The Read Aunt Mzansi

I long for the day when the streets will feel safe again. I long for the day when I can walk on these streets and not feel my skin crawl. The day when walking down the streets of Boratas, Jo'burg, Polokwane, Alexandra - will be the same. I long for the day when children will flock to an ice cream truck and we won't even begin to imagine that one might not make it back. I long for the day when mothers will be able to go to work during school holidays and be assured that the neighbourhood will look after their children. I long for the day when if work demands we wake up before sunrise on a Saturday morning, that we won't worry that a drunkard or gangster thirsty of blood could be lurking in the shadows on our streets. I long for the day when we will walk in these streets and not think our possessions might not make it to our destinations. The day when a stranger bumping into you won't send your mind into a hysteria of thinking crime syndicate. I long for the day when I...

" 7. The Book: The World Was Silent When We Died For the epilogue, he writes a poem, modeled after one of Okoema's poems. He calls it: "WERE YOU SIL ENT WHEN WE DIED?" Did you see photos in sixty-eight Of children with their hair becoming rust: Sickly patches nestled on those small heads, Then falling off like rotten leaves on dust? Imagine children with arms like toothpicks. With footballs for bellies and skin stretched thin. It was kwashiorkor-difficult word, A word that was not quite ugly enough, a sin. You needn't imagine. There were photos Displayed in gloss-filled pages of your Life. Did you see? Did you feel sorry briefly, Then turn round to hold your lover or wife? Their skin had turned the tawny of weak tea And showed cobwebs of vein and brittle bone; Naked children laughing, as if the man Would not take photos and then leave, alone. " Half of a Yellow Sun Ngozi Adichie Chimamanda This still happens, our circumstances and living conditions are ...

If there's one thing I enjoy about adulting, it has got to be the innumerable epiphanies I get to experience. The realisation that everything is connected. That that needs this and for this to be that, this has to be that. Everything is connected. Dots are circles for a reason. Lessons learnt. Lessons applied. Lessons lived. Lessons shared. It's in the fears we finally decide to face. The mount ains we eventually climb. The puddles we jump over, rivers we cross. It's in the demons we finally confront and learn we are who we fight. The lives we need to live, our lives. We preach and fail to reach because we've grown to believe the doers of the gospel are followers and not leaders. We fail and fail, over and over, until it becomes normal. But there'll come a day when one decision can change it all. For me, that day was stepping out of my entire life into my eternal life. I've been thinking that I'm counting my chickens before they hatch, but then again, I ...

Three years after completing my degree in Performing Arts, three months away from a new year, I get the experience of my life. An experience I'd like to think every ARTist embraces? The Womxn's Theatre Festival, which is in its fifth year now, was the ticket to that ARTistic Experience of a Lifetime. First, it's the space that touches you. The same space that will talk to you, and eventually, engulf you. We are not even at the first show of the day. It was in the liveliness of the people who call Olive Tree Theatre a pART of them. [Situated on the second floor of Yarona Mall in Wynberg - which my geography argues with saying it's in Alex. No? Maybe? Yes?] It was in how the cleaners, the bar and behind the counter people, the photographer, the sound guy, in how we as first-timers, get to belong. Such experiences are beau tYful. Such spaces help us escape ourselves. The conversations before and after the show. The new relationships that can blossom from such spaces. I...

Movie or documentary? Magazine or book? Movie on the book, or the actual book? The former in all of the above , of course! (It's NOT even a question.) That's me and you right there. Until one of us realises how screwed we are. I visited the Hector Pieterson Museum out in Orlando West, Soweto. A lot of the history in there you'll think you know, I mean, who doesn't know Hector Pieterson? The little boy who became the imagery of the youth struggle. We read of these things, watch movies on them, we are reminded of these atrocities that happened to the Afrikan race on commemoration days like June 16 . So, why would a young person, black at that, bother going to historical places like this one? Maybe for one - they just don't give a shit. For another - why would they want to be reminded of the past when they need to move on? Or hey, you only visit such places on tour? I don't know which one you are for , or which other way you see it.   Hav...

Imagine walking into a room, a building, a space, only to see the future. Yes, the Es 'kia Mphahlele Community Library is just that. Situated in the City of Tshwane, South Afrika, one cannot ignore the fact that we are competing on the global literary scale . People, We Have Arrived. Sure, I'm a sucker for all things literature but the spaces I've been indulging my reads in haven't swept me off my feet , to use the cliché, except for my bed and sometimes a good green of grass with a good shade. That was until visiting this significant library. It wasn't planned, at least not from my side. My pARTner has been trying to say a lot about it to a lack of descriptive words, I could only understand, believe , by seeing. After trying so hard to take all that space in, to allow myself to be flooded by the future, it hit me that reading is more than just books. You see, space is important, comfort also, is of paramount importance. You don't want to read your book, study...

