botswana

Mdu For Love

We live in a filthy city, and no I don’t mean the actual place itself, it’s not there yet. I’m talking about the people.  There’s a saying that in Gaborone “go bechitswe phamo” when it comes to relationships, which basically means “it’s grab and keep, and every man for himself.” Every other girl is a sidechick, knowingly or unknowingly.  Every other chap is either juggling or being juggled.  The couples that stay together are usually either pretending to be happy, stuck together because of all the time they feel they’ve put in, or fighting tooth and nail to maintain their genuine happiness and keep it from the vultures that are always looming around our social circles.

But I know nothing of long term commitments.

So here Othata, having been with her partner Mdu for 4 years and seven months this Saturday [He wanted you to know he remembers these things] shares her story and her insight on what it takes to keep a relationship going in Sodom and Gomorrah.

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People have been asking for almost 5 years now, “How do you guys do it?”  It’s a question that should have a simple answer, one assumes, and yet I fail to come up with one.  For the first time in 5 years, however, I will try to give you my side.
People assume we have a movie screen romance, “love at first sight” type of thing, but that’s nowhere close to the truth. I actually used to dislike this Prince Charming of mine, before I even got to know him! He has always been popular, and at some point I couldn’t seem to breathe without hearing his name. My best friend would tell me “Dude, there’s this guy called Pops at GSS [Gaborone Secondary School], wa [of] ‘Hotboys'”.  They had to be semi attractive if they were arrogant enough to call themselves such a name, but chances were, they weren’t. I’d never liked people who were hyped up all the time, 9 out of 10 times I was always disappointed.
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School would end and I’d get home, time to catch up with my cousin Epe (we lived together, the inseparable twins). I’d ask her,  “So how was school?” as she put down her GSS blazer and the first words out of her mouth would be “So today Pops did this…”   I had to hear about him everywhere I went!
Fast forward a while later, because of Epe I got to know almost half of GSS, made a lot of friends too, some people even thought I schooled there, but I never once met the infamous Pops! God does work in mysterious ways! New friendships were made, we completed High School and applied for Varsity [seems like ages ago].  During this time we were bums, the only thing we would do was go out, where we got all that money still beats me but it happened. And I’d still see everyone, except this Pops person.
We were officially introduced by my friend in ’09 when we were finally being accepted into Varsity, and my goodness, had somebody grown! He was sexy as hell.  Spiked dreadlocks, and like *counts on fingers* 10 piercings [we are grown now, I forgot] and yeah, did I mention he was sexy?
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Long story short, I forgot I never liked him in the first place. The start of our relationship began to write itself.
Getting to know each other, first kiss, making it official, etc. Since I’m not trying to write a book here [I think] let me focus on how we make it work.
For the most part, it just happened, I believe it was meant to be and there was no running from it.  If you believe in Destiny, you’ll relate. I thought I had the option of being single in Varsity, what I thought would be the true meaning of “living life”, but God/The Universe laughed and said “Look at this one!”
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I don’t think you can plan when you’re going to fall in love.  How or where you’re going to meet that person etc. We clicked, became the best of friends, easy as pie! But that’s the easy bit, everything else you have to work for.  Hard. There has to be effort in everything you do: communicating, trusting,  loving, caring, being there for your loved one, and although it sounds like work to many, the beauty of it is doing all this (and more) and not feeling like it’s hard work.
Whenever a couple is fighting a lot of single people think to themselves “Thank God I don’t have to deal with all that”, but in reality, people fight all the time: family, friends, etc. In my opinion it’s healthy for a relationship because after said fight you have a better understanding of each other’s points of view.  The other person’s opinion can actually better you (if you can take criticism), which results in you growing together.
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The key is to form a bond with someone who betters you.
Respect is integral too. You have to learn to respect your other half, that’s the only way you can have a fight and still manage to move past it. The only way you can actualize your potential and support one another.
Another important thing you need is focus, and it has to be from both parties. You need to understand what it is you want in life, [I could give tonnes of examples here].
Does being with one person make you feel complete?
Are you in a relationship but still envy your single friends?
Are you easily influenced or do you trust and understand yourself?
Once you know the kind of focus you both have, you can determine how far your relationship goes, and if you guys share the same goals, it will probably work.
Last but not least is trust.  If you understand each other it’s easy to trust one another and you’ll realize how unnecessary it is to question everything.
What is mean to be, will be.
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20 Things To Do In The Dark

Or rather, 20 things I’ve done in the dark.  Because that’s all we’ve had lately: darkness and silence.

