Zulurization (2016 FB Note)

 (Reading this note, all these many years later, is still a very emotional moment...)

There’s something quite wonderful about recognising yourself in your culture. I honestly find myself recognising myself in chaotic situations, but when chaos finds me, I have nothing left to do but laugh. All the HR people I’ve engaged with in Kenya have told me, “It’s just easier to get married before you come here”, but I’ve started to sound like a broken record each time I tell them: “That’s not how Zulu’s do it. My father would kill me if we did this the wrong way!”

Okay, maybe he wouldn’t physically kill me. But he would be disappointed. You know that disappointed “You think you’re better now that you’re grown up, my word no longer means anything to you” look. That’s worse than any beating I could ever endure.

We honestly can’t do this without our parents blessing, no matter what the rationalizations are. So the only thing left, ride the boat. No matter how rocky and “adventurous” the process. If I was marrying myself, it wouldn’t be that hard, I’m used to giving my folks wrinkles and sleepless nights. But of all the boys (pardon me, all the Men) in all of Africa, I had to choose a Zulu man. A Zulu man who doesn’t just hold the title, but honours it.

Exhibit A: As much as I’ve never aspired to be a girl who pays her own lobola, my husband has insisted (note the husband, yeah it kinda has a nice ring to it) that he will fulfil ALL of my father’s demands himself, alone, before we tie the knot. I wouldn’t expect anything less of him, he’s just principled like that. But even when I hinted that we could bend the rules just a bit, he wanted no part in it. There’s only the Zulu way or the highway.

Exhibit B: He’s done 80% of the required dues, but today (yes, literally, an hour ago) we find out that there’s another ceremony that’s required. I’ve never heard of it, but it’s in the rule book. So my romantic ideas of getting married days before my birthday have been shattered. It’s not about me, it’s never been about me. It’s about the right thing (USIKO) as the Zulus would call it. So we can’t take even a mini short-cut, (with all honesty, the invitations will come for the big white wedding, but we just want to be together, is that too much to ask!) we need to pull ourselves towards ourselves (phecelezi sizimunce) and ask: What do we need to do?

Exhibit C: Honour God first, and all else shall be given unto you! I love this, I love the madness, the chaos and I love the inconvenience of it all. I’m not Western, I don’t subscribe to the constitution first, I subscribe to my Zulu elders and my husband’s family. We won’t get to have what I imagined, but we will get to honour the Gods I serve. All Zulu, all African, All me.

Exhibit D: The invitations for the white wedding really are on their way, #Stru! For now, let me google Goat salesmen, recipes for traditional beer and enjoy the sheer #Zulurization of our emigration. Today I was at Home-Affairs filling in my Alien Card documents, this evening I’m getting the Zulurization 101 lesson on: Before You Say ‘I Do’.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Life is nothing more than a comedy!’

Feeling Oh So Black - Again (2016 FB Note)

 Have you ever felt like you’re inconveniencing the world with your ‘black things?’ Of course we all agree that Zuma has set a new record on being the worst president in our new democracy, but have you ever (because you’re black) found yourself even defending the fact that it’s all because he’s uneducated. I don’t do much of that these days, the man is on his own (well, with his Guptaz and ANC loyalists, but not me).

But for me, even on days when I used to defend Zuma, it really was because I was hurt that people equate lack of education with stupidity. My grandmother never went to high-school, making fun of her wouldn’t have been cool in my eyes. So, when people make fun of his poor grasp of the English language, the size of the fonts on his speeches and how he just can never pronounce numbers properly, a part of me does attribute that to the “A” legacy. You know “A”. Those 46 unfortunate years where things were a little rough on some of our grandparents and parents. But yeah, we’re not about my grandma’s lack of high school education these days. In revolutionary times where Tuks (where I got my first degree) has scrapped Afrikaaans, this revolution has progressed waaaay beyond the little things.

I was sharing with my stokvel ladies that this year my resolution was to be at peace, let no external forces disturb my peaceful core. But it wasn’t even a week into the year when Penny Sparrow happened. There we were, guns blazing, defending blackness and our cause and our struggle and our pain and our poverty and our reasons for speaking too loudly and being just a little too excited to see waves at the beach whilst not observing proper protocol of owning swimming costumes which we often can’t afford.

But that’s not the reason for this note. That’s not the reason I’m feeling Oh So Black (again) today. I had a funny (funny ironic, not funny haha, or maybe just a little funny haha) moment with a colleague this week. She said that she envied people in squatter camps because they didn’t have to pay rent or car payments or even their own electricity. Life was simple for them. Just as I was getting to defend blackness and the reality of inhumane existence in squatter camps (poverty, prevalence of crime, rape, lack of basic necessities, degradation), I looked at her and I was like: “It’s not all sunshine and roses in our squatter camps, trust me.” Inside my head I was mentally seeking my “Zen” and remembering my 2016 resolutions.

