So, common said something about black women and marriage which was repeated by Loyiso Gola, which I can’t remember exactly, but it sounded like they were both trying to say that they would like to see less black single mothers and more married black woman. (I may have misquoted and frankly my dear I don’t give a damn – hehehe I am such a plagiarist). So, anyway Loyiso’s random tweet got me thinking and contrary to popular belief I do think quite a bit.
When I was growing up, I had what you would call a typically girly childhood - I was the kid who always had a doll in her hand, I wore matching clothes with my mom and I had a miniature porcelain tea set that I was prepared to murder any of my siblings for if they touched or even looked at it. I believed I was a fairy princess, I put Tinkerbell lipsticks on and glittery heels ( now that I think about it they were like baby stripper heels… you know the ones in the Tinkerbell range SMH – what kind of a stripper name is Tinkerbell anyway) I had earrings, a doll house and wait for it… I collected Barbies. I lived in a perfect little world where I even had volumes and volumes of books that had the most enchanting fairytales. My toys and my books taught me a few things, Beauty is essential (you should see me now – some lesson we don’t learn) and every woman needs … sorry every beautiful woman needs a knight in shining armor to rescue her. Secretly I still believe it.
After the doll stage, I found myself being the akward kid in boarding school and by the time the teenage years hit WOAW!!! Let’s just say they asked me to play a donkey in a play and I warmed up the seats at socials. But I grew up in a home where there was a mother and a father, for as long as I can remember I have wanted to get married even when I was Donks, I had my first huge crush on a guy called Shane. I mean my diary was filled with this guy’s name I wanted to marry him – he clearly did not think I was human at the time. I wrote about him everyday… well I just wrote his name over and over every day not like he spoke to me and I really had content to write about. That crush was swiftly crushed by my mother as she found the diary, read it and told me in no uncertain words that boys were evil and if I ever went near one my life would be over and I would be buried at the dodgiest place that she could find (of course this is the condensed version she had a whole lot more to say. My mind decided to block that as I was traumatized).
I finally started dating when I grew into my teeth, never did grow into the over bite, but I think it has a charm about it. So, the name ‘Donk’ as in donkey disappeared after I grew into the teeth and after my mom finally allowed me to wear jeans when I went to varsity, boys began to talk to me and buy me chocolates and weird things from the cafeteria. So, I started dating naturally, first it was the guy that my friends were convinced was gay, coz he told us he had to sleep with a dookie on (ok maybe I should not go through them). But the point is that I believed in marriage, and I contribute this to the great family I grew up in. My dad was super dad and mom was the perfect mother, wife, sister and friend - so I modeled most of my relationships after them. I played the perfect wife, I cooked, cleaned, listened, worked , knew stuff, played play station , knitted, sewed, took care of injuries from drunken stag nights and on and on.
So, there I was in all my perfection and also a career girl, by this time I was dating a very brilliant looser, this guy was the smartest man on the planet according to himself, but could never keep anything for more than a year without destroying it - he drove over his own dreams like they leaves on the side of the road. He was bad ass and I thought he was so cool. Of course I thought he was cooler when he said he wanted to marry me. Finally my dream (yes, I said dream), my happily ever after, just like in the fairy tale books. I had just forgotten one detail my prince was prince Harming not charming, I cooked, cleaned, worked and he watched movies and went to art school ( he was pretty old) – nothing wrong with that – if we help each other out. Brothers, cousins, randoms and friends would be there every day and I would have to cook and then clean up and boy did I want to kill them. Every day.
To cut a long story short after a series of girls from art school I left and asked myself what makes a wife. According to the brilliant loafer it meant taking all the shit and working like a dog, You mustn’t be happy, he must be happy. So, I looked at the best place I could look… well before I tell you about the looking I have to tell you how much contempt I had for marriage, I was sure I was becoming a feminist, I mean I had the burning desire to make all men suffer (I know that is not the definition of feminist – shut up this is my blog and my thoughts… aaahhh stop judging me). Then after getting over the loafer and the many unspeakable illegal things that he did including leaving me broke and homeless. I looked at the only place where I could look for answers on marriage. I looked at my parents.
The only two people who I knew who had spent thirty years together and never left each other’s side no matter how bad it got. The two people that supported each other in every little thing the other did even if they did not agree. The only two people that stayed in love, no matter what the world said. Then I looked at my friends who just got married, some are already getting divorced … because we have forgotten that love does not exist in duality.
I cannot raise a child in a single parent home because I would not know how to and could never have the strength to do such. I believe in happily ever afters and I believe in marriage, but I believe that my generation is also disillusioned. One day I hope I will find the love of my life so in conclusion I say ‘I do’.