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.

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.

A mess, A lesson.

It might be hard to separate the destructive and the constructive but, SUCH IS LIFE.

Every single day a lesson finds it's way into our lives. Whether we are ready to acknowledge it, accept it, challenge it, take it or simply use it to the best of our abilities is another story.

I go back to some of the most painful lessons I have learned in my very short life and feel greatful. Lessons of growing-up, learning to live with others (socially and professionally), lessons of change and in the same breath lessons of re-adjusting to new arrangements, set-ups and truths, lessons of loss, lessons of love and day-to-day lessons of survival.

At the worst of moments we are way too hard on ourselves. We forget that just like the next person, we are human and mistakes only complete life.

We stumble, we fall, we betray, we break promises, we loose, we envy, we hate, we love even when we are not loved in return, we make rules only to break them, we hurt, we please, we cry, we laugh, we regret, we want things that are way out of reach, we misuse opportunities, we loathe the very things that make us unique, we forget, we win, we loose, we sink, we fly, we contemplate, we take for granted, we under and overrate, we live and then we die.

I would like to acknowledge the biggest lesson life has brought to my doorstep. I AM HUMAN.
Whether I get it right or wrong can only be determined by me and what I want. So, I just want to live life. If I take wrong turns along the way - I will have to make the best of my newly found routes and lifeways. I love myself enough to know that conforming to someone else's idea of what life should be about is so not for me.

Let me get back to LIFE.

Self Love...
...you either have it or you don't. PERIOD.

You can look at the person in the mirror and say 'I love you' as many time as you can.
You can have the fattest bank account or know how to make a million in a day.
You can have a million people call you BOSS and place yourself on a pedestal.
You can be famous and adored by many.
You can have the perfect partner or the perfect relationship.
You can be the most intelligent person in your circles.
You can turn heads every minute of every day.

But...

When you are not willing to accept and acknowledge your background, accept your skincolour and who you are. You will not have the ultimate luxury or basic need (really depends on how you look at it) I just call it self-love and from what I know and understand, genuine happiness is crazy about it.

Success is different things to different people.
It is not the hardest thing to achieve if you do not let the world determine how you should live your life. Do what pleases the person you have to spend every moment of you life with. YOU.
I think the stupidest thing one can do is go out of their way to impress another individual. All efforts go to waste when they are not impressed or miss the whole point.

As I listened to my sister struggling to find a word to describe a friend of hers who is rather shortsighted (for the lack of a better word), I realised what an important thing self-love is, actually it is the most important thing.
The friend in question needs it, could use it, has to have some of it and until she finds it I feel sorry for her.
Let us just call her 'Tracy' for now.
'Tracy' is the kind of girl that thinks buying yourself a bunch of roses is a good way of keeping a man on his toes, please do help me out if you understand. She is the kind of girl who doesn't mind to be second best, literally.
It's not that I think buying yourself roses is a sin. It's when you buy yourself roses just to get to someone else - that bothers me.
I have over the years learned from a lot of case studies that no woman can make a man's focus change.
You can't make a man spend more time with you.
You can't make a man love you.
You can't make a man see things the way you see them.
You can't make a man commit, or better yet, You can't make a man change his way.
Especially if he does not want to.
Every self loving woman should know that by now.

Not so long ago, I was sitting with friends. There were four of us and only one man among us. He asked a question. A question you've most probably heard enough times.

What do women really want?

I answered the same way I've been responding to that question for the past 4 years. All a woman want is to be showered with lots of attention. Of course I was talking about women way out of Khanyi Mbau's league. I though I was right, until Violet said or should I say asked.

Why don't you shower yourself with all the attention you want?

That made me stop and think. It brought me back to the two magic words - SELF LOVE.
It made me think! If women had enough of it (self love), we would spend a lot of time happy. If we really loved who we are, men would not be heart-breakers, ass-holes, or what-ever we call them when they are not on the same page with our sorry selves.
Just imagine what a beautiful place this world would be if there were no 'side-dishes' (those would be our sister who so guiltlessly sleep with 'taken' men).
Imagine if there were no gold-diggers and no one depended on men to survive or show-off.
Just imagine how absolutely beautiful things would be if each woman loved herself enough, just enough to allow her to love the next woman.
Why do we always have to hate on each other without even giving one another a chance. Imagine if, everytime a sister walked into a room full of women looking stunning she gets the compliments she deserves and no-one hates. Imagine if we just had enough SELF LOVE.
Maybe I'm too ambitious but at least then 'Tracy' wouldn't have to buy herself a bunch of roses.