Once again, I digress. Where was I? Oh, feeling black. So last night my son’s nanny got devastating news. (THIS NEXT PART IS RATHER GRAPHIC AND NOT FOR SENSITIVE VIEWERS) Her 16 year old daughter who attends umhlanga (virginity testing) had been raped. She was literally falling apart with devastation. The daughter had been coming back from church and a a group of guys attacked her, they all planned to rape her but during the course of the evening an old man came and scared them off. No, this is not a movie, this happened just last night. And when she got the call we had to scramble to find the first bus for her to get to KZN. Luckily there was still space on the 11pm bus and we drove to Park Station to drop her off so she could be with the family. As if that wasn’t enough, my son has a boil on his bum. It started on Sunday but by yesterday afternoon, it had been bleeding and oozing red and white puss. Not pretty at all. He hasn’t been able to sit down because of the pain, even when we change his diaper we need to lie him down on his side. And it’s itchy, and it hurts. My plan was to excuse myself from work this morning, take him to the doctor and then go to work. But then last night’s drama happened. I asked my boss if I could work from home and he agreed. Then we went to the hospital, took forever to see the doctor, oh and then just because life is a comedy, he fell of the bed and the doctor was worried he might have a concussion so he kept us there for even longer (guess they didn’t wanna get sued or something). Then we drove to Spar and whilst shopping the heavy rains started. Meaning we were stuck in the centre or I’d have to subject my sick little boy to pouring rain, possible flu and a definite: Worst Mother Ever Award. But we waited for the rain to die down, I bought an umbrella at Clicks (R99 mind you!) and had to balance a toddler, groceries and and umbrella as we navigated our way to the car in the rain. But after all of that, we got home, I gave him his meds and started making supper. Ummm, can you recall any part of this where I actually did any of the “working from home?” Finally I’m getting to the point: Why am I feeling Oh So Black (again).

With work deadlines, how do I even begin to explain to my (male) boss what’s going on. This story sounds like a lie, not even a good lie. I can already see myself reciting it to colleagues and getting that: “Yeah right, if it’s not dead uncles it’s some other drama. Black people are just so lazy, and they expect us to always feel sorry for their latest *tragedy*.”

Sidenote: I am black. I happen to love being black on most days. And I happen to be proud of my black heritage. BUT. Yes, you must have guessed. There’s a BUT. For most of my career I’ve always tried to not bring my “inconvenient black things” to work. Telling the story of my nanny’s daughter is not meant as a means of providing comic relief or making light of a tragic situation I know well. But this is exactly the point. In the “black world” this isn’t unfamiliar. When my sister died, I remember looking at my boss, explaining that in Western culture we are considered half sisters, but in African culture there’s no such definition. A member of my core nuclear family had died and I needed to go home. The look of “There they go again” really hurt. My sister and I were closer than any of our other siblings, it took me months to get to a place where I didn’t break down just by thinking of her. But at that point in time: I felt like I was “being black, pulling black stunts, and wanting the world to go easy on me”. Interesting (and somewhat strange) thing is that, growing up, my mom has always enforced a great sense of discipline in us. Despite being black, and having “black things”, there were just certain behaviours that, even though they were normal in our surroundings, were not allowed. The first one being: Free Food / Free Things. My mom hated having us salivating and waiting for free food at funerals / weddings / church functions. We would attend the festivities, but not stick around for the free food. That got me into this habit of not getting excited about free things. I don’t know if anyone else has been to festivals or event where a free t-shirt or cap is thrown into the crowd. If ever that happens around me, I run the other way. If I’m at a meeting and there’s lots of food afterwards, I’m often ashamed of how people pile up side plates and cold drinks because I can see my mom’s judging eyes: I did not raise you to get excited about free things!

Back to today. I spent half the day with my boy in hospital, doctors and nurses prodding away at my baby, he can’t sit so we either had to lie on the hospital bed or he had to kneel. Both uncomfortable for his little body. But I had a teleconference with my team in Nairobi and deliverables were outlined, due tomorrow. How do I even begin to explain the 2 days I’ve had? The only thing I told my boss is that my nanny (who’s from KZN) had a family emergency so I’m working from home. The rape, the boil, the hospital... that’s all just a little too black for me to carry along with me as an excuse for not delivering.

In a normal world, I could share this, and probably get some sympathy, or laughs or both. But with how tense and paranoid and downright weird we all are with each other lately... That’s not even possible. I’ve actually felt this in the weeks I’ve been in Kenya this year. The air is lighter there, people are friendlier and we’re not constantly on edge like SA is these days. #BlackvsWhiteMustFall but while you’re at it, it would be nice to get our land back (even Zuma’s now paying back the money) #HashTagJustSaying

So now I’m working the midnight shift, un-blackening my image and making sure I deliver. Life really is just nothing more than a comedy... #TrueStory!

