Colonial mentality lives on

Today I witnessed the most despicable and most poor display of employer to employee relations than I have ever witnessed since I've been at Rhodes. For an institution which prides itself for being liberal and non-racial, what I saw today flies against such sentiments.

I was having lunch at approximately 12:30 when suddenly Ryno, the catering staff manager who happens to be caucasian, burst out from his office and began launching a tirade against one female catering staff member who seemed to have made a mistake in placing the wrong bowl at the top table.

He gestured and spoke to her in the most vicious and utterly disrespectful manner in front of students that were eating in the dining hall at that time. He continued in this manner until this woman went into his office where he continued to shout at her.

It was as though time froze for a moment because those who were witness to this tirade stood with looks of utter shock mixed with repulsion at Ryno's behaviour.

The woman that he was shouting at is black and in her late forties. She walked towards his office with tears of humiliation and helplessness streaming down her face. She had not uttered a single word in her defence but how could she, when it would ultimately be his word against hers?

The situation was embarrassing for those of us who witnessed it from the onset. A woman old enough to be my mother, verbally abused by a man who is young enough to be her son. Her dignity stripped before a hall full of kids. Was that really necessary? Needless to say, this was not the first time that Ryno was seen treating his staff members in such a draconian manner. This kind of behaviour is intricately woven into his fabric and he has always gotten away with it.

I commissioned everyone who witnessed this shameful incident to lodge a complaint with the authority that is in charge of our hall staff. I did this primarily because I know that uMama does not have much of a voice as a black kitchen worker at this university. Perhaps these impassioned outcries would assist in some way. I have faith that they will.

I just thought it very ironic that a few weeks ago Rhodes was in the media for publicly apologising for its various institutional actions which barred black students from admission to the university in the past. And yet that same spirit and attitude which was the subject of this apology is prevalent amongst some staff members.

It is individuals like Ryno who tarnish the efforts of those who fought so hard for this university to be where it is today.

As I continued with my day I found myself overwhelmed with sadness because I knew that I have a voice and uMama who is amongst the generation which fought hard for our freedom, does not.

Giving back

I was thinking to myself during the course of our final year exhibitions this evening "what experiences do I plan to take back home with me when I leave this town?" I felt a bit challenged because besides the long-term plans which I have made, I haven't thought of anything immediate which I can do to impact my community using the skills which I have acquired. Then the idea struck - food gardens and a youth newspaper.

I was inspired by the work that one of the groups have done in collaboration with Umthathi Training Project. This group basically mobilised learners from a couple of schools in Grahamstown to start planting food gardens at school as part of a sustainable development initiative. Then the produce from these gardens is used to feed the learners, some of which come from homes where food is scarce.

Umthathi is doing a great job. The problem however, is that their work does not really extend beyond the Eastern Cape. Undoubtedly, there is a need for more food gardens throughout the country because many people are living in poverty and lack the means to feed themselves. This is where I thought I could help.

I would like to identify a few schools in Soweto and Alexandra - the two main townships in Johannesburg, where I could continue the work which Umthathi is doing in the Eastern Cape. I think that I need to partner with the organisation because they could assist me with setting up a satellite organisation in Joburg.

Another initiative which I would like to get off the ground is a newspaper supplement for the youth by the youth. This idea I received when I was interning at Grocott's mail. Some learners from a few schools in Grahamstown have been roped together to write stories and contribute towards a publication called Upstart. These learners get an opportunity to work with media way before they get to university - which is a great thing.

I would like to start a similar initiative and I think that my target audience again, will be learners from less affluent schools. For them it will be an opportunity to report on issues which affect them, their schools and communities. Hopefully, they too will be exposed to media in the same way that the Upstart learners are exposed.

I think that this is a start. There will be more opportunities to impact the lives of people positively and to share that which Rhodes journalism has imparted.

Reflection

It is exactly two weeks until the beginning of my final exams. It's all so surreal. Three years have come and gone so quickly and I find myself feeling a bit teary-eyed. Grahamstown has been a home away from home, an escape, a retreat of sorts.

