Month: March 2013

Cracked Black

The Black girl’s story is redundant lately isn’t it?

We fear being like our mothers, who were used by our fathers, we’ve been abused by our brothers and now try to find ourselves between sheets. Sheets in books and beds. I give information on my life in pieces because if not,I fear it will be just another story of a Black female writer.

“My mother was servile and my father an angry Black man. I obeyed and knew my place was in my mother’s shadow. My [Insert (fe)male figure here] sexually abused me and now I do not trust easily. I question plenty, but ask none and I have hopes and dreams, some I mention, others I see only at night. I have tried to destroy myself but am too weak, or maybe love parts of myself too much, to. I am here, another Black girl.” That is how it goes, that is how I’ve come to relate to many women, I’ve had a rough idea of what might be, and gone from there. Rarely have I been wrong.

As time has passed I’ve come to identify with the very labels I did not want to define me. Black, young, female, bisexual, African, artistic. I’ve found that whether we like it or not, as much as these labels state what we are, they only define us as far as we’d like them to. I could be Black, but have that only be skin deep, as I could be young, and have an Old Soul. Experiences have shaped me, as I am now, time has taught and erased and words have continued to come through all of that.

These are my thoughts, my opinions, my wisdom and my foolishness, as a Black girl trying to make all our stories count. Even if it’s just to us.

“I’m locked inside a land called Foolish Pride. Where the man is always right. He hates to talk but loves to fight. Is that alright?” – Janelle Monae

My earliest memory is of sitting outside a room listening to my father argue with my mother, then hearing a loud crash and seeing him walk out the door. My earliest recollection of feeling, at that point, was terror and confusion. And guilt. It was a fight over something I had told, so obviously it was my fault. Or at least I felt so.

Happy families are built on facades and hope for the most part. In my years of existence I’m fairly certain I’ve only seen a handful of them. The other parents I saw were merely attempting to add as much glitter to a dull picture as possible. And as I’ve grown I’ve come to attempt to understand why. Our parents did not necessarily marry for love. They attempted, for the most part  to make the best out of situations. It mattered not what he looked like, what he wore, more what he could provide, the Man he was, and frankly, if he was worth it. It mattered little what her skin tone was, who she knew and what her hair looked like, but more the kinds of kids she would raise, the comfort she could provide, and the Woman she was.

Looking at the fact that there was no romantic love, that they did not really aspire to have gifts to brag about and such were considered a luxury, I guess what most of us grew up witnessing makes sense, even if it was wrong. Witnessing abuse will always have an impact on one. What it molds you into is purely up to you though. I have friends who use it as an excuse. A crutch. They have no identity without said tragedy. “I am like this because when I was 5 I saw my dad hit my mother.” I also have other friends who have seen this, taken it and learned from it. Those who have become stronger individuals in spite of it. They may be paranoid, quick to fight and yet peaceful in times of potential distress, but they have taken their background in stride.

I don’t think most Black parents think we should carry what never happened to us. But my generation has spent so much time speaking and witnessing, we find it hard to believe things don’t involve us. It’s not really a matter of shame, woman abuse by a partner is not necessarily as taboo as we’d like to make it seem. These things are not kept secret out of shame. They are kept quiet because it’s nobody’s business. As a child, you don’t speak because you have no understanding,and therefore, no voice. In his eyes, he owns her, is putting her in check, or is just doing as he should/wants to. We live in a misogynist patriarchal society that if one does not step outside of the mold they’ve been raised in, faults,flaws and evil become nothing but what we know.

I used to detest women who watched their men cheat, hid their black eyes from their kids and died slowly before their family’s eyes. I judged them,I mocked them, they were weak to me. I could not understand how one could take that much hate, in it’s many forms, and cover it with smiles to call it Love. I did not know anything of affection but that It never hurt. Despite what the R & B songs said,it could not hurt if it was given purely.


