Why Is Africa So Poor?

 Before getting started I think it may be worth considering whether rural subsistence living equates with poverty. One might quite strongly argue that rural subsistence equates with genuine wealth and freedom. Take a look at every socially destructive regime in history and you'll see the wholesale eradication of subsistence farmers. Africa is not intrinsically 'poor', unless you determinedly apply misguided Western cultural notions of poverty and prosperity.

Africa has a wealth of unspoilt beauty, history, community oriented cultural values, creativity and spirituality. Modernised countries tend to equate wealth with status symbols on loan from banks. Take new cars for example. To me driving a new Volkswagen Polo on a five year high interest loan from a bank is not wealth, it is more like allowing a slave to transport itself to its labour camp in a gilded prison carriage.

Second, colonialism has a lot to do with conflict driven poverty in Africa. Uniting diverse tribes into arbitrary nation states is a sure source of conflict - just take a look at Idi Amin in Uganda. Once you put one tribe in power it destroys the precarious balance of centuries and facilitates the type of blood shed that was kept in check by localised, community based power structures. The same thing is currently happening in Iraq where diverse tribes were melded together into a nation state following the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire.

You might also want to take a look at the role of organisations like the IMF and World Bank in creating poverty in Africa (check out 'Confessions of an Economic Hit Man' by John Perkins). Using debt to virtually enslave developing countries, direct development in ways beneficial to the Anglo-American elite and create corrupt, acquiescent governments usually tends to create problems.

I'm writing this response because this whole hullabaloo about development, quite frankly, works on my tits. Before people get excited about development, they might consider asking themselves if the development going on in the world is not more akin to that of malignant tumour than a technologically enhanced utopia. I'm not saying Africa should stay in the stone age, I just think that change needs to be tentative, and informed by African cultural values, rather than directed by a culturally inappropriate (and I think inferior) Anglo-American cultural paradigm. I love living on a continent where wild animals still roam free, where people smile easily, and where everything with beauty hasn't been buried under a carpet of concrete and greed.

(Written by Sven Eik)

What 2009 Taught Me - FB Note

 What I learnt in 2009

1.The first lesson I learnt in 2009 is that if you define what it is that you want, it’s a lot easier to get it. Defining doesn’t mean knowing how you’ll get there, but it helps you know what you CAN’T live with in order for you to figure out what you CAN live with and where it is that you’re going...

2.The second lesson I learnt was how important it is to be honest with people. If you fear telling people the truth, you might get them to like you by telling them what they want to hear, but honesty is definitely a gift and it’s much more valuable...

3.The 3rd lesson I learnt in 2009 was how important it is to hold on to God’s promises for your life. So often, things make no sense if you consider the direction that your life should be taking, but if you sit on God’s promises, eventually the rewards come your way.

4.The 4th lesson was humility. In a year that had so many difficulties for so many people, I must admit that 2009 was the year of learning humility. As much as looks, education, money and other material things can take us far, we must never be defined by them because in the blink of an eye they can be taken away.

5.The 5th lesson is related to the previous one. 2009 is the year I learnt about loss. Loss of all that defines you, loss of all that you love. This lesson taught me that in life, some things can never be lost (memories, education, God, tomorrow’s choices) and these things must be valued... Loss also opens up the path to new gains. Life is about renewal and progress. For this to happen, loss needs to happen.

6.The 6th lesson is about people. In this year I learnt to appreciate the God that lives in everyone I come across, to learn the reason why each person comes into your life. I learnt the importance of the 2nd look. At first glance, a lot can be missed. And in 2009, I learnt that a 2nd look can show you an amazing person behind someone you’d previously considered not worth knowing...

7.The 7th lesson was the lesson of going for gold. I once heard that ‘good is the enemy of great’ and this year when I decided that good was not good enough, I learnt that greatness is a choice and only when you refuse to settle for less than gold, do you actually achieve gold.

8.The 8th lesson was the value of family. I never realised how central to your being family is. With independence comes self-reliance and we often forget what brought us to where we are. In this year I learnt to value my family in a new way and to learn that after all is said and done, we begin and end with Family...

9.The 9th lesson I learnt was how to smile and remain peaceful in the heart of a storm. When there is nothing left to do, doing nothing can be the most liberating thing to do for yourself. This was the year I learnt to let go of the notion that I can influence everything.

10.The final lesson for 2009 was that the worst of experiences bring the best and greatest out of us. When we’ve suffered, we can be sure that the rewards will be great. The lesson is worth the suffering and we become better and stronger people...

That’s me... (“,)

Cheating - FB Note 2008

 I have this girl-friend and at some point during this weekend we were chatting about cheating. For those who’ve done it, there’s always some good reason why you did it, (I was drunk, we haven’t agreed to be exclusive, we had a fight and I needed comforting, we’re not married so he doesn’t own me… etc.). But what is cheating really? Is it okay only when guys do it? Do women make it easier for men to cheat? Are cheaters bad people? Does cheating mean you don’t really love the one you’re with? Is there a type that’s acceptable, and does there need to be a clause when you’re dating that says: Now we’re official, keep your hands off other boys (Sorry, men)?

