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!
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