Reflections on 2015 (FB Note)

 2 days before we close this year, I'm in awe of the year it's been. At my 21st Birthday my mom sang the song "Ungithatha la, angibeke la..." and that could easily sum up 2015.

A few thoughts and reflections on this year:

1) It takes years to become an overnight success. The darkest clouds do indeed have a silver lining, even a golden one at times. I feel like I'd spent so many months enduring, surviving and praying that I had forgotten that there was a point to all the struggling. When we get used to striving and failure, picking ourselves up and trying again (over and over and over), reaching the mountain top comes as a surprise. A welcome surprise, don't get me wrong, a surprise one feels that they have earned, but a surprise nonetheless.

2) Levels. Each level has its own interesting dilemmas. But there is a certain humility that is a prerequisite before reaching the next level. And succeeding on one level is not a guarantee that your whole life will now be free of all its dramas.

**Side-Note: I am curious about which aspect of my life would be considered the "Success of 2015". The engagement, publishing my book, my career progression or regaining my sanity. For me, the outward successes are a phenomenal gain, but finding my inner balance and peace is the best thing about this year.

3) I'm not allowed to get excited yet. One of my favorite DJ Sbu quotes: "Always keep the main thing the main thing." 2015 saw lots of steps in the right direction but the main goal is still a long way away. The main thing is not stardom or impressive check-ins with important people, or even (one of my greatest Achilles heels) being liked. The main thing is The Main Thing.

4) Silence is a song. This is one of my favorite Lizz Wright songs, and it's been the soundtrack to my life for a number of years. I spent my year (especially at work) trying to be as quiet, as invisible as possible. For a number of very valid reasons (I was out of my depth, i needed to listen and learn, and also not outshine the stars of the show), but also because I needed to regain my inner rhythm. There's something that Oprah once spoke about in her Masterclass, being in-flow with the rhythm of your life and your purpose. There's nothing worse than outward success coupled with inner turmoil. So the silence was also about getting in tune with my inner rhythm.

5) The God factor. Every year God and I have a new, unique dimension added to our relationship. 2015 was the year of Gratitude. Before I give you one more thing, look around you and see how much you already have. How much I've already given you. I developed the habit of daily gratitude prayers. Every night, thanking God for what I am grateful for on that day. The results have been astounding.

6) Where do you end, where do I begin. In 2015 I was constantly confronted by how much I need boundaries. As a mother, I'm realizing that as much as I feel profoundly blessed to be a mother, I am not only a mother. The same is true for my role as a friend. When I was younger I cherished being a hero in my friendships. As I grow older, I find that I can no longer be responsible for the decisions adults make about how to live their lives. Love does have its boundaries, and in 2015 I learnt to ask the question: "To what extent am I responsible for another human being?" For my son, the answer is: A lot. For others, only as much as I want to. Nothing more.

7) Let Life Take Your Breath Away. This life thing, it has so many wonderful mysteries yet to be uncovered, millions of joyful moments yet to be enjoyed, and so much peace, yet to be lived out.

8) Follow Your Crazy. That's the theme for my life, every year no matter what hardships I face, I still firmly believe in following my true nature. Embracing my crazy, and being unapologetic about being me.

9) Opposites attract. He values peace, enjoys excitement. I'm a fiery ball of energy, who needs peace. It works. We work.

10) The best parts of life never make it into social media platforms. #TrueStory

LHS Prize Giving Keynote Address (2015 FB Note)

 If I ever make my way into heaven, God and I need to have a serious conversation about one thing: Why did I spend so much of my life terrified? I was told around February that I’d be required to do the keynote address at the senior-prize giving, and as a result, I spent months agonizing and freaking out. Who am I to tell young people about anything? What have I achieved that is so spectacular? When my own life is still so messy, what value can I add, really?

For weeks I consulted with friends and the night before the prize-giving my best friend and I spent the whole night discussing what would be ‘appropriate’ as the keynote address. I had my own ideas, but I honestly didn’t know if they would be of any value to the students. The one thing I thought was quite cool would be to speak to ‘My 17 year-old self’. I could relate to her, I knew how she thought and I could remember her dreams and fears.

