Of Side Chicks, Side Thoughts and Side Notes

---“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple---Jack Kerouac 

~Of Side Thoughts

When I started this blog, I swore to myself that everything I bring into it would always be a reality that someone close to me, or myself had experienced. I vowed to deliver real life incidents and accidents in these text boxes, this was set with the intention of constructing opinions that would hopefully stir off meaningful debate and discussions far beyond the desktops of those who found themselves reading these entries.

Unfortunately, when I made this promise to self, I had no idea that there would be future implications involved. I was blind to the fact that I would have to dig deep into myself in order to make peace with my past encounters, I figured that this way, I was guaranteed a somewhat objective inside look at self –which in turn would then allow me to open about my thoughts, feelings and insecurities to literally the world. I was also not aware that as a psychology scholar, a lot of what I wish to share in these posts is motivated by those around me and the choices they make in their lives- whether good or bad, I am not one to judge yet I still feel the need to convey and interpret those very choices they make.

Here is my dilemma, I am sometimes afraid to write posts such as today's one in the fear that some of my friends and close acquaintances will feel that I am being a tad judgmental of their life choices.  

Yes, some of my very good friends are side chicks. Some of them are main chicks with side dishes while some take on the role of main chick and side chick at the same time.

But like I said, I am not here to criticize anyone, I mean, I have found myself placed in all of the above-mentioned positions at some point in my life, having admitted to that- let me just confess that being a side-chick is the hardest role and entails the toughest decisions that one could ever confront as a woman.

To have complete access to someone whom you know is not yours but wish every single day would drop the life they have begun with another person to start a brand new one with you.… Go figure.
 

~Of Side Notes

On to today's post, I have said it in the past that times are hard, ratios are imbalanced and everyone longs for some belonging, this is how I justify the growing culture of ‘side dishes’. Anyhow, I still feel that people that subject themselves to this kind of lifestyle must start of with some form of evaluation where they weigh their losses and gains as a result of the decisions they make.

   

Ha ke hane hore Sesotho se re motho e mong le e mong o fepa pere eo a e palamang but I am trying to make sense of men who string three or four permanent side chicks minus ‘wifey’ and STILL maintain these women financially. For the life of me I have tried to understand what could possibly possess someone to be so overly generous as to feed so many mouths without being obligated to do so. Unless one is a billionaire who has run out of orphanages to support, I really cannot comprehend how average income men will choose to go out and find side chicks that will only leave their pockets holed every month end. It makes no economical sense to me how some men will put a hold on their family plans just so they are able to cater for grown women who are perfectly capable of providing for themselves.

The causes of this kind of behavior are obviously far more deep-rooted than I can ever emphasize and call for a psychological analysis of the individuals themselves- a lot of factors can contribute to men (and women alike) searching for approval in one another so much that they comprise more important things for this temporary feeling of belonging

~Of Side Chicks

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My favorite species in the entire world is women. I cannot speak about them enough; I can never fully articulate how I feel about them, regardless of the number of posts I have dedicated to them. I know first hand the situations we find ourselves in; I know the thoughts and feelings that come to us when in these spaces we get cornered in. I know the pain of caring for someone who will never feel for you how you do about them, I know the hurt that comes with being rejected, I know the agony of being left by someone whom you entrusted your entire life with, I know of the shame that comes with having to turn down someone. I also know that some situations are in our control, I know that we sell ourselves short at times; I know that we love the thrill of that forbidden fruit, we can pretend not to care when we really do, we can avoid those feelings once we start falling for someone but most importantly, we can control how we react to the situation when we find ourselves playing the role of side chick.

Either you get in there and take it with all the excrement that will inevitably come your way or you keep your heart at a distance, whichever way, it has never served any purpose to invest all of your time and energy to someone that was never yours to begin with, chances are they are simply stringing you along and will never be yours alone anyway. Its better that you know and understand the

rules to the game so that you play accordingly, the side chick character cannot be played by the faint-hearted, the weak or the clingy, it is for those that know to draw lines between the heart and the mind, that go along casually without expectations. I repeat, this is not to be played by the weak at heart. We would be doing ourselves a favor by avoiding the expected heartbreak that will follow. Trust me.

