Your skin is so supple it's as if you bathe in milk, and wipe yourself with polony
You see, where I come from, apart from being taught stick fighting and other manly things such as kicking a soccer ball, one other important code of behaviour that gets imprinted upon you is the importance of respecting women.
And admiring them. No, adoring them.
But adoring a girl or a woman shouldn't just be a state you find yourself in - you must do something for the woman or girl you admire.
You must have dreams for her. And these dreams must be expressed in poems or songs that you compose for her.
Assuming, of course, that you have the musical and poetic vocabulary to express your admiration of the said girl.
I know it's a tall order - and some guys simply can't cut it, no matter how many times they get trained in this art of verbiosity. (I just made that word up, but you get the drift, my dear visionary reader).
For those born in the rural areas, lessons in this art of verbiosity start when your bigger brothers or your father teach you how to herd cattle. They encourage you to name each and every cow or bull in the herd. You give them colourful names such as Cijimpi (prepare for war) and Jamludi.
Once you have named every one of them, you are encouraged by the elders to create praise poems for each beast.
If, however, you were born in a township and have no inkling of how to herd cattle, your verbiosity gets honed on the football field. Your elders encourage you to create praise names for your favourite soccer players. The legendary goalkeeper Frederick Mfeka was called The Cat - for his agility. Joel Faya was called The Fire - because he was hot. Henry Khumalo was called Mthofi - he was as tough as lead. You get the drift.
Once you're a young buck with a developed sense of poetry on the soccer field, or in the mountains where your beasts graze, you then graduate to another level in this game of verbiosity.
Your elders now teach you the skill of creating poems or songs about, or for, girls.
Whenever a girl passes by, you are encouraged to say colourful things.
"You are so beautiful, my girl, it's as if you were not born; you just came into being."
"You are so beautiful it's as if you don't go to the toilet; your skin is so supple and smooth it's as if you bathe in milk, and wipe yourself with slices of polony."
"You are so beautiful that I am tempted to buy you a train."
The girl in question is not supposed to answer. She must give you just one ugly look, sway her hips indifferently and walk into the sunset, leaving you sweating as you spew your hot words of admiration.
Once you have mastered this part of verbal agility, you then graduate to yet another level in this long journey of poetry.
Now, the challenge is for you to be able to stop a girl in her tracks, and get her to respond to your poetry. This stage of verbiosity is called ukweshela. In English it's called courting - but the Zulu way is not exactly courting. It's more sophisticated, more involved than the simple courting I've seen in movies and read in books such as Wuthering Heights.
Ukweshela is a verbal contest between a boy and a girl. In a roundabout way, the boy will express his deep affection for the girl, and hope that his warm words find a place in her heart.
Not wanting to appear weak and cheap, during the verbal contest, the girl will fight back vehemently with her words - in English it's called "playing hard to get".
It's a long process, this ukweshela thing. Being a good poet or isesheli is a treasured skill.
But this great poetic skill is on the wane. These days, I hear boys saying to girls, "Can we go on a date?" And from there it's downhill - all the way down to the sack. Even before they get to know each other. What a shame.
All these thoughts about the demise of ukweshela were prompted by a contest called Two Strangers and a Wedding.
In case you've been snoring through a mini-revolution, this contest is simply about verbally-challenged girls and boys who are looking for - an instant marriage.
In this particular case, Kaya FM listeners randomly chose a woman called Mary (how apt) as a woman deserving of a groom. Then a bevy of men applied to the radio station, competing for Mary's affections. (And, oh, the successful groom also gets to win a Hummer, and the girl wins a Chevrolet).
So, this week, after the listeners helped the station to create a short list of suitors, Mary had to settle for one of the men. And so, next week Mary will tie the knot with a radio suitor. Problem is, Mary has never met Tshepo, the guy she is marrying! Bizarre is an understatement.
I probably would have understood and tolerated this charade were the contestants naughty teens just having fun. No such luck. Mary is 27 years old and Tshepo is 36. Where do they make these creatures?
Call me conservative if you want, but online dating also seems cuckoo to me.
What happened to the poetry of love? How do we replace the courage that is built when a young man approaches a young woman and sincerely expresses his feelings for her?
This radio matchmaking is the pits. These people are, in my language, suffering from ubushimane. They are loveless, romanceless - bereft of human warmth.
Hhawu, if this is to become the norm, maybe I should get off this train called modernity.
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