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?

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Bravo task team! Bravo!

It would be hypocritical of me to detach my name from the list of people who often have nothing pleasant to say about the South African government. While I am never the inciter, during such disputes, I certainly pour a great deal of my censorious perspectives concerning the state and its men.

Nonetheless, I am amongst the first people who highlight something good that has resulted from the system I call a joke.

The arrest made in relation to one of the eight murders (of gay men) in Gauteng, brought a tear to my eye. Of course, this could have happened in the long run, but the mere fact that a task team was arranged and tasked to combat a homophobic crime, is worth writing home about. Many other gay men share the same sentiments, I am sure.

I acknowledge that our statesmen did not emulate the homophobic Australian Prime Minister who hosted homosexual couples at her official residence. Yet, I am certainly happy I am not based in Iraq; where 58 people who were either gay or believed to be so were killed in one month. My South Africa falls short.

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Relapse amid evolution

I found myself submitting to appreciation recently, when I overheard colleagues sharing intricacies concerning the widening gap between the poor people and those who rinse cups with Oros, in South Africa.

Emulating the poetic sense of Shakespeare, one painted the picture of the country we live in: “a beautiful place where laws oppose the actions of the people who are duly authorised to pass them and make sure that these are put into action.”

Rightly so, her statement was supported by the policemen who are involved in many corruption cases; hence the rate of crime in South Africa fails to decline.

My gratitude, nevertheless, emanates from being fixed within the working class, despite what tomorrow is believed to have in archives. As a result, my future is based on solid ground; depending on how habitually I nurture the soil on which my professional feet stand.

While I boast about my accomplishments which benefit me and my family, many individuals bear little and, some, nothing to show-off.  They went through academic channels, and many succeeded with flying colours. However, for reasons no one can understand, that was just all for them; no work or any means of income approached.

Something went wrong somewhere and my index finger points at the lack of ambition. So, who do I paint pink with blame? The parents. The families that fail to see past the empty plates on their laps. In this case further education is needed, and with that I am not referring to the enrolment in academic institutions; education in the sense that an individual must learn to be creative, smart and willing to explore possible chances.

Our communities comprise people who are able to shape and design, accordingly, the brands we believe our families are, alas we do not realise that. Hence many people look up to almighty government for everything.

Apart from living large spending the taxpayers money and getting more corrupt each day, the government can only do so much to assist the people who are in need. It is for people at the grassroots level take thing in their own hands. By no means do I say steal from one another. In fact, help one another.

With that being said, South Africa comes a long way, and that would not have been possible had it not been for each of the people who have served as cabinet members in our South African government.

The man whom majority of South Africans dubbed the epitome of humanity, Nelson Mandela shown traits of the push-push concept. Why not practise the push-push concept on each other then; starting in our homes, with families encouraging each member to do well in all aspects and show support whenever members needs it?

Several black South Africans refuse to work hard. Instead opt for illegal dealings that leave the rest of us who do work hard shocked, especially when other races have something to say about it.

We have young girls who do not see the importance of education at all because there men out there who are willing to finance their needs (and possibly their families too), just as long as the reciprocal process includes having sex. The idea of saving oneself for marriage is so ancient, like who wants to be a virgin in 2012??? Like, that is so not cool.

We have dreams, we are very talented people and we are hungry for knowledge, but peer pressure seem to get us even in our 20s and early 30s because we simply cannot be seen standing alone at a bus stop declaring being unique.

The words we utter, therefore, will become pivotal in this case. Consequently, thorough consideration of the things we say to one another will come to play. Perhaps, the outcomes may not be market-related salary for all the family members, but an attitude, for some, that will yield expedient features of life; happiness, positivity and drive.

Nonetheless, there is one thing we just cannot let go. Discrimination. Or is it negativity?

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The palimpsest my beloved Mzantsi is

At one point the colours that make up the multihued, my beloved South Africa is, seemed nicely allied and resilient. These days, nonetheless, there seems to be a gap dividing these ensigns. As a result, the question to be noted insensitively points at the reasons causing such a breakage and rapid seclusion. The answer is unknown.

 

Poverty continues to heap on and this is accentuated by the number of robberies that never seems to diminish in many cities in South Africa. Of course, national statistics play a ping-pong game with our minds; unsubstantiated decreasing statistics while our neighbourhoods tell a different story.

 

Hunger has found comfort in many households. In such homes any twinkle costs thousands. Hence many negated bellies see no problem in killing a young school girl for earrings that possibly cost no more than R60.

 

It is starvation, and possibly the love for money or for the actual syndicates, I believe, that has led Nobanda Nolubabalo to hide, in her dreadlocks, 1.5kg of cocaine. Perhaps, R16 000, to deliver the drugs to an unidentified punter at a hotel in Bangkok, was worth jeopardising her life. At 23, she did not, like the drugs would have; destroy anyone’s life, but hers. However, a 38 year-old Janice Linden did not survive consequences of this despicable act. Her illicit trafficking clashed with the Chinese authorities. Hence they executed her.

 

Of course, the main dealers, in this case, are free; possibly engaging other young and unemployed hungry – even horny - women.

 

Poverty breeds crime and many people do not seem to understand this. I would love to believe I do; the indication is detectable in the animal I become while I propel my brother to do well and endure his school time as well as his teachers and what they are compensated to feed him.

 

With that being said, my dear president is an excited man who, for reasons possibly known only to him and his cabinet, persistently declares plans to create employment and to titivate the lives of the impoverished; a concept that continues to fail up to this day.

 

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Eccentrically flawless

The face structure accentuates his cheekbones and I am called to look, but not to gaze.
He does what he does and I become inundated in his actions as he does.
My mind is here; as he speaks it follows the batting of his nicely carved lips.
I am not slumbering nor am I dead to the world.
I can hear him, he knows and I understand him and his stories.
Go on, my nods command him. I hear you, my eyes tell him. I am pleased, my smile assures him.

He speaks furthermore and I devour all the verses his lips recite.
I munch away as he feeds me.
My head is halfway. Come, come closer, my eyes converse.
I open my lips wide. He thrusts, nicely; his natter and I do not vacillate to swallow.
He feeds me some more while the surrounding stares.
Reciprocally we are nonchalant, but he cares that I’m assiduous.

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