The stop light was green as Sonia was approaching from the top of William Nicol Drive, having just turned from the rather busy Sandton Drive. She was debating her reasons for continuing to use this route, when her husband had shown her so many other routes to get to her house from her office. "Aag, I'm so not in the mood to memorise street names and landmarks. Some day may be, but definitely not any time soon." She was thinking to herself.
Her heart started pounding faster than usual as she realised that she might not be able to avoid bumping the car in front of her. She kept her eyes focused on the not so modern car that was seemingly intent on having her beautiful Audi crash on it. As the two cars furiously embraced each other, Sonia felt a very warm trickle down her legs. She sat in the car and waited for the driver of the car she had just smashed into to come to her, silently hoping that it was not another hot headed being that would make her day worse than it was already.
The man looking like a hard working construction kind of a guy, with his hair tied into a pony tail approachedcame towards her car. At this point, Sonia was almost certain that there was going to be a rageous argument between the two of them. She had had several encounters of road rage, especially with White women, and did not expect less from this White tough looking guy.
The man opened her door and pulled her out, but rather gentler than a supposed to be furious road rager. "Mam, are you okay?" He enquired gently. "Please step out so we can be sure you are fine," He said, helping her out of the car. Her brown linen skirt was by now sticking like gum to her behind. She realised that it was probably due to the effects of the warm trickle she felt going down her legs. This was confirmed as she looked down and saw how she had wet herself. The other guy, realising how embarassing this moment probably was for Sonia, moved on to look at the damage that may have been caused by the crash. Sonia did not move an inch from where she had been standing. "We are both lucky mam, other than just dashes of scratches, it does not look like there is much damage to both our cars," the gentleman who had not even said what his name was murmured as he came back to help Sonia back into her car. "I suuggest you go home and try to calm yourself down," he said seemingly avoiding to embarass her further as little drops of urine were still dropping onto the tar road.
She felt a somewhat trivial inkling of relief as she parked her car in her garage. Feeling rather uncomfortable, she thought it was best to leave her bags in the car and quickly get into the shower to clean herself up. As she walked into her bedroom from the adjoining garage door, Lizo was already in the room, changing from his work clothes. He took one look at her and did not resist conveying his impression of her state. "Shuu! You've graduated to wetting yourself now." He said mockingly. "Why, you can't control your bladder? I'm sure you can't wait to tell your shrink that I'm the cause for your disfunctional bladder! Sies, you disgust me!" Lizo said, his words meant to mercilessly cut right into Sonia's fragile heart.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I dance in the rain and sing in the shower
2010 has been somewhat eventful, though in a rather sublime manner than I had initially expected. Whilst we have seen major events taking place, including the FIFA Wold Cup hosted in our country, very little has succeeded in lifting the usually jovial mood of most South Africans. Perhaps I should rather stop generalising and limit my view to my closest acquintances.
On the career front, all I've really witnessed is everyone just trying to juggle their day to day challenges ranging from finances to relationships. Lately, it is really not strange that during lunch, just when you chew on that juicy drumstick bone from your Wollies quarter leg, a colleague will request you to answer their phone and pretend to be their assistant or something lesser than her own position. This being something not perculiar to you does not really surprise you as you have done it yourself, several times nogal. "Khanya's phone hello," is what you will say. "Hello Mam, I'd like to speak to Nokanyanyano Jili, please," the voice on the other side will say. At this point you already know that the caller is no acquintant of your colleague, evident from the struggle in pronouncing her name, a name that no one ever calls her by anyway. You decide that it is one of two possibilities, a debt collector or at best a tele-markerter. "Miss Jili is in a meeting mam, would you like to leave a message?" At this juncture everyone on the table is giggling, understanding exactly what is going down. Then you go on pretending as if you have the pen and paper that she wishes you have to jot down the reference number, etc, etc. I don't know about other people, but witnessing other people going through such challenges, gives a peace of mind. No, not that I rejoice in the suffering of other people, but at least I'm not alone!
The best time at work was when I encountered a printout left by a colleague on the communal printer. This was a rather very sensitive document, which it wouldn't have been had it perhaps belonged to me or any other colleague I like. This document, with her signature on it mind you, revealed that she had requested a rather very ridiculously high amount for a salary advance. This was just another confirmation that 'kunzima nakwaMakhelwane'.