For most women who’ve been cheated on, I guess you tend to feel like you weren’t enough, you didn’t do enough and he had to go elsewhere. But since I heard that even Halle Berry’s been cheated on, I’ve realised that it’s not all about your short-comings as a woman, men cheat because they want to and as my all-time favourite book states: ‘It’s a question of integrity.’

Back to the friend, we all have our personal set of morals that we abide by and for them it’s always been that they will never cheat. Unfortunately life happened and they cheated, the funny thing is that now they rationalise it by saying that: ‘There’s different types of cheating and mine wasn’t that bad’. We all do that, as a God-fearing Christian I never believed in sex before marriage, now I don’t believe in ‘casual’ sex (kinda rewrote the rules as I broke them, it’s human don’t judge me).

My point then is what constitutes cheating? I’ve heard that there’s 3 different types.
1) Physical but not emotional, a guy meets up with a girl at a club, has a one night stand and then goes back to his woman. Standard justification: ‘It was just sex, she didn’t mean anything to me.’
2) Emotional but not physical. Guy has a crush on a woman but doesn’t act on it. ‘I feel her, but can’t act on it because I’ve got someone.’
3) Physical and emotional. He’s got another girlfriend and he’s in love with her as well. ‘I’m in love with both of you and I don’t want to lose either of you!’

Anyways in my world, I might be able to forgive the first two but the 3rd one is definitely a deal breaker, you can’t have your cake and eat it (Well, not mine at least).

But from the cheaters perspective, are all cheaters bad people or is it just human? If you consider that cheating isn’t usually done in a vindictive manner, but more as a fun game that gives people a rush and provides relief from the boredom of relationships, I don’t think that cheaters are bad people, but for someone who’s been on the receiving end, it’s painful.

I’d like to think that I’m a ‘good girl’, but I can be honest and say that I’ve cheated and it wasn’t pretty. There’s the excitement that comes with it and the feeling that you’re quite the ‘player-ess’ but ultimately hurting someone you care about is inevitable and you feel terrible for having done it.

Some men pride themselves on being able to juggle 5 or 6 women, for some women it’s about different people who fulfil different roles (minister of finance, good in bed, good company etc.), but in all honesty I think that cheating is based on insecurity and needing other people to validate you (not that I have a PhD in Psychology or anything).

I’ve come across a lot of guys who value their independence and don’t want to feel owned. They’re young, successful and have the world at their feet. So why should they limit themselves to just the one person and miss out on all the fun that’s to be had out there? Some of my guy friends go as far as telling the women they cheat with: ‘I’ve got a woman, and I won’t leave her for you’. Unfortunately as girls we allow this sort of thing to happen, and some men do believe that the enablers for cheating are women, they know you’re taken but they’re willing to be the ‘side piece’.

Most of us have come to believe that if it’s a man, it cheats!’ If he knows he can get away with it, he will do it. The Zulu woman thing is that: ‘I don’t need you to be faithful (and we wonder how Aids spreads) but I do need you to respect me. If you’re going to cheat, make sure I don’t find out and let the side-pieces know that I’m the queen of this castle.’

Personally, I’m not one to judge (people in glass houses…). But I’ve got friends who adore their partners and are secure enough to not require the validation that most cheaters are after. There will always be temptation, but if what you have is real, you would never jeopardise it by cheating on the one you love.

A Sentimental Goodbye to 2007 - FB Note

I've always found the greatest beauty in simplicity and truth.

The simplicity of people, the beauty of nature and the greatness to be found in the little miracles of life. A beautiful sunrise, the smile on a child's face, a moment of peaceful solitude symbolises so much of what I know to be beautiful and it's a true reflection of the God I love.

It's the end of the year and I'm feeling sentimental. All that's happened, all I've experienced leaves me with a feeling of nostalgia. It's been a beautiful year. I've made and lost friends along the way, I've experienced the greatest happiness and just looking back, I wouldn't change much of it.

But as I close this chapter, I'm excited to be openning a new one. New challenges, new thrills and new memories to be made. For me this has been a year of growth & maturing. I let go of my past, embraced new opportunities and as I look back, I'm proud of the progress made.

My highlights definitely include holding my precious God-daughter for the first time, closing the chapter on my 4 year relationship, travelling the country and of course exposing myself by sharing my writing.

I see where I am today and I see a woman, no longer the big bright-eyed little girl who came to the big city 5 years ago. I'm still learning, discovering and growing. It excites & humbles me to see how far I've come and to think of the possibility of where I'm headed...

From someone who’s been there - FB Note 2007

You go for a while thinking that it’s over and you’ve moved on. You convince yourself that it was a life-time ago and you’re not that woman anymore. But then someone makes a joke, tells a story and you’re right back there.

A friend once said to me that they wish they could be with a man who’d slap them around every now and then, isn’t it true that real love makes you so possessive and jealous that a man would go to any extent to be with you. Women who go through this should appreciate how much their men love them. I smiled when I heard that because for some people abuse is this passionate exciting moment, followed by amazing make-up-sex and all is sunshine and roses afterwards.

But the reality couldn’t be more different. Before I get into it though, I feel the need to justify why I’m writing this. One of my pet hates is pity, so this in no way meant to get people going ‘Ag, shame, Amanda’ or some kind of an attack on ‘him’. I’m just trying to tell the story from the perspective of someone who’s been there.