Only through growing did I know that a man could use you to his heart’s content and that would be love. That his upbringing would be an excuse to erase yours. His pain would be what only you, as a woman, would carry, as he found joy and solace in somebody else who knew nothing of his True Self. And because you were she who stood firm and still represented all his past misfortune, he would begin to hate you. To detest the fact that even as you carry such burdens, you never use it as a reason to be anything more than that which you are, a Woman. This, attempting to support him and give him love that he could never stomach because he had never received it, would drive him up the wall. How you could be stronger than he is. How you could carry Him. You and all which you are the center of, would perplex and unsettle him. And he would seek to break you. Broken people are only ever comfortable in chaos. He’d want to have little victories over you. And the battles would be what you,as his wife, should aspire to solve, and not necessarily win, til Death do you part. This would be Love. This would be what you would grit your teeth and bear it for. The occasional smile would be what you hope for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s my Life, so how do I feel about You?

I’ve found that even among friends, females find it extremely difficult to communicate, especially about their desires, insecurities and issues. 

How easy is it to go up to a friend and really share yourself? Your crude business idea? Your insecurities about that one thing you  feel you lack in your relationship? The fact that you think said friend may not like you that much.. The fact that you think you’re a bad daughter or you might have a crush on someone? How freely are you able to express yourself with those you seem to be connected to?

 

This is what I’ve learned, as women we keep each other at arm’s length. 

And it’s understandable.

Now I’m not one of those females who say things like “I don’t have female friends because they aren’t trustworthy and they’re full of drama”, if experience has taught me anything it’s to take people as individuals because I know men who gossip more than a  lot of women I know and women who’re more hardworking and loyal than a lot of the men I know. Gender roles are a waste of time but that’s an issue for another day.

 

As I like to say, trust is for the naive.  You can never really know how one feels about you because with the ability to communicate and think comes the ability to deceive.  It’s the norm now. I won’t tell you I don’t like you/have issues with you but I will drop hints, snide remarks, smirks, sabotage at every opportunity. Such.

I’ve said it before that I cannot have any sort of relationship with people who don’t communicate. I’m a very vocal being, I over-share with those I choose to speak to and it would be easier if other people were like that to be honest, for me anyway.

I’ve lost friends over very petty things that I honestly feel could’ve been avoided.  Your friend will listen to you go on and on about being interested in a guy, and never make it known that she is too. The moment he shows interest in you, she disappears from your Life.   This is some unnecessary shit. If we’re that close why would it be possible to let something as simple and easy to find as Dick [because that’s usually the case] get in between us? [No pun intended].  I’ve observed that not many males I  know have this issue. With them, they make their interest known and proceed, assuming it’s nothing serious, whoever gets in first, does, and that’s it. Life goes on. They’re still friends. They’re fine. Why? Because they spoke about it. 

 

While looking for someone to share an idea with I realized I only felt comfortable with going to one of my friends. She was the one I was certain would relate, expand on, support and understand my idea. And so what does that say for my other friends? Because I know different sides to their personalities, who some of them really are, I don’t trust them with  things I treasure. And with that having been said, I guess the fact is, some of them aren’t even friends, just people who’ve been around for a while that I can tolerate and relate to when I’m drunk.  And this doesn’t bother me because they are not an actual part of my life. But sometimes I wonder if it makes me two faced. I am not malicious when it comes to interacting with them but I find myself questioning the reason why I keep around people I don’t need. Which leads me to wonder if really Life is all about using: people, experiences, knowledge, to your advantage. Is that it? 

“People need things, and if you don’t provide what they need, they don’t need you.”

I’m learning this applies for empathy, intimacy, money, sex, basically, everything.

So it’s quite simple isn’t it? No?

We’re all self-centered to a certain degree, even the most selfless among us. We don’t walk into situations we don’t want knowingly, we don’t deal with people we don’t want around and at the end of the say, the questions “What do I want? How do I feel about it?” always comes up. 

I will come before You and it can’t be anything to feel bad about, we’re all trying to survive. And if you feel the same, I’ll never fault you.

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Where’s the passion in Death?

“But why is it called a passion killing?That’s not right.” – My Mother

And then it actually occurred to me.  The term “Passion killing” romanticizes murder.  I understand that what they basically mean is that the person was so overcome with emotion that they committed the act, but let’s face it, murder is murder.

It got my thinking.  I had an ex who used to threaten to kill me if I ever cheated. Now at the time it was funny, I assumed he was playing.  He’d told my best friend the same thing and he seemed more bothered by it than I was.  For some reason I assumed that when someone threatened to murder you and meant it, I dunno, I assumed you’d feel it somehow.

