Forgive me father for I have...molested little boys.

Catholics are contagious. Before people cross themselves let me clarify. I believe it's common knowledge that since the beginning of time (no, really) Catholic priests have been molesting alter boys, but still young boys scramble for this "coveted" position, I'm reminded of a sacrificial lamb being sent to slaughter. The church publicly abhors this conduct but I feel they don't do enough to separate the wheat from the chaff with regards to their Priests. I can only imagine what it must be like for those young boys to be violated by someone the community respects.
A few weeks ago I was watching Steve Harvey's "Don't trip He aint through with me yet" where he poked fun at the church and on a more serious note he said he feels that a lot of the Priests and Pastors sitting in a confessional waiting to absolve Christians of their sins should be the one's doing the confessing.

To further cement this point I just read an article on a blog about Bishop Eddie Long and his alleged abuse of young boys in his ministry. This makes my blood run cold, that grown men do this and all while hiding behind religious garb. It reminds me of my cousins’ funeral this past weekend where I was particularly moved by the service and the man officiating it. On the way home after the funeral my Dad and me were discussing the funeral then he says "the only thing I had a problem with was the MC". I was confused because I thought he did a pretty good job. Then he elaborated that the man had recently been suspended from the Church and this was his first official Church task since he came back, and the reason for his suspension was that he had been accused of paedophilia!
Now keep in mind that this man lives in a rural town, he's a man of the cloth and he's married. But he was tempted successfully, now he'll always be the man who sodomised so and so. You can't get your good name back after that. When people ask me why I don't believe in the Church, this is one of the reasons. Besides the homosexual nature of the crime, and it being an "unAfrican" thing to do, you also break the spirits of these young boys; change and forever distort their destiny.
I know God forgives and loves his children because his capacity to love is incomprehensible. My aunt always says "behind the collar is a man, never forget that" and I tend to forget when his sermon moves me. If I was sitting in God's chair Heaven would be a lonely place I'd be sitting behind a NO UNAUTHORISED ACCESS sign and you my dear paedophiles are unauthorised...but I forgive you.

Now off to hell.

Give us us free!

I haven't blogged in a while. You missed me. Well if you guys can pretend Ne-yo's straight then you can pretend you missed my ramblings.

I've been busy dealing with office politics, family politics, seriously Juju you think you know but you have no idea! The biggest thing that has been going through my mind lately is that my dad forgets that I'm 22 years old and to his frustration I have interests that go beyond the walls of his house. Since I've started working at this expansion project I've received numerous invitations to go out with my colleagues but there's something in my dad's psyche that prevents him from being able to let his daughters have age-appropriate fun. So getting him to let me go out is like pulling teeth.

By nature I'm a home-body, so I was never a troublesome child who ran from home or any other such delinquent inspired behaviour, which is why I don't understand his reluctance to let me go out now. I lived for three years away from home, if I was going to get up to anything suspect it would have been done already. He is of the staunch belief that everyone is out to corrupt his daughters..."I don't know how to tell you this dad but I'm the corrupter"! He'd probably pass out if I said that to him but I don't understand parents who keep their children so "protected" from the outside world. I understand restrictions, I understand rules, even limited freedom makes sense to me but if that spills over into the life of a young adult it just breeds curiosity.

My colleagues go out for drinks regularly, I'm not a big drinker but I do like to hang out with them socially, it does wonders for the work relationship. My dad needs to subscribe to my forward thinking mentality...or I need to move out. Decisions decisions.

When I grow up

I remember when I was I was in Grade 6 I read a Sidney Sheldon book about this young ambitious and naive woman who was taking her baby steps in her law career. On her very first day in court, she was part of the prosecuters research team, she was set up by the crime boss on trial to deliver a package to the state's primary witness. The package was a canary with its neck broken. Obviously a play on the "sing like a bird" adage. The witness refused to provide the state with any more information so the case was dismissed and the crime boss was back on the streets and she lost her job. The bad guy wins.

But then the tenacity of this fictitious woman, Jennifer Parker was her name, broke down doors and she built her career victory by victory. Anyway this isn't a book review it's about how this book changed my life. I've always had precocious reading tastes because in the same year I read Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. The difference between the two however was that Pride and Prejudice didn't make me want to be a strong-willed social climber even though it may be the reason I've always expected romance to lean towards story-book perfection. Sidney Sheldon's book made me want to be a lawyer, no debate, no trial just pure conviction of what my calling in life was. So what if I wasn't argumentative, who cares if I hated paper work. I wanted to be Jennifer Parker.

