Bakhulu, I call on your spirits...

---As day comes and night falls, For the rest of our life we'll miss y'all, And even though life must go on, we'll still mourn, While wishin' y'all were home----Just A Moment by Nas ft. Quan

Ntate moholo Mochela le 'M'e Mpolai

Bakhulu bam,

Ke ea le lumelisa baholo, I usher my respects to you as I cock my gratitude filled glock towards your eternal presence in my life.

Balimo ba Tloung le Taung, ba ha Maliehe le ba ha Ts’iu, ke bua ka uena Mochela Nehemia, mora Khethang le ‘Mamochela, your child like faith in the miracles of God stays with me to this day. Your firm belief that education would be the only escape to a better life has humbled me towards tolerance of a system that I still battle to make peace with. For you, I will persist on this life long quest for knowledge.

Nkhono Mamatsepe Montlafi Justina Pitso-Ts'iu

I speak to you Nkhono Justina Montlafi thope ea ha Pitso. Uena ‘Mae ea Matsepe, Maphutsi le Mpolai. You left us too early in life yet I still preserve memories of your warm and wonderful smile; you were a mother to everyone who stepped into your turf. Nkhono you truly were the mother of all nations, the immensity of your heart will be reflected in generations to come, I uphold your teachings for the children I will bear, and your lady-like mannerisms for the earth daughters I will raise. My bibi, continue to send these calm energies from the skies in which your spirit now rests in, everyday, clothe my heart with your essence and hold my hand tight as I march on in this war of life. Whisper to me in the voices of angels; speak with me in the language of heaven. 

Ntate-moholo Motema, ke cho uena mora’ ‘Mamothibeli le Motsamai, I greet you in spirit as I hail your being. Your undeniable presence in my life has protected me from the evils that we live amongst. Tata-mkhulu, the echoes to your teachings remain intact, I still fill my shelves with dozens of books as you did, and six o’clock every evening is still a constant reminder of our family prayer time, and that same prayer is still the key I use to unlock all the promises made to me. I ask that you fix your gaze on me, that you summon, on my behalf, Balimo ba ha Maliehe to carry on sending their blessings towards my endeavors. You are still to me, the author that began stories of my bloodline; you are still the leader that held no title and you will for years to come, be the fountain from which I gather my strength.

Ntate moholo Motema le nkhono Matinkane

Mam’khulu who is my namesake, nkhono Matinkane, descendant of Mokhoabane, I acknowledge your guidance; I beam at the feel of your touch on my soul. It sounds outlandish
but your visits during most nights have driven wells of tears to my eyes. They said I wouldn't, but I knew I would see you again; your light still shines through me. I try to find some kind of relevance in you passing on the very first day I arrived at Rhodes, is it how you chose to keep open the doors to my education? I pray everyday that you keep those doors ajar and that those in our lineage, who are there with you, lead me towards a world of wisdom. Nkho ‘Mapulits’oeu I take you with me everywhere I go, just the way you did with me when I was younger, I have grown to stand my ground and speak out on my beliefs just like you once lived to do. Some say ke bohale joale ka uena bitso oa ka, but that is not the case, just like you, ke mpa ke se na pelo ea manyala!

Rakhali Moliehi, ts’ehlana ea ha Maliehe, semomotela sa ‘Matinkane le Motema. Uena hee and the rest of bo Rakhali taught me about playfulness, about being forever young and taking my inner child with me wherever I go. Rakhali you had such big dreams so much that ke ntse ke sa kholoe hore ke uena ea re thobetseng joalo. Empa hee seeing you through dreams somehow soothes the void you left me with when you left this world. From the paradise that you now soar at, Akha Ts’oufu, I invite you to look into my heart, to convey its hopes and wishes to the universe and the God that I entrust my life’s dreams on.

Elders, I know that all of my encounters are of your doing, nothing is by chance, and there are no coincidences in my existence. It is through all of you that I abide to the belief that everything happens for a reason. I know my failures are for a reason, I know that I also succeed for a reason; I understand that all of my tears are not in vain, the heartbreaks I have stomached and all of the joys I have experienced, it is all because every single one of you has spared me, has fought to strengthen me and to ready me for the achievements of tomorrow. It is through you that I know that to live like a Queen in the future, I must work like a slave today. For these teachings, I cannot thank all of you enough.