On the social front, it is not uncommon for my friends to call me and ask me what I am up to, 'just as a fun question' by the way, with no intention to offer a solution if I reveal that I have no plans for the whole day, the whole week including its weekend, and yeah especially this winter, were it not for the World Cup, I would have had no plans for at least a whole month. The conversation is likely to move on to an update on the last conversation. While the last time you spoke, which is likely to be just the previous week, she could have told you about this guy she went out on a date with. She went on and on about how this one could be the one but she just does not want to rush into things. Today she sadly informs you that 'Mr could be the one' has been scrapped off the roll of candidates. The reason given is almost similar to the reason you gave about why you are no longer interested in that guy you met at one of the glitzy gala dinners you are so tired of attending. "Hhayi my friend, there is no substance in that man....all he talks about is this deal and that deal he is struggling to knock down".
As a phenomenal woman, I have friends from different eras of my life. I have friends from high school. We went to a Dominican convent boarding school in the outskirts of Durban. This is a group of friends I spent a good five years of my life with. These are people who know me as a 'Politician wannabe, an avid reader, a story-teller, lazy, food lover, first to cry, etc.....I have danced in the rain with these girsls, we have sung in the shower renditions of Mariah Carey, Boyz II Men, Michael Bolton.....
The other group is friends I met at Wits, during my one year stint in the mid-90's (yeah I'm old neh). I have known these girls for a good 15 years. They no my ambitious side. They have seen me in my worst of times. They have crashed my house to give me a talk on how I have neglected myself (yah...it happens to the best of us), they have listened to me lying about how okay I am...jah, we have spent many weekends together....where we discuss nothing but who was the the worst drunk last night...who is likely to be an alcoholic needing our endless support when we have retired....every diva needs friends like my friends believe you me!
Then in the ten years of my working life, I have had 7 jobs. It goes without saying that, yes, I have picked at least one friend at every organisation I have worked at. These are people who only know the new me. The me I have moulded. The me that has endured the tribulations of adult life. They don't know me when I was a faithful little girl who had never seen a man's third leg until the age of 18. They don't know me whem I had a flat stomach to a point of being called 'Ilamba lidlile'! Hehehe....we come far hey!
All these experiences with my friends from different eras of my life keep me motivated to stay 'my own person'.
The August issue of True Love has an article contributed by a reader Coslina Malope. She lists there 4 rules that she has decided to name 'The diva rules'.
1. Get the chase on
A woman shouldn't want a man more than a man wants her. A man cannot appreaciate something he did not conquer. I fully agree that as a woman, a diva at that (GBPY), there is nothing more enjoyable than being wooed, chased and pampered in the name of love!
2. Stay your own person
Don't brag about his contacts - they are not yours to brag about. She says a true diva cannot a be a success by association-----true that!
3. Don't lose yourself in a relationship
I love my maskandi music, I will not be apologetic for having a Soul Brothers music collection. Yes, the Village Pope gives me the goose bumps, especially when he leads Sankomota! Don't get me started with Ray Phiri and Stimela! Don't ask me why I play Pro at my age---I have an ear for hip hop....kwa kwa kwa!
4. Don't fake it
She says don't have sex unless you want to. If he laid it wrong for you, and you still called his clan name, then why should he do anything different next time....need I say more??? This could be one of the reasons why my bed is cold this winter (have an electric blanket phobia).
I remember a conversation I had with friends, when we were remeniscing about how we have been good girls, asking ourselves what we had to show for that....tenacity....yes tenacity! Though I'm not sure how that warms you up at night!
Jah, I still dance in the rain and sing in the shower! Does that make me a happy diva....well.......
Cheers friends!
On the career front, all I've really witnessed is everyone just trying to juggle their day to day challenges ranging from finances to relationships. Lately, it is really not strange that during lunch, just when you chew on that juicy drumstick bone from your Wollies quarter leg, a colleague will request you to answer their phone and pretend to be their assistant or something lesser than her own position. This being something not perculiar to you does not really surprise you as you have done it yourself, several times nogal. "Khanya's phone hello," is what you will say. "Hello Mam, I'd like to speak to Nokanyanyano Jili, please," the voice on the other side will say. At this point you already know that the caller is no acquintant of your colleague, evident from the struggle in pronouncing her name, a name that no one ever calls her by anyway. You decide that it is one of two possibilities, a debt collector or at best a tele-markerter. "Miss Jili is in a meeting mam, would you like to leave a message?" At this juncture everyone on the table is giggling, understanding exactly what is going down. Then you go on pretending as if you have the pen and paper that she wishes you have to jot down the reference number, etc, etc. I don't know about other people, but witnessing other people going through such challenges, gives a peace of mind. No, not that I rejoice in the suffering of other people, but at least I'm not alone!
