Sunday 19 July 2020

Time for ACTION!


 It dawned on me! I keep saying that we need organizations like RAINN (Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network) in South Africa but I'm not doing anything about it.πŸ€”
I cringe every time I have to remind my 7 year old niece to sit 'properly'. She's exposed to so much danger and doesn't even know it. I know that rape and/or molestation doesn't happen without a rapist/child molester, and I also know that boys are not parented properly. There is this 'boys will be boys' mentality, coupled with overly protective mothers with toxic 'love' for their boys and just a general lack of or misinformation about sexual assault.
We should be teaching boys not to rape but we are teaching girls to minimize their chances of being raped. We do this by monitoring how they dress, walk, talk and look at people...
There's absolutely nothing a woman can do to avoid getting raped. Rapists can break into your home at night as they did here last year and there's not a single thing you can do if you're elderly, disabled, scared, unprepared... Regardless of who and how you are actually. People can rape you in a gated community with high fences and security guards, because it's not just strangers who are rapists. It's that boyfriend who buys you flowers and showers you with lavish gifts or that suitor who feels like your consent is just a fuss, he is ready to take what he wants because he has 'paid for it' through compliments and gifts. It's that gardener you greet on your way to work because you think you are being polite and practicing Ubuntu, yet they interpret it as an invitation for sex. And then we wonder why some people are not affectionate, it's because they do not ever want to send signals that can be misinterpreted as consent. Don't expect a hug from me!

How can we teach boys about this when we don't know enough about it ourselves?
I say this based on my personal experience with an attempted sexual assault. I was in Mpumalanga with 2 colleagues (male and female) and the wife of the male colleague. A man (truck driver, not that it matters what work they did) jumped into the swimming pool with the sole intention of grabbing me. I had been ignoring his advances, catcalling and verbal harassment for a while and he thought that by jumping into the pool, I was finally gonna give him attention 🀷 or he was gonna get it by force...

I hurried out of the pool and ran to the room, visibly shaken and the male travel companion (and spouse) thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen on earth.  I had expected him to at least come to my defense.
He made sure to tell the whole office when we went back to work.
Now I ask you, if educated and religious people are clueless about this, what exactly are they teaching their sons?
I know so many women who have been sweet-talked & begged relentlessly and ended up giving in when they really didn't want to engage in sexual intercourse with their boyfriends & others were told it's payback for the date. Maybe those that take it by force aren't simply trash but DO NOT KNOW THAT WHAT THEY ARE DOING IS WRONG simply because no one ever told them that it was wrong.

A former friend of mine once told me that in Shona culture, a woman HAS TO ACT LIKE SHE DOES NOT WANT IT AT FIRST otherwise she would be considered loose. This was someone who had a masters degree from Europe, who would often brag about having dated white women (a story for another day). What if they honestly and truly don't want it?

I urge you please to watch TonyaTkoShow's videos, especially this one: https://youtu.be/Pqh4ro71vR0

@tonyatkotv wrote this on Fb : "Let us not forget that coercion (unrelenting "persuasion" and/or manipulation) is sexual assault. (Accept her 'no' the first time!)

A woman who WANTS to do it, does not need a man to cajole, convince or coerce her into doing it. (But eroding a woman's defenses and maneuvering himself in is some men's whole sexual strategy) " & in the video I screenshot for this post.


Thursday 16 July 2020

My Queen Indlovukazi MaWalawala Jwara

In her prime. 

This post was prompted by a memory flash of when I was 12 and struggling to cope with the bullying at school and at home. I went through a lot in my childhood but especially when I was 12, I was even hospitalized at one point. I found out that khulu Manyova wasn't my Dad's actual mom at 12. Grown men with beards, wearing Brentwood and ish started pursuing me at 12. I grew boobs at 12.

But back to this memory flashback, some people told on me and I think it was Skhanyile and maybe Mpume or Mso, I am not sure who accompanied Skhanyile on her snitching mission. I don't even know if it was done out of concern for my well-being or to get me into trouble... (The incident with Miss Mothlomi had also been reported to my folks by these girls, but I honestly still can't tell you if they were trying to get me into trouble or what.)
One of the girls from school actually wrote me a letter when I came back from hospital but I just didn't wanna deal with her, so I tore it up and threw it away without reading it.
So, both times when these girls had told on me to my parents, I would be made to take a day off from school the following day.
So after the pee incident snitching, my mom took me to Ixopo for grocery shopping but we had a detour. We got off the taxi kaDumisa eStation and had a long talk whilst walking on the disused railway spoor. We agreed on some remedial actions, which actually made a huge impact on my emotional and mental well-being. I am not sure if I had experienced my mom's softer, tender side before then. I wonder if I was always such a needy person. I really needed this from my mom.
I had always wanted my mom to be there at home every day, so I could feel like other kids but she had to work, so she could give us a better life. I understand it now, but I didn't want to back then.

