It’s that childhood feeling you get when you wake up on Christmas morning and the floor is full of colorfully wrapped presents. Tied up in bows and ribbons and nestled under a tree. It’s anticipation and excitement and all things wonderful. And when you rip the paper open and peer inside, it’s that feeling of awe as you glance upon your shiny new thing. The novel thing you want to take to your room and play with for hours because it's the best toy you've ever gotten.

That’s what it was like waking up the next morning. The day spread out before me was like a giant unwrapped gift and I was eager to dig my claws into it and rip it open. For two reasons, I wanted to see Riaan and let things between us grow and develop even more, and also- for some strange reason- I was looking forward to doing some work.  I momentarily wondered if I was suffering from a Malaria induced fever that was making me mad. But I wasn’t.

Suddenly the idea of contributing in some small way was very appealing. Perhaps staring death in the face also makes the things you were allergic to before, seem more tolerable now. I skipped out of bed- well not skipped- that would be taking it too far, but there was definitely a certain spring in my step that had been missing two days ago. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t hung over.

Pause.

This needed a moment of pause. It was a Monday morning and I wasn’t up to the ears with a hangover. Monday’s were always a particularly bad day, in my opinion Mondays should be banned from the calendar all together. I know this is a pretty normal complaint though; my friends with jobs often post miserable Monday morning messages on their Facebook pages. And even though I didn’t have to drag myself to an office, I still found Mondays extremely trying. You had inevitably over done it on the weekend and were feeling the full effects on Monday. There’d been a few Mondays actually when I’d woken up and sworn off drinking and excessive partying.

I’d be a changed woman- a healthy woman. One of those spiritual, exercise types that really did juice and think it was yummy. I’d go out and buy myself awesome colorful running shoes- convinced I would start jogging that day as part of my new health kick. I would come home with a bucket of vitamins and supplements ranging from fish oil to strange salts from the Himalayas. Of course the whole thing would only last until about Wednesday, at which point I would go out and reward myself with a drink for being so good. And then it would starts again.

I sighed; I was exhausted just thinking about it.

I was met by suspicious reluctant eyes when I went into the kitchen that morning. They looked at me like the contagious rash that could spread if you let it any closer. The unwelcome kitchen pariah.  

“I can make the toast,” I said to them with the friendliest smile I could muster, “I can’t cook, but I can work a toaster,” I was hoping they would consider my offer and take me back. The ladies looked at each other, did their usual head shaking, tutting and tongue clicking and then spoke to each other in Zulu. It’s such an animated language, the tones and sounds and gestures that seem to go with it make it so interesting to watch and listen too. So I watched them intently until Dorcus finally spoke.

“But if you burn it, you’re out,” Precious pulled me over to the toast station and shoved a loaf of bread in my hand. She eyed me again with great suspicion, like I was an unpredictable exotic thing that might burst into flames at any second.

“No labola for this one,” she said again before walking away.

What was this labola thing? I must remember to ask Riaan.

I clutched the bread and looked at the toaster with just a little bit of fear. I’d made toast ten years ago maybe? Could it really be that long?

I can do this, I can do this. I repeated it over and over again in my head.

I took a deep breath and readied myself; I was a new woman. I was domestic-goddess –toast- making- sous chef. I was little Miss worker bee, employee of the month. Woman with a job and a mission and a purpose.

But my new found enthusiasm dwindled and totally vanished when an hour later I found myself holding a mop in one hand, and a toilet cleaning devise in the other. I don’t even know what it’s called for heaven sake, the thing that looks like a giant toothbrush for toilets. 

My foray into toast making had gone swimmingly, bar a few blackened pieces. But overall it was good and I’d left the kitchen with a new found energy and zest, but peering into the bathroom now, that zest was fast becoming a thing of the past.  I crept towards the loo and gazed into it. The fear I suddenly had for it was worse than coming face- to- face with a big hairy spider- in fact, that felt preferable. I reminded myself that at the end of the day I would feel some kind of happy glow of achievement and accomplishment. I ‘d walked out of the kitchen on a high after my first successful shift as official toast woman of the kitchen. Perhaps this too would give me that feeling…

I doubted it.

So I closed my eyes as tightly as I could and felt my way towards the toilet. On three, two, one….

I plunged it in, jiggled it about, pulled it out and then ran from the bathroom gagging. This was horrendous; no amount of my newfound enthusiasm was going to ever make me capable of this particular job.  But Mary was beyond surprised when she found out that I’d actually cleaned it. I think she imagined finding me on the bed, watching TV and totally inebriated.

And then something strange happened; she smiled at me and said “Thanks”

It was such a small thing I’d done, but I felt so appreciated. As if I had finally contributed something tangible and meaningful to someone else. That little word almost brought tears to my eyes- which was happening a lot lately- and I just couldn’t help it, but I hugged her. Rather hard.

