Source: Ryan McArthur

Source: Ryan McArthur

So it has been a bit of a weird run in the love department lately – I don’t want to call it failure, but maybe let’s call them opportunities for learning. Honestly, all I’d like to just say is that men are weird – but that’s just puerile. They are a strange bunch of hot & cold blowers and particularly those men who weren’t exposed to affection between their parents are the weirdest of them all – in my experience of course. There is something about men or women who don’t know how to be loved that need a lot of work – sometimes it is a mixture of broken families or just a tough time growing up and feeling like they have to fight for everything that makes it difficult for them to let their guard down and receive.

I had fallen in-like with a somebody who seemed exactly on my path; a somebody that I could vibe with honestly, a somebody that I could share my secrets with, a somebody I could try new things with and share experiences with, make memories and be me as I am. We shared similar values and outlooks on the world – very important – with somewhat similar as well as different experiences which made us compatible enough to be our true selves at every moment. We flowed quite easily in the getting to know each other space; with everything seeming to flow well and literally fit. As though I’d met the male me in present, past and future form. Without a head in the clouds stance I can honestly say he felt like the human I could share tomorrow with (I don’t know about forever). And it was nice.

It “ended” abruptly – he basically stopped responding to messages and calls (I don’t call or text more than twice) and it has not been too long since the silent treatment began (from speaking and texting everyday *weep*) and I’m left wondering WTF? I’m a little confused, angered and in a bit of a strange space wondering why. No regrets, just wondering why was he brought into my life? Look, this is not an original tale in the single in the city girl’s dating experiences, it is just so shocking when it happens. I know someone is nodding along here.

I had a slight moment of clarity and contentedly figured that it is he who chose to walk away; he who was afraid – men who have ever been made to feel discarded tend to discard easily and mix that up with not knowing how to deal with receiving affection and goodness from people will have them running and hiding. They go from hot to cold and back again because they don’t understand being cared for like that. Some are just assholic beings but, mostly, I think it is the fear of not feeling like they’re good enough or that it is too good to be true or making sure they protect themselves from being hurt before it happens (even if it wasn’t going to happen). Not to toot my own horn, I give good girlfriend. (I also do single quite well, so it’s an interesting fusion of being). Apart from it being rude to ignore someone, I’m distraught (a little dramatic) that he walked away before we could explore what this incredible connection could have been; either way I’m letting his childish behaviour go & allowing.

So, as opposed to crawling into foetal position and crying myself to sleep wondering what I did wrong, I accepted that this being does not want me and that is okay. Yes, it’s a knock to the ego and I have to start the process of unlearning the things that remind me of him – what a mission! For his own reasons, reasons he chose not to share with me, he has chosen to go through the ticking of time without me. These things do happen – maybe it is a blessing in disguise, maybe not. I’ve chosen also to accept that I tend to attract broken little birds; a huge part of my interactions with people is that I end up being their healer in some way or another. Healing was something I enjoyed and I felt gave me some form of purpose, but I had to release this part of me because it made me vulnerable to being taken advantage of and taking too much away from me for the benefit of others. Broken birds are a lot of work, I know because I too was one. Or at least I can recognise my own bullshit.

I must say that it was nice to get some male attention, some cuddles and laughs and being a part of someone’s life, having a witness to my life and a sounding board for my thoughts – however brief it was. It was nice. It was fun. It was easy. It was scary. It was exhilarating.

I don’t know what the universe has in store – I was mad at some point screaming to the sky that yet again I got a taste of exactly what I want and it was ripped away from me cruelly. I’m over it now (sort of) but I do wonder if I can trust the universe, my angels, ancestors and the stars with my hopes and dreams and wants and needs if they will continue to be mean to me. Maybe I need to visit a medium or iSangoma or shaman and find out what it is I am missing – not just in the area of love. Something feels off under g.

Anyway. This is a deeply personal post and not my usual, however it felt right to just get it off my chest.

Now to live, let live and let go. And for the love of all that is good, not fall into the trap of trying to get “closure”. Sometimes we just have to forgive without an apology.

An old friend used to say “self-preservation is a noble act” and I might agree.


I was recently introduced to the haunting music by French Cuban twins who go by the name Ibeyi – pronounced ee-bey-ee, meaning twins in the Nigerian language of Yoruba.

Influenced by their percussionist late Father, Yoruba folk music and French music they create incredible music that is all at once beautiful, eerie and distinctly moving to listen to. Some of the words I don’t understand, but they make complete sense.