As time went on his behaviour became more erratic, it didn’t help that we were hardly ever sober and our relationship resembled clips out of the “Love The Way You Lie” video.

Still, as things got bad, they were still somehow beautiful. I was convinced we were just two passionate people and the outside world didn’t understand us.  My mother hated him and his mother detested me.  We’d disappear for weeks on end from home and lounge about together until we got sick of one another and one of us left.

He kicked me out of his house a couple of times in front of his friends, threw my clothes out and cussed me out.  There were times he would lock me in the house and not let me go to school  because he thought I’d see other men there. It was a mess.  But I stayed.

We’d break up, have tearful reunions, be happy for a week, cheat, fight, then break up again. One of the last times I saw him we fought and he tried to punch me.  In that moment I realized if I stayed I’d be waiting to fuck myself over intentionally.  I walked out of his house and never called him back/texted him.

 

He lost his mind, drugs and stress caught up with him and his family obviously blamed me. As if I was the one prepping them for him/giving him the money to go there. I was home, slightly broken, but fine. Or so I’ve assumed.

Six months later he shows up at my gate, high I assume, at 8 in the morning on a Saturday having walked from his house, which is on the other side of town, to mine to come tell me we’re supposed to have an arranged marriage.  I listened as he rambled on about his new girlfriend, how he needed money and eventually, how he missed me, then I walked into our yard, locked the gate and asked him to leave or else I’d call the police.

Now,I haven’t seen him since, he left town for a bit, but if what mutual friends have said is anything to go by, he’s still pretty mad.

This wouldn’t mean shit if he was far away,  but he isn’t anymore.

A few nights ago I had a dream that he came to my house and tried to kill me. Odd since I haven’t really thought of him in months.  But the Universe has a funny way of aligning shit and yesterday as I was texting a friend he told me said individual was in the tattoo parlour we usually go to, getting one. I texted a mutual friend to ask if he’s around, and he replied in the affirmative.

Now, I’m a tad bit scared, Why? I’m not really sure. It’s been more than a year. Maybe I’m paranoid but at the same time, rather that than careless,no?

 

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It’s The Girl’s Fault, Again.

There’s a man who drives around my neighborhood every Sunday and parks at random turns waiting for young girls to walk past.  He’s old, foreign, has an odd looking beard and pulls off Creepy quite well.

Flawlessly.

I know because I’ve encountered him on too many occasions.

The first time, he was driving past my house and I was walking out. He drove past slowly,came back and asked me for directions. I gave them to him and he asked if I could accompany him. I declined and walked off. He followed me and asked if I’d like to get in his car and go where I was headed. I said no, he said it was unsafe, and I pointed out that it was 5 in the afternoon, I walked this way often and nothing had ever happened to me plus he doesn’t live in my neighborhood so he wouldn’t know. He got angry and drove off.

 

Now, as I mentioned, he’s here every Sunday. I’ve seen him try to pick up girls, and sometimes succeed.  It saddens me every time a girl gets in his car because I can only imagine what follows. For all we know he could be a rapist, a child trafficker, whatever, we’ve already established that he’s a predator.

Yesterday as my mother and I were driving home, I saw him and pointed him out to her. I told her who he was and what he does and she said “Ee,well,he has his reasons.” I stared at her and looked outside the window.

What does that mean?

He has his reasons for trolling the neighborhood for young girls. So does that mean we should understand? Is it okay?  What?

I was unable to respond to what she said because frankly, I don’t think anything she could have said to try and explain what she meant would have made a difference.

“It’s the girls. Why do they get in his car? Ba batlang? They enable him.”

This I understood. But at the same time, we need to take into account that some girls are genuinely naive. They aren’t as aware of the World’s evils as the rest of us. They actually assume that “Let me help you and drop you off where you’re going” means just that. And that’s not their fault. It’s a shame, but it’s not their fault.

The fact remains that sexual predators exist and it’s not as simple as “They exist because girls let them”. It’s not us, these people are this way on their own. It’s a fact that there are those who are willing to be a part of such people’s worlds and that’s on them, but saying “They only troll for girls because girls accept them” is ignorant.  

