The woman I admire, She is not an academic,
Not even a humanitarian or celebrity
She goes to work in the morning and comes home late sometimes
Back to her quiet house to watch tv.
I never said she was perfect,
Who in this world is anyway,
She just has something about her,
A certain...strength of character
Well, she's like a teabag
That's been dipped in hot water
Not once or twice, several times
It takes a strong flavour to still be going strong
After all that dipping
It takes a strong woman
And that she is
And for that she will get her reward
Rest, peace, love, joy,
And whatever good thing you can think of
She will taste the milk and honey
That flows from the land
In this very land of the living
A flower.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Something to read: The Great Gatsby
I look forward to watching The Great Gatsby, the movie. I enjoyed the book by F. Scott Fitzgerald as it was not the usual novel with a 'moral' at the end. Just some good old action and suspense, and a rather unfair ending too! I'd fill you in but I'm not the best book reviewer around, it feels like schoolwork to me ;). If you haven't read it, get it or borrow it from the library and start reading, even if you don't like reading, just give it a try and tell me how you find it. I bet you'll love it!
Friday, June 15, 2012
The Woman In The Taxi
This world is full of such amazing people, I just can't help but be joyful each day as I meet interesting people, even if for a brief moment. Today in the taxi a woman sat next to me, she must be in her late forties, but she was in school uniform, wearing a jacket over it so I never even noticed until much later. She started talking to me, as these older women like to do in taxis. We drove past a building with a AVBOB sign and she asked me if I have ever been there, pointing to the building. I said no, and she said, "Sho! It's where they cremate people. You'll hear a crackling sound, then another one, as the bones burn to ashes, then a final loud crack!" and she went on, "They only allow family there."
She was sipping on a can of coke with a straw, quite like a child would. And I responded with a little shock and interest in her more than her story. Was she telling me that she had lost someone in her family? Well, then it's good of her to use such opportunities to talk about it, strangers are less critical, I thought to myself. She continued to tell me that she was from school, a total diversion and a very random one. That's what I enjoyed about my brief experience of meeting this woman whose name I do not know. She uncovered her jacket to show me that she was wearing uniform. It was the usual check skirt, green, with a white shirt and a deep green tie. I was like, wow, that's great! I really meant it. So she told me her younger brother had gone to the same school, and even her uncle and aunt and cousins. She was really proud of the school that she even told me it's name. I forgot it. For me the name was not important, she was the most important person at that moment, the most interesting and amazing person. I smiled and she said, "Yes! I go to school!" with such pride that I just couldn't help but love her. Then a bit of silence, and she went on, based on my accent from our previous conversation, "Where are you from?"
I said Botswana. And with the most adorable expression of surprise or shock she said, "Where in Botswana?" I said Gaborone. "Yho! You look like my relatives, my uncle's children. What's your name? I told her and she told me their surname, hoping I might say I know them and we are related. Ah, time up, I had to get off the taxi.
I thought about her for a very long time. I wondered about her school, about her relatives in Botswana, and about her relative who got cremated. My thoughts from that moment were somehow linked to the encounter I had with her, and I was happy. So maybe after sharing this experience with you I will move on to other thoughts :)
She was sipping on a can of coke with a straw, quite like a child would. And I responded with a little shock and interest in her more than her story. Was she telling me that she had lost someone in her family? Well, then it's good of her to use such opportunities to talk about it, strangers are less critical, I thought to myself. She continued to tell me that she was from school, a total diversion and a very random one. That's what I enjoyed about my brief experience of meeting this woman whose name I do not know. She uncovered her jacket to show me that she was wearing uniform. It was the usual check skirt, green, with a white shirt and a deep green tie. I was like, wow, that's great! I really meant it. So she told me her younger brother had gone to the same school, and even her uncle and aunt and cousins. She was really proud of the school that she even told me it's name. I forgot it. For me the name was not important, she was the most important person at that moment, the most interesting and amazing person. I smiled and she said, "Yes! I go to school!" with such pride that I just couldn't help but love her. Then a bit of silence, and she went on, based on my accent from our previous conversation, "Where are you from?"
I said Botswana. And with the most adorable expression of surprise or shock she said, "Where in Botswana?" I said Gaborone. "Yho! You look like my relatives, my uncle's children. What's your name? I told her and she told me their surname, hoping I might say I know them and we are related. Ah, time up, I had to get off the taxi.