My mom, Mdu and I were always in the garden together back in the 90s and we talked a lot about life during those gardening sessions. Mom is very conservative and a prude of note, so I couldn't tell her everything... if you know what I mean.
And when she worked at JV clinic from around 1996, which is when she was studying at UND, guess who visited her the most? Mdu and I!
Those were fun times. Mdu enjoyed the hot baths, heater, oven, tv... Things that were a luxury at home but basics at my mom's work cottage. Even there, she had a vegetable garden. Garden to table has always been her way!
My mom loves the garden. When she retired from nursing, she became a full-time gardener. Whether it was sunny, windy, rainy or any other type of day, you knew where to find her. She and Daddy decided to buy a few cows and goats, and she relished looking after them!
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that my mom could do it all. She was a speedy gonzales on the road, taxi drivers would always beg us to ask her to slow it down a bit.
One thing that my mom's not good at is communication. My brother Mdu laughs at me whenever I try to teach her to speak normal IsiZulu and not speak in riddles.
The next best thing is to translate when she's speaking to the grandkids, cause they really don't have a clue. Even Guji, the Zuluest of them all needs my translations!

We disagree on a lot of things and sometimes she surprises me. She enjoys watching Somizi on tv! She has zero problems with homosexuality.

Mommy loves her boys, her princes!

Usually daughters love daddies and sons love mothers & vice versa, which has always been the case but I made a conscious decision to love her unconditionally and I intend to do just that.😍
My dad used to quote proverbs when describing her, he loved her faithfully and accepted her exactly as she is. They were partners and a united force, always ruining our fun.🀦This is probably the reason why we can detect bs and distance ourselves from it promptly. We know what love looks like and what men are capable of for their partners. Daddy showed us in how he loved mom.

She has always been overshadowed by Daddy as if Dad did all these things by himself. Behind every successful man...
The 14th of July isn't just my dad's birthday but the anniversary of her stroke. I always talk about my momma being hemiplegic and stuff but I don't think I have ever unpacked it.
The first posthumous birthday of our father was a difficult one for all of us and I thought that mom being her forgetful self, she won't even remember it.
I had just moved out of Loreto convent (a story for another day) & moved into a super expensive place around the corner from the office, which meant that I had paid admin fees, deposit and first month's rent to City property and bought electricity units, groceries, a new bed, curtains, you name it. Hlengiwe and @sibomkhize dedicated the whole day to helping me get settled. I was over the moon but broke!
The next day I got the news of my mom's stroke and I immediately thought that she'll make a full recovery, she was not fat, she was active and she took her medication accordingly. Wrong! She lost her ability to write as her right hand side was most affected by the stroke.
Listen, my mom was running her NGO, raising a 2 year old, running the shop, working the garden and doing the usual household chores at her age and she made it look easy. In fact she started to feel the symptoms on her way back from the garden, someone had come to buy amadumbe after the shop was closed.
Her life and that of my then 2 year old niece changed abruptly.
I got on the bus (didn't even have money for buying a coffee on the way) after work on the 20th I think it was a Friday. I was glad to find out that her speech and mind weren't affected. It turned out that it was a serious stroke actually!
We arranged for her rehabilitation after we realized that she needed around the clock assistance. Thanks to my big sis Jules and aunty Albina, they did all the heavy lifting.
My sister had to take care of our niece too.

I remember how our niece would climb into bed with her Gogo as soon as we got to the hospital and the drama when we had to leave! She stayed there for a while and even made friends.
My niece and mommy are still very close and I see my now 7 years old niece taking the parent role in their relationship. Gogo resists but I think eventually she'll give in. She asks my mom questions like 'are you full? did you take your medication? are you cold?  do you need anything? ...' They have such a tight bond.
Mommy loves knitting! She makes about 3 beanies or 2 scarfs in a week, we all have different sets. In the beginning she made and donated them to her NGO, to be distributed to orphans. I think I wanna start selling them πŸ€”
Umuntu akaqedwa. There's plenty more I could say but I leave it here for now.

