Sunrise 123

I suppose Friday nights used to be about summer loving

And in the cold months, they re-ignited some uhhh…loving.

They were never about disappointments and shady dealings

If anything they were times when we actually listened to our feelings.

Those times were like the last four lines

Nothing was forced, not even the rhymes J

*sigh* look...

The sun rose in the east as I headed to the north

And I thought about those Friday nights when the sun set in the west

And all my problems excused themselves and dissolved with the light…

Leaving us to catch up on some loving through the night.

I miss you.

Ninth Wonder

Imagine all that could have been accomplished if only the heart would listen to what the mind tells it.

I’m speaking about relationships here. Not so much about your job or your wanting to leave your better paying job for something you love that won’t afford you bread for a few years.

Anyway, imagine all that could be accomplished if only the heart listened to what the mind tells it. I suppose it’s that whole sensory organs thing. You feel with your fingers, right? Touch is a feeling. Love is a word. The mind is able to recognise feelings and decide as to whether this is smooth or rough, hot or cold and depending on your fetish you’ll be able to decide on whether those things are good or bad; which is why and how sex complicates things. A mutual understanding between two individuals who share common ground is quaked when the bodies meet. Cos what started off as an amazing friendship will just start spawning little emotions that travel to the life-pump and just pretty much messes the whole arrangement up.

In the rape scene in For Coloured Girls where that man came into that woman’s house and said:”Come on, we’re both adults…” I felt shivers down my spine. Is it a common thing that sex is inevitable in a relationship of any kind between a woman and a man, provided that they aren’t related? You undress for someone you like. Someone you already share an amazing bond with that just needs to be personified in the meeting of the two body parts that lock like a nut and bolt. Do you necessarily have to love that person though? Sex is just sex, right? Wrong! Sex isn’t just sex. You look someone right in their eyes, taste their lips and body with yours as they whisper sweet nothings into your gullible ears while their sex is turned on and you both know that there is no turning back as you make contact with their skin and are united in a tussle no words could be fit to describe. Where does the heart come in? Well: When you start attaching memories to every other detail in your life that reminds you of all those senses. The mind knows it only as a memory. The heart will recognise it as something magical and worth preserving. Sex makes the heart do things that were not part of the script. And you can’t control the disastrous avalanche that seems to always follow.

Imagine all that could be accomplished, if only…

Salt; apples and snakes

I've had to make yet another life-changing decision. Not so much as (my erstwhile) earth-shattering one, but still. I was on a course determined by circumstance, and I made the choice to stick to it...until a carrot got dangled in my face *flips weave*.

According to the bible, I'm from a lineage of women who don't listen. When told not to do things, we do them. Rule number 1 was: Do not eat the forbidden fruit. Eve ate the forbidden fruit (although, Adam is actually the one who "ate" the fruit while Eve got friendly with the snake). Lot's wife turned back after being told not to and subsequently turned into a pillar of salt. I relate to both these women. Temptations are hard to fight off. And turning back to catch one more glance of a place that harboured sentimental value is an involuntary response.

Eve wanted something she's never had, and was told couldn't have. She's an ambitious curious young woman who got tired of being boxed and being exposed to a redundant routine. Her body needed to taste a new flavour and being the go-getter that she is, she went out and satisfied her curiosity...breaking ground, breaking rules, LIVING. Ok, so God wasn't impressed. But He knew it would happen. That's why she wasn't banished to hell. She just got evicted out of Eden and had enough sex to procreate two kids.

Lot's wife, being a descendant of Eve herself, knew and understood of the pleasures of the body and knew of the yearnings of the heart. The body can be controlled - by the mind. However, the mind is too familiar with the middle finger the heart flashes in its "face". No matter what we are told, or by whom: when you love something/someone, that's the only voice you'll ever hear...and the only one you'll listen to. Sometimes to your own detriment. Sentimental value is an unhealthy little concept that promotes an attachment to something that's incredibly hard to let go of. Lot's wife had a home in Sodom, and looked back to satisfy the yearnings of her heart...to her own detriment.

