Sunday 12 July 2020
Saturday 11 July 2020
Rest in peace Fr Sizwe Nxasana
Fr Sizwe Nxasana Rest in Peace ·From the Southern Cross
By Fr S’milo Mngadi – At 8:30am on Sunday, June 21, the vibrant Fr Sizwe Wiseman Nxasana of Mariannhill was called to rest at the age of 39 at the Westville Life Hospital, Durban, after a short illness with pulmonary oedema.
Fr Sizwe grew up at St Alphonse parish in Umlazi under the mentorship of the late Fr Reginald Vezi who instilled in him a deep Marian spirituality. He was quoted as saying: “My wish after death is to see Our Lady.”
Having completed a BA in social sciences at the University of KwaZulu-Natal in 2001, young Sizwe joined priestly formation. He studied at St John Vianney Seminary and was ordained a priest in 2009.
Fr Sizwe served for a short time at Mhlabashane mission before being appointed priest-incharge of the small, rural Einsiedeln mission station.
With fewer than 50 parishioners, he formed a vibrant community. On the occasion of the parish’s 125th anniversary celebrations in 2012, Bishop Mlungisi Dlungwane of Mariannhill publicly praised Fr Sizwe’s exceptional organisational skills.
Remote as it was, Einsiedeln had become a resting place for many priests thanks to Fr Sizwe’s great hospitality and excellent culinary skills.
In 2018, he was moved to the more cosmopolitan Mariannridge. Within a short space of time, he had impacted on so many lives that a young man who had almost lapsed, reacting to the news of his death, said: “I had become so proud to say that I am Catholic even in public due to his inspiration.”
A man of great creativity, Fr Sizwe last year organised a parish mission of a kind. Over and above the normal spiritual side, he invited speakers from different sectors to address socio-economic challenges and ills affecting the parishioners.
A Facebook post on May 20, just a month before his death, puts this into perspective: “We need to work quickly and selflessly to change people’s lives, for the time is short.”
Fr Sizwe was also involved with Justice & Peace work in the diocese. For years, he was a diocesan catechetical director going around forming catechists in parishes.
Though generally a jovial and easygoing person, he was firm when it came to matters of Catholic faith and teaching. One prominent catechist said: “He never minced his words when it came to matters of faith which he knew so well but simply articulated.”
He was also the diocesan chaplain of the Catholic Women’s League, which loved him dearly.
On May 31, the feast of the Visitation, Fr Sizwe led a vehicle rosary procession with a hail-speaker around his whole parish, saying that he misses his parishioners. He blessed those who could not join him in their vehicles as they stood in their driveways. It was the last time he was to gather them in prayer.
Fr Sizwe was laid to rest at Bishop Paul Themba Mngoma Clergy Home, Port Shepstone, on June 26 after a private funeral due to Covid-19 lockdown regulations.
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!
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 beatings🤔 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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)