I actually feel a bit nervous and slightly apprehensive about going back home. The prospects of going back to something familiar are not too appealing. I feel as though I'll be drawn back into that lull that I escaped three years ago but I guess its up to me. I think that my desperation to continue studying is masking a desperation for something new - it's masking my fear of slipping back into the ordinary, perhaps a fear of having to deal with issues that I wish did not exist.

This is not to say that I am ungrateful. With everyday that passes by I thank God for coming through for me in the most powerful way imaginable. He really turned the hopeless case which was my life into something beautiful and worth living. The experience of these past three years has enriched my life and is one which will remain with me for as long as I walk this earth.

What gives me the most joy is that my mother reaps the greatest benefit of my decision to come back to school. It has not been easy for her to raise three kids who have all had their share of potentially destructive drama in their lives- teenage pregnancy, drug and alcohol abuse. Seeing me graduate after all my trials and tribulations is evidence to my mom that it's not all lost, that God is so faithful. And really, the glory is all His.

I hope that in getting a degree, I have inspired my brother and sister to do the same. I hope that I have planted a seed and instilled a culture of learning within my young nieces. For me, this education is more than just a degree. It is hope for a family without graduates. It is vindication from all those who had nothing but negativity to speak over our lives. Its a new beginning for me and much-awaited celebration for my mother.

A new creature in Christ

And then I went to church...

I was reminded that it really does not matter who condemns me because before God I stand not condemned. Jesus Christ went to the cross so that I could live and live abundantly. This includes living a life free of condemnation.

I realised that what really counts is the fact that I have long asked for forgiveness from God and that in His eyes I do not stand condemned- I am clean and forgiven.

Condemnation

I don't quite know how I am supposed to go to church and sing praises to God this morning when I am harbouring such anger and resentment.

What kind of a person are you to say that you don't care about something on the one hand and yet on the other hand you use every chance you get to remind me of that one mistake which I made. You're holding a secret grudge which you use as a weapon against me in unsuspecting moments, to disarm and humiliate me. How long is this going to carry on for?

I am so angry with you. I am disappointed and I am hurt because for a person who professes to care deeply about me, your action spells the opposite.

To my (future) husband

These are the words which I hope to say one day to the man who will find me and make me his wife. They are lyrics from a song by a 90's RnB group called U.N.V. and I think that they are absolutely beautiful:

You are to me
What poetry tries to say with a word
You are a song
All the music my heart ever heard

I can't escape
The air that I breathe even speaks of you
And I'm not ashamed to say
That I feel this way

I will stand before God
Give you all that I've got
I can promise you I'll be true
I reveal here and now
As we both take this vow
I am so in love [So in love], with, with you

Words can't express
What I confess with each beat of my heart
I'm overwhelmed
With a passionate affair from the start, oh...

Our love will grow
As the years come and go, I will be by your side, oh, yes, I will
There isn't anything
That I would deny

I will stand before God
Give you all that I've got
I can promise you I'll be true
I reveal here and now
As we both take this vow
I am so in love, I am so in love with you

I promise to honor and cherish you
For better or for worse
I'll be there for you
For richer or for poorer
In sickness and in health
Till death do us part
(And I will)
From this day on and forever

I will stand before God
Give you all that I've got
I can promise you I'll be true
I reveal here and now
As we both take this vow
I am so in love [I am so in love], I am so in love
I am so in love with you
I am so in love

There is a time for everything

It's the end of my undergraduate degree and I have decided to stop worrying about my future; to stop worrying about where I am going next year or what it is I am going to do.

I have been planning frantically for quite a while without realising that regardless of what I plan, God will have me where He wants me to be next year. I would like to stay on at Rhodes for one more year because I don't feel like I am ready to leave yet. Perhaps the truth of the matter is that I am trying to hold on to a season which is due to pass. I am trying to hold on to an experience that I cheated myself out of when I dropped out of law school 6 years ago.

I have applied to WITS and Rhodes for Honours - both programmes are great, and I 'll work hard for these exams. But the way forward from here is not up to me, I am not master of my own destiny.

I have decided to enjoy what is left of this season (my undergrad education at Rhodes) and to cherish each moment. I know that the next season will bring new things, new experiences and lessons to be learnt. When you look at life in that way, every moment becomes so precious.

