The mathematics of lust

With all the veracity I have been clouted with in my existence, I still hold close the serene concept of a fairy-tale when it comes to relationships. Nevertheless, I am aware that many may argue that this is the same reason my many fairy-tales end-up mashed, on the potato side of things.

Given that my reciprocation in affairs tend to equal preeminent standards, offerings coming my way ought to hit the roof in excellence.

Having said that, the escapade my sexuality explored in preceding weeks has left me wincing at my initial principles; leaving me chewing reality with the same attitude I applied to my fairy-tale ideas.

I fell in what the mind understood as erotic hankering.  For the first time, my heart remained immobile.  My mind stimulated many parts of me; an effort that inspired me to pursue the prey. Hence he hovered in my surroundings.

Looking back to what had been, today, I am amazed at what maturity has done with my emotions. Also, I am pleased I kept at arms-length with the kill. Yes, I was keen on further developments. But, I was also interested in seeing and feeling his attentiveness. Alas, I almost took lead in a one man show.

Too bad, I could have made an amazing Romeo in Pretoria; despite the abrasive Joburgness in me.

I admit to this, with my objectives untainted and still clouted with a tranquil concept of a fairy-tale when it comes to relationships.

Happy read!

Free, most of yourself

There is something exciting about honesty. There is something freeing about forsaking all the clichés and delusions concerning coming clean to an individual you know, love and respect. This could be you mother, a lover or someone whom you consider a friend.

That is why; therefore, the other person looks at you and cites positive energy radiating from your direction; an aura that fills the atmosphere in your presence. It is because you have chosen to liberate your mind, body and soul from the manacles of chaos, deception and from a life based on lies.

Of course, your expectations, with regards to the response you might receive after being honest do not necessarily have to be as positive. However, the right thing has been done; and that is practising a principle that will certainly help you uphold a rigid perspective to the world. Most importantly, to the people who are willing to be part of your life.

You have control over the way other people treat you. You have the power to shape their view of you and you can teach them to respect you by not pretending to be someone you are not. Being true to yourself and to the people you surround yourself with compliments honesty.

Free most of yourself by merely being honest, completely.

Happy read!

Hello Mama

It’s me, Ulwazi…

I know I just spoke to you a few minutes ago, over the phone. But, I felt I needed to write this to you. Besides, it’s not like it’s a problem being obsessed with you. So, let me.

Mama, a few minutes ago, I had something in my left eye. Yes, the one that sees well. At first I thought it was just an insect, but whatever it was felt enthused the more I rubbed my eye.

I lost a nerve.

And, as always I was alone when I needed help, as all the people I could count were out of reach. I found myself even calling on strangers for help.

I didn’t need their money. In fact, I needed their skill to drive. Hell, I could have let them drive my car, considering that I couldn’t see properly to drive myself to the hospital.

While one of the only two people who responded intended to make seconds out of the long drive from far, the other one decided to ditch her fatigue, and plans to merely get home and sleep, and offered to come to my rescue.

Oh, the beautiful souls they are.

Mama ‘am, I panicked.

Abruptly, my mind was filled with thoughts. Thoughts about an issue we never completely discussed; an issue that has broken your spiritual limbs and dented your trust.

It was at that moment that I realised, I am stressed. In fact, that confirmed to me that the breakdown, or lack thereof, I have been questioning will come in pieces. Not in the manner the masses experience it.

My housemate’s mother must have thought I am disrespectful, given the way I figuratively annihilated her out of my way, as I performed the military slog around the house; an effort to pay respect to the ache in my eye.

Mama, what was happening with me? Do you think I need help?

Funny how I always weep when I am happy, yet I seem to have this ability to maintain a straight face when hit with deadly challenge.

Mama ‘am, do you think I am strong or I am good at faking it?

But, how do you do it, mama?

Happy read!

My voice against violence on women and children

While I may pride myself as an individual who is recognised for his exceptional work in relation to the communications and PR industry, I am keen on being acknowledged as a man who is ardent on issues concerning moral conduct in social spheres, at work and at home.

For that reason, my beliefs are sharply grim towards the ill-treatment of fellow colleagues, friends and strangers through discrimination or undue preference, in relation to their religion, gender, race, creed, sexual orientation or HIV status.

