Getting to like my image and burying high school hurts

Today, I saw someone's childhood photo. She was chubby and cute. I actually regretted destroying all those photos that Nqobile took of us back in 1993. I wonder if I would have grown to like them eventually.
Hatred is definitely taught. I hated looking at myself in the mirror and in photographs. Who would have thought that I would be posting selfies on a daily in 2020 🤔
I wonder if I looked as horrendous back then as I thought I did.
I also discovered that my issues didn't start in boarding school. Good to know.

My high school buddies, I took the photo back in 1997.

I need to work on forgetting stuff. I have memories of late night conversations at the small hostel's big dormitory, where Nomusa Mbongwa and her crew used to enjoy bashing my appearance regularly.
They were just kids with issues. I was an easy target, that's all. I used to sleep on a wet pillow every night because of all the crying. (It wasn't just the 'ugly and fat' comments from the mean girls but the sis'Thenjiwe-Miss Zitha stare down every afternoon at the showers. What grown women do that to preteen girls?)
Anyway, I remember Nosipho Ngubane defending me one night to her crew. Such empathy warms my heart.
Hey boarding school is hard, especially when you have 5 other siblings. You are guaranteed not to have cute, fancy clothes, snacks for 80% of the school term, visitors bringing you KFC and stuff.
Poverty gets amplified when you are among the well-off. Add a bad skin, plumpness and shyness....
I survived. Focusing on my school work is what I was good at. I enjoyed being at school vs being at the hostel
I only got the courage to tell my mom recently just how awful the boarding part of high school was and luckily she is forgetful these days. I would hate for my parents to think that their best efforts at giving us a good education were hurtful and harmful to us.
Hurt people hurt people. Mean girls have deep wounds that they don't know how to heal from.
I know that I can withstand negativity, but I don't want to ever tolerate it in my life in any way ever again.
I made some lekker friendships in high school and I occasionally chat with my former mates. It's all good.

We took this in 2019,over 2 decades since high school. 
So mantombazane asesgodlo, ngithi kini nje 'CD/MM enter GO enter'

Dear Educators

Let me start by apologizing to all the good teachers out there. For the longest time I have been painting all of you with the same brush because of my less than narturing experiences at the schools I attended in my childhood. Yes, I am saying sorry Buyie, Zandie, Mami, Sihle, Thule, Sboniso, Muzi... I didn't realize just how many teachers are in my life (sort of).
Now let me thank the following teachers who did their jobs very well:

@St Nivard's Combined Primary School
SSA: Mrs Chiliza (RIP) and Mrs Mkhize snr
SSB: Miss Vezi(RIP) and Mrs Mkhize jnr
STD 1: Mrs Mjoka
STD 2: Mrs Shezi (formerly Miss Vezi, RIP) and Miss Mthethwa
STD 3-5: Mr Ngidi (RIP) and Mrs Shezi (RIP) 
Was so fortunate to have Miss Vezi (Mrs Shezi) for 3 grades! May her soul rest in heavenly peace. 
@Gobume High School 
STD 6: Miss Jwara (big sis Bongi) and Miss Ncwane
@St Francis College 
STD 7-10: Sr Basil, Sr Honesta(RIP) , Mr Nzama, Mr Ngcobo, Mr Nxumalo, Mr DaSilva, Sr Mary George, Sr Mary Corda, Sr Angelica (RIP) and Sr Halind(RIP). 

I appreciate the knowledge and motivation. You conducted yourselves in a professional and commendable way. May God bless you abundantly.
I got a chance to go back to St Francis as a lodger when I got my first job and again to do Education For Life with the matric girls in 2010. Last year I went back to St Nivard's with Ososayensi for national science week.
I think I have healed from the trauma of the belittling, beatings and bullying. I am going to try and not dwell on the past from now on.
Now, dearest educators, please know that parents have entrusted their most precious bundles of joy to you and you could mould and build them, enhance what they already possess and instill discipline and a sense of purpose. Motivate them to be the best they can be.
You can really damage their lives with harsh words and deeds.
Please take this time to reflect on the type of educator you are and work towards becoming the best educator possible. Considerthe long-term results you desire for your learners and let that guide you. Let that be your legacy.
Thank you for all you do for the children. They're our future you know.

Shameful secrets

As a woman, I am in no way minimizing the experience of boys and men, but simply trying to tell the story from the female perspective.