The best time at work was when I encountered a printout left by a colleague on the communal printer. This was a rather very sensitive document, which it wouldn't have been had it perhaps belonged to me or any other colleague I like. This document, with her signature on it mind you, revealed that she had requested a rather very ridiculously high amount for a salary advance. This was just another confirmation that 'kunzima nakwaMakhelwane'.
On the social front, it is not uncommon for my friends to call me and ask me what I am up to, 'just as a fun question' by the way, with no intention to offer a solution if I reveal that I have no plans for the whole day, the whole week including its weekend, and yeah especially this winter, were it not for the World Cup, I would have had no plans for at least a whole month. The conversation is likely to move on to an update on the last conversation. While the last time you spoke, which is likely to be just the previous week, she could have told you about this guy she went out on a date with. She went on and on about how this one could be the one but she just does not want to rush into things. Today she sadly informs you that 'Mr could be the one' has been scrapped off the roll of candidates. The reason given is almost similar to the reason you gave about why you are no longer interested in that guy you met at one of the glitzy gala dinners you are so tired of attending. "Hhayi my friend, there is no substance in that man....all he talks about is this deal and that deal he is struggling to knock down".
As a phenomenal woman, I have friends from different eras of my life. I have friends from high school. We went to a Dominican convent boarding school in the outskirts of Durban. This is a group of friends I spent a good five years of my life with. These are people who know me as a 'Politician wannabe, an avid reader, a story-teller, lazy, food lover, first to cry, etc.....I have danced in the rain with these girsls, we have sung in the shower renditions of Mariah Carey, Boyz II Men, Michael Bolton.....
The other group is friends I met at Wits, during my one year stint in the mid-90's (yeah I'm old neh). I have known these girls for a good 15 years. They no my ambitious side. They have seen me in my worst of times. They have crashed my house to give me a talk on how I have neglected myself (yah...it happens to the best of us), they have listened to me lying about how okay I am...jah, we have spent many weekends together....where we discuss nothing but who was the the worst drunk last night...who is likely to be an alcoholic needing our endless support when we have retired....every diva needs friends like my friends believe you me!
Then in the ten years of my working life, I have had 7 jobs. It goes without saying that, yes, I have picked at least one friend at every organisation I have worked at. These are people who only know the new me. The me I have moulded. The me that has endured the tribulations of adult life. They don't know me when I was a faithful little girl who had never seen a man's third leg until the age of 18. They don't know me whem I had a flat stomach to a point of being called 'Ilamba lidlile'! Hehehe....we come far hey!
All these experiences with my friends from different eras of my life keep me motivated to stay 'my own person'.
The August issue of True Love has an article contributed by a reader Coslina Malope. She lists there 4 rules that she has decided to name 'The diva rules'.
1. Get the chase on
A woman shouldn't want a man more than a man wants her. A man cannot appreaciate something he did not conquer. I fully agree that as a woman, a diva at that (GBPY), there is nothing more enjoyable than being wooed, chased and pampered in the name of love!
2. Stay your own person
Don't brag about his contacts - they are not yours to brag about. She says a true diva cannot a be a success by association-----true that!
3. Don't lose yourself in a relationship
I love my maskandi music, I will not be apologetic for having a Soul Brothers music collection. Yes, the Village Pope gives me the goose bumps, especially when he leads Sankomota! Don't get me started with Ray Phiri and Stimela! Don't ask me why I play Pro at my age---I have an ear for hip hop....kwa kwa kwa!
4. Don't fake it
She says don't have sex unless you want to. If he laid it wrong for you, and you still called his clan name, then why should he do anything different next time....need I say more??? This could be one of the reasons why my bed is cold this winter (have an electric blanket phobia).
I remember a conversation I had with friends, when we were remeniscing about how we have been good girls, asking ourselves what we had to show for that....tenacity....yes tenacity! Though I'm not sure how that warms you up at night!
Jah, I still dance in the rain and sing in the shower! Does that make me a happy diva....well.......
Cheers friends!
Monday, June 7, 2010
The splashy noise that came from the raging waves of the Indian Ocean seemed to increase by the second. You could swear that the ocean was seriously seeking Bobo's attention and he was somewhat oblivious to the rigorous pleas of the sea to be heard and observed.
Standing at the sea facing balcony, just a few meters away from the beach front, Bobo wished he could erase everything that associates Neli with him. Feeling weak and helpless, he could not help thinking about the one night of passion between him and Neli. Whilst this had been a night he had thoroughly enjoyed, he remembered that it was not that difficult for him to reserve memories related to that day in a compactment in his head where he never felt any obligation to have these memories retrieved.
