The power of CREATION

I must admit the day that I found out I was pregnant I almost temporarily blacked out, almost hitting the floor. In my mind I wasn't ready, I wasn't sure and my life, you see, hadn't worked out the way that I had envisioned. I was pretty much all alone and fearful about this great responsibility. I was numb and just tried to take it one day a time, surprised, anxious but also failing to see the blessing. I remember going to the obstetrician and she had couldn't pick up your heartbeat and indicated that more blood tests had to be done because I may have a blighted ovum, at that point, my heart skipped a beat and I was consumed by this overwhelming sadness because I may have lost you before I even had you.  I tried to disconnect and not feel too attached after all it was a few weeks and maybe it wasn't meant to be.

Blood tests came back and you were growing, happiness consumed me and that’s when I made the announcement, not too sure as to how it would be received, I went in confidently because ultimately you were my creation, my responsibility, my child. The news was so well received and most were happy (barring one confusion), but all rejoiced at the this gift I was presenting them with, the gift of chaos, gift of sleepless nights, the gift of having a little human, a gift of a different personality, different perspective. That my child you may not know, places a great deal of responsibility on your shoulders for you bring something different to this hum drum thing called life. I remember hearing your heartbeat finally, and much to my surprise how you started resembling a human, from this blob, unrecognisable blob, to this human form. When did this all happen so quickly? Oblivious to biology and life, I was expecting something squishy, weird looking with no human anatomy. But yet you were there with a strong heartbeat, alive, sleeping through the prodding and poking oblivious to our invasion in your privacy with strangers in tow. My next visit we discovered what you are, a boy. I saw your penis, in plain view. You hid your face as if you knew we were trying to prod and poke and look at you, but yet my child you let your willy hang freely while coveting your face. How strange you must be, I have a lot to teach you about public nudity!  But I must admit, if anything goes, I believe you are a shy child, enjoying the quietness and solitude of the womb. The next visits that follow, you are in foetal positions, not wanting to be disturbed as I suppose what’s going on is the completion of you.  I guess you want to be a surprise, you want me to be patient, and you want me to wonder anxiously about you. Patience I must admit isn't my strongest suit, more so with you. I wonder what type of personality you have, what riles you, what are you passionate about, what is your purpose, what will you never concede on, what are you and I going to disagree on, what similarities will you have to your father, to me, what will I teach you, what will you teach me? All these questions lead to the impatience of waiting for you, you see, I cannot wait! Beyond the cute little fingers and small feet, your complete reliance on me, I'm impatient on what type of man you will become.

I commit to teach you to the best of my ability and action, that you can stand up and be different from everyone, that you will need to be strong because, you see, when you stand for something you believe in, you may not have an audience, your friends will change and leave you, you will go through dark moments, through happiness, you may want to change the world and fail, but its ok, someone watched you and got inspired. My son, you have purpose, live it, breathe it, stand it. And I hope that your choice in a mother will not disappoint you too much, but I hope that in my humanness you appreciate my faults and now that through it all, I love you with my entire being. A love that I knew I had, just waiting for you. For now, I appreciate your gentle to rather violent kicks and jabs in my belly, how you love when you push against my stomach and I massage your little back, it tells me you live, you’re healthy, you can move. I appreciate how your body grows so quickly bearing heavily on my back, my often graceless waddle as you pinch the nerves making it difficult to walk. I appreciate how you communicate your complete dislike of things by switching off my appetite to certain foods and occasional throw up. I appreciate how I see my body changing, sometimes curious but a sense of pride that I'm part of this miracle. 

Thank you my child, for choosing me, for loving me, for showing me that I can be selfless, and the ability to know that when I choose you I always win.

I have been waiting for you, wondering about you before you came. And here you are, in my favour to bare you. 

Nonkululeko Manyika

#ReadAfrikanFridays - Alone by Lebo Pule

Written by Malebo Gololo

This is a memoir of a woman detailing a brief account of her growing up in Alexandra and the subtle and unconscious effects that background and society has on an individual. Set up in the Township of Alexandra, Lebo Pule becomes vulnerable to her readers revealing details of the type of environment she grew up in. There is something special about someone who is self-aware and has given themselves permission to be who they are unapologetically without fitting into a mould of what is expected of them.   

