Addiction

This one’s for you

Sitting outside dreaming of a better day, all I smell is your breath on me. Last night. What happened last night? The stench of fermented grapes still on my tongue, I remember vaguely, I see pictures of sensual sexuality. Our bodies twisted into each other, my head a hazy drunk, but my heart swimming in fear. We move around I feel you lips in the dark, your soft caramel skin against mine and I touch your face. Deeper and deeper I sink into you and your presence once again make me feel safe… I sleep

When morning awakes I remember the tragedy, I see in my minds eye, your freckled face towered over me, I see my head hitting the floor and my chest feels like it has been ripped out with the kicks I receive from you… my mouth is bleeding, but mercy is not a word you understand. I bleed, I cry… you carry on.

I love the smell of your sweat and the way the sun shines on your almost see through skin, its like a veil on your beauty and makes the mystery of you even more elusive. Your towering figure and insight builds a world I want to live in. Your words are everything and I receive them with love and an open heart. You move around the room and my heart dances.

My mind reminds me of the time you shared your infidelities, how you use to tell me of every harlot you touched and how they were better than me. How I cried and you intensified your hatred. I remember how you told me I was nothing but a common whore.

I lived past it, I forgave you…

Today, you knock on my door and I see a gentler you, towering over me. I love the way you smell, the way your oval eyes dart around when you talk. You touch me… it feels natural; ok in fact, it feels like I never left… you kiss me and I love it. You hold me and I want more. Time passes … visions of love making, jawbreaking… you grow inside me.

You are my addiction

A New Day

Disclaimer: please note that this is a work of fiction and any names that may or may not sound familiar have not been adapted from real live people. Please note that the events in this story were not inspired by any experiences that friends may or may not have gone through. Therefore whatever you read here the Author will not be held responsible for your fucked up brain and assumptions.... Ps. stop smokin' that weed fool

Olwethu walked into the doctors office nervous as hell, she wondered what would happen is she got the wrong result… she shunned the thought and walk straight through. She was an hour early and decided to check out some of the magazines filled with grossly vain celebrities, she read about their lives and their babies and all the hallabaloo.

Olwethu had put off visiting DR Ambromavichi for at least two months now, she was sure there was nothing really wrong with her, after all she was stressed out and she had a hormonal imbalance, her problems could be explained from that. She kept herself busy, but her heart was rather restless, she kept shrugging off the feeling of anxiety and played around with her mobile phone. She looked at the ladies at the counter and realized that besides her they were the only black people at the doctor’s rooms. She checked the clock and time seemed to be slowing down and in the distance she could hear a baby screaming. She picked up another magazine and dozed off on the chair.

She woke up to DR Abromavichi tapping her shoulder. “Miss Themba, Miss Themba - come with me.” Said the doctor. Olwethu rubbed her eyes and walked into the doctor’s office, she looked around and the office looked like the same old stuffy room with pics of bones and body parts. She sat down, put her bag on the chair beside her and began to explain her symptoms to the doctor. As she spoke DR Abromavichi scribbled on a piece of paper. Olwethu explained that she had a hormonal imbalance and because of that in her opinion is why her periods had been missing for the past three months. She also informed her doctor that she had noticed some spotting for the past couple of months. Dr Ambromavichi just nodded and motioned for her to lye on the examination bed, the doctor felt around looked worried and asked if Olwethu was seeing anyone. “No not since three months ago.” Answered Olwethu “Should I be worried?” “No, no, we just need to take a pee test.”

Olwethu got dressed and walked towards the bathroom, to pee in the cup… still a part of her told her to worry and she decided that worrying might not be worth it, I mean she had not done anything that needed her to worry right…

She walked into the doctors office with her pee cup and as soon as DR Abromavichi looked at the cup she commented that the urine had blood in it which was a sure sign of infection, the moment she heard the word infection she though of her recent ex Shadrack and then brushed it off. DR Abromavichi, took out a pregnancy test stick and placed in the urine. Se walked back to her desk and scribbled a prescription for Olwethu. Olwethu was in more than a hurry to rush out of that office and get rid of whatever infection and move on with her life. As if DR Abromavich could read her mind she said: “Wait just a second we need to find out what the test says.” Olwethu’s heart skipped at least five beats, she stood waiting for the result and ready to run. Dr Abromavichi turned red in the face, as if she knew what impact the results would have on Olwethu’s life. “The test is positive Miss Themba, you are pregnant.” Olwethu fell back into her seat, and she began to vomit.

####

Olwethu met Shadrack through her mentor, she had been working for an estate agency owned by a Jewish woman named Violet and quiet frankly Violet was sick and tired of Olwethu’s ever single state. Violet kept nagging Olwethu that she knew this nice young black man who works at a call centre where her daughter is the manager and she thinks that him and Olwethu would get along very well. Olwethu was also quiet lonely and tired of her own nagging, so she agreed to meet the young man.

Olwethu met Shadrack and in her opinion he was ok to pass time with. The friendship grew from sms’s every now and again to phone calls every day, she began to fall under his spell, he played everything down, to her Shadrack was the guy she really wanted to help. He told her he had never had the best life and he was grounded and down to earth. Slowly she began to open up to him. He seemed shy and reserved, she believed that beneath all that mystery there was probably a young boy who had been abused… she wanted to help him… she made the mistake of taking a project home. She had told herself that she would change his life once and for all.

There was something about Shadrack, he was good looking and a relatively good height, but oddly there was something that she felt like she could not trust although it felt like he was pouring his heart out to her, her heart was never at rest, but still she decided that things will sort themselves out and she swore that God would not put her there if he didn’t want her there.

The first night they spent together, she had cooked dinner, dished out her best wine and wore the dress she had been saving for that special occasion. He came by looking casual and unphased, an air of sexy arrogance around him and as late as a slug. She welcomed him into her not so humble home, decorated in collectors art and bhudda statues her walls were draped in photographs by amazing photographers and her tables held down by the best authors know to man. The surprise in Shadracks face told a story of a man expecting much less, from a woman who zips around town in an Uno and whose idea of getting her hair done is getting a shave. He immediately made himself at home.

As the night carried on and the wine bottles emptied their inhibitions began to run wild, the lights began to blur and the conversation more amusing. It seemed clothes were too heavy and their hearts begged that caution be tossed to directionless winds. They felt each others lips interlocked in a tender wrestle at an attempt to satisfy their deep seated desires and hopefully heal the loneliness that tortured Olwethu. He touched her bare breasts and her spine felt chills from top to bottom, she could feel him breathing hard. She turned around because she wanted to feel him behind her. He blindfolded her and kissed every part of her body gently. Her desire grew, she felt as though if she moved she would shatter into a million little pieces… in her blind state she moved closer to him, then she felt the man that he was, hard and strong standing like a warrior. She wanted to touch it, taste it. Then as she extended her hand to touch, Shadrack jumped, pushed her away. “Please don’t touch it.” He said. She stood there dumbfounded and confused. As she was about to speak their lips met once again, her knees boggled. She let him lay her on the bed gently, he reached for the light switch and there in there dark of night, their desires were met with a passionate in and out and as if awoken from a dream Olwethu realized that the had given into the depths of passion and she never asked the question on protection. She lay there and watched him huff and puff as the interest left her and a turning in her stomach became stronger. And as it would be according to Shadarck, she pushed him away in anger. Confused he stood up, she switched on the lights and as she had feared, they had let passion take over reasoning. Panick! Olwethu panicked, Shadrack was not phased. He told her he wanted a child, she resented him for his statement.

###

Olwethu sat in her Uno, holding her cellphone and panicking, she wanted to cry, drive her car into the wall, just hurt herself in general. “But how?” She thought. I took the emergency pill and to top it off we used protection after that night. She rang the Marie Stopes family planning clinic, then dropped the phone. She deliberated for a minute. The tears were not coming.

She decided to drive there, she got to the clinic still hazy from shock, filled in a form and then was taken to a room. She lay on an examination bed and they lifted up her dress, spread a cold gel on her lower tummy… the nurse looked at her and said “Come back tomorrow, the doctor will be here tomorrow. She went to the mall so she could find a pharmacy and get her prescription filled. On her way there she ran into Rizla an old Varsity friend chilling at a restaurant having a midday drink, she decided to join him and one midday drink turned into a drunken afternoon, still she did not believe what was happening to her body.