Bobo's meeting with Sindi earlier on seemed to have achieved nothing less than a serious state of confusion. In his attempt to comprehend the meaning of what had happened, the more he felt the growing contempt of the situation.
Whilst he could understand Neli's motive for doing what she had done, he struggled finding logical grounds for his very own wife to be implicated in all of this.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I'm back in circulation...where is my Prince Charming?
Being back in circulation has proven to be somewhat a challenge. Not that I expected to be cruising immediately after I found myself in singlehood, but hell, I did not expect the challenges
I have encountered thus far.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a hurry to be right in the dating department, neither do I accept that I will have to kiss frogs before finding the right one.
You see, I come from the old school regime, where it is an unwritten rule that a good girl deserves a prince, a charming one at that. Growing old alone is not an appealing scenario to girls my age. It does not matter how many times you have been bitten, you will not be shy double the amount. I come from a generation that believes that you fall, pick yourself up, dust yourself and carry on with your business. Now if we consider the age issue, in my case, with only one year left for me to no longer be considered youth, time is not on my side. Yes, because, I have to find this Prince, study him and decide if he is the one.
The other complication is that, with my generation (70's), falling in love is an important factor. It is almost like we do not have a choice. I see that it is not necessarily the case with the 80's generation, which makes life move much faster for them. You see, the 80's kids use a combination of logical aspects to arrive at their final 'Prince charming' choosing decision. Amongst many aspects, the following seem to take prescedent: social standing, bank balance, family name (unknown surnames tend to fall behind), etc.
My generation tends to focus on rather mundane factors: is he religious ('cos I do want to be umama webhatyi yase Weseli one day you know!); does he have style (we tend to shy away from men who can't dress to save their souls); is he traditional ('cos I do want my traditional wedding, where I will be officially dressed in my sishweshwe and be given a new name); is he well read (he can be a poorly paid journalist, but hey we read Sunday Papers together and he knows the history of the ANC); is he well socialised ('cos I need people to come to our Sunday braais or else who are we going to share our Jameson with?).....I'm sure you get the gist of the point I'm trying to make!
Back to where I started....I refuse to have to kiss frogs before I discover my 'Prince charming'. The reality is that most men my 'dating age' (from 3 years younger to 15 years older) are married, may be not happily so, bu they are nonetheless taken. It is mostly these men that will show an interest. Logically, if I want to find my soulmate to grow old with, I cannot be wasting my time with a married man. Ha ha, yes, I'd like to provide a responsible sounding reason for not feeling comfortable dating a married man, but that's it for now.
If the guy is not married, he is a confused recently divorced, looking for a comforter kind of a man. He will spend the first few weeks trying to impress you with his eloquent knowledge of the restaurantia culture, taking you to exquisite dining venues, impressing you with his appreciation for good wine, etc. Together you attend interesting events such as motor racing, attend theatre and exchange books. Just as you begin to think that, "ooh, it is not that difficult mos to find the right one", then he drops a bombshell! He starts telling you his sordid stories, how his divorce left him broke; how he has had to give up his car for his ex-wife's use; how he cannot afford accomodation because he is paying the bond for the house he left for his ex-wife and children, blah, blah, blah.....then you start thinkin, "It is time to run."
If you happen to meet a single, never been married guy...you are lucky if he is not obsessed with Glenfidich; Johhny Walker, etc. This guy will spend not less than R600 on a single bottle of a 15 year old single malt whisky, and on average, they kill not less than 4 bottles per weekend with his friends. He is likely to be drving a 5 series; Q7; Range Rover Supercharge; etc.....of course these cars still belong to the bank! His face is somewhat 'ripe' from all the whisky. He is very stingy....he has every excuse in the book why he thinks there is something wrong with guys who buy flowers for their women. But you and me know that the only reason is that he is actually struggling to maintain his flashy lifestyle, by now he is probably blacklisted for not affording to pay for the garden services, ADT security services, etc.
Do you understand where I'm coming from? Why can't I meet the right one from the word go? Tell me why??? You see the time I waste checking all the above types out is rather precious time to me! When I am with you at the Balalaika cigar lounge at 20:00 on a Thursday evening, it means my two kids had dinner without me...it means homework goes unchecked...it means the nanny has to work extended hours...it means I missed out on seeing my beloved Suffocate on Rhythm City; it means I miss out on seeing Paul Mashaba's sweet looking lips on Generations; it means I won't find out the next Xhosa person that Andile has managed to track down on Khumbulekhaya....eish on the topic of Khumbulekhaya, do you notice how 80% of the show is dominated by missing people from the Eastern Cape? I've been asking myself, why? I have resolved that it is one of two reasons: 1) Xhosa men and women are generally irresponsible and will not think twice to leave their offspring to in search of the 'good life' eGoli; or 2)The Xhosa nation is the most caring, they will not leave a single stone unturned to find their long lost brother/sister, while other nations couldn't give a hoot!