Ancestors of mine- all of you, I am amazed at the opportunities that life has presented to me, I am in awe of the miracles I step into on a daily basis. I have no words to express my gratefulness for the journeys that you have embarked me on, for the ventures that you have open-handedly exposed me to. Ha kena ona mantsoe a teboho ka ts’epo eo le nang le eona ho ‘na baholoane ba ka, le sirullotse pelo eaka mahlonokong a lefats’e, ke ne ke mamele lithuto tsa lona, ha le ne le re ho ‘na ke lelale, ke ts’epe leholimo ka matsatsi ohle.

Le ha e le mona tsenene e bohloko ea lefu e nkarohantse le lona, ke na le ts’epo e tiileng ea hore meea ea lona e phomotse ka khotso, ‘me e tla lula e ntataisa likhohlong tsa bophelo.  

Balimo ba ka, I ask that you raise your fists in consent, I plead that you breathe your powers through me and that you open for me the gates of happiness. Bakhulu, show me the colors of freedom, be the light that brightens up all of my days, the rhythm that steers me to greener pastures. Anoint me with the teachings of your generation so that I may do the same for the offspring of your and my descent. Teach me the ways of Afrika, show me the deeds of ubuntu so that in all of my days, I walk with the comprehension of who I am.

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

Lesotho, My love.

My dear Lesotho, they came and told me that you just celebrated your independence. That you have grown into a self- determined and sovereign state, they said you were no longer a reliant nation but rather a forty seven year old free kingdom. Oh how I had a good chuckle at the thought of this so called freedom they speak so fondly of, and although I laughed and found amusement in hearing this news, more than that I hurt. My heart ached at the obvious irony that is in celebrating your independence.

 

My dear Lesotho I am at standstill. I know I am grown enough to contribute to your progression at the same time I am too perplexed by the state of your affairs to even gather where it is I should begin. I have searched for your colonial, political and cultural history, why is there such limited publications or documents on you and your leaders? Why is so much of what has been recorded done so by foreigners who were only passing by? It is when I take the time out to go and find out about you, only to come across foreign storylines dictating your encounters; that I am reminded of what Thabo Mbeki once said, that “we as Africans do not know enough about ourselves and continue to be enslaved by a narrative about ourselves told by other people”.

 



Lesotho flag under the British rule

I am disappointed to say the least; it is probably hypocritical of me as I form part of the problem more than the solution. Had I wanted your histories recorded, I would have picked up my pen and pad, went on to meet, question and record conversations with our own historians for future generations to look back on in reference. So there you have it, me dear Lesotho, not only am I disappointed in you but I too have also let you down- I apologize profusely for this.

 

My beautiful Kingdom that belongs to the sky, they fed you and your people lies, they said you were free and that they were free but the reality to this fib you’ve been fed is that you are far from being liberated. The truth is that you still remain in the clutches of your colonial masters, the same ones who claimed to set you free back in 1966- what a big, beautiful, blue lie that was. I am so sorry for this lie that you have lived for nearly fifty years now; I can only imagine it to be the hardest slap across the face.

You know how reasoning of the past has always attempted to be in your favor, telling you about how you are not a colony of Britain but instead a protectorate, while I agree that this is soothing to an extent I also feel it is nothing more than a tease to ease you into naïve spaces, do not succumb. Them telling you of your independence is similar to a married man telling me that he loves me and wishes to spend the rest of his life with me, while it feels good to the ear, the truth is I would only prove to be gullible and settling for far less than I deserve. My Lesotho you deserve more than this heap of lies that has been piled unto you since the 4^th October 1966. You deserve to re-invent your own truth and to acquire your own freedom through your own means, do not believe you are an independent state because they told you you are. This is a neo- imperialistic system hard at work.

 

I know of your freedom, I speak of it on a daily, it is the kind that entails the mental liberation of your people, where every single girl and boy child are introduced to a system of education, where health care is free and accessible nationwide, where women are no longer victims and men hold their own in protecting and caring for their families. Your freedom will see tight  fisted and short sighted leaders leave the seats of prominence they occupy in exchange for visionaries who love Afrika and love you enough to help you towards new heights. The sight of your true freedom as I envision it brings peace to my mind; it is like a rain of blessings, a well of prosperity that you and your own shall drink from.

 

So until that day comes, when you owe nothing to the west and they owe you everything- forgiveness and remorse, then I will continue to sing for you that freedom song. Mayibuye Africa, Mayibuye Lesotho. I have no doubt that you my love, will come back home to freedom and we will be ready to ring the bells upon your return.