It’s like “He only keeps raping students because they keep coming to his office after class”.

“She only keeps abusing them because they’re left in her care”.

The World will never be lacking in victims will it?

Nor those who blame the victims, it seems.

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Body Language: Stretchmarks, Chinese tea and the Women I know

“Don’t be ashamed of your stretchmarks. You’re just a tiger that’s earned it’s stripes.” 

I read this and rolled my eyes. What is this fuckery? Honestly, it took me back to the “FAT stands for Fabulous And Tempting” days.  I’ve never appreciated such sayings, probably never will. They sound like something a teary eyed, self hating woman would say to herself in her bathroom, and that, my love, is not a sign of pride in one’s self as far as I’m concerned.

I got stretchmarks when I was 12.  I had no idea what they were and thought it was a part of puberty, my cousin and my mother found them amusing and used to call me Zebra sometimes. My waist and my cousin’s were referred to as Zebra Crossings for years afterwards, and because it was something I bonded with the women in my family over, I wasn’t ashamed. 

Growing up with African women, body issues and insecurities were rife. Of course we didn’t notice at the time, we just knew our mothers, aunts and sisters were fixated on their weight. Chinese slimming tea, smaller portions, workout videos, tights and sneakers that were always unused, creams, belts, they were all a part of the constant battle to lose weight. 

My aunts would walk into the house and the first thing they’d comment on was our weight. “You’re thinner” they’d say beaming, or “You’ve gained” as they scowled and asked my mother what was wrong and what she was feeding me. 

I’ve never really thought it was a matter of self hate.  Maybe because in my household it wasn’t all that extreme. They were doing what they felt they needed to do to be more appealing I guess, and they slacked often so, it wasn’t all that serious. 

Back to the stretchmarks. 

My Zebra Crossing started on my waist and traveled downwards a bit. I couldn’t have been bothered. Nobody saw my body and I couldn’t care less. They were normal. The problem arose when I noticed them on my knees. I was crushed. I couldn’t wear shorts anymore. At 13, I had things to hide. I hated them. I tried everything my mother suggested but, it was done. See this was before Bio Oil and Jasmine Tissue Oil entered our house. Back then it was “Try Vaseline or something”. For 3 years I had to buy clothes that were below the knee. The waist Crossing I got accustomed to and I accepted that I had more marks than my 40 something year old mother.

But through all that I never really felt ugly. I was annoyed. I was exasperated, but never truly insecure. Until one day I stepped out of the shower and saw one on the underside of one breast. Lord, I broke then. This would mean no more low cut tops. What WOULD I be able to wear now? I wanted to have a nice body dammit. I wanted to not feel awkward at pool parties and feel the breeze on my knees in a place other than my yard.  I was already tired of my aunts pulling me toward them and pulling up my clothing while they suggested things that never worked. On my breasts too? I couldn’t.

That day I started using Bio Oil. And no, this is not another success story. It did nothing but make me sweat and make my skin shiny.  I gave up. I got mad at my body. And I stopped looking at it. I just went about my days, undressed,dressed,undressed,dressed..Never quite paying attention to it. 

One day I was nervous about having sex with someone because I felt ugly. I undressed in my room, a panicked look on my face and realized my breast marks were gone. Those on my waist I’d have an eternal relationship with, and my knees were pretty much the same. I stared, probed, lifted my breasts, pulled at my skin, looked at my skin tone, the darker areas, the lighter areas, and really took my body in.

This was it. I had stretchmarks. My tummy refused to be flat, no matter what I tried, my right ass cheek had a dimple while the left didn’t, and my breasts were as they were.  In that moment I asked myself “The fuck is your problem though?” 

It would be nice to wear shorts and tiny summer dressed but, evidently that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Turning around, my waist stretchmarks looked really pretty to me.  I still trace them along with a smile. My breasts are lovely and my tummy, it isn’t offensive, not in the least. It occurred to me: I have the body of the Women in my family. There is nothing odd or ugly about it. 

If it bothered me that much, I could do something about it. If not, I was fine. 

I haven’t really had issues since then. I don’t understand it when women honestly hate their bodies. I can’t relate. I understand to a certain degree, I understand wanting to change a few things, it’s normal, but women who detest their bodies, I never really know how to explain to them that it’s okay. 

