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!

Transparency at its worst

In a business and social context, the term transparent refers to openness, communication, and accountability. It implies operating in a way that others can easily see and understand what actions are performed.

For those of us who have daddy issues, this is a term we use when in conflict with our mothers. We question its lack concerning the ‘daddy’ problem. It means being frank and honest about the issue at hand.

The same term comes into play in relationships. If you have fallen for a scumbag, I’m assuming you pleaded with the player using this exact same term. Most probably, you called it honesty or openness. Alas, the dog just could not abide.

From a societal perspective, however, public officials tend to use transparency recurrently. That is absolutely good of them. Except that, many of them become transparent when they have been cornered. And even then, they merely give certain portions of that openness; saving the rest for when the wind blows the cock’s tail again.  

Giving half the story or share it when you are faced with a challenge is not being honest or transparent, I believe. Speak on it as soon as you identify its inferences.

For instance, I was stumped this morning, when I came across The Star with mam’ uNomvula Mokonyane on the cover regarding her son who apparently pleaded guilty to possession of drugs.

What stunts me is the fact that now that the son has admitted to being guilty, the Gauteng Premier “appeals for your support and prayers” as she deals with this “traumatic experience”.

Why couldn’t she come forward before the streets of Joburg were flooded with state pluck-cards aimed at combating substance abuse? Or were we hoping the son would go AWOL for more than a month?

Naturally, no mother deserves to be going through such. Nevertheless, possibly, my sympathy would at least fill-up a flask had she been transparent about the challenge her son has been to her from the beginning. Not only now that the media has caught on it.

Public officials are human beings just like Tom, Mandla and Nokwanda. And because their job is to serve the public, they owe it to the public to be frank about things, especially when such things affect their job or the people they serve.

I believe you owe it to people to inform them by all means, possible. You do not have to be smart or an academic to be transparent. Honestly now, we cannot all be Trevor Manuel. The world needs the Malemas too.

This frankness should not just emerge when times are tough or when the likes of Mzilikazi Wa-Afrika are at your door demanding answers.

In my belief, it is not honesty, transparency or openness when you reveal something simply because you are in trouble. In fact, it would not even be a trouble if it was all out in the open from the first place. Well, maybe.

Let’s work on this, shall we?

Happy read!

I would have been the one

Sweat flowing from my dreadlocks, rolling down to my neck licking my grey collar and  loosening my tight black tie; I hopped Johannesburg streets heading to Bree taxi rank. I had knocked off a little bit late, but I was okay with time. My worry was getting home late for The Closer.

I would have been the one, Solange Knowles tormented my ears. I loved it. Enlightening charmer sent from where a Casanova lovely glare and I was chosen, I was there. To the whoreous doors of the rank I was appealing, as always, and so I let them swallow me. I saw my taxi and headed straight to it. I was tired but surety of how good looking I was carried me towards the transport to my destination. And yes, the fact that one day I will pass this building with a very expensive little thing rolling on four wheels inspired the strut in my walk.

Down with the headphones, I got inside the taxi and sat right behind the driver next to a guy who looked at me like I was some kind of fruit waiting to be eaten selfishly. I am sure he had never seen a creature so full of himself. Bless this poor guy’s perplexity.

I settled on the seat, sorted my fare and put back on my headphones. The well gets deeper, more unfolds. And then appeared a very dirty boy. He was dirty and I could smell him. He was a boy because he looked nothing like the man I am.  With the corner of my left eye I saw his lips move. I lacked interest in him since I knew he was most likely begging. Yes he was. I thought you plus me divided me from him but I discovered many more, and again and again...

Like a typical beggar, he attempted to look so sincere. I felt sorry for the few inside the taxi who had no music to drown into. I was far away. Or so I thought. And you don’t know you fill many spaces.

I could hear a sound. No, never mind the skinny Knowles; it was a voice that somehow merged into the song just fine, building a sound I would only imagine Euphonik and Black Coffee to produce. It went so well with what was enthralling my ears.

And he don’t know how he’s stole many places. And we all know we can’t fix him even if we tried.  I would have been the one. The boy was clapping. His lips were still on the move, only this time he seemed to be uttering fast and with passion.

I freed my left ear because I had to hear what he was cheering for. Ngiyakwaz’ ukukhanya kwakho, nokulunga kwakho, Jesu wam, Jesu wam, zungangishiyi la... He was singing; a song I got to know and fell in love with when times were extremely bad in my life.

I was boy, and had run away from a suburb I stayed in to a shack in which I had to share a blanket with six other children and could only eat twice a day. I left what everyone thought was the best life in exchange for a shack in an area where your neighbour’s door was practically two feet away from your and in your face!

