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!