She went home, a mess of drunkenness, difficulty, driving, walking, difficulty being alive, she flopped on her couch… dying to turn back time, longing to fast forward time. There was a guilty pressure, a sense of loss… again she looked through her phone stared and Shadracks number and deleted it.

###

Shadrack refused to meet Olwethus friends and family… he claimed that they would judge him. This worried Olwethu and her two sisters Niza and Liza, the twins. They felt that he was either no good or up to something. Little did they know that they would find Shadrack raising the roof in gays clubs all over the city.

Shadrack actually never spoke about anything except for how much he hated this or that celebrity, he watched too much TV and used the wrong words in sentences. His greatest attempt at writing anything was writing smut on a gossip column and the more Olwethu got to know him she realized what a sad and sick person he was. In fact she resented him, the more she saw him the more she wanted him dead. She could not stand his ignorance, laziness and plain out stupidity. She started to feel like she was living with a malfunctioning robot. To her Shadrack became more despicable every time she looked at him and when she left him he proved how despicable he was and how much mud he could actually flick at her. The thought of him sent her to toilet and she would vomit till she choked from lack of air. Every bit of her hated him.

###

Olwethu got to the clinic the next day, she was 30 minutes early… she sat and waited, her heart beating so hard she thought her chest would swell from the impact. The nurses arrived, opened the doors and offered her coffee, she was too shaken to drink anything. One of the nurses took her into a room and took her blood samples whilst having a light conversation.

After they established that all her bloods were normal and the blood pressure was just right, the nurse handed her three pills and said, put these under your tongue and just relax. Olwethu was led to another room that was filled with beds and blankets and magazines and all sorts of pretty things. The nurse handed her a sanitary towel and said u will need this. “Will it be painful?” asked Olwethu. The Nurse laughed.

Olwethu sat around and waited, fifteen minutes after she was in there a woman that looked like life had handed her one hell of a beating and lay in the bed next to her, she went straight to sleep. Olwethu carried on reading, then another girl entered, she had such light skin she looked like she had been bleached, then after that a gothic looking chick entered and they all just covered themselves in blankets and said nothing.

After the waiting Olwethu felt a deep urge to go to the ladies and as everything had been timed her body released whatever it could from every end. When her body was done relieving itself she felt a paralyzing excruciating pain, her heart beat faster than usual. The pain was in her womb like period pains that render you speechless, she screamed from the pain as she sat on the toilet seat. The nurses ignored her. She crawled back to her room, the pain just would not subside. She tried to walk back to the bathroom and as she struggled her way there, lumps of blood dropped from her and her legs were lined with red streaks… at that moment she was most certain that she will find Shadrack and murder him if she ever lived through this pain.

When the pain felt a little easier she collected paper towels and cleaned all the blood that had dripped everywhere. She was shocked that anyone could bleed that much.

As she climbed back on her bed the other women were starting to wince too. The older on who looked like life had gotten the best of her was complaining that she had gone to government hospital and received better treatment than she was getting there.

The other women winced and complained. A nurse walked in put a wheel chair in front of Olwethu and told her to climb on, she was wheeled into a white room with lights. The doctor smiled at her, injected her and then she woke up screaming for help, back in the bed where she had been taken.

Untitled

I wake up in the morning, truth is I didn’t wake up I just got out of the bed, its either the sleep comes or it doesn’t. My mind is filled with many different things and everyday when I wake up and check my e-mails I get angrier, nothing is going like it should, every week seems shittier than the one before, my hair is falling out again. Nothing feels like the reality I once knew, even when I stare into the mirror I see a different stranger everyday. My body refuses to move, my voice refuses to speak and my mind is lost in a coma of depression. The world is so surreal so far away, I am blind once again. So utterly lost as a being. I asked God where I should go? He kept me hoping and this hope is killing me, I have no idea when or how to stop. Uninspired I stare into barrels, shooting guns and ammunition flying everywhere past me… there’s a me that longs to meet with death and dance till the midnights sun rises, but I cannot because to die is not be any more, my vanity is still driven by these useless materials, the bane of my existence, the inspiration of my sadness, nothing is real, I touch myself, hurt myself, because I do not recognise the intruder living inside of me. We are all trapped in here. We want, we long for everything, but nothing is real… except for the pain, the pain feels more real, it makes me feel alive, it wakes me from deep slumber, it shatters dreams that may have been… its like trying to fly when you never got wings… I keep staring into the barrel, I polish a gun, I hold the ammunition, once again I am holding a gun against my head ….

juju Beans

Thembi switched off the heater in the car, her face felt like it was turning a shade of deep purple from the heat, obviously her dark skinned face had not changed colour she just imagined that it did. Sitting in the traffic she thought about the weirdness of the music that played on the radio, she changed stations and realized that maybe every radio station she tried was part of a conspiracy to make her day an annoying one. Cars were moving at 10km an hour, an annoying nasal female voice on the radio said that there was an accident not too far from where her car was, she just hoped that it would all be over soon so she could sit at her desk and stare into space. she looked around at the people in other cars. next to her there was a girl in a silver Golf 5, she looked vain, conceited and all those words that describe someone who thinks they own the world. There in mid traffic, this girl was busy putting on makeup, never mind the fact that the nasally radio presenter had just said that there was an accident. Miss Golf 5 was at it, with one eye open she applied her mascara and she could still move her car forward, Thembi figured this must be a special talent. Thembi carried on looking around and saw a skinny guy in a green Corolla making sure that whatever was up his nose was gone for good. he dug his nose so vigorously she figured he must be enjoying it. Traffic was really moving slowly, she decided to grab the binoculars from the cubby hole and checked what was going on ahead. it seemed the cars were struggling to sneak through one lane. "That's Jozi drivers for you" she thought, "very inconsiderate, not letting each other through, five cars fighting over one lane." Finally she got to the open lane, drove through and the rest of the freeway was as clear as day.

As she drove on the N1 towards Polokwane, Thembi felt her stomach grumble, it had been a while since she had eaten, in fact the last time she had anything to eat was the day before at lunch time, she decided that she would to the nearest garage and get a small snack. her stomach began to feel like it was a big hole that had an endless cavity, the hunger was driving her mad. As she thought about her hunger, she wondered about the guy in the green Corolla and thought if he digs out so many boogers if he felt as hungry as she was would he eat the boogies? She made a gag motion and realized that she just missed her off ramp. She got annoyed and took the next one. When she got to the end of the off Ramp the robots were red she noticed guys selling a few things on the side of the road. She asked herself why they never sell anything useful? it was always stuff that you never needed like how you would be wearing sunglasses and they would try sell you sunglasses. Or because you drive a Fiat try to sell you a Fiat sticker. Nobody who drives a Fiat wants to drive a Fiat, they want to drive a Ferrari, so why would you want to carry on with the humiliation of being a fiat driver by even getting the fiat sticker? She turned right at the robots and carried on down a road called Lynwood. She passed the first robots before, they became red and then just before the second robots her Fiat came an absolute standstill. The car would not move. She tried to restart, scream at it and even got out to kick it. The damn thing just wouldn't move. She knew it, this had to happen on the one day that she was later a pregnant woman for her monthlies. Thembi spat at the car, got her bag locked it and started walking. The car was slap bang in the middle of the road. Thembi had a thing against driving on the fast lane or the slow lane, she believed that the middle lane was the best lane because you could go left or right as you pleased. This she loved. Cars were hooting and people screaming at her, she carried on walking… she couldn’t be bothered. She was however, worried about her shoes, she wondered about the wear and tear and if she would make it to the office in heels without falling to her knees from a grand bout of fatigue and feet aching.

Walking is an amazing thing, Thembi began to realize the world around her, she saw things that she possibly passed all the time, just never noticed because she was zooming past in her not so flashy, not so fast either Fiat. She thought of how many people missed these insignificant construction sights that she was seeing.