Consequently, as a way of observing the commencement of the annual 16 days of activism for no violence against women and children initiative, I would like to draw attention to the fact that violence against women and children is extensive and deeply ingrained in our society and the violence, to a large extent, is physical and perpetrated by men known to women as partners and friends, but even more so fathers. n

With that in mind, I would like to ask all the men in my cliques, at work and at home to speak and pledge against any sort of abuse of women in their surroundings. Of course, my wish is that this pledge is practised beyond the 25^th November 2012 to 10^th December 2012.

I, Ulwazi Dladla Mgwadleka, a son, a brother, a friend, a lover, a colleague and a neighbour, vow to escape inflicting verbal vindictiveness, or any sort of abuse to my female counterparts.

Happy read!

*This article is also published on www.justcurious.co.za

Xa ithetha

Ithi yakuthetha kuthi mandithi tu.

Ithi yakugushuza kunga ndingama nkqi.

Ithi yakuvuka kuthi kuthi mandizole.

Uloyiso lwayo luvuyo engqondweni,

De igazi liwutyhutyhe ngobuchule umzimba,

Ngelo xesha, intliziyo ijongile; ibukele ukondleka kwamehlo.

Ithi yakuthetha, kuthi mandihlabele elandincamisayo,

Ithi yakugushuza kunga ndingachul’ ukunyathela,

Ithi yakuvuka kuthi mawufe fi umbono,

Ibe zizihlunu kuphela ezinokuphefumla,

Imisipha izel’ ubom,

Ngeloxesha, umanyano liluqilima.

Ithi yakufuna, kunga ndingaba lisela.

Ithi yakungafumani, kunga ndingaphambana.

Happy read!

Listening proves to be a skill, still

While I may not quarrel one’s cooperation with Journalists in collecting facts, I am convinced it is an absolute slur to parenthood to admit to newspapers that your child came home after school minus his cellphone and some of his school items, further narrated to you that he was being bullied at school yet you, as the parent, failed to explore the rumour.

Had this woman listened AND heard when her child spoke, the ordeal that saw ‘good riddance of the dead’ in the lips of every pupil at Phineas Xulu Secondary School would have never happened.

Listening and hearing are two different things. Therefore, without the latter, we cannot expect a response nor should we anticipate a reaction.

Of course, this concept is betrayed by those who have not been heard and listened to.

Happy read!

Thabo (eradicate indlala)

I believe that education is indisputably the best instrument towards personal development. And, I also believe that the only way I can plunge back to being poor is if I make a blunder of the prospects education has afforded me.

I believe that education is not the only lawful and correct route to putting food on the table. And, I also believe that there are alternative routes, only they require the usage of your brain with a tinge of determination, underlined by a plan.

Know that I have come to experience worry concerning you and the challenges you have, academically. The thought of you struggling to finish high school raises questions to my abilities as an educated sibling; hence self-blame unceasingly appears to arouse the feeling of guilt.

I know that poverty is a ground that breeds an environment that is damaging to people’s development; mentally, physically and emotionally.

But, know that I have come to accept and understand that there are other options you can manipulate so as to create a comfortable life for yourself.

My duties as your brother can merely go so much as making sure that you obtain basic skills that could score you a desk in an office. It is only your train of thought and ambition that can perhaps move you from that small desk by the door towards addressing blue-chip executives in a boardroom.

I am well aware that a significant path out of poverty requires a robust economy that produces jobs and good salaries. And, I am also well aware that the impact carried through the ability to raise a productive workforce can last for generations.

Do yourself a favour and defy imitating the people who constantly speak of bridging the growing gap between poor people and the rich, while unfounded are the actual actions towards accomplishing this brilliant idea and instituting it to become observable efforts.

The same voices influence young underprivileged men and women to dream big, yet no one puts an emphasis on the idea of actually waking up and working towards fulfilling that dream. As a result, your neighbours have formed part of a generation that spends most of its valuable time complaining about the government that fails them.

Beats me as to what has glued them tight on the chairs someone else built.

P.S: indlala = poverty

Happy read!

Thanksgiving

I would like to believe that my life is a testimony of how true love can shape an individual; add to that the effort of good friends and how they shape a person.

As if to emulate the life of the Messiah, it appears, right from the beginning, I had a structure of support that even my mama never anticipated; from relatives, her friends and those who found me alluring in their eyes.