Before I start sounding like a feminist, how about this.
Imagine if we loved ourselves so much we didn't see the need to walk, talk, live, act like others. Yes, I'm talking about black people and our associating of wealth and success to everything white. Why can't we just be ourselves. Why can't we just stop loading fake accents, twangs, hair and loads of make-up.
Why do black women (and men) in the spotlight, those who've supposedly reached their financial mark and measure of success all look like they just popped out of a fashion magazine or a clothing store window display? Why?
Does it all boil down to the two favourite words of the moment. SELF LOVE?
Why do we always sorround ourselves with ideologies and myths that just take us further and further away from what and who we really are?
If we all loved ourselves enough, not even haters or frenemies would exist.

Haters:- are the people in your life that just don’t know how to complement you without finding a fault to mention in that very sentence. They are those people who constantly put others around them down just so they can feel on top. Sadly none of these methods ever work. They always remain sour, bitter, competetive, unhappy, alone or better yet, ENVIOUS.

Frenemies:- A frenemy is your enermy posed as a friend. She'll give you a hard time about everything you do. She doesn't even know it but she is using you to make herself feel better about herself. She'll make you feel like kak until she feels good. You can't shake her off, or you see no reason to but you need to.

I'm not fighting anyone. You do what you have to, all I'm saying is, we could learn to love ourselves, Our true selves, a lot better.
It would save us from doing a million and one things that are just too unnecessary.
In closing, I'd like to pay tribute in this piece to all individuals who don't conform to anyones idea of what life should be.
People who stand for what they believe in.
People who do everything for themselves and not the lights, camera and action.
People who put themselves and loved ones first and leave the rest to follow.
To women who are comfortable in their own skins. Whether you are blinging, a hippie or walking barefoot.
To people who have so much self-respect they refuse to be second best or substitutes.
I'd like to pay tribute to every individual who has a thing, a thing called respect for SELF LOVE.

'Don't compromise yourself. You are all you've got.' - Janis Joplin.

'Nobody can hurt me without my permission.' - Mahatma Ghandi.

SOWETO

Let me tell you about my hood....

...and how it has made me who I am.

It has a million and one nicks. The ones that come to mind include M'sawawa, Kasi, Sotra, M'sauden.

South African HIP-HOP artist Linda Mkhize known to his fans as 'PRO-Kid', coins it in one of his ever popular tracks 'SOWETO'.

Anyone who's spent half their life inside of it either loves it or hates it.

Author Mokone Molete speaks of it exactly as I know it in his book, POSTCARDS FROM SOWETO.

A lot of successful people who have moved on and out really treat it like a relationship gone wrong. They see all its faults only after they've left it.

If you know it well enough, you should know that it has absolutely any and everything, there's nothing you can not find inside of it. A true defenition of the phrase 'Melting Pot'.

If you haven't experience it, you probably still think 'gangsters walk its streets looking for their next victim'. And, you are WRONG.

It is SOWETO, my hood, the place I call home, the place that has everything to do with the way I walk, talk and live.

Last week a friend of mine asked me, "Why do you love the hood so much"?.

I half asked, half answered, "How do you know that, I love the hood"?.

She replied, "A lot of people who've experienced half the things you've gotted to experience, move out of the hood, shake it off and write it off as a closed chapter of their lives".

When I heard all this, I though about Sunnyside - Pretoria, Sandton and Weltevreden Park,
between all three places I'd explored and tried to call home, something was always missing.

I was never able to put my finger on it and to this day, I still don't know why I'm so hooked on the hood.

If there's one thing I can tell you about SOWETO, it has to be the fact that, it is the ONE place I know where you are almost obliged to be yourself. Nothing more, nothing less and absolutely nothing fake.

In SOWETO, you get more beef and preassure for discarding your identity and blackness than you ever will for stealing something.

See, the hood is like one big yard. If you don't know enough people - you are totally lost and there's no other way to put it.

In my hood, every parent is my parent. They can tell me crap, chase me to Timbuktu and back and demand respect from me. We all believe that it takes a community/village to raise a child.

Everyone who is about 7 years or more my junior calls me Aus' Tumi. An unspoken or unsigned agreement.

In the hood, everyone is up in your business and no one ever misses a thing, so people always end up doing pretty fucked up things out in the open.

Not many people understand why SOWETANS never agree to the suggestion that SOWETO is a dangerous place, but, it really isn't. Infact, I feel much safer in SOWETO than I do in any CBD or residential surburbia.

