I'm not a "dick pleaser"

I hope the title caught your attention. Allow me to demonstrate why Young Money must be quarantined.

I feel I owe it to the world (read: the President) to explain my dislike of Young Money and their jailbird President Lil Wayne.

Where to start; I love words. That's where everything begins really, they excite me, they surprise me, hurt me and soothe me. I love music, the way the melody and the beat curves right round the words to bring about an end product that leaves the listener with a smile, tears in their eyes, anything just evoke some sort of emotion. I'm slightly squint in one eye from side-eyeing anyone who sings along to Young Money, I wasn't born like this so naturally someone's got to pay. My love of music is directly proportional to my love of words, I'm not a jazz fan (which sucks because I've tried so hard to be cultured) for the simple reason that I need the words to connect.

Weezy has a song titled Dick Pleaser feat Jae Millz. Catchy, I'm sure but I could never sing along;

"she dont suck dick but expect for me to eat her.
That hoe crazy man and you dont wanna meet her.
But her home girl Nita swallow cum by the litre."

He doesn't even have the grace to be subliminally mysogynistic. Really if anyone reads this and doesn't understand why Wayne must burn, there's space for two in that fire.

He has another song, which was written for Mother's day and celebrating the wonder that is woman. I was hopeful for a minute there until I read the first line of that song, feast your eyes on this;

A Dedication

"Yo This Is The Dedication To The Bitches To The Women ya Digg

A Bitch Is A Female Dog (Preach)

And They Say A Dog Is A Mans Best Friend"

I'm not equipped to deal with this kind of back-handedness. Besides the fact that his metaphorical use of likening a bitch to a woman is completely ill-advised and in bad taste the last line of this allegorical masterpiece is;

"That Was A beautiful Dedication Right There

To The Women Shout Out To My Daughter Your Daughter Too."

I admit, on some days I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but did he call his daughter a bitch, excuse me, a female dog which in Young Money Narnia seems to be a compliment? He's got songs with titles like, "Alphabet bitches". Of course he's a genius, I'm just a prude.

Then there's the wonder that is Nicki Minaj. Her song Did it on 'em is about how great she is and how far ahead she is in the game in comparison to other female rappers.

"More talent in my mother fuckin left thumb

She ain't a Nicki fan then the bitch deaf dumb

You ain't my son you my mother fuckin step-son"

Turns out I'm a deaf dumb bitch, I don't even know what that last line means! Seriously though I love female MC's, worship Queen Latifah, Salt 'n Pepa, MC Lyte, the list is endless. Women who understand that fitting into the male dominated genre is not as important as celebrating the beauty of womanhood, keeping your you-ness. MC Lyte has a track called Beyond the Hype, it has the same sort of message as Nicki's Did it on 'em but in a different way, a way the real Hip Hop warriors do it. I recognise a good gimmick and Nicki's awesome at being a temporary distraction.

The reason men populate Hip Hop more than women is because they don't conform to what they think their female fans would want to listen to, they rap regardless, whether or not their flow is sick you'll have ladies in the club, hands in the air talking about how his genitalia will make you say his name.

I have a 12 year old sister, Tema, who loves music, she's not discerning yet so she sings along to what she sees on TV. One day she asked Anele what Beyonce means when she says "it's too big. it's too wide, it won't fit". Anele's mumbled answer was "his ego" Tema, not deterred by Anele's non-committal response asks "but why would she sing about his ego and where won't it fit?" Sincere curiosity in her eyes, she needed to know. Kids need to know and because of this people need to be responsible for their lyrics.

Anyway this was about Lil Wayne, Lord forbid Tema develops a liking for dreadlocked rappers, fresh from dropping soap; however will I explain that when a man calls you a bitch he just means you're a female dog, and dog is a man's best friend so always give him a hug after he says that. Or lick his face. Or pee on his shoes.



The Young Money Crew
http://www.globalgrind.com/

 Thanks Lil Wayne.

Facebook faux pas

I hate surprises. I love the sentiment behind them but the whole not knowing what people have planned is unsettling to me, I wish I could read minds. Anyway because I hate surprises and I'm considerate if nothing else I feel it necessary to outline things which may prompt me to surprise you one day. There are certain qualities I find unacceptable in friends, naturally those same restrictions will be extended to my cyber buddies. Here are a few examples of things that will get you deleted by me on Facebook. Pay attention, you all care about this very much.

•  Posting naked pictures of oneself



http://www.telegraph.co.uk/



My abhorrence of this practice has been widely documented on my own Facebook profile. If you send me a friend request and you look like an upstanding (fully clothed) member of society then as soon as I click on "confirm" you start posting PG-older-than-me pictures, you will be deleted or sat down for a come to Jesus talk.