“It’s a pleasure,” I pulled away holding her firmly by the shoulders. I know I must have looked a little unstable, but I didn’t care, I was just so overcome by… what was it…

Pride. A sense of accomplishment- even if it was something as small as mopping the floors or cleaning the toilet. By the time lunch came around I was actually starved and felt the need for food. Solid food.

 I made my way back to my staff village, and to the mes hall for the first time since I had been there. There was a basic buffet set out for us and some of the other staff, some I’d seen before and some I hadn't, were lining up for food.

I’d always hated a buffet. There was something gross about cueing for food as if you were a French peasant waiting for Antoinette to chuck you some cake. But my stomach rumbled angrily at me, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually done such physical activity.  Dancing at night doesn’t count, because it was always short lived, it’s hard to keep your balance after a certain amount of drinks.

Sure I went to gym with Clay, but it wasn’t to actually do any exercise. It was to check out the gorgeous personal trainer. We would hang out by the treadmills walking at snails pace waiting for him to do some lunges. We also went to Yoga- but that was just to be seen. Everyone who is anyone is doing Yoga or Yoga-lates (Yoga + Pilates). But we never made it to the end of the class, so just landed up taking selfies and Instagraming them to prove that we were actually there.

My recollections suddenly shocked me. They seemed so shallow and to be frank, royally ridiculous. I sounded like I was a vaudeville clown, a caricature of a real person staring in my own comedy of errors. But I brushed that thought aside quickly, I wasn’t quite ready to examine my life under such a scrutinizing lens. Baby steps Zara.

I piled my plate with some kind of a stew and some other kind of fluffy white substance that looked like sticky dough and made my way to one of the tables. There were a lot of eyes following me as I sat down- no doubt whispering about the girl that mistook a worm for a snake, or caused that giant scene in the restaurant, or maybe some of them had read the article or seen the video. I sat alone, that creeping feeling of loneliness was starting to catch up to me again.

I took in a loud sharp breath in order to push it away and shoved a chunk of meat in my mouth to assist. I was surprised at how nice it was to actually chew something of substance. It had been ages since I’d eaten proper food. My father used to drop the odd, “You’re too thin, eat a sandwich,” kind of comment, which of course only made me want to eat less anyway, but now I was shoveling it into my mouth as if I’d never seen food before….

“Hi”

I looked up with hamster cheeks of peas and saw that Riaan was standing next to the table. He had that habit of just appearing.

“Mmmmm,” I managed a sound and saw a pea go flying, which mortified me.

“Is this seat taken?” It was obviously a rhetorical question, because he had already sat down before it was finished. 

“I see you’re enjoying it,” He pointed at my plate where my fork was eagerly hovering above a large potato ready to stab it.

I managed a small nod.

“Good,” He smiled at me and joined in.

And then something truly bizarre happened. It was something that had never happened to me before. Something I never imagined getting any kind of enjoyment out of.

Riaan started telling me about his day. His normal, mundane, routine day. What he’d done, how he’d seen a leopard on the early morning game drive and how I would have hated it because the spider webs were really out in force. He told me that he had to change one of the tyres on the car and that he scratched his arm doing it.

And suddenly it dawned on me; this is what real couples do. They sit down, eat meals together and tell each other about their days. They share their life with each other and take pleasure in the small things that happen. I’d never spoken to a boyfriend like this before- in fact, there’d hardly been any real speaking in any of my previous relationships. This was all so new to me. And it was exciting.

I lapped it all up, every small mundane thing he said, as if they were precious nuggets of gold or jewels. I hung on his every word as they lulled me into a place of total contentedness. And then he asked me about my day, as if it was the most important thing to him.

After lunch we walked out of the mes hall side- by- side, when all of a sudden his hand reached out for mine. We were holding hands in front of everyone. I felt myself swelling up with such pride to have him on my arm like this.

We stood outside for a moment before he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. It was so soft and tender again. But then he glanced around quickly to see if anyone was looking before he grabbed me and pulled me towards him. The kiss was so different this time, especially when I felt his hand make its way under and up my shirt. He ran his hand all the way up my stomach and I gasped out loudly when it came into contact with my breast, as he ran it over my bra. 

“Meet me later at my place,” He whispered in my ear in a gravely voice that I hadn't heard before. I melted.

I managed a little ‘sure’ as my bones turned to slush and puddled on the floor.

His pupils were dilated when he looked at me again,  “Have I told you how sexy you are yet?”

His words cause palpitations and all I could do was shake my head at him in complete drooling-puppy dog mode.

“How about I tell you all about it later tonight,” He said before turning and walking away.