Of course SOWETO is home to some of the most notorious criminals, it is most probably home to more criminals than any prison in the country. In the same breath, you too deserve to know that they are less likely to steal from you, harm you or violate you in SOWETO. To them, anyone in SOWETO is one of us - PERIOD.

Lack of Ambition - that's another one. One of my biggest worries about the place I love so much is how my people are so relaxed about everything. Nothing bothers the average township dweller. The thought of success, to my people is simple. Making it through the day. Abolova (uneployed young adults) wake-up just to chit-chat, share a joint (marijuana) and gossip about others.

In my hood, black diamonds, business moguls and CEOs are unheard of. Not that we've never had any, actually - we've had lots.

Irvin Khoza still stays in SOWETO, Sipho 'Hostix' Mabuse is still in SOWETO, Richard Maponya is a SOWETAN, Aggrey Klaaste was a SOWETAN, Lucas Radebe, Kaizer Motaung, Dr Nthato Motlana and lots of other prominent and successful people were raised in SOWETO.

It's just that, this kind of success is not a norm in the hood. The above mentioned people are the kind we refer to as diOne-in-a-million.
I guess all this is part and parcel of what people normally base their thoughts, definitions and ideas of SOWETO on. The dirt, the loudness, the chikitas walking the streets wearing nightgowns, PJs and nighties (they piss me off too), the high levels of alchohol consumption.

But think about it this way - SOWETO is home to a lot of hard working people. People who get-up daily to go make a difference. People who make the biggest difference to our economy, people who make the much heavier contribution to how this country looks, feels and functions and yet they sit at the bottom of the food chain.

My hood is home to people that have suffered so much, the only thing that matters to them is just making it through each day.

My kasi is made up of people who still believe they are no better than anyone whose skin is lighter than theirs.

In the SOuth WEstern TOwnships, all income groups are one. We share the hood, interests and hopes.

SOWETO, just like any township here in S.A, is home to people who've had to fight for everything they have including the right to express themselves in a language of their choice.

M'sauden is home to people who've raised and nurtured people who now take them for granted.

Msawawa is where talent exists in ocean loads but the know how or confidence to take it further exists in cup loads, hence the Maponyas and Khozas stands out.

My hood, is the one place I know, where you are allowed to be yourself. NOTHING more, NOTHING less and absolutely NOTHING fake....


I haven't said all there is to say, for now I'll leave it here. Leave a comment, let me know if all this is making any sense to you. Till then ....

Miss ME??
Between being a patient, a bridesmaid, mourning, and growing-up I just had to be on the down-low.

No need to answer, I know you did.

It's been a few good months since I last updated the blog and I must say I'm glad I've finally found the time, strength and topic to post a brand new entry again.
A lot has happened since my disapperance from the face of the blogging world.

First, I spent a whole week in hospital. Something about cysts on my ovary.
That s*** scares me to death. There's nothing I want more than kidz in this lifetime.
See, I am a happy average, I don't want to be the richest person alive.
I don't want fast cars, champagne and caviar.
I also don't want to be remember for anything beyond my personality.
I know I am a proffesional and I know if I were to die tomorrow, some people would remember me for loving my job and hopefully some of you will remember me for giving it my all too.
That's okay.

What would bother me is if I left this earth tomorrow and no one had anything to say or remember about Itumeleng, me, the woman, the person, the friend, sister, aunt, daughter, niece, cousin, better half.

A want to live a fulfilled life and nothing would fulfill my existence like having a family of my own, I'd even kill to be a mother.

Nuf said about my ovaries - I have a doctor's appointment soon and depending on the outcome they might have to chop and change stuff. You do get what I'm saying right?????

Second - My brother got married and his wife asked me to be one of her 8 bridesmaids.

The wedding was off-the-hook.

It was fun but please understand when I say I never want to do this again. Never.

Here is what I looked like on that day.

Third - The country also went into a state of emergency when all civil servant took to the streets and demanded a wage/salary increase.
That took long enough to solve. It put a lot of things, lives and pride on the edge.
Didn't think it affected me much until it really affected me.

Fourth- My father got sick, really sick, I mean really, really sick.

"Papa wa kula jou"("Dad is sick man") My brother says to me one evening.
"When did you see him" I ask
"Day before yesterday" Kagiso replies.
I knew what was wrong, and damn it felt like deja vu.

The exact thing had happened round about the same time last year - TB.
And because my father never took care of himself, he never actually recovered.
One year later, the desease had become deadly and the lecacy of smoking and drinking - painful.
My sister and I then agreed that we'd go see him as soon as the weekend.
Let's just say- the weekend was not good enough.
By the time we got to him, he was looking at death right in the eye, so he was rushed to hospital.
He was not himself. Different in every sense of the word. I was shocked, I'd never seen anyone that sick. He couldn't even speak.