Until next post,

Afrika Rising, Peace & Revolution...

'Racism must be Nationalized' (Thoughts of a Radical Being)

 ---“I believe in human beings, and that all human beings should be respected as such, regardless of their color”---Malcolm X 

Nationalize: verb (used with object)

1. To bring under the ownership or control of a nation, as industries and land
2. To make into a nation
3. To naturalize

I am happy. Not because two privileged and intoxicated Afrikaaner boys went on a hate crime binge that ended with one Damane Muzi Gwebu, a black student at the University of the Free State being at the receiving end of their atrocious activity. This is not what has made me happy, in fact this has birthed a brand new kind of anger in me, it has inspired once more, the radical part of me, this incident has me wanting to find Juluis Malema so that we can chant apartheid tunes together that are now deemed as hate crime and can’t be sung anymore. What took place at the UOFS campus this week has me wishing that we could revert back to the teachings of El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz who once said that “Be peaceful, be courteous, obey the law, respect everyone; but if someone puts his hand on you, send him to the cemetery”. I am not saying this must happen, I am saying the events of this week has the radical in me wishing back times when freedom would be fought for, by any means necessary!!

I am happy because this turn of events has again taken the South African and more particularly UOFS fraternity ten steps back. This is a racially charged institution that still heavily battles with demons of its past and now once more these demons have awakened to prove a point- that nothing is ever resolved by blatantly denying it and sweeping it under an already over-flowing rug as soon as it occurs.  I am happy because the trampled-on dignity of Damane shall be used as an example (unfairly so too) to uphold that racism is still very much alive, it is just well concealed in very many cases. I am happy that this episode has sent an uproar, especially amongst the youth and has shown their lack of tolerance when it comes to such. I am happy that the UOFS SRC has defied the university’s management and voiced their outrage when instead the wish was that they keep it on the hush-hush. I am happy that much of the narrative behind this incident is driven by the youth, I am happy that they feel some kind of way about it and more so that they have taken a united stand in peacefully fighting away such troubles.  I am ecstatic for people are fuming instead of hiding behind transparent curtains of pseudo-rationale as has been done by Prof. Jansen. I am glad that unlike him, everyone else calls this spade, a spade and they have opted to “assume” that it is a racist attack when he has told them not to jump to [race card] conclusions.

I am only glad that some form of dialogue has been unbolted and that blacks can bask in this glorious moment of anger. Rightful and justified anger.  I am almost as happy as a clam that blacks and whites alike have flooded twitter under various hashtags stating that racism must be dealt with beyond just text and theory.

 "Denying that there is a serious racism problem in our universities will not achieve transformation [1]. Instead, what needs to happen, first, the acknowledgement that these problems are present [2]" @YouthLabZA 

"If we are going to truly challenege racism we need to reflect on the way systematic injustices manifest...[1] In order to challenge racism we need to engage the trauma of our past... [2]I feel quite strongly about the two young white men being prosecuted, but this will not undo racism[3]" - @coconutBOY101

I am glad that although it has been a rude awakening, those that have believed that racism is of the past have opened up to the reality.

The radical in me wants to gather everyone together and suggest that racism be nationalized and by this I simply mean that it be acknowledged and recognized as a mental sickness that must and should be dealt with. I propose that right-wingers confined to anger and bitterness of a history that is plagued by racial inequality and impurities disclose their discomfort with the black race. My radical standpoint believes that when we talk about issues, we work towards healing them, when we open about our anger and our hatred to certain things, we allow for them to leave our conscious state and into the open. When we talk about how we feel, we open up lenient methods of confrontation, when we encourage honesty and frankness in our societies, then we get closer to the root of the problem. But when we suppress social injustices by choosing not to talk about them, we create lead ways to them becoming taboos. I wish for a society that openly communicates their thoughts and feelings in a constructive manner, regardless of the seeming offensiveness of their proclamations. 

This backward form of progression is the brainchild of a radical being. It is not to suggest that those who actually are racist go blurting it out or expressing it through harmful means, it is merely to recommend a communicative nation, especially where the dynamics of race are involved. It is to start by first acknowledging the anger that many still harbor and then talking it through in an attempt to heal from it.

Until next post,

Afrika rising, Peace & Revolution....

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...