I’d always thought of myself as a strong person, things like that only happen to weak people who asked for it anyways. There must be something you did to drive someone to that much anger, judging by that ‘panel-beating’ you must have done something really bad.

I believe that at the heart of abuse there’s a need to control. Control what you do, who you see, how you behave and even how you dress. The worst for me was the constant fear, you know which buttons you’re not allowed to push and you know the consequences if you do.

There’s also this strange cycle, for a while everything’s rosy, then as Celine Dion put it: ‘I can feel there’ll be a storm tonight’. It could be totally unrelated to anything you’ve done, it could be a problem with friends, but the room just fills up with this terrible stench of anger and if you know what’s good for you, you don’t do anything to drive them over the edge.

Some days are better than others, the hardest thing to believe is how wonderful abusive men can be. From buying flowers, to giving the best loving to constant reminders that ‘you are my world’ and ‘I would die if I had to live without you’. This I guess is the trap. You feel needed, you’re the only one in the world who understands this person and after ‘an incident’ you still feel like apologising for making them mad or forcing them to hit you, and as I learnt, almost kill you. (Sounds crazy, I know).

Then there’s the other side, the fragile person behind the abuser, they know they have a problem and need you to help them get better. You hear things like: ‘I’ve never had anyone willing to love me completely like you, you’re an amazing woman,’ and you think to yourself, ‘I am, hey. I’m such a martyr’.

But through all this madness, there’s this constant logic that creeps in, this is not right, I’m smarter than this, I know that love is not meant to hurt this much.

But I guess I’ll blame the way we’re raised as women, being fed B.S about: a good woman will hang in there, that’s how a man knows you’re worth marrying. We don’t cry about our problems, nor do we go around discussing them, in public everyone should think everything's perfect. It’s our lot in life as women to be strong for the men we love, you’re meant to be his ‘safe place to land,’ when the whole world is going crazy around him, as his woman, you’re supposed to make him feel like a king. Even the bible says that the woman is supposed to submit to the man, it’s the way of life.

So all around you have the best solution & know exactly what you had to do, the worst for me was the:

1) Judging: How can you be so stupid, pack your bags and leave the bastard.
2) Pity: Ag, shame. Cant you stop whatever you’re doing to get him so angry, tow the line and ‘Qina where u at!’, bekezela!

But it takes a special kind of person to ask the question: ‘Why do you think you don’t deserve/cant do better. Is he worth you losing yourself so he can feel whole?’. Then it’s up to you to realise just how much you love your self relative to how much he needs you.

I was telling a friend the other day that the song: ‘I’m gold’ epitomises what I’ve always known about myself. I have to thank my parents for that, I guess. I’ve grown up believing that there’s nothing more beautiful than me and when I take the time to examine who I am as a person, I’m in love with the woman I see looking back at me.

The next question, then has to be: how do you stay with someone for years if you think you're worth more? I could say that maybe I was brainwashed, but I genuinely thought that it was me showing how ‘amazing’ I am, loving through thick and thin, till death do us part and giving ‘my all’ as it were.

So what’s the point of all this vele? Well, I think abuse is already a hell on it’s own without people romanticising it or acting like it's something to be taken lightly. I can’t speak for the abusers, but from the other side, abuse is definitely not just about men proving that they love you/women abangenas’milo being punished, it’s a whole lot more and until you’ve been there, you can’t even begin to understand what it’s all about…

Men - FB Note 2007

 

I recently had an interesting chat over wine with my girl friends. The topic turned to 'the men in Jo'burg', as usual I'm forever harping on about how great Zulu men are, but this time around I took the time to listen. One of the more interesting insights for the night was that Jo'burg has three types of men.

1) The hustler/mrapper/poet/next big thing. These guys are charming, fun, engaging... and broke. For those who still remember the track 'Bills, bills, bills', or 'No scrubs', that's the man they're talking about.
2) BEE, he's got zero charm, no sex appeal and he talks about tenders and uses lots of big words. He'll take you to Trumps and shopping at Hyde Park but then you'll have to endure him touching you with his greasy sweaty hands...
3) Then there's the cream of the crop. The celebs. They party hard, get high, attract women like flies and with everything that they do, it's all about bling. I'm famous, rich and I can do whatever I want.... Not for the faint hearted/easily heart-broken.

Of course there are those somewhere in between, but for the most part, if you're into the Jo'burg party scene, you come across each of the three on a daily basis and you just have to figure out which type you can deal with.

As the conversation wore on, we debated which was the better evil, the broke *ss, the BEE or the celeb. My taste has often led me to the first type. I don't consider myself materialistic so I've always gone for charmers. But between my mom and my friends, I've heard enough 'Yin' uthanda oskhotheni' speeches, but hey different strokes for different folks.

The arguement turned to BEE's. In their defence, it was said that as ugly as he might be, he can give you any, and I mean ANYthing that you want (images of what we owe on our credit cards made this quite an appealing proposition)& some of them are really nice people and hey if Khanyi can do it, why can't the rest of us.