Like a bad skin condition, this type of support grew with me. It carried me around my township through thick and thin, it saw me move from a high school and became stronger at university up till the strange grounds of the city of gold; where it manifested into one of the things that keep me going, despite how thorny the streets around here are.

I am not sure of how my mama sustained the support till to date. In fact, I am not even sure she did anything to keep it going. However, I am doing something to paint this structure a happy colour and to give it all the strength it needs to grow even more.

As a result, I have embraced the Western custom of observing Thanksgiving Day.

I assumed this routine last year with the sole purpose of celebrating the people who have made a constructive contribution in my life in Johannesburg.

This year, the tradition continues. And, my emotions fail to rest as I am theorising ideas to show these men and women just how grateful I am that I have them in my life.

Happy read!

We forget that we can

We have been groomed to believe that having a role model is ideal. Consequently, no one bothers to put an emphasis on the importance of working towards being a role model. That is why we find ourselves tailing the treads of people whose true stories are unknown to us.

We have adopted strange societal notions and have standardised these as tolerable customs.  Hence, we find ourselves pursuing studies that will merely place us in front of the camera, because we believe that is where money and true happiness lies. In doing so, overlooking that being a teacher, a lawyer and even a medical practitioner is still relevant as it provides greater joy and financial rewards.

Someone has been wise enough to make us believe that we can be anything we want to be. But the same person misremembered to tell us that it is through education that the daughter of a peasant can become a doctor, that a son of a mine worker can become the head of the mine and that a child of farm workers can become the president of a great nation.

An intelligent man once painted a splendid image of Dr. Precious Moloi-Motsepe, citing her impressive accolades as well as her association with the fabulous world of fashion. The same man did not mention that Dr. Moloi-Motsepe is an epitome of an African woman; who, like many South African mothers, was committed to creating a solid foundation for herself and her family. This man forgot to depict the challenges she possibly faced while working towards becoming what she had always wanted to be.

We have been made to accept that the ideas in our minds can only come alive if someone else authenticates them. It has elapsed in our hearts and minds that we all are one with the force that is greater than any other existing source in the universe. God.

We tend to take seriously the statement that suggests that what comes out of our lips has so much influence with regards to what we become. For some reason, however, we always fail to build a room for this statement when it comes to positives words that escape our lips.

When we are told we are failures, we take offence as we believe that is true. Yet we are nonchalant when we hear just how beautiful and good we are, simply because we know this to be untrue.

We live in a domain in which being provided for is the coolest thing. It does not register in our smart minds that we possess the same abilities as the individuals who assume to roles of feeding us.

In the games we play with our friends we always opt for subordinate roles and never the dominant ones, for the reason that we doubt we can be in control.

We forget that being black, poor or disabled has nothing to do with accomplishing the dreams awaiting us. We forget that we can. We forget that the problem is our laziness and lack of determination that has us constantly in need.

Happy read!

*This piece is also published on www.sivehopefoundation.co.za

Why don't you be the writer?

In between acknowledging the existence of homosexuals in societies and the subjects fully embracing their sexuality, a few heterosexuals misidentified their preliminary grasp of life on earth as an indication that they possess power and the independence to control the actions of those who materialised later.

Several gay people exiled themselves to cabinets with the intention to avoid promising discernment of any sort. Times evolved and countries held a fresh perspective on things, and then we had gay friendly households, welcoming cities and accommodative legislations. This inspired one straight mind to assume the sits of Gods.

For many gay men and butch women the journey has been decadent while some paid with their lives; a price silently ticketed by sexist presidents, uncouth neighbours as well as families driven by fear of being excluded by communities.

Because I am free, as a homosexual individual, in the presence of a sagacious conventional woman, she miscalculated my company and acquaintance for acquiescence to articulate to me who to lust over and who not to consider.

Knowledgeable mama felt she had to warn me as the reciprocals might endanger me. One could have sworn she walked the journey with me; from denying myself of the true me, lying to family and hiding from masses. One would swear she knows what is best for me. For a gay man.

You clasped silence and they utter a word. They feel your ears are famished and your life is losing weight, hence the feeding schemes they throw your way. They believe they are observant enough as you change your position and they amend your movements.

In between sleeping with other men for sexual pleasure and the straight souls knowing, the latter subjects became the artists who felt endowed to script lines for untrained gay people.

Perhaps, Madonna is no longer God. They are. Actually, heterosexuals are God.

Happy read!