But 2 weeks prior to the prize-giving I’d listened to Power FM where this 16 year-old girl was working on ‘forgiving herself’ because in the past 2 years she’d slept with more than 10 sugar-daddies. I was stunned! What if this is what young people needed to be advised on, I had no frame of reference since I was a virgin until my final year of varsity. But what if my role was to help these young women, how do you say: ‘Well, at 16, I didn’t think sleeping around was a good idea, but if you think it is, I can tell you for free that it isn’t.’ Having gone through high-school as a geek, there’s a lot that I honestly don’t relate to. I didn’t drink, didn’t have sex and didn’t miss a single day of school from Grade 8 to Matric (Stru!). I’d been a nervous wreck from February, wondering what it was that I could really say to change the lives of young people (not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination).

Then I got onto that stage, a very familiar stage I’d had to stand on throughout my year as head-girl. Secondly I put on my blazer, the same blazer I’d worn every day (including weekends when I had to attend all 1st team rugby games) for a whole year. Then suddenly it all fell into place. I wasn’t here as some expert on a foreign subject, I was here as myself, to be myself.

Firstly, I know Linpark. I sat in those seats as a 17 year old with insanely wild ambitions. I also knew what it took for me to survive. So, as terrified as I was, I got on that podium, and spoke MY truth.

1. Grown ups don’t have this whole life thing figured out, they’d like to think they do but they don’t. So every time your gut tells you that despite what the grown ups are saying, your truth is different, listen to that voice.

2. Don’t let small minds convince you that your dreams are too big. You are limitless. Your brain and your potential are like nothing the world has seen before.

3. It’s all up to you. You’re the boss of your life and your future. The difference between winners and losers is that winners own their choices (failures and victories) whilst losers always have someone to blame. If you want to become a winner, realize one thing: It’s all up to you. Winners find a way, losers find an excuse.

4. Coming from LHS is not a curse. This place will prepare you for life. In life, people will judge you on the colour of your skin, people will undermine your self-worth, people will tell you who you are. But if you’re from Linpark, you will have had to deal with that already. You will have spent years battling with who you know yourself to be, versus who they say you are. So, take the lessons from here, and make them work in your favour. Life is not Christmas, and the sooner you realize that the sooner you will be equipped to deal with it.

5. Know who you are, because if you don’t, the world will decide for you. People who don’t know who they are find themselves caught up in peer-pressure, abusive and exploitative relationships etc. When you know who you are, there are things that happen around you that you know for a fact you’re not participating in. But when you haven’t taken the time to do your homework and ask yourself ‘who am I’, then you get tossed around by the current. Whatever is cool, whatever your friends are into, whatever is easy... you flow with it.

6. There’s more to life than chasing meaningless fun. You’re young, you want to be seen as cool, but you must realize that after all is said and done, life is about more than just getting laughs for your jokes in class, more than just telling your teacher off in order to score points with your peers. Teachers will get paid despite how you (mis)behave. You don’t behave for their benefit, but for your own. Life demands that you respect it, or it will teach you respect the hard way. Those of us who respected books, can now buy our mothers Mercedes because we respected the fundamentals. Respect life and it will reward you for it.

What I wish I could have imparted on LHS students is a sense of ownership. I am one of you, I sat where you sit, and I contended with the same battles that you are. But what has served me most is a sense of ownership for my own life. I’m not a victim of circumstance, I’m not inferior because of my background, I’m the ‘BOSS’ of my own destiny. I shared HHP’s song: ‘Bosso ke mang’ and re-iterated the fact: It all starts and ends with you!

Between that there were anecdotes of my own experience of high-school, bits of what I’ve been up to in the past 13 years, and also some reflections on what it means to be young.

2 weeks later, I’m still revisiting the speech and wondering what else I could have added, what more I could have said. But in my spirit I’m content that if I had sat in that audience as a 17 year old, those are the words I would have liked (and needed) to hear.

Maybe there was more that I said that I now can’t remember, my greatest prayer on the day was that I speak to the legitimate needs of my audience, as my favourite prayer goes: ‘Not from me, but through me.’ I can’t claim that it was perfect, but I can honestly say that it was authentic.

About the Book: To Whom Much Is Given (2015 Note)

 

They say that writers are those who battle between the need to express themselves and the need to hide. This is my 6th book, and the first one that has been officially published (my first book was published on Amazon years ago, but I have yet to receive a payment so I can assume that no one has bought a copy yet, which is quite a welcome relief, I still can’t get through reading that book without crying my eyes out)

I have delayed sharing the news for various reasons and a major one being that I’m scared. Now that it’s out there, there’s really no turning back. I have exposed some intimate parts of my own journey, have been honest about some very controversial views that I hold and I have also spoken about my family. I can claim that I did my best to ‘explain myself’ and not disparage anyone, but a small part of me is hoping that people will buy the book just for their book shelves and not actually read it (yes, I’m that weird). Another reason I’m nervous is the hype, I’m not an entertainer or a Julius-Malema wannabee and I’ve never aspired to be a ‘celebrity’ of any sort. So as much as I plan to set up a PR campaign around the book and promote it where I can, my art is my truth and I believe that as a young leader I have a contribution to make. But as the opening line of this note states, I’m always battling with the tension between expressing and hiding. Some people may not get this, but that’s okay.