This is where I take a pause. I think that it's so sad how these men sell themselves short. You look at these 30 Something men chasing varsity kids around clubs and you have to wonder why they do this to themselves, only to be used for free drinks and ditched for the 'Bills, bills, bills' dude at the end of the night. Whenever I see this, I just have to wonder how a self-respecting intelligent man can put himself through this. I see these BEE men, they must be intelligent to have become so succesful but how little do you need to value yourself if the only company you can get is with young women whom you know For Sure wouldn't give you a second look if you didn't have money. The ironic thing though is that men complain about gold-diggers but the way they act attracts these types of women. If I'm boasting about the 5million deal I just made, it means that I want to attract a woman for whom that is important.
I'm going to go back to the money thing again, why are we chasing it, why does it mean so much. I see people who can only talk about my car, my mansion, my fat bank account and I wonder who would you be if all this was taken away. What defines you, what excites you (besides money), what makes your heart skip a beat. Surely the *ss you get from these girls can't be enough to make you really happy.

In my day I've had some interesting friends, and when you see how women talk about things like being with a man because: 'he will take care of me, he'll pay for my car, he'll pay for my trip overseas', I envy their chutzpah, they aren't the ones being used, they're doing the using. Personally I don't believe in all that stuff, but an evening of wine and conversation left me with a whole lot to think about!

But then the conversation moved on to the celebs, not to incriminate anyone but

(Facebook has deactivated the Notes feature and when I attempted to recover my Notes, some of them were incomplete. This was one of those)

The Black Diamond Deception - 2007 FB Note

 In recent years we've been exposed to the term 'black diamonds'. Mainly believed to be the 'BEE's & coconuts who are living the South African dream and making things happen for themselves. Although the term itself actually refers to the emerging middle class (LSM 4-6), it's quite interesting to see how some of us have come to embrace it as a compliment to be referred to as 'Black Diamonds'.

But having sat through a number of Black Diamond presentations I'm shocked and appalled by what I see. Basically all they are is a group of people who have more money at their disposal and have zero financial management skills. So what corporates do is exploit their ignorance by sucking them dry and leaving them in debt. From the Truworths card that you're given when you turn 18, to the many calls from Edgars, Vodacom, SAA all offering credit cards.
What is sad is how we see the 'credit' as a gift and start seeing all we can do and have with the new-found riches.

After reading Capitalist Nigger I've become more aware of just how much black people are preoccupied with looking rich instead of accumulating wealth. We drive the Bentley's & Hummers but at the end of the day, we have no wealth as a people. The business sector knows this and are making billions by marketing products that are 'bling' and like lambs to the slaughter we fall hook line & sinker.

The weirdest thing for me is seeing the so called 'BEE' types. All their homes are alike from the leather couches to the plasma screen to the playstation/DSTV. It's as if there's a small voice there that says, you're not really rich or succesful until you're driving that BMW and renting a townhouse in Sandton.

I had an interesting conversation a while ago with a couple of people. About this guy who's young, lives at the Michaelangelo and drives one of these 'panty-dropper' type cars. Hearing them speak of him I realised that to some people that's the ultimate success. But then I made this statement: 'besides getting him chicks, I think his life is really boring'. I don't think my idea hit home because the response was, at the end of the day we are all after the fancy car and the hot penthouse, if we weren't we wouldn't be here...

But my point is that if we see something to be proud of in having a reputation for spending what we don't have and being evaluated on the size of your TV set, we're more slaves now than in the days of apartheid. At least then we knew the enemy and were collectively focused on one thing. These days we've become so preoccupied with getting, taking, expressing and showing off just how rich we are, but the irony is that this is taking us back to poverty. Even worse now is the huge debt that people end up in, chasing ideals that ultimately don't make you happy, but as a friend of mine would say, i'd rather be miserable in a mansion than happy in a shack!

I'm not totally immune to brands & wanting to live La Dolce Vita, but each time I see people who have to know your job title and what car you drive before they decide whether to speak to you or not, I find myself pitying them because I believe there's so much more to life than this and that's why places like Newtown are amazing, it's all about the art, poetry, hip-hop, theatre, graffiti. Over there, you get more respect for the length of your dread-locks than the size of your car.

I'm not a black diamond, I'm a new age african who's living her own version of the South African dream

A Poem for My Daughter: Nzinga Nommo Masixole

As part of my journey of healing I had to acknowledge a daughter I terminated many years ago. The process involved giving her a name, conducting a traditional ceremony and acknowledging the fact that I don't have a child, I have children.

This is a poem that came to me on the day of the naming ceremony:

Battle stories of wars lost and won in our wombs go untold. Turning our bodies into battle fields of un-cried tears and unmourned babies. So much blood shed, blood blocked, blood shamed, blood denied. They abort and deny us, they mute and choke us, they don’t know they don’t know. They don’t know the hole they try to refill with all they gained at our expense, can only ever truly be filled by the truth. 

Remember Us

Name Us

Honour Us

Embrace us like those you saw fit to keep.

The Children Remember

The womb is a place of storytelling,

Horrors are stories too my dear.

This is the reason why I'm sometimes so terrified of my writing, at times I'm haunted by it. But it takes courage to face and claim and honour the voices that speak through me as a writer, and as I said... as a mother.

 

African Wisdom (Undecoded)

 NTU

Another body of work that I can honestly say, came through me, not from me.

Camagu.