In their videos and in photoshoot images I’ve seen they seem like people with deep stories to tell – there’s an ancestral air about them; as though they are also sharing stories from previous / other lives lived beyond just their current.

Love!



A few weeks ago I went to the Johannesburg Get Dirty party by Converse held at Mary Fitgerald Square in Newtown.

The idea, from what I saw, was that life is about living and getting youe shoes dirty is party of that.

First off, that for me misses an entire group of people – mainly black – who don’t think that dirty all stars are cool. Or at least not anymore.
That was a thing in the 90s and early 2000s
This piqued my interest and I bought my ticket online and off I went.

Thank all my lucky all stars the idea wasn’t translated literally in that it wasn’t ‘dirty’ per se and the idea was more around having fun.

There were three music stages with bands and stages, of course,  I lived at the Hip hop stage hosted by KoolOut. I saw Blk Jks and maybe Zebra &Giraffe at the other stage and some other weird electro bands at the third music stage.

The first stop, was the pretty swing carousel that we saw even before walking onto the square. Took me right back to my childhood at theme parks and the then Randburg waterfront.
What actually got to me to go to the party was seeing an instagram post of the Bumper Cars that had been set up. I mean! What more could a young at heart late twenty something ask for.
When we arrived, the bumper cars had technical issues and when they were fixed the queue of at least 100 people was too daunting, so instead headed straight for the bar. Of course.

The night was fun filled with great music, familiar and strange faces, exploring the whole party experiences area, ate candy floss and even took a ride on one of the bicycle taxis available to get you around. I couldn’t round up enough homies to play Pool with, so gave that a miss and danced instead.

Fun party. Nice idea. Thank you to Converse for bringing back the Experience to party time.

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I have this group of awesome people I call friends. We get together every so often for beautiful random nights,  mainly for what we call Games Night. (Usually only play 30 Seconds)

Last week, we changed it up and followed random to Cyrildene for Korean BBQ and Karaoke.

This may have been the most random most awesome most hilarious most soul filling night this year. 

We went to a Korean BBQ called Gangnam (no jokes) on Derrick ave in Little China run by the most wonderful woman. The food was amazing.

The idea behind Korean BBQ is to order cuts of meat from the menu that you cook yourself at he table accompanied by Korean style condiments and veggies and more. My tummy met God. 

The night proceeded down the road to a weird building that is home to an amazing Karaoke centre.  I have no words for how random this night was.

We screeched to Whitney, Celine, Alicia and more in sound proof private room with drinks and selection of fruit. (Random)

Thank you to my Games Night gang; a week later I’m still chuckling. 

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I am really such a head in the clouds, dream chasing kind of person. I throw caution to the wind and I dive into happy-making moments all because my heart shouts louder than my head. I’ve learnt this about myself in moments of retrospect; I then proceed to fail at trying to change myself to be a head person and less of a heart person, now I’ve just accepted that this is who I am.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, because I took a leap of faith; against my so-called better judgement and I entered that travel job competition through My Destination. (Blogged about it here). And this story is about the 24 hours of my impulsive fun loving dream chasing happy making peeks of me. (Long, please read the whole thing)

So on Saturday, I woke up energised by the dream to travel, gripped by the possible regret of not trying, by any means necessary, to make my dream to happen. I enlisted the help of my friend to be camera woman with my little camera phone and I quickly scripted a possible shot list of the things I would do to make an original and unique and personal video of the city I live in. The creation of a 3 minute video being one of the entry mechanics to the competition.

We started out with a drive to Braamfontein, with on camera pieces of what my video entry would be about – the focus of my love of Joburg would be centered around open air and /or rooftop entertainment. The first being neighbourhoods market; armed with a quick drink, some air kisses with beautiful Jozi people and a few links to camera about the venue, we got what we needed. It was loud. I must say, didn’t really know what I was doing, but we forged on. Just a quick one – I’m deadly scared of being on camera and I’m a nervous wreck when it comes to any kind of public speaking.

The next stop was the rooftop hangout on Juta street, The Beach. I mean, how much cooler could inland Joburg be? Real beach sand and vibes on a rooftop in the middle of the city, far from the ocean, but you can stick your feet in the sand, overlook the bustling streets below and a peek over at the ever beautiful Nelson Mandela bridge. We didn’t stay too long because we had convinced the people at the door that we had to get in without paying the R150 entrance fee since we were not on the guest list – life or death situation, we told them.