1 There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:

2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,

3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,

4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,

5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,

7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,

8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

-Ecclesiastes 3

Rant

I hate that even in my sincerity you choose to think the worst;
That my terms of endearment are nothing but foolishness to you.
I hate how you manage to hold me suspended in what seems to be love
yet when it suits you, you pour cold water over my head,
awakening me to some obscure reality - your reality,
that nothing in this world is as it seems.

Subliminal messages

A friend of mine was relaying yesterday's episode of Generations to me when I suddenly thought to myself "I'm going to be one of those parents who are selective about what they allow their children to watch on TV because if this kind of junk programming still exists by the time I have kids, which it probably still will, I do not want them anywhere near it".

In this episode Grace, a young student living with her father, throws constant tantrums because her divorcee father has found new love. Grace's behaviour borders on absolute insolence and make one wonder whether there actually are children who behave in this manner out there.

Somewhere else in Generations Bridget, who is a conniving piece of work, is poisoning her supposed friend simply because she suspects that her husband is having an affair with this friend. Her husband finds out about her schemes and decides to move into a hotel while he files for divorce. So Bridget decides to take the same poison she fed her friend in order to get her husband's attention.

Then there is Kenneth Mashaba, Grace's rich uncle and the bane of Paul's (Grace's father) existence. He is the villain and uses any opportunity he gets to show himself better than his brother, catering for Grace's every whim. You can sense from his actions and the manner in which he speaks about his brother, that he is trying to win Grace over completely- she just sees a doting uncle who cares for her.

As my friend spoke, I milled over these different scenarios in my mind and thought to myself that the messages which are being relayed in this soapie are not edifying nor good for the building of relationships.

Grace is basically saying to all 20-year olds out there that it is okay to be utterly disrespectful towards your parent/s. It is okay to stand in the way of your divorced parent getting into a new relationship and ruining all their prospects of finding love that lasts. And that it is fair to give parents unfair ultimatums.

Bridget is teaching all married women out there the art of suspicion. The kinds of things she becomes suspicious of about her husband are so inane. Bridget's actions may seem crazy to any viewer but imagine the weaker audiences that actually relate soapies to their lives and surroundings? What kind of damage is this senselessness doing to them?

Kenneth Mashaba is condoning family disunity. His character is evil personified and the fact that Grace is so vulnerable to him while seeing him as her stand-in dad, is worse.

Soapies are a powerful medium drawing thousands of audiences into the junk subliminal messages which they perpetuate. The challenge lies with the audience - do you sit and lap up everything that you are fed through this media or do you take what you need and discard the rest?

After the Storm

It's as though the entire neighbourhood was expecting us. Every house had at least two or three people huddling by their front doors, staring fixedly and suspiciously at our vehicle as we slowly drove by looking for house number 14.

Children running carefree in the streets and playfully jostling each other, were a stark contrast to the bleakness that was. Houses stood; some with three walls others without roofs. Further on ahead, the corrugated sheets which used to be someone's house were strewn across a small veld. Leaves, branches and mud, paved the street. Torn clothing lay trapped underneath the dismembered furniture - the situation was desperate.

The family from number 14 had been waiting for us to arrive. The children zipped around us wearing dirty clothes, with their noses running and their hair unkempt. I kept thinking that it was their childish innocence which kept them from internalising the direness which faced their families - they were more fascinated by my colleagues - the white people that had come to their neighbourhood.

We heard about the situation in the township after the tornado hit Grahamstown yesterday morning. A lot of people lost their homes, family members and possessions. We received word about one woman whose house was completely destroyed by the storm and we decided to help where we could.

She and her 3-week old baby were taken in by the family at house number 14. It is a family of six living in a 4-roomed house. We didn't have much resources at our disposal, so we decided to buy the household some supper- at least they would have a meal for tonight.

We visited the site where her house used to stand and found that there was not much which could be salvaged from there. The municipality had come and gone, and social workers had also come to provide some counseling. Now all that this woman could do concerning her house and property, was wait for an answer or direction from the municipality.