I remember in 2014, we went on a work trip as a group and when a colleague/ friend of mine confessed to me that she had been raped. I was sad, angry and heartbroken for her. She was young, beautiful and very bright. But all the rapist saw was a toy, a play thing for his pleasure.
Those who are close to me know that when I am bothered by something I tend to obsessively talk about it and analyze it to death, to try and find ways to fix it or prevent it from reoccurring.
So when I got home from that work trip, I was catching up with my friend and mentor over tea and so consumed with this issue that our friendship came to a sudden end.
I was putting forward a theory that perhaps there's a way to say 'NO' that women aren't aware of, that these rapists probably expect or perhaps that these rapists were raised to believe that they are entitled to women's bodies. There has to be an element of truth to this.
So what pushed my friend over the edge was the fact that I don't believe in reporting rape to the police and I am against this perpetrator-centric approach to helping victims of sexual assault.
Whether you find and apprehend him or not, it doesn't take away the fact that he raped you. Whether or not he gets a stiff sentence, you still went through the traumatic ordeal, over and over... You tell the clinic nurses, the police, your family, the prosecutor, the magistrate; get cross-examined and called a liar, and asked all sorts of prying questions. All of this, just to put the rapist behind bars, which doesn't really help you.
Therapy has to come out of your own pocket. You need years of therapy to deal with something this horrendous.
Judging from the stories I have heard, I would say if you live in South Africa and have a girl child, start teaching them about sexual assault in an age-appropriate manner of course (make sure they know that it is never their fault; that they can always talk to you about anything even if someone is threatening to kill them if they do), assessing if they have been affected somehow...
I am a firm believer in preparing for the worst-case scenario.
I also feel scared for women and girls in this society when your friends will look at a man behaving inappropriately towards a you and laugh about it instead of putting him in his place.
I was once in a situation where a strange man jumped into a swimming pool and wanted to grab me in front of my friends and they thought it was the funniest thing on earth.
I learnt that day that a black woman is on her own, we have to be our own protectors.

A very common problem with the issue of sexual assault is the secrecy and the shame. Victim-shaming is undoubtedly the main cause of this. We cannot instruct people to unlearn this, just as we cannot prevent the males in our lives from asking the rape victim stupid questions like, what a girl was wearing, the size, duration, firmness... Rather just say 'I'm so sorry this happened to you, what kind of support would you like from me?'. We have a long way to go still.

To those that have felt safe enough to share their stories with me, thank you for trusting me with your secrets. Even though these shouldn't be secrets, we live in a world that is not sympathetic nor compassionate towards women. I stand with you and share your pain.
Aluta Continua 💪

Perfectly Imperfect

Expecting Perfection is not realistic. If God can create corn with squiggly rows and uneven seeds, what's so hard to understand about each person being created unique. Some people are tall others are short, dark skinned and light skinned, fat and skinny, ugly and pretty, intelligent and dumb, kind and mean, you know what I mean, right?
Why should I strive to be like another person? Why should I be what somebody else expects me to be?
When I was younger and definitely dumber, I thought that I had to behave in a certain way and betray who I am, for acceptance. It certainly doesn't help that people get shamed for just being. The fact that I exist and dare to love myself is such an offensive act in the eyes of some people in our society.

What I didn't know was that I would eventually find my tribe (very small in number but huge in love with enormous impact). Finding people who will love and embrace you even when you are not being flattering towards them. Even when you are being your usual 'hectic' self. Even when you disagree with them. That's a rare find.
Cheers to my tribe! 🥂

My BoPo Journey

I'm a member of the body positivity movement, albeit the slowest progressing one. Basically I am number 1 from the back. I love myself and I do all I can to be good to myself.
After years of learned self-loathing I can safely say that I am no longer on the hatred side of the spectrum. You see, when all you hear from your family, school teachers, school mates and random strangers is negative talk about your body, it's difficult to go against it.
I remember dreaming about cutting off my inner thighs when I was younger because, not only was the chafing bad and painful but I had to walk in such a way that I minimize friction, i.e. Take very small steps. Little did I know that I had become the standard/unit measure for how far apart kids should plant beans. They were very observant, I'll give them that.
A lot of people wish to have a thigh gap, so they could look nice in swimwear, my dream was to have a normal person's stride.
Coming back to my point : I might never reach a point where I am taking photos (nevermind posting them) of myself in underwear, fatkinis or even exercise gear but in the ways that are within reach I show myself love and compassion.

