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.

Last weekend I declined all social invitations and dedicated time (and a lot of bum in seat time) to pampering myself. Well, parts of myself.

In May, I had taken off my braids and decided to keep my kinky afro to let my hair breathe before returning to protective styling. In any case, I knew what style of braids I wanted to do and the only person I trust was on maternity leave. She referred me to someone she trusted and so the journey began

On Saturday morning, I visited the much raved about hair and beauty salon Candi&Co in Randburg Square. Here is a review of the place that really helped my choice to let someone touch my hair – Wiscellaneous Get Candi Coated –  I was a little bit hesitant because most of the people who have reviewed the place have different hair to mine. Them being black too, (though mixed race / coloured) would be mean we will have different hair and I wasn’t too sure what to expect, but jumped in anyway.

I arrived to clean, well lit, neutral in scent and quiet salon, (trust, if you’ve been to traditionally black salons, these are not things to immediately expect) – You can read a rant on black hair salons here – MissMillib Hair Chronicles & part two here

Back to me; my appointment was confirmed and I was asked to wait a few minutes while my stylist finished up on another client. While I waited I was offered a delicious cappuccino off the menu and free wi-fi. My stylist then led me to the seat on one of the two rows of chairs, we began with a form with personal details, work industry, health and exercise habits, hair behaviour and caring history, which then led to us discussing what kind of hair I have and how best to care for it. She then recommended treatments for me and I chose to have a deep scalp treatment, opted against heat drying and had a trim of my ends. I have coily hair and the tips tend to knot – I wanted to be able to comb easily so we took off about three centimeters. Hair care is intimate and I felt safe in her hands – I felt like she cared for what she was doing and the advise she was giving. She was very complimentary about my hair – though dry, she kept on telling me how well I’d taken care of it and that the texture was enviable. This is amazing to me because I kept it very simple in the self-care department. Wash, dry, oil, and then if I didn’t feel like styling, would put it into a headwrap and carry on with my day.

I was very happy with the results and would highly recommend a visit. I learned a lot about hair and the stresses that your scalp & hair can endure and how to counteract.

pamper post (Large)

Next stop was to finally get my eyebrows threaded and shaped. Some background; a few months ago I had gone to barber on Slaone Street in Bryanston and the threading they did ended with me having freakishly thin brows. So I had to grow them out to their full size and rowdiness before being able to tame to the shape and size I wanted. Friend who had been accompanying me for the day guided me to a small centre at the bottom of 5th street in Linden to a little barber shop where my friend promised would become my go to place forever.

Indeed it was. I sat in the maestro’s chair, closed my eyes and allowed faith to take me to a place of serenity. The session lasted about 20 minutes, beginning with my begging not to repeat a too thin threading. The process itself sounds weird – cotton used basically pluck out each brow hair (is that was they are called?) until the desired shape is achieved. I am so impressed with my eyebrows I would take a look at my reflection at any and every opportunity the whole drive home.


July 2014 (Large)

The next morning, before the final phase of pampering – I posted this image to instagram and captioned it “going to get my hair did selfie” – I didn’t want the point of the picture “my stunning eyebrows” to be obvious, but secretly wished they were noticeable. Shameless vanity, I know.

20140706_112043And finally, Sunday morning, after having bought the hair piece to create the style that I was getting braided (Kinky – Afro Twist Braid) and arriving an hour later than my appointment – I know the drama of making an appointment, arriving and then waiting a while before being attended to – so I called my braid lady, Kate, to make sure she was ready

Arrived at this little Nigerian owned salon filled with food and hair scents, loud music competing with wonderfully crazy Nollywood film. All the stylists always all turn towards the door when you open, and while your eyes and nose and ears adjust to the explosion of senses they greet with big happy smiles. Already, you are sussed out, you can tell they are all trying to guess to themselves what you will be there for. Luckily, I’m already used to this non malicious judgement and I was expected.

Kate was finishing off plaiting this young man’s afro, whose hair that reaches his shoulders once braided. He is was the son of my salon crush – this gorgeous Nigerian woman married to a Dutch man and they with their three boys live in Sweden and every so often holiday in South Africa. I’ve seen the family three times at the salon and I might make a standing appointment for whenever she is there.

So, this was hour one of five of sitting still, reading, chatting, watching my salon crush and other patrons their do’s done, watching Nollywood films, live tweeting my day and complaining about numb bum, drinking Stoney and generally making sure that only one person was plaiting my hair – the women tend to help each other to work faster but I prefer one person being in charge of how my head will look.


5 hours later, we were twisting and boiling the ends

July 20141

Finished product selfies below

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Posted in Moi

Hello from a grumpy me on a chilly Joburg Monday morning

It’s been a weird weird year so far – it’s May and I still haven’t figured 2014 out. Started with my amazing getting hitched quite spontaneously, followed by my nephew going to live with him (and not me) in Newcastle, a weird break-up with a somebody I enjoyed, some general disinterest in my every day and frustration with mundane same sameness path I seem to be on, skip some existential crises and pity party fests; last week I had a car accident and wrote off my beloved Bokomo. I knew it was time for a new car, however I hadn’t yet accepted this inevitability in my life. I wasn’t ready to go back to paying car installments yet.  Just wanted more time I guess; to really think about this big and (in my opinion) grudge purchase. Why on earth do I not live in a walkable city with amazing public transport?

It seems that 2014 has been a year, so far, of creatively negotiating the unexpected. It has not been as testing as other years seem to have been, but hard enough anyway.