I thought about her for a very long time. I wondered about her school, about her relatives in Botswana, and about her relative who got cremated. My thoughts from that moment were somehow linked to the encounter I had with her, and I was happy. So maybe after sharing this experience with you I will move on to other thoughts :)
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Between Here and There
At the border gate, Death on the other side, and me, in no-man's-land. It seems harder to catch my breath; it slips out easily and comes back in with a painful effort. It is life isn't it? Easily lost to waste, and with difficulty brought back to order. Well, that is me before it ended.
I lie there in a pool of my own substance, thick and fluid at the same time, like custard powder, like lead. The deep colour clings to my clothes and makes me feel sticky and dirty. I shouldn't touch it, I know better than that! I knew better when I was younger, but now that I am grown this thing called purpose possesses me and I live for it, and now die for it, if indeed I die. It's the fault of this adult thing that I lie in my own... I can't stand that word, not when it is outside the body. I lie in my own deep colour. I can't tell if it's maroon or black, it is ugly. If you have seen things in this life you will know what I mean.
The shooting continues from a distance and I am not afraid. I lie there like a hero, seeming to give up but determined to live. And living becomes harder as I take each excruciating breath. The blood, oh how I shiver at the thought, it oozes out of a hole in my stomach, and more in my eye. The pain is not unbearable, it is beyond that, it is now necessary; the less I feel pain, the more I am certain that I am slipping away. And I cannot, not just yet.
I take a deep breath occasionally to force that life inside me, to feel pain and be hopeful. And now it slips out mockingly, all I feel is cold and hot at the same time. Such a strange thing it is to die, to see your mind becoming nearly blank, and your emotions almost irrelevant. To see everything slip away into nothingness.
I hear voices over me, they seem happy with the battle, they are going to win and fulfill purpose. And my husband stands there smiling, and I want to be there for him but now I am tempted to release all and follow the peace and quiet. He needs me at that point more than I him. I take that deep breath, like gulping down pain, and try to hold it in. More pain. I release and repeat with shorter intervals until I gain the courage to turn my head slightly.
"She just moved!"
That's my husband with a panic in his voice.
But, I thought I saw him smile. Now he moves around frantically not knowing what to touch and what to leave alone. Now he begins to pray in the spirit but it's as though he is saying to me, "Wake up, you are not dead. Receive the strength of the Lord Jesus, receive it now! Get up young woman, the battle is not over yet, you are needed on the battlefield."
That's what I hear, so I try to smile. I know I have to endure the pain, it is not yet time to slip away to the other side. So instead I wake up, I uncover my head from the deprived blanket, and open my eyes to see my husband standing over me.
"Wake up Ms T" He says with a smile.
I lie there in a pool of my own substance, thick and fluid at the same time, like custard powder, like lead. The deep colour clings to my clothes and makes me feel sticky and dirty. I shouldn't touch it, I know better than that! I knew better when I was younger, but now that I am grown this thing called purpose possesses me and I live for it, and now die for it, if indeed I die. It's the fault of this adult thing that I lie in my own... I can't stand that word, not when it is outside the body. I lie in my own deep colour. I can't tell if it's maroon or black, it is ugly. If you have seen things in this life you will know what I mean.
The shooting continues from a distance and I am not afraid. I lie there like a hero, seeming to give up but determined to live. And living becomes harder as I take each excruciating breath. The blood, oh how I shiver at the thought, it oozes out of a hole in my stomach, and more in my eye. The pain is not unbearable, it is beyond that, it is now necessary; the less I feel pain, the more I am certain that I am slipping away. And I cannot, not just yet.
I take a deep breath occasionally to force that life inside me, to feel pain and be hopeful. And now it slips out mockingly, all I feel is cold and hot at the same time. Such a strange thing it is to die, to see your mind becoming nearly blank, and your emotions almost irrelevant. To see everything slip away into nothingness.
I hear voices over me, they seem happy with the battle, they are going to win and fulfill purpose. And my husband stands there smiling, and I want to be there for him but now I am tempted to release all and follow the peace and quiet. He needs me at that point more than I him. I take that deep breath, like gulping down pain, and try to hold it in. More pain. I release and repeat with shorter intervals until I gain the courage to turn my head slightly.