• Misspelt anything



http://www.websitehustle.blogspot.com/



Another widely documented habit. Seeing misspelt words annoys me to no end. Ryting lyk dis makes no cents2mi eitha (do you have letters missing on your phone/keyboard?). I should also point out that "quit" and "quite" mean completely different things, as do "lose" and "loose". It gives me a headache to decipher what you were trying to say so I delete.

                

•  The TMI updates



http://www.toughcookiemommy.com/



  

These always make me cringe. It's fascinating I'm sure but I really have no interest in just how horny you are, and how you plan to solve this err stiff predicament.

 

•   Invites to events



http://www.ebooke.com/



I am a proud hermit. I have appealed to the Facebook masses not to invite me to functions unless you're sure beyond reasonable doubt that it is something I'd go to. To whoever sent me this bizarre invite last week, a Kama sutra event is not something I'd attend (on Wednesdays).

 

• Weird fetishes that go against my beliefs



http://www.consequenceofsound.net/



I firmly believe in anything that supports the burning down of Young Money headquarters. Everytime I say this it gets me side-eyes but I'm too busy collecting TnT to care. I saw a status update this morning posted by a beautiful girl which read, "Weezy's voice really turns me on". I prayed. Then deleted.

 
 
 
 

• False middle names



http://www.sodahead.com/



Don't give me that look I know for a fact your name is not Sifiso Bedrock Mazibuko and there's no way your girlfriend is Lihle StomptheYard Vilakati. You have coital alignment techniques that result in the bed rocking and she likes the movie we get it.

•    Racist rantings



http://www.morrisonworldnews.com/



Almost immediately after Eugene Terrblanche's death Facebook groups sprang into existence, white people calling black people uneducated, murdering monkeys and black people threatening to rape the mothers and sisters of white people. This perpetuating of stereotypes made me sick to my stomach. I have no time for this, if your fun is found in slurring people of other races, differing sexual preferences, and religious beliefs don't call me. Ever.

You're all too good for this type of behaviour, if you're guilty of any of these things, purge yourself if you don't know how I'll help. Get a 2l bottle of water, a Nora Roberts book, a camp chair and a beach umbrella for you to hold over me while I think of ways to cleanse you.

3 days to the new year!

Stay beautiful.  

Carbs are good for you...taste my loaf

Words have been swirling around in my brain, bubbling in my chest, building up in my stomach but not quite making it to the tips of my fingers so I can find relief. I'm almost suffocated by the goodness that is my life. Through the worrying, the tears, the neuroticism, the bouts of hypochondria, quickly made cappuccinos and fits of uncontrolled laughter my life is all good. So good I wish I could spread it on pieces of bread for everyone and just share a loaf with you guys, or better yet delicious croissants (which I'm learning to make) with a topping of my life.


My dad has been ill for a few days or months depending on whether or not I count the length of time I was in denial for, but he hasn't lost his acerbic sense of humour. He's always been sharp-tongued, quick witted and unhealthily arrogant. So his tongue has been sharper because I imagine it's a sobering thought when Superman realises he's mortal, when he comes in contact with his kryptonite. He has spent the whole week telling my sisters and I not to let anyone come and pray for him because often the people who come bathed in the cloak of concern have really come to grab your cape and show the world. I don't know where his paranoia comes from. "I'm not cultured enough to stop people who come in here with a song, how's about Hi, how're you feeling." Dad.

I inherited my dad's bad eyesight, my mom's naivety, my grandad's insane intelligence (no really) and other awesome things I went shopping for in the gene pool. I didn't realise though that paranoia was inherent. I promise you my younger sister probably has exclusive rights on this. She believes everyone is out to get her and her all amazing everything, her and my dad are a glitch in my "benefit of the doubt" radar. She refuses to share blankets whose history she doesn't know, she won't eat food if your hands look suspect (of if your eye twitches), she won't take a bath unless she's filled the tub or mopped the shower floor with Domestos first. She finds herself turning that cynicism onto members of our family. She is like a wolf with her cubswhen it comes to her family, warding off perceived enemies with a single flick of her perfectly arched brow. She was protective with my father's ailment because people really do wear concern well.  "Game recognises game and you're dressed funny!" Anele.

My other sister, the queen of amazing, the ruler of a land called awesome (I just live there). She is a warrior, a fighter who doesn't need heavy artillery. You look at her and you're thrown by her sweet and child-like demeanour. Put her in hot water and then you cower but not because of her imposing her awesomeness on you but because of how swiftly and effectively she deals with anything that may pose as a disturbance in her pursuit of awesome. Her one "flaw" like everyone in my family is her sharp sense of humour. Whether or not her heart is pumping tears and her intenstines are knotted from worry she always puts other's before herself. Like she did my ego this one night, I tell her about Anele likening my athletic skills to Caster Semenya and she says "sorry what, did she say you LOOK like Caster?" and I blank stare her, flick my hair, file my nails, pat my weave, click my heels (which my superpowers allow me to put on in 0.35 seconds) and through my pout I said "not look like but talented like" and she says "no wait take your glasses off..." then she walked out guffawing the whole way, she may have been mumbling "strike one" the whole way, I can't be sure being one-upped affects my hearing.