I've just made a decision that encapsulates the decision-makings and involuntary actions of both these women. Or at least, I assumed I made the decision. It was pre-determined. We all know that God has mapped out our lives. He knew about the cross-roads, and He knew which course I would take. He had planned it all. From the moment He woke up and decided to create the world, he knew how everyone of us would turn out. The test tube babies have ruined it all though and confused Him a bit. Hence all these disasters. But he knew Eve would give it up. He knew Mrs Lot would turn to salt. He knew I would be a combination of these two women and that his punishments wouldn't be as extreme. I'm about to go after something I've never had. The salt business...I'll leave that up to the Eve in me to sort out.

Romance

I write this now as a very bitter woman. I just recently ended a three year relationship and have been on a mission to be "fine". I suppose to save face...bleh! Most of the people who know me, or think they know me, have only ever known me to be linked romantically to that man. I haven't "broken down" and done the whole chick-flick movie marathon and gone through three boxes of tissues while bawling my eyes out and stuffing my face with chocolate. I just decided that that would not be the route I would take. Plus, I don't really like chocolate.

For the most part, chick flicks and romance novels are bull shit. They're just as bad as songs about being so in love, you'd catch a grenade for that person. Really? Really?!?! It just sounds a lot like a "my balls are bigger than yours" type of scenario. "I took a bullet for her"..."Oh but I'd catch a grenade for her". And then what? You die. She mourns, or not, and finds another idiot who would commit suicide for love...and ego.

I think this romance garbage is the leading cause of depression. Someone needs to conduct research on this; I'll wait for the stats.

Had there not been all these ideals set by Hollywood, record companies and publishers, perhaps letting go of a love-gone-wrong would be easier. I suppose the nagging family and friends add just as much fuel to the tear-jerking drama. It would be easy to just pick up the broken pieces, pack up your heart and vacate the property whose lease has just expired.

But no. Instead, you end up where I am. Bitter. Or worse off: bitter and vindictive with puffy eyes, high cholesterol levels, weight gain issues and a blocked nose from all the crying. I wasn't always like this, you know? I just happened to love someone with every fibre of my being and things didn't work out so well. And I find myself seeing all this love around me and wanting to puke.

I blame movies and songs. And that retarded romance novel I just read. What a load of bullshit! I'll love and be loved again. Hopefully, without a disclaimer attached this time.

Motswako

I was backstage with KG, the vocalist in the Motswako trio, Morafe and I told him I had wanted to write about Motswako but was a little hesitant. He said I should write anyway. So I did.

Motswako in SeTswana means “mixture” and has been dubbed as the description of the mixture of SeTswana raps with other indigenous languages and English. This movement has been a part of our culture for years. Arguably starting with Stoan Seate in the group, Bongo Maffin. He was the first rapper to use the Tswana language in a rap in mainstream music. I said arguably, right? Ok.

So Motswako has seen many folds and changes in the years. It has even attracted nay-sayers who have said year after year that the movement is doomed. And these are mostly people who have no insight on the movement. Just a zoo-visitor-view (so to speak).

In a cover of a young magazine, a new term was born that was to be the name of the unit that seemed to be a force to reckon with in the South African Music scene, not just in Hip Hop: Motswako Republic. At the helm of it all were (and still are) HHP (Hip Hop Pantsula); Mo Molemi; Tuks Senganga; KG, Khuli and Towdee who make up the only mainstream group, Morafe. Hot on their heels are the young foot-soldiers: Notshi; Element; Cassper Nyovest; Andrianto; Fifi Cooper; KT and Lection. Supporting these guys on the decks are two talented DJ's, Zondi and Lemonka.

The gentlemen at the helm of this movement have between them 18 studio albums that have been released in the past 13 years. That's a pretty dominant feat for Hip Hop acts in this country and between them, they have had four SAMAs (South African Music Awards) and a number of nominations. The biggest export not just to Motswako but for the country as well, being HHP who is internationally acclaimed too.