“But don’t you live in a fairly developed country?” You ask, dear Reader.

“Why?!” You wonder.

I don’t know, man.  We have theories and mum government officials.

So here’s something to do on those days when we have no electricity for hours.

Feel free to add suggestions in the comment section.

1. Wonder how long it’ll be out for.

2. Play cards until you either win enough times to think you can be a poker champion.  Or lose enough times to go back to 1.

3. Tweet your disappointment, like a commoner.

4. Tell your pets your life story.

5. Consider becoming a political activist.

6. Picture how your life would be as Jason Statham’s wife.

7. Make a list of all the things you’d have to give up to attain that position.

8. 1 again.

9. Think about how many bjs you’d have to give in order to make sure that power cuts never occur again. [We know that’s probably not the key but.. Who knows, maybe if you give one to the right person in power..]

10. Wonder where you’d be at the current moment in time, 100 years ago.  Hunting? Pounding yam? Being sold for half a goat and kola nut?

11. Wonder if you’re prepared for a zombie apocalypse.

12. Consider getting fit. [Half a sit up does’t cut it anymore.]

13. Wonder if you’re indirectly still the White man’s slave.

14. 1 and 9.

15. 5 and 9.

16. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, wonder if you’d eat your pets.

17. Realize you have no recipes to prepare said pets.

18. Read a book.

19. Masturbate under candlelight and pretend you actually feel like being romantic. On your own. With half a candle burning. And no battery life.

20. Visit Facebook.

*Yes, I know it got grim pretty fast.

But so did our “load shedding” situation.

Kosher Nights and Better Days: Kosher turns 2

Kosher’s been the scene for many a debaucherous night for me.  I have vivid memories of shot glasses and massive bouncers.  Conversations with strangers in the bathroom and the effect dancehall has on People of Colour playing out in front of me on the dancefloor.

Shit, I even know the old lady who works at the bar and I honestly think she’s seen me so often I’d buy her a Coke if I saw her during the daylight.

If an event can be a home away from home, that’s what it’s been.

So when DJ Fauz asked me to come through and see what goes on behind the scenes, the groupie in me was ecstatic. [The writer in me.. uhh.. too. Yeah. Totally.]

The Twitter hashtag put itself together really: #hookahsandhoesatkosher.

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[As the night wore on, it proved rather..accurate.]

It was drizzling as I walked into the Cresta lobby.  Something I knew would still not deter party goers because we just live in that kind of city.  I found  set up in full swing.  The place was barren with tangled chords on the floor, the setup crew and hotel staff milling about with DJ Fauz, Ozzy the Great and Petula [Fauz’s gorgeous wife].  It felt a bit like how it must feel to wake up next to the person you might be in love with for the first time.  Here, naked, exposed and simple, you have to wonder if you’ll ever see them as flawless again.

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As I tried not to panic and remember that after all this, she’d look as gorgeous as she usually does, the Marked Men crew walked in.  Chub Heightz, VH, Mak and TT looked rather domineering until they started talking.  From a Beyonce impersonation by Chub to a rather heated argument about which is better, tea or coffee, the morning was filled with laughter as speakers, lights and sets went up around us.

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Tension was in the air though because this wasn’t just any random Kosher night.

Kosher was turning two.

Imagine. It’s been around as long as Blue Ivy.

By lunch time we figured it was time to calm our nerves, or start celebrating, depending on why you were there.

A Guarana and tequila shot later I was drawn out of the bar by the sound of Biggie blaring from speakers.

Ozzy The Great was going through his set and I could not wait to see how the crowd would react.  Pac, Shaggy, Biggie, a splash of old school reggae and some Busta Rhymes?!

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It was pure ecstasy.

Or at least I thought so.  The patrons of the Hotel strolled about nonchalantly as I fought the urge to jump in front of one and in a scene reminiscent of something out of High School Musical, get everyone grinding and swaying.

