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.