We asked what else we could do to help but the damage was so extensive that there was not much that could be done with our hands. We left it there and said goodbye to everyone, feeling rather dejected and hoping that something more would be done to help the victims of that tornado.

Jungle fever in retrospect

A question popped into my mind after I googled the definition for jungle fever . Why is jungle fever a reference about white women's attraction to black men? Why couldn't it have said "an attraction between people from opposite races" or something along those lines?

I find the connotations of the former definition rather racist. Within this definition a black man is synonymous with a jungle, which happens to be a home for wild animals. Is this to say that white women who find themselves attracted to black men are attracted to wild animals?

It was also interesting and infuriating to read that a one of the world's most respected scientists claims that black people are less intelligent than their white counterparts but that's a story for another day.

But really now, am I naive to believe that there is nothing wrong with interracial relationships? Why do people choose to get so caught up in race issues, when race itself is a social construct? It amazes me the speed at which people are so ready to turn up their noses to the mere mention of interracial relationships when we have fought long and hard to get to where we are as a people.

My best friend told me that I should basically quite whilst I'm ahead because white men only date black women in order to be well looked after. She said that white men date black women because black women cook, clean, take care of the kids and know how to take care of their men. She also mentioned that white men love the way black women are so primal - which takes us right back to the jungle fever definition. Suffice it to say she based her skewed observation on one experience gone wrong.

I'm sure to many I come across as one with a neo-colonised mind but quite the contrary. I am just an ambassador for the Kingdom of God where the distinction between black and white does not exist .

Jungle Fever

You know- it's really not about race, it's about preference. And even that word "preference" poses some problems to many people "how come you prefer white men over black men?" I have no answer to that question but all I know is that my tendency to be more attracted to white men has been with me for as long as I can remember.

It does not make me any less African, Tswana or black. I can still speak my mother tongue,relate to people of my race and do the things which are exclusive to my people. I just happen to be attracted to white men too. Oh and don't get me wrong, I know a fine brother when I see one and it is not like many have not made my heart skip a beat.

It's funny the reaction I get whenever I mention this idiosyncrasy to both black and white people "gasp! really! why?" Funny how people still find such trivialities so shocking- I blame it on our history. I am sure that they'd all be equally shocked to know that I've never even dated a white guy.

Yeoville

I read an article in a magazine yesterday and a statement was made about how nobody has anything good to say about Yeoville anymore, how it is a place riddled with crime, alcohol and drug abuse.

My heart sank. I used to live in Yeoville for a good 20 years of my life and the memories that I have of Yeoville do not match the words ascribed to her.

Yeoville was a great neighbourhood. Not your average picket-fence stereotype, but a vibrant hub of culture, talent and great diversity.

In '86, you could walk up Raleigh street and get yourself an ice cream from a real ice cream shop.

In '89 you could still get milk delivered outside your door from the dairy, just like they do on tv.

The buzz during the day would trickle over into the night as people would gather for street committee meetings in various homes.

The great artists of today used to hang around in Yeoville, when Tandoor used to rock and Time Square was the buppie hot spot.

We even used have an annual parade!

Kids used to play in beautifully kept parks and their parents would not have to worry about them because everyone used to look out for one another.

White people walking their dogs were not a strange occurrence. Neither was seeing Jay Naidoo buying milk and bread at the cafe.

You could wake up in the morning and take a slow walk through a quiet and clean neighbourhood and just marvel at the beauty that surrounds you.

That was Yeoville and so much more. A part of me has a burning hope that great restoration will take place in Yeoville.

I hope the great vibe returns, the warmth of community, safety and a place of better memories for all the kids that will grow up there.

Soldiering on

I could tell as soon as she took a seat next to me that something weighed heavily on her mind. The canary-yellow scarf which she wrapped around her head like a Muslim woman, hid the disaster that befell her last night when she decided that she wanted a change of hair style for her ball tonight. She told me in the calmest way what had happened, as the creases of her contrived smile began to fade.

A couple of weeks ago she had knocked on my door desperately needing a person to talk to and a shoulder to cry on. As soon as she was done apologising for disrupting me, in what appeared to be my time of study, she broke down and told me about the bad space that she was in.

