Letter 2 - The Metro of Priorities...

Dear Sisters and Brothers

Today, let’s put the whole age thing aside. Let’s talk.
Let’s talk because I have a concern. Not because I know more or age has taught me better.
Let’s just get real.
Please allow me a fraction of your tea-break or lunch hour, your attention and your open mind.

So, the Metro FM Music Awards are upon us. Alongside gigs like the J&B Met, the Durban July and the South African Music Awards, this is by far one of the biggest events in the country. It is one of Durban’s major weekends, one of the radio stations flagship projects and everyone’s favourite music ceremony.
Of-course this is due to its relevance, its on-the-ball understanding of the local entertainment scene and its 10-over-10 flair. Every year the MMAs are - where swagger lives, where entertainment flows, where the A-listers mingle with ordinary folks, or so I think. The MMAs are where it goes down. Without fail. The MMAs are where people look good, feel good, sound good and dance good. It’s where young people are reminded of how they make their country a place to live-in. The essence of our generation is encapsulated in this one weekend. This is where everyone wants to be seen.
This weekend many young people will step out of their cities, leave their boring lives behind – just for this weekend and turn-it-up like there is no tomorrow. I’m sure we all deserve that kind of break once in a while.

That said, this week is also one of the most worrying periods of a South African year or entertainment calendar. This week alone, hundreds of young people will visit a bank for a loan, while hundreds more will approach a friend, family member, relative or associate for a loan, this as hundreds more will use their CREDIT cards to ensure that they don’t miss out on the festivities that will take over the city of Durban this weekend.

You see, South Africa’s democracy is only turning 21 years old this year. Although that sounds like a hell-of a lot of years, the truth is, things haven’t exactly gone as we thought they would. Poverty is still a painful reality, access to opportunities is limited, our lack of education holds us back, our laziness eats away at our lives, our sense of priority or lack-of nurtures cycles that are bound to keep us poor. Again, please don’t take my opinions for facts. Right now – I just want to express a concern and hopefully, show you that thrills are not worth bills and spills we can’t afford.
You see our young democracy has its very costly loopholes. Loopholes that will take centuries to address.
See, unless if you are very connected, are a tenderpreneur, are dating someone who is loaded or are a black diamond – the truth of the matter is, you cannot afford to attend events like the MMAs. See if you are a working citizen, who lives anywhere in this country, has responsibilities, are paying bills to survive – you are outside of the market that ought to be in Durban this coming weekend.

Let me clarify a few things before I go further.
1- I don’t want to go to Durban this weekend. Not my kind of scene.
2- If I wanted to or had intentions to – I’d have to make a plan. A plan that goes way outside of my humble pocket.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s continue with the issue at hand.
If you are going to go into your savings account to settle the dress, weave, nails, shoes, transport, accommodation, tickets, food and booze this weekend – that’s your money, you worked for it, spend it as you wish. What would be sad though is if you’ve spent weeks and months unable to enjoy things that really matter in life saving up for one weekend. What would really suck ‘ma se kind’, is if you haven’t been good to yourself for a few months, just to spend one fun weekend in Durban with people you hardly know, chasing light that are not about you, hoping to mingle with people who are going to forget you as soon as they walk away from you, that’s if they notice you at all.

See the truth about events like this one is – we mere mortals, would like be in the midst of the bling, lights, camera, action and stars – even if it’s one time only, just one time. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. You see, we would like to see the celebrities in person, say hello to them, sit in the same row with them, go to the same after party with the stars, and be introduced to them. And again, there’s nothing wrong with that.
You see, there’s something about the rich and famous that makes us want to tell the next person that we know them or have at least chilled with them just once – that does not make you shallow. That’s why they are called stars, celebrities or ‘the rich and famous’. What is not ok is us getting loans – from anywhere – just to have that privilege…it is completely shallow. And the honest truth is, come Monday – all you have left is what you can tell the colleague who didn’t go to Durban and hopefully – you will not be showing off. The truth of the matter is – unless if you were some celebrity’s trophy date or didn’t make a fool of yourself with a disaster of an outfit or drinking yourself into a joke at the after party – no one really knows you were there. Which leaves me wondering – why would you work so hard to be at an event that doesn’t have a MEANINGFUL impact on your life.

Dear Brother and Sister of mine…

If you are going to the MMAs this weekend, I hope all is in order. I hope your beloved mother is not going to bed hungry on most nights, I hope your kids are eating well, are healthy and get enough of your time and affection. I hope you’ve been sleeping comfortably – not on a tired mattress. I hope your kid does not eat 2-minute-noodles for supper while you save up for the MMAs. I hope you don’t have a door-knob or torn curtain you’ve been meaning to fix for over a month while you spend your savings or money you are going to have to pay back later on a meaningless weekend. I hope you have made the time to take your child out lately. Go somewhere with them not dragging them along but for their gain, entertainment and leisure. I hope there’s no health issue you’ve been putting on hold because you can’t find the time to see the Doctor. Because if you have the time to go dance and drink in Durban, you must have the time to take care of yourself. I hope all your bills, especially the important ones – are all settled. Because in my opinion, it would be plain-dumb to have fun at the expense of your rent or bond payment.

I hope you are going to the MMAs for yourself, not to fit-in, please a friend or to take photos for your Facebook account. I hope this life of killa weaves, expensive dresses, glitzy events, mingling with the stars and drinking MOET does not leave you wishing you’d done better. I hope it does not leave you feeling like you invested your time and energy on regressive exercises while all the important ones suffered. Don’t be half the parent, don’t be a disappearing partner, don’t be a son or daughter who leaves supportive parents concerned, don’t be a friend who pressures another to turn-up or a show-off , don’t travel to another province just to rub such in other people’s faces. I hope you are not going to be on a crash-diet just for a weekend that’s going to pass. I hope you are not going to spend the next ten years attending these kind of events because unless if they pay you, celebrate you, teach you something, give you access to a sustainable or meaningful path– the truth is you are going to spend years wasting time and money.