 

The cover of the book often raises curiosity behind its inspiration and how it ties in to the memoir itself. Pule explains that the figure in the image represents a story of so many women in current day society. Often women find themselves having to wear a certain countenance that masks their true state of being. This countenance only shows the image that society has created for what the woman should be like. This woman succumbs to the pressure and therefore lives her life as a facade in order to maintain a certain social image. This is done at the risk of a crumbling wall behind the mask. This reminds me of the “new woman” that Professor Pumla Gqola speaks of in her book “a Renegade Called Simphiwe”.  That this “new woman” is a social construct of what the normal woman should aspire to become even though many women do not fit this profile. In normalising this woman, any other becomes abnormal. Reading Alone, one thing is clear and that is Pule does not subscribe to this “new woman” concept. Many would describe Pule's politics around gender issues as harsh but when you have an idea of her background you understand why they are necessary. 

This book is captured with simplicity and beauty so much so that I found myself juggling with many emotions throughout the book. I remember smiling, laughing, sniffing and also getting a bit upset.  Pule gets extremely vulnerable about the type of childhood she had; the challenges of growing up in a township, being bullied by boys (because you are a girl that is not “normal”), almost being raped and also falling pregnant at a very young age and being misunderstood for it. What also captured my heart the most is the "daddy issues" chapter (because I am obsessed with masculinity in South Africa). Having to live with a father she had no relationship with and desperately trying to get his attention she details how she would savour moments of special attention he would shower her with.  These moments were quite special to her as they were very rare occurrences. Her reflections on that relationship reveal the long term effects which manifested in her life when she was older. This also allows the reader to dig deep into their own relationships with their fathers and try and reflect on how it might have affected how they view things, especially with regards to the men around them. 

Although I cannot personally relate to Pule’s background, I can however relate to her essence. No matter the background we all come from, there is ultimately something that weaves us together.  

Pule then allows the reader into her Entrepreneurial journey. She highlights some pivotal challenges which ultimately led to her bankruptcy. There is a level of a façade that is shown in the faces of Entrepreneurs in South Africa which paints a picture that everything is better than what it seems like.  It is as if people are in denial that this is one tough and mostly misunderstood sector to be a part of in South Africa. Pule has journeyed against all odds and has openly shared what so many of us go through when we try and become Entrepreneurs. Exposing the type of relationships we have with our finances and decisions we make when it comes to our businesses which lead to downfall and all sorts of soul crunching realities. This reality often finds most Entrepreneurs having to downgrade their lives and move in with family members or friends.   

What is truly beautiful about this memoir is that it does not reach an ending, but rather, it opens up conversations we should start having within and outwards of ourselves. At the end of a dark night, a new day arises. 

I count myself blessed to be part of a generation that gets to witness the new day in Lebo Pule’s life. She represents women in a big way and because of her and many other brave women who tell their stories unapologetically; women will cease to be removed from herstory.

Every South African needs a copy of this book; no matter the gender, race or tribe. This book gives a beautiful perspective of a part of the South African reality. It will challenge you and it will draw you to making certain decisions about your life. To reflect on whether you are in the right space and if you need to detach yourself from those toxic spaces. Lastly but importantly, whether you have decided to confront your wounds and heal. 

One oops I have is that the book is extremely short and it leaves your tongue wagging for the next offerings by Lebo Pule. Which is a good thing if you think about it, nothing sucks like feeling like you do not want to read anything else by the author after reading their debut book.

You can get ALONE at selected Exclusive books

You can also order on Kalahari.com

You can also order directly from the ALONE Team via this email alonelebopule@gmail.com.

Let me know how you find it 

Yours for the Love of WORDS,

@malebosays

Tourist citizens

By Malebo Gololo

I am not one to harp on or rather show the "race" card as it has become a way of escapism for many people, but the reality is, right here in South Afrika, a country where racial reconciliation is supposed to be a model to the global community, a country where all races are supposed smile together and cry unity - we are more racially divided than we would like to admit and I was hit by this truth yesterday ( 12/10/2013).

I love participating in these leisure races organised by different brands.  Amongst my favourites is the Nike #werunJozi 10 km run held 12/10/2013.  What I have come to notice about these races is that they are supported by whites and one would swear that whites were in the majority if you were to go by these races.  I mean these runs are promoting health and fun times, we cannot say that this is a "white activity"; but the fact that we have a certain activity supported mostly by one racial group, really indicates how separated we are.  We are just in denial about it and it is this denial stage that will cause a serious erupt of emotions between the different race groups of South Afrika.

It reminds me of the international arrival terminal at the OR Thambo International Airport - you will think that this is a white state.  Every sunday, Afrikan people flock to different churches, some to all-Afrikan churches and a handful to white led churches (where the culture in the church is pretty much white) - there is one particular church that seems to have a balance of white and Afrikan individuals but is led by a white pastor, now I dare not ask if a Afrikan pastor would take over, if the white congregants would remain members?