Do I sometimes look at my friends who appear to have flawless bodies and envy them? Yes.

But I have an intimate relationship with my body now that I wouldn’t  trade.ImageImage

 

 

 

“What,a man?”

“..So I figured out the key to success for a woman. I mean, do you know how hard it is to try and maintain a relationship while getting ahead in Life? One has to suffer man, I don’t know why. Shit’s stress man. Especially if you’re with someone who doesn’t care. You spend your time trying to work on things and slack on You. It doesn’t work, You slack on You still..”

“Yeah..and so..?”

“And so..to make it as a successful female in Life. You need a vibrator. It’s the only way..”

He laughed then. Like what I was telling him was a joke.

See, this is what’s been happening. I’ve been worrying about what I’ve decided, is nonsense. Why am I single? Is it me? Do I even want to be with someone though? Or am I just tired of fucking around? Could So and So be the one?For now anyway?

These questions are time consuming and tedious.

I’ve been single for 7 months now. This is the longest I’ve been alone since I started dating at 12. If anything I’d end a relationship and be in one a week later, at one point my best friend asked me why I seem to be afraid of being alone so when the time rolled around, when I lacked the energy to deal with anyone else, I took his advice and did Me.

However with the looming threat of a potential Love interest I realized, I cannot function this way. If my relationship isn’t going well, my productivity plummets. I worry, I put my whole life on hold til that one aspect of it is fine. And I know many women who’re that way.

I appreciate that in Life we would like to have a companion, some kind of support system that doesn’t need to be there but chooses to. It’s only normal to desire intimacy. It is also only normal to want to succeed in whatever your heart drives you to seek out. But let’s admit it Ladies, it’s hard.

We expect ourselves to be Superwoman, even if we know we don’t need to be that for anyone but ourselves. You want to be able to put out your best in every aspect of your life but sometimes you aren’t getting any help from the person that’s supposed to be your partner and you seem to have the world’s burdens on your shoulders.

When you succeed in the office and seem to “slack” at home you know you get the snide remarks. Nobody really takes a woman’s success seriously unless she’s linked to a man do they? Beyonce’s an amazing artist but when you ask most people why they think so it’s “Because  she does it all. She gets her own and takes care of her man.” If she didn’t have Sean would her success be such an extraordinary thing to them?

I wonder about these things man.

And I know when I mentioned the vibrator thing it may seem like I meant to objectify men,not at all. I’m saying maybe it’s best to be intimate with your own damn self and take care of yourself. If the people we’re letting in to try and build with only demolish, why keep them around? For company?

The women I know who’ve stayed with men who only let them go so far, or convinced them they only desire to go so far, are sad. Because you’re giving up who you could be for somebody else who isn’t even happy with who you are.

Is it sad that it’s looking like you actually can’t have your cake and eat it too? Quite so. But maybe that’s just how it is, or it isn’t the right time. Either way, that’s how it is. And I’m saying, sometimes you have to sacrifice. The question remains, “Would you give your all for you?” I’m trying.

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Whose fault is it that they don’t respect nor love you?

“Tell me who I have to be, to get some reciprocity..” -Lauryn Hill

I’m still guilty of doing a lot of things I preach against. See, there’s a difference between knowing what to do and actually doing it. 

What did I do today? I spent a fair amount of time repeating the words “He does not respect you” to myself as I went about my day because I don’t listen. I have this habit of silencing my intuition and believing one can salvage any situation. Sometimes I convince myself I’m paranoid, or overreacting. That all people need is time and understanding and it’ll be fine. When I feel it necessary, I can have the naivete of a 4 year old. 

Sometimes making excuses for people is our way of trying to salvage their reputation in our eyes. Especially if it’s for someone you know and have only just discovered that they may in fact be another way. You don’t want to deal with the rug being pulled out from under your feet so you convince yourself maybe it was never there. Maybe it’s fine and you wanted to actually be on the floor. And if the person actually is responsible for how you’re feeling, the confusion, sadness, they couldn’t have meant it, couldn’t have done it on purpose because you know them right? Right?