I am now in my thirties and know that I can’t be committed to the same things I was all about in my twenties. Growth is the ability to miss things because they aren’t for you anymore, because you’ve done them enough, because they no longer mean the same thing to, because your priorities have changed, because you can’t afford them financially, because time with your kids, better half, family or friends would be more meaningful. Don’t be blown around by hype.

Until next time…invest some time in your future.

Your loving sister…
Tumi Sedumedi

Letter 1 - When Emptiness Screams....

Dear Younger Brother and Sister of mine...

There is something I need you to know. You are special. I don't care who has told you what. I don't care what you have or would like to own. I don't care who your friends are. I don't even care what you have access to or not. I don't care who you have disappointed. I don't even care who you are dating, are engaged to, are willing to sleep with, follow around or hand your life to. You are special.
The FACT that you are special is not my opinion or what I would like you to believe. It is a given. You, me and all of us were made by the same creator, who loves all of us EQUALLY - no matter what circumstances, the media, social networks, people or religion say. You are special and loved by our creator whether you are a suicide bomber, a saint, a prostitute, a priest, a killer, a university graduate, a teen mom, a celebrity or anything else. The fact that you are special depends not on a title or belief. It depends not on your parents or affiliations. YOU ARE SPECIAL.

You see, I am a lover of life. I am highly thankful for all that I have. More often than not - I am struck by random loads of emotions, just at the realisation of how blessed I am.
Right now, as I type this letter to you. I am employed, have a place I call home, my son is healthy, my family is supportive, I have access to so many opportunities, I have a circle of friends that I can count on, I have colleagues who understand me, I just ate, I am in love with my boyfriend, I have a set of wheels I use to get around, I do a lot of things I am passionate about when I choose to.

That said, my life is not perfect. Right now, money is tight, my knees are killing me, I am not happy at work, I am annoyingly loud, I lack timing, I shout at my son too much and am not on speaking terms with a loved one.
I am telling you all of this because I know for a fact that none of the things I have mentioned above, good or bad, define me. They don't make me any more or less special.

You see, lately I have been realising how a lot of people have forgotten or don't know how special they are. Friends, colleagues, associates and others I don't know from a bar of soap.
I have been bothered, concerned and disappointed.
People are flashing, showing-off, bragging, boasting and trying to rub things, brands and possessions in people's faces.
Dear younger sibling of mine let me enlighten you. People who are content with their truth, people who are on great terms with who they are, people who have self-love, people who know the value of their existence and people who make a meaningful impact on others don't have the time, the emptiness or energy to allow material goods, brands, price tags or money to be the centre of their lives or moments.

Hear me well, I am not saying you and I should not own expensive things. I am not saying we should not reap the rewards of our hard-work or your inheritance. I also am not saying you should feel guilty for enjoying your riches. What I am saying ngwana-ko-gae is, be in the moment. Enjoy what you have without feeling the need to announce to the world or the next person.
When you spend your money on whatever you can afford - don't make it anyone else's business. The make of your car, size of your house or neighbourhood you live in, the tags on your clothes, the places you host your parties at, the colour underneath your shoe, the bling on your finger or the titles in front of your friend's name can be all gone tomorrow. What then? Who are you without them? Is there more to your than those THINGS??? What if all those people you are trying to impress don't even notice that you exist???

Try enjoying the organically good things about life. The laughs that hurt your stomach or bring you to tears, the moments that just make you cry, the friend who shows up when you've given up on getting any form of support, the boyfriend who says "you are beautiful", the niece or nephew who gives you a nick-name, the mom who gives you a hard time, your strength and resilience, your family's health.
Take a selfie and post it because you are feeling beautiful or blessed. Not to show-off your expensive weave, the brand of your shades or flashy car. Show off your child's good results - not the name of the private or exclusive school. Appreciate that you are having a great time at a concert - don't upload that photo to remind people of how connected you are.

There's so much more to life than showing off.

YOU need to be fine with the person you see in the mirror whether she/he wakes up with all the possessions, titles, connections and following still there or gone. I wish you a life where you are so fulfilled that showing off just seems ridiculous. A life where the moment does not seem any less meaningful just because it ain’t on your phone to upload on facebook, instagram or twitter. I wish you a life that is about moments that no-one can take away from you and achievements that build you and not an impression.

When you inspire, you'll have no time to desire. Trust Me I Know....

Until next time...
Be in The Moment. You are special
Your Sister
Tumi




People who don't have a full
understanding of their purpose
in life are reduced to bragging
about possessions.

- Tebogo PureFinesse Kekana

The Unfair Woven Debate...