"She just moved!"
That's my husband with a panic in his voice.
But, I thought I saw him smile. Now he moves around frantically not knowing what to touch and what to leave alone. Now he begins to pray in the spirit but it's as though he is saying to me, "Wake up, you are not dead. Receive the strength of the Lord Jesus, receive it now! Get up young woman, the battle is not over yet, you are needed on the battlefield."
That's what I hear, so I try to smile. I know I have to endure the pain, it is not yet time to slip away to the other side. So instead I wake up, I uncover my head from the deprived blanket, and open my eyes to see my husband standing over me.
"Wake up Ms T" He says with a smile.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Brrrr....
It's hard to wake up in the morning in winter, but nothing beats knowing that you have maximised your day and owe it nothing. As you have heard before, 'time waits for no man', so let's get working ladies and gentlemen... you will get your reward in due season!
Friday, June 8, 2012
Attracting Opportunities
So things are not so great now, you are not where you though you'd be and everyone else around you seems to be progressing but you. Well, your noticing that is a sign that the pity party must end now. Enough of comparing yourself with others, enough of complaining, it's now time to take matters into your own hands and do whatever it takes to get yourself out of the situation you are in.
Always remember, there is no such thing as luck. You are responsible for creating opportunities for yourself, or rather for attracting opportunities and for your own progress. And how exactly do you do that? The first thing is to realise that you are in control. No one has a remote control over your life, not even God. God has done his part, he has put in you all that you need to excel in your life and prosper. You are the one in control of your life.
The second thing is to realise that your thoughts are not insignificant; in fact it is your thoughts that have directed your vocabulary and actions to keep you where you are now, an it is your thoughts that can get you out. That means that if you can expose yourself to great things, read and listen to people that inspire you and change your negative thought pattern to a positive, 'I can do all things' kind of attitude, you will begin to first of all feel better, have a better picture of yourself and your future, and you will begin to confess good things about where you want to be.
This tongue might be small but the bible makes us aware that the power of life and death lies in the tongue. You can kill your own destiny with your tongue, and you can bring life to dead situations and dead dreams with your tongue. It is up to you how you choose to use your tongue; whether for you or against you. You might have heard about positive speaking and thought, it is just motivational speakers trying to psyche people up. Well let me tell you that it is not psyche, it is a principle from the bible which always works. Add actions to your confessions and see just how much in control you are.
To test this, you can refuse to change your thoughts, speech and actions, and you will notice that you will not progress. Then try changing your thoughts, start speaking positively about your life and your future, and start taking actions towards developing yourself as a person (it could be reading, doing a course, going back to the gym, nurturing your gift, praying), see how you begin to feel more refreshed and inspired, how you feel more alive and how much more in control you become. That is the perfect environment opportunities are attracted to, so keep doing what you can and being expectant and see how much better your life becomes!
Friday, June 1, 2012
Talk to Him
If God is your father, you don't need to always be so formal with him. Sometime just share your hopes and dreams with him, he is always ready to listen to you and loves it when you talk to him, but instead, we love to go around sharing our thoughts with people who couldn't care less. God loves the sound of your voice and when you talk to him he really appreciates it. Tell him, "Father (Dad/Papa/Daddy/Baba etc.), I am really excited about my son's first day at school, I look forward to the days when we will take him around the world for his school vacations, and... I look forward to the future Father, and it makes me so glad to know that not only are you a part of my future, but you have great plans for me!" How sweet that sounds to God's ear. He's not always waiting to hear you say "Oh God, when you increase me I will build a hospital in the village!" No, he knows your heart, many say that to bribe him and he can't even trust them with the little they have. Be sincere and develop a love relationship with God.
When you learn to talk to God like that, you will see how much more real he becomes to you and how much less you begin to rely on human approval. He loves you too much to ignore you, give it a try and tell me how it goes!
When you learn to talk to God like that, you will see how much more real he becomes to you and how much less you begin to rely on human approval. He loves you too much to ignore you, give it a try and tell me how it goes!
Monday, May 28, 2012
Read on...