Another reason for the delay, I am still figuring out a way to distribute the book. For now it’s available on http://theafricanpioneer.com/online-store.php . God bless you if you have the patience to navigate through the process of placing the order, and I think it’s set to charge in U$D so forgive me if you get charged U$D 270 instead of R229 + R45 for postage as I intended. I’m still figuring out the technical side, whilst also working on getting it listed and distributed on www.takealot.com.

But I am excited at the thought of finally getting published. It’s been quite a journey and throughout the last 2 years as I worked on this project, I can confess that it was only in the last 2 months that everything fell into place (there’s a lot to be said for deactivating your Facebook account guys, I have achieved more in 2 months (even outside of this project) than I have all year, #UseItDontUseIt). The one sentence that sums up my feelings about this whole book is from one of my favourite documentaries, Zeitgeist:

“ In a decaying society, art, if it is truthful, must also reflect decay. And unless it wants to break faith with its social function, art must show the world as changeable. And help to change it.

Ernst Fischer”

My work is a reflection of me, but I have come to appreciate that there is a certain alchemy to creativity. This book is a great departure from my 5th book where I can honestly admit that I was just angry at the various injustices of the world, and the result was something that a lot of people could relate to, but one that didn’t really show the world as changeable or reflect any hope.

My very bold target with this book is to get it to best-seller status within a year, that means selling (yes selling, not giving away) 2000 copies. I’m at the mercy of the universe on this one, I’ve got my plans and a strategy for reaching this target, but every once in a while, when one believes their work to be “God-Breathed” they leave room for magic and (one of my favourite big words) My very bold target with this book is to get it to best-seller status within a year, that means selling (yes selling, not giving away) 2000 copies. I’m at the mercy of the universe on this one, I’ve got my plans and a strategy for reaching this target, but every once in a while, when one believes their work to be “God-Breathed” they leave room for magic and (one of my favourite big words) Serendipity...!

An answer to some questions:

1. When is the launch? I’m not sure, 2 people have volunteered to organize launches and one might be this November. I would like Mam’ Thuli Madonsela there so I’m not sure if her diary will allow, she played a very big role in this project and I think it would be great for her to be there. So, in short: TBC

2. How much is it? R229.00

3. What is it about? The book is actually split into 2 parts. The first one is mainly my reflections on the state of our country, and the role of black people in positions of influence. (This was previously going to be titled: I Expect More From You, based on my friend Vangile’s poem). But the title ‘To Whom Much Is Given’ is aimed at reinforcing the point that for all that has been done to get us here, we don’t have the luxury to squander it all away by buying German cars and expensive whiskey. We have a duty to our country and it’s future. Even if that just means standing up for injustices you see around you, the silence of friends is far worse than the betrayal of enemies. The second part is a motivational book about what it takes to lead (Titled: Courage and Character. What It Takes to Lead in the 21st Century). This is where I interviewed various leaders and did extensive research on the psyche and habits of great leaders. It’s not just a ‘warm-and-fuzzy’ motivational piece, I’d love to believe it’s rooted in practicality and a uniquely African perspective of leadership and the leadership needs of our country.

4. Where can we get it? At this stage, honestly from my boot. I’m hustling these books like hip-hop mixtapes. Sold the first 10 at the BMF conference and it feels SOOO cool! A more practical approach is to inbox me if you want a copy, I’ll deliver or post you a copy.

5. How can friends help? Over the next 12 months I’d like to set up talks (during seminars / conferences / training sessions / workshops or even church conferences) where I will be delivering talks on the various subjects the book covers (Leadership, Youth-Related Issues, The State of the Nation, Women, Africa, South African History, The Role of the Intelligentsia, Practical Steps to Success, etc.) and at these talks I’d like to offer delegates books as a % of my fee (i.e. 50 books + R7500 will be the fee). I’ve already received an offer to do a launch in East London, I’d like to have more of these around the country as I work towards the 2000 books target.

6. Where will the proceeds of the book be going? The African Pioneer is launching a ‘Girl Child’ program where we will be empowering underprivileged girls from across the continent, part of the proceeds from the book will go towards that. I’ve also been running a young professionals development program as part of my duties on the Skills Development portfolio for BMF. I’d like to help extend the program with the proceeds from the book.