Phelisa ukwesaba kimi, nokungakholwa. Msindisi, oh msindisi zungangishiyi la... There I was, with my Blackberry and its R400 worth headphones, comfortably and deliberately ignoring the boy in front of me. One would have sworn I was never poor and that I was rich.

I was the one, yes I was the one and yes that was my name inked up on his arm...Keyword was, yes I was the one. I figured out he was empty on my own. He had to find the answer in something not someone. The man beside me poked me waving a R10 note in my face. So I freed my right ear paying attention to the man I had puzzled earlier. He wanted change because he wanted to give this boy R5. It is fine, I will give him for you, I said. Guilt was there and only then did sympathy grow. This boy was me 10 years ago, only he was worse.

And we all know we can’t fix him even if we tried.  I would have been the one. My hand sank inside my Nedbank bag and came out with a Mr Price wallet. I took out the gold coin, handed it over to the boy. He refused it.

Ngicela ningishayeleni izandla, he said smiling and then walked away.

Solange Knowles was still playing, but it was as if there was still silence in the car. Maybe there was or maybe I was switched off reality – again - attached on a bubble inspired by the money I carelessly spend and the life I am never grateful for.

Those who were attuned with the world clapped. I could have betrayed my pride and ridiculed my ignorance by applauding as well, but the buttered sliced bread I had had for lunch that day was still fresh in my mind. What a hypocritical blessed creature I was; oblivious so prematurely of a journey I had had.

Yehova, ndicela Uxolo...

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Use he who uses thee...

As a young boy, I wanted to have a straight guy for a best friend. As I grew up though, I come to realise just how close to impossible this is. Probably, the Gods foresaw this; hence I always ended up attracting females for good friends. The ‘straight’ guys that came close to me had weird propensities coupled with sexual fantasies which somehow comprised men.

I stopped wishing and started living. Nonetheless, I realised that finding good friends is as hard as bumping into this Mr Right many young people tend to speak of.  And, it’s as hard to maintain as a relationship.

Just like in relationships, some people are lucky as they have the same friends since primary school. Some meet their best friends at varsity and they last forever, and others meet good friends only once and even though they are still good friends, they are miles apart and stand the possibility to only meet again when they have grown very old and apart.

Shame, poor me...

I met my friends, the two most wonderful beings at varsity and together we became family. We became each other’s pillars of strength and we were always there for one another in every possible way.

We were so close, to the extent that the fact that our relationships never lasted we were not bothered at all. We felt that as long as we had each other we were fine, and that is all that mattered.

I remember our conversations precisely. They’d start off about our plans and dream jobs after school and what we would do for ourselves and our families. This would shift to money, oh how we loved money (I still do) and finer things in life. From money came men, sex and alcohol; these were our favourites as our experiences brought smiles to our faces.

My shenanigans made them laugh, even the stuff I had kept to myself in fear of being humiliated. Nonetheless, I ended up laughing at those too.

My goodness, I had never been that free in my life. I would walk the streets with so much confidence; one would swear East London had no homophobes. This two accepted me and made me feel welcome to the point that I failed to see any bad in the eyes of a woman. Well, and some men.

Life served its course; I got a job offer in Johannesburg, one went to Cape Town while the other one worked in East London. At this stage I realised that I am not only clingy when it comes to relationships. I am this way even in friendships.

I became so lonely and at some point I thought of going back home. The fast life in Joburg was appealing, but I could not see any excitement without my two best friends. My career became the only thing keeping me sane. However, I outgrew this. I accepted that all three of us were meant for different things in life, and if we were meant to meet again, we will. Just not today.

Just like a victim of a failed relationship of many years, now I compare every single ‘friend’ I meet in Joburg to my best friends. They are all different; well, extremely different as many of these people seem to be users, in the sense that they only ‘like’ you if you have something they want.

The most surprising aspect to this, is finding out that even the richest people use people – no matter how poor - and they suck other people for money – no matter how broke - .

This to me is very strange. My explanation to this has been that maybe the rich ones have also been used before and now they feel the need to do the same to others. Even more strange I think.

Having said that, I have come up with an attitude that works for now; Use he who uses thee and all shall be well. Failing which, I will get bitten by the snakes they are. But I am sure there are still good people somewhere around just like I believe one of these days I will bump into this Mr Right guy.

Happy read!

Alone

About a month ago, I got appointed as a permanent member of staff at a company I had recently joined. Happy, feeling triumphant and thriving as I was, I knew these were the news to share not only with my beloved mother, but with those whom I call my friends too.

Before I even tried calling my two best friends, a thought ticked in mind, and all of a sudden I realised that I can’t, I can’t call them and tell them this. I mean, I could, but I just needed a much better way of doing it instead of over the phone.