Book 6: To Whom Much Is Given

To Whom Much Is Given

This is the most widely known book I've ever written. I finally had the courage to self-publish and had a very memorable book launch on the 25th of November 2015. It also took the longest to write because the 2nd half involves conducting interviews with certain leaders and asking them critical questions about leadership in the 21st century.

The crux of the book is about pointing a finger at black leadership in South Africa to play their part to drive transformation. I initially wanted to title it: "I Expect More From You" based on the poem by my dear friend Vangile Gantsho. I requested permission and she politely declined, however she did attend the book launch and performed the poem.

The book is split into two, so it is technically book 6 & 7 in one. I also spent time reflecting on my time as Head Girl of Linpark High School back in 2002. The lessons from leading a racially divided school, and how they've served me later in life. For the book I had the privilege to interview Dr Reuel Khoza, Ntate Bonang Mohale, Annelize Weppener, Mam' Futhi Mtoba and the well known public protector: Advocate Thuli Madonsela.

 

Book 5: Dangerous Blacks

 Dangerous Blacks

I've often said that some books come from you, whilst other books come through you. Dangerous Blacks is one of the most terrifying books I've ever written. Mostly because all the information seemed to 'call to me', subjects I'd never had any interest in before suddenly took centre stage in my life. I spent my days and nights conducting extensive research, asking many philosophical questions and just immersed in a whole new world. 

The book is based on the premise that the most dangerous type of black person is not one who steals or rapes or kills. The most dangerous type of black person is one who thinks.

I've decided to embark on an exercise aimed at celebrating 101 Dangerous Blacks of All Time (in my personal experience). I'd like to do a Youtube series featuring each of them. It's a challenge I'm setting for myself, hopefully I can achieve it before my next birthday.

Book 4: Hurt People, Hurt People

Hurt People, Hurt People

This is one of my favourite books, and unfortunately for myself, 9 years later.... I still haven't finished writing it. Not that I've been trying, I gave up at the end of NANOWRIMO in 2012. I enjoyed writing it because that year I'd finally been able to take formal writing classes, so all the lessons from the writing course I took, were still fresh. I fell in love with the main female character, the drama in the story line and the tragedy of it all. The writing style was very descriptive and had a lot of texture. Sadly, it's not completed. Although the reader will know what the ending ultimately is, I just couldn't close the loop and I decided to forgive myself. I've never heard of a writer doing that. But I did.

I just read the words: "Honour the Gift." It was in honour of my gift to pour from my spirit until there wasn't a drop left. Maybe one day when I'm old and grey, I will find a way to close the loop and on that day, I will resume. Until then, it remains incomplete but completely beautiful in just how beautifully it's written, and all the pleasure I had in writing it. This was the last work of fiction I wrote, and I've always said I want to go back to writing fiction.

I will.

Book 3: We Made Lemonade

We Made Lemonade

This book was a pleasure to write. I had let go of the obsession with getting published and just decided to flex my writing muscles using a style of writing that had been used in one of my favourite books of all time. A book by Susan Howatch titled: A Question of Integrity. The book is told from the point of view of 4 people, and whilst this might seem complex to understand, it shows how much a story changes based on who's telling it. It's 100% fiction but the characters are based on combinations of my friends, one character represents 2 people and their characteristics. I think some of my close friends from around that time may be able to recognize themselves in the characters. The story isn't all sunshine and roses, the characters go through some tragic events but their friendship is able to carry them through it all. I hardly ever plan the endings of my books, particularly the works of fiction, but this particular ending surprised me. Those who know, will know why (lol!).

 

Book 2 - Not Every Girl Is Looking For Love (Mbali Jama)

 Book 2 - Not Every Girl

Book 1 - Would You Still Love Me If You Knew

 

Would You Still Love Me If You Knew - Mbali Jama Debut Novel

I wrote this book at the age of 23, after suffering the trauma of being raped by an ex lover. The book is my greatest achievement because it forced me to confront the greatest pain I'd ever felt until that point in my life, being rejected by my mother. With the rape came many other memories of past failures, and I decided to write an honest account of my flawed self, and ask the ultimate question: Mother, Would You Still Love Me If You Knew?

The few times I've read it I've always been entertained by my own portrayed innocence and naïveté at the time. I was a child, I had big dreams and I was at the prime of my youth. To date (if I'm not mistaken) it's the longest single body of work I've ever written, and it took me about 6 weeks to write more than 45 000 words. That alone gave me confidence that indeed I was born to write. 

I can never get to the end of the book without shedding many tears, it was my life, it happened to me, and I wish I could go back and cuddle that little girl who went through so much, mostly alone and confused. I thank God and my ancestors for the gift to write, and for the peace I've found buried in many a blank page, waiting for a humble Zulu girl from PMB to fill. I've never written to make money, although when I was younger I hoped I could. With the rise of COVID I've recently come to terms with the reality that I may not be around forever, and if I do nothing else, I would wish for my writings to touch lives, to be read... and for my son to one day read my books and know who his beautiful, crazy and complicated mother really was.

Moringa Recipe Book

Moringa Recipe Book

 

Uyabhala Yena Shem...

 Curanderismo Course

Ubuntu University Founding Documents

I have not visited this blog in 5 years. I thought I'd never be able to again. By the grace of the almighty, I was able to retrieve my login details.