Recently, South Africa's most followed and perhaps loudest investigative journalist Debra Patta based her weekly current affairs TV show on the weave, some still refer to it as human hair, some call it bonding and others simply call it synthetic hair. In that episode of 3rd degree Miss Patta's team documented the shocking story of how Indian women sacrifice their hair in the name of religion and how the same hair ends up being sold in other countries for thousands of rands and dollars. If you are not familiar with this topic - let me bring you up to speed. Weave is hair extensions sown onto or glued onto an individual's natural hair or scalp. There are a lot of reasons why people do it. It is mostly popular amongst black women all over the world. In South Africa, black women started warming up to the idea a decade ago, and since then the number of women here at home, turning to the weave has multiplied rapidly. As with anything in life - different strokes for different folks but we can not run away from the fact that black women in general wish they had longer, shinier and easier to comb hair. I'm not saying every single black woman lives with those hair desires but most of us do. Before we go any further, let's just clarify this - on any good day - natural black hair is very hard to comb, very, the pain is for most people the worst part of any morning. And the longer our hair gets, the harder it is to enjoy. So, as any South African would know by now - one of the most popular businesses in townships across the country is the hair salon. I do not know what the official stats are but if you asked me to take a guess, I'd say every 2 out of 3 black women relax their hair. This has kept the salon a stable business because one has to get their hair relaxed every six weeks but because our hair knows how to get it's way - by week four the natural hair at the bottom for most women already demands some attention. So the reality is, most women relax their hair once in four weeks. So, as 3rd degree got more and more interesting to the South African viewer, Facebook got buzzing with what has come to be known as the #weave debate. Every other woman who was watching swore not to have another hair-piece attached to their hair again. For the 1st time since 'Jub-Jub's dramatic car crash which claimed the lives of young people', young South Africans had something to talk about. Every second status update on Facebook for a week was about #the weave debate. The more I read the more I wondered. Was it the Indian women? Was it that the programme had an agenda and as always, the agenda had to be something, anything that makes the black South African community seem more shallow than we actually are. To top it off, the main interviews in that programme, a popular music show presenter (TV), Cosmopolitan editor and a poet who is for all things 'smart and African'. I'm not saying that I have a problem with any of them or their opinions but truth be told - they are no reflection of South African women. So as the #weave debate continued, it became real apparent that the programme had an impact on a lot of young black South Africans, and as the week progresses I saw a status update that had me thinking, angry, questioning the black mind-set and for a lot of reasons - it had me wanting to share my views on the debate. The status update was by someone I work in the same industry with and someone I know not-so-well. The update read:- "Wedging in the #weave debate I found myself most compelled to post the following as a response to my friends take: Anyone who can separate weaves from the black men and women using skin lightning creams, the Jews who bob their noses, Chinese who widen their eyes - is either blind to their own unconscious desires for preferring themselves with a weave on at the cost of a permanent receding hairline... or is trying to score cheap pussy points from a woman he hopes he never gets to marry and raise daughters. If the world was colonized by blind people no one today would be able to see the difference but because it was colonised by whites world over - there's an obsession to be the master. If you can understand and agree with psychology that children who grow up in abusive households are more likely to be abusers because it is better to be the abuser than the victim and the person who survives abuse "better" is the abuser - how do you not glimpse the worlds obsession with emulating whites? This is not to say I have never slept with a gorgeous sister in a weave but I know when it came to taking a wife - it had to be someone who can teach my daughters to love themselves as they are - the assumption here is that the world was always going to tell them they are not enough. If the decision is between a weave and wig, I hoped my daughters would grow up to opt for a wig so they spend most of their days preferring themselves as they are. The world has always been round even though at some stage everyone was convinced it was flat." Nothing about this update moved me, until I got to "...This is not to say I have never slept with a gorgeous sister in a weave but I know when it came to taking a wife - it had to be someone who can teach my daughters to love themselves as they are...." I was feeling a lot of things at that point, anger more than anything. I was offended. Let me share this with you before I go any further, I have an afro, the nappiest I've ever come across, the only other hair-dos you are likely to spot on my head - braids or cornrows - that's just what I like. I'm not saying this to impress anyone - I just want to make the fact that I'm not being defensive real clear. I have friends who keep their hair natural and friends who happily and proudly rock weaves. And, as I've said before - people rock weaves for a lot of reasons. Some just hate their hair, some would kill to have more volume in their hair but it doesn't come that easy, some simply have hair that doesn't grow, some can't bare the pain of combing hair, some are just lazy of having to maintain their own hair, some because of style and trends. So, out of all these reason I've stated above, I see none that suggests that people who rock weaves and extend their hair are shallow, dumb or love themselves any less than me or a woman who shaves her hair off. In my opinion, weaves are no different from nail-polish, make-up, fake-nails, push-up bras, high-heels, shaven heads, visiting the salon for a Brazilian Blow, fake eye-lashes, skin lightening products, tans and tanning products or even mascara. All of us, in the pursuit of a better looking us we do all these things. Just to hear someone tell us that we are looking good or just to have someone acknowledge our efforts in taking better care of ourselves we do things that are not the most natural things. Who on earth deemed ichiskop natural, smarter and the sign of a person who is self-loving???? Is a woman who will easily agree to be part of a polygamous marriage but keeps her hair natural more self loving than a weave-addict who wants nothing less than to be treated like a queen? Is a full-time weed smoker and alchohol abuser who has dreadlocks smarter than a weave addict who chooses to stay away from any intoxicating substance? Is a disrespectful woman with an afro a better mother than a humble and dignified weave loving sister? Maybe I'm missing something but when did hair become the measure of a good mother? Brothas, I feel for you - especially if something as irrelevant as hair is a wife-material barometer. I honestly thought we have a lot of serious things to think about before making that kind of commitment, important things, life changing things. Sistas, I feel bad that Debra Patta has managed to make you all feel like you have something to feel guilty about. Here's a newsflash - the jacket she wore during that broadcast or recording was produced in a sweat-shop by workers who put in long, stressful hours for money that can not even put food on their tables. The truth is - almost every other product we consume is produced by people who are reduced to nothing because of their backgrounds and the poverty they come from. Wine-farm workers operate under some of the worst conditions in the world in exchange for peanuts if not alchohol. Are you going to stop drinking wine? The worlds best and biggest brands take advantage of refugees and asylum seekers, they treat them like animals and pay them cents. Are you gonna give up your stylish looking jeans and knee-length boots? Here's my two cents worth. You are not your hair. Until Debra Patta is ready to look at issues like tanning, cosmetic surgery, body-part implants and weight-loosing products with the same amount of judgement and ridicule - ask yourself this one question - 'I'm I being attacked coz I'm black?'. And if a brotha thinks less of you because of your hairstyle remember this quote "Judging someone is no reflection on them but a reflection of you." Your weave will most probably be a reminder to your kids to constantly be in-charge of their appearance. If my mother was a weave fanatic, I'd most probably have respect for her for making sure that she looks the way she wants to. Why on earth would we have access to all these things if we didn't deserve them. As for the Indian women who give up their hair - no sista of mine is responsible for their narrow mindsets of following without questioning. All the women in my family do not do weaves, they are no fanatics of the trend but trust me, they don't raise better kids than any of my woven friends. There's more to life than hair-dos. Next thing we are gonna be choosing women based on the oil content in their lipsticks and glosses. Men need to get over their insecurities. Maybe its your duty to teach daughters how to love themselves as they are - not the woman's. To everyone else - if back-breaking high-heels or skin threatening tans are not a biggie, then safe, easy to manage and great looking weaves ain't a thing. This is not even a moral issue. Going back to that 3rd Degree broadcast, Lebo - who is one of my favourite artists, was speaking against weaves but had her short natural hair bleached blonde. In the words of Masauko Chipembere - "blonde hair and blue eyes ain't our gig". So, as I sit here wondering what hair-do I should go for next, because I can not spend 3 days combing my natural hair without thinking about how to avoid the pain I go through - I'm thinking, a weave should work. If that makes me shallow or not the kind of woman who can't teach a daughter to love herself as she is, what does that make you???