I was ready for a 90s dance battle and all the hotel staff wanted to do was ask me if I wanted tea or coffee.

FOR SHAME!

The hours passed and so did the liquor.  By 5PM I was ready to party and people, wherever in the world they were, probably weren’t even close to getting ready.  Door’s opened at 8PM and I felt hype enough to be in a Pitbull video. As people disappeared to get ready and the drinks continued to disappear within me to get me ready, the sun set. A quick dash upstairs into the hotel to freshen up and we were set.

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As usual there were a few people littered about, dancing awkwardly and sipping slow.  All three rooms, the two Turn Up rooms and VIP had a visible social hierarchy set up.  The Cool Kids, the Thirsty Men, The Pseudo Celebrities, The Occasional Bad Bitches and the Rest.

A lot of men gravitated towards the game station, drunk and eager to prove their dominance over the characters and whomsoever challenged them.

The place looked gorgeous. My lover had remained her youthful vigor and now revelers marveled and spilled drinks all over her as she filled up.  She got full fast.

A few hours into the event Kosher was so full people were crowded around the stairs contemplating what to do.

Me? My camera abandoned, because I just knew my mind couldn’t pay attention to more than two objects [My phone and cup], I was dodging photos and playing a hospitable Stepford wife [albeit one in short shorts and a beanie].

Eventually I found myself seated with DJ Fauz, Mak, TT and the strikingly beautiful DJ Cupid taking vodka shots because..

Did I mention Kosher was turning two?

Because that’s like 13 in the entertainment industry.

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It turned out to be an amazing night.  From the crowd going insane when Drunk In Love dropped to me being thoroughly convinced life was meant to be lived under strobe lights, it was filled with memorable moments.  I watched like a proud mother as patrons danced in what just a few hours before was an empty, unattractive room.  I knew something they didn’t: She isn’t this gorgeous all the time.

And the appreciation I had for the team afterwards!  Who knew so much tedious work goes into bringing us a few hours of pleasure?

Two lucky attendees won P1000 apiece and I’m sure a lot of people went home having acquired something priceless too. [No, not herpes.]

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Laone, one of the winners

The next morning, I woke up feeling like Ke$ha.  If a week filled with “Yo dude. Are you alright?” messages from friends and strangers alike is anything to go by, there are memories of that night that should be left in the recesses of people’s cameras.

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And did I mention the kidney infection that followed?

THAT was like contracting chlamydiae from your main chick due to your own irresponsibility.

But oh, what a wonderful ride it was, at the time.

To mark the journey that has been, I got in touch with a few people to share their Kosher memories.  Get into it below:

“The first time I went to Kosher I had no idea where I was gonna spend the night and I ended up drinking with my friends on a bench with a girl from Amsterdam.  I got so drunk I actually danced. If you know me, you’ll know why that’s horrific.  Lol. It’s my go to place in Gabs to party now.” – A White girl named Neo, Gantsi.

No, really.

“I met my girlfriend at Kosher a year ago.  S/O to Fauz for dropping the set that had her grinding on me!” – Gorata, London. 

“Kosher’s saved our night life scene, man.  I’ve been going for over a year now. That place is like home.” – Dee

“I have a love/hate relationship with that place. I always do the vilest things there. Lol. *covers face*” – Tshepo, Joburg. 

To say it’s love from us to Marked Men, Fauz, Cresta and everyone who continues to make  Kosher Sessions a possibility is an understatement.

Here’s to more years and more debauchery!

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Our President, Who art in... Where exactly?

ILLUSTRATION BY THEBE PHETOGO

Imagine my shock at discovering that our President’s been in the news for more than donating blankets and increasing alcohol prices lately! If you’re not from Botswana, you might think that this is a joke, but I’m sorry to say, it really isn’t.

Our President is notoriously known for applying military tactics when it comes to his movements. From disappearing for months on end with no explanation to the people, only appearing in rural areas to donate blankets and hold hands with old ladies, to confusing the enemy.. I mean, the people.. By introducing alcohol levies that supposedly were meant to go towards building a rehabilitation center, which we never saw.

He travels for wildlife summits, participates in local radio stations’ weight loss/fitness competitions and wins while maintaining a perfect afro, improves his Setswana and runs this country from God knows where, most of the time, without breaking a sweat.