As you grow I don’t think it gets easier to deal with loss. We know it’s inevitable. We’ve seen many come and go. Some die, some betray, some get bored and walk away and some just aren’t there anymore and you’re not really sure why, but it never gets easier, especially if your heart has a tendency of healing and your mind remembering everything but what hurts.

People are as they are, as they’ve always been. 

But we continue to make excuses and wonder why.

Will knowing why really make a difference or do we want to know why just so we know it’s not us?

That you weren’t the reason why someone is now untrustworthy/ disrespectful/ angry or whatever. Is it always about truly understanding it? Or, when it comes to those you know, is it more about knowing you had nothing to do with it and thus not having an extra burden to carry? It sounds selfish I know but, not impossible. Not all that far fetched. 

 

In primary school, if someone was crying we’d all gather around and ask “Ke nna?” meaning “Is it me?” Once you’d been cleared, you breathed easy, it had nothing to do with you, the task of figuring out who’d wronged the crying peer was brought up and once he/she was discovered, we’d go about basically judging them and it was no longer even about the one in tears, but about the Shameful One who caused this.

I wonder if it’s like that now in relationships. Does the reason why your partner doesn’t love nor respect you matter because you want to know, really want to know? Or just to know that you didn’t do anything to deserve unrequited love? To know that you’re worthy.

As hard as it is to accept, some people are just that way. They will not be changed by Love. They will not have an epiphany one day on a night out drinking and call with a marriage proposal. They won’t wake up one morning and suddenly know how to treat you. It just is how it is.

“Asking him to respect you is asking him to go against his nature. You know that.” – Karabo Mooko.

And that is when all of this hit. For people who spend a significant amount of time fighting for respect in every area of our lives, we’re okay with having disrespectful partners who never show any appreciation, friends we don’t trust and allies we can’t confide in.

And isn’t that our fault?

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“It’s the foreigners, the homosexuals, the feminists and the satanists”

My people say the most ignorant things without even noticing it. I’m usually the only one who gets offended when certain comments are dropped in conversation because certain stereotypes have become the norm to mention. They are regarded as a universal truth and I find myself dumbfounded when I’m confronted with people who honestly believe what they think of the next race,tribe,gender is the Gospel. 

While visiting someone recently we struck up a conversation about how men tend to feel completely free at home, leaving the gate open while walking around at the back of the house, while a woman would make sure every door in the house is locked, lock herself in her room and spend the whole night on high alert. He responded “Ee..akere a random Zimbo guy might walk in and rape her.” To which I asked, why would he have to be Zimbabwean? 

Understand that this happens all the time in Botswana. All the damn time. Any Motswana who tells you otherwise is a liar. A lot of Batswana are convinced  those from our neighboring country are beneath us. They sneer at them in combis, they’re rude to them in Tswana, a language not all can understand. They judge them, they verbally abuse them and they are downright xenophobic.

Will they ever admit it when you call them out on it? Never. They never even have an excuse.

See, they forget that they came here for work because times were tough in Zim. That most of the time when you see them, they’re working. Most of them don’t have the luxury of being a layabout as my people like to refer to them as. Some say they’re dirty, without considering that they work for most of the day as plumbers, electricians, contractors..Where would you expect them to get the time to be as clean as you’d like them to be? 

The majority of Zimbabwean women I know have stories reminiscent of those I imagine were in The Help. They’re raped by the men of the households they work at and can’t leave because they need the job. I knew a Lady who wasn’t allowed to eat anything but bread and was made to sleep on a floor in the garage with dogs. The family she worked for were seemingly morally correct, humane, progressive thinkers, and yet this is how they treated someone who they regarded as “different”.

At my cousin’s graduation party a few years ago, one of my aunts [those who you don’t really know how you’re related to but, whatever] said to my cousin, who’s the last born in his family, during her speech “Please delay moving out because we don’t want your parents to have to rent out the back to some Zimbabweans.” My two uncles, who’re from Uganda, and myself, were the only ones who flinched. I remember thinking “How can she be so old yet so dumb?” and getting up mid speech and leaving.

Do you understand how you look? Forget that though. Do you understand what you are? Listen. Insert that profound saying about logs, twigs and eyes here.

You guys are spoiled and with a false sense of importance and you know it even if you’ll never say it. Your kids are the ones drunk driving and killing people. They’re the ones  having kids left, right and center for the sake of hosting baby showers. The failure rates at our schools are disgusting. Our water, electricity and food ain’t shit and you still have the confidence to go on and look down upon others? Y’all though.