We ran through Johannesburg CBD and for the greater part of the white participants, this was their first encounter with "town" and it felt as if they were tourists. I overheard some being in awe of how beautiful this city is and how they thought it would be dodgy; now I ask, what informed that pre-judgement? A specific incident was when we ran past Park Station, one gentleman asked "where is parkstation?" his friend responded "its on our left" and then in shock he responded: "Oh wow, I didn't expect it to be so clean and tidy" - I do not want to assume what he meant by that statement.  In one particular instance, some person said "ewwww this is so dodge" I just had to respond and said "now imagine living in such a dodge place", and my favourite was when a couple was running next to each other, the lady said with fear in her voice "honey, please run behind me, I don't feel safe" - I really had to contain myself and focus on my finish line.  I do not think me retaliating will solve the problem.  This post is to ask, what is the solution, why is that its the Afrikan majority who have to meet the white minority half way but they are not even willing to meet the Afrikans half way?  When will we realise that apartheid did more harm than we would like to acknowledge and "forgiveness" without dealing with the issue can only mean bad news.

Diaries of a Bothered bunch

By Malebo Gololo

My grandfather always told me that if there are things that bother me in society, therein lies a part of my calling.  My grandfather was a really smart and wise man and I miss him so much especially when I get stuck and my logic fails me.  I recently posed a question on my Facebook account about what bothers people- if my grandfather's statement is anything to go by, then I know we have a huge task ahead of us as a society
 So many things bother us but what are we to do about them?

People who like to romanticise life always say that one shouldn't complain; well, I support that school of thought, but I also feel complaining has its own space, the only issue I have is if one complains without intent to do something about that which one complains about.  Below is a few thought patters of what some people are bothered about:

What bothers me

*Seeing people living as slaves
*Racial/tribal/class supremacy
*Lack of education (formal/informal)
*Lack of mentorship
*Lack of attention as far as male teens are concerned
*People allowing their emotional distresses to occupy their lives
*People who behave line enos - one day ok, the next day down...


What bothers a Young Lady in her late 20's working in the corporate sector

"I  am really bothered by people who cant get round to living their lives, they spend all their time obsessing and talking about other people while life passes them by."

"I am bothered by the crappy service i get from waiters in restaurants or how the office maid wont clean my trash out or make my bed but she does it without complaining when its a white person living there and she gets paid the same at the end of the day. 

I am bothered by the fact that i have to work twice as hard to prove myself, just because i am a black woman, i can do the same amount of work as any white counterpart but they  have double the expense budget i have and its documented in HR policy."

"I am bothered that many black people who become successful after climbing the corporate ladder burn it behind them that others will not be able to reach where they are. They do not open the door or create opportunities for others to also make it, in my previous job my biggest persecutor was a black man who couldn't not stand my success and to see anyone come close to achieving what he had achieved, sad really. A black person does not want the success of another black person, why cant we uplift each other instead, support each other, surely we can achieve more that way even if it means someone will shine brighter than you, the common good is that as a collective we will move forward."

What bothers a Young Lady in her early 30's working in a male dominated industry

Over and above the stuff that bothers you Malebo, I'm also bothered by a black six year old who can't speak their mother tongue and the same parent is fascinated by a white two year old boy who can sing a national anthem. It bothers me that this little white boy, a south Afrikan, is being praised for knowing the words to HIS national anthem. He IS South Afrikan isn't he? Unless he's German or any other nationality, born and raised I honestly don't see what the spectacle is all about. 
 
I'm also bothered by a supremacist who seem to feel that black women in maritime are going to degrade their mariner's licenses as though they were worth sh*t in the first place. 
 
I'm bothered by a black car park attendant who won't help me, a black woman, carry my grocery bags to my car but expects my change for tip, and he does it for a white man. 
 
But most of all, I'm bothered by men with long finger nails, and long pinky nails (I'm going to throw up now)

What bothers a Young Lady in her mid 20's in Academia

 1. I am bothered by young people in the rural areas/townships, how they are being systematically starved of knowledge. I dunno where I would be if I hadn't grown around informative people who planted a seed of consuming knowledge that edifies me and opens my eyes to the world around me so that I can dream bigger. and it breaks my heart that the young people back home, are starved of that and so they don't dream bigger than the little that they know.

2. It breaks my heart that the definition of success, is settling down in cities. The standard of success is having the things white people have, So we leave our homes, townships and rural areas for the successful life in sandton and all the posh sandton facilities. Why is our success not manifesting where we come from? why is it that the more of us succeed and move to 'sandton', our townships and rural areas become more debilitated? our schools are drained of the best teachers who also want the successful life in JHB , the best public servants would rather serve in JHB than back home because their success would best be reflected by where they live and hang out..sandton etc . I've made a decision, I'm going back home soon....