Dear Son...

A letter to Kitso Sedumedi.

Before you I was Itumeleng Sedumedi. Somewhat lost, a little emptier than the everage human being wants to be and I had a low self esteem.
I was into broken men, men who were a little more broken than I was.
Before you Kitso - I searched for things I couldn't afford to keep.
Before you - I used to look in the mirror and wonder what's missing.
Before you - my reasons for living were lame.
Before you came into my life I was feisty, I was aggresive and forward.
Before you - I probably didn't know my place.

I remember when I first suspected that I'm pregnant, I was even more confused.
I'd just broken up with your biological father. I was going through a difficult time in my life - not because of the break-up because truth be told - I'd been through a lot worse.
That time in my life was difficult because at last I was facing up to my weaknesses and I was looking at my fears in the face. For the first time in my life I was alone and didn't have anyone by my side to fool me into thinking that all is well.
I was going through a difficult time because for the first time in my life I'd came to the realisation that I hadn't been so good to myself. That I had been taking my life, myself and my existence for granted - and I was mad at myself - no one else was to blame.
I was trying to find myself on another level. A level of new standards - standards that didn't depend on anyone else but me.
When the Dr. told me that I'm pregnant - it threw me off, totally.
All I was thinking is - how can I be carrying HIS seed? He'd been cruel to me, unkind and he'd left me with bruises, literally.

It took me about a week to come to my senses. And when I did - my life changed for the better. You carried me through my journey to a new life. A journey that would have been so misguided had you not been inside of me.
The first few months of the pregnancy were difficult physically, I was in and out of hospital, scared I was going to loose you.
When the 12 week mark finally passed I was super relieved, I was so happy.

From that point onwards - I was in the most perfect space. I enjoyed preparing for your arrival, I got so much closer to my mother, so much closer. I grew - in every sense of the word. I grew bigger - thanks to you, I became patient - (nothing better to teach you that, than waiting for someone you haven't met but love so dearly to arrive), I calmed down - I'm still a very tjatjarig individual but believe you me, I'm calmer than I used to be.

I was told you'd arrive on the 7th of September, I was hoping you'd come sooner than that but NO Kitso, You decided the 11th was the perfect date. I can only describe the two days that led-up to that day as pure pain - nothing else, just pain.
The day you were born - I was alone, in pain, scared but none of that could match my happiness - I was about to meet my Darling Boy.
You were not well when you arrived. You didn't cry, you were weak and you were rushed to ICU. I was discharged before you and spent a few days visiting you in hospital. Times were hard, but you my boy came out of it a winner. You are such a fighter.

It's been 22 months since that emotional day and my life has been all that and so much more - only because of you.
I've always loved the name Kitso, I've loved it since the first day I heard it and I must say - now I know why I loved it so much - there's no name more appropriate for you.
You are the one who brought knowledge into my life. Self knowledge, Knowledge of all things meaningful and worth my strength and time.
Before you I didn't know a thing - and now I know. I know what true love is. I know what unconditional love is. I know why I get up every morning.

When you came into the world you brought with you a sense of strength to my will and character. I no longer question why I'm here or what my role is in this world.
When you came into the world you carried loads and loads of confidence that you delivered to me.
When you came into the world I became Itumeleng "Mama Kitso" Sedumedi.

The past 22 months have presented to me a million-and-one emotions.
Your milestones have made me so proud.
Your adventures have made me anything from nervous - through frustrated - to angry.
Your smile has healed many a difficult moments.
When you say 'mama' - I always feel like I'm right where I wanna be.
Your tantrums have made me such a negotiator.
You validate my existence without trying - there's no bigger gift.
I hope one day you are going to have siblings - and until then - I live for you Kitso Sedumedi.

I want you to know that I will do all I can to protect you.
I'll never take my responsibilities (of making sure that you are the best that you can be) for granted.
I love you - I've never loved like this.