Preys of poor systems

Literally, minutes after my two female colleagues and I had a conversation concerning sexual and physical abuse of women by their spouses, and the consequences that follow when the victims retaliate with worse slants, I saw the Brutalised article via The Times.

While my heart bleeds for the victim, and as I drag the course that our justices are yet to embark on this matter, I am repulsed by the way our current justice system works.

Where are we to disappear to when our own homes ululate harm over secured walls and protection bulldogs?

Who is supposed to shield our mothers and sisters when the same men who once proclaimed their undying love for them hold no boundaries in pounding them while their off-springs are watching?

Are we really meant to surrender all our wills and muscles to react to the authorities whose inkling of punishing the guilty is to issue a mere paper aimed to keep the perpetrator away?

Is this how we hope South Africa will develop further? When our own females are not treated with love, respect and care, how then do we expect other countries to invest in our women empowering initiatives?

Seeing that the head of this state is, evidently, doting of women, I would honestly love to hear him share a word on this one issue.  

Otherwise, he will have to choose his next wife from a list of women who have been abused by their formers and have been failed by the same systems he runs.

I am of the idea that fighting fire with fire has no place in life, yet I believe shooting to kill should apply in incidents such as this one.

To think we claim to be proud of the women we share this realm with…

Happy read!

Sorry ma man

This time, he bumped into me at one of my other colleague’s office. He pitched a comic line my way, as usual, and I reimbursed the gesture with what I believe is wit at best. The triangle cracked. The business was folded. We stepped out.

Heading towards my workstation, I applaud him on his fresh endeavour. He laughs at the mothering tone, with a smile portraying approval and appreciation.

I have only been in for less than an hour, but you could not tell. My desk is untidy; had it not been for his death, Osama bin Laden would have appeared from this mess.

We see The Star newspaper. Immediately, he heads for The Workplace. Flip! Flip! He asked what I did last night. Tap! Tap! He is in the know. Flip! He cracks a joke regarding his body shape. Tap! Witty, I cracked.

He cracked another. My mouth widens.

Wait! He affronted her to me, in the presence of another woman. To himself he is funnier. The subject is a friend of mine. I take offence. Mothering scolds in the know. To him I am being funny, his mouth widened.

Had I continued to sit on that desk, I would have lost all respect. Had I left my desk he would not have understood his blunder. I grabbed my newspaper as a whip. He saw the blaze in my eyes. I disappeared.

Emerging back from near, I saw his firm behind flouncing the opposite way. He must have heard my silent reprimand. I sat at mine.

Sorry ma man, he sent me an email. I forgave him, yet my vocals had to be active, just for control and in case he decides to hit on her weight again.

Happy read!

Cloistered muddles

We speak of the ideas concerning shooting to kill and axing one another, in self-defence or absolute persecution, with so much pride.  Our social media accounts are buzzing with views debating the Lonmin issue; with many siding with authorities while a few perceive the miners to have been on correct and legal grounds.

Not so far from public forums, a few days ago, justice pleased the concept of precision, for once, by punishing the slayers of an infamous AWB member accordingly. Acknowledging that the deceased had been a pain to the bums of many people of colour; inducing them to unbearable grief, yet I am ruling out the right to butcher him.

Perhaps, Dion Chang’s confirmation, as per his Flux Trends for 2012, is not at all a discourse; dubbing the current times the fourth revolution – a time where technology is responsible for drastically shaping our perceptions of self and our crafting of identify.

Of course, we cite the apartheid era as an inspiration to the meanness and lack of education as well as our foolishness. We cite the same for government failures; its corruption and poor service delivery.

Our Public Protector hit the nail, trough the Sowetan, when she spoke sturdily in contradiction of the apartheid legacy being used to protect some of the government's failures, particularly the dire state of the country's education and appalling conditions under which some people live, 18 years after democracy.

Happy read!

Never close our eyes

Without a doubt, a number of Christians believe that we are currently experiencing the wrath of God.

Being one myself, I seem to concur. I am looking at the saddest things taking place around me, the disasters claiming the lives of fathers who live their families behind, the fatal HIV/AIDS that steals the souls of young men and women whose potential was once fit for the evolution of this beautiful South Africa.

And that is what I pray for; I pray for peace in this world and I pray for a strong and caring government in this country…  Martine Whitehead, my colleague, spoke these words and I found myself teary just at the imagination of our homes getting demolished by issues we can effortlessly avoid.