We then did a short on camera link about Nelson Mandela bridge, and as part of my own bucket list tick; walked across the bridge! Always wanted to do that. It’s fun, and it was awesome to see the parked trains under the bridge up close and not whizzing past as I usually see them.

The plan was then to drive to Rosebank, take the Gautrain (you know, show how people get around in our snazzy new development and the only underground train travel in S.A.) from there to Park Station, walk to Bree taxi rank and take a minibus taxi (you know, show how most residents get around) back to Rosebank. But that plan was thwarted because we were running out of time to get to the climax of the video, which was my biggest bucketlist to do item ever…

Ended up in Soweto a little late and had to turn back to the North and plan on doing the last part of the video on Sunday morning.

Now, I’m going to take you along on a trip of what happened the rest of Saturday even though it’s not part of the video entry. But it was unplanned fun- all part of my impulsiveness and love of random excursions.

Thami decided we needed a good night out and we convinced our DJ friend Akio to let us be his wing-women on his gigs for the night. What a fantastic decision that was. We drove to his house, parked my car and proclaimed it was a no driving but lots of drinking night for us. Jumped into Akio’s car and for the first time heard the itinerary. I remember thinking I would need lots of energy drinks for this one.

First stop – back to Soweto, at Chaf Pozi for a Miller event where Reason, Khuli Chana, Dimplez and Akio were performing. Great music and great fun.  Thami took to the dancefloor like the lover of shaking it she is, I chilled and people watched and had random conversation, like I do. Some drinks were had and lots of laughs shared. Some of our friends arrived and the circle was made bigger.

The next stop was Joburg CBD again, at the Lister Medical Building close to Carlton Centre for a Sky Room Live event. This happens on the 19th floor and the rooftop of the building, where artists perform with the gorgeous backdrop of Jozi city in lights (breathtaking views) and the performances are broadcast live on television and online! Brilliant concept. I loved the party, loved the views, loved the music – Reason was performing again and he did a completely different set to the one at Chaf Jozi and he was joined again by his DJ Akio (Reason even did a shout out to Akio’s parents who were streaming the show live from Tennessee and had never seen/ heard Akio perform before), the trio was completed by Reason’s performance and album Producer, the beat maker 37mph. Incredible set.

We made our way off the rooftop, continued the closing shenanigans and proceeded to the next stop.

OST in Newtown. The dodgy spot that is sometimes indoor venue to some of the coolest outdoor / street party concerts (think Bilal concert). Anyway, I love and hate OST and that night it was a stop over that provided awesome entertainment.

Final stop was Kitcheners. It’s a firm favourite party spot for me, and doesn’t need much explaining. Unfortunately Saturday’s party was a weird music and crowd experience, but I didn’t hate it. We ate and drank and bid our goodbyes to the night at about 4am (maybe it was 5am).

As mentioned, none of the after-dark missions were part of the film making that Saturday was meant to be about but am so glad my liker of things self was not silenced.

The sunrise came with a blue skied nippy morning and I woke my camera-woman, Thami, up for the final moment required for my competition entry – something I had never done before and had to have to make my video of my Joburg spectacular!

On fours of sleep, at 10am on Sunday morning, I bungee jumped off the Orlando Towers in Soweto. It was the most exhilarating and most frightening thing I’ve ever done. Life flashed before my eyes as I removed myself off the the rope bridge between the top of the two Towers and fell towards the earth. I was a little bird who believed she could fly. I screamed. I panicked. I thought I would die. My mind and body were boggled by this weightlessness. I released all fear. I thanked God for every blessing that had ever come my way. I felt more alive than ever in those incredible few seconds

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What made it even more amazing was that it worked out well as part of my birthday gift to myself which was on Tuesday.

Thami captured the jump, the screams, and the craziness and the tears at the end and my video footage was complete.

Then came the hard part; trying to edit the damn thing. Me and my determination forgot about the fact that I had never edited a video before, didn’t even know what program to use, how to even put everything in sequence. Technology even tried to get in my way with my Android phone and Apple laptop acting like they were enemies. I managed to download the footage, select what I liked and panicked again at the fact that editing was so foreign to me – but I watched a few online tutorials, fumbled about and somehow created a 3 minute story of why I loved Joburg (on a budget nogal)

Here’s the link to my first ever YouTube post and one of the entry mechanics to the greatest job on earth (to travel the world for 6 months, across 6 continents, reporting experiences via blogs and vlogs and ticking off all the things I’ve ever wanted to do through The Biggest Baddest Bucketlist competition)

What do you think?