From this point on, I'd like to store some of the most important works of my life here, all the books I've written (10 if I'm not mistaken). I will also be sharing my Facebook Notes on here, in hope that no matter what happens to me, my work may outlive me. As every writer will tell you, if even just 1 person took the time to read my work, my service to God, to humanity, to myself... would have been complete.

A Return To Humanity

This week we watched a movie titled Unthinkable. It was about a terrorist who planted 3 bombs across the United States and wouldn't tell the authorities where he'd hidden them. They then assembled a team to try and get the truth out of him, the team included Samuel L Jackson and he specialized in torture. He spent days torturing the guy, chopping off his fingers and doing many unthinkable things to him. But the guy still wouldn't talk. They then brought in his wife, threatened to torture her too and still, the guy wouldn't talk. Then Samuel L Jackson murdered the wife in front of him, still he didn't tell them where he'd hidden the bombs. As a last resort they brought in his 2 kids, and put them in a room with the torturer, it was only at this point that he broke down and told them the location of the 3 bombs, and then they let the kids go. But just as the 3 were discovered, they realized there was possibly a 4th bomb, then the team leader suggested they bring the kids back in to get the guy to tell the truth. It was at this point that the lead female character stepped in and said No. As the other members of the team tried to justify that millions of lives would be lost if the bomb wasn't found, she stood her ground and said No. I think her words were "because we are human beings."

It was quite a difficult movie to watch, because as much as there were millions of peoples lives at stake, the team reached a point where their own morality was questioned. As much as it was clear that the terrorist was a bad guy, did that justify what they were doing to him? Was it okay to torment his family and murder his wife? Would they have been okay torturing his kids?

There's a number of reasons I started this post with a description of the movie, because it brought a couple of issues to the fore, and what our response to these issues says about our own humanity.

The first one is the recurring debate about whether or not Africans should care so much about global acts of terror (similar to the recent Orlando shooting) whilst on our continent various tragedies occur and no one even bats an eyelid, our stories don't make headlines and even when they do, the world doesn't seem to mourn or care as much (Facebook has never changed it's settings for the thousands of people who've died in the hands of Boko Haram). 

The second one is closer to home, the issue of increasing incidents of overt racism in South Africa, from the notorious Penny Sparrow incident to the recent Vicki Momberg racist rant that was released by eNCA this week. As was expected, people were furious after watching the video, a lot of them expressed their anger on social media and various platforms. It got worse when people shared Vicki's phone number, home address and photograph, making threats to go to her house etc.

On both counts, these situations call for us to evaluate our own humanity. As a person who empathises with the cause of the LGBT community, I was deeply touched by the Orlando shooting, and as a result I wanted to share my condolences without feeling like I'm prioritizing Western suffering over the challenges faced by my own continent. I'm a human being, when human beings anywhere in the world are suffering (especially the innocent, who lose lives because of their race, gender, sexual orientation, religion or socio-economic status), I am affected by it.

On the increasing racial incidents, I'm disturbed by how we constantly fuel the flames by getting angry, making threats and demanding that people go to the racists house and "show them". That's not who we are, and as much as it's not my place to tell people how to react, I think it would be wise to ask ourselves some important questions when we are faced with racists and other situations that would normally make us angry. Questions like: What does my reaction mean about my own values and my humanity? Should someone's ignorant racist rant ruin my day? Who wins if I now behave badly because of what they've said. A friend likes of mine likes to say: Don't wrestle with a pig because you'll both get dirty and the pig will like it. 

The Cold Within

Six humans trapped by happenstance
In bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood
Or so the story’s told.

Their dying fire in need of logs
The first man held his back
For of the faces round the fire
He noticed one was black.

The next man looking ‘cross the way
Saw one not of his church
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes.
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy shiftless poor.

The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight.
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group
Did nought except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.

James Patrick Kinney

Read All About It....

I miss me...

A friend of mine recently asked me why I stopped writing, the question was quite a shock. Me? Stop writing? I'd sooner stop breathing. But I understood where it came from. I haven't written anything that wasn't top-secret, private, to be hidden deep in my journals... in a while :)

I miss the feeling,
The anticipation, the tingle in my belly.
I miss not knowing, but knowing regardless.
I miss the spark,  that kindles the flame,
Inspiration.

Writers write, writers need to write.
When pen meets blank paper, wrapped in
Creative possibility, my joy is complete.
I miss the fireworks, the magic,
I miss the roller-coaster.

Writing heals, restores and relieves me.
Writing renews me, and I miss it.
I miss me.

Fairytale

 

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (Maya Angelou)

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are...
tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird ...
But a caged bird stands on the
grave of dreams his shadow shouts
on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are
tied so he opens his throat to sing.

See beyond the poet in me...

Poets make mediocre sunsets, seem magical
Poets write flowery words, invent bull-shit fairy-tales,
Poets. Liars, living in a world of fantasy, refusing to grow the f*** up.

They sleep with dictionaries under their pillows,
Use similes, synonyms, metaphors all those deep things,
To lie, seduce, manipulate and did I mention, lie?

If it be a crime for me to have written a thousand poems before this one,
Guilty I am. I am all of those superficial things poets are,
But right or wrong, I love you.