Happy read!

Submitting to defeat

As if to emulate a megastar who has come to a flop, my belief in love has been tainted. The hope that used to be echoed through from each of my eyes has vanished; leaving behind a heart so opaque and broken.

For months, my mind made efforts to convince my heart of the light possibly visible at the end of the tunnel. Blocking all lies and exterminating supporting heartaches, my heart declines and responds only through imperceptible exchanges. It has even become a stranger to its owner.

It’s like I am empty. It’s like my career alone is not enough, anymore. It’s like I have always been in love. It’s I have always been loved. It’s like I have always been love. Of which, the on and offs have always been a big part of my life.

In an attempt to comprehend the crux of the matter, I wonder if it is the recently curved link that has messed me up or maybe the damage has been piling up since the first break-up in 2007?

They can break my heart as many times as they like, but they can never take away my belief and will to love. I used to say. Nowadays, I utter the same phrase, without even a pinch of conviction. Hence I am convinced; my liver is where my heart used to be.

Today, I look at men and all I see is men, not the species I would imagine devouring from my garage door all the way to the sink in my kitchen. It’s like I have just been born and all I can feel is hunger for food and thirst for grinded red grapes. I believe I have lost my ability to love. Actually, now I think I am disabled. Too bad the government in my country does not cater for victims of this sort.

Loneliness has always been here. In fact, he is the only man with whom I have had the longest relationship. I think he has been with me since the day my father escaped life willingly. He has seen me struggle with being a pink black from an early age. He was with me when I enjoyed varsity life and he continued to see me through my first and last times.

I used him whenever I needed a getaway, simply because I am used to him and he understands me more than my friends claim to.

Time to point fingers is long gone. I would know, that is what I do best. Until I cross runways with yet another pink black who appears worthy of me again, I will use this time to set fire to the rain. Simultaneously collect the bricks left of my belief, and reconstruct what is left of my heart.

I may be lacking to conviction when citing strength, courage and wisdom, but I still maintain that in me I possess some flicker that holds the potential to set my life ablaze.

I do not believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Hell, there is no tunnel to begin with. However, there are numerous opportunities in this dark hour.

Happy read!

Black butterfly

By Cwengile Gagela

Black butterfly, trapped in your cacoon,

Tainted with thoughts that cloud, confuse you from what could be.  

I almost gave myself to you last night, forgot that u not really mine.

I almost let u in last night, almost handed you my heart,all in attempt to feel.

So we could stop these games and make this fantasy of you and I a reality.

So we can hide beneath these sheets and make that trip to paradise.

Black butterfly I, I almost felt something as you lured me into your world

As u gently layed your lips on mine.

As u slowly undressed me, as you layed between my naked thighs,

As our bodies moved in synchrony, with each breath going deeper and deeper.

I almost , almost let my guard down as u wrap your arms and legs around me

Promising to never let go...

See, this might just be all physical for you

And when you're satisfied you will discard of me and swiftly move along...

I almost forget that you once walked in these same shoes,

And were a victim of another in these sordid lurv circles.

That numbed u from feeling,

But I, I lay here stil believing in this thing called love...

Happy read!

Peace and ease

By Cwengile Gagela

Yesterday I was in this very room when

I caught a glimpse of freedom.

Silently, tiptoeing passed me...

I reached for it, grabbed it in desperation as if I was diseased and needed a cure.

I felt is slip through my fingers and I tightened them wanting no escape.

I'd been searching for it, finally I found it and as I embraced it sensations of numbness fluctuated through my body and I'D FOUND MYSELF...

AT EASE

AND AT PEACE

YOU SEE, GULLIBILITY WAS MY FOE,

BEFORE I WAS MADE TO BELIVE!!!

REPEATEDLY THESE VOICES WHISPERED

"Cwengile let go, give in, give in to these pleasures and feelings"

And as a result I lost myself in this cruel cruel world.

Ewe izolo bendindedwa,

Ndiphoxwe nguwe.

When I caught this glimpse of freedom,

I embraced it, dwelled in ITS numbness,

Freed myself,

From him,

From her,

From them,

From it,

From this bond.

And I...FOUND MYSELF

AT PEACE

AND AT EASE

Happy read!

Oh, Jerusalem

Hello, it speaks. Put me in there.

Obedience bends in kind, we are in here.