Unless you're dancing, never make your circle bigger!  Have you looked at the effort, time and emotions it takes to keep up with everyone and everything? It's a job and a half. Sure, we want those 3000+ friends on Facebook to feel popular and known. The Twitter followers without real names, never mind faces. Those heART emojis on Instagram to make us feel liked and appreciated. We all want, and love attention. But at what cost? Notice how frustrated we get when we don't get those? When we actually come back to the reality that those people might actually have lives, real ones that demand to be lived? Is it all worth it? Have our lives equated to the like-pass-forget mantra? Take this. Go back if you will. Having a few real friends, whose names you know, faces you'll never forget (unless your mind meets a tragedy), friends whose numbers you know by heART, can call or text without worrying about being a destruction, friends whom can help you in your time of need, the one...

He never apologised. Yes, you. You never apologised. You never apologised for coming into my life and leaving without saying goodbye. You never apologised for being around but never staying. You never did. You never apologised for not being ready and yet acting like you knew when you'd be. You never apologised. You never apologised for that time you kissed me in the middle of the road and acted like it meant nothing, afterward. Maybe it did but, you never apologised. You never apologised for that time that you came over to my house and I baked for you, something I only do when I'm depressed, and yet you took it like a hobby. You never apologised for having relationships with my entire family while ours was suffering, suffocating. You never apologised. You never apologised for that one time you slept over, slit inside of me, only to get out within seconds because well...we couldn't. You never apologised for the other time when we fixed things and we were wrapped passionatel...

Having just relocated, something that took all of me,  a lot of 'sucking it up'; I thought I was ready to take on the world. Okay, I am. But, on the morning of my First Sunday here, my ready-to-take-on-the-world shores were flooded with a tide of emotion that I've never felt before. I am Konscious of myself. The first thing about my Self Konsciousness is feeling comfortable, in and out of my body. I have always felt that way about myself, except for that one time I was at school when my periods stARTed - I was frustrated for the whole week - but I overcame that. Fast forward to my First Sunday,  that flood of emotion came back, and it was back to strangle the life out of me. I wore my best Sunday Clothes, clothes I've been wearing and wore that morning knowing I'd look and FEEL good. Little did I know. After putting on my dress, I stARTed seeing eyes and hearing voices of judgement in my head about how short my dress was, how my cleavage was in 'their' face...

Happy Places. Where is your Happy Place? What is a Happy Place? My (personal) dictionary says that, "A Happy Place, is any place, in the physical or spiritual, where you can go and fully experience peace." Is it going out? Being with friends? Your pARTner? Being in the company of your family? Lecture halls? Shopping? Curling up with a good book, and a cup of Rooibos Tea? Morning runs on dusty village roads? Travelling in a donkey cart? Having conversations with strangers? A weekend away at your Gran's? Whatever it is...it ought to give you peace. Utmost, pure peace. Peace still. It ought to speak to you, silently, and you have to understand the language. The Language of Peace. It's not always about the big things, or the things that seem big. Sometimes, most times even, it's the little things. It's the little things that mean the big things. For the big things to mean a whole lot, the little things have to matter, to you first before anyone else. It's then...

I was watching Afternoon Express on SABC3 a few weeks back  . The topic was of 'explicit content', yes, SEX; sexual behaviour, sexual education, sexual curiosity, sexual pleasure, all these sexual talk we never get to have. Because, you know, tradition, religion. It's always talk about the practice of 'safe sex', being faithful, sex for reproduction, sex at a certain age, everything in between, or what we wish could make up a pART of our sex stories, is a taboo. We never talk about the pleasure that comes with sexual intercourse, sexual activities. There are never talks on the responses we get from our bodies, talks on finding that G-spot before your pARTner does. Talks on exploring these bodies of ours. It's always the same Sexual Syllabus year in and year out, generation through generation. Perhaps Darwin died with his evolution? We are cemented in religion and tradition, so much so that we believe a foundation built not on those two (or because our unders...

It appears I've always been a walker. I was never really an 'active' child, but for the most pART of my childhood, I've been walking. Even after tertiary education demanded that I re-locate for a short three years, my shoe soles became no stranger to the narrow and gravel main roads that led to my destinations. While I was in Primary School, I'd walk from my Gran's on Fridays to my Mom's, then back on Sundays; this happened almost every weekend. The distance was about 9,3km. It was no hassle, really. As I grew up though, things changed. I got to a stage where I could walk on my own, until I was pumped with fear. I'm in this unpleasant nostalgic mood relating this pART of my life because, as I was going through my Facebook today, I came across a personal story that ignited the anger that's been trying to 'excuse and justify' the status quo. Ma, I call her. She's Vuyokazi Dejavu Tafari Ngemntu - my Literary Spirit Mother. "The ghet...

"When are we gonna understand that we are put on earth to love?" Those are the words of Kendrick Lamar via a friend of mine on WhatsApp. (Authenticity not checked, so don't come here biting anybody's head; it's actually of lesser importance right now.) In just that one sentence, I felt like the world might just change, for the better? Looking at what's going on right now on earth; the frustration, depression, anguish, emptiness, lack, fear, confusion, the HATE. You can't argue that, maybe LOVE is the answer. You look at how beautYful things are when they're rooted in LOVE. Let's not talk about how it could all be "pretence", rather, doesn't that say, "We also want this beautYful thing we pretend to have"? Look at contentment. Isn't it all LOVE? Look at laughter. Isn't it all LOVE? Look at giving, appreciation, acceptance, acknowledgment, non-judgment, non-prejudice, all these beautYful things we are afraid to do....

