Back in high school in 1986, Siphokazi calls her confidante, Mbali, aside during first break. Her bosom is almost bursting with the sheer volume of the secret she's carrying. You're not going to believe this but I "accidentally" read a note from Ndumiso to Mabusi, calling her "Baby" and "Love", asking her when she was planning to dump Sibusiso. That's not all, Siphokazi says; Ndumiso refers to Sibusiso as "Buffy" and "Stumpy" on account of his big chest and short fingers.Promise me that you won't tell a soul.story_article_left1Of course I won't tell a soul; I'm no gossip.During lunch break Mbali's chest is also near bursting point as she pulls Bianca aside and lets her know all about Ndumiso, Mabusi and Buffy.Promise you won't tell a soul, she warns sternly. By the time school comes out, the "secret" has been shared among - oh, I don't know - seven confidantes who swear they won't tell a soul.Inevitably, within hours I was face-to-face with an irate Buffy wanting to know if it's true that I have snatched his chick and called him "Stumpy". In a high-pitched voice I denied everything and assured him I would never refer to him as "Stumpy". He was a very competent boxer, you see. The names have been altered to protect the identities of all the shameless gossips. But they know who they are.Secrets. There really is no such thing. Like a lot of people, in recent times I've been consumed by the whole Hillary Clinton versus Vetkoek Face, a vetkoek, that is, with slices of red polony for lips and a mop on its head made of red polecat fur.Last week, Wikileaks released a few thousand more e-mails that Hillary thought had ceased to exist when she pressed "delete". I guess that was her own private "Buffy" moment right there. I bet she really thought her secrets would stay with her closest confidantes until the end of time which is, of course, the most unreasonable expectation. Human beings are just not wired to possess information they cannot share.During my Unilever days I had a colleague who struggled to contain himself whenever he had a titbit to share. I would watch him squirm in his cubicle for all of three minutes whenever some juicy tittle-tattle landed on his lap. You could time an egg boiling by how long it took him to peep into my cubicle and say, "Comrade, let us have a word in the smoking spot." I would rub my hands gleefully before making a cup of coffee and presenting myself at the smoking station within 87 seconds.block_quotes_start Most deep, dark secrets are shared during moments of vulnerability, such as after between-the-sheets exertions block_quotes_endI broach the subject because of a traumatic experience I had recently. There was a secret situation between Party A and Party B. Party B told Party C their side of the story, and Party A told me theirs.Party C then told me what Party B had told them.I saw the chance to bring peace between Party A and Party B, so I told Party A what Party B had shared with Party C. (Do try to keep up.)I don't know why I was surprised when Party A went straight to Party B to complain that both I and Party C had passed on their secret. Inevitably, Party B is upset with Party C, and Party C is livid with me. I hope that's as clear as chocolate mousse.The long and short of it is that Party C and I, who are the outsiders on this secret, are now the toxic gossips who created the mess. But the primary blame lies squarely on the shoulders of the people who should have kept it between themselves. That's the most gossip-proof approach to secrets.story_article_right2Most deep, dark secrets are shared during moments of vulnerability, such as after between-the-sheets exertions. Some sessions are so intense you end up telling the other person ordinarily unmentionable family secrets such as the fact your second cousin Bobo on your mother's side is the product of an incestuous liaison between Auntie Maggie and Uncle Mandla.Two weeks later you have a violent breakup and now you're gnawing on your fingernails wondering when she's going to spill the beans about Bobo's paternity on Instagram.Many people believe women are worse gossip-mongers than men. No, they're not. Take my word on this; men drink just as lustily from the trough of salacious rumours as women do. The only difference is that there is a stigma attached to a male gossip. So men have developed a subtle form of rumour-mongering.Let's suppose guys are having beers at the pub and someone says, "That Tumi has such an impregnable defence against any amorous advances."There's always a Tsepo who will snort knowingly with a toothpick between his lips before casually responding, "Alright. If you insist."At that moment, the seed of a juicy secret has been planted without it being expressly stated.I guess the point of this column is to warn you that your secrets are not safe with anyone. Or maybe it's just me.Follow Ndumiso Ngcobo on Twitter @NdumisoNgcobo..