A few blocks down the road she had to cross the street, she watched as the cars rushed passed a man in leather pants and a torn jacket, the colour of his face looked like the colour of his leather pants. He was trying to distribute flyers at the robots, people passed him, closed their windows or shooed him off. He was relentless, with some people; he slipped the papers in as they rolled up the windows. Thembi became rather curious, about what the flyer had in it. Why did he want to give it out so badly? Surely he truly believed in what the flyer was selling or saying.

Thembi crossed the seemingly busy street and slowly walked towards the man with leathery black skin. As, she approached he gave her a grin with missing teeth… actually all his teeth were yellow and he had random gaps between them, she couldn’t tell whether the teeth were missing or if he was just born with teeth cluttered around.

She walked passed him and he followed her with a gaze, as she reached the other side of the street she felt a sandpaper like touch grab her hand. Before she could turn around her nostrils were hit by a random stench that 3 day long shower would not help one bit. The leathery man was trying to get her attention. She gave him death stare, but he was not phased he had a goal and no matter how much Thembi would protest he would not relent.

“Bootifool gal you tek the fire?” “Excuse me?” Thembi answered
“You tek Fire?”
“No thank you.”
“You mus it help with sad face. Make you good and happy now now.”
“No thank you.”
Thembi realized that she had been walking for a while now and the leathery man had left his duties at the robot to pester her down the street. “Pease, just take aan.”
“Ok fine! I will take one if you promise to leave me alone.”
She grabbed a flyer from him that read ‘DR Ogudu from Nigeria can fix marriage, penis enlargement, court case, even get you car, house or married’
Thembi looked at the flyer and wanted to burst out laughing, she read on and realized that – this DR Ogudu from Nigeria claimed that he could fix anything and everything. ‘Try my car’ she thought

The anthology of our bruised soles

There are days when you wake up and you feel like you have been walking for years, there are times where you feel like the entire universe has just spiraled out of control, there are even times where you may feel that taking the next breath is too much effort… but none of these times worse than when you cannot see a solution, a time when the future eludes you and you feel like you are falling into an endless dark cavity, that manages to swallow you and everything you are.

This is the point where you feel you cannot return and you cannot go forward, you are stuck with a deafening scream that takes everything and swoops hope from the depths of your gut and you lie there… nothing…nothing but a worthless turd breathing … a waste of humanity… a feeling worse than that of the passage to the dead.

Who says death is not beauty, a walk through life exposes an enchantment in this deep sleep, a new blossom for the wounded souls. This is a paradise filled orchids inhabited by Phoenix that reject to fly, a place where the darkness is yet a mere dim light…

I dream of a place where the bruises on my soles heal.

Social Network Society's Toe Jam

I have told many stories about my everyday adventures and as most of you may have realized there is never a dull moment - the truth is there is always a dull moment, I just happen to be able to take the bore out of any story. I guess you can call it the ‘gift of spicing’. But, anyway that is not what I want to blog about. The other day as I was reading Frantz Fanons wretched of the earth I came across a line, which to me was very profound. He said: “The Native is an oppressed person whose permanent dream is to become the persecutor.” Now I would like my readers to bear in mind that I am about to bastardise this great psychologist and writers quote by adding y own new age social network analysis that might leave my blog hungrier for followers than it currently is.

As we have all seen and heard the twitter phenomenon has hit the world by storm (ok not that big a storm, but its doing well). I always hear the same argument between twitter and Facebook users: twitter people are smarter than facebook people and twitter people are narcissistic etc, etc. However, we cannot prove any of this as there are no IQ tests taken when you join a social network _ all we know is that you can read, write and upload pictures, which more or less is what is required. At times facebook people tend to use the social network as their diaries, but at the end of the day it is their page, so they should be allowed to say whatever they would like, I find the people that live to critisise what the others do to be the worst, they get on my nerves because they play the role of holier than thou or rather in this day and age better off than you (truth be told I find these critics rather pretentious and they try too hard to smarter and so above it all).

Actually that reminds me, I was at a function, ‘do ‘ or thing not too long ago where a friend of mine sat bored and going through her facebook on her mobile. I am not quiet sure what she saw on Facebook but, minutes later whatever she saw became a conference call that demanded her to head outside and call a few people. I always wonder, do we really care that much about what people do? Do you care so much that you want to spend your hard earned money and call people to discuss what you saw on another person’s wall? If that is the case I would rather be considered narcissistic, what other people post bothers me very little unless I think it is funny, informative or they are talking directly to me. Which may be the reason why I found the links on twitter informative and the one liners people threw around worthy of my incredibly toothy grin.

Twitter was, for the longest time in my case a place that, I could read short version of what people had to say and get links to read the papers … oh and make friends with some really cool people that share the same interests as me such as books, animals, art, fashion and the list goes on. The more I got into the network the more I began to take interest in people and things, so much so that I have met some amazing and intelligent people in real life. For me, it was an amazing experience - it was networking without the clutter.

Lately however, which actually brings me to the quote I have been dying to share I have noticed that (I cant call them haters) the somewhat angered individuals are now rearing their heads on twitter. Now this is a different crowd all together, these kids or grown ups or whatever they are out for blood, they are renowned for their ability to attack people that are doing better than they are, start or perpetuate what they call ‘twitter wars’ and start trending topics that are dumber than my pet pig wearing a tutu.

Just the other day I was going through my twitter home page when I was met with retweets from the fuelers applauding a marauding fool as he critisised an artist for putting together his work. All of a sudden these people are experts on all subject matters, yet they are societies toe jam. It is however ok not to like something, but these people build their social network popularity by attacking, fueling or defecating on peoples work or quality of life. When I was reading through Frantz Fanons Wretched of the earth and came across a quote that said: “The Native is an oppressed person whose permanent dream is to become the persecutor.” I actually took that line out of the context of the book and looked at our dear friends that gain popularity from making people look bad and for me that one quote seemed to summarise what these people are (I told you I was about to bastardise the quote).

Thing is, its ok not to like something, we all have different tastes. If you don’t like it leave it alone. But what I have read from these marauders is that, they dream of being someone special, someone big or well, known, so when someone takes some of their work put it out there (hard work mind you) they jump on a band wagon to deface it so they can be popularity points without lifting a finger, they just spew hatred and venom. Their spirits are so oppressed by their talentless mundane lives that they devise a way to be the suppressors. It has become a disgusting social network trend where people who live to shit on people who work hard… Are you that depraved?

I have one question for them though… when will these marauders ever show us something worth appraisal or even the odd green eye? And oh I am not just talking about fame, education counts here also.

Faith, Love, Beauty...

The silence that I heard in the dark night’s stillness awoke a longing in me I had forgotten to feel. One day the sun shone to harshly on my face that I was blinded, but the longing that filled me led me to a space where my mind could not breath. I walked through the valley of heartache and felt the whipping sorrow on my bare back, I longed for asylum but God refused to hear my whimpering spirit. I whispered and wailed as the thorns broke my bare already bleeding feet, and each day was gloomier than the past.

I had been forsaken

In the distance no light shone for me, until I met a weeping man with bloodied hands, he showed me the way forward and taught me that life lay in my hands… instantly I wanted to die, by my own hand. I knelt down by the river side and felt a sting as I pushed a dagger to my heart. I awoke to find a glaring stranger mesmerized by the colour of my blood. I sat up and recognized love because her beauty was so immense it blinded all my pain.