My friends tell me that I am terribly hard on myself and that sometimes I need to be kinder to me. This mindset change is a bit of a biggy in my world because I am so used to falling into the negative in any situation and I refuse to see to the positive. For example, I break a glass and I torment myself for being clumsy and start questioning everything else I do. Obviously seeing a lesson in absolutely everything is heavy and unnecessary, but I do it. I don’t know if it works for or against personal growth, but I’ve decided to try find the silver lining in everything or at the very least; not take every damn thing so seriously and to stop blaming and berating myself for every single that happens. Sometimes its just life, sometimes it means something, sometimes it means nothing.

In any case, this is me trying to keep from crying over spilt milk. This is me making a public promise to be nicer to myself. This is me having a moment and trying not to be over indulgent about it even though I’d rather just crawl into a hole and ignore the world for the rest of the year.

I prayed things would change, and now here goes. Change is inevitable and I’m coming to terms with the fact that I can’t control everything. Good or bad. It’s my choice how I let this play out and how I rise to the occasion.

Either way, I need to some imphepho and burn the hell out of this bad juju and keep it moving.

I think I’m over sentimental about Bokomo because we have been through so much together. Some great memories and some terrible. I remember long trips to the Eastern Cape with her, the time she was stolen while I’d walked to a garage 400m away because she’d stopped working (i looked under rocks for her), the time she got broken into while I was giving food packages to homeless people on a rainy Christmas afternoon, racing down M1 in complete silence and being grateful for my freedom, using her as my mobile wardrobe with a minimum of six pairs of shoes all over, the rickety sounds that taught me I know (old) cars well, the days and nights of great times with friends. After I got my driver’s license, I would walk right past her in the mornings, opting instead to take taxi’s to work because I could not bare the idea of clutch balancing. I’ve cried in her, laughed, screamed, danced, and even though I was usually alone in her, I felt like our history and future together always kept me company. One of my saddest memories with her was when my father told me of the passing of my mother in 1999. I was in the passenger seat trying to break the window so I could jump out, run down the street; believing that if I ran fast and far enough away, the news would not be true. I couldn’t get out. and now I can’t let her go. I don’t want to. I will have to.

My Bokomo
My Bokomo

Ah life, you cruel and beautiful thing

Love & light and may the journey forth be filled with good.


Posted in Moi

Oh yeah, I turned 29 two weeks.

Mortality and reality are rearing their ugly head. Fortunately, I don’t have that “I need to settle down” feeling that is apparently popular around this time of our lives. I don’t even have the “time to have a baby” feeling – doubt this one will ever happen. I do however ache for change.

I want to travel, move to another country for a year (Kenya), I want to find and tell stories of my continent through creativity and art of all forms. I want to study something completely outside of what I do. (Looking at a Social Sciences programme through Wits) and I want to feel like the cloud of uncertainty is gone. I want to be clear about my path and what I’d like to do with the next decade of my life. My twenties have been tumultuous at best and interesting at worst. I’m ready to be frightened and try something new. and with all that, God, can I find love in a life partner who doesn’t care that I don’t like to cook and care less about procreating and we can travel together and see the world and share in its wander. That reminds me, I’m falling behind on my wanderlust post

Anywho, thank you to all who shared birthday wishes and gave me gifts. New chapters are abound.


Posted in Moi

Almost didn’t recognise myself. So much of happy.

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It’s been a tough start to the year, so when I saw these I felt like everything was going to be alright.

Captured at the first wedding of the year; my beautiful friends Rose & Nash said their vows surrounded by and sharing love at a gorgeous venue in Muldersdrift.

Images by Natalie Noels.

Photobomber: Bontle Buddy Modiselle

Bought these two gorgeous items from Mr Price recently.

I was planning on trying out the online store (with their free delivery special) but when I saw them I had to have them now and didn’t want to wait. So rushed to the store and hoped and prayed they’d be available. I’m also loving their Sandton store. It is large, clean, well stocked and the staff are friendly. (Unlike the Fourways store that is a hot mess and not at all a pleasure to browse or buy from)

In any case, I usually only buy basic items or solid colours from large retail stores – avoiding the risk of looking the same as everyone else – but the dress called my name and is it really easy to accessorise to give the look your own look.

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Yay for Monsieur Price

In September, my beautiful friends Rose & Nash gathered friends and family to celebrate the process of Lobola negotiations and agreements – essentially, got married.

It was such a beautiful day. The families coming together, the love they spoke and shared, the blessings they wished for the perfect (in my books) couple, the way that you could tell that both families were meant for each other as much as Rose and Nash are. Grateful to have experienced that day and be a part of the union of love.

Anyway, back to talking about me, seeing as this is my blog.

Rose sent some pictures that were snapped. and look, it’s me. In my late mother’s tan leather skirt and my signature headwrap. I also wrapped the bride’s head piece.

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I think that is a bit of an unfair title; but it is what is my truth truth right now

Unfair in that life happens and what could I mean by saying life got in the way? in the way of what? Life got in the way of my “self publishing and flagellating” online life? Feels a little self absorbed.

Who knows. I do know I feel this guilt from not sharing & engaging on every or any little bit of me as i have been on this blog and other online platforms in the past few years.

Maybe I have nothing to say, maybe I do not find myself interesting enough, maybe I doubt my vocabulary and whether or not I would be able to articulate myself, if I had something to say.

I’m thinking a lot; no complete thoughts, because, well; life keeps getting in the way. While I seek silence, worry knocks on the door. While I resolve a problem in my head, a present crisis interrupts. While I channel clarity and purpose, my attention is averted to something else.

This post is just another one of those things that the internet will swallow up, but I will feel better for writing more than four or five sentences; even if they are about nothing really.

My voice and confidence are taking a little hiatus, and I guess so am I. Til my ego gives up trying to be the centre of my universe.

I am well otherwise. Just a little floaty and untethered. As my great ex-love used to point to out in me at times like these – feet not hitting the ground.

I want something. Just don’t know what. I need something. Just don’t know what it is for me to conjure it to life.

Hello. See you soon.

Posted in Moi