She was worried about next year - who would pay her fees, what would happen to her poverty-stricken family, what was God's plan for her? She was struggling to find the zeal and enthusiasm which she previously had for her life and her studies. She had even considered taking the shortcut out of her depression and just ending it all.

I listened as she poured out her heart through all her tears. I felt so much sadness about the pain and anxiety that she was experiencing. I wasn't too sure on how to console a woman that bared the equivalent of the world's weight on her shoulders.

The only thing I knew to do was to take her hands in mine and invite the Lord into this situation. I prayed. I spoke to my Father and he heard my prayer. There was such peace that enveloped the room as I asked the Holy Spirit to comfort and counsel my friend. At the end of the prayer it was as though she had awoken from a deep, peaceful and rejuvenating sleep. She was calm, refreshed and positive.

The incident last night seems to have put a damper on her spirit. She told me how she had tried to remove the old synthetic braiding from her hair but all she got instead, was a hand-full of her own hair. She had lost so much hair from removing the braids that she had to wear the scarf to disguise the suspiciously large, hairless patch.

I encouraged her to visit the salon and to get her hair cut evenly to allow for fresh, healthy hair growth to emerge. She seemed consoled by my advise. When I met her later on in the day however, she had a familiar look of desperate sadness on her face. The salon trip had gone all wrong and the hairstylist had failed to understand her instructions. Tears welled up in her eyes as she helplessly looked at me shaking her head from side to side.

Her tears made more sense to me after she told me that she had been trying to grow her hair for years. And now, all that she had to show for her efforts was the remainder of what was previously a healthy head of hair. At that point I felt bad for having a full head of healthy dreadlocks. I felt like any consolation I could offer would not be good enough. But I encouraged her anyway.

I told her to soldier on. Her hair stood a good chance of growing healthily if she would grow it from scratch. I told her that everything would be okay. Once again, she seemed consoled. The tears stopped flowing and a less-contrived smile creased her face. I gave her one last hug before walking away and thinking of how grateful I am for everything that God has blessed me with, including the opportunity to be there for a friend.

When is it gonna be my turn?

To finally have that relationship that I sit and wonder about
To fall in love with someone who is not already someone's
To be proved correct that I too am a candidate for a multi-racial relationship
To be proved correct that hoping for such is not mere idealism
To be proved correct that forever is highly possible
To have a dream, hope, my wish come true
When?

Illegally Blonde

All that was missing to complete her look and to complement that deep, husky voice was a signature cigarette resting tentatively between her forefinger and middle finger. She seated herself comfortably in the chair with one leg tucked under her bottom and hands resting on her thighs, as she anticipated my questioning with a tinge of nervousness.

Jessica Blase looks and sounds like a Jozi girl from the Northern suburbs and she has all the superficialities which suit that description. She has the accent, drives a VW Golf, lives in Fourways, wears a gold bangle, has blonde hair and blue eyes, and she attended one of the most prestigious schools in Johannesburg – Saint Stithians.

She came to Rhodes seeking change “I was supposed to go to UCT and a friend of mine was here, so I came to Grahamstown and noticed that it’s very different from other places. So I decided to come here just for a change - to be somewhere different.” Now she lives in a digs on African Street with her best friend from grade two and three other girls from Port Elizabeth.

Jess has had a positive experience of Rhodes life which has included copious amounts of partying, though she admits that all has slowed down “with age”. Living off campus has proven to have its emotional perks too, “I love my digs, our home is my sanctuary – we just sit around drink tea and chat all day.” The truth in that statement radiates off her face – her eyes light up and she flashes a perfect, pearly-white smile. Her chattiness is evidence of who she says she is “I love arguing and hearing other people’s opinions – I love laughing and entertaining, cooking is my de-stress “she chimes.

Her friends think she’s “out there” – a free spirit and she admits that she is the crazier one between her sister and herself but beneath that unapparent madness is a woman who is focussed and very insistent on letting people know as much, “I’m someone that’s with it, I mean I’m always the one who is sorting things out and helping my friends out with everything. Blonde is a problem, people see you dressed up, with blonde hair and a big bag and they think…”

When she is not busy with school and sundry student life, she gets in touch with her spiritual self by making enquiry of astrology books. A lot of her life and the decisions that she makes are based on these enquiries. Though she calls herself a sceptic and questioner of many things, she believes in a higher being that has created all life but she is reluctant to give it a name like so many other religions have done, so she calls it “Him”.

