Black and White. Puo Pha

I used to love white people as a child. They fascinated me; they had long hair and the ones I observed could swim well. My dad used to take us to Sheraton Hotel to go swimming and there was always some friendly white man willing to teach us there. In those days having a glass of very cold Coke at the hotel was more than a treat. Who cares for coke now?

I loved white people, but I didn't like the white kids I had the opportunity to observe. They whined a lot and were very sensitive. A little scratch tore off their skin so I was manipulated into pitying them, and sometimes letting them have their way. But I was a child too, and having my way was what I could kill for. The children were not so interesting, but their parents were. They liked me too, and said I was inquisitive. I asked my mum what it meant and she told me it means I ask a lot of good questions. The white parents used to be really nice, they patiently tried to teach me how to swim, but I only learnt later with the help of a not very white woman. Miss Khan. She was a Coloured-Indian, now that I am more informed, I can tell.

The white people listened to me when I talked and made me feel important. I used to think that's how they are all the time, and I wished I was a child of white people. My parents too made me feel special, but when they were tired or angry with me I knew I was in for it. I was only a little spoilt, loved by my dad most, I think it's because I look like my mother, and I must have said a lot of silly things, because they say that I talked too much. Now I know, a good child talks too much. What business do they have keeping things to themselves, and not being curious? They must talk so that we the adults can gauge how much they know and if we need to be concerned about anything.

A little bit later, I got to observe the white people more. I sneaked up into their lives, or they sneaked into mine, I don't know. I observed them even when they were sleeping. I learnt that they were just like us, nothing special about them at all. Their number two even smelled a little worse than mine! Well at least the one I befriended for some years. The adults shouted at their kids, and they didn't eat nice things all the time. I had more nicer things and had a larger portion of food. Even my white friend said so.

Her white mother gave her a cheese sandwich and told her simba chips were poisonous. I had the best lunch box; chips, chocolate sometimes, and juice. We exchanged the chips for her cheese sandwich. Later I learnt that her mother was smart. But that's much later when I had been through all sorts of emotions concerning white people.

I stopped observing the white people, after all, we brethed the same air and they did number two, so what was there to observe that was different? I had new interests that drew me to the library and had me lost in thought a little too often. I grew up a little and my growing up was my focus. Boys, music, clothes, and sometimes religion were my focus. Don't get me wrong, my religious focus was not the right kind. I was questioning all I heard and inventing my little theories. I will tell you about that another time, now I'm telling you about my feelings towards white people.

You might think I have an obsession for white people, it's ok. I will tell you now that black people talk a lot about white people. I am black, and I don't even talk as much as the people i have heard talk about white people. Whether they are educated or not, celebrities or not, everyone is talking about white people. I didn't really care for them at all, until I became concerned because some of the people talking about white people seem very angry. It is now 2012, the year of government. I was very shocked when I joined twitter to realise that people are not happy with the white people. They say that racism still exists. i have heard less angry claims from other people, I have made my own claims concerning white people, but I did not realise that they were that popular! I mean, right now if you are not talking about white people, you are outdated. As a writer, if you do not write about white people, no one will buy your books, and the artist who has no white mentioned in his interpretation of the artwork has no career as an artist.

The 'white bug' is spreading so far and fast that it's almost contagious. I think I have caught it. I am one of those people that love to write about flowers and butterflies, thorns and holes. I love to write about smiles and tears, people and angels. All the sweet little things that sometimes come disguised as pain and sometimes haunt you at night. The dangerous things that we fall in love with. That's what I write about.

But now let me tell you what happened after I grew a little. I met people and they told me that they hate white people. They spoke with such a passion that I appeared ignorant for not sharing the same opinion.
Hate is a very strong word, yet it has been used many times to adress people, without repentance. By now I had done some reading and learning and knew about the monster called Apartheid. I heard about how black and white people hated each other. I heard that the white people killed the black people inside, and the black people killed the white people outside. I also heard that the white people did more killing because they had better weapons. They used black and white tvs, radios, education, words and guns. The black people could not afford these weapons, their mouths were sealed and their cries were muffled. So they became very angry because the fight was not fair. The white people won. That was not the end though, some angel came and took the trophy from the white people and gave it to the black people, saying, "The white people cheated, you deserve the trophy."