I could never trade the opportunity to be around to see you become the dramatic, loving, lekker stout, smart and helpful person that you are becoming for anything else.

Your biological father may not be around to see you grow - but I want you to know (and never forget) that it has nothing to do with you and I.
I don't know if he'll ever acknowledge you but I want you to know that none of his actions should ever have to define you.

When the Dr. told me I was expecting a boy - I promised myself that I'll raise a man and not a boy. Hopefully - I can achieve that.
For me - nothing will be more meaningful than seeing you become a father to your children.
Along the way - you are going to be exposed to a lot.
You'll meet men who make disregarding their roles and responsibilities look like a walk in the park.
You'll meet people who can kill without even thinking twice about it.
You'll meet people who find pleasure in making others misreble.
I want you to know that - that's the world, maybe it wont get any better.
I just hope that I can help you find your place and way in it. A place that is fair, responsible, noble, kind, helpful, giving, respecting, respected, valuable, fulfilling, full of love and happy.

I love you and can't thank you enough for bringing KITSO into my life my boy.

From Mama

Successfully Lost?
The measure of success is (to me) not a formula.

Recently, someone I know updated their Facebook status to :"when people talk behind ur back,what does it mean?? simple! it means that u are 2steps ahead of them!! so,keep moving ahead in life!!!"
It wasn't the first time I see this statement and I'm sure it wasn't the last.
My first reaction was a laugh - a very light laugh, one that could be mistaken for a sigh, so I went on and commented - "hehehe...who came up with this line maar? It kills me. Personally, I don't think anyone is ahead of another mo lefatsheng. 2 steps my friend? Really?"
More than anything I was more disturbed by other WOMEN responding to this update with statements like: -
"true girla very true."
"I'm in agreement!"
"Good one..."

None of them questioning why she was making such a statement or who had upset her. That's what sistas do - right?

I must also add that the only man who commented on this update wrote "well...it means you should turn around.."

so after a few comments - she came back to us and added her comment that read "Lol. no man tumi,nt literaly 1...2...mara u r! u say we on da same level? disagree. y the envy,jealousy n so much competition then? my understandin of this phrase is let 'them' talk n hate while u headin '2steps'ahead of them ,wherelse they going nowhere!"

and I went to respond - "look, I'm in no way suggesting that we are on the same level. I'm just thinking Branson, Motsepe or Trump didn't get that far by trying to be "2 steps" ahead of anyone. I also don't think my achievements make me a step ahead of anyone (envious or not). What holds most meaning to one, can be utter bullshit to the next. All of us say a lil' something about someone that we wouldn't dream of saying in their face. That don't make them ahead of us. Get yours and get it for you, not to make Dudu or Rosemary envy you."

I don't know - I really don't. From as far back as childhood - I remember a serious need among among black South Africans to be better than the next or to be perceived as more successful than their own. I'm 27 years old and this behavior still exists. For us - that is what success means. You can have everything you want, you can have all your heart's desires but as long as no one envies you or is after your belongings and achievements - you are nothing. Really!

I could be wrong and I stand to be corrected if I am but from where I stand - just because someone says about you what they can't say to you does not mean that they hate you, are in competition with you, envy you or is below you.
I say a few things about my own sisters that I would not dream of saying to their faces. I'm not saying this behaviour is right or acceptable - what I'm saying though, is that - it does not signify anything that has to do with success or the lack of.

Another one of my observations is that people who aren't trying to gage their lives' achievements based on monetary issues, financial gain or 'bling' seem to be much happier, less competitive, more intelligent and certainly spot-on.

I have also observed that women who generally measure men according to what they make or generally relate success to money, bling and brands are not the brightest sparks. For real. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with a woman who knows what she wants. I really respect a woman who has taken her experiences and made them work in her favour. I have measures too. I know for sure that I do not want do be with a man who does not have a job, does not have a place of his own and does not have a car - those are my standards. PERIOD. I know what it's like to be with a man who doesn't have any or all those so I'm not about to put myself though torture. That though, doesn't mean I would turn my back against my man if he were to loose all those things. See a man who is determined to make ends meet and has proven it - is worth a lady's time.

Another observation - people who base all their live's minutes and seconds on money - whether they have it or not - are not the best of friends or the most loyal lovers. Deal with it. No gold-digger sticks around for the "small things" and no "cheese girl wanna be" wants to be there for a friend - unless if it means good times and good times only.

Going back to the topic - success is no formula. Not that I have its definition and not that I know it better than you or the next person.

My fellow black South Africans want to be seen in expensive clothes, they want to be seen driving the biggest and fastest cars, they want to sit at a fancy restaurant and drink the most expensive whisky. My people want to put brands before practicality. They wanna party every single weekend, they want to be seen with the rich and famous - none of them saving or investing in property. Not that there's anything wrong with any of that but is life not more valuable when one is happy, healthy, secure, informed, working towards a comfortable future and spending time with loved ones? Is life not about what truly makes us happy and not about the latest trends and what society deems cool?

Why on earth should what people think of you be more important than what you desire?
More importantly why should we take our God given time on this planet trying to prove to anyone that we are capable of being ahead, better, or "successful".

I think success is no measure or formula. It does not hold us to a corner and expect us to compete or conform. It is not cruel or judgemental. It is not unfair or detrimental. Me?! I feel most successful when I stand in front of the mirror naked, free of the world's material belongings, titles and so called expectations. I feel successful when there's no one else but myself in my mind and that makes me happy.

She wears the pants....
...how the man has (according to me) lost his place and pride.

While paging through a local women’s magazine recently, I felt nothing less than GOBSMACKED. There it was! An article that was really good but a little too late. It spoke to me, actually- it spoke about me, WAIT ....I don’t think I’m putting this right, this article took a whole chapter out of my book, as it is. WORD-BY-WORD.