As I finish typing up my work on the computer, I realise that Jess embodies all of the things that she said she was. She is perched at a nearby station gladly offering her help and opinion to a friend that was clearly in need.

Today's Message

I love the way God always meets me where I am.

Today's message at church was so encouraging, especially considering the fact that I have been feeling rather distant from Him. It has inspired me to approach quiet times with my Father in a different way.

The message was preached from 2 Corinthians 3:18 "And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit"; and spoke about how we can better relate to God.

We were told of the different veils which exist in our lives which are symbolic of the things or instances which keep or delay us from moving from better to best within our relationship with the Lord.

Essentially, the message was relaying the fact that God wants to get to know us better. I mean yes, He is omniscient and does know everything about us because He created us BUT we sometimes fail to invite Him into all areas of our lives. We just go about our lives in a religious way, factoring God in wherever we can but we don't engage Him beyond that. We don't engage Him as our Father who has a personality and can help us. These veils that we have in the different areas of hour heart - disobedience, condemnation, unforgiveness etc, etc, keep us from moving from a good relationship with God to the best realtionship with Him.

It is only once we remove these veils and really include God in every aspect of our lives, that we will reflect His glory and be transformed into His likeness.

I am so encouraged after hearing this message and I am ready to move full-steam ahead with this week.

Internet love

What is the likelihood of a long-lasting, intimate relationship forming between two people that meet online? I mean, if you think about it, a person can be whomever he wants to be online – tall, muscular, chocolate skinned and well-educated. He could turn out to possess none of these qualities and yet win you over with his personality alone.

I recently read about a couple who met on a blog. After a couple of emails to each other, co-writing a book on perfumes and a rendezvous in London –they were married.

A friend of mine told me that her aunt met some guy online whom she later got engaged to. Everything was peachy until the aunt realised that she and this man were actually were not well-suited. They were together for 4 years.

Another friend told me of an article that she had read which spoke about online love being more likely to last than conventional relationships because the parties involved were more inclined to make the relationship work. This seems to be true of the perfume bloggers.

I went through a phase a few months ago where I really thought that I would meet my mate by signing up to some online dating sites. Needless to say, I got over the fact that many of them wouldn’t let me get past viewing a profile without demanding money in some form or another.

I spent some time constructing a profile of ‘me in a nutshell’. I uploaded it along with pictures of myself and heaved a sigh of anxiety because I felt so exposed and totally out of character. After that, I perused some of the offerings on one of the sites – sent a wink here and blew a kiss there. Then I waited.

I can’t begin to articulate the excitement that gushed through my veins when I checked my emails and saw “Lovetohelp has sent you a reply on AfroRomance.com” or “ManofGod has sent you a wink on ChristianSingles.com”. This was the beginning of a mini-addiction, fuelled by my desperation to be in a long-lasting and meaningful relationship with a special somebody. I drank it all in – the kisses, winks, yeses and even got some “sorry, I don’t think we’d make a good match” – ouch!

I slowly grew despondent because a lot of the men that responded to my profile didn’t come close to what I envisioned my perfect partner to be but also because there was this still small voice inside of me that kept whispering “You are worth much more than this. You will be in a meaningful and loving relationship in time. Though it tarries, wait for it”. This voice progressed to be an overwhelming compulsion to remove my profiles from these online sites and to focus my energies on things which I can do something about in the present.

I still wonder whether online relationships can be anything more than what they are – escapist. But those bloggers have ignited a flicker of hope inside me. I don’t think that I’ll be going back online to find a man. I know that he is somewhere out there looking for me and that our paths will meet one day. But for now I’m staying put and heeding that still, small voice.

Paranoia

I usually try not to allow television programmes affect me, especially if its mindless viewing like eTV's highly-revered soapie Rhythm City. But Peter SePuma's character in today's episode struck a chord within me. SePuma plays Miles Vilakazi, a music mogul who suffered a stroke after a car accident and wakes up to find his record company in the hands of his arch-enemy. The sudden realisation that his entire life's work is no more, offsets his paranoia.