Hey Mr Government... kiss my *$@#

Ola! Eita! Dumelang! Moweni! Sanibonani! Ahe! Hello! Hallo! There I tried a new way to start my post and it still sounds like crap. So, what to talk about today, actually I am rather angry as I write this. I am actually disgusted and yes, this may be a late reaction (well, at least a late public reaction). My reaction is late because I had to sit and think about how disgusted I am at the way things are going and I had to decide what I thought was worse.
So, babies are dying, people are dying! Is it possible that we human beings have become so arrogant that we think that we can decide who can live or not? As, some of you may know, I believe in the preservation of human life, no matter what the circumstances and yes I do not believe in the death penalty either, like I said I believe in the preservation of human life.
I don’t watch the news, but I drive around a lot, so I get to hear what is going on via my jollopies radio (wireless). Lately the strikes have taken up most news reports and because my sister is in the medical profession I get to hear how bad it is in the hospitals; Like Bara where there was just one Nurse working on attending to thousands of patients. And it’s not just the nurses that are at this the teachers are at it too. In other words no health care and no education.
Before I sound too judgmental and subjective, I understand that they had to make good enough demonstration to get their demands met – understood. Yet, I think to myself there could have been other solutions to this problem, rather a less brutal manner of putting the point forward.
The teachers are striking this means that kids in public schools are not learning anything until the strikes stop. We already don’t have the best standard of education at public schools and now the kids are already two weeks behind. Now imagine if you were the dumbest kid in the class and you were already having a hard time getting by and now, you have to deal with not going to school, which in your case with your lacking IQ, you are pretty much fucked. So, I would guess that it is safe to say that there will be a few kids that will be repeating classes next year. That kinda sucks… learning the same stuff that you did the year before, because the government had no idea what inflation was (morons). The teachers piss me off, yes they do, because at the end of the day to take a job like that you should be putting the kids first, but the nurses make my stomach turn.
These bloody nurses… are rotten the whole lot of them. They make me so mad I could throw things at them… those idiots with bad hairlines. Now nurses take a Hippocratic Oath right and in that oath although I do not have the exact details I am pretty sure that it states they should at all times preserve life and so, far during their strike they have caused so many deaths… even babies! Babies are not being fed; patients are being turned away from the hospitals women are giving birth on pavements. Really? Is this how it is going down? Letting people die for money, I understand that nurses are not getting paid enough, but to let someone die for money? I am shocked, appalled, disgusted and every other word that describes a person who is sickened by another’s actions.
So, what message am I reading from this… well, Mr Government sitting in front of your DSTV big screen eating KFC and washing it down with a Mcflurry ice cream, I see that you are telling me to go right ahead and die sick, ignorant and uneducated. In SA we have a huge gap between the have and the have nots. Thank God, Mr Government’s child is in a private school and they have state paid medical aid and all in all this bull shit doesn’t not affect them. So, I sit there and I think; oh so, because I am poor it’s ok for me to not get education and health care for a while. It is ok to let my family die, because we can’t go to Sandton Medi Clinic. Well I say Fuck you then! Just pay the people for God’s sake and stop this embarrassing display.
To the Nurses and teachers, you should be ashamed of yourselves! Especially the Nurses, you should be embarrassed when you look in the mirror when brushing your teeth. I understand that you are underpaid and frustrated… and yes, the government should hear you out. But is it worth all those lives? All those young idle minds?
To you the reader, what are you doing? Are you sitting there shaking your head and saying: “OMG this is terrible and then going home to your Weylandts couch and Sony Bravia, perched on top of a stand with all the bestselling titles ever released? How about getting off your virgin active yoga ass and doing something!!! It’s time you got angry too!!! Time you drove that shiny car of yours to a hospital and brought food for the babies, or even drove to a township and tutored some kids that are sitting idle. Shaking your head and saying ‘OMG its so wrong’ is not helping anyone.
DO SOMETHING.

Steady Sailing

You may or may not have noticed that I have been missing from my blog action for a while, besides failing through grammar school, I have just been finding it difficult, to put in writing what I have been, thinking, seeing and experiencing. It has become apparent to me however, that I have without a shred of doubt lost my mind in a most obscure manner. It seems, I have lost so much control that Jesus may have to come down from the heavens and take this wheel, before I crash and burn.

I would like to lie and say that I have been on a journey of self discovery, but what self is there to discover when you find out that parts of yourself are actually lodged and built from inspirations of others, thus feeling empty and lost when the others have to leave. Ok, so I am trying to sound deep and stuff and it really isn’t working for me because I am not one of those deeply intellectual types.

So, in the past few weeks I have been chillin’ like a villain, hanging with the girls and deciding whether we should carry on being naïve or is it finally safe for women to behave like manshees (women behaving badly… literally like men). Most of us are (me and my friends) waiting for that perfect guy. Yes, the one from the movies and instead of getting our Prince Charming we keep bumping into the great and cowardly Prince Harming… just in different body suites. I promise you if had you to hear some of these girls stories you would join a nunnery and never come out. It seems after you hit the 25 and single mark you are doomed to a life of crappy boyfriends and men that seriously have no idea what they doing. Not to say that there are no good guys out there… there probably are and I sincerely am moving towards forcing myself to have that belief.

Last weekend, I was sitting in a friend’s living room and there were about five girls discussing one particular guy, who in my opinion should have the douchebag of the month award. I mean I was shocked that there are actually men that would go that far to do whatever he thought he was. This guy is a card holding member in hell. Ok this guy… let’s call him Shiny. Shiny comes across as the type of guy that most women would appreciate. He drives nice cars, has a great job, owns properties and is well dressed and rather well spoken. My friend fell in head over heels. He seemingly gave her everything that she had wished for, she got flowers, she got the marriage proposal and as time progressed she got the drama too. Now all of this sounds normal, until she tells us the part where he kept a handbook in his car called ‘How to woo her’. (Ladies and gentlemen this is a true story.) Ok so, he is a player that gets his tips from a book… so, what? Right? Oh that was just the start. This guy had a golden tongue there was no question he couldn’t answer and no situation he was not ready for. My poor friend, dated this guy for months and not once had she ever been invited to his house or ever seen where he lived (I would call this strange, but she clearly thought different) when confronted with the question of why you never let me come visit he said: “I live with my sister and her kid and she will not like it when I bring a girl over.” Luckily this brought the alarm bells ringing and she decided she would tell a friend, after she told a friend the friend told the cleaner at work and the cleaner found out that the financial manager of the company was dating Shiny and so forth. (Don’t mess with the female CIA… we got everybody on our team even forensic specialists.) Now, she could have left there and then, but she decided that maybe they could work. It worked until she found out that he had four kids by four different women and wait for it… he was married too. This didn’t make sense to her at first, but when she looked at his behavior she realised that maybe it made a world of sense that Mr Shiny with a golden tongue was in fact a douche. Eventually she left him, but after hoping that he would explain himself better or make the bullshit go away. However, Mr Douchebag still thinks he can worm his way outta this one.

I wish the stories would end there, but it seems the plot thickens, many years ago when I was younger, sweeter, thinner, more naïve and had long flowing hair, I dated what / a man who I thought was the love of my life, to cut a long story short, our relationship was intense and in the end we grew tired of each other or maybe it was the realization we actually we were from two different worlds and trying to build a life out of that would have been as impossible as counting all the bricks that build up the wall of china in a day. Years passed without us making any contact and then one day out of the blue we decided that it would be a great idea to hang. Hanging was not the problem here, we had fun we realized how funny the other was and how we had missed those conversations and gossip sessions we had about mutual friends (yes, I sometimes gossip too. I am not as perfect as I seem, although I am kinda perfect.)

We spent the day, having the best time we had in a very long time, then like a wave coming over you whilst you take a quiet nap on the beach on a sunny day a sentence hit my ears and shot straight to my heart, piercing through my chest and leaving me breathless. On another day it would have been a rude assault, but somehow on this day it seemed to be the soft cares I needed to exhale, to finally release the intense heaviness and regret I was feeling. He said with the sincerest ease in the world ‘I love you’. For a moment I was lost in a place that I was not sure I wanted to return from - at that moment I wanted him to keep saying that forever. As if he knew my every thought, he drove us down memory lane and we remembered all the good times we had together and right then and there MAYBE reared her ambiguous face and we were left wanting to remain as we were for more than an hour, more than a day and maybe this time more than a life time. I was taken, my heart was filled with so much emotion and there is where I made the wrong decision. I felt for him because I believed him. I am not sure that I loved him, it seems impossible to when I think back.

So, let’s jump to the Drama then – after the great romantic moment he finally had the balls to say that he was seeing someone, which brought me to the great decision that we should never ever see each other ever again. He was adamant that we could make it work and we needn’t worry about the other complications. I hate duality and I let him know, so I left feeling like I had just gone through a break-up… again. My heart was, jumping around on the floor of my car as I drove off promising to never ever entertain idea that love was meant for me ever again. I walked away to walk away forever.