Wednesday 15 July 2020

Jn 10:10 "I have come that they may have life, life to the fullest"

My journey of faith is a very long and confusing chapter in the book of my life.
[Disclaimer:
Beloveds, please know that I am merely just sharing my thoughts and feelings with you at this particular point in time. I have dealt with some of this stuff internally and to a certain degree I think that I have healed. I am simply documenting my journey.]
For starters my confirmation classes lasted 4 years, I had to watch in shame as my friends wore their white frilly dresses with long veils and white heels with stockings to match. My parents were so disappointed in me and they let me have it too.
So, because I was now repeating my confirmation classes, I was not gonna get the new dress, shoes, veil ensemble like my classmates, who were all younger than me of course. The embarrassment of wearing my mom’s old work uniform made into a skirt and those R2 lace hair bands they sold at the mission. The only thing I was happy about were the cool (brown) shoes that my God mother had given me for my birthday!
I couldn’t even laugh at the bishop’s lame jokes, I just wanted it to be over and done with.
I still believe I was robbed. I wonder if Fr Tenza would remember why I had failed πŸ€”. So after that, I wasn’t big on church until it wasn’t forced on me.
When I chose Catholicism, I participated fully. Joined the choir, attended conferences, became a BEC member… I even became a sponsor for a catechumen. She never pitched for her baptism and I was wearing all black for the occasion coincidentally.
And then someone duped me into ukusindiswa (being born again) πŸ˜‚. I am telling this story for the very first time. Abi was my roommate at SASOL for the mandatory vacation work (I had a bursary, long story) in December 1999. So we are praying ke before bed and she decided to lead the prayer πŸ™„
Next thing she asked me to repeat after her and I did, so when we were finished praying she told me that I had just become a Mzalwane and that she was going to mentor me.
Tried to explain but decided it was easier to go along with her thing for the sake of peace (I knew how to choose my battles back then). She would ask me not to pray but say ‘yes Lord!’ when she prayed and Amen at the endπŸ™Œ
I had to stop hanging out with Lwazi and all the non-believers that I was hanging out with, she demanded. I used to sneak out to the tv room just to get away from the holier-than-thou condescension.
Funny thing is, she was dating her pastor and would kick me out of the room when she was on the phone with himπŸ€”. I didn’t even want to know what they were doing that was so private. She made me swear not to tell UND people about her courtship.
Fast forward to me working for the church! I got introduced to Education For Life and I saw myself grow spiritually. But as I moved from diocesan level to conference level… Hheyi that’s when I really needed God in my life and by my side at all times. EEver so faithful, he carried me and saw me through some tough times.
With time, the tough times intensified and I started to see the church differently. I felt forced to separate the church from God.
With time I started feeling like I was in a one-sided relationship with God and that it was time for Him to fight for me. Sadly that’s when a big rift happened between God and I, to the point where I was so spiritually poor, I couldn’t pray out loud. If I tried, screams and cries would come out of my mouth but no words.
I got invited to participate in the retreat in daily life program called ‘encounter with God’ by one of my dear friends. I think the new relationship I have with God is largely as a result of the encounter with God journey. Bra Thabo had his hands full, mentoring and guiding me.
A lot of people have left our church wounded and not knowing who to turn to because of who had hurt them and the positions they hold.

I, on the other hand am less interested in church and more focused on God right now.

Saturday 11 July 2020

Rest in peace Fr Sizwe Nxasana

Fr Sizwe Nxasana Rest in Peace ·From the Southern Cross

Wednesday 8 July 2020

Take it to the Lord in prayer!






I'm so happy and appreciative that I am now at a point where I can declare my self love openly and not care what anybody else thinks about it.
I have received all sorts of advice from well-meaning individuals who were embarrassed on my behalf about how God made me. As a child, I took it all in even though it hurt but when I turned 15 something snapped. Blame the hormones!
I went off on Magubane at the Std 10 study room for calling me 'inguxumba', a word I have never heard again since. I knew exactly what it meant, even though it probably was a made-up word. It fulfilled its purpose. I read her for filth and I have never stopped delivering lines that punch people harder than my fists could ever do.
I remember the advice 'to pinch my nose' whenever my hand was free, so that it's not so flat. And to put my glasses on the bridge of my nose to disguise my wide bridge. Oh and how can I forget about the widow's peak correction by shaving my hairline straight every day. Can you imagine? The one I fell for at first was the use of different contraptions to enhance my silhouette. *clears throat*
Oh I fell for this one and even introduced my sisters to it. It had come from a very unlikely source, our always drunk cousin Eli and he wasn't discreet about it. Asked me why I don't use a girdle in a taxi full of people. To his defense, he was drunk.
We called it islender, I had all sorts of different ones. I still do actually.
The simpler route didn't occur to these individuals, accept the person exactly how they look. An alternative is to avoid looking at people who are not up to your standards, you know some people accuse God of slacking off in the creation aspect. Maybe he's too busy answering your prayers or trying to translate the tongues that you have been bombarding him with. I don't know 🀷
My tip for you dear reader is to refrain from giving unsolicited advice about people's bodies and faces. I owe nobody a flat tummy, big booty, narrow face and facial features. I love what God gave me. If you have complaints, direct them to God via Jesus. Okay!