The jam on my bread

I've got other siblings, blessings, delicious somethings I call family. I'll blog about them next time, I told you I wanted to share my loaf of life with you, these strong people who dare to find humour where it has no right to exist. This is home. This is my heart.

Stay beautiful.

Love takes 2

Yesterday I received an education regarding the intricacies of the male mind. So many women go through life believing that they can fix anything. The Superwoman syndrome is how we’ve been engineered to approach all matters of the heart; if we love him enough he’ll change. If we love him through his flaws eventually he’ll have none. I blame Hans Christian Anderson, lying to my impressionable mind like that, because of him I wanted to be a mermaid once upon a time. Anyway enough about my fetishes…


My source says a guy knows how he feels about you within the first few weeks of him meeting you. If he didn’t see you as someone worth investing in then it won’t change just because you’ve been with him 10 years. This broke my heart because so many woman walk around believing they can change the men they meet, not even change per sae in as much as they believe they can make him love her right. Referencing my own life and my own experiences, I know that a guy who loves you will show you, there’ll be no guessing, no wondering if he loves you you’ll know. If you don’t know then he probably doesn’t.

Women can’t deal with life being this black and white, we need the colours to highlight our passionate love affair and really all guys want is a sandwich, a bizarre beard and to watch Barcelona show off yet again err maybe that’s just the President.

I know a woman who follows her boyfriend wherever his job takes him, last year they were in Egypt, this year they’re in Swaziland only the Lord knows where they’ll end up next year! But she’s willing to live in uncomfortable conditions, in countries she’d never even visit if she had the chance to vacate anywhere in the world with a man who made it clear in the beginning that he wasn’t interested in watching her walk coyly down the aisle. It makes me sad when she tells us over and over again that if he hasn’t proposed to her by the time she’s 35 she’s moving on. They’ve been dating for 2 years, 35 years old is 6 years away so she’ll give him 8 years to decide whether he wants to make an honest woman out of her! There is no way I’d live out of my suitcase like a gypsy for 8 years, cook, clean and perform other wifely duties for a man who needs that long to decide that he wants his kids to have my kind of awesome in their gene pool.

The point is ladies; if your mind’s made up about a guy and you’re still confused about what’s going on in his mind regarding you, if you cry and he turns the other way, if you’re constantly having to defend him and his questionable actions to the people who care about you, somewhere along this jagged line you need to ask yourself if you can handle a “forever” filled with tears, apologies and wondering. If you can indeed picture a forever like this then fear not there’s a special corner for you in heaven.

Part 3: Roadtrip

A few things happened last Saturday that took the wind out of my sails. While my friends were dancing and I was with the President he looks into my eyes and says “I want to grow a Rick Ross beard.” You know when things happen in slow motion and your life flashes before your eyes while kitsch, over the top music plays in the background? So do I. So anyway I stared at him for a while and then proceeded to quietly get up from my chair and join my dancing friends, a dancing me makes more sense than putting Rick Ross’s beard on perfection.


The next thing that completely blew me away was right after Matt and the President left we were ready to whip out the PJ’s and get the real party started. So when I wore mine with my heels, I mean I just got dressed and joined my friends but on my way to them I passed a mirror. Pause. I just don’t know how I got so sexy and I didn’t even notice! I was just standing there catcalling myself, very schizo inspired Gemini-esque moment. So anyway I sauntered down the passage, flicking hair and swaying hips I sat down for my supper and thought about the President.

After dinner Sdu aka “Superwoman on Saturdays” cleared up and washed the dishes while Phindi dj’d, Mavu watched soccer and the rest of us were on the balcony shivering and stuff. I went downstairs and the next memorable moment happened; Sdu receives a call from a brave woman who says “ncesi sis please teach yourself not to call people’s boyfriends at this time of the night.” If you’ve never seen a group of angry Zulu women count yourself lucky because what happened next was hilarious and slightly scary. Sdu needs a phone with airtime, she needs to hide the number and now with everyone gathered around her she calls this lady and cusses her out, in about 2 minutes mayhem ensues, everyone starts grabbing the phone to tell this girl to not be insecure, and accept that her man is cheating on her, right after that someone says I’d never want anything to do with a man who installs burglar bars. The contradictions completely didn’t register in their inebriated minds, tsk tsk.

