On Annie-versaries.

I’m a date person. By that, I mean, I have a little list in my diary and head that tells me lots of important dates (not always the traditionally remembered ones, mind you…).

So, here’s another date that I will keep with me always. It was the opening of a tattoo shop, in Durban. I attended the opening party on the arm of my then-boyfriend (who is now, and always will be, a close friend). It was, incidentally and I am ashamed to admit my age here…ten years ago, somewhere around Easter time. That’s a decade.

At the time, I was a party-loving, crazy-eyed girl living in a big flat with a good friend, Tam. We had a funny, lovely homelife and spent a lot of time yelling at each other over toilet paper. I miss her, more than I can say, and now that she lives overseas we don’t see each other much. Still, I miss her.

That’s not the point.

At this little festive do to unveil the tattoo shop, I met a girl. The first thing she said to me was “nice rack” (I was fond of pushup bras back then…) and my then-boyfriend thought she and I would get on quite fabulously, so introduced us.

I will then admit something quite personal. Within 24 hours of meeting this girl, I knew – and she knew – that we would be friends for life. Our friendship was forged over late nights, dancing, longwinded hushed phonecalls and flurries of SMSes. This was not a gradual friendship. This was an instant I-have-no-idea-what-I-was-doing-with-my-life-before-you thud of a friendship.

She has seen me through the hardest heartaches, the scariest life events, the excitement of new beginnings and the horrors of losing both my parents. She is the last phonecall I make when I “leave the building” and she is the first phonecall I make when I discover something that must be told. When I was in labour, it was her I was texting when the doctor said “lovey, put the phone down and push” (the exact timeframe between me sending the ‘okay, I have to push now’ message and the ‘oh, she’s here and she’s beautiful’ message was – incredibly – 18 minutes). She is, and probably always will be, my first and last phonecall. When my dad died, she was the first person I called. When my mom died, she was my first call.

My beloved friend has stood by me through everything life has thrown at me. Her infinite faith in me (even when I feel like I have failed her) has got me through the darkest days of my life. Her intrinsic joy at my life’s successes and blissful moments, lead her to dance with me through them. She has seen me through my worst life decisions and my brilliant ones too. She has never judged me for any of them, even when they ended up hurting her in some way (and for that, I will never forgive myself for lack of foresight…but she knew I was learning at that time, and that was always good enough for her). When I have been in  hospital, she and her husband were there before anyone else (they can source breast pumps and kidney beans faster than any major retailer in the country. No, really. Plus, her husband – he is a wonderman – heart of gold and life that runs on love. He is one of my personal heroes).

I am godmother to her child, she is godmother to mine. My daughter was given a second name, in dedication to her and my daughter’s paternal grandmother. I bare my godchild’s name on my forearm (although, to be quite clear, that was a coincidence – and a fabulous one at that). We have a language that is unique and telling, that includes words nobody else would be able to understand, even if they tried.

My friend is not my friend at all, you see. She is family.

I am, at my weakest moments, brilliant in her eyes. And in my strongest, I am just me. There is no pretence or demand to our union, and, I know, without a doubt, that I can always trust her. I saw her today, squished her child into my arms and thought to myself “sweet girl, you chose your mama well”.

She is the girl I met in a tattoo shop, a decade ago. But she lives in my heart, every day. In the ten years I have known her, I know this – I cannot wait for the next decade, and the one beyond that, and the one beyond that too. And heck, all the ones that come thereafter.

Happy Ten Year Anniversary Annie.  Ever thankful for you.

Love you os umch. Handbag Jack. No oxbah. Mi casa su chippie.