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".
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
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.
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!
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.
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.
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".
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
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
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
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