The person I emulate the most!

I want to publish this still in my 30s. I met Johan Viljoen in my 20s. At 29 he interviewed me for a job, which I got! I worked under him for many years. When I started at the organization, he was filling in for the director, who had taken some time off (a short sabbatical). He (Johan) threw Sibona and I in the deep end swim we did! 

We went on our first site visit on the 3rd day of our employment to Soweto, where he expected us to present on a brand new project, including budget and targets. I think that is where we earned his respect. 

He was our 'boss' & we were sharing an office with him. 

A temperamental person is someone whose mood often changes very suddenly (The cambridge dictionary). To say that he is temperamental would be a gross understatement!
We got used to the to extremes and often laughed them off. One time a mouse missed my right eye by inches.
As a result, he didn't buy expensive phones and other gadgets. That's how I ended up with these photos of him. He asked me to take photos of him and email them to him.

The folks at Canon, (where the office rented printers) knew him well. Every week, we would need to have a printer fixed or replaced but the funny thing is that we would all be lumped in and blamed for this even though everybody knew full well whose fault it was.
We didn't mind sharing the blame because he often protected us from attacks by the WLG (white ladies gang) to the point where one time, we had to squeeze our not so tiny behinds in a car to go eat tofu in Brooklyn mall in order to show his support for us to this lady who hated us for no apparent reason. She had just met us but couldn't stand us. She would say the meanest things about us in Afrikaans in our office in front of us, not knowing that Johan and TB would translate for us.
I thought I had experienced racism before this but I had no idea. I even considered changing my name, it was used and abused and used in vain... I somehow represented, infact was the personification of their  'swart gevaar'. The director took their side and was unwavering in supporting whatever was said about me, without questioning or even applying common sense.
I appreciated his support and listening ear when the same seemed impossible for the director to do.
He taught me and gave me permission (that I didn't know I needed) to speak out & to express my anger when warranted. My then director later said (to my face) that I can throw my toys. Because a black woman is not supposed to be angry, sad, disappointed, (name a feeling)...
When I look at him and how authentic his emotional responses are, infantile as they are sometimes I can't help but admire him for it. I say this as somebody who censored herself for 30+ years to the detriment of my mental and emotional well-being.
Now, I call things as I see them. I cry when I need to. I laugh out loud when it's funny.
Johan has a very distinctive laugh. It can melt away any negativity.
It doesn't hurt that he considers himself a Zulu of some sort. He hates Hlengiwe Mhlaba's music but loves amageza amahle. His favorite hymn is 'Ithemba lami ngonyuka nalo ngingene endumisweni...'

He doesn't like long, drawn-out meetings and church services for that matter. I am exactly like that. He has no patience for nonsense, me too. He detects bullshit from a mile away, so do I. When he loves you, he shows you and when he dislikes you, he will make sure that you know! Exactly like me.
His roadrage and public farts is where we differ. I will save the farts stories for another post.
I had to salute my makhulu baas still in my 30s. I like how he owns his life and how he does things and finishes them promptly. Each day is new and is for new 'to do lists' for him. I try to live my life like this. One day I might even succeed at it!

I love black people

I love my people. 

I always want us to be united. 

Not to rehash the past, which we have moved on from but I gotta tell this story. 
I am happy that we were afforded the chance to mend our broken sisterhood. I am avoiding the words 'relationship' & 'friendship' on purpose. 

We shared an office when she first joined the organization. She taught me about shareit. We used to be so loud! We laughed a lot. I didn't realize at the time just how threatening that was to some people. 

Divide and rule is a thing you know! So, just before the 2017 International AIDS Conference, the organization was having its own pre-conference and because I worked with grassroots organizations, I was among those organizing logistics for the event. Long story short: I attended the pre-conference, conference, went to visit my mom for the weekend and did site visits in KZN the week after before returning to the office. 
I visited places so remote that most people in the organization avoided for obvious reasons: no flushing toilets, no running water, no tarred roads and some places had no electricity. Add to that poor cellphone reception. 
So after roughing it for a week, I came back to the office to find out that things had changed :
1. My deskmate had moved to another desk
2. My so-called friend was no longer talking to me
3. My travel advance had been deducted from my salary as a 'loan' 
4. The sites I had visited were phoning me, informing me that someone from the office had phoned to validate my visit to them
5. One of my projects was taken away from me, and given to my former deskmate
6. My travel claim was rejected
I think they were trying to pull a Kb on me. 
Our organization was very good at gossiping behind people's backs, plotting, backstabbing, creating cliques to bully fellow black colleagues until they resign and leave. I knew the drill! I had seen it done to G, S, T, K and C. 
The worst part of this, is how everybody just carries on as if they don't see what's happening and how you get crucified when you stand up for your team members. 
So this animosity continued until circumstances forced us to stick together, which unfortunately was too late. 