At my previous job, I got accused a lot of loving myself too much. The irony is that I feel like I don't love myself enough.
Mine is a journey in all fronts. Holistically. Body, mind, spirit... I am not so narcissistic and shallow to constantly obsess about my looks but hey that's where I am at with it.

#bopo #bodypositive #plussize #fat #growing #learning #healing #healthy #loving

Never let how far you have to go bring you down, look at how far you've come

Reading this quote from Jay Shetty brought back a memory. When my sister @ka_tiyoni had just moved back to KZN from East London, I hosted her for a couple of weeks while she was looking for a place to stay in Durban. She used to drive a gold Megan shake it!
She used to attend morning mass at the Emmanuel Cathedral in Durban every weekday, without fail. We tried attending Sunday Mass at St Joseph's Cathedral once but it was just too chaotic. You see, my dad always used to say that God will not be found in chaos and noise but in quietness and stillness. True or not, that's how we were raised.

So, we would go to church at Emmanuel Cathedral (I was working in Mariannhill at the time and  staying at the St Francis College staff cottages behind St Joseph's Cathedral at the time), we enjoyed the English Mass - no unnecessary noise from school bells or spanners🤦
So, one time driving back from church, we were reminiscing about how tough it was being unemployed graduates, at home with our BSc. degrees, harvesting beans... And we were so grateful that we were at a different place in our lives.
Right this minute, I am thankful that I am no longer at the very stressful and down-right-evil workplace that I had chosen to hang on to for longer than I should have. #grateful

 This here is my beautiful and stubborn sister Jules @Ka_Tiyoni. Tanaka's mamkhulu. My parents' first born child. Big sis! 

What's in a bug - the case of a praying mantis

Let me introduce myself : I am the 3rd daughter of Gatigati u4000 kaMlunjwa kaMbidlane kaMgwabashe, indlalifa nenkosana kaMdambiso.
I hail from the south coast of KZN, eMandleni Tribal Authority is where the white man decided we should be led because Mdambiso, the leader of the clan wouldn't fratenize with ondlebe zikhanyilanga, so he lost his chieftancy to Duma, his travel companion and friend.
Where I am from, a praying mantis is highly regarded as a symbol of the presence of the ancestors, specifically ugogo (grandmother).
I must admit that I am still a novice in this ancestral stuff.
Growing up, I was told many times to respect this insect and not kill it, but guess what, I always squashed it.
In 2017, I happened to see one on my kitchen window in Pretoria Central. I was staying on the 3rd floor of a rather upscale flat, which was vacuumed every day and had window washers ever so often, so I wondered how exactly the green bug had gotten to my window.
Because I had started the journey of embracing my roots and ancestors, I relished the visit. I was hard broken to find it dead by the sink a few days after.
When I was going through the trials and tribulations of 2018, I was desperate to find a praying mantis anywhere in the huge, beautiful and picturesque flat that was proving to be a money pit. None came. Not to say that my ancestors had deserted me but it sure felt like it.
So when I made umqombothi recently and bragged about it to my family on our many whatsapp groups, my sister Jules laughed at me saying "you made umqombothi but ugogo visited us instead", this accompanied by a snap of the green bug. Just as I was about to start whining about this blatant favoritism, I spotted one in my mother's kitchen. Never in my life have I ever been so happy to see an insect.
After losing my dad, I had a new found respect for the after life, the ancestral world. I miss my daddy and other departed family members so much and desperately want to believe that they are with me always.
We need to treasure our elders whilst we still have them around and keep their memories alive when they have been called to the after life.

Making umqombothi (Zulu traditional sorghum beer)

Due to the COVID-19 outbreak, South Africa is on lockdown and alcohol sale and public consumption is strictly prohibited. So as a law abiding citizen I decided to make umqombothi. I posted the step by step-by-step instructions and process on Instagram @MeuJwara and on my facebook page as well. There are a few people who are not on social networks who have asked me for the recipe, so here it is.

Ingredients:
3x 500g Sorghum Malt
500g mealie meal
5L water

There's a series of steps that my mom taught me:
Making umqombothi Step 1:
Mix equal amounts of malted sorghum, 500g in my case and 500g mealie meal. Add cold water and work it into a paste consistency.
Add twice as much hot or boiling water to the paste by volume and stir for 2 minutes. Close the container tightly and store in a warm place overnight.

Step 2:
The next day, you will see that the mixture has separated into two, with a sour watery layer on top and the rest of the mixture at the bottom. when you open the lid of your container, the mixture will be slightly foamy.

