adviceranged from“Cancel the wedding”“Get saved and give your Life to the Lord” to“Go and consult with

isangoma

”“Cleanse off bad luck by slaughtering a black ox.”I did not take of any of the advice.That Friday night meant that the following day will be exactly week after I lastsaw Bru alive and exactly a week before my wedding day. I also knew that thenext day I had to drive to Mtubatuba in Northern Kwazulu Natal to pay my lastrespect which, consequently, meant canceling the bachelor party. Not havingthe final party as a bachelor – to me at least - was not such a big dealbecause, I had had a very long and hard (pun intended) bachelor life anyway.I spent about two hours – whilst lying in bed – reminiscing on all the good andnot-so-good times we have shared. I thought about the Mozambique trip wedid together in 2002. Together with Bru; and after attending a friend’s weddingin Swaziland, we asked the other guys to drop us at the Lomahashi border post. From there we took public transport to Maputo. It was whilst seated inthat battered taxi where a decision that – one day – I will do a huge Africantrip was cemented. In 2005 I did the Cape to Cairo and my first book, DarkContinent my black Arse, covers that trip.Back to the 2002 Maputo trip, after a few days in Maputo; Bru got lucky. Thiswas his second time in Mozambique’s capital city and it was my first. So he

came prepared with some few Portuguese pick up lines. He chatted to one galat a bar and, within 30 minutes a beautiful Mozambican gal of mixed race hadfallen for his charm. All three of us – with Bru in the arms of his newly foundcompanion - walked back to our backpackers. There was a small problemthough. Visitors were not allowed at that particular backpackers. So, just likethe

boer

, we had to

maak ‘n plan

.Whilst I distracted the security guard, with my almost non-existentPortuguese; Bru and the gal sneaked through. There was, however, an evenbigger problem. We were sharing a 10 bed dormitory with other travellers.Itsseems as if the powers that be genuinely wanted Bru to screw that chickbecause when we eventually got into the dormitory; we could not believe our eyes. There was nobody. It was empty. Although we could see – judging bythe backpacks lying on the beds - that other people were occupying sharing adormitory with us but they was no one at that particular moment. We had tomake another plan very quickly. In fact it was his plan. In retrospect, I amsurprised he could still think because, I am sure, his blood had left his upper head and descended to the lower part of his body.He instructed me, in no uncertain terms, to stand in front of the main door leading to the dormitory whilst he together with the gal – who by now wasgently stroking him behind his neck - carried on with the business inside. Veryreluctantly, I closed the door behind me. My biggest worry was how was Isupposed to stop someone who wanted to enter the dormitory he / she wasbooked in.Within two minutes – or three minutes maximum – Bru opened the door fromthe inside and the gal was leaving. I could see from the look in his eyes thathe was disappointed. He did not get lucky, I reasoned. An hour later, once wehad settled in another bar, he told me that – in fact – that gal was a hooker. Itwas after they had finished having sex that she mentioned and he had to pay.Due to the fact that we were on a very tight budget, she ended taking thebottle of whisky that I had brought to Mozambique because we were awarethat alcohol is pricey in that country. I sat there; a bit tipsy, thinking this mannegotiated with that woman and still managed to have sex with her, all withinthree minutes. His only response, as he smiled – showing his character blackgums - was

“Izingane zala e Maputo ziyashisa

.” – Maputo chicks are real hotties.We agreed that this story should remain between the two of us. Although Islipped it once to another good friend of ours who had earlier dropped us onthe SA / Moz border; it was kept a secret. Well until now.Another incident which came to mind as I was still reminiscing about Bru’s lifehappened in 2005. He gave me a call and he did not sound happy which wasvery uncharacteristic of him. We went to Jack Rabbits Bar in Glenwood,Durban.“Sihle” he said before sipping a cold Castle draught “this woman that I thoughtwe had deep understanding with has disappointed me” He explained the storyof how he had found out that that woman was unfaithful to him.I can’t blame her. You are a two minute man, bru; I was tempted to say.

Anyway we drank vast quantities of alcohol that night. I could see the he washurting. Naturally I had to change the subject and - as such - we ended uptalking about a variety of other issues. As we were about to leave the bar, hesaid, as he was about to finish his 5

of jar of Castle draught;“Sihle I am telling you

mfowethu,

from now on I am going to deal with upper class, high caliber, sophisticated and refined women. I am sick and tired of this Pick & Pay cashier”I was gob smacked. I sat there in awe. I could not help but think, eish this guyis being frustrated by a Pick & Pay cashier. I know they say love is blind buthey, although he was on the negative side of the handsome scale, the manwas a successful architect who also had other business interests. He couldhave done better and, besides, the damn woman was cheating on him.As he got into his car which was parked right next to mine, he said “

Uyabonamanje ngizobabhevuza ngophondo lwami kukabhejane”

- From now on I willpock them with my rhino horn……It seems he did exactly that because few months later he phoned me and, thistime around, it sounded even more serious. We went to the same bar and –again- drank vast amounts of alcohol. After the 4

jar he said“Sihle, I am in deep shit” before taking a deep breadth. He took a small sip of beer from an almost empty jar before continuing.“There is this woman from Chesterville that I had a fling with. Now she tellsme she is pregnant.”“

Hhayi bo

!” I interjected“That is the least of my problems. A few days ago she also told me that she isHIV positive”As he put the jar down I could see that his hand was literally shaking. In the10 years that we had been friends, I had never seen so much fear in his eyes.It was as if, by looking through his eyes, I could see his trembling soul. Hislips were dry and he was –uncharacteristically – winking non-stop. He was notonly shaken, he was distraught. He also told me that besides Mthokozisi (hisother friend) nobody knew about “this thing”Although there were people around us having loads of fun; I could feel, smelland almost touch the tension. It was like – although we were sharing thesame environment with the bar patrons – but we were on another consciousness.After downing another round of draughts; we agreed - amongst other things -that he needed to go for an HIV test and ‘we will take it from there’He went for the test and the results – a few days later – brought some goodnews and, above all, a huge relief: he was HIV negative. After that we never really spoke about that event again and, as a result, I am not sure whateventually happened to the pregnant woman and the baby. In fact I was verysurprised at his funeral that he had three kids and not a single daughter –Zime - as I knew. As Mthokozisi – who was the Programme Director in hisfuneral - said that Bru use to consistently and proudly proclaim:“

Mina ngiqhulula amazibulo odwa

– I only give birth to first-borns”