Like a freak at the sight of throbbing rigidity,

I find my way to a household so clustered, I am blinded.

We sway lightly, but I am hard.

We are excited.

Oh, Jerusalem, Eve may have been lured by the beauty of prohibited capsules,

But down here we spit to appreciate.

We jump to bite a bun; buttered one side yet dripping both sides.

Slices so sensitive, I am in. I have sunk.

Exchanges in unspoken phrases, minds are inspired.

Weakness is sheltered in the joints.

Emulating animated concepts, a part of me is in charge.

Efforts are met, sounds are heard and marks are made.

Like a coquette approaching royalty, I seek dominion.

He submits. I sign. He receives.

I approve. He is proud.

Thanks to the works, we are wet.

Oh, Jerusalem, some may have dubbed you intolerant.

I find you otherwise.

Happy read!

(No subject)

Like an illusion, life is impermanent.

Bid me farewell and Let the time to part be sugary.

Let this be not the finishing line, but my entirety.

Now let me rest.  

Baby, daddy was happy.

I lived, I wrote and I laughed.

I see, from a distance, a home considered for my kind.

Hold my hand, and know that I possess a mind in love and a place in life.

Child, let me go.

Baby, daddy won’t be home tomorrow, tell papa not to cook.

The trends of temporariness have blown and my sight has stopped as my breath concluded its chapter.

I have been told, I am to rise again. I do not believe.

I have been taught, to believe all things possible. I do not believe.

Without a trace of shadows in it, let my name take my place, in your heart and in the mind.

Let it be in your lips at the sight of grinded grapes.

And, let it remind you of love, music and laughter.

Take it with you when you go home.

I am not really gone. I am on to new beginnings.

I have a deal with destiny. She is taking me away.

Although fear crept in for a while, now I am blithe.

So thoughtless to even worry about what my fate is.

Happy read!

Scrambled workbooks, government on the rocks

The issue is not new, yet we have leading stories on it.

Many schools around the country have been without books, desks and even chalkboards for a long period, today though we act shocked and feel betrayed on discovering textbooks dumped and burnt.  

The failing rate in public schools has been a problem when Nelson Mandela was in prison, and when he came out. We were singing the same tune even when Thabo Mbeki was president, yet we seem to unwrap it as a new dawn in this Zuma era.

Hypocrites much?

We are excited at breaking the ice with our lovers in bed by conversing about how the system is a joke, along being blinded by newspapers and media houses that make money out of getting us to see what they want us to see, forgetting that we are on the grassroots.  We are the victims.

Hence we live to tell the actual effects of not having textbooks at schools. Still, we nod every morning at the sight of the same leading stories in the news.

Opposing parties have sound stands. In fact, up until recently, they represented the masses by raising questions otherwise citizens would never be able to ask. However, they too seem to be caught up in agreeing that Angie Motshekga and her office failed.

Haven’t we had enough about knowing what went wrong?  At what stage will we tackle solutions?

No. Firing Motshekga is not an elucidation. We all know our current government does not really fire under-performing servants nor does it arrest the guilty. Then why bother?

The government has never been able to do things independently. I would like to believe that is why Mbeki emphasised on the Vuk' uzenzele concept in 2002/3. Therefore, private businesses, individuals and NGOs must take action towards preventing an issue that will ruin my younger brother’s life and the rest of young South Africans who cannot be able to act on their own.

Of course, if my brother is the only one victimised by the issue of lack of resources in schools, then let this be my call and mine alone to deal with. Otherwise, entirely efforts are needed in all nine provinces.

South Africans need to stop talking and carping about issues that will never discontinue any time soon. Not suggesting violence in any way, instead one must do something that could help the two people next-door. Hopefully, the two will help five people each. That way we are truly working together to enhance the lives of our fellow community members.

This time, the issue might have ascended through Limpopo, but the Eastern Cape has been suffering for many years. What about the other provinces? Someone probe into the matter.

I am not merely urging people to read how messy our education system is on this blog, I am working on an initiative that will help my brother escape the bosh system we have in this country. In addition, 25 more needy students will benefit from my idea.

Of course, the intention is to inspire all of them to work hard and end up helping 25 more suffering souls each, just like I would have done.

What are you doing about this problem?

Happy read!

Dante’s last blog

Two hours ago, I received a call from an old friend of mine who is based in East London. My friend came across a blog that mentioned my name in it and he suggested I take a look at it.