Amazing isn’t he?
He’s like.. Super President.

Except the average city dwelling Motswana isn’t happy with Rraarona. Unlike their village dwelling peers, they aren’t easily impressed. When they do decide to vote, their vote can’t be bought with a few blankets and a handshake.

For some, it is to do with constantly having to change their drink of choice because every other year it becomes even more expensive. One goes from Cabernet Sauvignon to Autumn Harvest and they must wonder who’s to blame for the disorder in their lives.

For others it is because he seems to be a phantom president, appearing only really during election year and on certain holidays. The people want to know where he is, what he’s doing, and if it’s benefiting them.

The more politically/socially aware chaps say what they’ve said since he started making decisions: Why does this feel like a dictatorship? When do WE get consulted? Why don’t things add up? And why is everyone silent?

Save for a few lighthearted [read: fearful] articles by anonymous/brave writers asking all the difficult questions, no one speaks of our Leader. Even the brazen individuals on Botswana Twitter refer to him using code names because nobody knows if the legends of the Big Boss Man making calls to have a pesky citizen “dealt with” are true or not.

We’ve heard rumours that John Kalafatis was shot for a bit more than just being a hardcore criminal, but that’s neither here nor there.
The story itself was probably the first time our generation and possibly the one above it had to question government’s now gangster like tactics.

All we got were vague statements and mentions of ongoing investigations.
The accused got 11 months in jail, only served a few months and are now free to traipse the streets.

And then John’s father was attacked by unknown assailants and left behind Sir Seretse Khama barracks. Unfortunately he did not make it.

A while later, his son and John’s brother, Costa, was shot by what he described as plain clothes officers in a government vehicle and after months of fighting for his life, survived.

And what did our good old government and police force have to say?

Wait for it..
Wait for it…

He’d snatched a handbag in G West and he had been a fugitive.

I pity the fool that believes that nonsense, which, if I’m being honest, might just be a lot of Batswana.

As I read the post explaining why the police were looking for Costa, on Facebook, before the shooting, I rolled my eyes and was both offended and annoyed at what I read.

Costa denied any involvement in the purse snatching and really all I’d like to say is that if snatching a purse gets you murdered, we’d have much higher death tolls.

Theories continue to sprout about exactly why the poor family has been befallen with such grief and more questions are raised in the minds of Batswana.

Evidently there was a silent “D” for “Discretion”when His Excellency got into power.

Yarona FM News reported yesterday that our esteemed Leader “hasn’t attended a single United Nations General Assembly or African Union Heads of State Summit but has attended six Conservation International board meetings since assuming power in 2008.”

This was apparently revealed by Minister for Presidential Affairs and Public Administration Mokgweetsi Masisi in Parliament.

“The AU provide an effective forum that enables all Member States to adopt coordinated positions on matters of common concern to the continent in international fora and defend the interests of Africa effectively while the United Nations on the other hand, aims to promote international co-operation.

Conservation International, whose board Khama is a member, empowers societies to responsibly and sustainably care for nature. He also has personal interests in the sector with significant investments in tourism.

Masisi said Botswana has been represented in all the AU and UN meetings by either the Vice President or Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation on behalf of Khama.”

Now I cannot say why the Father of the Nation did not attend these meetings, I know nothing of the man and can only assume that maybe he feels it more important to be one with nature than to attend to trivial matters brought up by the AU.

He might just be a busy man.

Too busy in fact, to keep up with the promises that he makes to constituents.

Yarona FM news reported again that President Ian Khama has failed to deliver on his promise to help resolve the poor water drainage system in Gaborone West South.

“Khama said during his popular presidential walkabout in the constituency last year that he will address the problem which causes floods during the rainy season.

He told the residents that the new backlog eradication initiative would take care of the situation.”

And yet Yesterday when the area MP Botsalo Ntuane asked when the affected areas in the constituency would be rehabilitated, Assistant Minister of Local Government and Rural Development Botlogile Tshireletso told Parliament that due to competing priorities and budgetary limitations, rehabilitation has not been possible.

The people were told that hopefully, 2014/15 would be the year.

Oh, politics.

A messy, filthy thing, only for the gullible and those with slick tongues and shifty eyes.