My dad was wary but delighted with my choice of career, as far as he was concerned he was raising a future lawyer. English has always been my strongest subject in school, I didn't understand what my teachers meant when they said "Your daughter is such a good reader Mr Tshabalala", I was flattered but I was also thinking "well that's useless". So when I got to matric and had to seriously consider what career path I was going to take, taking passions, talents, and strengths into account I figured I'd make a shockingly bad lawyer. So the only thing I could think of that I was good at besides athletics and sports was English and how much I loved to read and write. So I figured Journalism was my safest bet. My dad was gutted! From imagining the six-figure salary a lawyer could command to a dishevelled underpaid journalist he tried to convince me to convince myself that I didn't want to be a journalist.

I didn't. because a journalist is supposed to stick things through to the end right? Whatever. So I crossed borders and settled in Durban in pursuit of my dream. Jennifer Parker still lingers in the crevices of my memory because journalist or lawyer, man or woman, good reader or not everyone needs the drive which came so easily to Miss Parker.

Sidenote: She ended up dating the crime boss who set her up. The inspiration I drew from her was very selective. No crime bosses for Nono Parker...err...you know what I mean.

Daddy and the journalist...is that pride I see?

 

Clash of the Titans

I understand the need to fight for what you want. I understand the need to rally together to effectively get your message across. I even understand the need to raise your collective voice in the quest to be heard. However when lives are lost because your cause is more important than your calling I cannot nod my head and defend you in a group of disdainful observers.

I am of the immovable opinion that teachers, doctors, nurses and police officers should make a healthy living. No debate. These are the people who protect, teach and heal the nation, how can you justifiably pay them peanuts and expect them to perform to the best of their abilities. Granted it shouldn't be about how many zero's are on the paycheque but you can't ignore them either. In my humble often misguided opinion, public servants, if you will, should enjoy the security and comfort that they so readily give to their fellow countrymen.

Because I am a delicious paradoxical woman with a delightful Gemini centre I am prone to changing my mind at a moment's notice which is why I am not on the fence with this issue I am very clearly on either side depending on the time of the day.

When lives are lost, education deprived and criminals are running rampant I quickly hop over to the side where people are in an uproar at the flippant way the strikers are treating the people who need them. The City Press reported about a woman who brought her sick child to hospital and no one paid attention to her. In the SABC 3 news on Friday a woman was being interviewed on the side of the street in the thick of labour pains but no one wanted to help.

Who do you blame in an instance such as this? A stubborn government or a disgruntled employee? One thing is certain, the tug and war that they are playing with the citizens will result in them snapping. Someone, somewhere, sometime once said "When two bulls fight it is the grass that suffers the most".

Fancy yourself a poet?

Below is a collection of poems I wrote in different periods of my life, inspired by a range of things. Some of them are atrocious others are nearly atrocious.

Prince Charming

With lights turned low I hear his voice,

deep and soothing rocking me to the core.

I can't make out his words but they're singing to my soul.

In a crowded room I hear his laughter loud and unguarded.

I can't make out the joke but from the purity of the sound my ears feel rewarded.

His very presence permeates my soul,

his smile is the thing perfect days are made of,

his appearance though deemed unconventional by society makes me beam, convention is for fools.

John Legend croons, "baby we're so high walking on cloud 9",

everyday with him turns the pavement into clouds,

the streetlights into beacons of hope

and the cracks in the ground into promises of an auspicious future.

My prince...does he exist?

 

Beautiful Black Girl

 

Your big nose removes you from 'normality',

your thick lips utter words that can wound the heart but restore the soul.
The rise of your breasts, the tautness of your belly, the swell of your hips, that ass that only dark chocolate can have...
these are just some of the things that make men pursue you endlessly
and women scoff at you relentlessly.
The tips of your fingers ignite passion wherever they touch,
you enter a room and make hearts skip beats as they scramble towards you in a heartbeat.