Wish me luck!


I am weak from the last week. I am frightened, I am angry, I feel hopeless and helpless. my soul is sore

Last week Sunday I spent most of the day reading newspapers and engaging topics and people on Twitter; this exercise usually involves a lot of diplomatic “fuck off” slinging, debating and arguing on various topics, preaching to the converted, choir like nodding in agreement with different people.

Then I read the City Press ed’s piece about Anene, the young girl who was brutally gang raped and murdered, written by Ferial Haffajee. The writer / journalist titled her editor’s piece “words fail us” and quite aptly, words did fail her. I was fuming because the piece read like yet another rape-apologist finding blame in everybody and everything BUT the perpetrators of the crime. It read, and still reads, like Anene’s upbringing could have saved her from being raped. As though if her guardians had given her a curfew or taken pictures of her she may have not become another victim to this violation. It made my skin crawl, my blood boil and broke my spirit. I and other people engaged Ferial on the piece, to which responses varied from dismissive to not seeing anything wrong with making such dangerous statements, in a national newspaper. Not that it would have been better is she only thought these things and never said them, it all adds to the popular “it was her fault” brigade of rape-apologists and victim blamers and shamers. I’m still so very angry about it.

While I wasted time over-intellectualising the rape pandemic to apologists it turns out my half-sister and my childhood were abducted by nine men, beaten, stabbed and gang-raped in my hometown, Umtata. I still have no words. My heart sank. This wasn’t something happening to ‘other people’, it was a tragedy visiting my family, again.

At the time, when my father didn’t have all the details because my grandmother who was dealing with my sister and friend wasn’t dealing very well and couldn’t pass on the information. In a way I was glad because I was already broken by just the ‘headline’. I cried that night. Cried for my family, for my people, my country. I prayed, with no hope. I asked a God I don’t know to protect my people. I begged a world I do not feel safe in to stop the pain. I haven’t yet decided if I think rapists should rehabilitated or removed from earth.

In the time that it has taken for me to type this so far, someone has been sexually assaulted.

On Monday a very close and wonderful friend of mine fell into a deep darkness after a long while of difficulty and in the hopelessness attempted suicide. I haven’t yet absorbed it and am only concentrating on making sure all love and strength is provided while healing happens. Suicide scares me.

Then came Valentine’s Day. The country, actually the world, was rocked by news of the death by gun shot suffered by Law Graduate and Model, Reeva Steenkamp. Someone’s child was killed. The circumstances of her death are being reported everywhere, with her alleged killer in court. A woman died at the hands of a lover, violently and unnaturally. Another woman was in fear for her life and ultimately died. On Saturday I viewed a few minutes of the reality show she featured in and saw a bit of her wonderful personality I read about. I especially loved this piece about her written by former FHM editor, author and all round wonderful guy, Hagen Engler here. Reeva seemed like a woman so full of life and a common thread in stories about her is how much she still had going for her. I cannot imagine what her family and friends are going through and my thoughts are with them. Human life has no price and as with rape, I don’t see any viable reason to kill someone. (I might retract that statement one day). I hope for justice for her and other women harmed by people they trust.

The media circus can continue without me on this particular mess, I just hope we don’t forget that someone’s child was killed. Someone’s friend is dead. A life has been taken and will only continue in memory.

Last week we also found out that yet another person in power found it suitable to act selfishly and pilfer state funds; not for use to better the country through the portfolio in her care, but rather to beautify her office. This continue to fuel my anger. With Rape Crisis Organisation without funding, Minister for Women, Children and People with Disabilities (i.e. everyone the country doesn’t care about) Lulama Xingwana is reported to have spent R2.100 000.00 (that’s two point one million South African Randelas) redecorating her office. Was this necessary in a time that the people you are in charge of taking care of are in crisis? Really?

