Drum – 08 August 2019

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Zinzilungedforward andtriedtograb
thehat off my head,but Iduckedout of

herway.
Iwas furiousand stormedout of the
hotel, promising myself I’dnever speak
to my so-calledfriendagain.

T

HE next dayIwas stillfuming
butIcouldn’task mom
directly aboutthehatbecause
I’dtaken it withouther
permission.But Ihad to find
outmore.
“Mom,myhair is such amessthese
days .Lookatit.DoyouhaveahatIcould
wear?” Iventured.

“Yes,Zamo,”she smiledatme. “I have
plen ty of hats.Which onedoyou like?”
Ilookedthrough apileofhats, but
Iknewthe oneIwas lookingfor was

hiddenawaybackini ts box–where I’d
putitonmyreturnfromthe hotel.
“Mom,I’d prefer ablueone.I’m sure
I’ve seen youwith abluehat.It’syour

favourite colour afterall.”
“Myfavourite colou risred,but you’re
right, Idoh aveablue hat.”

Shereached intothebackoft he cup-
board andpulledout thebox.She
admiredit as sheremoveditf romits
wrapping.

“This is themostbeauti ful
hat, Mom.Wheredidyoubuy
it?” Iprobed.
“Oh,Ididn’tbuy it,” sherep-

lied.“It wasagift from a
specia lfriend.”
Aspecial friend? Doubt creptinto my

mind. MaybeZinzi wasrightand my
momwas no tits true owner.
“Whatspecial fr iend,Mom?Does he
have aname?”

“Noneofy our business,younglady.
Nowleave my hatalone andpickone
from theold hats.Thisone istoo
beautifulforyour head,” sheteasedme.

NowIhad to be braveand breakthe
newsto my friend.
“Zinzi,Ithinkyoumi ghtber ightab out

thehat,” Iadmitted toheroverthe
phone. “Yesterday ,Itookitf rommy
mother’s cupb oardwithoutherknow ing,
andtodayshe confessedshe didn’t buy

it.She saidshe gotitasagift from a
friendwho shewon’t name.So, it looks
like your mother couldhaveboughtthis
hatandwhoeverstoleit from hergaveit

to my mother.”
Zinzi listened to my storyquietly and
thenfinally replied,“That’s complicated.

Buteither way, your motherneeds to

return thehat to my mother. Sheist he

rightfulowner an dsince shelostthat

hat, she’snot been thesame.

“Itmeantsomuchtoher.Talktoy our

momand trytoworksomethingout.If

youcan’t,I’llhavetoc omearoundand

getitm yself!”

DespiteZinzi’sthrea ts,somet hingheld

me back. The smileonmymother’ sface

when shehad held thehat in herhands

wassomething Ihadn’tseensince my

fath er died.Itc learly broughther great

joyand Iwas no tabout to ruin that.

T

HEREwas definitely some-

thinggoingon in my mother’s

life .She received messages

andcalls late at ni ghtand I

heardher laughingasshe

chat tedonher phone.

Ididn’task anyquestionsbecause

Iknewshe’d replyitwas none of my

business,ass he hadwhenI’d asked

aboutthehat. Themost importantthing

wasthatshe wasenjoyin glifeagain.

Imissedmybestfriend, but Ihad to

choosebetween ourfriendshipand my

mother’s happinesssoIstoppedcon-

tactingZinzi. Icouldn’tfacehavingto

discussthe blue hatagain.

Then,afewweeks later, therewas a

knockatt he door.

My motherwas ex pectingthe elec-

trician, so Ididn’tbotherasking whoit

wasbeforeIopenedthe door .But stan-

ding before me wasnot theelectrician,

butZinzi an dher mother.

“Weare here to take back thehat,”

Zinzicamestraightto thepoint.Shewas

aggressivelychewing gum,asiftof righ-

tenusi ntosubmi ssion.

“Whathat?Whatare youtalking

about?”my momasked assheappeared

at thedoor.

“Zamo,youdidn’ttellher,” Zinzi

accusedme.

Buthow couldIhavetoldher that the

hatshe lovedsomuchbelon gedto

anotherwoman,who just happened to

be themotherofmybestfrien d?

“What’sgoing on here,Zamo?”my

mother asked. “Who arethese people?

Andwhy do they want to take my hat?”

“It’salong story, Mom.”

“I sugges tyou make it sh ort,”she said.

Icould feel heranger buildingup.

“Okay. Tell me whogaveyou theblue

hat, Mom. Whoeveritw as,theystole it

from Zinzi’s mother.”

“I’m sure thereare many shopsthatsell

thesehats. Howsureare youthisone

belongs to you?” my mother askedtur-

ningtof aceZinzi’s mom.

“Verysure. It wasboughtinL ondon.

AndStevesaidIwas theonlyone in

SouthAfricawhoownedsuchabeaut iful

hat,”Zinzi’s mother stood herground.

“Steve! That’s interesting. So,aman

called St evegaveyou this hatasagift?”

my motherquestioned,her furyturning

to disappointment.

“Waitaminute. Who’sSteve? Is hethe

mysteryguy youtoldmewasno neof my

business?” Iasked.

BeforeIcould getana nswer, ared car

pulled up outside.Theelectricianclim-

bedoutof hiscar,quickly followedby his

stern-lookingwife.

“Justintime, Mr Electrician,”my

mother calledout.“It seemslikeyou

have some fixingtodo. First,

youcan do my cable.Then

youcanhelpussolvetheis sue

of thehat yougaveme.”

My momdisappeared into

thebedroomand came out

with th ebeauti ful bluehatwith th enavy

ribb on.

“Whose hatisthis, St eve?” Zinzi’s

mother demanded.

Theelectrician’swifemadeherwayup

to thedoortos ee what wasgoing on.

“Hey!That’s enough,you two. Thisis

my hat.My husb andgaveittomeformy

birthday.How didyou getit?”

Stevetriedtobackawayfromthedoor,

butthe womenturnedonhim and

pinned him up againstthe wall.

It turned outhehad presentedthe

same hatasagift to threedifferentwo-

men.He hadalotof explaini ngandapo-

logisingtodo. Andevenafter that one

question remained :who wouldget to

keep thehat?

‘Thisismyhat.Myhusbandgaveitto

meformyb irthday.Howdidyougetit?’

FICTION

BYNQOBILE NGCOBO

ILLUSTRATION:MICHAEL DE LUCCHI