When we arrived here Lovemore was nine years old, cute as hell and a regular visitor to swim in the pool or skateboard on the driveway. As he grew up we’d see him whenever he needed help, but less often to swim as he grew too cool for frolicking. Always friendly and helpful old Lovemore.
Ten years later he’s now more often called Mfundi, has written matric and the morning after the results this week he comes knocking, looking like death warmed up. “Pete I’m very sick, I don’t know what’s wrong” he says. “I’m worried” he says.
You drank too much, I say, You have alcohol poisoning, I say. I give him some cooldrink and some breakfast and some mirth. The mirth he finds a bit hard to swallow.
“Yes”, he says “but I don’t know why I feel so terrible. I only drank the good stuff, Glenmorangie and Johnny Walker Black.”