You know, the saddest thing about the after effects that years of drugging have had on my brother is not only the fact that he is faced with the tremendous task of rebuilding his life, self-esteem and credibility but also that he has to deal with bouts of paranoia that have attempted to become ingrained in the fabric that is his life.

Sometimes I wonder if he is just acting because my brother is a pretty intelligent guy and a person like him couldn't possibly believe that half the stuff he tells me is true. Sometimes he'll tell me things like 'the reception on this phone is messed up because the people next door have put a bugging device in it'. Or that the government has technology which allows for people's phone conversations to be monitored. He'll wake up on some days and cover his curtains with black refuse bags because he doesn't want the spies to see inside his room.

Even though I wonder if this is all an act, I know that it is not because what kind of person would purposefully want to put himself or his family through that kind of stress? And besides, he's pretty normal when he's not being paranoid, so I doubt that this is some kind of pastime to him.

Miles Vilakazi believes that there are hidden cameras everywhere he goes and it made me sad to watch that because I remembered my brother. I wondered what goes on in the mind and heart of a person plagued with paranoia -I quietly asked the Lord to restore my brother's mind.

I believe that he will come full-circle. Not only will my brother's mind be restored but everything else that was lost or stolen from his life will also be restored one hundred fold. His life will be a testimony to all.

Heritage Day

So much for Heritage Day!



I remember a time quite long ago when days as significant as this were fussed over and celebrated in ways which left indelible memories for those who joined in the festivities. But today was just another day-off. Grahamstown was as dead as it's ever been.



Heritage Day for the average Rhodent was a braai and a bottle of "Crackling" with some friends at a digs somewhere on Graham Street. There was probably no discussion about South African culture, diversity, our past or even how this country has made great strides since this public holiday was officially created. But I should be one to talk!



I didn't braai or drink or spend my Heritage Day with friends at a digs somewhere on Bond Street - I worked. My only relish was working at my own pace without the "inconvenience" of having to attend lectures. I also spent a good part of this day wondering what Heritage Day was really about and whether South Africans still cared. By the looks and sounds of eRini, nobody was phased-perhaps things are a bit different back home. Joburgers were always ones to go all out and throw a big party.

I think that Heritage Day should be everyday. We should be celebrating who we are as a nation, how far we have come and all that we have inherited along the way. These are the things that make South Africa what it is - the people, their cultures, national monuments and even the unique wildlife that we have.

Perhaps people are too embroiled in their own lives and daily struggles to even take the time to reflect on and celebrate this day. Perhaps people don't see cause for celebration given the recent developments in our country. Perhaps our nation is not informed enough about Heritage Day to truly enjoy it. Or maybe, just maybe, people actually don't care.

Transition

Apparently what's happening now - our president getting fired and half his cabinet resigning in solidarity, is an indication of a resilient democracy. It is a display of common sense and something that was well-past its sell by date.

I was watching the news and thinking to myself that this past two-week's happenings were long in the making - the sacking of JZ as the nation's deputy president and the acrimony which ensued within the ruling party had set the ball rolling for a somewhat sad ending to Mbeki's presidency.

I guess a large portion of South Africans, including myself, are quite disillusioned with what has transpired. I understand and am fully cognizant of the fact that Mbeki only had 7 more months in office and I guess one would ask what difference it makes that he leaves office earlier. But when I consider those that are left behind to usher South Africa into a new season under a different presidency, I tend to want to hold on to that last bit of decent, wise, intellectual, perceptive leadership that is - or rather, that was.

I guess it' s the total shock of it all. I was not expecting that Judge Nicholson's ruling would be the final nail in Mbeki's coffin. Quite frankly I was expecting the nation to be eased into the change of season but perhaps that is a bit much to expect on the cusp of a new era.

It is quite unfortunate that South Africa does not have an opposition to ring home about because now is the time to begin considering which party to vote for next year. I have no faith in the new leadership, shame. Perhaps issue-voting is the best way to go.

It appears that Chinese saying 'May you live in interesting times', has finally become of South Africa.