Make it COUNT

Since the election season is in full swing one cannot help but marvel at how talented politicians or at least most of them are at the gift of the gab. They all want to sell something for that seat in parliament, be it their party campaign or manifestos which are all laced with promises. They all in one way or another speak housing, speak unemployment, speak education, safety and family playing on the hopes and dreams of ordinary South African men and women who will march out in droves to voting stations on May 7 to cast that ballot for change.

My issue is not the campaigning per say, it is the falseness of it all. I cannot help but wonder if these politicians know what being unemployed is like for the ordinary men and women who on a daily basis need to search, beg and borrow in order to feed their families that next meal. I wonder if they know what its like for a child to sit in a class room not having eaten a meal the evening before.

I wonder if any of their immediate family members are on those housing waiting lists that have been floating since the 1980's. I wonder if they know what it's like for those who want an education but cannot get it because in all honesty there just isn't enough bursaries or educational loans out there that caters for individuals regardless of their racial merit or biography, in addition there are also just not enough seats in our Universities to cater for every single person regardless of how desperately they yearn for it.

As Archbishop Desmond Tutu indicated a few days back as a nation we should vote with our heads; we should not falsely be led by loyalties that we cannot understand, we should look at all the facts, review all of the information and then vote. It is your vote after all, so make it count!

INVICTUS

For some reason i find myself thinking of the movie Invictus and found myself stumbling across the poem, if you have watched it you might remember the poem recited by Morgan Freeman close to the end and that it was a favorite of the man he portrayed so well in the movie. I think Obama also makes reference to the poem in his speech at Nelson Mandela's memorial service, especially in the lines, "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.".

The poem was originally written by William Ernest Henley in my opinion to show might in the face of adversity, the Latin meaning for Invictus is after all "unconquerable"!

At the Gates of the Year

I have been trying to put my year in words but have failed miserably to capture it all until i found the poem below by Minnie Louise Haskins (1875-1957):

GOD KNOWS 

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

So heart be still:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.

So as my journey into 2014 begins, i am humbled by the year i leave behind.  It has been a year that has seen me shed more tears than laughter, a year that has taught me great lessons on loss, life and faith. A year of revelations and one of sincere appreciation for things like life and death.

I don't know what this new year holds but God knows!

A Man and his work

A few years ago i read an article in the Daily Mavrick where Jonathan Jansen speaks about servant leadership and his work at the University of the Free State, i have also had the privilege of meeting this giant of a man at WITS and yes he is indeed a giant in humility and spirit, i have never met a man more dedicate to the needs of his children (students) or that resonates such peace. His love for people and his mission for change literally speaks without him needing to say a word.

Recently some of his other work has been making its way into my inbox and around Facebook, the more i read the more affirmed i am that it should definitely be shared. One of my favorites is his writing on South Africa through his eyes.

My South Africa by Jonathan Jansen (Published: 9 February 2011)

My South Africa is the working-class man who called from the airport to return my wallet without a cent missing. It is the white woman who put all three of her domestic worker's children through the same school that her own child attended. It is the politician in one of our rural provinces, Mpumalanga, who returned his salary to the government as a statement that standing with the poor had to be more than just a few words. It is the teacher who worked after school hours every day during the public sector strike to ensure her children did not miss out on learning.

My South Africa is the first-year university student in Bloemfontein who took all the gifts she received for her birthday and donated them - with the permission of the givers - to a home for children in an Aids village. It is the people hurt by racist acts who find it in their hearts to publicly forgive the perpetrators. It is the group of farmers in Paarl who started a top school for the children of farm workers to ensure they got the best education possible while their parents toiled in the vineyards. It is the farmer's wife in Viljoenskroon who created an education and training centre for the wives of farm labourers so that they could gain the advanced skills required to operate accredited early-learning centers for their own and other children.

My South Africa is that little white boy at a decent school in the Eastern Cape who decided to teach the black boys in the community to play cricket, and to fit them all out with the togs required to play the gentelman's game. It is the two black street children in Durban, caught on camera, who put their spare change in the condensed milk tin of a white beggar. It is the Johannesburg pastor who opened up his church as a place of shelter for illegal immigrants. It is the Afrikaner woman from Boksburg who nailed the white guy who shot and killed one of South Africa's greatest freedom fighters outside his home.

My South Africa is the man who went to prison for 27 years and came out embracing his captors, thereby releasing them from their impending misery. It is the activist priest who dived into a crowd of angry people to rescue a woman from a sure necklacing. It is the former police chief who fell to his knees to wash the feet of Mamelodi women whose sons disappeared on his watch; it is the women who forgave him in his act of contrition. It is theCape Town university psychologist who interviewed the 'Prime Evil' in Pretoria Centre and came away with emotional attachment, even empathy, for the human being who did such terrible things under apartheid.

My South Africa is the quiet, dignified, determined township mother from Langa who straightened her back during the years of oppression and decided that her struggle was to raise decent children, insist that they learn, and ensure that they not succumb to bitterness or defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. It is the two young girls who walked 20kms to school everyday, even through their matric years, and passed well enough to be accepted into university studies. It is the student who takes on three jobs, during the evenings and on weekends, to find ways of paying for his university studies.