Then it was confession time and that’s all I’m saying about that. After the confessions the drinks were still flowing then PK and Phelekwa were playing in Ronewa’s pool, fast forward Phelekwa got cut in the lip by her glass, which had PK running downstairs screaming/slurring “OH MY WORD PHELZ IS BLEEDING, GUYS IT’S SERIOUS THERE’S BLOOD EVERYWHERE” now I don’t know about you but I almost never believe anything drunk people say so we ignored PK until Phelz came down stairs! Drunken people are so funny; how does drinking some more heal a cut lip? Khayo who is a paramedic was called to advise on the situation. I assume he did, I fell asleep somewhere around this time.

The following morning the friends and I had to say our goodbyes which was hard on the soul because the weekend we’d just shared was God’s way of saying he still loves us. The President in all his glory came by and the trip home began. I might blog about the trip home sometime but I have to go practice smiling with my eyes in the mirror, for when I’m famous you know. I got home at 19:30 that evening, my dad didn’t talk to me for 2 days and I think he called might have called me a whore, or maybe he said “close the door”. I’m tired, you’re awesome.

Stay beautiful.

Roadtrip Part 2

Saturday morning I woke up in stages, woken by different things, the incessant ringing of my phone, the comforting sound of Sdu walking up and down the passage and Sizo and PK noisily climbing into bed with me and Coco. Sizo’s older brother, Khayo walked into the bedroom after we were finally awake to make fun of our sexy morning faces and to dub me “tollgate” because of how horribly lost we got the previous night. He really should take his act on the road, he’s a riot.

 

My awesomeness was too much for PK and Coco's still trying to extract some!



The terror that broke Coco and I's peaceful slumber

Sdu’s neighbor was getting married Saturday so we had to be out of the house to attend the ceremony by 10:00, which was very optimistic considering we slept at 04:00. First things first, we needed to eat so we strolled to one of the many stalls that litter the streets of Soweto to buy tomatoes and bread. Let me digress for a while, I love Soweto, the vibe in that township is almost tangible, you can almost see the scars it has to live with after the Apartheid era, almost taste the blood on the streets, almost hear the music you know once permeated the atmosphere. It’s a strange feeling. Anyway when we got back to the house Sizo, our resident chef began whipping up a cordon bleu-esque breakfast.

She cleans up well

We were finally ready to go and be pretty at the wedding after hours of brushing hair, applying mascara and fighting for lip gloss. When we got there it was festive and the singing could be heard from around the corner, smiles all round. Pictures were taken at Thokoza Park, the bride looked stunning, the groom looked like the cat that got the cream; it was amazing.

Fast forward to the slumber party: Phindi fetches us from Southgate Mall in her Fiat Palio, all 6 of us! But before we “pushed” the car to Ormonde we had to buy drinks for the party later that evening, which was an experience on its own. Somewhere in the booze-filled aisles Sdu picks up a tour guide, and PK buys random alcohol, Sizo walked out with 24 Savannas: these are my friends. I bought a bottle of wine, which is probably still rolling around in Phindi’s fridge.

The drive to the house was filled with hooting and shouting, and hanging out of windows (that wasn’t so much celebratory in as much as it was necessary to keep from cramping) that same day was the Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates game, I don’t know much about soccer except for the fact that a yellow and black combo looks nicer to me than a black and white combo so I was the enemy in the car that day. We finally spilled out of Phindi’s car 10 minutes later and in no time the music was going the drinks were flowing and the good times were nigh.

The highlight of my night was the President coming over. This man. He came with one of his best friends and I’m always so nervous in situations like that, I just think what if they don’t get along with my friends (unlikely though because my friends are awesome). PK walks into the kitchen and says “oh my word guys sewufikile usbali wethu be cool”. When I went to the car I saw the President and Matt come out and Sizo standing near the Pres looking all shy (such an actress!) Hugs and introductions all round, then the dancing started, Matt, Sizo and PK got down Coco didn’t make it all the way “down” she was just hovering somewhere , Buhle was the designated photographer, I vaguely remember Bahle dancing, I should have focused more because that’s a rarity, but I was too busy being awesome with the President.

I’m tired of blogging, part 3 might go up tomorrow, I never could summarise.

Stay beautiful.

It's not as easy as we make it look.

Roadtrip!

A few weeks ago (or it may have been months ago) I blogged about being tired from wearing so many hats. That exhaustion has been catching up with me, slowly. So last week I took leave from work, not a lot just enough to recharge and muster up enough energy to get to the end of the year still awesome.

I had to go to Mbabane and get a passport on Thursday morning. Usually the whole process takes approximately 4 – 6 weeks. I was going to get it in 1 day because my dad knows a friend of a friend…who has a cousin! So anyway my Dad and I make our way to Home affairs very optimistic and when I woke up that morning I decided that I wouldn’t dress up because Home affairs is such a schlep! So I wear a t-shirt, jeans and pumps – this is my Superwoman, no-nonsense outfit so when I meet my Dad by the car and he’s looking all kinds of suave I had to stop and ask myself if he’d forgotten about our trip like why the hectic threads, and he says to me “Sisi it would have been an idea for you to wear a skirt” I side-eyed him and adjusted my jeans. I hate the way some Swazi’s think, but that’s a post for another day.