I had to learn SeTswana from a Church Hymn book to be able to fully grasp what was been said in these Motswako rhymes because my Tswana was very weak, having been diluted by the English I had to speak everyday at school and consequently at home too. This is how much I was taken by the rhymes. The story of me and Motswako :) Started with a hook; lead to a t-shirt and hoodie chase; flourished into friendships and has lead me to being on the front line as its First Lady. I don't rap. Fifi does. She sings too. And she has also been named First Lady of Motswako. LOL!

And in the years that this fraternity has been around, I have witnessed businesses flourish; young talent has been unearthed and groomed; challenges have been met; sponsorship deals being clinched; endorsement deals being accomplished; squabbles have been squashed and identities within the family have been established. It is almost as though in the truest form, these boys and girls have come from one womb and have learnt to share the spotlight when need be and still be able to hold their own when apart.

So the nay-sayers will carry on saying what they have to to sell papers and have something to discuss at water coolers. The foot-soldiers will take the torch from the big brothers and be the next generation of commanders in the Hip Hop scene because as one member of the movement has on numerous occasions stated: "Motswako was, is and always will be".

The Grim Reaper

I thought I knew that death isn't something I can get used to until I REALLY found myself in a spot that made me realise I knew nothing about not getting used to death.

People die. Actually, all living things will eventually die. You too. Did I just shock you? I apologise. My mom reckons I don't handle death all too well. I have been affected by four family deaths in the past 11 years, so she knows what she's on about.

My first experience of death came in 1999 when my uncle just died within days of our 2nd Democratic elections. It was weird. I was sad. This is someone I have sparse memories of and I still don't quite know where the bad feelings came from until I recognised them as guilt. Guilt at the memory of having him, about a week prior, ask me to go buy him something at the shops and in a disgruntled huff, I snatched the money and went to make the purchases. This may seem odd. But when you can't apologise for rude behaviour to a living being who has the option to forgive or not, it makes it near torturous to have an apology fall on dead ears.

Years later I got news of my paternal grandmother having suffered a stroke and landing up in hospital. I panicked but I knew that strokes don't necessarily mean death. I kept being grateful to an ex boyfriend who had made it possible for me to have spent some time with her while she was still healthy. I remember him dropping me off at her house and I found her alone and she hadn't yet eaten. So I whipped a quick meal (spaghetti, mixed veggies and chicken) for us and we had dinner. When I left, no one had come home yet so I told her to lock the house. That was the last conversation I had with her. When she got worse and couldn't talk as a result of the stroke and got shifted from one hospital to another, I knew it was BAD. And then I just stopped going to the hospitals until I dreamt of her asking me when I would visit. It just turned out that my uncle, an avid smoker, had been taken to the same hospital that she was in. So my mom and maternal grandmother went with me to the hospital. My uncle was there cos he had skipped a few TB check ups and found himself in a grim position. So we started off at his ward and then all went to go see my paternal gran. Even with all the problems between my parents my gran loved my mom like a daughter. The visit was still hellava disturbing though. Seeing her just blinking with an oxygen mask on was gut-wrenching to say the least. And then she looked me dead in the eyes and tried to talk. The frustration on her face at not being able to talk was enough to slit my soul in half and leave it out for the sun to dry it up and kill it. Mom told her not to try to talk just yet cos she was hurting herself. So she gave up and not once did she take her eyes off me. I cried so hard. So long. She died that night.

And in the weeks following her funeral, my maternal grandmother also just started getting ill all of a sudden. Doctors diagnosed her with all sorts of things. She couldn't eat, couldn't drink liquids and just struggled to breathe. My cousin struggled with her all on her own most nights. She was the one who woke up when my gran was suffering from pains she couldn't explain and she had to help her breathe when she ran out of breath. I remember only ONE instance where I felt useful. She called out for me cos she couldn't bath herself. The rag got too heavy and I bathed and dressed her. I bargained with God so many times, I ran out of bargaining chips. And it was when I ran out of them that my cousin took her to a specialist and I had to go to my dad's house. I went to work the next day and just as I was contemplating going to her house after work, my mom called me asking for my dad's numbers. I kinda breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't suddenly say: "Ouma is gone". So when my dad came home and went straight to the kitchen and came back with a big tumbler of water and told me that my grandmother had passed away, I heard nothing and took no breath for what felt like forever. I just didn't understand. Like, I was so confused. And when I came to, I had a panic attack and I guess that was what the sweet water was for. Mom's good. She knows me well. My gran knew me even better and thought it better for me to enjoy a day I treasure more than any other (my birthday) and to rather hear of her death over the phone than seeing a coroner pull her body off to the mortuary. She at spent my birthday with me moving from the bedroom and sitting with me in the lounge while the rest of the family had my cake. It felt good. I was happy.