In Closing, the rest of this note is the ‘Special Thanks’ part of my book:

I would like to thank all those interviewed (Dr Reuel Khoza, Bonang Mohale, Annelize Wepener, Advocate Thuli Madonsela, Koko Khumalo) for their invaluable contributions to this book. Thanks for your time, your wisdom and your exemplary leadership which has left a lasting impression on me as a young leader. I would also like to thank Wessel Ebersohn, Mpho Moseki, Menzi Mbatha and Mam’ Futhi Mtoba for opening doors and allowing me to gain access to the people I needed to speak to for this book.

To my unnamed elders, thank you for allowing me to challenge you, disagree with you and continuously share my views on the current issues, albeit from a young and naïve perspective at times. Your valuable advice and guidance is always welcome. I also thank Jill Bailey my matric English teacher. You saw something in me that made me believe I had the gift to write. For that I’m eternally grateful.

I would also like to thank SAAYC for their contributions towards getting this book published. I could not have done this without you, I am very grateful for the support and for believing in me.

Thanks to TMALI, UNISA, BMF, AYC and The African Pioneer for their role in educating and empowering young leaders. Special thanks goes to Miranda Strydom, Dr Maureen Tong, Mam’ Thoko Didiza, Dr Sphamandla Zondi and President Thabo Mbeki.

To Mamadou Toure and the Africa 2.0 family, thank you for opening my eyes to the world and showing me the possibilities of just how much can be achieved by young Africans when we put our minds to it, I am forever indebted to you.

I would also like to thank all the young leaders who have been by my side and from whom I’ve drawn great inspiration over the years. Mordekai Shumba, Msizi Khoza, Zoya Mabuto, Ebo Quagraine, Lindiwe Mathibela, Vangile Gantsho, Shaka Sisulu, Lucky Motsamayi, Ledile Bopape, Thuso Segopolo, Sthembiso Khanyile, Busani Ngcaweni, Langa Manqele, Modise Moiloanyane, Zibu Mthiyane, Zazi Makapela, Millicent Maroga, Dale September, Xolisa Gaca, Zazi Nxele, Tebogo Tamenti, Nthabeleng Likotsi, Matsi Modise, Thulani Fakude, Neliswa Fente, S’onqoba Maseko, Khwezi Kondile, Zamantungwa Khumalo, Roy Morrison, Don Ndaba, Qiniso Mazubane, Flo Mokale, Richard Roodt, Obakeng Leepile, Oupa Melato, Patson Malisa, Khaya Dlanga, Sekgobola Thobakgale, Sethu Madonda, Mashilo Masemola, Trevor Tambo, Thulani Mbatha, Patrick Mashegwana, Sandile Mtshali, Senanu Apatu, Miss Bhoza Mphela and last but not least, the amazing highflyer Vumi Msweli. I would also like to thank all the African youth leaders that have contributed to my growth and those that have hosted me in their homes across the continent: Cornelius Adjetey (Ghana), Omomeda Ashofor (Nigeria), Michael Ige (Ghana), Navigue Konate (Ivory Coast), Mshindi Issaya (Tanzania), Nelson Tugume (Uganda), Imagwe Jude (Nigeria), Girma Tsedalu & Seife Tadelle (Ethiopia) Ugoh Nwanya and the PYU leadership in Sudan.

Special thanks go to the ‘Progressive Narratives’, for the intense debates, enlightening views, humour and continued commitment to finding sustainable solutions. Shandu ka Ndaba, your efforts are commendable, your significant role in my own growth has not gone unnoticed.

To Malaika wa Azania, the poet Lebo Mashile has a poem that states: ‘In my tribe we raise each other, I have never been a child.’ As young as you are, you have raised me. You continue to make me so proud.

But most of all I would like to thank my sister and comrade Slindile Didiza who has been there through the best and worst, our 2am conversations about the state of our country and our role in its future have not been in vain.

Ozithobayo

Mbali ka Jama

Oh, and before I forget the dedication:

Dedicated to my parents, who did the very best they could. Then my son Uhuru, my ultimate reason for being. Finally to uMduduzi no Mthokozisi wami. Ngakulethelwa uSimakade Mvelase,

Reflections on 2014 (FB Note)

 

Since 2007, when a year comes to a close, I take some time to reflect. Over the years, I've watched myself grow and change through these reflections, yet this one feels a bit different. Different because 2014 was a year like no other, and the scary thing is that my son being born has little to do with it.

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If life happens in seasons, 2014 was winter. It was cold, quiet and a lot of what has defined me for many years, was on pause. It wasn't a bad year, it was actually a very good year, but for me on a deeper level, it was winter.


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Amanda is fearless, she breaks boundaries, dares to dream way beyond anything logical, she loves hard and lives straight from her foolish heart.
2014 was none of that. If I could use an analogy that makes sense for me as a gardener, in 2014 I just watched. Didn't plough the fields, didn't weed the grass, didn't water the garden. I let things be. I just watched. There's something to be said for resisting the urge to Do in favour of just choosing to Be. My dear friend Flo recently wrote a poem that somewhat described this season....