Unfortunately he landed in hospital during the strike - no nurses, few doctors and damn it hurt.
We kept on visiting him and he was getting better.
I remember on Monday 11/06/07 when my sister Nina and I went to see him. He was smiling and responding to our questions the best way he could then.
That same night, I get a callback from my sister - I ignore it.
Another one - I ignore it. From my brother, and then I call Nina.

She gave it to me straight - 'Papa o tlhokofetse'. Suddenly, everything was beyond me.
I couldn't keep it together.

Round II of my beef with the strike came when we realised that home affairs was closed, which means we couldn't get a death certificate = we couldn't claim from insurance policies.
The support we got from friend during that time will never ever be forgotten.
It's at times like these we realise just how blessed we are.

Jimi and family, Refilwe, Smanga, Mokgadi, Lerato, Katli, Pontsho and family, the Malokas, Adam and Ntsako, good friends of Weekend Live, Thando, Promise, Nino, Sindy, Nkhensani, Boo and all your friends and family and everyone else who stood by me and my family- I CAN'T THANK YOU ENOUGH.

My best friend Henry was all the way ko States when I lost Bra Percy...
I could have used a hug from him, actually - I needed him (lump.....).

While shooting at the WindyBrow Theatre recently, I came across 2 pieces by my dad, this is one of them.
This is how he saw himself back in the 1980's.

He was a character in his own comic strip - The Free Spirit.

Another frame from The Free Spirit.
Free Spirit again.

Anyways. When I was asked to speak about my dad at his memorial service and funeral, I decided to tell nothing but the truth about him. I was out of sugar so I didn't coat anything.

I spoke about Percy Sedumedi as I knew him. The creative, the teacher, the free spirit, the artist, the alchoholic, the pot-head, the good friend but crap father. Don't get me wrong, my father was a very intelligent individual, he was the most creative person I know and nothing and no-one could take away the FREE SPIRIT in him. He taught me how to be bold, inquisitive, unafraid and to question things. For that and his friendship, I will never forget him.

I learned a lot about being a grown-woman during the week I lost and buried my dad.

That's me and one of the most significant incidents in my life. I'm sure there'll be more, I just hope I'll have the strength to deal with what lies ahead - LIFE.



I came across this article http://narratingchange.blogspot.com/2007/06/great-artist-who-drew-in-blood-tribute_28.html a few weeks after my father's passing. It almost brought me to tears, I guess that's the kind of power the truth can have on us.

Entitlement…a South African Story
I keep hearing-"The government this, the government that”.
STOP IT ALREADY.

Listening to one of Gauteng’s youth (radio) stations after the minister of finance’s budget speech this year, I got sick to my stomach. Sickened by a young lady who phoned-in, particularly to complain about the child support grant.
The complaint! - Mr Manuel (the minister), is too inconsiderate.
Why? - Because he only increased the CSG by a mere R20
The young lady went on and on about how young/single mothers deserve more.

I acknowledge that poverty is still part of the South African picture. I also acknowledge that young mothers have the raw end of the deal and that their partners (baby daddies) should do a whole lot more in helping them raise the products of their actions.

But....

...I think by now every girl who is capable of getting ‘knocked-up’ should know that it takes a male to make a baby and a man to raise one.
I also think it takes two to tango but a lot of it is up to the lady. If women can use sex as a weapon, why the hell can’t they use it to their advantage?

This country might not have the best goverment system, a liked-by-many president or the prettiest history but it is certainly alive with good possibilities.

Black people are on a goldplated pedestal now more than ever. Black women are powerful and at the forefront of very serious movements and projects.

I honestly don't think our Deputy President-Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, Wendy Luhabe or Oprah Winfrey got to the top by blaming everything on the government. It takes responsible thinking, bravery, sacrifice and hard work to get to a place of comfort unless if you are born with a silver spoon in your mouth. That's how we should start thinking SISTERS.

That brother you are trying to settle down with, who doesn't give you enough attention, he's not going to love you any better when there's a baby in the picture.

That grant the goverment gives out to young struggling mothers is not even enough to buy baby formula or nappies.

Two months ago an investigative-journalism-current-affairs programme did a whole hour on how CSG are being misused by young, single and black mothers. A lot of the young women interviewed admitted to using a large portion of the R180 to settle their personal needs (airtime, visiting the hair salon or even buying clothes).