As you know, the website created to help break the culture of silence and offer survivors of rape and sexual abuse a safe place to share their story,  I SAID NO, is up and running. On average we get about two or three stories a week. Last week, with the great help of media personalities Anele Mdoda through her radio show and Noeleen Maholwana-Sangqu through her tv show we received over 50 stories. This is obviously not something to celebrate. The fact is, rape and sexual abuse happens. Sandy Schultz and myself have created this website as a place to share and engage. Some people find healing, some people find support, some people just want to tell someone. the website is there for that. I guess we are starting somewhere. The heartbreaking part is having to read each and every horrifying post before publishing. Sometimes I tremble in pain for the people who share, I cry and want to crawl into a hole and escape this world. I feel helpless. Sometimes I don’t even want to read the posts, but I figure if someone had the strength to talk about it, the very least I can do is be there. Sometimes I reply with words of encouragement. Lately I have not been able to. It hurts so much. So very much. I wish we had a better resource list so that we could direct people to professional and specialised sources of help.

Friday, Twitter SA showed its disgusting side with a foul and utterly unnecessary trending topic titled “I Blame Apartheid for” – where a majority of white South African people had a jolly good time making Apartheid jokes. Do I need to explain why this is disgusting? Maybe when I can no longer smell the blood on my street where my uncle was beaten and abducted by Apartheid police, and later brutally murdered, I can tell you. Not now. Not when my country is still broken by the injustice and crime that was Apartheid  Not while transformation and equality and economic freedom is still myth. Not while people live on less than R500 a month without toilets. Not while townships and squatter camps still exist. Not while we are not free as a people.

Last week, and almost every week in my beautiful country is threaded with the bile that is misogyny  patriarchy, entitlement. disrespect and privilege.

Another week of a broken people. Hurt people hurting people.

I woke up in country filled with possibility, bloodied with pain.

In the time that it has taken for me to type this so far, someone has been sexually assaulted.

To quote Mandy Weiner – “South Africa repeatedly produces material that a best-selling crime writer could never conceptualise.”



One of my resolutions this year is not only to blog more, but also to show gratitude.

I am blessed. Every day. Sometimes I forget, let myself be blinded by trivial shit

So, here’s my first Grateful Friday post, with 5 things I am grateful for this week:IMG_20121228_072655

  1. I am thankful to have people who believe in me. Even when I doubt myself, even when I think I am not good enough, I have people who do not hesitate to keep the encouragement going.
  2. The big back yard of the house. Every morning this week I’ve woken up a little earlier than usual, made myself a cup of coffee, stood on the garden, with the trees, the birds and the sky contemplating the world. This ritual, that I hope to keep up, has really brought me peace
  3. I am so thankful that my car, Bokomo, got fixed. She’s still got a few things that need to be sorted, but for a 17 year old car, she’s been strong. Allowing me freedom.
  4. I am so very thankful that my family is together. My father is my rock. My sister, I cannot live without. My beautiful nephew who’s laugh makes the world so incredible. Love. Daily.
  5. I am thankful for the amazing brands in my care, my clients whose passion keeps me rejuvenated  the way that each of the channels I do work for is so damn interesting! I could marry them all.

 

Here’s to a great weekend.

What are you grateful for?

 


For a while I’d been hearing about this rooftop beach spot in Braamfontein that Grolsch had been using to host Saturday afternoon shindigs. So I finally went last month to check it out. Was surprised that it was actually called “The Beach” – even though I’d seen pictures with barefoot people chilling on beach sand under large umbrella’s – I guess I just imagined those people had appropriated a name themselves. Anyway, going up the steps to the second floor, which is coincidentally the roof I didn’t really know what to expect. And there it was. This quaint little rooftop, with a small Grolsch bar, dabber barmen, beach sand, beach chairs, cushions, big umbrella’s, a DJ stand with decks and all. I’m told the venue is accessible by invite only and takes up to about 30 – 50 people, which makes it quite nice for relaxation, conversation and pretending Jozi has a beach. The views on one side offer a peak from above of the buzzing Juta Street and surrounds, on the other side a beautiful view of iconic Mandela Bridge and Johannesburg CBD. It’s really quite beautiful and refreshing. Waiting for it open again for the new year.

The Beach

The Beach

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So quaint and wonderful

So quaint and wonderful

Ran into awesome Sizwe

Ran into awesome Sizwe

Miss Sunshine and Fred

Miss Sunshine and Fred

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Lovebirds!

Lovebirds!

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Love this picture

Love this picture

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Rose and Lerato

Rose and Lerato

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after the rain...

after the rain…

Miss Boogy Maboi on her birthday

Miss Boogy Maboi on her birthday

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My camera does panomaric prettyness

My camera does panomaric prettyness