Back to my story...if you are going to hook me up with anyone, or if any guy that happens to read my blog has an interest me they have not been able to convey, the following must be noted:
1. I am in the market and I'm looking;
2. Chancers will be spotted very quickly, so don't even think of playing the Lotto with me;
3. I do place a lot of importance on how you look. My friends will tell you, I have never had an ugly boyfriend...by the way my looks have nothing to do with anything...we are talking about you here;
4. If you did not scheme through this blog, then you already know what I am looking for;
5. Giving me your business card is not a good idea, because I am still the type that waits for the guy to make the first move;
6. No, I will not have a weave...hoping that I will when I meet you is futile;
7. No tenderpreneurs please....I want the REAL DEAL;
8. Expect that it will not takemore than 1 month for my status to change from Nyatse to 'Main Main'...your current girl will have to accept that this 'hot mama' came and stole your heart...she is not the fisrt person to be dumped, she must move on and not call you for a cup of coffee so you can talk;
THE REST IS NEGOTIABLE....I'm not that unreasonable!
I have encountered thus far.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a hurry to be right in the dating department, neither do I accept that I will have to kiss frogs before finding the right one.
You see, I come from the old school regime, where it is an unwritten rule that a good girl deserves a prince, a charming one at that. Growing old alone is not an appealing scenario to girls my age. It does not matter how many times you have been bitten, you will not be shy double the amount. I come from a generation that believes that you fall, pick yourself up, dust yourself and carry on with your business. Now if we consider the age issue, in my case, with only one year left for me to no longer be considered youth, time is not on my side. Yes, because, I have to find this Prince, study him and decide if he is the one.
The other complication is that, with my generation (70's), falling in love is an important factor. It is almost like we do not have a choice. I see that it is not necessarily the case with the 80's generation, which makes life move much faster for them. You see, the 80's kids use a combination of logical aspects to arrive at their final 'Prince charming' choosing decision. Amongst many aspects, the following seem to take prescedent: social standing, bank balance, family name (unknown surnames tend to fall behind), etc.
My generation tends to focus on rather mundane factors: is he religious ('cos I do want to be umama webhatyi yase Weseli one day you know!); does he have style (we tend to shy away from men who can't dress to save their souls); is he traditional ('cos I do want my traditional wedding, where I will be officially dressed in my sishweshwe and be given a new name); is he well read (he can be a poorly paid journalist, but hey we read Sunday Papers together and he knows the history of the ANC); is he well socialised ('cos I need people to come to our Sunday braais or else who are we going to share our Jameson with?).....I'm sure you get the gist of the point I'm trying to make!
Back to where I started....I refuse to have to kiss frogs before I discover my 'Prince charming'. The reality is that most men my 'dating age' (from 3 years younger to 15 years older) are married, may be not happily so, bu they are nonetheless taken. It is mostly these men that will show an interest. Logically, if I want to find my soulmate to grow old with, I cannot be wasting my time with a married man. Ha ha, yes, I'd like to provide a responsible sounding reason for not feeling comfortable dating a married man, but that's it for now.
If the guy is not married, he is a confused recently divorced, looking for a comforter kind of a man. He will spend the first few weeks trying to impress you with his eloquent knowledge of the restaurantia culture, taking you to exquisite dining venues, impressing you with his appreciation for good wine, etc. Together you attend interesting events such as motor racing, attend theatre and exchange books. Just as you begin to think that, "ooh, it is not that difficult mos to find the right one", then he drops a bombshell! He starts telling you his sordid stories, how his divorce left him broke; how he has had to give up his car for his ex-wife's use; how he cannot afford accomodation because he is paying the bond for the house he left for his ex-wife and children, blah, blah, blah.....then you start thinkin, "It is time to run."
If you happen to meet a single, never been married guy...you are lucky if he is not obsessed with Glenfidich; Johhny Walker, etc. This guy will spend not less than R600 on a single bottle of a 15 year old single malt whisky, and on average, they kill not less than 4 bottles per weekend with his friends. He is likely to be drving a 5 series; Q7; Range Rover Supercharge; etc.....of course these cars still belong to the bank! His face is somewhat 'ripe' from all the whisky. He is very stingy....he has every excuse in the book why he thinks there is something wrong with guys who buy flowers for their women. But you and me know that the only reason is that he is actually struggling to maintain his flashy lifestyle, by now he is probably blacklisted for not affording to pay for the garden services, ADT security services, etc.