My South Africa is the teenager in a wheelchair who works in townships serving the poor. It is the pastor of a Kenilworth church whose parishioners were slaughtered, who visits the killers and asks them for forgiveness because he was a beneficiary of apartheid. It is the politician who resigns on conscientious grounds, giving up status and salary because of an objection in principle to a social policy of her political party. It is the young lawman who decides to dedicate his life to representing those who cannot afford to pay for legal services.

My South Africa is not the angry, corrupt, violent country those deeds fill the front pages of newspapers and the lead-in items on the seven-o'-clock news. It is the South Africa often unseen, yet powered by the remarkable lives of ordinary people. It is the citizens who keep the country together through millions of acts of daily kindness. 

* This article originally appeared in Mango's in-flight magazine.

Life...

"To this day" by Shane Koyczan

Stumbled across this video and i personally found it to be profound. So take the 12 or so minutes to really listen to what he says.

The journey of life...

This weekend i have been giving a lot of thought to the word "journey/s" and how it is different for us all. My favorite definition by far is "A process of course likened to travel, a passage: the journey of life".

Every journey is significant in its own way; it is within it that we every day discover facets of ourselves. We discover different ways to see the world, meet various people that walk a few miles with us or pass on some instant wisdom before they move off onto another path.

Like a "passage" where you pass through various versions of yourself and others . Where if you are lucky years later when you sit and reflect, you are left thinking "aaah that was interesting".

I realise of late that these journeys never end, they take us from point to point and lesson to lesson.

As we get "older and wiser" the journey evolves, it actually gets better as we get specific.Gradually we stop looking for the BIGGER picture and the cure to all the ills of this world and we can start changing the small things. The here and now things that create ripple effects in the lives around us.

The point is that "A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step" [Lao-tze Tao Te Ching].

OUR GRANDMOTHERS

She lay, skin down on the moist dirt,
the canebrake rustling
with the whispers of leaves, and
loud longing of hounds and
the ransack of hunters crackling the near
branches.

She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward
freedom,
I shall not, I shall not be moved.

She gathered her babies,
their tears slick as oil on black faces,
their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness.
Momma, is Master going to sell you
from us tomorrow?

Yes.
Unless you keep walking more
and talking less.
Yes.
Unless the keeper of our lives
releases me from all commandments.
Yes.
And your lives,
never mine to live,
will be executed upon the killing floor of
innocents.
Unless you match my heart and words,
saying with me,

I shall not be moved.

In Virginia tobacco fields,
leaning into the curve
of Steinway
pianos, along Arkansas roads,
in the red hills of Georgia,
into the palms of her chained hands, she
cried against calamity,
You have tried to destroy me
and though I perish daily,

I shall not be moved.

Her universe, often
summarized into one black body
falling finally from the tree to her feet,
made her cry each time in a new voice.
All my past hastens to defeat,
and strangers claim the glory of my love,
Iniquity has bound me to his bed,

yet, I must not be moved.

She heard the names,
swirling ribbons in the wind of history:
nigger, nigger bitch, heifer,
mammy, property, creature, ape, baboon,
whore, hot tail, thing, it.
She said, But my description cannot
fit your tongue, for
I have a certain way of being in this world,

and I shall not, I shall not be moved.

No angel stretched protecting wings
above the heads of her children,
fluttering and urging the winds of reason
into the confusion of their lives.
They sprouted like young weeds,
but she could not shield their growth
from the grinding blades of ignorance, nor
shape them into symbolic topiaries.
She sent them away,
underground, overland, in coaches and
shoeless.
When you learn, teach.
When you get, give.
As for me,

I shall not be moved.

She stood in midocean, seeking dry land.
She searched God's face.
Assured,
she placed her fire of service
on the altar, and though
clothed in the finery of faith,
when she appeared at the temple door,
no sign welcomed
Black Grandmother. Enter here.

Into the crashing sound,
into wickedness, she cried,
No one, no, nor no one million
ones dare deny me God. I go forth
alone, and stand as ten thousand.

The Divine upon my right
impels me to pull forever
at the latch on Freedom's gate.

The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my
feet without ceasing into the camp of the
righteous and into the tents of the free.

These momma faces, lemon-yellow, plum-purple,
honey-brown, have grimaced and twisted
down a pyramid of years.
She is Sheba and Sojourner,
Harriet and Zora,
Mary Bethune and Angela,
Annie to Zenobia.

She stands
before the abortion clinic,
confounded by the lack of choices.
In the Welfare line,
reduced to the pity of handouts.
Ordained in the pulpit, shielded
by the mysteries.
In the operating room,
husbanding life.
In the choir loft,
holding God in her throat.
On lonely street corners,
hawking her body.
In the classroom, loving the
children to understanding.

Centered on the world's stage,
she sings to her loves and beloveds,
to her foes and detractors:
However I am perceived and deceived,
however my ignorance and conceits,
lay aside your fears that I will be undone,

for I shall not be moved.