So we got to Mbabane and surprisingly it went well - surprising because I have the worst of luck when it comes to things that need stamps or need to be issued in my direction. But the chair swiveling Home affairs gods must have been in a good mood because I left with a passport on Thursday…now for the good times.

I travelled to Joburg with the President on Friday, we left at 15:00, such daredevils! It was our first road trip so we had to make it memorable. If you ask anyone who knows me well I really try not to disappoint people I love, so the President was in good hands. About 30 minutes after we crossed the border my endearing car sickness reared its sexy head; tell me, who can resist a girl who throws up in their car? Well I didn’t throw up in the car but it was close, he pulled over right on time and I got really sick on the side of the road! Mortified doesn’t quite begin to describe or insinuate how horribly embarrassed I was, I couldn’t turn around and look at him, I was just thinking “great now I’ll always be, Nono the one who almost threw up in the car”. But true awesomeness cannot be stifled so I got up cleaned up walked to the front seat but now the President was blocking my path (I almost tackled him) and this is when I found out that I was banished to the backseat because I had become a safety (and swagger) risk in front.

I curled up in the backseat, resigned to my fate, and I eventually fell asleep. The President pulled into an Ultra city and I woke up then and went to buy drinks and got high on fresh air. When we got back to the car I used my feminine wiles to get myself back in the front seat. Then I felt the nausea come back again. Cue backseat.

We finally got to Joburg around 19:30. This is where I should point out that the President is amazing at a lot of things but not so much at being patient. We drove around and around, we kept missing turns and kept getting terribly lost, take my word for it touring Joburg at night with a grumpy driver is not ideal. Coco gave useless directions, bless her heart, but she did wait for me till 21:30 that evening. When we eventually got to Coco, the President and I said our goodnights and only then did I realize that between getting lost and being grumpy I hadn’t even fed the poor man. Fail.

By the time we got to Soweto it was about 22:30. I was tired I really just needed to talk to the President and sleep, but my friends hadn’t seen me in 11 months they had other ideas. My not-so-subtle yawns went by completely unnoticed, we waited for Sizo who had a work function to attend, and “Cinderella” only saunters in at 02:00 both glass slippers still on her feet (and she had the pumpkin in her purse)! We spoke, tried on clothes, took pictures, ate, laughed till we cried and cried till we laughed. It was therapy. Sizo followed Coco and I to the bedroom at 02:30 and we chatted until 04:00 it was like back at res when we’d lock the door and pretend we’re not in. PK the other musketeer was passed out on the couch. Smh. More about her next time!

This post is already too long, and I have to get back to being amazing…part 2 tomorrow.

Awesome is as awesome does

Yesterday I discussed, race, absolute truth, right & wrong etc. Before I go too far with this post I must just say that my absolute truth is that I am awesome. Everything I do is based on this unchangeable, undisputable, scientifically proven fact. Which is why when I meet people who don't like me I am genuinely surprised 'cause I mean who doesn't like awesome??
Seriously though, I haven't always held myself in high regard. People's opinions of me were too effective in shaping my opinion of myself. I'm shy, humble and unobtrusive; I'm also smart, quick-witted and unforgettable. No really. But to get to the wit and the unforgettableness Nat King Cole crooned about you have to forge a way through the shyness, it's not an easy road. So because I'm the type of person who uses silence where others prefer words people wrote me off as not awesome. Blasphemy I know.

As usual I digress, my point is that when I stopped focusing so much on what you thought of me I was able to love me more and bring forth the awesomeness I was stifling in order to fit perfectly into the boring mold cut out for me. Once I had that no one could tell me that just because I'd rather stay in than go out I'm not awesome, that because I'd rather read a book than go drinking I'm lame...some friends have tried but well funeral songs were sung soon after.

Yesterday a friend of mine posted a link on her Facebook page about Afrikaans author Annelie Botes who made this statement in an interview in response to the question "What don't you like?"

"I know my answer will shock some people but I don't like black people, I don't trust them. If they're hungry why don't they, like in the old days, break in, steal the fridge and not harm anyone. Why are they so angry? I'm sorry my neighbour was killed brutally and for what?"

I had to re-read this statement a few times before I realised that it wasn't anger or shame I was feeling, but I pitied her in the same way I pity my father who still has residual feelings towards ALL white people about Apartheid.

