My lips are dry. I step into Loccitane to pick out a product.
Nicole greets me, and we start a casual conversation. She moved from Port Alfred a year and a half ago and her sinus is killing her from both the altitude and the dryness. I tell her I hang a wet towel next to my bed as I find humidifiers too much of a nuisance to maintain. I had similar issues and it went away after two years of acclamation.
She wants to be a teacher. Her Dad was one, and he had abundant quality time with his family. She wants the same lifestyle and was faulted by her friends for not having a better reason for choosing the profession. I like her honesty. Qualified teachers are in short supply. I tell her so and she’s surprised. She says people don’t appreciate her honesty. Her friends don’t get her. I tell her that I used to hang out with people I didn’t enjoy spending time with, after growing tired of doing everything myself. Eventually, I found people who love and appreciate me for who I am.
Johannesburg is full of transplants who are looking to expand their friendship circle. Behind the bustle are people like you and me not from here. Everything takes time. For me, 3 years exactly.
I moisturize my chapped lips. I thank her for the conversation. I tell her I will drop by again to say hi. We hug each other goodbye. She shouts, “you just made my day. Thank you so much.”
Ditto, Nicole.
Thanks.