Healing of Memories Part 4



"it's the shy, quiet ones that end up doing the worst things" is what they said about me to my face growing up because I was not a talkative child.  Somehow this made me a bad person. Perhaps it is the quiet, shy ones who need more attention from parents and teachers because they go through things in silence. 
My teachers were also given permission to beat me up. I don't know of anyone else whose parents gave teachers a 'go ahead' to beat them up. At one time in Std 4 (6th grade & yes I am that old), Ms Nkukhu held me by the collar of my shirt and pulled my face so close to hers and said the most despicable things to me in front of the whole class.
She then promised to smack me across the face if the tears welling up in my eyes were to fall. I wasn't to wipe them off either. It was the same teacher who felt compelled to move me from my seat next to Teyeye (one of my childhood friends) to sit at the back, with cigarette-smoking 20 year olds. To this day I hate the smell of dagga and cigarettes.
The year before in the 5th grade (Std 3), Miss Mothlomi (my mom's cousin) had made a spectacle of me and beat me up so bad that my parents had to write her a letter, whilst I was at home recuperating from the incident. She read the letter in class and translated it to my classmates, it was then passed around the school and all the teachers had fun mocking it. {Mkhulu Maqili would prepare herbs for me to use to reduce the swelling and stinging. I had to learn ukuqguma nokuthoba. I always appreciated the role of my grandparents in my formative years}. She's the same teacher who had me take off my bandages and sent me from class to class to show my burn wounds to all the other teachers.

Teacher Manquza was a sociopathic drunk but he never targetted me, never singled me out. He was cruel and mean to everybody, especially the defenseless. He's not likely to get his own post from me.

People get on my nerve defending cruelty to children as discipline. They even quote the Bible doing it.

As an adult, someone spiritual took one look at me and said that I have the spirit of rejection. When he told me what it means to have such a spirit, it matched my life perfectly. It certainly explains why I was treated a particular way by different people through out my life.
It certainly doesn't excuse what was done or make it right but I now know that there is a reason for it. I doesn't make sense I know. 🀷
Nothing could ever reverse or erase my experiences. I write about them as catharsis. A necessary step in my healing.

We need a national phone line to assist survivors of sexual assault!


We need to help each other to deal with the trauma and emotions, without any pressure to report/open cases.

Monday 6 July 2020

Stop glorifying child abuse!

                 Pic taken at my gran's place. 

On Saturday mom & I were talking about how my grandmother (Khulu Manyova) literally saved my life. I honestly don't know where I'd be without her love and protection. Growing up in a hostile world, I always knew she was in my corner. She's the only person I could talk to about the bullying I was going through at St Nivard's Primary School. My mom always found it funny, something I could never understand. She must have had a really thick skin growing up and expected the same of me. Khulu Manyova would come up with solutions and I remember how she would make crafts for me to submit to my teachers at school and avoid getting a whooping. Khulu was against beating children and I remember how satisfying it was to hear her yelling and screaming at my parents for beating or even attempting to beat us. Maybe that's why they resorted to night beatingsπŸ€” Looking back at my childhood, I don't think I was as naughty as my 3 younger siblings but I swear, not a week went by without me getting a whooping. As a result I am super protective of children (Dave says I spoil kids), but I draw a distinction between instilling discipline and letting kids be abused. When I was deemed too old for beatings, my relationship with my parents blossomed into something beautiful. We could've had a great parent - child relationship throughout my life. Now, we talk like equals. I used to be scared of them especially mommy. Daddy was a different person when he started working from home and he could find some of our mishaps hilarious. He still gave us beatings though until we became teens. I love my parents, don't let this story mislead you into thinking that I don't. https://www.instagram.com/p/CCS9jt2pp8p/?igshid=xy22sowf43th

Sunday 5 July 2020

That black girl magic



That black girl magic! Born with odds stacked sky high against her. Subjected to molestation, rape, cat calling, ridicule, assumptions of stupidity/anger/bitterness from birth but still shines bright. Expected to dim her light, to make the man she loves feel adequate and manly. Judged by her ability to reproduce and maintain a marriage, happy or not. Still she shines brighter than ever. Afraid of the power within her, the tactics become more personal. She faces attacks on her body. She is not thin enough, she is not light skinned enough, her skin is not clear enough, she's not shaped like a pear, her hair is not straight and long enough, her nose is not narrow enough.. Yet she continues to shine! She may live in fear of being killed by the one closest to her heart and she risks anyway and loves. She is left to fend for her offsprings when the responsibility gets too much for the sperm donor. She struggles and performs miracles with grace and poise. Even then she stays shining. #thatblackgirlmagic https://www.instagram.com/p/CBnVC0bpChE/?igshid=ij8p5w8pvvq8