The way I began the post was actually so I could allude to it now. If I still allowed people's opinions of me to affect what I think of me I wouldn't be able to face all my white colleagues at work after reading that lady's thoughts, but she's just one woman, that's just one opinion. This doesn't mean I agree with her or condone her being that narrow-minded but my point is whatever she thinks is a burden on her. Someone somewhere sometime once said "it's not what you call me, it's what I answer to" and in case you missed the whole point of this post, I answer to awesome.

My slice of happiness

My life continues to amaze me. Little blessings, small mercies. My sisters make me laugh till my stomach hurts, my Dad continues to share his pearls of wisdom, my mom is still trying to find out what's going on in my life by interrogating my sisters who are useless allies to have. "I thank you God for this most amazing" ee cummings knew what was up when he wrote that poem. It feels like my personal life is finally where it should be.

I'm happy, nervous, anxious, moody but just very happy right through that kaleidoscope of emotions. My sisters have the strangest conversations, yesterday Tema, my 12 year old sister walks into Ayanda's bedroom and Ayanda had just woken up from a nap. Tema sits at the foot of her bed and stares at her. Pause.
Ayanda "What are you doing?"
Tema "Nothing, I just want to spend time with you."
Cute or creepy. But this is my life, these are the people I live with.

I've also found a slice of happiness too but that's all I'll say for now. I've found my smile again and I don't know how to switch it off. I don't want to switch it off.

Life hasn't been without it's hurdles but I used to be an athlete many moons ago so it ain't even no thang!

God's been great. My life's been behaving. I'm in a good place and I'd like to stay here for as long as possible before the train pulls out and takes me to the next stop.

Still smiling

I've neglected my digital homies for a while now. My life has just been a rollercoaster ride, without the restraints to stop me falling on my head. I've been feeling pulled and pushed every which way, and maybe the reason I haven't been coping as well as usual is because I haven't put pen to paper (you know what I mean) in a while. 

My head is spinning, my heart is racing, I just wish everything could slow down and let me catch a breath but time waits for no man. No matter how awesome. I need a hiatus, get away from everyone, everything and regroup, take things back to the drawing board, outline my aims and objectives. I get so caught up with trying to make sure everyone's happy, my smile is always ready to brighten up someone's day. There's a cliche; "smiling at someone takes nothing away from the giver" (I actually may have just made that up). Anyway I discovered that that's not altogether true, smiling when you really have no business to is taxing, slowly eating away at you until your smile carries no weight. I've spent the last few weeks smiling at everyone and I just recently realised that I've done very little smiling to the pretty something in the mirror.

Anyway, don't you guys ever get the feeling that if you talk about something too much it just gets weird like I may never smile again 'cause: see previous paragraph! But as usual I digress.

Stressed, neurotic, happy, excited - no matter how I feel I stay awesome. Someone's gotta do it.

A rose by any other name...still as sweet?

It's never easy to admit that Superwoman's having an off day, but alas yesterday afternoon my cape had to be hung in the coats closet. I felt it necessary to put emphasis on the possessive pronoun because some people might be tempted to have such blasphemous thoughts of there being another Superwoman than myself. Well now you know.

I'm so good at compartmentalising my life, the daughter, girlfriend, sister, employee and friend very seldom meet unless of course dark alleys and bottles of hard liquor are involved. Seriously though I don't know why my mind does this but the relationships I have with the different people in my life are all very distinct and almost from different personalities altogether. I'm an obedient daughter but my parents know better than to reprimand me for whatever transgressions they believe me to be guilty of without an airtight case. I'm sure they remember nostalgically the days I used to nod my head in compliance and be on my not-so-merry way.

I'm a laid-back sister, my siblings know to come to me for advice, and they know I don't blow my top with them. I'm a paragon of sisterly virtue. I spoil them when I can, I push them to do their best, I encourage them, I'm what commoners reverently call awesome.

Then there's the attentive efficient employee, the doting albeit hot-headed girlfriend. These are the many facets to my personality, sometimes I convince myself that I have so many faces because I'm complex but in light of recent events (there are no recent events it just felt like the perfect place to put that phrase) I've come to realise that I'm brutally simple. When I'm speaking to you, you will absolutely feel like you're the most important person in my life at that moment, most probably because you are.

I don't know what I'm saying anymore. This was supposed to be about Superwoman now I'm coming across as some decrepit superhero with a wet cape, not a good look, "so I put on my make-up put a smile on my face and if anyone asks me everything is okay..." My point is the daughter doesn't know the sister and neither of them know the girlfriend. I have many faces, I wear many hats, yesterday the balancing act was too much and I was one person. I was exhausted when I went to bed because the employee thinks the daughter is a little too headstrong and the girlfriend thinks the sister is too virtuous.

Sleep came swiftly and I answered its call immediately. Today I'm back to juggling hats and everybody is none the wiser. Usually people struggle with people judging them. How do you reconcile your spirit if the judging is within?