3. I am bothered by the struggles of women at home , in relationships, raising children in this society where most men don't bring the bacon but bring negative and hostile environment that make it difficult and pain for women, and yet they must still do it, raise kids, be good wives, employees, girlfriends, ETC in spite of their brokenness MOSTLY in the hands of men who are supposed to be protectors and providers yet they do the extreme opposite....

4. I'm literally a heart broken person nje currently (via a relationship), heartbreaks suck yoh!! Being heart-sore is not child's play...so I must do SOMETHING about 1,2,3 because I can't live with this heartache forever....hard to ignore

What bothers a Young Lady in her early 20's currently studying and pursuing philanthropy

My heart aches, I cry @ times when I meet these insane homeless YOUNG stars. Going to register an NPO to just try do something hle Malebo. They don't give me peace.
Young modern women too (hence ycbw).

What bothers a Young Lady

Friends all you have mentioned above is heart breaking, and I think the most we have in common is the lack of education formal/informal.
 
1. What breaks my heart most is the lack of mentor ship from our black sisters and brothers you have made it in different spheres of life, and won't share an hour a week or every blue week to help impart the young ones who are just as eagerly and hungry to make a difference.
 
2. My breaks my heart is when the wealthy "tenderprenues" throw lavish parties, inviting bo Rick Ross and Beyonce's to perform for them and top the event by "making it rain with R100 notes" to the less fortunate, after charging them tickets for their "birthday celebration"???
 
3. What breaks my heart is the great gap in education between the Model c schools and township schools, how the model c schools always in need of upgrades when township schools only get "upgrades" once a year, July to be specific and that is a new painted walls and a couple of planted seeds for trees.
 
4. What breaks my heart the most is the capitalization of the Gospel/ Christianity, how preachers sweat in the pulpit and then put a price tag on the "massage" by demanding expensive pledges like 10 people to give R100 000??? How the body of Christ is glued to the 4walls of a building/structure and not "going out, spreading the gospel, making disciples, loving the widowed and orphaned by feeding them instead of judging, condemning and being hypocrites

What bothers a Young Lady in education

I'm bothered by young girls who are busy making babies kodwa bebona ukuthi ikati lilele eziko
 
I'm bothered by a "friend" who won't support my business elok'shini but name drops when they go to the suburbs
 
I'm bothered by women who think it's their right to keep fathers away from their children just because of adult issues.
 
I'm just bothered by my fellow sisters and brothers who assume they don't have to pay for a service and l must just "understand".
 
I'm bothered by parents who subject their young girls to weaves, nail polish and high heels! Especially@nursery school. 

We are a bothered bunch  

 

A community apart

By Malebo Gololo

"An elephant is never burdened by its trunk". These words hit me like a train that has realised that an object has just jumped in front of it.  These are the words that Barbara Bell cites in Lauretta Ngcobo's Prodigal Daughters.  I must say that I have mixed emotions about the overall storyline not disputing or undermining Lauretta’s amazing writing skills.  I, however feel that the stories were not told to their depths, I wish we were given more.  I do understand that the contributors had limited amount of word count to stick to, but stories such as women who were in exile need to be told more. I still feel that a lot is being kept from us, maybe to protect us as the truth can sometimes be to difficult to live by; not that I subscribe to that notion, but it makes for a better denial trip.  I would have also loved to hear more about those women who trained with the MK and what their lives are like in current South Afrika.  Did the negotiations really betray the struggle as Liepello Pheko puts it in her story?

This just goes to show that the struggle has not really come to an end, it has just shifted onto another gear and maybe that is why the very words that hit me had such a huge impact on my heart.  I have been carrying a load on me and this load was starting to burden me.  My grandfather always told me that whatever it is that bothers me, therein lies part of my calling.  I have a burden to see a totally free Afrika, a Afrika that depends on no one but itself to define it.  A Afrika that is not divided, a Afrika that no longer carries the darkness with it but rather is the light of this global village.  A Afrika that shows that it is not only rich in natural resources but in human capital as well.

Image from www.ubunturepublics.org

As a South Afrikan, it breaks my heart to see fellow South Afrikans looking down on our brothers and sisters from all over Afrika;  when it was the very brothers and sisters that opened their gates for South Afrikans to enter during the struggle of our freedom.  It is the very brothers and sisters that were very active in our liberation movements that we so cast away now.  This is how you see that mental slavery is the most potent weapon of all times.  We, the generations that are supposed to be free from those chains have inherited the very shackles that caused the mess we find ourselves in.  So this is my burden, it is my load and I will not lose hope as I work towards a better Afrika, for that which is mine and on me can and must never burden me. Mayibuye iAfrika

I AM WOMAN, the definition of family

Prodigal Daughters by Lauretta Ngcobo

by Nonkululeko Manyika

This book embodies the struggles of women exiled from their country of birth, wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters, women who chose the struggle directly or indirectly. Some were entrenched in the struggle and vowed to fight the oppressive regime whilst others simply married into it.