In case you do not yet realise it, this is a very complicated matter. The white people won, and the black people have the trophy. Some of them cheered for the trophy, but many of them did not cheer, the weapons of the white people were still coming at them. The trophy was tainted, it made some people feel better, but it did not stop the bullets from coming at them. The wise black people then continued fighting, they also prayed. They wanted to stop the white people from firing bullets against them, and finally the white people stopped. Now this is where we are right now. No one is firing any bullets against anyone. Education, media, power and even the dangerous weapons, are available to all who want them.

Now the black people are healing their wounds and going through the process of forgiving the white people. Now the white people are saying "I'm sorry" some are saying "I was an idiot, forgive me." They are sorry, but they are not healing any wounds. While the black people are healing, the white people are moving forward, they have land, they have trusts for their children, they go overseas for holidays, they have confidence. Black people are still healing but the land is all gone. The little that is left costs a lot of money, we celebrate when you buy a flat. They are afraid, so afraid they can't move. No yet.

What must happen now? Everybody knows. Everybody has the solution; the white people must give us what they have. I almost laughed when I heard this. Of course, it came from sophisticated lips, said with eloquence and academic precision. I will not say it like I heard it, because you might not understand the meaning. That is what the black people want now. And sadly, it is not going to happen, not unless SA aspires to be like Zimbabwe at present. Now we have to think. Now we have to be smart, and some black people are managing to do that, but many are becoming selfish you see. They have done the right thing, taken responsibility for their own lives, embraced what they can't change and associate with what can lift them even if its just a little bit, yet they use their influence to fuel anger within the black people. They are sitting in their mansions with their children dating white boys, writing on facebook, "Racisim is still here, lets not pretend that its over. White people have ripped us of all we had and we are just letting them get away with it!" Yes, they say that, I just watch and shake my head (SMH). I listen to the less learned agreeing with a violent nod, while sitting down on coke crates, doing nothing.

I see these things, and I question myself, what is my stand? What Can I do to change the mindset of the black people for the better? I don't know many things, but I know that if we can see a little clearer, and be a bit more focused, adjust our mindsets for takeoff, action, progress, hard work, focus, future, then we can all be happy. Now my feelings for white people are insignificant. Some I admire, some I am not so fond of. Now my right thinking is restored, after seeing all these things and hearing all, I say that I love people who think big. I admire black people who have broken the boundaries and are enlightening others by giving them the right information that will also free them, rather than fueling anger and resentment. It does not help anyone.

Something Just Kicked!

Before you have children, every little tummy ache is a scare to your husband! When you sneeze he asks, "Is everything fine there?" It's so funny, sometimes you forget of all the multiple precautions you are using and join in on the suspicion that you might be pregnant! I'm enjoying being a young wife and laughing at all the silliness of learning new things, making some mistakes and working through them together. Finally I own the kitchen! - and I'm abusing myself (just a little) by going all out on my meals even when I am exhausted from work and loaded with assignments. I can't imagine my life being any other way. I look forward to being done with school and having more time for my family.

Black Goat For Dinner

I wrote this short story about a young lady who had to make a difficult choice between the 'new' faith, Christianity and the faith she was born into and raised by, Ancestral Worship. Tough choice to make for someone who has read and heard about the way the missionaries looked down on and exploited Africans though they claimed that they brought the gospel to them. And even tougher when she thinks about the horrid things she must do in order to please the ever demanding ancestors. Torn between family and faith, the young woman makes new discoveries about herself. I'd post it here but it's too long.

At Church

That's me in the bright dress (whatever colour that is) praising God at church, Dominion Family Church, in Melville. God has been good! During the sermon I have this serious look on my face, with this little crease on my fece that I don't like (I got it from my mum). Frowning scares people away, so thankfully I always iron it out when I remember;)