That night I happened to run into an old mutual friend and he innocently told me that ‘Mr ex I love you’ was getting married, weird I thought I just saw him yesterday and he wanted to start over. As much as I looked like I was enjoying my tenth serving of Absolut, I was actually hoping that one day he could drown in a sea of Vodka and never be found again. All I could hear in my head was ‘die you lying no good piece of TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT’. But, being the lady that I am I sent him an sms congratulating him. I didn’t expect a reply, I didn’t expect anything. I just expected the ground to open up and eat me alive. An hour later I met a gorgeous model and every line I heard from there was from some movie, but he managed to make me feel beautiful and over the entire thing.

Writing this I feel rather confused, I keep wondering if there is any salvation for men these days. I do strongly believe that there are at least 10 good honest guys out there. Could it be that, my friends and I are so disillusioned we are now attracting all the dirt, but somehow I find myself searching for answers and trying to figure out WTF has gone wrong here. Every time it seems that someone has the opportunity to change my mind, they fuck it up. And yes, some might say that I am forgeting that there is a weird looking guy that wants to give me the world, but I don’t like him. So, why can’t the guys that I like be the good guys? I am also tired of blogging about my love life misadventures. It gets tired after one or two posts. There has to be an answer or some kind of formula out there. And well, since we decided manshees we realized that unleashing revenge on men by behaving like they do is just tiring and playing that many games had me confused tired and… did I mention confused? Now I have a new reputation of being a male basher / emasculator. I love men and I think they are a beautiful species I just want to understand; WHY IN THE FUCK ARE THEY SOOOOO BLOODY MESSED UP? I wish I had this profound and beautiful ode to love and happiness to write, but I remain drifting further and further into disillusionment. I remain hoping, but you know what they say… Hope is dangerous because it never tells you when to stop…

Peace out homies

The Uncivilised

**Disclaimer: As per instruction from management we have been asked to please inform you that the letter below could purely be a work of fiction, so if anyone gets their undies in knot, we are not talking about anyone you may or may not know depending on how much jail time they have had. this is an almost fictional letter from the head of a woman who may or may not have been abused as the evidence proving or disproving the events sits with two people and one of them will deny this to the grave. the other may or may not deny depending on what mood you catch them in. So this is purely possibly a work of fiction but the possibilities are low very low.

By Order Management**

Dear Uncivilized Brut,

As, I write this I am not sure how to greet you, in fact I was not even sure how to address you, but after a day long battle in my head, I settled on Uncivilized Brut. I could have said ‘Dear Ex Lover’ or ‘Dear LLF’ or even ‘Dear Abuser’, but those titles would not really encompass all that you are, I needed to make sure that in one line you understood exactly how I felt about you and although ‘Uncivilized Brut’ may not truly sum it all up it comes a close third and yes I said third…

I wasn’t going to write this letter, I had not planned to, but for the past year it nagged me because it wanted to come out – I had / have so many questions about the things you did and yes, I have sat for an entire year and tried to answer them myself and only yesterday did I realize that you are the only person that could answer for all those things that happened, because you are the one that did them after all. I often wonder if you think about the things you did as much as I do. At some point I really thought I was the only one that had suffered the way I did at your hand but I realized after meeting people from different walks of life, that somehow you managed to ravage a few women’s lives and not to mention the poor, lost, low self esteem woman who you continue to mentally and emotionally abuse. SMH

So, I sat for days and wondered how I would start such a letter, the one that asks you why you would think that it was ok to walk all over someone tell them they are worthless and when they have nothing else to offer; them spit them out like toothpaste after brushing those beastly teeth of yours. How do I ask the person I feared so much for so long why he terrorized my very existence, most of all how do I admit to myself that for a very long time I allowed myself to be the victim of daily torture and vicious malice, how do I come to terms with the fact that I may have allowed you to treat me that way in the name of love.

Well here it is.

I remember the day I ran into you after not seeing you for at least six years, in fact I almost didn’t remember who you were. That day I had rushed out of work on my way to SARS, I was almost certain that I was having a really bad day, I took an early lunch – for some reason I decided to walk and leave the car in the parking lot. As I walked I thought about my shoes and how walking ruins shoes (cheap pretty shoes). I walked looking down at the pavement, I was on Long Street in Cape Town. I walked past a shop called Journey and promised myself that as soon as I was done with my errands at SARS I would come back and take a gander. I walked all the way down to corner of Wale Street and Long Street. The Robots were red, I waited. That is probably when you noticed me, I was wearing a green Tommy Hilfiger vest, a yellow cardigan, black skinny jeans cute little white pumps with flowers. As, I was crossing the street I did not care to look, but clearly you did because you grabbed my arm. And there you were – Tall, Caramel skinned with a dust of freckles spread over your cheeks, a croquet smile, the teeth that were supposed to be your front teeth faced to the side. You wore a black and white hoodie with a block pattern, black cargo pants and black Superga’s. You smiled gently and said hello, I was hesitant but I said hello back.

Now when I think back to that day, I sometimes wish I had left the office earlier or later. I wish I had walked on the other side of the road or even better, had taken my car. What made you stop me? What made you think that I was the perfect victim for your skeems, could you not let me pass by and let me have a peaceful life at least? Of all the women you walked past that day was I the only one that looked like I would be able to handle the bullshit you put me through? I am sure there was someone else who was more equipped to deal with you, but still you chose me.

You spent thousands of Rands coming on trips to Cape Town – to see me. You told me that everything about me was exactly what you needed – when I look back I see that it was exactly what you needed to break down, to make you feel better about your almost insignificant existence. You did everything to get my attention, you told me stories, wooed my friends, you even convinced me that I was the most beautiful woman you had seen in years. I fell into your trap, albeit slowly I fell and when I did there was no turning back. Whatever wall I had built to protect my heart had crumbled down, like the walls of Babylon. I was yours, to do whatever you pleased. I had given in, with no reserves, no protection I handed you all I was entirely.

As, I began to love you more, you used me to your advantage, I moved cities, came to the Jozi lights and for someone who had moved for a lover, I struggled to find a home, my way around and people I could lean on when this city got the best of me. When your friend felt sorry for me , tried to comfort me, you spewed venom about him, you told me that all he wanted was to stab you in the back – maybe that is what you deserved. Maybe if I had listened to the blessing of a friend I would not be writing this, I would not be working through the intense trauma that you put me through.

On New Year’s Eve, when you moved house I wanted to be the to help you, you shut me out and told me that you would get your ex to help you, maybe you were training me to accept your bullshit, but I didn’t understand. I went to visit you that night, so I could help you unpack, as I looked through your book collection I saw books that I was unfamiliar with and well frankly would never imagine anyone reading and so I commented that I would have never imagined you would read these. I am not sure if you had planned that to be the beginning of your physical abuse regime, but I remember you dragged me out of your house by my right leg on a rainy evening, I spent an hour in the car crying – you couldn’t have been bothered what I was doing. The next day like a wounded little animal, you came back with your tail in-between your legs, but not before you blamed me for how you acted, I took you back with open arms. Is that when you decided that you could do whatever you wanted?

I worked my ass off day and night at my new Johannesburg job, you bothered me about trivial pictures of my ex that you found on Facebook. You wouldn’t let go, you claimed I never looked at you like that in pictures. I wondered if this could not wait until I was at home or at least came by to see you, but you continued. You never let me have peace, each week it was new drama. I wondered if it had to do with the fact that you were unfaithful, I knew, but never asked you… I was already afraid of you, of your wrath of being dragged by my leg outside again, so I agreed to everything you said. You even barred me from attending a friend’s wedding (I was a bridesmaid). I went to the wedding, but when I came back you pulled stunts and you broke up with me. I was more confused than I had ever been. You enjoyed seeing me cry, you smirked I saw it.

When you got arrested for drunken driving, I searched around Johannesburg, looking for where they held you. I did not know the city. I woke people up at 2 in the morning. Frantic asking where I should go. I lied to the police that day. I told them that I was your lawyer. They were kind to me and let me see you, they let me sit with you when everyone else was in a cell, I only went home to brush my teeth, I did not sleep. Yet, when you got home that day, you told me you drank because of me, that the reason you were arrested was my fault, you carried on to tell me that I was worthless and you were going to cheat on me, as if I had not heard enough, you called a string of women, whilst I sat there dumbstruck and tears silently streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to die. You were laughing. I wanted to leave you wouldn’t let me and then as per usual the next day you apologized. I forgave you. I didn’t think twice, I wrote it off as your were just stressed. Little did I know that this was just a buildup.