Do you understand where I'm coming from? Why can't I meet the right one from the word go? Tell me why??? You see the time I waste checking all the above types out is rather precious time to me! When I am with you at the Balalaika cigar lounge at 20:00 on a Thursday evening, it means my two kids had dinner without me...it means homework goes unchecked...it means the nanny has to work extended hours...it means I missed out on seeing my beloved Suffocate on Rhythm City; it means I miss out on seeing Paul Mashaba's sweet looking lips on Generations; it means I won't find out the next Xhosa person that Andile has managed to track down on Khumbulekhaya....eish on the topic of Khumbulekhaya, do you notice how 80% of the show is dominated by missing people from the Eastern Cape? I've been asking myself, why? I have resolved that it is one of two reasons: 1) Xhosa men and women are generally irresponsible and will not think twice to leave their offspring to in search of the 'good life' eGoli; or 2)The Xhosa nation is the most caring, they will not leave a single stone unturned to find their long lost brother/sister, while other nations couldn't give a hoot!
Back to my story...if you are going to hook me up with anyone, or if any guy that happens to read my blog has an interest me they have not been able to convey, the following must be noted:
1. I am in the market and I'm looking;
2. Chancers will be spotted very quickly, so don't even think of playing the Lotto with me;
3. I do place a lot of importance on how you look. My friends will tell you, I have never had an ugly boyfriend...by the way my looks have nothing to do with anything...we are talking about you here;
4. If you did not scheme through this blog, then you already know what I am looking for;
5. Giving me your business card is not a good idea, because I am still the type that waits for the guy to make the first move;
6. No, I will not have a weave...hoping that I will when I meet you is futile;
7. No tenderpreneurs please....I want the REAL DEAL;
8. Expect that it will not takemore than 1 month for my status to change from Nyatse to 'Main Main'...your current girl will have to accept that this 'hot mama' came and stole your heart...she is not the fisrt person to be dumped, she must move on and not call you for a cup of coffee so you can talk;
THE REST IS NEGOTIABLE....I'm not that unreasonable!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
HELP! Do you have an uncle I can borrow whilst I'm waiting for Mr Right??
The past few months, with the exception of December have been hell! Those close to me have been witnesses to my trials and tribulations.
My loved ones were quite relieved at the speed with which my permanent separation to my once beloved better half went. I was also amazed as I thought these things took time. I have heard of people waiting for as long as 3 some 5 years for the finalisation of their divorces. Mine took a mere two months.
I did not take for granted that life would not necessarily be a breeze soon after my divorce. But I did not anticipate as much pain. Suddenly I found myself on a roller-coaster ride! If you've been on the Anaconda at the Gold-reef City, analogically, you will know what I'm talking about. Anyway back to my roller-coaster, as I was saying, it's been tough.
Over the years I have grown to believe that, yes, I am a tough cookie! But, take away my means of transport, I crumble like a cookie.
December 15 is my friend Sthe's birthday, so we have taken to always celebrating it on the 16th (yes, this being a public holiday). So there I was in Soweto, Dobsonville, enjoying myself right through the night. As we both live in the North, we decided to follow each other after the party.
I was suddenly taken back by the slowness of my car. Me and my friend are quite competitive on the road. With both of us driving German made cars, though we have never had a discussion about this, I can read her mind, and I know when it's time to prove who the real Michael Schumaker is between the 2 of us.
As I was saying, I was expecting that I would be tailing right behind her 1 series. I had no desire to overtake as I knew it was the new boyfriend that was behind the wheel. I just thought it would be disrespectful to want to race with him. But, hey wena, my Audi was just not moving. The Mr in front of me could see I was having a problem and he indicated to get into the next garage. The sound the car was making, you could have sweared that it was an 18 wheeler truck!
The poor petrol attendants then enthusiastically wanted to open the bonnet and check for me what the problem was. They told me one of the weirdest things I have ever heard, they said the problem was that the oil in the car was more than the required limit, meaning that there was not enough oil pumped into the engine, it was simply refusing to oil the engine, prefering to rest in the oil pump. I was advised the best thing to do would be to take the car to it's manufacturer, which I did the following day!