I'm sorry, I'm not who I'm not.
I'm sorry for believing in magic,
For being an inconvenient reality,

But after all is said and done,
Mine is a heart that lives it's truth.
Mine is a life based on never shying away,
Never denying what is, just because it's not pretty...

Loving you makes me weak, and as unsexy as it is, *a girl*
Makes me what most people don't think I am: Human
But at my most human, a poet I am. A girl I am.

Someone who loves you... I am.
 

Chaos is a Ladder

 
About a month ago I updated about a prisoner who had called me at work and was making unwelcome advances. At the time, it seemed harmless and I found it almost funny. Yet in my spirit, I was shaken. Fast-forward a couple of weeks and I was literally having anxiety attacks without knowing the reason.

Something was just not right. For those who've read my notes before, the next couple of paragraphs may seem unrelated, but there is a common thread. One that I will do my best to explain,

During the unsettled space, I just couldn't quite put my finger on what it is that was wrong. I looked at my life, examined my world and questioned a lot about a lot. In an irrational and fearful place I made some *radical* decisions. Decisions which, I will fully own and take responsibility for. Even the one where I almost got fired from my job,

As a side note, at the beginning of the year I only had one New Years resolution: In 2013, we do NOT fuck down, we fuck up. I need to explain what I meant by this. Being an earth child, always wanting to keep it real, I often do what my friends call 'charity' when it comes to dating. Being with people who are going nowhere slowly, have no ambition in life and are nothing more than just entertaining. So, when 2013 came, I decided that my community service was up and I would finally do what most grown ups like me do, be with a man, not a boy in a grown ups body.

Another wish I sent out to the universe was that I'd like to fall madly in love in 2013. Not have a crush or meet someone nice, but actually go so deep into this love thing that cheesy love songs would start to make sense, think about someone 24/7, stare at my phone wishing he would call and just be a girl! And yes you guessed it, it happened. I can't begin to describe this man, he was every wish I'd ever had come true. An introvert, deep, very funny, not dogmatic, simple, loved to talk and did I mention beautiful. We share a love for documentaries, we would have *digital date-nights* both watching the same documentary on Youtube and chatting to each other on BBM as we went. I felt my walls unravel as I let him deeper into my world, as he drew me deeper into his. We'd speak for hours on the phone about anything and everything, and if I may be so brave, in person our connection was like something out of a fairytale! My happiest memories were when I would disappear into his embrace, feeling like a fragile little flower, wrapped up in his strong and loving arms. This was it, it terrified and exhilirated me all at the same time!

I promised myself that this note would not be about any and everything that's going on with me right now, just this topic: Chaos is a ladder. And I need to keep reminding myself of that.

So, during this chaotic time with the prisoner I decided to do 2 things: Break up with this man my heart so adored, and to also start going for therapy again. Now I need to paraphrase this by saying: I don't like shrinks. Yet after our first session she touched on a fundamental question that spoke to my core: 'Is someone currently hurting you?' My response: No, I've been in a great relationship and I'm happy but I just know I'm not okay.

Allow me to get deep for a second, a few months ago I went through a massive *deleting spree* on my Facebook, I shedded more than 100 friends, so if you're one of those who remains, it means I truly do see you adding value to my life. So, unlike my public profile and website, here is a place where I feel safe enough to get real. Those who know me know that in 2007 I went through a traumatic experience, one that I can today honestly say, changed me. Following that experience I've become a lot more astute to instinctively obeying my spirit, and also being honest to me about me. So, when I said to the shrink: 'I know I'm not okay' I knew that although I didn't know the reason why, that was MY truth.

I think now I'm about to finally get to the point. The line 'Chaos is a ladder' is from a speech in Game of Thrones. It speaks to how, in the most tumultuous times, one can find a space to elevate. Below are just some of the lessons that being in this space has taught and elevated me:

1. The diagnosis was adult ADHD. I'm a busy-body, I don't watch TV but am permanently busy and as much as I might pride myself in my achievements, nobody researches and writes a 20 000 word book in 4 weeks, its insane just how obsessive I am when when I get caught up in a project. My job appeals to my creative and impulsive nature so it's easy to go on as though it's all normal. But when it comes down to the crunch, I'm a child in a grown ups body and how I behave is not typical of most adults. The impulsive streak (i.e. deciding on a whim to backpack through 5 countries in East Africa, it's daring but also when you don't have the *rational adult* checks in place, is dangerous and dare I say, foolish) When this diagnosis came about, my biggest fear was that she would prescribe some medication to *fix me*. I've never aspired to being normal, but here I was, having lost someone who meant so much and as relieved as I was that I now had a clue of what was wrong with me, the thought of being a normal grown up had no appeal, none at all.

2. My parents. As is to be expected, therapists always go back to your parents to figure out what went wrong with you. The conclusion from our conversations was that my parents being the polar opposites that they are (mom is all about structure and rules and religion and discipline, dad is what I often call a 'black hippie), have resulted in fundamental tensions in my own personality. I love and respect both of them, but trying to be both is close to impossible. I love my dad, he's honestly the happiest person I know (running his own business, loves nature and people, is soft-spoken and lives straight from his heart), yet I respect my mother for her discipline and *not being a girl when life gets tough*. So, my strength is also my weakness because I aspire to be both my parents. Strong, yet gentle. Creative and authentic, yet disciplined and structured. The positive result here is I can relate to most people, because my essence is two diverse individuals, but in the back of my mind, that is rather schizophrenic.