Every time a male friend called and you heard the phone call I knew we would fight and you would call me names, I would tryi to explain, but for that week I would be known as a lying whore. Just as I was getting used to the labels you surprised me. I spoke to a friend on the phone and as I finished with a giggle, I was met with the hottest and 1^st fiery slap I had ever felt in my life, I got up in shock and anger and before I could speak my chest was kicked in. I crawled away from you as far as I could, I grabbed my bag and said ‘fuck you, I am leaving.’ ‘No you are not’ was followed by an iron slap then another kick. I did not understand why you wanted me to stay, but you did say that you wanted to kill me, so maybe that is what you wanted to achieve that day. I was wearing a black AAA hoodie and grey Nike tracksuit pants. I bled on the camel coloured carpet. You kept asking me if I thought you were stupid. That was actually the last thing I thought about you. To me you were probably the smartest artist I had ever met. But you crushed me, crushed me until I could not breath, until I was certain that I may die at your hand. I screamed, begged for mercy, but you carried on. The pain disappeared all that was left was a waning life and a breaking heart. I drew all my strength I managed to run to the bathroom and lock the door. Hours later, you begged, you cried, you told me it was just between us. My face however, was ready to show the world, I was bruised, I was aching… breathing was a strain, I hoped to sleep and never wake. You held me close and swore you loved me more than life, you just ‘lost it’ , I wondered what the hell that meant and I summoned dreams of rainbows and unicorns – a world without the fear you brought me. From that day you became the shadow, I feared you more than ever now.

Months went by and we seemed happy, I stopped working, you carried on with your life, if ever I went out I was under scrutiny, you accused me of smiling at your friends too much. You commanded me to stay home when I wanted to see my sister, I was afraid of you, I would not dare defy your authority. And when I needed you the most like when I was in accident you pretended as though nothing had happened and still you blamed me and called me stupid. Then it got worse, unprovoked you told me what a better artist you were than me, you told me I was worthless, I tried to defend myself, but the words had dried out on my tongue. I felt lost and confused. I stopped arguing. There were strange girls in my home, things charged on my card and all I had to do was sit and take it. And out of the blue sense reigned.

I called you before I arrived, I asked you if I could have my stuff back, I understood that I could never go back to you. But that day, you stood there in front of her and made sure that for the last time you could humiliate me and fracture my forearm. I just remember kissing the tar – not as glamorous as it sounds. The world was a big blur. I only realized later that I had been screaming. I wanted her to help me, but she encouraged you, I don’t remember her face, but the name Joy stuck with me for a while. Joy…Joy…Joy that is all I remember Joy, pain and confusion that is all. I was hoping that the ground would swallow me that day, but it didn’t. I wanted that fall to crack my skull, but instead it cracked my arm. When I got home I wanted to sleep and never wake up… never ever wake up, but I did. And when I woke up I had received the worst sms’s from being called stupid, to psycho to a barren whore. I don’t know why, but I still woke up the day after that and the next day and the next and before I knew it I had been waking about for over a year and everything feeling like a memory. Yet, there are some days, some days that it’s not just a memory, the days when I truly feel the bruises left on my heart – those are the days I just want to sleep and forget, but you taunt me in my dreams. The dreams, the reason why I wrote this letter, I would love to know why? Why it was necessary to try kill all that I am? I look forward to your reply.

Sincerely

The Stupid-psycho-barrenwhore

I woke up

I woke up

There was no way I couldn’t

I woke up on the floor

My heart had almost stopped

I looked up

My face was wet

Tears have no colour

I got …

No I dragged myself up

My face

My face had heated up

My nose was leaking

The floor…

I was down again

I looked up the world

My world was a blur

My eyes had clouds

I stayed down a minute longer

I stumbled up

I could hear shouting

Down again

This time my chest had fire

Breath floating into the air

Picked up

Yanked up…

I attempt to stand tall

Against the wall

My back touches the wall

My head kisses the paint

I am floating away

Consciousness flying past me

I land butt first

I wait

A minute passes

I get up

Behind me

No back of my head

Wine bottle

My head embraces the glass

The bathroom

Door locked

Cold floor

Shower

Tears are not red

I see red

The mirror

Swells

Bruised

Emotional swells

Blood

Mouth cut open

Banging on door

Begging

Sobbing

Apology

Bruised beyond recognition

The Date to Date on a certain date.

It’s a cold Johannesburg night and I am out with a few friends, For once I am surprised because I am not bored (not the people – the nonstop soccer mania that continues to torture me day in and day out). I wasn’t bored because after a two day mission we had finally found ‘hot Ghanians to hang out with. I know we are so bad). I refuse to mention whose company I was in as that would be incriminating evidence.

Now as beautiful as these Ghanian friends were we all knew that it was a passing phase, because they were here for the World Cup and well, we have or rather had, because they were our fix, been hungry for eye candy for a while, some of us having spent a total of two years not having uttered one word to a hot guy ( we have spoken to guys, just not the hot ones). As I sat there wiping drool off my heavily made up face to hide my desperation an annoying screeching missile dropped, or rather knocked my skull to the ground. What was this missile and where did it appear from? Well, I like to look at it this way; when you meet new people, there are points where the conversation runs dry and then you have to improvise, although a clever improvisation – it somewhat compromised my chances with a dark chocolate man ( chances being near impossible as these people are just here for the WC). Some moron mentions how Wayne Rooney has a receding hairline ( at this point I cringe, because according to my friends my ex crush has a receding hairline) I was hoping no one would grab that delicious opportunity to put me out there, but alas – I became the evenings first target. My Friend swiftly turned around and said: “hey Chumi, where’s your crush with the receding hairline?” This is the point, where everyone turned around and glared at me. The No1 hot Ghanian chocolate god asked me: “So, who is this guy with the receding hairline?” All I could say in my defense is: “Noooo, he just has a big forehead.” I get laughed at all the time, but the laughter from that night stung a bit more.

As the night progressed we proceeded to discuss relationships and why three beautiful women under the age of thirty were still single? Our answer was a united: “There are no good men in Johannesburg and the ones that are close are gay or in the closet.” Obviously, with each of us having and equally horrid, but unique story to tell. These gentlemen were in shock and awe at some of the behavior that we described to them. While sitting there I began to realize that a new trend was on the rise. The men are starting to behave like the women, for the longest time we been saying that chivalry is dead and we gonna find that bitch that killed him, but not only is he dead, he has also been buried forgotten and his grave stolen by some weirdo in some weird place in Polokwane.

I remember wearing the pants a few times, working, changing the lights, carrying up the groceries, fixing broken doors, fetching drunk people – hell if ,we had a garden I would have done that too. My question is when did the roles become blurred? I am as liberal as Aretha Franklin’s hat, but I was still raised to believe that men and women have roles. Ok ,but also in the guys defense, you may say blah blah feminism and we wanted to be equal… ok given neh, but we are sooooooo not equal right now, the guys are taking advantage and all they do is … what do guys do these days? The simple act of men approaching woman has also drastically changed, I swear it’s the guys that flutter the eyes and the girls have to walk over and buy them a drink. Next thing you know women will be buying boys cars and paying the rent…. Wait… oh, that is already happening.

I am confused here, what is it with this new wave of Himbos (male bimbos)? Don’t get me wrong there are good guys out there, lovely young men and like I said they may be gay, in the closet or married.

We also spoke about the good guys, like how I grew up with my dad being the ultimate hero and I refuse to accept a second rate man, but at some point in my growth and confusion I had accepted a himbo man. As we spoke about these bad men I recollected an incident where I was in a car accident, not too far from where ‘the love of my life’ was, after about 5 missed calls, he answered: “What do you want?” “Baby, I just had a car accident” “Ok, I will see you at home later then” *blank stare.* Wow the dude was down the road… if it was the men I was raised around they would have been there in the shake of an elephants tail, needless to say I did not see him for at least a week after that call. Now this was just one example of many stories and not just based on my life, a lot of women have met up with these (iam not sure what to call them anymore).