[No, I’m not likening you to snakes. Well, not really.]

It is election year.
After this post I may not be around to see the polls.

Of course we already know how this is going to go.
The BDP is kind of like the ANC and in a sense, ZANU PF, in the sense that, although you don’t know if the people are voting for the political party or the leader, the outcome is always the same.

From what I hear cigarette prices will be going up too soon.
I’ll just be here, hopefully still in one piece, smoking half a cigarette rather slowly.

These are the days of our lives, kids.
I think we’re all grown up now.

Fuck you, Pay Me: On Business, Sex Work and Courting

I often find myself discussing sex work with possible suitors.  Probably a cringe worthy notion to some. Why would you discuss sex work with a man who’s trying to woo you? Won’t that dissuade him?

2 things.

1.   I don’t really care if it does.

2. I’ve found a person’s opinion on something like sex work says a lot about their mindset.

It’s no secret to those that know me that in the future I would love to actively work in the sex industry.  Now here, for most people, their first thought is “She wants to be a prostitute” because to them, it is the end all, be all of sex work.  This thought is usually followed by “Why would a sane [haha, I haven’t been that in YEARS] seemingly normal person willingly want to be a streetwalker?” and when we get here, I have to turn back and explain a few things.

Sex has never been taboo for me. As far back as I can remember, it’s always fascinated me beyond the prepubescent frenzy things kids shouldn’t know causes.  I’ve always wanted to understand it, how it makes people feel, what it does, the effect it has on the body and the mind.  As much as many over the years tried to dissuade me from viewing it in a non taboo way, it hasn’t worked.

I still marvel at how something so simple, so natural, has so much power.  How cleavage can cause a ruckus.  How the female body can be seen as both the Devil’s playground and  a mecca for society at large.  How a man’s body is viewed by society as a Temple, a pillar, no matter how ugly it is.  How the meeting of these two, for pleasure, for financial gain, with consent or without, is viewed  by society.  What it means.

My views on sex were never as simple as “It should only be had by people in love”.  Bodies were Legos to me.  Where’s the fun in only joining the two pieces that fit exactly together? What can you learn from that? What does it create?

Because I appreciated sex, I appreciated those who had it.  You can’t love the product and hate the producer.  Sex workers, to me, were kindred spirits.  I read about them, I watched movies about them, I wanted to know their stories, their backgrounds, who they were beyond what society says.

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And I did.

And the more I understood, the more at home I felt.

I’ve often told people, writing about sex isn’t something I chose, it chose me.  The life that I live is conducive for that and honestly, it comes too effortlessly for me to NOT think it’s one of the things I’m meant to do in Life.

Oprah, Karrine Steffans and Asa Akira are the closest to role models I’ve ever had.  People worlds apart who fit perfectly in my mind when it comes to my goals.  All three women have been trail blazers in their respective fields and are celebrated worldwide for their achievements.

Oprah has an award winning mouth, Asa an award winning anus and Karrine, an award winning mind.

I deem them all glorious.

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I’ve met so many women over the course of my writing career who just needed some reassurance.  A helping hand, an ear. Understanding.  And I have related to each and every one of them.

I have friends who are sex workers and I have friends who are chaste and unapproachable on the subject.  I have seen both sides and I judge neither.

A lot of people use the law to shit on the credibility of sex work.  People who watch pornography and listen to urban pop stars and have galleries full of scantily clad women will be the first to spit on a prostitute should they meet one.  Or judge women with Sugar Daddies.

A person with a favourite pornstar will be the first to yell out how whores are disgusting.

The cold, cold irony.

They pick what makes them feel morally clean without logically and critically thinking of their statements.

An escort and a porn star aren’t worlds apart.

A street walker and a stripper one can pay a little extra for other favours aren’t worlds apart.

Hell, the modern day pop star isn’t all that different from a stripper.

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They all deserve respect but a lot of people don’t see this. Even in the sex industry itself there’s classism.   The porn star will think she’s better than the prostitute.  The lady with the sugar daddy will think she’s smarter than the stripper.

And that is honestly how a lot of people are.