But no, it isn’t just about the xenophobia here.

It’s comments like “The gays are the reasons I can’t watch TV anymore. They’re everywhere.” and “Kids are failing at school because they’re turning gay”. 

“The feminists that are sprouting up everywhere are the reason why real men are raping. They must be put in their place.” 

“I can’t love nor respect a woman who doesn’t know that her place is beneath me. I’ll beat her into submission.”

“Nna mme ga ise ke mmone a itira monna. Ke tlebe ke batlang mo mosading oo sa itseng gore ke mosadi? Banyana ba Gaborone tlhe lea i’classa. Dilo tse di rata dilo.”

And the “Satanist” stamp that’s thrown around.. People are so silly, my goodness.  It doesn’t occur to them that in the event that someone even is Satanist, it’s a religion as is yours. But no, you’d rather use your internet connection to make an apple appear to be an orange rather than Google the characteristics of oranges wouldn’t you?

I had an experience a while ago whereby my ex attempted to pray for me and accused me of trying to steal his Soul because I went to his house wearing all black. Let me repeat that: Because I was wearing all black.

The ignorance defeats me. I cannot count the number of times I hear someone speak on a a taxi and all I can think is “Why are you like this? And aren’t you ashamed? Don’t you want to know better? Why is this The End for you?”

Ignorance is not bliss. The idiots annoy the shit out of the rest of us who’re trying to know and do better. 

I’m saying, what you’ve been taught is not what is. Is that hard for you to fathom?

I’m saying, you need to read. Learn about the World. Learn about anything and everything.

And lastly, think. Just bloody think.

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Think Like A Bitch And Get A Man

The dating scene’s gotten weird since I was out there. To be honest over the past couple of months I’ve been watching Think Like A Man, Going The Distance and trying to understand Why Men Love Bitches so I haven’t really seen firsthand what’s going on til recently. And frankly, I’d rather crawl back into my little hole and cuddle up with my intimacy issues and favourite porn site. 

I see while I was gone we decided communication is too mainstream for us and ignoring each other is the best way to keep the other around. All these rules were created by those who realized that no, in actual fact, grown people can’t do something as simple as date. Interact. Maintain romantic relationships. Communicate. Verbalize their desires. 

Nope. 

Selfless souls such as Steve Harvey and Sherry Argov sought to help us by telling us the best ways to manipulate, I mean, obtain and keep members of the opposite sex. And boy, did we listen. 

I’ll be honest right here and right now. I can’t do this. 

No M’am.

I cannot pretend, I cannot play the mind games and no, I cannot take dating advice that really sounds, for lack of a more eloquent phrase, stupid as shit.

“Don’t fix anything in the house. You’ll make him feel like less of a man.”

“Don’t nag him, he’ll cheat and leave and it’ll be your fault.”

“Don’t text him first, you’ll look like a stalker then he’ll go for your best friend.”

“If he calls, answer before the first ring is done, he’ll know you’re interested.”

Fuck. 

I’ve never been able to pretend. Especially when I like someone. I’ll simply tell you I do and what you do with that is on you.

No Sir, I do not have the time nor the energy to act coy. I don’t ignore calls to make you think I’m busy so you want me more. I won’t not text you because you might think I like you. Honey, I just might. So the fuck what?

I cannot jump back to primary school where we send each other subliminal “I like you. Do you like me as more than a friend?” messages. I refuse to and I think we’re pushing a  load of crap.

I think a lot of this nonsense could just be solved with respect.

If I respect you and your intelligence and maturity enough to lay my expectations on the table without treating you like a guinea pig and using tactics to try and obtain whatever I want from you, we’d be alright. Disappointed often maybe, but really in such situations, sooner rather than later, no?

If I respected you enough to answer your calls instead of ignoring you in order to “keep you interested”, there’d be less of this noise.

We’ve become cowards when it comes to love and we’d rather try and put it in a box, create  plans and missions like falling in love is going to war then we wonder why things don’t go smoothly?

Can we just not lie to each other?

Maybe others are okay with it but personally, I ask that you not lie to me.