Obviously my point here can be argued and I know that this point is flying around everywhere, but the real reason I wrote this was to answer this question: Why are there so many single women in their 20’s in JHB? The answer is simple, there are not enough real men for the real woman that are out there. Chivalry died… Gender seems to be following. Will we ever date again?

I sent a word out

I sent a word out

I spelt that word out

It returned but not it

There was a new word that returned

The new word answered my first word

The second word was your word

I kept sending these meaningless words

And every word I received meant life to me

Every time I touched the pen my heart raced

I sent more words

1 word

2 words

3 words

Then you sent me your word

In one line

A series of words

That series that meant a world of word s

Brought love

Life

It became home

I love your words

Love is your word

Word is love.

The bruise movement

So, I have not written to you guys in a while, well I have been busy, just get over it. A lot has been running through my mind lately and I thought that today would be the best day to get a few things off my supple chest.

Last week, I realized to my udeniable joy that I had been in fact single for a year, well kinda (there were a few non work outers in the months building this year). This of course (after popping a bottle of Moet) brought on thoughts of the last ‘real’ relationship I was in, the one that nearly drove me to Tara. In my thoughts I remembered all the good times, many of the bad and of course I discovered the unique madness that was not just him, but was me too. I took a moment to try and figure out where I had gone wrong, as perfect as I am I can be fucking annoying at the worst of times. Now this thinking catapulted me into a state of analysis. Of course I must explain myself, when I say analysis I mean I have been judging my friends relationships and throwing my Oprah opinions at them *tears have been shed at these sessions*.

So, in my judgments I came out with this - the age old women let men shit on them waya waya, type of thing – don’t get me wrong this is not all women, just the ones around me and by women I also mean the gay friends that end up with asshole that mistreats them because they are sweet (stop nodding **Tiesetso** we are not talking about you yet). At some point when I was on one of my trips I met a lady who was engaged to a nice young man who from a distance should be the perfect man. Whilst in conversation with *Kholeka * she told me the ups and downs and the unreasonable things that she has to deal with in her relationship and mind you in the EC this seems to be a norm to have many girlfriends, they even have tag names for the girls in order of rank. Really?? Yes they are as follows 560 is the top chick, 220 follows her and so on and so on. We might defend this by saying the President does it, but this crap has been going on down there since I could understand what Bold and the beautiful was about. She went on to tell me how she has to deal with his moods, him kicking her out when he wants and taking her back when he wants and throwing things at her. This can’t be right I thought. She seemed to hang on the fact that at least he does not hit her. I sat and wondered when we will realize that abuse is not just a fist to your face or a kick on the chest, it is way more than that. I myself have said some horribly abusive things to people when I am angry – it does not make it ok… (see there’s that Oprah bitch coming out again).

The things she said got me upset, but I remembered from my experiences that no matter how much I get angry or discourage her , she won’t leave him because she thinks that he will change. Which, brings me to another friends who wasted 7 years of her life with a coke addict, gave him a baby and realized just last week, that he would never change, everything was just a trick to get to the next fix. I spent years protesting on her behalf getting angry packing peoples clothes, shouting at people, picking up people etc – totally nothing compared to the fighting for him that she did… needless to say she stopped talking to me for three of those years, because I was the bad guy… I never realized how much she needed me even though she fought me until, I fought my own family only to be left bruised and homeless.

Our three situations made me wonder how many women who actually seem ok and happy are with men that just drag them through the mud. I mean we have been taught that whatever happens in your relationship is just between you and him. What if behind those closed doors he is killing you?

So, when I was dancing with my Champaign, busy reminiscing… I asked myself is it possible that he may have changed?… Big mistake by asking that I must have sent some squiggly Morse freaking code to the universe, he called to see how I was. The conversation didn’t last, then I called then he called, then I realized I was hoping for change, I was walking straight into the lions den. I stopped myself before I could get bruised again, before a simple conversation on the phone became an addiction, before my bank card was funding some other life, before I found myself, bruised and homeless once again… I stopped. The allure of the sweet drug (his scent) had grabbed me intensely for a moment, I faltered failed and fell, I cooed at the possibility of our existence side by side again, but I forgot that I was imagining him. What I had at that time was a figment of what I hoped him to be since I believed he could change or rather wanted to believe so badly. And there it was, I had found it, I had found where and why all these women and I get it so wrong. These men don’t know any better, because we have not taught them better, we allowed them to act that way because we thought they would change. I would be damned before I change who I am for anyone. So, why would I expect him to change what he is what he knows? It’s even worse when they think what they do is right. So, my conclusion: “Cut your losses” I kept repeating in my head, this is a celebration right, a new beginning. Almost like moving into a new bigger house, it’s different, but it’s much better than the old torn up one.

**Names have been changed to protect my ass more than anyone else’s**

Tired

Shit… another morning, baby get up! No I will shower after you… of course I love you but, you have to shower first… Gaawd I am tired… where are my keys? Damnit! Why did you leave the window open? Now the couch is wet!!! Ok I am leaving see you later Mcwah… I’ll get dinner, no rather let’s do something exciting tonight. What? The boys again? Agg just do what you want to do – I couldn’t care less. Where’s my kiss? Oh alright – have a nice day… it would be nice if you said it back. Sniffle sniffle…
I think he is tired, yes, tired of me but he is a man he will never say so…

(later that day)

Baby…where are my new nine-west shoes I left them here after the party last week… you know... before I went on that trip… wait, whose jersey is this? That’s not mine – it’s not my size and definitely too cheap to be my taste. But I would like to wear my shoes … where are they? I found her underwear in the bathroom… dude you can’t be serious. Are you…? I am sorry but I need to go to my mama’s house… see you around.

Me thinks Love

When time passes me by, I stare into space and faces haunt me like ghosts dead and back for revenge, I remember a time when I was everyone and everyone was me - the world was mine and I was property of the world. It’s hard belonging to myself for once. I am emotional, for some reason I live for these days when I don’t feel special, I await the moment of waking, a screaming in me can’t let me live like this. These days prove how strong I am and how much the dream, no, the hope grows in me. They all say that hope is dangerous – it never tells you when to stop, but what happens when hope has stopped and you need it to continue, because hope is what keeps us alive. How long will it be till the dream is real, how long will it be till I feel my heart at rest? Time will pass by even before we can utter each other’s names. Searching through my recent memories faces escape me, feeling remains and a brief smell your cologne – nauseating. Love making me dizzy, filling the empty spaces I live with, I fall off the merry go round… this dream may be too happy for who I am. I walk away, no run away… I don’t want you to make me happy, I want to hope for a better me. What happens when the dream happens, then what ? I don’t want to live after the dream; I want to live the dream. Hoping, keep hope alive, I hope it’s here, I hope he is here.

Love where are you?

How dare you love my blackness

And so they suffered through times of hardship and endured bruises on their dark unsightly skin. For years they worked on fields and looked forward to a lynching or two. Hey they even got kicked out of their own land and were treated like animals! Oh yes, but they fought until they cried blood and sweat tears. What do they have to show? They gained freedom! But who arr they? Aah yes, they are those beautiful black men that we love. Lets not forget the women that fought just as hard if not more. Yet this is not about that struggle. No its about the way you love my blackness. A woman I am - your love is a strange struggle that tears me down to my soul. Remember yesterday I was the flower that poped out of your eyes yet today I am everything you never want. Is it because the bruises u left on my body are unsightly. Or is it because my nappy hair and dark skin do not suite your life. Maybe it is the spirit that burns in my eye and gives life to the dead. You love my blackness because you think you understand... Black man black man... Why do u treat us so? Love me entirely - my soul has no colour.

Face off… Photoshop on… me off… them on…

Before you get offended, which I bet you will be by the time I am done, at least listen to what I have to say. Just the other day, I was listening to a song, by a guy or guys and for the life of me I cannot remember their names – I have this problem. However, besides my dementia I do remember what they said in the song (SA musos by the way). One of the rappers said something to the tune of – girl your face looks so good on Face Book and well, continued to say (in my words) you don’t look like that picture for real. It got me thinking, a lot of people pose and take professional pictures and ask their art director friends to work their pictures so that they can have the perfect face for Twitter, Facebook, Linkedin, gmail or whatever else needs a still picture on the web. I am not saying we all do it, but If you are anything like me and end up looking like a monkey in it’s habitat, then I suggest you Photoshop, I am the only person who has the guts to live free like that. It just becomes a bit of a problem when you actually have to meet the people that think you look like Cleopatra Queen of Egypt’s facial reincarnation – can’t Photoshop real life now. There is an episode of Boondocks in season two when Grandad (Jebedia Freeman) starts internet dating and boy does he run into the nastiest women… funny, but it happens. What was interesting about that episode was the hot chick, it felt like her personality compared to her internet personality were not the same person.