He refused to go into detail with regards to what the blog was about or who it belongs to. He forwarded me a link; a link I followed.

The link he sent me led me Dante Bello’s blog - Raison d’être! - on a post that seems to have been his last one before he died.

What my friend does not know is that I knew Dante and I knew him very well. To me he was like a brother, to some degree and although I only met him a few times, I feel he left me, and the voices he inspired to speak freely, too soon.

Never mind his short-stay; he definitely made a mark in the lives of many black Africans.

A few dubbed him provocative and philosophical, but I saw Dante as a man of principle; a soul that craved absolute good in the continent.

Since the day I saw a tweet that confirmed his death, I have not been to his blog. So, today I went back to a place Dante introduced me to, a podium I used to challenge his ideology and a platform he used to shape views on certain political and social issues.

In my view, he used this blog to speak his mind in an effort to inspire change and build character in black people, especially those who were close to him.

Having gone through Raison d’être!’s last post, I felt the need to have that same piece on my blog. Of course, not denying the late brother of his credit in the blog.

It appears Dante wrote this post about a year ago.

Postcard From Freetown - Reflections!

Moments have gone by and time is still relatively waiting for no man. This is the reality we are faced with as earthlings. I sit on a chair on my balcony reflecting and reminiscence the thoughts that flow through my mind, words lingers to chaste.

It has been a while I put pen to paper and I can’t say it’s a writer’s block but rather I’ll succumb to the sentiment that it was a wilful decision to stop writing, read more about what others are writing, immerse myself in these spaces to acquire more knowledge, ideology, views, opinions, sentiments and indulge in the literal thinking of others.

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Heart behaviours

Hello today, yesterday infested me with the other day’s love endemic.

And now, I carry a heart and, once again, it seethes

I am listening to every grain of its occurrences. I bear joy. The future is set alight.

I am not worried. The ducks on the queue. My preceding have been omitted.

For as long as it beats, I seem to excite a longing.

Not so long, yet it appears I can prolong it. Longevity is a possibility.

And now, I carry a feeling, to which I am a customary victim

As if to emulate a punishment, it hits even-handedly the sensitive parts of me.

Had my ear sought after my well narrated hurt, I would be resisting.

Body and soul.

Soul and mind.

My mind, together with my heart, ought to pursue all good intentions

Hello today, yesterday has afforded me some kind of a cure for my disease

As a result, I speed through corridors mending the cracks of the heart I carry.

I strutting with aberration

With a face painted with irrational grins, I interweave it with a constricted thread.

I welcome delight, as upcoming days bear fire blazing hours.

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Abandoned advantage

For me personally, 2012 is the year of (certain) dreams coming true, while for my country the pressure is boiling its tail to abandon Iran and source crude oil from elsewhere, despite the difficulty we could face in securing new contracts. No need to clench round rings and cross fingers, South Africa will make a plan… I hope.

However, for institutions such as the University of Johannesburg (UJ), 2012 appears to be a year of mortification. Not so much of an enthralling entrance, considering the stampede that claimed the life of a mother, leaving several people battered in January. Couple that with the death of the 20-year old girl who passed away last weekend due to an alleged illegal abortion–gone-wrong.

This is a university that has produced a large number of professionals, decision makers and prodigies who have contributed immensely towards the development of the South African economy.

Therefore, the problem could not at all be with the lecturing method. Yet, as my former employee would have assumed, the issue possibly lies in the way the school handles its liaison with the outside world through public relations.

Surely, such incidents do occur in other academic institutions. Perhaps, what distinguishes the others from UJ is the rigid seriousness and value these institutions hold for their communications departments; not just a matter of mannerism, but by employing competent entities to help shape and protect the image of the university.  Especially from the vultures news agencies are.

Often, we interrogate the ability; some entities have, to survive horrid scandals in the face of others failing dismally to escape the results of not-so scandalous actions; yet such consequences are capable of ruining one’s image and reputation to the maximum.

My humble index finger is keen to dub the communication or PR department of an organisation, which experiences such indignity, the abandoned advantage. Having said that, a number of companies still see acquiring public relations expertise as waste of time and money. Yet they tap their cheeks whenever a small issue, that could have been easily controlled, spurts out of control.

Of course, I am no better, given the fact that I am a product of Walter Sisulu University.

Happy read!