Pour the watery top layer into a large sauce pan, and bring it to boil. Add the rest of the mixture and stir continuously until it start to boil. Reduce heat and let it simmer in a covered saucepan until it is thick and creamy(about an hour or two depending on the size of your mixture). Take off the heat and leave it to cool overnight.
{At this point, you could eat the cooked mixture as a delicious sour porridge. I add a pinch of salt and honey to make it extra yummy 😋

This is my favorite step for obvious reasons.}

Step 3:
Now that the cooked mixture has cooled overnight, you add twice the amount of malted sorghum (2x500g in my case) into the mixture and mix thoroughly.
Leave the mixture to ferment in a closed container. The lid mustn't be tight, we don't want an explosion!

Step 4:
I am not a fan of this step.

After a day or two (depending on how warm it is), when you open the lid a boozy smell will fill the space and your beer will be looking bubbly and when those bubbles pop they'll be sounding like cold drink in a glass.

Straining/filtering it is the final step.
Enjoy!

Mpumalanga, my happy place!

When all this is over, we shall travel again. In fact we will be making up for the lockdown. I foresee plenty of #shotlefts in the post corona pandemic era.

While we are keeping our social distance and enjoying time with our families and loved ones, let's rejoice in our travel memories. I am trying to not overshare but trim my clips to show a little bit of what I love so much about Mpumalanga.

I remember travelling with Kabelo and Mnakile, listening to the radio and discussing other things as we were staedily moving towards Hazyview, using the Kiepersol route. The car stopped suddenly and a frustrated Kabelo was confused. Putting his hands in the air as if to say "Hi taku hini?" he shouted "Wait wait wait", shushing us. "How can you chat and listen to the radio at the same time?" inquiring, clearly disturbed and baffled by our multitasking abilities.

I ain't no Robert Frost or Maya Angelou but I try

Without warning I changed. I can still be sweet but BS I do not take. I can still laugh and joke around, but step on my toes not. I no longer allow people to disseminate lies and skewed half truths about me, you will not get likes and laughs at my expense. Oh no you don't!

What hasn't changed is my hatred for belittling and disrespect. Don't you dare yell at me!
I transformed without warning. Toughened by life's smackdowns and fueled by childhood memories of a time when I couldn't stand up for myself, I changed without warning.
An eye for an eye is what you'll get. When you go low, I shall go lower.
#Catchmeoutside #Howaboutthat
#ghettopoetry
#afterschoolisafterschool
#iwritewhatilike

Excorcizing demons of the past

This is a photo of me in heart failure, before diagnosis. Face all swollen and puffy. 

The other day I was chatting with my cousin (well, his mom and my dad are double cousins, they share both sets of grandparents) about how I got to my current state of mind and the current state of affairs.
He didn't believe that a job could cause someone so much distress and plainly said 'gazlam, if you were utterly heartbroken by a man, you know you can tell me right'.
I don't know what infuriated me more, the fact that he doesn't believe the hell I went through (along with some of my colleagues and friends: Tinyiko, Mnakza, Kabelo, @sibomkhize and @molotoz) or the misogynistic assumption and conclusion that I suffered heart failure because of heartbreak.
I could not be mad at him, who in the world makes his/her job their entire life. I used to think about work every waking moment and if I wasn't devising a new project, I would be thinking of ways to improve existing ones. Always tweaking things and getting resistance for it.
When I think back to the days that led to my hospitalization, there's a lot of red flags that I could pin point. My typical reaction when attacked was to fight back but when my former director accused me of racism, I just couldn't deal. It shouldn't have but it broke me down.
I remember poor @mnakilezwanedlamini trying to get me to calm down.
Some people can come for you and attack you from all angles, just for their own amusement. It's in their nature to toy with people's lives.
These are the flashbacks that threw me off when I went for a job interview on ash Wednesday. I am certain that I heard God tell me 'I don't want this for you'.
It totally threw me off and I am glad.
My mom's always said that she felt some type of way about nuns after attending boarding school, nursing training and working with them for many decades at a Catholic Hospital. One time she asked me if I wanted to become a nun and the sigh of relief and joy on her face when I said 'NO, HELL NO!'
I digress. It's not just nuns. Hell, not all nuns are evil and cruel. I have nun friends who are exceptions to the norm. Shout out to Sr V and Sr P.
I stand here a changed person because of the experiences of the past 13 years & the biggest lesson for me is that I come 1st.