Aaaah introduction done let’s get to the jist of what I really want to talk about. Besides the song by people I don’t know, there was a particular Monday when I stumbled on a radio station that, should be off the air (the one with the boring Indian guy in the morning). Well, upon stumbling on this radio station, I heard a lady who was on the 9’oclock slot complain about how real people on FB were and how people on twitter were fake and always trying to be smart. For a moment I was baffled, because if anyone has read my tweets they are far from smart, in fact it is an expose of how juvenile and idiotic I am. But, as usual there I was making it about me.

I picked up the phone and asked a friend he said: “You idiot. You can’t tell me that you don’t know that the people on twitter lie about who they are? In fact most people are doing it, there are very few people that are themselves there. Very few in reality.” Now I was concerned, I mean there had to be a feasible explanation. I decided that he can’t be right, because he is just a moron. So, I asked a girl, she said: “Twitter is full of Narcissistic attention seekers that will lie about anything to feel like they are part of something” (I was offended at this point, yes I like attention, but I don’t lie to get it. I am narcissistic.) She continued to say: “Some people are real though.” I pondered and pondered about this and then I read through my timeline and all of a sudden, it didn’t feel the same. I saw couch revolutionaries, same opinion groups, it started to seem like everyone was following one big tweeting god(dess) and saying what he/she said.

Ok let’s go back a bit, when I got onto twitter, I ignored it for months – then when I was broken, lonely, homeless and at life’s edge, I began to tweet. The people I saw on Twitter gave me hope for some reason. It made me feel like there was a bigger plan that I could not see yet, but somehow it was there. I cannot begin to tell you how twitter healed me. The only friend I had as a couch surfer and the only place where I could be me and not the broken couch surfer girl. Tweeting from my elcheapo phone I would buy R5 airtime and get my tweet on. I felt normal for once. That is how my relationship with twitter started – hence I am so concerned when I find out I am talking to characters rather than people.

So, I went on and un-followed the ones that made me feel that they were unreal and followed rather the more knowledgeable, funny and less pretentious tweeters – the ones that will have that moment of weakness and say: Yes, I feel like crap or yes I am glad Terreblanche is dead, Or those that admit to be big dreamers, but know that they and the world around them is not perfect. Those that love animals, love children, love life, writing, dancing, living, singing, being and are not afraid to leave the web and come by to say hi. I feel quality in those that I follow – they are people I am grateful to twitter know, because every day, I learn something new and I learn to be a better person.

Now the real questions come: Are these people real? Are these people really being who they say they are? It’s twitter, it doesn’t matter, what matters is how they make me feel and I feel grateful.

Awake

A blur in the window

An awakening of the mind

The people upstairs are awake

And I live at the top floor

The people upstairs

Upstairs in my body

I meant brain

They speak so loudly when they wake up

There is nowhere to run

The people upstairs

They make

Make me

Make me do

Me do

I do things

They tell me

Darn it

I can’t remember

The Irony of happiness

In loving memory of Oarible Sebapo

I have not spoken to Oarabile in at least three months, so when a thought of him crossed my mind on Friday night I paid no mind to it. I was mad at him, not any fault of his or mine, but he was guilty by association. I told myself that I was better off without him and his boyfriend. I was sure of this. No-one cuts off people like I do. I have a 90% success rate at that. I never thought it would lead here.

When I received the dreaded call I was sitting in the beer garden at the Rugby at St Johns, having a fat conversation about Terreblanche and his death and how we think it was planned. As, soon as the phone rang my heart stopped, I have no idea why. It was Kabelo, we spoke on Thursday, I wonder what she wants. We had light conversation for at least a minute then she said

“I have really bad news, but I can tell you later.”

“No, tell me now!” was my reply. I believe in ripping off the band aid, I want to deal with it then and there.

“Oarabile drowned in Moz this weekend.”

“He did what?”

“He drowned.”

“How is Tshego? Where is he? Thanks for telling me – see you later”

I sat at the beer garden and jumped back into conversation with my friends, I blocked the tragedy out. I sat there caught between world and it began to rain, I decided to go home ( Ok my sister forced me to go home).

When I got home, I thought to myself, the last time I saw Oarabile he was crossing the street, I wouldn’t say hi because he and his boyfriend made me mad. I decided to cook so I wouldn’t have to think about him, I was not hungry I was just cooking, then it came to me. I started singing somewhere over the rainbow to stop the tears, and they began to flow like the Nile considering that hours before I was in denial and not the river in Egypt. I had forgotten what it felt like to really hurt and at that moment, I was hurting like my heart had been dead for years. Oarabile is dead, Oarabile is dead, Oarabile is dead!!!!

I stood in the kitchen, crying, singing, cooking and thought revived itself. I remembered a day, they day I asked him how he knew he was gay (what a straight question right?). He said that he had always known, he just never accepted or knew how to deal with it. He told me he had tried everything to rid himself of it before and the more he could not accept his gayness the sadder his life was. He told me of his many suicide attempts. I remember the one story he told me - he said “ I drank so many pills Chumi neh, and I told my flatmate, I did not even go to the doctor, we went drinking after that and I am alive – clearly God is keeping me alive because he has a purpose for me.”I was with him on that, I mean God preserved him through all the misery that he suffered.

He carried on to say that ever since he accepted his sexual orientation he was happier and less angry at the world. He had also fallen in love, his world was finally coming together. The sadness was gone, the thought of dying a memory… yet in the peak of his joy, on a Holiday, when he was finally happy to be alive, God took him. He was finally happy, then he was gone.

RIP Oarabile Sebapo, I will always love you.

Kgomotso

She walks around with a vacant confidence

She is alone but she moves through the crowds

She makes friends with everyone she passes even if it’s for a second

Her voice is loud and proud

her posture pushed forward

She stands tall

Façade

A Façade

She knows this

She puts on her confident bold façade

Day by day with her make up

She dresses herself in a bold scent

No not her

You cannot get her down

She fits in with the different cliques

Her new friends

Not the ones from yesterday or the day before

Her friends are new

They don’t know her tears

They have no idea what her struggles are

She is bold, confident… a new kgomtso

They hang out, she fits in

Glass after glass of red wine

Bottle after bottle

Then…

The broken kgomotso emerges

The night has been long

Her make up is wearing out

Her bold scent is withering away with the winds of comfort

She speaks

She talks about him

She hums his name

She breaks her façade

She cries

Closes her eyes

Opens them again

Her new friends are gone

Tomorrow she will have new ones

They don’t know

They will never know

Ki mang Kgomotso

There's a feeling I get

There’s a feeling I get, when I think about you, it’s not the ordinary butterflies and a knot in the stomach type of feeling. It’s child like... Almost soft, but fluffy and light, with a strike to the heart that makes my heart beat painfully. It’s like I am being lifted from my body to... God knows where. This feeling brings a tingle to my back, makes me want to cry tears of joy, but for some reason, this crazy feeling gives me certainty, a sense of surety that doesn’t exist in reality. In life the only thing you can be sure of is yourself right? No, this feeling says thinking like that is crazy – it challenges the lessons I have learnt, it challenges the pains of being burnt, It even challenges the things I have seen – therefore it challenges who I am all together. It’s a feeling, but it takes over, almost like a person who is possesed in church terms.

Don’t mean to scare you, but just that there’s this feeling and I have never heard or experienced this feeling – this is besides the love I feel for you. This feeling is just a strange, strong feeling that takes over... It feels good to have this feeling, it’s surreal, and when I have this feeling I can almost feel your presence.. That is why I have decided that the feeling is you.. That is the only way I can explain – this feeling.

There’s a feeling I get sometimes.