Employee

Sister

Daughter

Friend

 



Textually challenged

Hi my name is Nono and I use Facebook and twitter ALOT. I've been an avid Facebooker since 2007 and the appeal it had for me was connecting with old friends and cementing relationships with current ones. However as with any well planned party a few gate-crashers managed to cheat the system and I was probably high off my growing popularity in my social media sphere, I began accepting people I didn't know, people I would never know. At first I used to make an effort to chat to my new digi-pals then I just lost interest, I'm very fickle (or whatever being a Gemini is about). So my friend count just kept increasing and all these people whose lives I had no interest in were appearing on my timeline talking about what they were planning on getting up to on a given day, or who they saw and what they thought about who they saw.

I then had a rare moment of clarity to reflect on the bizarreness of my relationship with all my social media non-friends and I went on a deleting spree. My finger is still a little crooked from all that clicking. Then I began working at Soul Magazine and I needed people to be the sources of my articles and because I now had no strange people on my friends list, only people I knew, people who wouldn't help me with a story if I begged, bribed or blackmailed. Then the vicious cycle of accepting people I don't personally know began again, but at least this time they were helpful. So I studied people's status updates and based on that decided who to approach for what.

I no longer have standards when it comes to accepting friends (on Facebook) but a few of my real-life friends put a bit of weight behind this statement, but still I love. But every social media slorebag has to suffer for her sins; show me a girl who hasn't had a relationship proposal from a stranger sent to their inbox and I'll show you ten who have! Just yesterday I received a "I wld love 2 date u" last week: "Gorgious how are you doing today?" err is that the same as gorgeous? Same week: "You have such a sexy bum wld luv to touch it" and so it goes. On the basis of these brave brave men not knowing how to write they fail, I assume their not knowing how to write is directly related to not knowing how to read because my profile clearly states that I am in a relationship.

I'm still debating whether or not to go on another deleting spree, but if I do who will be the willing guinea pigs for my journalistic escapades? I think until the time comes when my friends allow me to tell their stories, interesting alcohol-fuelled ones might I add I am resigned to a life of accepting friend requests and being textually harrased via inbox.

25 reasons I am so awesome

1. Anele and Ayanda Tshabalala are my sisters and best friends. Blood sisters!!

2. I love fried onions. I put them in everything...well except for cereal and cake and ice-cream etc but they go in everything else.

3. I didn't know I wanted to be a journalist until after matric.

4. I'm a committed Christian. God's been too good to me for me to be any other way. I don't, however, believe in the Church.

5. I hate seeing misspelt words. Before I went for anger management classes I had been known to hurt people over this.

6. My, punctuation is. dodgy 'but I welcome: the judgement.

7. My left eye can't see without the aid of glasses. "Blind as a bat" is an apt description of me.

8. I like telling people I'm married...cause I am.

9. I had my first taste of alcohol when I was 12. It was a sip really then again in tertiary. Such a badgirl!

10. I love sports.

11. My biggest character flaw is that I'm neurotic. It's really bad, I stress over the smallest things and I've even mastered the art of passing on my nervous energy to whoever is unlucky enough to be around me at that time.

12. I am a bad judge of character. Absolutely terrible, but you don't seem too bad.

13. I'm a closet vegetarian. The intentions are there but the body is weak.

14. I can't fall asleep unless I've done a bit of reading.

15. I'm very tolerant and open-minded about people. Discrimination isn't in my vocabulary.

16. My mom left us when I was 5. I thought she was going to town...she never came back.

17. I was painfully shy when I was younger. Then I discovered humour and hid behind that, so when I crack jokes (often the self-deprecating kind) non-stop it probably means I'm covering up.

18. I can't sing but I was in the choir from grade 4 to Matric. I'm persuasive.

19. I learnt how to swim, unaided, in grade 7.

20. I'm annoyingly ticklish.

21. I don't eat Oats or Weetbix.

22. I LOVE pizzas and pastas. I'm convinced I was Italian in a past life, maybe even a part of the mafia because that's just how awesome I am and we all know organised crime is cool.

23. I'm self conscious about my eyes. When people are talking to me it comes across like they're boring me. So not true it's these small eyes.

24. I love hard. One of my many imperfections.

25. I love music. I can't dance, I can't sing, I can't even hum but I love music.

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!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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. 

Death be not proud

My family received some sad news last week. But before I get to why the news was sad let me provide you with some background information.

I was raised by my aunt, she gave me the awkward "no you're not bleeding to death" "stay away from boys" talks. She taught me the importance of believing in God, of believing in myself, of always favouring humility over arrogance. She defined my perception of all that a woman should be. She led by example, if she'll lecture you about church she was probably in a pew, if she worried that I was watching too much TV, she was likely to be clutching a book, if she was telling me that every girl needs to be able to cook and have one meal as her signature she was probably sprinkling the finishing touches of pepper onto her roasted chicken. What a beautiful woman, what a strong woman, what an annointed woman.