I was shocked to learn that the unpleasent sound was caused by a damaged oil pump. "What would have caused this damage", I asked diligently. I was more shocked to learn that sand was found in the pump and they made sure that I understood that it was A LOT of sand, and the only way it could have gotten there is through the hand of a human being. I thought that was very naughty of this anonymous human being, I quickly changed from thinking it was naughty and quickly concluded that this was a VERY EVIL person! Why would they do that? To cause me pain and suffering, as I was vehemently informed that the damage would cost R18000, as not only was the oil pump damaged, but also the Turbo as it needed oil to function properly! It does occur to me now that, actually, this person wanted me DEAD! I can't even picture myself dead, why is it that easy for a fellow human being?
I then remembered that two months before all of this, my helper and I woke up to a nasty shock of my vandalised car right in my yard! I had been out with friends, and came back quite late! If you don't know, let me inform you: I am a the most paranoid creature when it is dark! So it goes without saying that even a moving branch of a tree (swiftly moved by a tender breeze) has the potential of sending terrible shivers down my spine. To give you a clearer picture, at night I am always convinced that there is someone behind me, so you will find me watching my back quite often than a normal person would.
Where was I again? Ohh yes....I come back late and remember that, 'damn my supposed to be automatic garage door' is malfunctioning. Mind you I had had to open my 'malfunctioning supposed to be automated gate' manually. So you can understand that at this point my phobia of the night is starting to creep in and I'm already thinking that if there is a mugger/thief watching me out there, I have already wasted too much time and he is probably now ready to pounce. At that point I decide that...hmm...it will take too long to have to get ofut of the car, manually open the garage door, get in the car, get out, manually close the garage door again....So, what do I do, I decide that aag, I have a dog, it will bark if there is a problem, and in any case, these German cars have very reliable safety features, the alarm will definitely notify me if there is a problem. So with the gate closed behind me, I park the car right next to my Helper's room, with the hope that she will be the first one to hear any noise if there is a problem.
Alas, in the morning my Helper calls me to ask if I have seen the damage on my car. I rush to see for myself...OMG! The whole front bumper is hanging, almost on the floor! I knew immediately that this was the work of someone who did not necessarily want to steal my bumper....some hater out there who is not happy with my happiness...they need to see me suffer! Did I suffer? You bet I did!!!! To replace the bumper would have cost me an arm and a leg! I would have had to fork out money I did not have to pay the access on insurance! So what did I do? As a true Darkie who know people who know people , I had my bumper fixed eLokshini! Yes, I did! Don't even cringe, 'cos iviri liyajikajika! Next year it could be you and you will be looking for me wanting my Lokshin contacts...at that time I am advisor to President Thabo MuBheki (apply English accent here) and I'm globe-trotting! What, yes I do know who the current President is, and yes, I have a problem with that....LMAO!!!
But you see what I mean? As this all happens, I do not have anyone to comfort me! Not even a shoulder to cry on! Have you forgotten how this whole conversation started kanti, remember I informed you that I am permanently separated from my then 'better half'! So I find myself having to understand what a Turbo is and what the purpose of a Radiator is....like I ever cared before!
So ke, after I have told you my long sobby story....do you have an uncle I can play with in the mean time, until another Mr Right comes? I promise I will be good to him! I just need his shoulder to cry on! Whilst I may sound desperate, I will not even consider Uncles from places like eNkandla or so....please understand, I have enough babies as it is! LOL
My loved ones were quite relieved at the speed with which my permanent separation to my once beloved better half went. I was also amazed as I thought these things took time. I have heard of people waiting for as long as 3 some 5 years for the finalisation of their divorces. Mine took a mere two months.
I did not take for granted that life would not necessarily be a breeze soon after my divorce. But I did not anticipate as much pain. Suddenly I found myself on a roller-coaster ride! If you've been on the Anaconda at the Gold-reef City, analogically, you will know what I'm talking about. Anyway back to my roller-coaster, as I was saying, it's been tough.
Over the years I have grown to believe that, yes, I am a tough cookie! But, take away my means of transport, I crumble like a cookie.
December 15 is my friend Sthe's birthday, so we have taken to always celebrating it on the 16th (yes, this being a public holiday). So there I was in Soweto, Dobsonville, enjoying myself right through the night. As we both live in the North, we decided to follow each other after the party.
I was suddenly taken back by the slowness of my car. Me and my friend are quite competitive on the road. With both of us driving German made cars, though we have never had a discussion about this, I can read her mind, and I know when it's time to prove who the real Michael Schumaker is between the 2 of us.
As I was saying, I was expecting that I would be tailing right behind her 1 series. I had no desire to overtake as I knew it was the new boyfriend that was behind the wheel. I just thought it would be disrespectful to want to race with him. But, hey wena, my Audi was just not moving. The Mr in front of me could see I was having a problem and he indicated to get into the next garage. The sound the car was making, you could have sweared that it was an 18 wheeler truck!
