London : Chapter 1 : The last Supper

The potent smell of dhanya and curry was in the air. If I closed my eyes I would pretend I’m at home. It would nearly be lunch time, on an Eid day, when my mum would make her legendary crayfish curry. My aunt Hanifa would of grilled a pan full of prawns in a delicious combination of garlic butter and chillies and our lunch table would be laid in such a way that a table separated the room in half. We manged to squeeze close to 17 of us on that table, cosy, clustered and cramped. But those were the only complaints, the food was good, company better and dessert with the after party the best.

For three weeks I have been in London, with my cousin Sadiqa. It was all per accident actually, she was a applying for a visa for the UK and I very spontaneously applied too. After being approved and granted the visa, I managed to find me a very larney job as a market researcher for the London Stock Exchange, my credentials and references managed to secure me employment for the next year or so.

So here I was at a friends of a friends place waiting for supper to be served. The house is nice and spacey not so cramped as our place in London. There are 4 of us in the house, luckily Dickie and I got to share our own on suite. We share a communal kitchen , TV room/lounge and a sort of dining area.

In it my room is a s a double bed, two cupboards, a bookshelf and desk, for my books and laptop and a mini hifi.. Sharing a house is different, sometimes the kitchen is messy, so messy even untidy I cant stand it. Breakfests are simple, cereal or toast. Lunches are at work, and suppers, is a twenty minute pasta, or if I’m lucky, ill fix up a curry or breddie. But today I had the luxury of being served and it was heavan!

Dika’s friends, well they a couple, invited us for supper, it was the guy (Cassiem) birthday. I was just tagging along to uhmn meet more people? Truth be told I was finding it hard to adjust, to the cold wintery winds, the few hours of sun, the desperate need to smell the ocean, hearing the words “kanala, vokol, jintu, kant and sumba” amongst other things. But I was here for just that reason, to find out what its like to live away from home, to pay bills, to take a subway (not a taxi refer to “different shit, same day).

As per my personality, I was at first very quiet in London, everyone thought I was unhappy and sad. But I wasn’t, I was just getting used to my surroundings, trying to figure people out and select friends.

Someone whom I had gotten very close to was Ashiqa, a fellow CT gal, who had been in the UK for two years now. She was also working in the finance world, we worked in the same building (but not the same company) and lived like three blocks away from each other. She was sweet, quiet, funny and very soon I realized a good confidant, a fellow “china”. We did all the girly stuff, movies, shopping for clothes, facials and she loved museums and galleries which was so cool so we planned to check all the galleries out, well in the year I had ahead.

Leaving home was anything but easy, I missed home, I missed mum, I missed mums food, I missed dad’s talks on UFOs, ghosts and life, I missed my siblings quarreling, I missed my cousins birthday parties and braai,s, I missed my friends and I missed my ex boyfriend even.

Two weeks ago I was at theairport with half of Rylands waiting at DF Malan Airport.

Uncle anwar was their with his digital camera, my mum cried causing Sitchie mamoe to cry, mumany gives me a prawn solomie as padkos, Aunt fowzie gives me some magazines, Aunt Zaida is snapping away and my Uncle Riedwaan arrives with a box of Biltong and Droewors.

Goodbyes are teary, I chunk as I say goodbye, Toughedah and Sumaya my best buds in the mix, and then my aunt Hanifa gives me a reassuring hug telling me I will be just fine.

I know I will be.

Im sitting in this lounge, on a red sofa. I’m wearing my dark blue levis, the brown Nine West boots I got at half price sale, the white jersey with fur collar I bought with my friend Nuri just before I came to London. My hair is longer now, almost on my shoulders, all blown out, two shades lighter than it used to be. I’m wearing eye makeup and a pinkish red lipstick I got from My aunt Hanifa in my very chic Bobby Brown case.

I am feeling a bit awkward, I don’t know anyone here but luckily Cassiem and his wife Fatima has two very cute little girls, I smile at them and quickly we become friends. Kids can be so cute, and so easy to befriend for me. Very soon, they are laying either side of me wearing pink jamies and big slippers, whilst im reading to them a story of Barbie and the nutcracker very animatedly. Barbie always fascinated me, have u seen all the bloomin barbies you get, my one intention was to go to hamley’s just to check a whole floor of barbies. That would be so awesome, in my next life im going to be a Barbie, like paris Hilton, I think he is just perect. She’s blonde, got blue eyes, legs that reach my neck, models for Guess, this having brains and being clever is so over rated! Then Fatima comes over and tells them to go sleep. Momies do that brilliantly, they just say, “ Come girlies nite nite time” and they obey. Im not a mommy, im the aunt that spoils, that paints and plays, but give me a kid to live with for more than 24 hours I’m sure I would feed her a Bar one for lunch so they can have a 25hour day.

“Aunty Julie, you goin to come visit u again hey, and we goin to watch the new Barbie movie next week, Mummy doent need to take us you can!” a five year old doesn’t ask but commands. She reminds me so of my little cousin Sara. I smile and tell her I will make a plan.

Whilst playing with the kids I did not notice that more guests had arrived and were sitting on the other side of the room. Three guys and two girls. Sofia was one of them, I knew her cause she had come down to CT before and stayed with my cousin.

Sofia knows them and is chatting and hugging and laughing making me feel even more out of place. No one introduced us as with the others, perhaps its because I was busy with the kids, I don’t know.

Im busy taking my phone out , cause I heard it beep and can imagine it’s a long sms from one of my CT friends, when a guy comes up to me, very good looking, tallish, well built with nicely styled hair and eyes that remind me of Seif Ali.

“Hi and you are..?” he asks me in that dashing Hugh Grant British accent.

Stunned and shy as always, I smile and reply, “ Zuleigha”

“Julie” my cousin rushes in, “Sameer don’t flirt with my baby cousin” she adds.

Two things I hate, firstly I’m 24 not a baby anymore, and secondly my name is Zuleigha. All my old friends know me as Julie, but I prefer to be called Zuleigha here in the UK. I’m not sure why, its just a preference I guess, cause there were millions of Julies in the world perhaps.

“ Whos a baby, Dika?” I ask her.

Sameer is very charming, too charming if you ask me, he ends up sitting next to me, and right opposite m are the other two guys whom I’m still to meet. When I finally do look up to see them and be introduced properly I am stunned to see him. What was he doing here?