The level of racism, cruelty and total disregard for human dignity we were subjected to was of incredibly evil proportions. 
The favoured clique got dismantled and eventually lost their favour. As 1 Zulu saying goes "kophela sofana!"
They, for the first time got a taste of what we had endured for years. Maybe it was God's plan for us to go through it together. I for one am grateful that we parted on better terms. 
I often wonder how things would have been, had we stuck together as black people from the beginning, no 'crabs in a bucket' nonsense of spying, gossiping and ladder-climbing through pulling other people down. 
At some point the pettiness got to a level of screenshots from social media being sent to the bosses and stories of 'honeymoon trips', which were a defermation of character to say the least. 
Bottom line: I am glad that I am on speaking terms with everyone, we are survivors y'all! 

I love you all my black people. 

#crabsinabucket #survivalofthefittest #hostileworkenvironment #workplacebullying #workplacemobbing #toxicworkenvironment

True story - South Africa sucks at race relations

Once upon a time, we were in the office talking with our white colleague (who had been retrenched the previous year and given R60k more in her package for no other reason apparent to me than the colour of her skin), when our Indian director walked in, she greeted this white colleague by name and pretended not to see the rest of us. Mind you, 3 of us were substantial in size and only one was petite. I mean I could understand if she couldn't see the petite one.
Anyway, I have avoided writing about this for the longest time because I have already been accused of racism once. Let me tell you what had happened: That incident really pissed me off, because my then white boss simply repeated the words of the she devil who had been trying to paint me as a racist for the longest time.
We had just welcomed 4 new colleagues into the office and I suggested that we buy cake and welcome them properly but other people suggested that we go out for lunch and so I designed these cute invitations for them and at 1pm sharp, we went out to Nando's and had a nice lunch with the newbies.
While we were out, this white lady decided to go looking in the newbies' inboxes and found the lunch invitations. Mind you, this lady had never sat with us for lunch, nor had she ever ordered Nando's ever before.
So when we returned from lunch, I was swiftly summoned to the white boss' office and told off. She tried it!
Even after explaining the story of the cake and tea idea and that going to Nando's wasn't my idea, she insisted that I was a racist. I have been called many things in my life and have been on the receiving end and endured racism since varsity days, but being accused of racism by a director who gave white employees preferential treatment and paid them far better than their black counterparts really enraged me.
I cried and stormed off. And later decided to go out of the building and calm myself down before I blow up on a nun.
It wasn't too long after that incident that I was diagnosed with heart failure. I spent a week in hospital and received reports that my impending death was already being celebrated in the office.
On my return I was told that my taking so many sick leave days wasn't going to be tolerated and that I should lose weight urgently. Mind you, this person studied psychology not medicine, nursing, biochemistry, dietetics or anything remotely related to cardiology.
There are so many other incidents that I can recall, which makes my skin crawl.
White people in this country have and continue to belittle and dehumanize black people. Some Indian and coloured people (I have personal stories to back this up) continue to endorse the apartheid classifications and truly believe that blacks are inferior to them.

So on the 27th April, I see no point in celebrating freedom day because I still don't have that freedom. Apartheid is alive in South Africa. Look at the payroll of your own organization. Even the church pays white people very well and oppresses black employees.
And we still believe that their white Jesus is real. If God is love and created me in His/Her image, why do you treat me differently to God's other children? Is it your God's plan for black people to suffer? I digress.

The anger an outrage by white people over the current lockdown is stirring up things I have tried so hard to suppress. Why are they acting like this lockdown is imposed on them alone? Our small businesses are also suffering. Our lives are also on a standstill and black smokers and drinkers are also inconvenienced. We also can't buy Woolies chicken.
Not everything is about you. This is about all of us.

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! 🥂