 

 

Until next post,

 

Afrika Rising, Peace & Revolution…

 

Women of My life (Revised Edit)

 ---Women of My Life. They have come to carve out spaces in my heart, they bring knowledge and light through their existence. Women of My Life. Continue to pour wisdom unto my path. These are Women of My Life. My soldiers in humanity My sisters with soul---


It starts here…Mpolai Maliehe, architect to my first home-the womb, the days when I laid low.
My black queen that cracked her back to raise a princess. 



It moves on- To Tumy Maliehe a woman who played the role of the older sister I never had

The sibling rivalry, the shopping trips, to her teaching me the importance of the life game “nexe maja” from a young age, the borrowed-to-never-be-returned clothes. Eight years my senior and I still refuse to call her aunt.



with Marina

Lerato  Molisana

  
Then the towel diaper days where greatness meant you could cry the longest and loudest

Lerato, when we blew out candles on oversized birthday cakes and found true bliss in party hats, whistles and masks.

MTN from right: Madingane Thungthung & Nozipho

To the Prep days, days of MTN (madingane, thungthung, nozipho)


The playground quarrels, the lunchbox sharing, the Malealea school trips


Then the MachColl days with Mama T, Retha, Mapailz
When “Shiwelele” played full blast in Khubetsoana taxis.

To the weekend sleepovers with Marina That led to arguments that led to blown up cheeks and ego’s that led back to love.

Masthibo, Pulie, Retha Mphutlane, I remember the days of G4L (Puffy)

Naleli, Palesa, the swing and grass rolling at the UN club.


Itu Ramohau, the heart to hearts in the middle of the night. 




Makhabo (my Boobie)

Further on, to the sunny PMB days with Mapzy

The days of Gogo, Khabu and my Thundle-Tot, where we baked, or rather we got baked
The Friday evening cooking sessions, that ended up with going low to Luda *Fun Times.

Ausi Lerato Mosese, the much needed & sometimes not necessary lectures

To Nuh, the Zulu queen with the mighty confidence
Khetho, and Makhi wam’ your warm and welcoming hands into the Zulu kingdom



Again, I move on, to the sister who never let me starve in my undergrad days

Mpho

Rethabile Kaibe, the midnight calls, surprise airtime to the crazy new years eve get togethers

2011, the year I found Self, Mpho, Dino, and Hlathe


Women that dared me to challenge the status quo

That challenged me to believe beyond the standards that society has set

Mpho, how you taught me to wear my heart on my sleeve

Hlathe, you opened me up to the ways of the Universe, Ester Hicks’s Abraham, energies vibrations and frequencies

D'no, the sister I converse in complete silence with. That we blast the boom-bap with
To me you are sunshine. That dopest verse over a Pete Rock produckt

D'no

with Hlathe & Phindile


To the amazing Rhodents that know no dullness.


The ever so humble Nasi who’s always ready to listen to my constant yapping

The permanently smiling Haf with the trembling window knocks that go with the“dingi-ness” scream

 The cah-ray-zee Lethabs with that wisdom and those adorable puppy faces and growls (nahmsayin??).


Lethabo, Nasi & Hafeni

        

Ts'eli (left)  Mamello (right)

    
The Tseli and Mamello that never allow me to miss home with their too familiar sounding stories of ‘growing up as a Mosotho girl’.

To Nolty with that vibrant energy that always brings a smile to my face. 

Nomonde, with that Jozi swag and the 'tell-it-like-it-is' attitude that is just impossible not to love.

Ntombi-MaPhakathi wam. The smartest most humble friend I have

To you Vanessa, my beautiful Cape diva with that Khanyi Dlhomo posture.
                                  

Chipson, my big sister from a foreign land, I can’t forget how you made me smile through tears.

Langa, my tiny Swati lawyer who can tell jokes with a straight face -you really are the craziest of the bunch.

The oh so radical Malaika Wa Azania whose revolutionary rhetoric once drove elderly white women out of a coffee shop. Your opinion constantly elevates my mental pace; your aura is truly a gift from Africa’s ancestors

with Mabela & Retha Kamohi

with Nafeesa

I gear into this new chapter, the Public Eye fam…it kicks off with ausi Tinti, the best boss I could possibly have wished for, there are times you confuse me but I love you for believing in me and for always pushing me beyond the limits I set for myself. The devil does indeed wear Prada (your words, not mine).