It wasn’t about ‘The ultimate fantasy’, not about ‘OUR love for chocolate’, not about ‘The greatest weight loss programme’, not about ‘How you can lose a guy in 10 days’ and not even about ‘How to impress your mother-in-law’.
This article was real, it was my generation’s truth, it was everything a working girl should read and more, it was at last- something I could relate to on a realistic level, like nine­_nine – DIE WAARHEID. It was about ‘The Scrub’. I know you are lost, so I need you to take a deep breath and go back to the year 2000 with me. TLC voiced it, off-course it was just words on a good beat to us then, we sang along and we even knew the moves that went well with the song, we bought the album and we most probably respected them for ‘the hit’, but, were we listening??? Was the message the song ‘NO SCRUBS’ is carrying clear to us then-girls-now-women? Thinking back – do you think they had a point? I do, I actually know what they were on about. Yes, I’ve has a SCRUB experience, first hand, and I’m going to tell you all about it.
Please note that along the way I’ll be marking very important events/moments and habits that were nothing less than warning signs- only I chose to look the other way when the universe was trying to tell me something. Sistas, please take notes. Or Else.....
I’ll put a *W* sign next to everything you should read twice.

He was handsome, smooth and likable. He was take home- to-mom material. He was IT, the guy you sort of wish for and don’t believe your luck when you hook up with him, he was the ‘MAN’ and I was done. He was the perfect age, had the greatest dreams, knew what he wanted and exactly how he was going to get it. More than my attention he had my respect.

A couple of years ago I met ...., let’s call him Bond*, at a friend’s party. He seemed laid-back and he was good looking, but then again, so was his friend so I made nothing of him until he asked me for my numbers. I didn’t hear from him and I didn’t care until a few months later when I bumped into him and we made small talk. A few weeks later he asked to meet and over coffee this man went on about how he thought that I was “The ONE”*W*. Being the smart girl that I am, I told him how sweet that sounded and took the time to tell him how I wasn’t interested in being his ‘THE ONE’.
A few calls and an e-mail later he gave-up.
Out of sight-out of mind, until months later when I saw him at the Airport looking rather good, maybe it was just me or the place I was in, I was single, bored and I’d just come back from a very draining work assignment in Cape Town. I was happy to see brother-man, until his beautiful girlfriend appeared behind him. Well, out of sight-out of mind again. A month later he came to my workplace asking me for cash*W*, I know. You’d think that being the know-it-all that I’ve always been, I’d write him off, RIGHT?!

More than six months later this man invited me to his birthday braai, please note it was held at his friend’s place*W*. That day, we hit it off, like a house on fire. From that day on he’d come to work during my lunch hour and take me out for a coke, yes, a glass of coke*W*, nothing was sweeter. We’d talk about any and everything under the sun, and for the first time in my life I met someone who knew about my father and his work*W*, someone who understood my passion for the arts*W*, we had a lot in common*W*, had the same opinions on a lot of things *W* and so I was sold.
I don’t quite remember how he ended up at my mom’s place but he didn’t think twice about introducing himself and making himself comfortable*W*.
About a month into the relationship I started questioning why he hadn’t invited me to his place*W*, his response or should I say excuse was how he was living with his troublesome younger sister and how he wanted to lead by example by practicing what he constantly preached to her, something about taking it slow with the opposite sex. Believe it or not, that scored him even more points. It made a lot of sense.

And so Bond* and I were an item, the more time we spent together, the more comfortable he got*W*. One day our lunch-time outing went from a coke to lunch, not a big deal, not even when he said “can we please go half-half”.*W* and just like that, my smitten ass responded,” I’ll take care of it”.
That may sound like nothing out of the ordinary, especially this day and age in Jozi, but those 5 words “I’ll take care of it”, were everything that man was waiting to hear come out of my mouth. I say that because he somehow found a way to make me pay for every single bill after that. As if that’s not enough, he found a way to squeeze petrol money out of me, there’s more, in no more than four months time into the relationship he was living under my roof, driving my car and still not taking care of the bill and petrol. This man didn’t even contribute a cent to the grocery. I mean, I - Itumeleng Sedumedi - was getting dropped-off and picked up in my own car. There’s still more, before I got out of the car every morning, he’d ask for me for money.
And just like that, my standards no longer existed. My friends and loved ones either laugh at me or almost drop-dead out of shock every time they hear about this craziness.
Let me put it to you this way, no one could have predicted that I would be taken for a ride like that by any man, I’d always had standards and if they were not met I was gone, no thinking twice, I was too smart to be with a loser, until Bond* came into my life. Wait for it – there’s still more, he treated me like SHIT too. Spoke to me like I was nothing, made me feel like I was lucky to be with him and did I mention that the bedroom gymnastics were not all that either.

So why did I stay?? It’s a fair question.
I could have walked out when he tricked me into taking him on a little weekend-away, I wasn’t aware that I was paying for our little trip out of town until I was actually PAYING, I mean he said he wanted to take me to Mpumalanga.

I could have also walked out when my sister rightfully said, “since you’ve been with this guy, you are always BROKE*W*.

Maybe I should have walked out when I started suspecting that ‘the little sister’ he stayed with didn’t exist.

I could have cut all my losses the day I found him standing behind me while I was making a cash withdrawal and he boldly said “take it all out” reffering to my money, my hard-earned cash.