Many women left their children behind, fresh from giving birth with milk laden breasts; a constant reminder of sacrifice. Crossing borders moving further from your birth home to live as a foreigner in new lands bringing promise or hostility. Some women gave birth to daughters who listened to the fondness of home in the back yard or grey city areas that resembled nothing like sunny Azania. The torture and torments of not belonging because in your likeness you stand alone, through your skin tone, your stature, your sense of upheaval and sheer ignorance of what Afrika means. And all in the longing to come home, was denied access, was patience in hoping that one day you would be reconciled with burial grounds from where you loved ones lay without a word of departure from you. Without you to stay by their bedside as their last breath left, no last “I love you’s” to carry them to their resting place. The difficulty of mourning in solitude as children your birthed look at you with no concept of what a grandmother means. These women who risked their lives and witnessed friends die, and witnessed human carcases mangled by the SANDF bombs. And yet the dream persisted, the warm rays of Azanian sunshine glimmered on their skins with promise that one day you would return as you come to realise that you still remain in these cities with grey skies and concrete walls.  This is how hatred was meted out to those that disagreed and requested that no human be above another, that no human be below another, and that we share Azania as equals.

But yet in unison there was still separation as those of Caucasian descent were still treated to privileges. Because white domination required it. But yet women who share the same struggle as their very same men were raped and treated like lesser human beings because their place was not in the struggle.  Domination took on so many forms and Afrikan women though strong and agile, bore the brunt of it, because oppression is imbibed in so many of us that we expect to see the most obvious when it’s so mangled and twisted it forms the very part of our being. And yet women played an integral role in keeping the family unit, that were she laid her suitcase that would be home, that shack would be home, that hut would be home, that structure not fit for habitation would be home, because home was were her husband was and not the mere structure.

The family unit shall persist as long as there are women that give all of themselves.

Foul breath, foul words, foul taste in my mouth…

By Khomotso Mphahlele

The thing about profanity is that it seems so easy and cool when you speak with your pals who of course also share the same sentiments. And from my experience, you’d have to have your mind conditioned in such a manner that just about every thing you see, hear or say has a vulgar connotation to it. I remember my first experience with profanity, I was an “appie” in the mines, and while at the training center workshop, the work shop instructor seemed to think that in order for us to remember these equipments, tools, and machines and their functions, he had to relate them to sexual vulgar bits, and so it went. He gave me a task to machine a tool, on a “wanking machine”. Of course I pulled a face, a dumb face to be exact because I was standing there thinking “what in the world is a wanking machine?” he was referring to a milling machine.

And since then my vocabulary changed. I could eloquently cuss and swear in English and Afrikaans whilst making what is supposed to be a polite conversation, hoarsing around without a care in the world. It got worse to a point where I simply could not sound intelligent unless I was cussing.

Then it hit me one day. I went home, Ga-Mphahlele. See, having worked in the industries that I have and still is, it’s safe to say that I spent 90% of my time speaking English, so much that most of my dreams are in English. That’s just sad really. So while at home in the village, I found myself battling to communicate with anyone ka Sepedi because, well, I forgot how. I’m so conditioned to speaking sekgowa so much that I even dream ka sekgowa. That’s when realized as well that in order for me to say a sentence in Sepedi, I need to think it in English, and then translate it to Sepedi. This is where the problem started.

“I f#$@ng love this dish, it’s so f#$@ng awesome”.

First of all, I was raised in house hold where I would never even dare say “voetsek” to anyone. So cussing was a hell no! You’d literally be chased out of the house to sleep with herd in the kraal. And yet here I am, unable to piece a decent sentence together and sound like the good child mama raised. See, I know that if my mama heard me speak like that, using that sort of a language, she not only going to kick me out of the house, she’ll smack the foul taste out of my mouth first. And I know that for most of us black people, this household sounds very familiar. Christianity had nothing to do with it. It was just simple Afrikan traditions, principles and values instilled in us.

So the question I’m asking is, Why do we seem to be so comfortable with the kind of foul language we use? Why is it that we think just because we say it in English then that makes it easier on our conscience to cuss and get away with it?

Sepedi proverb “Rutang bana ditaola, gore le seyeng natjo badimong”. There’s a lot to teach my unborn children, and cussing is certainly not on the list, not in my house!