God says that He will never leave me nor forsake me. Is it because he loves me more than you? No. God loves us the same but we need to discover what He is saying for ourselves. When you read the bible, you will realise that anyone can be saved and become His child. And once you are His child, not only does He love you (for he loves all his creation) but you will begin to have direct access to Him and His word will become alive to you.
Many people read the bible but find it confusing, it is because there is the revelation dimension that they do not have access to. When you are born again, your eyes are opened to the depth of God's word and you will begin to see what God is saying concerning your life. God will begin to speak to you through His word and your relationship with Him will give you a supernatural confidence that cannot be attained otherwise; the kind of confidence that enables you to make bold declarations even when things seem to be falling apart. This kind of boldness makes people wonder how you can be at peace in the midst a drought, but you know that you are holding on to God's promises and you have faith in Him that He can never fail you.
These are things that are revealed to you personally when you seek God. No one can convince you of these things, conviction comes through your meditating on God's word until you get a revelation of how it applies to your own life. So my friend, dare to believe in Jesus and experience God for yourself!
If you would like to know more about salvation or being born again, check out these scriptures and you will realise how easy it is: Romans 3:23, Romans 6:23, John 1:12, Ephesians 2:8-9, Romans 10:9-10, John 3:17, Acts 16:30-31. Go through these and read further if you can and you will understand what salvation is about and hopefully you will make the decision to be saved. These are only a few out of many scriptures that you can read on being saved, search for the others and continue to expose yourself to the word of God, because even when you are saved, you need it to renew your mind and adopt God's view of yourself over your own.
Lots and lots of love, T.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Africa Day
Friday, May 4, 2012
Walk The Talk
Sometimes we confess scriptures but refuse to live by them. We know that God rewards those that diligently seek after Him and we keep confessing it but we refuse to get on our knees and pray, we refuse to seek Him in his Word and know Him better. I have been a culprit to that for a long time but the day came when I decided that I am tired of mediocrity. Average is not cool, it is even worse than having nothing because one tends to get comfortable and deceive themselves in thinking they have their basic needs covered. It is not so; excellence is a basic need for a believer and if we have not yet attained it we must continue to strive for it and become what God intended for us to become. As my pastor once told me, "Pray hard and work hard".
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
28 April At Mpumalanga
Friday, April 20, 2012
Poetry Speaks
This poem just spoke
to me. It exists to tell my story! Can you relate?
Still I Rise
You may write me down
in history
With your bitter,
twisted lies,
You may trod me in the
very dirt
But still, like dust,
I'll rise.
Does my sassiness
upset you?
Why are you beset with
gloom?
'Cause I walk like
I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living
room.
Just like moons and
like suns,
With the certainty of
tides,
Just like hopes
springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me
broken?
Bowed head and lowered
eyes?
Shoulders falling down
like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful
cries.
Does my haughtiness
offend you?
Don't you take it
awful hard
'Cause I laugh like
I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back
yard.
You may shoot me with
your words,
You may cut me with
your eyes,
You may kill me with
your hatefulness,
But still, like air,
I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset
you?
Does it come as a
surprise
That I dance like I've
got diamonds
At the meeting of my
thighs?
Out of the huts of
history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's
rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean,
leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I
bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights
of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's
wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts
that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the
hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou
Sweet Smile
On those days when you feel like you are alone, unloved and ugly, take a look in the mirror and smile and say, "God loves me." That is the purest truth you'd have said all day. Never mind who's not paying attention to you, never mind what you don't have, you have His love and it's more powerful and precious than anything in the world. Now go along and enjoy the rest of your day, always remember that, ... and smile:)
Friday, April 13, 2012
Loving Relationships
Human relationships are complex. Our thoughts differ from one person to another, and sometimes you might think you are on the same page with someone, only to realise later that you were not. The beauty of relationships is in knowing that unless you communicate your thoughts and views, they will not be known, and applying that knowledge. I have realised that the reason why parents and their children seem not to get along sometimes is because each wants to be understood, but no one says anything. When they speak, they shout and by doing that they make the person they think they are communicating to shut their ears.
What we need to do in order to maintain good healthy relationships is to continually talk about our thoughts and views to each other, we must listen attentively to one another and not expect to think the same way. When we understand that we are different and we are sincere with one another, a bond develops which will keep you close even through trying times.