When people ask me with thinly veiled contempt if I’d be a prostitute my response is “I wouldn’t particularly WANT to go into that avenue, I’d rather be an escort but hey..” And it’s not a classist issue for me. Hell, it’s not even a safety issue per se because at the end of the day you end up behind closed doors with a stranger.  Escorting would just be way more convenient.

No, I’m in no way trying to gloss over the problems sex workers face.  The abuse, the rapes, the loneliness and solitude, the shit side of it, but I’m saying, as a society, viewing them as unworthy of compassion or understanding, as less than, because they do what they do, is grossly hypocritical considering that in one way or the other, everyone is connected to the billion dollar industry that is.

Sex work stories need to be told.

Not just porn star memoirs, we need more honest depictions from both those who joined it out of necessity and those who joined it of their own accord. We need to make this a safer place, a stigma free place, for those who partake in it.  And I want to be a part of that transition. A part of that change.

First and foremost I dedicate what I do to educating and assisting. I’ve found I make the little difference that I do through relaying honest experiences and sharing what I’ve learned, and that isn’t changing.

That isn’t changing and I need possible suitors to understand that my mission, my journey in Life, though not set in stone, has a path, and what’s on it may not always be peachy and mainstream.

I don’t desire the “Sex work is disgusting” men. I don’t desire anyone who has a problem with what other people do to survive and thrive, that doesn’t affect them.

And so the “I’d pay for sex but sex work is immoral” people are written off.

So are the “Why don’t you do something more noble?” people.

People need protection and they need someone in their corner.  They need understanding. They need to be heard.  What they do with their bodies does not suddenly rob them of their rights, contrary to what a lot of Governments and society tends to assume.

So, if I do become a full fledged Whore, I will do so wholeheartedly. Because what is ownership of one’s self if what one does is still dictated by everyone else?

Botswana to pregnant women: “You’re either a mother or a murderer.”

Currently, the average sexually active Tswana woman’s choices are rather grim should she fall pregnant and not want to keep the baby, for whatever reason:

  1. Have the baby
  2. Have the baby and give it to someone to take care of
  3. Have an unsafe abortion
  4. Resort to whatever comes to mind to “fix” the situation

All of which are rather damaging emotionally, physically or both.  These women feel powerless and misinformed, and society tells them “You’re either going to be a mother or a murderer.”

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Sins of the Father

It’s an unfortunate truth that we all become our parents before we die.  I often think one is made up of both their parents not just physically, but psychologically and spiritually, and if you’re lucky and able to, you add on the little authentic pieces of yourself as you become yourself.

This is how I asses who I am.

When I was young I was my mother. Naive, caring, sweet, considerate, emotional. I was thoughtful and diplomatic.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve pushed my mother’s positive attributes aside and become my father.  Short tempered, occasionally belligerent, secretive, deceitful when need arises, and selfish.

Growing up I never understood why my father was as he was.  It wasn’t until I knew about his background that I began to somewhat understand his behaviour.  My grandfather was a polygamist who preferred his second wife over his first wife, my grandmother, and therefore neglected his children by her.  My father and his siblings would go for weeks on end without seeing him and when he was around, he’d cause a ruckus and then fuck off. My grandmother in turn became resentful and took it out on the children [not so much physically as psychologically].  My father would often run away from home or hide and wouldn’t speak to anyone for weeks on end.

He left home at 17 and went to start a life in Phikwe, close to Bobonong, then eventually joined the army and moved to Gaborone to prosper.

My mother came from a loving, close family in Moshupa. She went to school and lived a peaceful existence.

Now imagine that union.  The two of them together is a trip, to say the least.

Although both of them have gotten this far in Life, maybe what deterred me from becoming my mother was what I regard as weakness from her when it comes to dealing with hardship and things of that nature. There’s such a thing as “too nice”.  Watching how my mother was unable/unwilling to stand up for herself and was constantly crying over something someone else had done, I decided I didn’t want to be that way.

I, however, thought I was too intelligent to become my father.  I thought it wasn’t something I had to stop myself from becoming because deep down I knew it wasn’t okay. Kind of like being a murderer. You don’t constantly have to tell yourself not to kill because you don’t think about it, you just don’t kill.

I learned that the best way to deal with him was to become like him.  For lack of a better expression, it was kill or be killed.