Whoever said black isn't beautiful knows nothing of your beauty,
the kind that silences storms,
connects heaven and hell
the kind that makes people look twice,
listen again and touch you once more.

You live in the dreams of men, young and old.
They imagine being in your captivating presence,
they worship at your feet captured by your spirit...slavery's never been so sweet.

You're dark and you're lovely,
strong and amazing, the softness of your bosom has cured many a cold.
Those that underestimate your worth have no idea of the path you're destined to travel,
the obstacles you have to overcome,
the shadows you need to illuminate with your brightness.

They guess nothing...they know nothing oh beautiful black girl!
 

Letting Go

 

The saddest thing is loving someone who used to love you

holding onto illusions that can never manifest
floating on a rapidly disippating cloud 9
holding on when you should be letting go.

When you start loving for 2
and become content with part time affection
you begin cherishing crumbs but you never eat the loaf
that's when you hold on when you should be letting go.

They sing about it, I write about it, but you're living it
a love lost, a lost love, seeking but never finding
loving like you do makes you strong, courageous, beautiful, sexy, loving like you do makes you weak, vulnerable, ugly, unappealing.

find someone who will love your nurturing, appreciate your spirit and above all tell you so
if you keep living as you're living it's unlikely you'll ever know
that you're remaining an option when you could be a priority by holding on when you should be letting go.
 

Mad Black Woman!

 
I felt myself fall and you cushioned my fall

I didn't give you a second thought I moved on
Everytime I saw you for some pathetic reason you robbed me of my natural wit and charm
who do you think you are to take my breath away?

Reluctantly I allowed myself to be engaged by you
Grudgingly I grew to respect you
You're nothing spectacular, a kitten in a room full of tigers
So answer me this, who do you think you are to take my breath away?

You're David and I'm Goliath, way out of your league, but that story doesn't end well for me
Like that tricky Trojan horse you conquered my heart
You can't do that, give it back!
Who do you think you are to take my breath away?

I hate loving you it makes me MAD
I love loving you, I can think in other colours now besides BLACK
you ignored my resistance and made me feel like a WOMAN

I'm helpless against this but I won't stop asking
Who the hell do you think you are to take my breath away!
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Drops mic and moonwalks off stage.

The weakest link

Known for her razor-sharp wit and her brilliance as a playwright, the arts and culture industry has suffered an immense blow following Fiona Coyne's death. More famous for her five season long stint as The Weakest Link presenter and her piercing glare that had grown men scuttling off the stage, Fiona also enjoyed some success with her theater plays which have been described as bringing "easy laughs tinged with tears". Which is the best thing a writer can hope for to make it's audience tap into a deep resevoir of emotion.

Like most talented, brilliant souls Fiona enjoyed enviable public success and crippling private fear. In a note she left to her mother she says she came to the decison to take her life because of a fear to die alone. Fiona's death is a tragedy, unfortunately a popular tragedy among talented scared public figures.

I keep hearing her curt tone and seeing her disdainful stare which is enough to have you running offstage, but the ironic final nail in the coffin is the jarring "you are the weakest link...goodbye".

Rest in peace Fiona Coyne. 

The mourning after

My Gran's funeral was difficult. There were too many emotions running around unguarded, too many vegetables to be chopped and grated, too many elders to cater to, too many children to ensure stay full and warm. But it went off without a hitch.

We sang, we cooked, we cried and we laid to rest a hero.

Gogo would have turned 69 two days ago, but the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. She was the cornerstone of her home. Mkhulu was distraught, his best friend, his arch-enemy, his provider, his washing machine, his stove, his blanket has finished the race before him.

My uncles and aunt were left exposed, their shield had been put down. It's funny how no matter how old you are Mummy is still Mummy and Daddy is still Daddy. It's strange how grief manages to bring people closer together, something happiness rarely achieves. We held each other and tried hard to convince each other that life will go on. It broke my heart to see my family broken, trying hard not to show the cracks. I should let it be known that I come from a family of conquerers, survivors but on Thursdays we call each other heroes. These people don't only weather the storm they welcome it.

The good thing about Gogo's funeral was that I got to see cousins I didn't even know were born and it just drove home the fact of how long it had been since I'd seen my gran. Reminiscent with her life she brought people together, even in death she whispers "hold on to each other"

Lala ngekuthula Sifundza.