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When a Poet stands still

It is to heal

Because every time they spill

They open a new seal

They re-reveal...

Everytime they reveal how they really feel.

Its honestly that blinds skill.

Hush, and let the Poet heal.

Flo the Poet

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At a time when I was still, there are a lot of things that took place that I chose to not take part in. The Boko Haram saga, Maya Angelou's passing, the
Oscar trial. I watched, said and did nothing. I was just still. The only regret I had was that I didn't write down the phases of my pregnancy to one day share with my son. How I felt when I found out, his father's reaction, our journey as the months went by. The day we found out it was a boy, the loooong journey of choosing a name for him. There's a whole lot I let slip through my fingers. But if anyone in this world could ever understand why I was so still, I think it would be him. I felt my spirit communicate with his, and his with mine. Even before he was born, I told my best friend that my boy was a gentleman. I was never sick, never emotional or irritable or all those crazy things pregnant people become, Zwelibanzi was good to me.


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The point of the note is to reflect on 2014, so besides Flo's poem, the other piece of art that spoke to my heart during this silent year was the Beatenberg song: Raphael. "Sometimes it feels like heaven, sometimes it feels like hell, but you keep on going until it gets hard to tell. Your body moves with the grace of archangels...." Going through the motions, being pregnant and unemployed, I found myself resisting the urge to let any kind of emotion run away with me. Gods grace and some amazing guardian angels definitely carried me. My one place of refuge has always been my writing and in 2014 I didn't write, I've always loved my red wine to help me unwind and in 2014 I didn't drink. It was a year like no other, and as scary as it is to admit, my son being born didn't change it. I would sit with him, let him curl his hand around my fingers and I'd just be still. Ours is what I can call a spiritual connection,one that was okay with me being still.


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My man and I have been friends for too long, and that's the best thing about what we have. A friend will let you be when you honestly have no words, and uMvelase was the best kind of friend I could have chosen to walk the 2014 journey with. The year ended on a number of high notes, and as I look at 2015 I'm excited to be starting a new chapter.



During this time I also learnt about something I once read about in one of Oriah’s poems: “I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it..” It comes with maturity I guess, I am growing up and I like the woman (and mother)I’m becoming.


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The essence of who I am (passionate, daring, adventurous, happy) will always be a part of who MaDlamini is. But this winter season was good for me.



My resolutions for 2015 are to (1) Be more vulnerable (2) Pursue happiness, (3) Continue to go deeper with my God and (4) Save my best self for my family…

The Comrade At My Side (2014 FB Note)

 

When I look back at my 20s, one of the things I cherish the most is what most would call the *foolishness-of-youth*. The crazy passion, the belief that anything is possible, the fearlessness to go for your dreams without apology, and the like-minded dreamers I shared the madness with. Today is the birthday of one of my friends, an incurable idealist, fellow lover of mother Africa and one of the few who still lives with the spirit of *If I can dream it, I can achieve it*. This poem is dedicated to all the fellow dreamers and friends who've walked this Africa journey with me. The road is long, and at times seems impossible, yet it's an honour to look around me and see the comrades at my side who always kept the dream alive. #4TheLoveOfAfrica

 

We were just children, idealistic dreamers driven by a burning desire.

We spent many nights burning the midnight oil. Reading, debating, engaging...

The spirits of Sankara, Nkrumah, Garvey, Nyerere echoed all around us,

As their words guided our way, fuelling this fire, this love, this dream.

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We called ourselves Pioneers and proudly declared: "Until the lion learns to write,

All stories of the hunt will favour the hunter". In my life-time, the lion

will

write.

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We started revolutions, travelled far and met like minded brothers (and sisters) along the way,

We launched think-tanks, started companies, formed newspapers, spoke out against injustice.

We engaged our elders, sought mentors and guides from all corners of the world, 

We encouraged each other in our own little villages, in our own little ways we became comrades.

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We called ourselves Pioneers and proudly declared: "Until the lion learns to write,

All stories of the hunt will favour the hunter". In my life-time, the lion

will

write.

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We would host each other in our homes, a brother or sister coming from thousands of miles away,

Would find shelter your home, eat where you eat, and feel welcome, feel at home.

What bound us was more than the colour of our skins, the collective suffering of Africa which we detested,

We were comrades on a mission. Working our way towards a dream that spoke to our very souls,

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We called ourselves Pioneers and proudly declared: "If not us, then who? If not now, then when?

It is our date with destiny!"