Now my mother, who honestly tried her hardest to shield me from his flaws, has no choice but to admit that I embody them. And it’s unfortunate but I do believe it necessary to be so.

I see it in the way I interact with people, in my romantic relationships and my decision making, I can be a bully and rather irrational. And I swear it’s getting harder to change the older I get.

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NOIR ET NEON

NOIR ET NEON

Christmas is over, you can stop pretending to like spending time with your family now.
This year’s done and what better way to say “Fuck you then, mate” than getting drunk in a dome in the middle of a mall on a Tuesday?

On the 31st of December come party with us as we aim to do something different this year at the Main Mall Square – Cresta President Hotel. Yes we will be outside in the Main mall partying it up in a dome for this Year’s #NoiretNeon (Black and Neon) themed New Years Eve Party.

WITH :
► DJ FAUZ
► DJ MYZA
► OZZY THE GREAT
► DJ BUSH
► DJ AIMO
And special Guest DJs

P100.00

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Doors opens at 8 PM Sharp
DRINKS WILL BE SOLD AT PUB PRICES ON THE NIGHT!!!!!!! [See Ian, we shall overcome!]

★Top 40 – Hip Hop – Dancehall & RNB – Dance – House – Electro – Soulful house – Kwaito ★

18 + EVENT

For more info click on the image above.

Time, Birth and Death

It’s the end of the year and a part of me is truly shocked I made it this far. Frankly, I was shocked I made it to my birthday in July.

I often wonder if I’m just perfect at making horrible decisions or I’m one of those people who are meant to live a certain kind of Life and just figure out a way to get through it.  Is it destiny or a string of Fuck Ups?

The 14th of January 2013 I had a miscarriage.  When you hadn’t even known that you were fertile, no less pregnant and wake up to contractions and blood rushing down your legs, it’s a special kind of trauma. One of those experiences words can’t even begin to describe.

It was a bleak time.

I honestly don’t think I knew the meaning of depression until I went through the next couple of months after it happened.

There were days when I’d wake up and cry because I was still alive. I felt guilty and lonely. As if I’d somehow caused it and even though I knew I hadn’t, I felt like the blame needed to be passed somewhere and I was the only one to carry it.

I didn’t want to write about this.  The thing with sharing experiences with people is that not everyone will respect it.  We live in a society where everything turns into a joke, no matter how traumatic, and one never wants to be on the receiving end of being dismissed.

Friends often ask me if, in a sense, it wasn’t a blessing. If I would have kept the child and really, I don’t know. But I would have liked to have been the one to make the decision.  I felt [possibly still feel] like my body betrayed me.  For months afterwards I’d have panic attacks when my menstrual cycle came around and menstrual cramps would leave me terrified with flashbacks of that morning.

It’s been, by far, the most painful experience of my Life.

I still cry about it.

And I’ve learned that the real pain in certain experiences is that you go through it alone.  You can’t collectively grieve, even with people who understand.

It’s your loss and you have to come to terms with it.  You grieve as long as you want and you do your best to get by.

This is not a “Everything will be fine, just keep going” post.  Sometimes I have no guidance to provide.

What I CAN say is Life’s taught me that Time heals and creates all wounds.

And that’s that.

“…But then she has to be so transparent and so honest, and like, her secrets are completely – they belong to everybody. And it’s caused her problems in her personal life. That’s almost common knowledge.

So I think it’s this thing where you feel – it’s such a cliché, but like such an open book sometimes. It’s a struggle to try to figure out what to keep to yourself and what not to. Because writing, for me, is so important, and I need to do it. It’s a physical need. And so the more difficult a thing is I’m going through, the more I’ll write about it. Sometimes I feel like, “Should I be keeping that to myself, or is that not appropriate?” But then I think, “Fuck it. Whatever.” And write about it anyway, because I need to.

The purpose that it serves is greater than ego or pride or what people may think of you and all the rest of it. I spent a long time trying to make sure that I wasn’t worried about being embarrassed or stigma or people thinking that they know you, because they don’t. The more that you work on your craft, the more that you can find ways to write about the most terrifying things, things that you can’t even really say out loud to yourself, but write in a way that still feels very safe, and everybody takes something different away from it when they read it.” 
– Warsan Shire

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