JFC (Jwara Fried Chicken)

First time making my own bread crumbs👏👏👏👏. I knocked over the first batch and my niece had to clean the floors for me. I was a mess, I legit wanted to cry.
So I had to dry the bread slices in the oven and then grate them into smaller pieces. I then added aromat, cumin and coriander powder and crushed it further in the food processor. I seasoned the wings with salt and pepper.
I then egg washed the chicken wings and crumbed them. Let them sit for a bit and then deep fried until they looked and smelled like perfection.
Oh so yum! Even my picky eaters (mommy and Mbelukazi) wanted seconds. I count this as a win!!!
#feelingchuffed #freerangechicken #deepfried #yummy #yum #yummyeats #chickenwings #chicken #yummylicious #deliciously_sa #delicious #foodbloggers #tastyfoods #foodgasm #instaeatssouthafrica #southafricanfoodies #food24_sa #icook #homechef #cookathome #foodies #foodiesofinstagram #foodgram #foodiesofsa

Lot number 3, my childhood home

My childhood home. My dad's grandfather uSampula (Mgwabashe's last born) decided to give him this site, coz the 'powers that be' had refused to give my dad a plot.
In the days that followed, a group of men came to confront my dad about his new stand, wanting to give it to someone else who had asked for it previously.
Seeing this whole thing unfold, khokho Sampula joined the discussion and put his foot down and nobody dared to challenge him.
That's why gogo MaCele, mkhulu Menzelwa, Mkhulu Merco, Auntie Bongiwe, Bab'Busani will always be in our hearts.
We used to endure the singing and drumming of amazion for the entire Easter Tridium when Mkhulu Menzelwa was still alive. He was a giant, enebandla elikhulukazi!
#Jwara #Sjekula #grateful #family #land #Lot3

Happiness is an inside job

For the longest time I was extremely unhappy and in my head, everything had to line up perfectly and go smoothly before I could afford myself the indulgence of happiness. Looking back at this now I see how foolish I was to think and even believe such.
When my life was 'holistically' falling apart, work was a battlefield, church was unfortunately where I worked, home was even worse, money was beingssucked into a bottomless pit (aka a penthouse flat, which I had bought as an investment), love life was a stress I couldn't fully commit myself to on top of everything else. So, I found myself having to divorce God from the church and push away the love of my life in case he couldn't support me in the way I expected him to. I am a complicated person or as my former friend and former mentor Tshepo would say, I am indeed 'hectic'.

When I thought I had hit rock bottom, I soon discovered that I could still plunge deeper, and even deeper I plunged. Until one day I decided that I was just gonna be happy or at least pretend to be. Armed with my antidepressants and verbal diarrhea I became louder and I laughed deeper. I ditched my introversion and acted extremely extroverted. I focused on my work deliverables and tried daily to dodge trouble. Oh but trouble followed me, it loves me. I prayed harder. Enlisted the support of colleagues and friends.
We would have our own morning prayer upstairs in our office whilst the whole building went down to the chapel for Holy Mass. We didn't care for the snares, judgements and scoffs. We ate out almost everyday. Donuts, fried chicken and pizza were our preferred poison.
I must say though that during this time, I knew I could count on Sr Phuthunywa Siyali to listen to my many problems and give wise advice and we often found plenty of tissues and words of encouragement from Fr Paul Tatu. I honestly don't know what would have become of my faith had these two angels not been there.
I also found that a glowing skin and bright lipstick did wonders to uplift my mood, so I went crazy with my skin care routine and it showed.
I got inspiration from Cece Olisa to join airbnb as a host and make money on the side from my oh so expensive property. To my surprise, it worked. I got some financial relief. I remember when I was renting out my own bedroom and would have to store my personal belongings in Ntlantla and Sihle's room and I often asked Sihle to co-host guests as I would maje myself scarce during the days when my room was booked. I quite enjoyed this actually!

I was able to create a new normal, where I focused on the task at hand and on finding solutions without getting too emotional about the problem and focusing on the cause. I still could and often did throw my toys out of the cot when the situation warranted. Make no mistake, this Zulu woman from rural KZN is nobody's doormat.
At the beginning of this journey of finding or rather creating happiness within, I recorded this video, which I am very glad to share with you: https://youtu.be/k77CTF4hK58

Until next time.
Ciao! 😘

In Studio with my niece

She's standing right next to me as I type this, and her words are "don't write about me". Ok then lil' girl. I won't write about you. I'll just upload this video. Please click on this link (https://youtu.be/XhRVQpdH16w) if the video doesn't play automatically.

Ciao!