Should Matric Dances fall? I mean, it's the era of the hashtag and with that, the public can break down as much as they can build up anything. First of all, I adore the inter-faces behind hashtags, the bravery and the exercise of 'this' freedom of expression, I really do. But, can we please not overshadow and overlook the people who are actually doing something? The people on the ground getting their hands dirty? I'm speaking of the Dineo Ranaka's who rock up on doorsteps at 10pm to reinforce the Gospel they preach. Sure, we have our Kuli Roberts' who've been here for over 400 years and can sponsor Matric Dance Nights worth R67000. And, how can we not come back to our senses (if it isn't at all nonsense) when the Shaka Sisulu's of Afrika Borwa remind us of the Educational Crisis the Future is facing, remember how #FeesAlmostFell? Somebody's Future actually costs R67000, more or less, and they can't afford it. I won't decide if #MatricDa...

Hitchhiking from my Grandma's (my first home) to my 'actual' home (my Mom's), I got a ride from one Intoxicated Crew of three grown men. I wanna say, drunk, but to be nice I'll reserve my favourite word for another time. I was inspired, somehow. You know how they say drunk (oops!) people are the most honest? Lies! Drunk people are the the most alive. Okay, maybe not. There is this level of Spirituality that Intoxication takes people to, helps people reach. When people are high on whatever substance(tangible and/or intangible), they are at their best, or worst. They come in contact with the contentment of Self realisation, acceptance. And, to those of us who are there, we know that that is where power and everything Self, lies. I realised today, and maybe subconsciously before, that we become our 'better' Self-s when we have a driving agent, something that stirs our souls, redefines our being, and causes us to act - accordingly. Yes, one might argue that int...

It appears you become everything and everyone you swore never to become. Just when you're sure your values are set, your principles unshakeable, there comes a wave onto your shores. I've learnt that I've become a lot of things, a lot of people on my journey to being the me that, "I'm supposed to be?" :/ That being that, you find yourself asking if you are who you say you are, or if you even know if you're who you've become known to be. With the 'known part', you get stuck when you're supposed to move forward, because, is it where you're expected to go? I don't know. Sitting here, looking at the events that made the day...am I proud? Should I be proud? Maybe yes, because I learnt something about myself, something about the people I care about. I've learnt, well this one I do everyday, that, you can't always make everyone and yourself happy. Sometimes, you'll go where they don't expect. Sometimes, you'll get along ...

You know how kids see opportunities and then use them without second guessing themselves? They know that there's no going back, it's now or never because if the adults come to the pARTy, they'll spoil it. Back in Primary School when I was staying with my gran, I'd try to pull stunts without victory because you know, that woman is smart. I remember during Pension Grant Days, you're excitement begins the day before because tomorrow you'll hit the jackpot - hopefully. The Pension Grant Point was literally in the school's backyard, given that, you wanna sneak over there and be the bridesmaid behind your gran's good Pension Grant Day dress. The aim is to score an apple, maybe two bananas if you see an extended family grandfather or maybe an uncle, if you're lucky you'll get out R2 richer as well. See that, that's the goal, the price. You look for an opportunity to hit the jackpot hard every month on Pension Grant Day. I wish! My gran was just too ...

You can only go as far as advising someone, over and above that, it's beyond you. I am learning everyday; we are not unable to live, we are just too caught  up in other people's lives we forget to live our own lives. Look at it this way, almost every time you want to say or do something, you think about the next person. Let's not talk about empathy, how many times really, do you think of someone because their wellbeing matters to you? Back to my point. The moment you think of someone else, you are utterly doomed, and they are in the deepest of shit. It's like something is being taken away from you, but, because we are human, that is our greatest, inevitable demise. We ought to leave this world empty. That's another thing on its own. That moment, that moment you think of someone else's life, their ways and walks of life, and actually interfering. You come in of course, looking to advice them, no harm intended. But, have you thought through the damage that your wo...

Of course, the first question I asked myself was, 'What in the world am I going to write about?' How long should my post be? Should I be relevant? Do I need to be relevant? What really makes a blog? With these questions, I have been browsing the internet for over an hour, looking for the best 'blog site', or maybe I was checking the scene? I don't know. Anywho, I've finally tightened my vagina and here I am, punching my phone's keyboard! I remember when I first 'attempted' to blog, back in high school, that's like 4 years ago. I was sure I could pull it off, but I get to this site, and the English there just felt like Mandarin. Somehow I couldn't understand a thing that was written there (with all the FREE this, FREE that, it seemed all too good to be true!) and I thought I could read the Terms&Conditions. Hah! I was setting myself for failure and misguided self-doubt. Since realising my journey of Self 'becomings cum unbecomings...