Sammie, Ts’ewi, and Nomhle, those smiles and that sarcasm you serve me are what I look forward to every other morning.

My Red Dot ladies, Mabela Majara, my princess of Marabeng, no one will ever understand our crazy, u dawg yaka for life, your hugs make my entire day.

Retha, Miss Kamohi, with that cool, calm aura of yours and those cute giggles, you bring life back amidst the madness. 

Nafeesa , before you, I thought all wives and mothers were too uptight, always tense, you hold the world’s best relationship advice and you really are the epitome of superwoman.

'Malijeng (ausi oa nana)

‘Malijeng, ausi oa nana whom I sip the wine with, because of you I will remain forever young, your style is timeless and your elegance unchanging, you’ve taught me to speak my mind and stay true to me

It would have ended here, but Nomz told me it’s never ending, it goes on and on and on. So it begins again- with Madingane because one can only be their loudest cheerleader, their own greatest fan, number one follower and biggest inspiration.

You are the women that mold me, that inspire me, that love me and cry and laugh with me and continue to build me towards greatness. You are the women that I love and respect; that are headed towards success. Visionaries of today. Leaders of tomorrow. You are the women I salute!

   
Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

With Love, This Women's Month

---"Being a strong woman is very important to me. But doing it all on my own is not"--- Reba McEntire


 

Alright, so if you follow most of these post you may have been aware and possibly agitated by the fact that almost every single one is synonymous with either struggle, pain, oppression, depression or fighting the power and so on and so fourth and staff like that. In all honesty, I myself have had a tad much with these melancholy notes and so I chose to miss you with the struggle talk just this once. Now you are probably wondering, if I’m not here to speak about black liberation or white supremacy or the struggles of our ancestors or the new but old world order then what am I here to ramble on about. The answer is women.

I have always worn my feelings towards women on my sleeve, I admire women, all of them; there are no exceptions- we swim in the same pool of emotions, we are all connected in our battles, that is why I value every single one of them, that is why to me every one of you daughters of the universe represents a rare and precious gift to all human kind.

And because I love you women of earth, I went out of my way to conduct a bit of research to find out some of our most publicly visible and insanely annoying peeves. If you do not have the heart to bear the contents below then I apologize shem, these opinions come from various individuals of both sexes across a rather vast age range so do not shoot me as I am only the messenger. It is because I love you all so much that I chose to aggregate the sort of information that could potentially work towards your advantage- only if you keep an open mind though.

Alright. So here goes, we will first address the issue of public indecency.  Look, I myself am all for that freedom of expression talk, gift of free will, right to choice- that independent woman chanting but unfortunately ladies this research suggests that we turn it down a notch when it comes to those see through leggings, the sometimes well meaning but turn out to be indelicate camel toes. In the words of another, quit parading half naked to satisfy your greed for attention. The underlying message here is for one to dress for their body size, no extra meats popping out from clothing items and for women to get back to respecting their bodies. I know and understand that we all want admiration, especially from the opposite sex but if you go looking for it in that manner, it will impede your dignity, self worth and the initial respect that people hold for you. This, and so much more is what leads to men and some of our emotionally mature counterparts calling us out on lack of self-value and identity. I will end this chapter here.

On to the baby mamas, bitter ex girlfriends’ and the side chicks. I personally understand that times are tough, everyone needs a little loving empa ho thoe ke le joetse hore le be bitle ka manyofo-nyofo le ho ferekana joalo ka ha eka le malinyane a li fariki. Always know your place and do not come interfering in relationships trying to settle scores, it only makes you seem resentful.

We are apparently too noisy ladies and this makes us look ridiculous and infantile. Personally I don’t quite understand whether this implies that the majority of us talk too much or we talk too loud but either way most hold the opinion that we need to tone it down -especially in public arenas, ladies are seen and not heard.

This breast feeding in public issue unsettles a lot, surprisingly it popped up more than I had expected it would, so to you the baby mamas who feed the kids, too many people out here say they don’t want to see those “stretch marked, saggy leaking tadaaas all whipped out without a care in the world”. This is the reason why baby bottles were created and if you really have no other choice then at least make the effort to cover them up from the glaring looks of passer bys.

