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.

Props, Well-done, Thank you.

Celebrating young South Africans who are just worth a mention.
(at least in MY opinion.)

Brickz - Kwaaito artist, composer.

Yes 'Mabrigado' the Kwaaito star. You are a writer. You take your craft so serious you took the face of kwaaito and turned it around. Before we even knew who you are, your work touched us through Mapaputsi, that guy was on top only because of your composing skills. When we met you - One-liner kwaito songs were most definitely HISTORY. Now these boys know not to feed us twak coz we know better. I'm not saying anyone who did kwaaito before Brickz was bad; I'm just saying he took it to a whole new level.

Keabetswe (Mmoki) Modimoeng - Wordsmith.

Let me break him down first. He is a poet. He has featured on HHP's 'YBA 2 NW', on Mr Mo' Molemi's - Amantsi and Douglas Mosadi's 'Modumo', and DJ Le Monka's 'Motswako Tape'. A collection of his poems titled 'Maduo' was publishes more than a year ago. I know you probably thinking so what? Here is what I digg about this 22 year old. At a time in SA where any and every young black person sounds, acts and believes in everything American, this man spits and writes in Setswana. Not styling setswana, Not slanging setswana and absolutely not ghetto-lingo setswana. I'm talking here SETSWANA in its purest form. He don't patela but duelas, and please don't make the mistake of thinking he don't speak much English. He speaks the kind of english that would have 'boChief' le 'maBEE' rather baffled. Serious english, he just prefers setswana more. Brother man - you are beyond an example of appreciation of one's own roots. BIG-UP.

Dada Masilo - Dancer, choreographer.

Honestly comes across as fussy. Not the easiest person to click with, very few journalists will give her the time of day but damn-it this girl is something else on the dance floor. A legend in the making. From the very first time I saw her MOVE I was moved. She understands the human body really well, she is damn creative, she has presence and her choreography is nothing short of talent. Her piece Romeo & Juliet will leave you.... shaken if not transformed. She was named Standard Bank Young Artist of the Year Award winner: DANCE at the age of 23. Now that's what I call - FOCUS.

Reagan Thaw(702) - reporter.

You are an outstanding journalists. Your work speaks for you. I don't know if your stories are your ideas or orders from the top but damn they always look and sound like yours. You make me sit-up and want more. I have respect for y'all. I know a lot of it has to do with your newsrooms and how they wont settle for less but you still stand-out. Props.

Kopano Matlwa - Author.

This young woman penned her story and got it published too. and that ladies and gentlemen she did while in her school uniform, yep, she was still in high school when her best-seller titled COCONUT was published. It goes without saying - you are determined and that is BIG.

Thula Sindi - Fashion Designer.

There's hype and there's hard work, you are the latter and your work is outstanding. Not because of detail, colour, fabric choice or who it's on. Your clothes are well finished, beautifully designed and very simple but striking.

Siyabonga Ngwekazi - TV Presenter and entrepreneur.

You make television exciting. You are the bomb and on top of your game. You are creative, clearly in charge and anyone who knows television would know that no-one scripts whatever comes out of your mouth but you. And on Amakip-kip, don't think I'd be caught dead in one of your t-shirts but damn you and your partner effortlessly went for the kill. People love your brand. As simple as it is. Way to go.

Bongani Fassie - Musician, Producer.

Out of the box. That's the simplest ways to describe your music. I mean what you did with Vusi Ximba's song was good, but what you did with Da Les's FIRE is out of this world. Ke ya tlala. I've seen a lot of young people try to 'ride' more on who their parents are than their abilities. You, just rock. Fassie or not.

Beverly Maphangwa - Radio Producer.

Robert Marawa's the Discovery Sports Centre on Metro FM is an exceptional show. Often enough in this industry 'the voice' or 'the face' gets more credit than 'the brain'. There's never a glitch, silent moment or boredom on that show. I'm not a sports fanatic but I'm a journo. So from one Journo to another. Keep up the good work.

Mncedisi Shabangu - Theatre Practitioner.

When you were simply 'an actor' there was an intensity about your performances and your presence is just undeniable. The way you speak makes one want to listen-up. When you became a writer and director you proved beyond reasonable doubt that you are a theatre genius. Your production 'Ten Bush' blew me the fuck away. It was brilliant. The lighting was out of this world, the story-line was incredible, the cast - captivating, the props! I mean you took six benches and made a world out of them. That play was Priceless. I don't think I'll forget it anytime soon.

Mpumi Dlhamini - Musician.

People always mention this young man in the same breaths and sentences they mention Moses Molelekwa and Moses Khumalo. These two not only played instruments but they were both part of a genre that rides on reality, talent and excellence. A genre not so many people dare attempt to penetrate, Jazz. Just like these two great late musicians, Mpumi is young and plays 2 instruments (Piano and Saxophone) like his life depends on or like he's was born to do just that. At 23 he's performed with musicians he's always looked up to and released an album that is doing beyond well. A nominee in all the prime music awards in the country. You blow me away - pun intended.

Happy Dlhame - Visual artist.

Innovative (creative and original), patient, intelligent, young and simply a breath of fresh-air. You have to see his work for yourself and hear him speak about his ideas to understand just where I'm coming from.

Teko Modise - Soccer player.

In one simple sentence - You play real good soccer. Wakgothatsa. In my eyes, you have no competition mo kasi.