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With the passing of time, a lot has changed. Most fell by the way-side, as some often say 'life happened',

Yet the dream remains. No longer a raging fire, but a flickering flame in the hearts of the few.

Age and time has taken the wind out of our sails, has made us more rational and conservative, and wise.

But oh the foolishness of youth, the childlike idealism of those days. The *Yes We Can* conviction.

 

We called ourselves African Pioneers....

Reflections on 2013 - You Saw Crazy (FB Note)

 

Imagine quitting your job two days ago, and being happier than you've been all year. For one reason only, your finally get it, you' re not crazy, you are blessed!

Atleast you saw it via FB, imagine living it! This year has just been filled with too many #WTF moments. I couldn't have made this up on my best day as a writer.... #Tired, been up since 2am. #LoveLife (",)

Imagine a year when little made sense, but you saw everything for what it was.

Imagine winning an award for your writing after years of calling yourself a writer but never having a single one of your 6 books published.

Imagine deciding to tell your mom you were no longer into religion, you preferred spirituality.

Imagine seeing someone you had known since varsity and realising he was your ideal man, and your hearts connected in a way that can only be defined as sacred.

Imagine your iPad, Galaxy, Blackberry, laptops and desktop going haywire all at once.

Imagine travelling to Sudan and being hosted as a guest of the Sudanese government.

Imagine discovering amadlozi and dedicating yourself to #AfricanSpirituality.

Imagine finding out there are various spiritual layers to the Zulu king and he almost never lets women touch him. Then finding yourself at his feet and giving him a hand shake.

Imagine suddenly seeing all the people around you for who they really are.

Imagine DJ Sbu telling your boss's boss that he didn't agree to work with your company for the money, but because he believed in you and your personal philosophies.

Imagine being part of a forensic investigation where you could have gone to prison but the culprit made one mistake, they faked your silly-looking signature.

Imagine being invited to lunch by 3 CEO's their mentee.

Imagine being so depressed that when your tax return money came, all you wanted to spend it on was therapy.

If I Could Write Myself A Letter (2011 FB Note)

If I could write me a letter, this is what it might say...

 

Dear MaDlamini, Unjani Nkosazane? I think I’m worried about you, I don’t know why really. But allow me the space to express this. I’m worried about you. You’ve spent your whole life excelling. Being the best daughter, student, friend, writer, lover and everything the world needed you to be. That’s good, I admire it and it makes you who you are. But with all that, I’m worried about you.

 

When was the last time you felt happy? When was the last time you didn’t feel afraid? When was the last time you didn’t feel like a bad person?

 

I’ve known and loved you for as long as you can remember. But today, I’m worried about you.

 

You can’t unscramble a scrambled egg, no matter how hard you try. There’s so much that I wish I could say to you, but am afraid it would all be empty words that you’ve heard before. Some of the things I wish I could say are:

 

1. You’re beautiful, yes you are.
2. You are not other people’s opinion of yourself.
3. Only the good die young, you’re not going anywhere.
4. You’ve seen it, so why are you doubting it?
5. You can’t save the world from itself, all that is meant to happen will happen.
6. Listen to your dreams.
7. Time-travel is not a luxury you have available to you, stop trying to re-wish the past.
8. Celebrate you.
9. Don’t get complacent, laziness will never serve you.

10.  Feel, yes feel. It’s what you were meant to do. Feel.

11.  I love you, please believe that. I love you.

12.  God is real, I was there in Botswana & on Christmas day. He was real then and always will be.

13.  You’re not invisible, you’re not untouchable and you’re definitely not unlovable.

 

The fear and the guilt are consuming you, that’s why I’m worried about you. You’re not a bad person, but you’ve made bad and permanent choices. You cannot unscramble a scrambled egg. Giving up is not a choice, but punishing yourself forever is also not the only choice. You’ve made it through so much worse,

 

When you don’t know what to do, you flip back into the history books to the last thing that you remember which made sense. Finding comfort in that is not healthy. Some parts of your history were there to teach you a lesson, but not meant to be a permanent part of your future. Let him go.

 

You’re not crazy, you’ve never been crazy and you never will be crazy. Stop acting like less than you are.

 

You don’t get to be excused from the realities of life. Life is a lot of hard work, the magical moments are a bonus, get used to that. Stop fearing that it’s going to break you, it won’t.

 

Forgive her, she just didn’t know what to do. Forgive him, he was in a bad place. Forgive yourself, you were just a child, you still are.

 

He cannot save you, don’t put too much pressure on him or set yourself up for disappointment.

 

Life’s journey doesn’t always have to have victims. Stop expecting the worst!

 

This is just a season. You need it. Learn from it and grow from it. Trust the process.

 

You’re going to be okay, trust that and believe in the strength in you, in your own goodness and in Him.