Here is my lousy answer, I stayed in that relationship because Bond* walked into my life just when I was thinking I’m going to grow old walking out of relationships just because someone does something I don’t like.
At that paticular point in my life, I had just convinced myself that I need to apply that simple word – SACRIFICE.
I had given up real good relationships for stupid reasons and for some odd reason, I thought it’s time to learn to put up with someone.
A simple case of BAD TIMING or maybe EVERYTHING DOES HAPPEN FOR A REASON.

By the time I woke-up from my stupid dream, I mean when I finally slapped myself back to reality I had lost so much weight, I had changed into a rather dim girl, no life left in me, I was stressed and depressed and had serious debts to settle, thanks to Bond*. You don’t know what totally blinded means until you’ve been with a Bond*/scrub/freeloader/rabaiki.
Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have a problem if he cleaned, cooked or did something that suggested he wasn’t in it for the free ride. If for God’s sake that man found a way to make me forget about the financial burden he was, I’d think twice about discrediting him like this.

It’s funny how MANY women in my circles have been through a Bond* experience and are (just like me) still paying for it – literally.

Here is a note – these men are masters of their own craft, they study you, soften you up, make you drop your panties and then your standards, they know what they are doing and they know who to go for, they’ve been doing it for ages and are not about to stop. There was someone getting milked before you and there’ll most definately be someone after you, they know how to express everything you want to hear and they have a way of making women feel like they have to pay for their love.
Bond* left me broke and bitter and that didn’t help me move on along to a better place because all I thought about was how to be careful of another vulture and I ended up with a shark.

I read that article more than twice and still felt like someone was playing a joke on me. No matter how much they tried to break-up SCRUBS into different categories Bond* fitted in all of them.
Artist/Creative type – Check
Always speaks about his big dreams – Check
Thinks the universe owes him something – Check
Makes you feel like you have to feel honoured to be his girl – Check
Is constantly working on something that does not exist – Check

Everytime I beat myself up about the Bond* experience and how stupid I was, I think back to one single moment when I had this heavy feeling called DOUBT about us – I could have taken it seriously.
But I didn’t and everything I learned from it will stay with me – FOREVER.

For the longest time I thought about how I could save other women from falling for this man because right after I broke up with him I found out that he’d been sleeping with five other women during our time together. I also found out that he’d done the same thing he’d done to me to other women.
I thought about a radio announcement, I thought about donotdatehim.com, I even thought about hooking up a facebook page to warn sistas. In the end, I decide to work on me.

Things started making sense when I finally snapped out of it. Why he didn’t want to take me to his place, why he wanted to move in with me so badly, why he told me I was beautiful only when that would be followed by that topic – MONEY, the list is endless.

I titled this piece what I titled it because I somehow manage to come across women who’ve been through or are still with a scrub. It’s become common. Smart women are falling prey to con artists like Bond*.

Whatever happened to men who know their roles in relationships? What happened to the good old PROVIDER? Has it become okay for a man to expect (nevermind accept) a woman putting food on your table? How many women, do you know of, have been super-taxed by a man?

Here is what I think. If you are not about to learn how to cook, wash, iron, clean, wash and feed the kids, change diapers and be domesticated and you want a serious relationship – as a man you should surrender to your role as the provider and protector.

To all the brothas who still know how to spoil a woman who is worth it – you are valued.
To all the sistas who are stuck with a scrub – let him go. PERIOD, you are not his mother.
To all the scrubs (including Bond*)- you have to start loving yourself at some point – nothing beats enjoying what you’ve earned, it just feels right.

P.S – Bond’s latest project/girlfriend called me about three months ago telling me how a lot of things are not adding up and she’s starting to have seious doubts.
I’m just thankful that although I felt that the article titled ‘The SCRUB detector’ was a little too late, it found me with this great piece of knowledge – STAND by your STANDards, no matter who you fall for.

Remember!

‘he’s always talking about what he wants and just sits on his big ass’ – TLC.

published 08 June 2009

What's in a name?!

Behind ITUMELENG lies a lot.

So, my phone rings and in the chirpiest voice I answer, "Tumi, Hellu."

"Good day, is this Miss...*hesitation*...Ithu.....Ithulemeng Sedumi?"

At that very moment two things popped into my head and I didn't know if I should say them out loud:-
1. No 'mofo' this is Itumeleng Sedumedi
2. Are you South African?

With a strong sense of hesitation I open my mouth "How long have you been staying in South Africa?"

"Excuse me?", the gentleman asks.

"How long have you been staying in South Africa?", I repeated.

"All my life", he says and he rightfully sounds confused.

"What's your name?", I asked.

"Johan", my 'dear friend' responded.

"You are South African but can not pronounce and spell one of the most common setswana names - and you want to sell something to me?!".

*Beep, Beep, Beep* - he was gone.

It wasn't the first time someone was pronouncing my name like they have something stuck between their throat and tongue.

Here's a note to all my english speaking friends - it's offensive and it ain't right.

It's offensive because I get your name right and if I don't get it right the first time I'll try until I get it right. Do bear in mind that as much as my name is not in your first language - yours is not in my first language either - so maybe we need to apply the tit-for-tat rule.

Johann is no different from any white, indian and coloured South African who don't give a 'rat's arse' about black South African names, what they mean and how they are actually pronounced.

Anchors, Newsreaders, journalists, presenters and most english speaking radio and TV personalities seem to be under the impression that it's okay to mispronounce African names - like I said - It is not right, it's not fine and it's not acceptable.

I'm of the view that anyone who has the priviledge of imparting info, news, entertaimement and education on a medium that is as influential as radio or TV is obliged to know how to pronounce every name they have to read-out or speak about - PERIOD.