Both these women are of essence and have been an inspiration in my life from the first day I met them. Thanks to them I managed to finish my studies at varsity in spite of the family disputes I had. The things they did for me I will never forget. Things got to a point where I felt that if I had needed new underwear, they would have bought it for me. That is how much they took care of me.

Because of this, I fell in love with the both of them. I just knew they have become a part of me that not even my biological sisters are not part of. They have created an image –in my eyes- of the perfect woman I would go for, given I happen to be restored from the wavy ways of a French curve.

Now, I had just got appointed permanently, while they both struggle with their careers. A part of me said, no... No, no, no. The best way to tell them is face to face. That way they will see it in your face just how much you still love them-and how devoted I am to them- regardless of the challenges they are facing in life.

They would see a great deal of the artefact they helped to established. Just how much I am flourishing, all thanks to their existence.

Sadly, seeing them was impossible. So, I could not see them, and yet I could not bring myself to calling them to tell them the news. Nonetheless, they found out, hail to the power of social media.  They both were excited for me. They still are, and they are proud of me.

Having said all that, I wanted to celebrate my news. My mother is in the Eastern Cape and my best friends are miles aways from me, so my Joburg peeps had to do.

But then again, what peeps? I have, no friends in Jozi. All that I have are people whom I find joy in making happy. I like being the reason people are smiling and enjoying life. That for me is just a perfect recipe to create a very good surrounding and friendships for oneself. One that lacks reciprocity, of course.

Experiencing the company of these kinds of people has made me realise that finding and building good friendships is as difficult as spotting Mr right amongst strippers.

And so, I am thinking, isn’t there a principle in small print somewhere, stating that, when a person is nice to you, you repay by being the same? Sense of decorum perhaps?

One ‘friend’ said I am asking too much, for a boy who settled easily in a city where out comers are usually welcomed by experience that live figurative and physical scars in their lives, scars that haunt them forever, hence they never survive it.

But I cannot live without friends. I experienced having the best ones not so long ago, and so I am addicted to having them. Is that too much to ask or maybe I am doing things differently? Weirdly?

I am alone, let’s face it. Soon I will be lonely. Funny how –when I was young- I use to pray to God not to make me the type of person whose career flourishes while personally I do NOT have a life.

Happy read!

Family time

December is just two months and a few weeks away, and I am faced with two options on how and where I should spend it. Either I go home, and spend my December holidays with family or, have my two younger siblings come over in Joburg to spend the holidays with me.

The latter, is of course, appealing, not only to me but to my mother as well. However, when I sat up at night thinking of the costs and comparing the two options, going home came up less costly than having my siblings up here.

As parsimonious as I am, I considered the expensive option and came up to a conclusion that I want my siblings to come up here.

I want them to see the world, and I want them to get the experience I got when I went to East London for the first time. That same experience broadens its self when I came to Joburg to follow my dream. I want to help them get rid of the mentality  that, a person from the Eastern Cape has to hide or run away from home to come and make money in Joburg.

The first time

The very first time I came to Joburg, I saw a place full of opportunities. A place so diverse, it takes people of different tribes to help a Xhosa folk find himself. This place has taught me so much about family value because I have bumped and made friends with people who left their homes and never went back. But of course, now they need their families because they have nowhere else to go for the reason that their friends have abandoned them.

This place has showed me just how to have a good time. Yes, Cape Town offers a very high class way of living. But Johannesburg is a perfect example that a black person can make it and will make it if only that person chews on hard work every day.

This is where I took note of just how much young (black) people are hungry to be independent, be successful and responsible of their families and loved ones. As a result, every time I have to do anything for my family and loved ones, I feel that sense of pride accentuating the mere fact that, I am making it and I am a responsible young black man.

Now, who am I to deprive my siblings all this inspiration? Why procrastinate a deal I can sort out in the present moment? Will I not be to blame when my siblings find crime or sleeping around more rewarding than getting education? What if I die today? Will they ever get to see and experience what made their brother yearn for Independence?

I am the most selfish person on this planet, but I refuse to be so in this regard. I love my family, and loving them means, I must (especially if and when I can) help them get the inspiration I think they need to succeed and be happy in life.  Of course, my primary aim here is to highlight just how much access one can have when one endures education and believes in it.

I know it’s been a while since I have been home, but I feel that this is a one of those things I have to do while I can still afford (or be indebted) to do. I don’t know what tomorrow holds for me. The best I can do is making my siblings happy in the only ways possible. After all, I am a celebrity in their eyes. So, why not Oprah-fy them up?

Happy read!