I will not get into the weaves versus natural hair talk as we have exhausted this topic since the very first batch of weaves was shipped from India or Brazil or Peru, we know very clearly how the minority feels about this trend, the only valuable piece of advice was that if you choose to go that route then take care of yours- there is no excuse to walk around looking like there’s a dead skunk on your head. I do not want to take up too much time on the issue of make up either- the trick here is to never over do it, as a woman myself, I’ve never quite understood the tweeze it all of and draw it back on eyebrow phenomenon that has some people looking like they were sponsored by nikey.  

This one hit me hard because I personally relate to it. Probably the best standpoint as far as this post goes. I will not paraphrase, as that would be an injustice, “Black women must get over this ‘strong woman’ act that they put on! They go out of their way to prove how “strong” they are by being aggressive and too confrontational. U ko utloe ausi oa Mosotho ha a re o tlo neha motho “damn”! These are unnecessary theatrics! I however also understand that it is just attention seeking exercises because black men are absent. These women crave their attention”. I know more women than I wish to mention who are walking these streets with stone stiff shoulders as a result of the burdens they bear. I know of women that can’t keep onto a good man because they fight too hard to be their equal instead of their lover. I console women, myself included who parade these streets with colgate smiles and hearty laughs only to go home to lonely thoughts, wet pillows and swollen eyes. I also know that women need to get over this ‘strong’ role they have inherited. 

Let this be the last words of advice. This was a personal lesson for me that came down from those that have lived and experienced more than I have. This is generational advice that we must heed because it will save you from a lot of distress as you move along. Sometimes we are too open, a bit brutal in our honesty- this is not necessary. Three women sat me down some week’s back, two married for over ten years and the other in a long-term relationship. They said to me they realize I am too honest in my relationships and if I want their survival I would have to refrain from this. Truth is I am not even at all that honest- I can hardly omit my truth, I am the friend that will not smile and nod agreeingly if you ask me how that hideous dress looks on you- I am not going to tell you to forgive your cheating, lying sorry excuse of a man when you come crying on my shoulder and equally I’m going to call you out on that ratchet behavior should you get out of order. I am going to do this because I love you and I want what’s hopefully best for you, I am going to let you know as it is because I don’t want you becoming the laughing stock of the town, we find pride in keeping one another down, getting back and even with each other, we do not look out for each other and so my being honest is playing my part- however small it my be- in an effort to unify women. So this last piece of advice is that you remain honest yes, but always keep in mind that some truths need not be said, some are worth keeping to yourself because its not everyone that can handle your attempt to stay open and sincere with them. Pick the truths you decide to share with others wisely.

So there you have it bana ba nkhono Kholu. I will go no further in the hope that you have read enough. I believe in the beauty of your being and of your deeds.  

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

Daddy's Song Unsung

---This song is sung to a soldier that still treads on dirt to create his mark. These melodies are formed in honour, to a legend that lives through my eyes. These words swing in rhythms for a champion whose records have vanished into blurry visions---

I have, ever since the creation of this blog space, and perhaps for the few months that led to it, grown to become a blog fiend, I follow blogs and religiously stalk (in a very normal way though) their owners- it helps me understand and bond with their writings at a more personal level. It is through this digging into blog crates that I came across one writer, who said that unless we write from the heart then we compromise our own integrity and also of that which we believe in.

So I have justified and spoken for my writings- For why I collect words and pen them from such personal spaces, for why I sound angry even through cheery jargon, for why I bear my soul and my heart between these sentences. I cannot disband myself from that which I write, I cannot write unless it is of a personal experience- regardless of whether it is mine or of one of my own.

It is from the authenticity of which my writings derive from that I heal myself. That I look for ways to attract to this place and also heal those that share similar stories of pain, the joys of my struggle and the mourning behind my achievements. I write in the hope that I somehow, by just a mile- touch the grieving hearts of those that need emotional healing the most. It is in that same light that I sing a song today.

I sing this song in low tones and reluctant melodies for I am not too certain if it should be sung. I am skeptical of the feelings it might evoke, not from anyone else but from the places in my sub-conscious that I have chosen to abandon. I have said enough.

I will sing this song unsung anyway.

A Song Unsung

She sang a song that was never sung

She sang a song to him so he wouldn’t go unsung

See his was a life of a king

And she- The princess that today has come to sing

She sings a song for a man whom she wishes to forget

A man who has seized to live but chose instead to exist

Whose perception of self he has lost

She comes to sing a song unsung

To a nonentity hero undeserving of these harmonious praises

Yet she still belts out this tune

In tribute of a common man with astounding tales

The captain from which her entire being hails

She sings this song still unsung

To a man from whose seed she sprung

Back in the days when things were cool and living was just. She was daddies little princess, his perfect little creation, his sourced design, a clone of sorts, flawlessly replicated in every sense and every way.