By: Maya Angelou 
(out of the book a Heart of a Woman) 

When it gets Crazy..

It feels like overnight life just got crazy busy and i am doing my best to catch up and keep up. I am not complaining, it is a good kind of busy. The kind that keeps me on my toes and has me making direct future plans.  It’s been a bit of an adjustment, but I think I've found my new rhythm or at least i am definitely getting there.

Funny how the pace of life changes from time to time and how it is up to us to move with it and not against it.

It is a challenge but I am learning: 

• To bask in the moment -  even if there are very few; i am allowing myself the pleasure of enjoying it and  pausing here and there so i can reflect and share the moment. 
• To do the me things first before i extend myself to the outside world. Like the Beatles said " And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make"; you have to receive something first before you know how to give it. So before i share my space and my experiences, i am taking the time to receive and in the end to give completely. 
• To commit to things and see them through, even if i hate it or it challenges me and my comfort zones. I want to be fully engaged in the now and consciously move on to the next chapter or cycle. 

I have come to realise that life does not stay stagnant; it is always moving, always shifting, and evolving onto the next sequence of chapters. When life is slow, let it be (you will look back and miss those days) and when it is rapid put on those dancing shoes and get moving. 

Life is not as long as we might think so when it gets crazy (like mine) enjoy it, have fun and learn the lessons.  

On turning 28

When I was in my early 20's I imagined that at this age I would be settled down with 1.5 kids, a husband and a few pets but here I am a few days after my birthday reflecting on the lessons learnt and how different plans can become. 

It feels like the 28 years might have happened overnight.

I can still remember most of my teens and waiting patiently for 16 to come along then the legal 18. Oh and the infamous 21 and all the thrills and new adventures that my early 20’s brought with it.

It is there that I learned to live, there that I learned to laugh at life and myself from time to time. There that I learnt about love, the kind that hurts and the kind that heals.  There that I set off on adventures that have taken me to distant lands, hidden villages and the little colorful “empire”  I now call home.

The years has come with its ups and downs but it has been really amazing to grow into the person I am now. I have always thought of myself as a quiet soul and an introvert in my own right but with age and some wisdom now I feel like I own my space.

I realise that I am different , that I am unique (so not everyone will get me) and it is okay as long as I am true to myself. 

As for TURNING 28, well it’s just the beginning of a new journey and I know my late 20’s will be filled with discoveries. It will be like searching for treasures on a winding road where i can't see the end just yet but i know its there.

An AHA moment

I was asked out of the blue a few days ago; "How short would your life have to be before you would start living differently today?" 

Even though i know that intellectually each breath could be my last, i still find myself spending an astonishing amount of time thinking about things i cannot change - possible futures, pasts mistakes and what could have been done differently. 

The truth is; the end of our lives is always just one breath away.  I think that for me living habitually is a way of denying this truth.  A way of saying that I have all the time in the world to change, to live differently, to live joyfully, to live meaningfully, to help others, to take risks, to love unconditionally.  

How short would my life have to be?  It already is as short as it could possibly be. 

The wretched house hunt

Having spent the last few weeks emersed in a search for a new apartment and still coming out unsatisfied is making me one grumpy young lady - gosh do i HATE it. This search requires of me to be logical and use phases like... "can't live there it has no bus/train route", "can't stay there it is too expensive" and  "the area is a bit scary or there crime stats are too high".

I feel a bit like an old hag (or a grown up); needing to balance finances, logic and the desire for a big garden with some trees and a wooden bench that i can sit on in hot summer day with a book. 

The pictures they use to advertise most of these apartments online was clearly taken like 10 years ago; over the last 2 years i have seen some wretched places and some ghastly expensive ones that makes me cringe and leaves me thinking that monthly rent could have put a child through University or fed a famine.

Finding a cozy place that i can live in for the next year or two and decorate with my bohemian colors, my photographs and my art is becoming a tall order. The optimist in me is becoming a tad pessimistic at not finding the right one that feels like home.

TRUE...

What matters.....

As long as i keep being me, as long as i keep being true to myself and who i am it does not matter how many jobs i get or don't get. It does not matter how many times i change direction on this journey called life.

None of it matters.

What matters is that i am living in my truth, and the people who need me will find me. And i will find the people i need. Whether it takes a week, a year or 2/3 if its written it will be.

I some how know that I will find the answers I need.
But more importantly, i will find the Questions.

(Thank you Jennifer Pastiloff for the reminder)

A moment of HOPE

I read a blog by Jeff Goins tonight and it reminded me that in an unjust world there will always be things that we cannot understand; things live violence, death and loss so to get through every trial we need to step out in faith and rely on God to get us there (wherever there might be).

In essence as crazy as it may sound we will never be taken on roads/ journeys that aren't meant for us, the more i see and live in this life i realize the truth in this.

It's evident that we live in trying times and its also crystal clear that we need too "Lean not on our own understanding".

Let us take HOPE away from every situation, test or trial because tomorrow will be better than today and in it we will surely find a new lesson.