Daisy died of AIDS. She died a week after her wedding. From the reception hall, to her parents' home to the hospital. From the hospital she went to the grave. There was no honeymoon for her which her husband Nkosilathi had paid for, months in advance. The airline tickets to Italy lay among the unopened wedding gifts for months signifying the utter destruction of her life.

The wedding guests were the funeral guests. The very tent that housed the relatives on the night of revelry and celebration of their daughter's wedding, housed the mourners. The same food was served, from the same paper and plastic plates that Daisy herself bought for her wedding. Her colours were red and white. The paper and plastic plates were red and white. The plastic spoons and plastic forks and knives were white. The paper serviettes were all red. Daisy bought them eight months previously, when Nkosilathi asked her to be his bride.

She wanted everything to be perfect. And why not? Every Shona girl is born and bred to be married. From the moment you realize you are a girl, you also know that you have to get married. It is your first degree. It is your entrance into society. It is difficult to attain and only the privileged few get to be owned. Daisy had beat all her compatriots. She would be the first to get married and gain prestige within Shona society.

 She wanted a wedding out of a picture book. She knew she had limited resources, but if she planned in advance and budgeted, she could make her dream come true. Daisy was not super intelligent, but she had been bestowed with more than her share of common sense. And so, she immediately started buying for her wedding and hording the stuff at her parents house in Avondale. She was detail orientated and knew that the little things would be forgotten when it came for time to really prepare for the wedding. She decided that the smart thing to do, was to create a list and then shop for all the small stuff, such as plastic plates, spoons, forks and knives. She would buy real table clothes so that the reception hall would sparkle with white. She would immediately start paying the florist for the centerpieces of her reception. She wanted lots of red and white on them too. She knew who was going to design her flowers, her mother's best friend. She would do it and she would allow Daisy to pay her every month. The cake, the wedding dress, the bridesmaid dresses and all the big things that were needed at a wedding could wait for Nkosilathi to get a loan from his company. 

She brought the paper plates from Bulawayo the very week Nkosilathi proposed and bought her a diamond engagement ring. She drove eight hours to Harare in excitement because she wanted to share her good fortune with her mother and four sisters. She was the first born and her mother would be so happy that her first daughter was getting a wedding. It meant her mother had instilled high moral values in her daughters and by Daisy getting married, it told the world that her daughters were worthy of wifedom. Surely, her younger sisters would  have no trouble when it came to finding men who would want weddings. They wouldn't be satisfied with dowry alone. They would also want to wear a wedding dress. Daisy had set a terrific example.

For Daisy, this marriage thing was not going to be real until her mother shared the news with her and congratulated her.  The long drive was nothing compared to what was waiting for her at home that day. She brought the plastic and paper cutlery to her mother who promptly warned anyone who touched the cutlery with death. It was for Daisy's wedding. It was precious.

She never thought red and white would be the colours used at her daughter's funeral. Had she known that those plates would feed mourners, there is no doubt in my mind that she would have burnt them. Death came to her door and she had let it in with welcoming arms.

Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. I am obsessed with Daisy's death. Yet, she was not even my friend. We met in junior school, so many years back. It was a nothing meeting. She was a year ahead of me and therefore was a senior. In junior school, we didn't talk at all, even when we were on the same netball team of which she was captain. She thought I was the weak link in her team, but had the class and good breeding to not say so.  I didn't really enjoy netball, and without a doubt, if my junior school had a choice back then, they would not have picked me for the team. Daisy lived and breathed sports, of any kind as long as they had a ball to catch or hit, she was there! How then, would we have had anything in common?

I remember, trying to say something to her many times in junior school, and being tongue tied. She had an overwhelming personality and mine was just starting to sprout. I was this skinny, dark little thing without a single quality of beauty to her astonishing curves at such an early age. She had friends who were more outgoing than mine and therefore had more to say than little old lonely me. Yes! I envied Daisy.

If I could have, I would have insinuated myself into her life and not stood on the periphery of it. But, I didn't know how. Perhaps it was for the best.

By the time I could talk to her, in high school, I had discovered myself and realized that we could never be friends. I wanted an extremely different existence from hers. Obviously, in high school, I turned my back on all that nonsense of netball, basketball and any kind of ball! Daisy made the high school team and won colours and everything!

In high school, we still didn't move in the same circles. Daisy's circle was that of strong, athletic girls who dated the popular sports boys and my circle was that of the nerdy kind of girls who weren't too bright to begin with nor too good looking. So we had to claim fame somewhere!

Daisy played basketball, was in the hockey team and was the netball team captain in high school. I saw her, many times, in the hockey fields, wearing the required maroon skirt and white t-shirt, chasing a ball at the speed of light with her hockey stick held high. It was a beautiful sight to behold. She was healthy, strong, beautiful and alive! Someone should have captured that moment for eternity. Instead, my mind is probably the only one that still has that picture.