Daddy, I sing this song for you today

For too long I kept my feelings at bay

For these tough times you’ve endured, I’ve had nothing to say

It was humanity that led our bond astray

For the longest time all I did was pray

That I would be four years again and in your arms

Or even a twenty something year old and we’d still lock palms

Daddy I sing this song for you

In this rare moment of self praise

Remember daddy the hell we used to raise?

So much of me is still you  

She was daddies little girl. Those that know could tell of their bond, the perfect Clyde and his little Bonnie, conquering worlds together, hand in hand, hearts were clasped; thoughts too similar, she and daddy lived like Siamese. He had once meant the world to her, he had been a protector, and a shield of comfort, safe was her in his company, gentle auras whisked in his presence. 

 

Do you remember the times daddy?

When everywhere you went I’d go?

You were the champion that walked proud with that ridiculous looking fro’

Do you remember the times daddy?

When we popped bottles together

I the orange juice and you the kind that makes everything better

And we would go on sipping ‘till nothing would matter

Like it was just you and me against the world

All the pain I encountered you also felt

Do you remember the times?

When we would kick back on Saturdays

Wiled out in the kitchen creating recipes

Or how you’d sneak in teachings on the birds and the bees

Do you still reminisce of those times?

When you read me bed time stories that came with the chimes?

Remember how you took reading so seriously

And you taught me to always look at the world curiously

Do you recall daddy?

How we would just up and hit the road

To visit angry shores and calming waves

Take long walks in foreign lands where Bushmen once lived in caves

Do you remember those days?

Do you miss them like a do?

This loss of opportunity, do you rue?

Over days gone by, moments never to be regained

Of our plans that life chose to taint

Do you remember those days?

She was daddies little girl, ask her now she might deny it but deep down she still longs for the days when she waited up for daddy to come home just so they could lay on the couch and watch recorded episodes of the Wayans Brothers all night long. Nights came but daddy never did, she is a grown woman now, gone are little girl fantasies of getting lost in laughter. And now not Shawn and Marlon, not Dwayne or even Damon can lessen this hollowness in her or fill these empty spaces, where her daddy’s heart once was.  

Until next post,

Africa Rising , Peace & Revolution...

All Pretty Girls Have Secrets

---Fiona once told me all pretty girls have secrets. I did not believe her then but the world has since opened my eyes to this truth---

 

Back in Natal during my undergraduate days, carefree and sunshine filled days- long before money and jobs became a pressing priority; Makhabo would fling the door to my room open at any time of day. Sometimes she would come in, throw a shrewd comment or two regarding the state of my room and then she would be out, other days she would come in and sit for hours while we talked about critical issues of the world and then sometimes she would waltz in as though she owned that space, sit in complete silence and we would remain in that, just basking in one another’s ambiance. You know how the saying goes… “True friends are those that you can sit in comfortable silence with and still have the best conversations” or something along these lines.

Makhabo and I

Anyway. During these ‘stroll into Deedee’s room and check up on her’ encounters Makhabo would come in at whatever random time she pleased, drag me out of bed and then proceed to say something along the lines of “Ao chehe, batho ba ka khotsa motho ha e le mots’eare ba bona e le ausi ea hantle ea itlhokometseng, ba sa tsebe malabulabu eo a robalang ka ona”  and then she would continue to grill me on my choices of night time wear “But Deedee my friend, hantle uena anything you come across and find comfortable to sleep in, vele you do so? Ke’ore every night I come in here and you are in yet another shocking piece of garment that I would never think to sleep in…” Well, precisely. Comfort is the absolute standard for me. 

Then there were days when she would sit in the shower with me or follow me to my room after I’d just showered and there it would come again “Deedee!!! Na ausi ea motle tje a ko tlohella baselapa hore e be tabohe ho fihlella boemong boo?A a kannete, make a plan my friend, there is no way I am allowing you to use leranthana lena again” And for that I had no genuine excuse except maybe laziness and denial that my beloved wash cloth was no more than just a piece of string- what I thought was ‘not that bad’ a tear, turned out to be beyond use in the eyes my Boobie.

