From 12712 to eternity, a brotherhood beyond goodbye, the friend my heart chose.
The loss of a true friend tears open a place in the heart that words cannot easily reach. A friend is someone we choose from among many and invite into the most private chambers of our lives. When such a friend dies, we lose more than a companion. We lose a witness to our beginnings, a keeper of our secrets, and a living reminder of who we once were. In losing Jackie, I feel as though a part of my own story has been buried with him.
The friends we choose become the keepers of our fears, anxieties, secrets, dreams and joys. Often, they hear the news of our lives before our parents, our brothers or even our wives. Because we trust them, their counsel can redirect the course of our lives—for better or for worse.
I was born at 12715 in Mamelodi East, only two houses away from Lawrence “Moerkie” Hlatswayo—Jackie—at 12712 Itsuseng Street. We were born one month apart in the same year: he was the only son of Sis Ncane and Ntate Hlatswayo, and I was born to Ausi Martha and Bra Fanie. Those two houses held two families, but the street brought us together. We grew up side by side, carrying the dust, laughter, mischief and dreams of Mamelodi East in our hearts. We were more than what the hood created; we became brothers by choice, long before we understood how precious—and how painfully brief—a lifetime could be.
Our lives pulled us in different directions through work, careers, personal interests and the places we chose to live. Yet distance could never erase the special place we occupied in each other’s hearts. Whenever circumstances allowed, we found our way back to one another’s company, because our bond was undeniably unbreakable.
Moerkie was my friend. He was my buddy. He was the brother life allowed me to choose. Now he goes to the grave carrying secrets known only to the two of us, and I am left with conversations I still want to continue, laughter I still expect to hear, and memories that now hurt because no new ones can be made. We held each other accountable in ways that perhaps only we could fully explain. His father and mother knew the depth of our bond; his wife did, and his boys did too. They knew that when Jackie stood beside me, I was never standing alone.
Moerkie was a friend to the most private and unusual dimensions of my mind. He knew the parts of me I didn't have to explain. I cannot imagine having gathered pieces of who I am without him. He could enter spaces I hadn't been invited to and hear what others couldn't tell me directly. Without being asked, he would collect the scattered pieces of my name and reputation, bring them home to me, and arrange them in his own unmistakable way. I trusted that order because it came from him. Today, the thought that I must face the world without that familiar protection leaves an emptiness I do not yet know how to name.
We did many things simply because we were friends, and we refused to do anything that might diminish the friendship we had chosen. We knew when to be naughty together, but we also knew when to step back and allow our separate obligations to take their course. We shared frustrations, sorrow, trials and tribulations. Sometimes, sitting together in silence healed more than words ever could. Even now I can almost hear you giving me our familiar dose of courage: “Is kaak, maar is alright—wena khethile, khethile.” Those words once lightened our burdens. Today, remembering them makes your absence unbearably real.
Many people were fortunate enough to call Moerkie a friend. To me, however, he was simply Jackie—the queue marshal wa ko Van der Walt, my bra, die bewaarder, mjita. Each name carries a memory; together, they carry a life that cannot be replaced.
Rest in peace, Jackie. You chose me as your friend, and I chose you in return. I wasn't ready for our friendship to become a memory, or for your voice to become something I must search for inside myself. Death has taken you from my sight, but it cannot take away the life we shared, the secrets we kept, the laughter that belonged only to us, or the part of me that will always carry you. Moerkie wa ko 12712 may be no more, but my brother, my buddy, my mjita—you will live in me for as long as I draw breath.
And as we promised each other, our sons and daughters are ours for life. Your children will never have to wonder whether they still have a father’s shoulder, guidance, or love: as long as I am their father, they will always be my sons and daughters. Go in peace, my friend. Worry only about where you are heading; we will hold one another, protect the children, and manage what remains behind. I will miss you more deeply than these words can ever say.
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