What causes people to feel hurt by their loved ones is because there is no trust. if you trust that someone would not want to hurt you intentionally, when they do hurt you, you forgive easily, give them a chance to tell you their views and tell them why you are hurt. This works both ways but once you understand how to have good relationships, practice it and you will see it rub off on the people around you. It is very tempting to get upset and conclude that you are not loved or cared for just because of something someone did, but resist that temptation and sober up. Ask questions if you don't understand something, rather than jumping to assumptions. And if you are the one on the wrong, express your repentance and love, don't shy away and leave the other person feeling like you don't even care. Basically, be proactive in your relationships and let love reign.
I have learnt these things from not one experience but many experiences. Family members in particular take each other for granted and tend to think that everything is fine if one keeps out of everyone's way and they stay out theirs, but communication means sharing yourself with the next person and allowing them to share themselves with you. It means sometimes listening to your sister talk about that relationship of hers that you do not support in the first place, and talking about what you truly feel. Its OK to be strong, but you always need a place where you know you are not expected to be perfect. Make the most of it and forgive as you too will need to be forgiven at some point.
What we need to do in order to maintain good healthy relationships is to continually talk about our thoughts and views to each other, we must listen attentively to one another and not expect to think the same way. When we understand that we are different and we are sincere with one another, a bond develops which will keep you close even through trying times.
What causes people to feel hurt by their loved ones is because there is no trust. if you trust that someone would not want to hurt you intentionally, when they do hurt you, you forgive easily, give them a chance to tell you their views and tell them why you are hurt. This works both ways but once you understand how to have good relationships, practice it and you will see it rub off on the people around you. It is very tempting to get upset and conclude that you are not loved or cared for just because of something someone did, but resist that temptation and sober up. Ask questions if you don't understand something, rather than jumping to assumptions. And if you are the one on the wrong, express your repentance and love, don't shy away and leave the other person feeling like you don't even care. Basically, be proactive in your relationships and let love reign.
I have learnt these things from not one experience but many experiences. Family members in particular take each other for granted and tend to think that everything is fine if one keeps out of everyone's way and they stay out theirs, but communication means sharing yourself with the next person and allowing them to share themselves with you. It means sometimes listening to your sister talk about that relationship of hers that you do not support in the first place, and talking about what you truly feel. Its OK to be strong, but you always need a place where you know you are not expected to be perfect. Make the most of it and forgive as you too will need to be forgiven at some point.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
He Loves You
"God is saying: my child, I have seen
you at your worst, there is no need to hide from my presence, I accept you even
when you constantly reject yourself, I alone am the key to your true potential,
run not away from me but to me, bring your baggage, and let me give you rest,
bring your shame and let me cover you with my glory, lose yourself in me and
all shall be added unto you" G.M. Seepe
I came across this on my husband's facebook and it just blessed me. To all those people who are making the most of social media to minister to others, keep doing it, even if it seems like no one is noticing what you are doing, believe me, God sees and your words will definitely bless someone. Though a lot of us became born again in front of a crowd, there are some whom Christ revealed Himself to in solitude, through a song, a poem or a testimony. We need not be religious but make the most of our gifts to preach the good news.
I came across this on my husband's facebook and it just blessed me. To all those people who are making the most of social media to minister to others, keep doing it, even if it seems like no one is noticing what you are doing, believe me, God sees and your words will definitely bless someone. Though a lot of us became born again in front of a crowd, there are some whom Christ revealed Himself to in solitude, through a song, a poem or a testimony. We need not be religious but make the most of our gifts to preach the good news.
Monday, April 2, 2012
When I Blog
Everytime I come here to write something, it ends up being considered for publication in a local magazine. hmm...
Oh, I also have another short story now to add to my collection, thanks to Blogger! This year will surely end with my writing career being more than ten times better! I am expectant. That means at least twenty published articles in several publications. That means at least ten short stories to be published in my Short Story Collection called 'Stories About You'. Watch out for this book!
Oh, I also have another short story now to add to my collection, thanks to Blogger! This year will surely end with my writing career being more than ten times better! I am expectant. That means at least twenty published articles in several publications. That means at least ten short stories to be published in my Short Story Collection called 'Stories About You'. Watch out for this book!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 9, 2012
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.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
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
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