The point I am making with this entry is that the prettiest and most organized people do the ugliest things. In my case it turns out - I was a lady in the streets but a literal freak in the sheets – as I was sleeping in rags and going on to use bath towels until they were beyond recognizable. For others, their ugly may be a bit more severe than this. I refer mainly to women. Embarrassing as this is for me to admit, women are the most conniving, most calculating and manipulative kind I know. Many are not afraid to use their vulnerability, their looks and in very many cases- their bodies to get what they want. It’s when the odds turn against them that they call out foul play.

I personally have heard stories from wealthy men claiming that the most beautiful women came from what seems like nowhere to seduce them and consequently consented to coitus with them only to cry rape the next morning and threaten to press charges should they not fork out ridiculous sums of money. It turns out most of them abide 1) For the sake of their reputation; 2) To maintain a harmonious state in their families.But what they do not realize is that their compliance to this madness perpetuates more of the same.

I also know of and have spoken to women who see nothing wrong with making such claims, women too obsessed with the materials of the world to understand the ruthlessness of their actions. These are women who take pride in admitting that blackmailing wealthy men is indeed the new prostitution. I mean the way I see it, such drastic measures should be just as great an offense as rape is. These kinds of women close all avenues that lead to the realization of just how socially ailed our society is.

Because of such actions, little girls, grown women and our elderly are raped every single day but remain silent for the fear that they, like these trifling concubines will be accused of settling scores. Too many women live through and tolerate physical and emotional abuse because they feel afraid to be judged in the same category as these tricks who are out here, digging for gold.

This saddens me deeply. For one, I hold immense hope that one day women will be free from insecurities that bind their social and financial progression. I have faith in the psychological emancipation of all Afrikan women as it is my belief that the reason they turn to such ugly means of acquiring their basic needs is due to the fact that they feel trapped, undermined and possibly sidelined. I want for them to reach a point where using a man for a little profit sounds as disgusting to them as it really is. I wish for women to unite and force away ills that continue to represent them as worthless damsels who are only good for milking men for their worth.  

PS: I don’t know whether the case of Zwelinzima Vavi’s accuser stands true. I do not want to involve myself too much around this case, however- it is when the media sensationalizes these accusations that we are forced to wonder where our dignity as Afrikans lies. Are we really content with having to debate these matters behind closed classroom and auditorium doors or on media forums and leaving it at that? Should we not return to the basis of which these kinds of issues stem from, educate and liberate our women? Shouldn’t we focus on teaching our men not to succumb to such allegations through payouts? President Zuma walked free from similar charges. Should Vavi walk free wont the next man and the next man and the next one after that also walk free? What happens when they all walk free? The sincerity behind every rape claim becomes questionable, and any woman who cries sexual, physical or emotional abuse will always be likened to the boy who cried wolf.

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

Open Writings to Momma

---Mommy. My only rock of comfort in a foreign land---

What becomes of one

When the well from which they suckle their joy

Starts spurting bitter waters

What is to become of one

When the warm bosom on which they lay in comfort

Has turned to a thousand piercing needles 

Momma what are you saying to me?

That I should bring home the bacon?

What kind do you like momma?

Streaky? Smoked? Pepper?

What is it that you trying to tell me mummy?

That I'm not your little girl no more?

Are you saying ha ke sa le Meme-nyana oa Mpo?

Momma, like yourself, am I a grown woman now?

Mummy I thought it was just yesterday

When I lay up on your breast

Aren't you Yeyo no more?

Have your hands become weary?

Can't you carry our burdens alone like you used to?

Momma what became of your strength?

Since when did you need a man to get anything done?

Are you getting weak now mummy?

Has the world become too much for you

To swallow its pills on your own?

Momma are you saying my zone of comfort is nearing its demise?

Is this where for me life finally begins?

Am I a woman now mummy?

Is that why you treat my with such dignity now?

I don't get it though mummy

What died in you?

Has motherhood become an impossible task?

Aren't you my Daddy any more momma?

Am I an impossible child?

Momma why must I share in your heartbreak?

Was I destined for it too?

Can't I escape it momma?

Is this the curse of our lineage?

Will my legacy of happiness be determined by the consequences of your marriage? 

Do you need me the same way I do you?

Do you get as tired as I do when your not in sight?

Do your tears flow as freely as mine do should you not wipe them away

Are your feet as tired as mine get when you put me down to walk on my own

Is your back exhausted from carrying me?