3. The prisoner. He was the catalyst. What Stan (that's his name, how cheesy can we get) did was enter my life without my permission. He walked into my world, decided he had a role and started to play it. That kind of trespassing, for a person who's so committed to structure, unsettled me in a big way. Since 2007, I don't let many people close to me, those who do come close are very aware of the rules. Stan broke them all. So when my therapist said: Is anyone currently hurting you, the truth was: Yes, Stan is.

4. The man in my life. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but the truth is, I had no business looking for a perfect love when my own world and spirit was so conflicted. When we broke up what I said was that I need to fix me, before I could be what he was looking for in a woman. That's quite a profound statement. Too often, as women we are the victims, we get hurt, cheated on, abused. But how often do we admit to the fact: I messed up? I wanted the fairytale romance, but in all honesty, I had a lot of personal admin to address before I could truly commit.

5. Enjoy the flame. Those are the words my therapist said to me at our last session this week. Just when I was expecting her to prescribe some pill to me that would mellow me out, she said: "You are eccentric, dramatic, unpredictable, daring. Embrace it! Enjoy the flame because it's who you are!" I sat there, jaw on the floor, I couldn't believe my ears. Really? Is it okay to be me? Is it okay to be too much, is it okay to not try to spend your life being anything less than the inconvenient, unpredictable ball of fire that you are? Is it???!

To conclude, there's a lot going on, but in the chaos, a lot of progress has been made as well. I've always known I'm too much, too daring, too strange, too wild, too me. But in this chaotic space, I've found that Chaos is a Ladder because as I've embraced my truth, I've also found something else: Peace.

When I said that in 2013 we don't fuck down, a part of it meant that rather than be afraid of what's real yet inconvenient, we face it head on. Life is not easy, it's not meant to be. But rather than be afraid of feeling, being, growing, we will face each challenge as it comes.

Peace is knowing that the world makes room for the eccentric ones (there's a book which was recently released which I found out about yesterday, about how some of the greatest minds of the 20th century were what most would deem 'mad', the book is called: 'Their Madness Made Them Great').

Some, or most, would wish to be normal. But today, I spent some time with a fellow leader of the African continent, hearing his wisdom, realising how he's embraced who he is meant to be, I was inspired.

We may not always fit in, but the truth of the matter is, we are living from an authentic place. Our peace is in knowing that after all is said and done, it's okay to be exactly who you are. Never apologise for living your truth.

It Wasn't Roaring, It Was Weeping

 

They call our homeland hell. People here, all they know what to do is kill, rape, steal and harm. But to me, to me it’s still home. I was born and raised in South Africa, the crime capital of the world. Dewani (allegedly) came here, bought a few thugs to have his wife murdered, of all the places he could have done it, he knew that in SA, no one would notice. But did I mention, to me, this is home.

Oscar (allegedly) murdered his girlfriend on Valentines Day and whether the truth is that he did it, or whether he thought it was a burglar and he was protecting himself, my beloved home is still to blame. If he murdered her, that’s what South Africans do, they’re all savages. If it was an accident and he thought she was a burglar, well he had every right. SA is the most dangerous country to live in in the world.

But, call it what you will, to me it’s still home. At 27 years of age, I’ve woken up to more than 10 000 mornings in this ‘hell’, I have made friends, lived, loved, laughed, cried, failed and succeeded in my beautiful and beloved home. South Africa is my home. It’s not a black versus white thing, it’s not a rich versus poor thing, it’s not a ‘thing’ it’s my home.

Vusi Mahlasela has a powerful song which depicts how, from the outside, people can fear what they do not know. Titled: It wasn’t roaring it was weeping. The song talks about how a lion, viewed from the outside can be viewed as a ruthless, cruel beast. But the moment you start to get closer, see its pain and understand its suffering, you realise that when you thought it was roaring, it was actually weeping. What you see may not always reflect the truth. As a nation, collectively we’ve been through a lot of a lot of a lot. Our weeping is born of an ocean of pain.

For all our faults, South Africans have the incredible capacity to see beyond racial lines to what is true. As a nation, today we’re all (once again) bowing in shame at how the actions of the few have come to represent all of us. We are more than what you fear/despise/ judge, we are South Africa. When you cut us, we bleed the same crimson blood, and when you cut into the precious fibre of our rainbow nation, our pain is identical. We all worked so hard to make the transition from apartheid to peaceful reconciliation and the new South Africa. We all have to live daily with the reality of our limitations, we really do have a long way to go. But one thing we’ve always had, is a sense of unity that surpasses whatever challenges the day brings.

South Africa is a melting pot of numerous cultures, but beneath that is a beating heart of more than 50 million heartbeats, all saying, I believe in us. We have many flaws, of which you can write a thousand stories. But to us, to all of us (black, white, Indian, Coloured) this is home. We believe in the inherent goodness of our people, we will defend our own, no matter what colour they are, we are a family.

Rest in peace Reeva, may God be with you Oscar.

Sincerely

South Africa