I do not have the kind of heart that deals well with deception and betrayal. I have enough trust issues as is and I don’t know nor understand why people still say one thing and hide the fact that they’re doing another except for simply, they are cowards.

How can we honestly complain about the lack of honest relationships when we spend so much time trying to perfect the art of deception?

We cannot talk about being grown men and women and still not be able to verbalize what we want. Are we that scared of rejection?Is that it?

Dating’s become a chore. 

I dread meeting new men in my life who ALWAYS come with the “You’re so mature for your age, tell me your hopes and dreams and since you’re open minded and a feminist and whatever organize a threesome with your other feminist writer friend because you’re both beautiful and you don’t know that.”

My god. 

Listen, If I’m a bitch it’s because I’m like that naturally, not because a book told me to be so.

No, I will not act like you. I have no desire to.

I will not do anything I don’t want to in order to be chosen by you as worthy.

Can’t we see when people are just plain beautiful anymore? 

I think I still can but to be honest the pretense gets in the way and it never lasts.

I’ll say it right now I want something that lasts. I don’t mean the relationship should go on forever but let me see You all the time.

I still want to feel free to send needy texts when I’m down and not be ashamed. I want to be able to call if I’m happy at midnight and tell you I just wanted to hear your voice.

I want to be free with a partner with no advice nor interference from the media or friends because we both trust each other’s opinions and judgement. No? Too much?

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Why do you like him?

I have a friend who prefers to keep his private life just that: Private. He won’t tweet about it, won’t update his status about it, shit, he won’t even make phone calls to a Lady with his friends around and if he does, they’ll have no idea who he’s calling. It’s just how he is. See at first I thought this was shady. His secretive nature would lead one to wonder what he’s hiding but last night I understood why. Your private life is for you and you alone to have and to manage.

Unfortunately I talk about everything. It has it’s pros and cons.  Through communication I get to let go of a lot of things that bother me, even if I don’t discuss them with who I should, assuming a person is the problem. I learn new opinions, points of view and interact with all kinds of people. On the other hand, being so vocal means I also rob myself of having a private life. All the secrets and intimate moments I have right now can be counted on one hand. I almost always feel the need to share.

Now, when it comes to relationships, getting an opinion from a friend could do way more harm than good. We know. Asking her/him what to do, how to handle someone, what they’re like really ends up with you not doing what you should, speak to them [your partner].

I had a discussion with a friend about a man I consider, frankly, lovely. I swooned, she agreed on most bits and at some point said “If you wanna settle down or get married or whatever he’d be the perfect guy for you. He cares you know? And he listens and he’ll always be there, just say when.” At that point we’d been drinking, it was lovely to hear I guess.  The woman in me that wants to have a companion sometimes heard this and laid herself next to his image, ready. Here, I believe I messed up.

I went home, texted him and passed out. I awoke later in the night to what I considered a rather indifferent response to what I said [Which,no, wasn’t a confession of my undying love for him] and it just fucked up my night. No lie. I started wondering why he’d be so nonchalant, was it something I did? Maybe he’s lost interest. Is he fine? Should I call? Would that be weird? I know we aren’t together and no we aren’t really friends but.. And my mind worked like this while I went in and out of consciousness. I did not miss this bit.  I got mad. Then I felt bad, then I just had to wake up and ask myself “What’s your issue? Do you even like him that way or you’re acting like this because now you think you should? Do you? And know that if you cannot answer this to yourself truthfully, you’re gonna mess it up for everyone. Stop.” 

I get that way sometimes.

And that is how I ended up here. I thought about it. As lovely as this man is, and Black Female Jesus knows I think he’s beautiful, things are fine. I cannot honestly say I want to be His because to a certain extent right now I already am and this is all I’m willing to give right now.  His text, the one that I lost sleep over, was frankly how he always is. He doesn’t like texting and to be frank, it was nothing worth getting excited about. I tripped.

And you know what else? I’m like this all the time in relationships. Well at least I was in the last one. Wait, I’m like this in Life, all the time, to be honest. I overreact a lot, a lot of things either make complete or no sense at all to me and I have minor panic attacks all the time. Maybe I need to know when to shut up and think and when to share. Evidently I haven’t figured that out yet.

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