When I was in matric in 2005 my aunt moved out of the house she had called home for 10 years to sow her "tame" oats. She got a job that didn't involve shaping me into a woman of substance, she enjoyed life on her own terms for the first time in a long time. Then last week her mother, my gran, passed away. When someone you love feels pain that same pain cuts you deep. The bottom fell out when she told me the news, more so because she was so strong and seemingly unmoved by it.

She possesses an inner strength that should be distributed to a crowd of people in equal doses, not for one woman to have all that. A few years ago her, her best friend and her best friends family were in a car accident and her best friend died in her hands, battered and bruised as she was her main focus was in protecting the children and not allowing them to think their mother had passed away while they themselves were so weak.

She's had to be so strong for everyone else all her life that tears look foreign on her beautiful face. But just this one time I'm sending a sincere prayer to God to let her cry, to bring her tears forth, to let her grieve, to let her fully experience how I imagine I'd feel if she left. Mother.

From behind the desk

It's been a while before my last post. Life gets in the way of my relationship with my digital counterparts, but fear not I am back...at least for now.

So I'm still a secretary, still fighting for my pay cheque, still wearing horrific shoes with cute outfits, still wake up late on work days...it's basically good times all round! I'm actually coping with the secretarial gig alot better now, I have tolerable/tolerant bosses who don't treat me like how I've seen people treat secretaries, Of course there are the bad apples without whom my story would be incomplete. I thank them.

Seriously though, stumbling into this career has shifted my perspective concerning the eternal right-hand ladies (read: secretary), I always thought this job was...well boring and unecessary. I was half right. I have since discovered that it is very necessary, how dare you assume that the boss will file these documents himself! You should be shot for thinking I can make my own copies! You see...very necessary.

Having said that it does very little to challenge my mind and my capabilities. I need to go home and do complex math equations just to keep sane. I'm a writer, I live and view my life in captions, I'm a tortured soul because nothing happens without me systematically dissecting it in my mind. I read too many books, I watch too many movies and the good Lord blessed me with a barely there sense of humour, that alone is probably how I manage to make copies and staple and file without losing my mind. That and this blog, my digital sanctuary.

Okay this post is all over the place, and filing beckons.

Yours digitally,
Nono

Proudly Swazi...no really I am!

Big Brother will change my life I swear. Yesterday the housemates had to give a 2 minute speech about their country and promote it to Africa. So many of them went on and on about minerals and independence and all sorts of other things that won't determine whether I visit or not. Then Lerato went up in her Sotho gear, make-up and hair done so beautifully, then she spoke. She spoke about a relatable South Africa, a country I lived in for 3 years and she made me want to run back.

Then I started to think what I'd say about Swaziland on an African stage. Anyone who knows me well knows that "patriotic" is too strong a word to describe me. I go where the wind blows. Open to all, loyal to none. But I am Swazi and I'm proud of that. However there are too many things wrong with the country; I couldn't stand up there and boast about development when I see none. I couldn't speak of a high literacy rate when I know too many people not awarded the opportunity of formal education. I couldn't speak of the country rallying behind a sports team that makes us proud because well...we don't. I couldn't speak of a well run government...errrr no one can.

The things I love about being Swazi are things that can be found anywhere but are dominant here. There is absolutely no rush in Swaziland, though this can get frustrating at times (read Home affairs) it makes for a very unflustered nation. Swazi's are quick to smile and slow to judge. They take pride in their culture, at this point I would then be forced to speak of the reed dance which I've attended once. And no, not all Swazi girls are virgins! Some days I'm grateful for the greenery and having to slow your car down for cattle crossing the road, but on other days I crave a concrete jungle where my dreams can be made from. I love this country because it raised me, its people taught me and its grass cushioned my falls. I hate this country because it raised me, its people taught me and its grass cushioned my falls (this makes sense, don't think too hard).

I probably wouldn't be the best person to perform this task, but for an honest, painful sometimes heartwarming look at the country I'm your go-to girl.

Swazi flag

Why to visit:

We smile a lot.
We are hospitable.
We believe that "tandla tiyagezana" meaning "No man is an island, to prosper we need each other" This is obviously not the literal meaning. Literally it means something totally out of left-field.
We have a king.
All our restaurant meals are subsidised by our "amazing" government.
We have a great culture which we love to teach to visitors.
We have the reed dance.
Father Christmas lives here, the North pole was a rumour that got out of control.
Swazi girls really are the hottest.
We have a breath-takingly beautiful country.
Our national anthem is the boss!
We are an awesome people who firmly believe that our awesomeness should be experienced.

Some of these are brave fallacies, you won't know which until you come for yourself.

Come on Africa tell me how you're doing. Nine bengwazi