Making money eGoli

From an early age, I knew of three places in South Africa where one can make money regardless of whether or not one is educated. Those places are Gauteng, Western Cape and Kwazulu Natal. From what I heard, back then, Gauteng was the best place to get jobs, with the mines supported by hard rocks that are made solid by the sweat of every broke illiterate black men.

My turn came to come and see this place my fellow Xhosa peeps dubbed eRhawutini. Of course, before coming here, my perception of the place had changed from that which I had when I still wiped my snorts with a tongue. I had grown and therefore all that I saw and still see is of the view of a grown up.

The young

There are many young people here and most of them –if not all- possess the same aim of making and having lots of money. Yes, they are inspired by the old and rich people of this city and they want to vacate their homes for better houses in Sandton, Kyalami and Fourways.

To a few, this is a feasible plan while to many it’s a dream and an impossible one to attain because of the lack of one of the most important useful tools for success; education.

With that being said, uneducated youngsters do manage to make this money. A few do part-time jobs in Petrol stations, in the retail industry, supermarkets and restaurants. A lot, however, get this money from practically pick-pocketing people on the streets. The latter, in my opinion, possibly makes the same amount as the young men and women who are ill-treated by attention seeking celebrities in restaurants. They merely chose this path in life because for them it is the easiest, despite the danger it involves. Funny enough, most of the people who do the pick-pocketing end up living on the streets. It is then that the dangers of this path prevail.

The business people

I am not referring to business people in the corporate sphere nor am I talking about street vendors but disabled people on the streets who live to beg people for money on freeways. Yes, I consider them business people because to them what they do is way of making money. Of course, they don’t have to work. Showing the car drivers driving by that they are blind, crippled and homeless is enough to earn them a living.

I look at these women and men and ask myself as to why do they go and beg on the streets instead of walking to government’s social departments and apply for disability grants.

In my opinion, if they have the minds to get into a taxi all the way from Soweto or Joburg CBD to Sandton streets, Fourways or Randburg just to merely stand all day long and beg for money, they are smart enough to know where to go in order to apply for free money.

I am thinking, they realised that the easiest way to get money is to manipulate pity and guilt out of those with good hearts. They know how to stand for one to pity them, they know just what to say for the old grannies to feel sorry for them and they know what kind of expression they need to apply on their faces just to get that one young man feeling guilty.

Many years back, this business was rolling. These days, however, people do not buy in it. I think maybe they have come to realise just how much of a scam this is. Only a few people submit to it by giving money to these people. Some went as far as taking some of these people into their homes in an effort to provide sustainable help to these beggars.

Sadly, those who helped live to tell a very shocking tale of someone whom – after being helped – found a way to rob the helper of every valuable possession s/he had. As a result, these people end up going back to beg for money on the streets.

I have come across two people who tell you upfront that R5 or coins are not enough. I found it surprising that at such a state they could be so choosy.

Happy read!

What a long pause...

March is my eighth month, having been in Johannesburg. I came here last year, in July in aims of starting up my career. I knew it was not going to be an easy task, but I also did not know it was going to take more than sweats and tears to accomplish my plan.

So far, however, I have only climbed as level one on a building comprising eleven levels of success. So, I can safely say I am a bit successful, but not entirely. Not even close.

Today, I feel I have bruises, emotionally. I feel, I am tired. I am slowly losing my mind because what I had come here for does not seem to be coming along so well. Possibly, my future is in East London, Mthatha or Port Elizabeth, but what will it take for me to know for sure where I am suppose to head in the coming days.

Of course, going back to my province has its advantage, and that is being with my mother. But, that is the only reason I would choose to be grocery packer at a Pick n' Pay in Mthatha. But, up until today, she doesn't want me to come back home without having any  sort of employment. Of course, she possess the same fear as any other woman neighbour she has, that of her son spending so much money on education, only to come  back home and have nothing to do. Of course, crime, masturbation and sun bathing are open options.

Somehow, I know for a fact that something is going to come up. I always say to my mother. But, patience is the bitch in this scenario, because I do not have it in me, the ability to sit and wait for anything. I cannot wait for a person who is three minutes late for a meeting, I cannot wait for my mother who promised to deal with some boy I had a fight with, I cannot sit and wait in my room, while one of my best friends is having a problem, AND, I cannot wait an unknown company to get back to me, after two months, for a job post I applied for four weeks ago.

Unfortunately, whether I can or cannot wait, what is meant to reach me or be mine only after six months, will stay that way. However, if it happens that I invent ways  to get it to me before time, there are consequences. Such consequences tend to extend the dates of my things, coming to me. Hence, I have to let things be. Unfortunately.

Happy read!