Introducing me

I grew up as an average child. I say that with no trace of self-pity at all. My grades were average, my looks were average, my athletic abilities were average, I’m sure you get the picture, I just didn’t stand out. I was friends with an overwhelmingly smart girl, Nolwazi Gumbi, she intimidated me because I always felt like one day she’d see that she’s talking to someone not quite as clued up as she was; so more often than not I kept quiet whenever classroom topics were being discussed and mulled over my opinions in my head. In grade 1 I won a book prize for academic excellence, I’ve never won one since because I couldn’t allow myself to be that smart, couldn’t allow myself to be under scrutiny. I wanted to remain unthreatening. At least I hope that’s what it was.


In Grade 7, which is where the opinion of boys starts to matter, no? Just me then. Okay. My best friend was a precociously beautiful half-Portuguese, half-Mozambican girl who was never fully aware of how her looks affected the people around her. Carla dos Santos was all amazing everything in my eyes, the most astounding thing about Carla was that she actually wanted to be my friend, she thought I was funny (I was hilarious), she’d call me after school and we’d talk for hours about nothing and boys. The fact that my dad was super strict and wouldn’t let us go anywhere or do anything didn’t deter her. When we were together naturally she got all the attention, which was fine with me, at least I was next to her. In Primary I had another friend, Siviwe Motsa, even before I knew what “sexy” meant I fully understood that Siviwe was it. Small pert breasts, flat stomach, perfectly tapered hips, legs that went on for miles and she was as skinny as a lamp post (she also carried nice lunch to school). Siviwe, Carla and I were friends a clique of sorts. I was the average Jane in the group, which was fine, because I had a group.

Carla dos Santos, Primary school everything

Hlengiwe Mahlalela, the stray friend

I was also friends with a group of girls I went to pre-school with and another girl we picked up in Grade 5. Nolwazi Gumbi, Nomkhosi Dlamini and Hlengiwe Mahlalela, they all had niches, I was the background music, the “and friends”, they were Diana Ross and I was the forgotten Supremes. But it was fine, I had friends. When we got to High School I remember we solidified our friendship by coming up with a name for ourselves, armed with this totally idealistic name (which I’m deliberately not posting because we’ve all made mistakes) we made the decision to dance at one of our school’s talent shows. I have no coordination whatsoever but I got up on that stage and danced. I shudder just thinking about it. So much for remaining in the shadows.

My whole way of thinking was, because the world didn’t see me I wouldn’t try to make it. I was fine in the background, observing. Insecurity has always been safe for me. I forced myself to be aware of my flaws so that by the time people realized I’m flawed at least I got there first. I forced myself to be insignificant so whenever people treated me like I was it wouldn’t surprise me. I refused to have an ego so people would have nothing to hurt. I was all jokes, Queen of comebacks and no self-esteem. My teachers didn’t help either because they kept saying “Nono you’re such a good reader” which just confused me, because what does that mean in the real world. But when I was alone I took out those easily given compliments and looked at them against myself and tried to reconcile them, make them match.

When I got to high school I suddenly became good at sports, I tried not to shine too much though because I was just as surprised as everyone else. At the same time I was also dealing with Carla not going to high school with me, I inherited the tragedy that struck her family and it stayed with me for the longest time. My 12 year old self was used to being there for people so I was there for her as best as I could. I was confused then when I seemed to gain athletic powers way beyond my hand-eye coordination capacity. But here it was, I was good at netball, I was a good runner, I played good volleyball, I was chosen to represent the school for long jump. It was an unfamiliar neighbourhood; it was hard to move out of Average Avenue. In Grade 9 I was asked to play for the senior 2nd team netball team, suddenly I was a little bit better at something than my peers. I couldn’t cope so I played it down in front of my friends, when I was alone I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered how. Could it be that the magic I read about in my youth about the loser becoming the hero was happening in my own life? I didn’t dwell on it for too long but when Linda Dlamini, the captain of the junior netball team and Seanne Boxall-Smith, the captain of the junior hockey team started playing tug of war with me, each trying to convince me why I should play their sport, it blew my mind. I didn’t know how to tell them that I wasn’t worth it.

Suffice it to say Seanne’s promises of the hockey team travelling more than the netball team didn’t work, Linda won me over and about 2 years later we became one of the best netball teams Sisekelo High School has ever had. We have trophies to prove it. It wasn’t only on the sports field where I gained confidence, in my English and History classes as well my teachers began to take notice, they began to engage me in discussions. It was nerve wrecking to have Mr Barry read my essay on Atonement to the class because I was “the only one who seemed to understand what he wanted” that mark that made me blush and smile behind my file was supposed to be my secret. It made me break out in a sweat when Mr Oakes wanted my opinion on Stalin and his five-year plans. But they were relentless they forced me to accept and admit that I enjoyed these subjects, that I enjoyed thinking and I was definitely much better than average when it came to them. Who cares what 2x is anyway?

I haven’t always known that I’m awesome. It’s taken me a long time to accept that I’m an amazing human being (with pretty feet), so when I say I’m awesome all the time, it’s not gloating or vanity it’s because now at 22, I finally believe that I am.

Please find your awesome and share it, unashamedly, unapologetically, loudly and all over Facebook.

Stay beautiful awesome.