Should you need some strength momma

I'm here to Help

Should you need to rest

Refresh your soul

Should you need to lie on your back to escape demons that come from under you

Rest

Should you wish to become like a child once more

Lean

Should those tears need some drying

Weep

For I am here mummy.

I have arrived

You have carved me for years now

Chiseled me into perfection

I'm sorry I cannot be the man of the house

But I am ready to be a woman

The woman you raised me into

To be strong for you in your moments of weakness

To weather away storms

Claim full responsibilty

I am ready for womanhood now mummy

You can hand down your cape

Pass me that torch, I've flexed muscles

I'll carry it from here

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution 

Tribute to the Children of Death

---Child of death, I mourn you. I feel your pain as though it were mine. I fight the same wars you have been through. May your scars heal and your heart find peace in this new life you chose---

“But life goes on, it’s just another song if you aint the one gone" Warren G

I have never feared death, well at least not in the same way everyone else around me does. If anything, death fascinates me. As a former born-again Christian who moved back to the Roman Catholic church, which I was born into, I have explored a fair share of religious cultures and have since become aware of the ideologies of the after life- as preached differently by various religious groups. Still, my influence of thought towards the after life are fundamentally based in the Christian belief system. A land awaiting us- paved with gold and complete with bottomless milk and honey.

I digress. I dedicate this piece to the victims of death, those who were brave enough to take strides towards him when they felt he was taking forever to reach their empty pursuits. I want to pour liquor to the ground, to raise my fist in salutation and sing a song of praise to those that looked death in the eye and swore with the world as their witnesses that they would be courageous enough to meet him halfway. I want to defy the nature of our culture and of societal ties by paying tribute to those that felt they had nothing else to live for and so instead opted to die for everything.

Today I would like to commend your children dear death. Those that went looking for you before you called them towards your clutches. I am curious about them and I am curious for them. I’m tempted to act like I don’t know the kind of situations that would compel one to find themselves attracted to the dark shadows of your being but unfortunately I have lived long enough to comprehend well enough, the heartache that can lead one to your escape. I only am not bold enough to abandon the dreams of tomorrow and opt to march off in an attempt to find you. Even so, you intrigue me death. 

The other day my colleague caught onto my droopy, depressed mood and he told me that I have so much to be grateful for, I was too tired to play the thinking positive card so I asked him to name some of these things I should be grateful for. I am just glad that he went the cliché route for had he told me to be grateful for anything else either than having woken up that morning then I might have had no grounds on which to base my argument. 

I apologize for it now but I snapped…no one knows better than you death how it gets for people that feel you are the only and last option they have. I asked my colleague for his theory and understanding of the afterlife, he was here telling me to be grateful for being alive yet what if in the afterlife the only thing people are thankful for is that they no longer live on Earth. What if there is no pain, no conflict, war, sorrow or misfortunes that we are subjected to on a daily basis. What if there is no remembrance of the suffering and distress that we earthlings are prone to. In my fit of rage I told my colleague off on that cold morning for his efforts to cheer me up.

Big and scary death, I do not know whether my peoples conviction on your being the human races biggest enemy holds true. For I know of greater enemies. Yes, I know of the loneliness and grief that your measures leave behind for the loved ones of your victims but who is to say that escapism through you does not lead to new waters?

Any who, this was primarily to pay tribute to those that gave in when the hurdles of life proved too heavy for them to cope. This was to marvel at their brave hearts and applaud their fearlessness. This is not about their evident selfishness or inconsiderate actions, it is about giving them assurance that I understand what very few understand. It is about making them feel better for irreversible and hastily made decisions, laying their conscience to sleep.

This is to comfort your children, those that you have seized or rather those that located you long before you thought to call them home. But it is also to remind those that wish to call onto you that we are all in this together. There is no difficulty, no pain, and no shame that is great enough to summon you before fate calls on you. This is to console those that go knocking at your door from time to time in the hope that you might answer them this time but to no avail. This is to remind every single one of them that we are all connected in our struggles.

To let them know that you are not the answer. You were never the answer. Only Hope, Faith and Prayer will keep us going. 

* These writings are dedicated to those that are no longer with us through committing suicide, those that have attempted or have thought of committing suicide because they feel that whatever they are going through is too heavy to bear. God sees you, He loves you and He has Great plans for you.

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...