I was appauled recently, while watching the news on an indipendant 24 hour news channel, I heard an anchor linking to one of their journalists who was on stand-by - "Now we cross to e-news journalist Tumaole Moshlaodi standing outside......".
I mean 'COME-ON', the guys name is actually Tumaole Mohlaoli pronounced (Mohlaodi) and he is your coleague for heaven's sake.

Here is what is more upsetting about our brothers and sisters who do not pronounce African names right, it is not a matter of can not, it's a simple 'I don't care'.

French and Italian names are no less difficult than our own names. I mean cuppacino, pizza, magnifique, merci, champagne, menage trois and so many more names that come from countries beyond our borders are pronounced here with so much ease and confidence.

I am certain if I introduced myself to any english speaking individual as "Itumeleng, it's Italian for rose" they would so-know how to pronounce my name.

Half the time, the same people who "struggle" to pronouce names like Mbeki spend half their time trying to figure out how to correctly pronouce a name like Agliotti - while relevant figures like good old Thibos remain boMubeki.

Why on earth should anyone - black or white be reading any news bulletin on any media plarform if they don't know how to pronounce some of the most mentioned names on a daily basis. I mean I'd understand if you made the mistake of pronouncing Tlali Tlali - Tlali Tlali if we didn't know who that is - but anyone who is in the business of news should damn-well know that the NPA's spokesperson's name is pronounced Tladi Tladi. You should know by now that Mahlangu is Mahlangu and stop it with the Mashlangu nonsense. It's the reason why you have been entrusted with that duty (we hope), not because you look the part and not to patronise anyone.

It seems to me that while the South African English speaking community is less interested in pronouncing our names right - people who come from other countries are making more than an effort to get it right.
Take for example two of my friends from the US, Henry and Adam. I'm talking here about two white males who have only spent over 5 years in this country.
Adam for one knows HHP's songs - lyric for lyric - no pause. (HHP would be that famous motswana rapper/hip-hop artist whose work is primarily in setswana.)
Henry on the other hand speaks isizulu - properly. Not this "khunjani" nonsense.
I mean the one time we were in the hood he says to me "I don't get it, What does 'Siyabangena' mean because from where I'm sitting 'we are entering them' does not make any sense at all'. I can't even begin to explain just how impressed I was.

And then you find South Africans who've been singing the same tune since 'God knows when'. "Mina i...i...igama lami". Puleez - get over it already.

I was born in a setswana household, I went to a setswana school and I dream in setswana but my respect for other languages and names has never been determined by my home language.
So just in case you think it takes no effort for me to pronounce any english word or name - think again.

An even problem though - has got to be our black/african brothers and sisters who do not want to pronounce African names right more than our English speaking 'siblings'. I mean who said it's cool to sound so lost. What on earth is "Phelisa" when you know damn well that your mama named you Palesa and you know how to pronounce it but refuse to.
What is that? And what's the deal with everyone teaching kids how to speak English and English only when we should be taking it upon ourselves to teach our own to respect our tongues.
Every single person from my generation who has an African name is doing everything they can to give their names a cooler/american/english twist. boKatlego ke bo "Katz" boOfentse ke bo "Fancy", boSipho ke bo "Psyfo" and everyone whose name begins with a Mo is now a "Mo", I mean forget that your parents thought of a name as profound as Montshiwa or Modise or Motshedise - MO sounds cooler - does it? What's so nice about saying your own name wrong?

Poor next generation - I feel so sorry for them - who is going to teach them to uphold their roots? To take pride in these beautiful names? To know what thinking goes behind each and every African words.

Recently in New York, legendary author Ngugi wa Thiongo delivered a speech at the launch of his book 'Wizard of the Crow'. He had a lot to say about literature and African languages but the basis of this wordsmith's speech was - Africans not taking pride in their own languages. For the better part of his address - he looked and sounded angry.
He argued that black parents do any and everything to ensure that their children speak English at home, at school, at church and they don't care if they know a word of their mother-tongues.
He was right - and it's upsetting.
I mean how many people do you know in Jo'burg who have young ones who speak English 24/7 with a twang - nogal and can't utter a word of setswana or isizulu and happen to be black South Africans?

And to all those who think you are excused for pronouncing Vhenda, Xitsonga and Ndebele names incorrectly - think again - it ain't right. Just like seSotho le isiZulu those language groups are as South African as you and I.
And our brothers and sisters from other parts of the continent deserve as much respect as they give us and our names.
They are human, african and have blood flowing through their veins just like you and I.
Before you break your neck just to pronounce an american popstar's name right, why not start here at home and get the Ndivhuhos and Okwonkwos right.

It's upsetting when white people do it because they don't care about doing the right thing.
But it's annoying when black people do it just to fit in.
I mean look at it this way - where have you ever heard a white person at all trying to sound black/ghetto or african just to fit in? Where have you seen and Indian naming their children boSipho or Refilwe? We are the only people who do all we can to sound, look and act like others.

For heaven's sake, take a step back, take a good look at your surroundings and ask yourself if fitting-in is worth giving-up your identity?
Ask yourself - what's in your name?

Nna ke Itumeleng Sedumedi, gofejane ga Patjane le Manthana. Ke ngwana wa kwa bo Lerato, Kagiso le Nina, Ke kgabo-mokgatlha, Ke mmanago Mpho, Tsholanang, Kabo, Omphile le Oratile. Ke matlho masweu - ke nko sephara - ke mmala legala - ke montle e bile le bo eseng mang ba ipala mabalankwe, fa o ka mpona o ka nna mabele wa gasagana.

To cut a long story short - My name is Itumeleng Sedumedi, some call me TUMI not THUMI, not DUMI.
Behind that name lies reason, pride, meaning, identity and me.
So Please think about how you say my name - don't get it twisted. It's ITUMELENG.