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...