It was hard though. Eight weeks prior, I had just lost my other gran. It snowed a few days after her death and that just made me want to wake her up even more. The first snow fall in Johannesburg in something like 40 years or something.

Three years later, my cousins and I found ourselves in a bit of a dilemma. Our uncle that we lived with in my maternal grandmothers house fell ill again. And again it was as a result of having skipped 13 TB injections in his treatment. He was diagnosed HIV positive in 2005. He survived TB twice. You know when you take things for granted? Like: "ah well, he will make it...he always does". That was my attitude. And because I was unemployed (I say unemployed because I didn't work every day) I was the one taking care of him. Making sure he took his medication, bathed him and made him food. I was on the ball until he got worse and mom had to leave her job to help me out. And I remember that there were days where I would forget to give certain pills. I don't know how I forgot, but I did. I mean, with ARV's and a host of other MDR-TB pills, I just lost track of it all. After weeks of praying harder than I have in my entire life, and him wanting to die because he just couldn't stand the pain anymore, he got his wish.

My cousin and aunts had gone to see him at the hospital after my mom could not get him to breathe on his own and had to send him there for a few intakes from the oxygen tank and a drip. He had asked them to take him home with them when they left. Of course, my aunt told him that they couldn't take him home. So he told them that he would go home anyway. He only lasted a night there and told my aunt and cousin that he wished I was not working (I had just found a full-time job a few days before) so that I could continue taking care of him when my mom was not around. Those were his last words at the ring of the "visiting hours are over" bell.

This death in particular was the hardest I ever had to go through. It still is. The what-ifs are endless. What if it was because of my forgetting to give him his meds on time? What if I hadn't worked and he was able to be home with me like we did for three months? I slipped into a dark dimension and was diagnosed with clinical depression. I didn't cry much at his funeral. I was too dead. I still kind of am. It just still doesn't make sense. It was so sudden. Like, the Grim Reaper got too excited with that sickle, you know? And because I didn't recognise him in his coffin, I have no recognition of his death. Except that there's an obituary in my Bible and that his room is empty.

It doesn't make sense. 8 months later, I still can't wrap my head around it. I guess it will never make sense, really. *shrug*

The half that's full of bits of wholes

Family reunions are an adventure I have missed out on for too long.

I've only ever met long-lost or distant relatives at funerals and weddings. The two most stressful Family Reunion days. However, this past weekend, I met the rest of my family from my dad's side. I come from a dysfunctional but well-oiled family engine. Yes, engine. The complexity of the mechanisms that make it function cannot equate to a tree.

Somewhere along the line, a White man was involved who fornicated with a Tswana woman and they had a host of Coloured babies. Or maybe it was a White woman who fell for a hot Tswana man. Anyway, those Coloured babies went on procreate a lot more babies with Indian, Caucasian, Tswana and Coloured folk. And from all that, came my grandmother who had seven kids, the first being my dad.

Through observation that was largely brought on by shock, I learned that if you pour salt in your alcoholic beverage of choice (which looked to popularly be Savanna), you won't get a hangover, or get drunk. I'm not so sure about the hangover but I do know that the not-getting-drunk bit is an absolute lie. They got drunk. And rowdy. And probably used all the salt in the house because there was little salt in the meat we devoured at 12am.

I don't remember most of the people I met. But by the looks of things, there will be more babies at the next reunion.