The poor petrol attendants then enthusiastically wanted to open the bonnet and check for me what the problem was. They told me one of the weirdest things I have ever heard, they said the problem was that the oil in the car was more than the required limit, meaning that there was not enough oil pumped into the engine, it was simply refusing to oil the engine, prefering to rest in the oil pump. I was advised the best thing to do would be to take the car to it's manufacturer, which I did the following day!
I was shocked to learn that the unpleasent sound was caused by a damaged oil pump. "What would have caused this damage", I asked diligently. I was more shocked to learn that sand was found in the pump and they made sure that I understood that it was A LOT of sand, and the only way it could have gotten there is through the hand of a human being. I thought that was very naughty of this anonymous human being, I quickly changed from thinking it was naughty and quickly concluded that this was a VERY EVIL person! Why would they do that? To cause me pain and suffering, as I was vehemently informed that the damage would cost R18000, as not only was the oil pump damaged, but also the Turbo as it needed oil to function properly! It does occur to me now that, actually, this person wanted me DEAD! I can't even picture myself dead, why is it that easy for a fellow human being?
I then remembered that two months before all of this, my helper and I woke up to a nasty shock of my vandalised car right in my yard! I had been out with friends, and came back quite late! If you don't know, let me inform you: I am a the most paranoid creature when it is dark! So it goes without saying that even a moving branch of a tree (swiftly moved by a tender breeze) has the potential of sending terrible shivers down my spine. To give you a clearer picture, at night I am always convinced that there is someone behind me, so you will find me watching my back quite often than a normal person would.
Where was I again? Ohh yes....I come back late and remember that, 'damn my supposed to be automatic garage door' is malfunctioning. Mind you I had had to open my 'malfunctioning supposed to be automated gate' manually. So you can understand that at this point my phobia of the night is starting to creep in and I'm already thinking that if there is a mugger/thief watching me out there, I have already wasted too much time and he is probably now ready to pounce. At that point I decide that...hmm...it will take too long to have to get ofut of the car, manually open the garage door, get in the car, get out, manually close the garage door again....So, what do I do, I decide that aag, I have a dog, it will bark if there is a problem, and in any case, these German cars have very reliable safety features, the alarm will definitely notify me if there is a problem. So with the gate closed behind me, I park the car right next to my Helper's room, with the hope that she will be the first one to hear any noise if there is a problem.
Alas, in the morning my Helper calls me to ask if I have seen the damage on my car. I rush to see for myself...OMG! The whole front bumper is hanging, almost on the floor! I knew immediately that this was the work of someone who did not necessarily want to steal my bumper....some hater out there who is not happy with my happiness...they need to see me suffer! Did I suffer? You bet I did!!!! To replace the bumper would have cost me an arm and a leg! I would have had to fork out money I did not have to pay the access on insurance! So what did I do? As a true Darkie who know people who know people , I had my bumper fixed eLokshini! Yes, I did! Don't even cringe, 'cos iviri liyajikajika! Next year it could be you and you will be looking for me wanting my Lokshin contacts...at that time I am advisor to President Thabo MuBheki (apply English accent here) and I'm globe-trotting! What, yes I do know who the current President is, and yes, I have a problem with that....LMAO!!!
But you see what I mean? As this all happens, I do not have anyone to comfort me! Not even a shoulder to cry on! Have you forgotten how this whole conversation started kanti, remember I informed you that I am permanently separated from my then 'better half'! So I find myself having to understand what a Turbo is and what the purpose of a Radiator is....like I ever cared before!
So ke, after I have told you my long sobby story....do you have an uncle I can play with in the mean time, until another Mr Right comes? I promise I will be good to him! I just need his shoulder to cry on! Whilst I may sound desperate, I will not even consider Uncles from places like eNkandla or so....please understand, I have enough babies as it is! LOL
Monday, January 25, 2010
Today I was reminded just how much it sucks to be Black in South Africa
I have not been blogging for a while. I have been lacking inspiration until today when I had to take a taxi to work. I will not bore you with the details of how I ended up in a rundown minibus---but I'm sure that round about now you can figure out that I usually have a reliable self-managed mode of transport. I'm afraid that my reliable mode of transport has not been reliable for almost a month now. But that's not the issue here...the issue is my experience that I want to share with you as a Black person living in South Africa.
Yes, yesterday felt like it has been a while since I was 'Black'! My system was shocked beyond reasonable doubt.
I left my house at exactly 7:30am to catch a taxi at the nearest
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)