They also admitted to knowing that falling pregnant was no option for them due to their economic status and the fact that most of them were still in high school and living with their unemployed parents. But guess what?! Not even that was enough to stop them from conceiving.

I stand to be corrected but I don't think it takes a few years in a tertiary institution or coming from a wealthy family or a rocket scientist to know that jumping in to the sack with someone without protection can result into one thing or another. No prizes for guessing what I'm on about!!!!

Being young and black has never been better, I just think people need to get out out of their comfort zones and start making a difference. To all the young women in the ghettoes- Pop a contraceptive pill, get an affirmative-action job, go to school, stay away from boys, use a condom or simply use your brain first and then your libido.

I am always sad to see toddlers (babies too) being neglected or treated like obstacles. Before falling pregnant- one needs to review their maturity, pocket, their partners bahavior and the state of HIV/Aids in Africa. For heavin's sake wouldn't you rather enjoy your life and make the best of it before you bring a whole human being into this world.

I have absolutely no beef with child support grants, I have no problems with young mothers and I also don't have a problem with people who make and stick to their choices.

It's a damn bitch when your mother has to give-up few of her comforts to accomodate your unplanned baby or a baby ends up neglected just bacause a young mother is not ready to give-up partying.

There's a lot be considered before getting preggers. Life-adjustments and being the best that you can be as a parent at the top of the list- Thank you.

Choose to have that baby, afford to raise that child, give your parents a piece of mind- they are still trying to get 'raising-you' right. To all the sisters who were misled, raped, not mentally fit, drugged or clueless when they conceived- Wish you all the best in making a good human being out of someone.

To everyone else who receives the CSG, it's there to help, I mean help you raise the baby.

One Love

Matumza

Allow me to take you back...
...to that special post


One entry I'll never forget is an entry I posted on this blog. It was my 3rd or 4th post. Through that entry I let my readers into my world, my past. I wrote about some of the things that have always made me angry. I confronted men about the way they treat women and in the same breath celebrated women.

The aim was not to speak negatively of brothers or disrespect the efforts they put into making us sisters happy. It was just to let them know how I feel the relationship between men and women can be improved.

Moseki (one of my very loyal readers) gave me an opportunity to confront women about how they wrong brothers and celebrate men through the comments panel on the same blog entry.

I titled the entry WOMAN...The hard of hardcore.

Please take some time to read this one, check out the comments and leave one yourself.

This is not only for my new readers, it is for everyone who liked this one too.

Enjoy
One Love
Matumza

Click on the link below
http://matumzaonline.blogspot.com/2005/09/woman-hard-of-hardcore.html

DECENCY
and the entertainment industry

There is a fine line between being free and lacking decency and people in the entertainment are (in my opinion) are flirting with this thin line.
The most disturbing one, Arthur Mafokate's music video. The song is titled "Sika le khekhe", this literally means "cut the cake", the catch- where Arthur and I both come from "Khekhe" has two meanings. One is sweet(literally) and the other derogatory(to women).
If you (by any chance) think I'm launching an undeserved attack on Arthur, wait until you see the video.
4 girls aged between 13 and 16 years dancing on top of a bed with very mini, mini skirts, nothing but your normal butt showing underwear beneath the skirts, camera conviniently focuses on their minor asses. And the show stopper, there's absolutely no cake in the music video.

This fueled a lot of debates in M'zantsi (that's South Africa to you Miss Fab). The SABC(National Broadcaster) banned the music video, funny how I still see it on one of their channels though.
Some people were arguing that if we can watch and enjoy american music videos that show nothing less than nudity why should we complain about Mr Mafokate's video. Some people had an issue with how young the girls in the video are, while other people were stressing the fact that no-one forced them to appear in that music video. Someone actually tried to use culture to justify the video. See back in the day when culture still was- women walked around half naked and this was not only acceptable but common practice. That was when women were still object who had no rights, feelings or opinions according to men.

I hate it when we resort to culture to suit ourselves or to justify our wrongdoings.
While we are on 'culture' I think the only thing that has remained of our culture (but is slowly fading away) is UBUNTU. One of the few things that make me proudly (South) African. We are nothing like the americans, our values will never be the same, our laws differ, our morals are not on the same wavelength and we definately think differently from them. We might love and follow some of the things they do but I think compromising UBUNTU because of what americans think is hott or not is a sign of a very weak Nation.

Look at women like Mirriam Makeba, Tina Turner, Diana Ross, Zamajobe, Judith Sephuma, Whitney Houston, Yvonne Chaka Chaka the list is endless. They are not my personal favourites but they are women who have my respect. Their talent sell them- not what they are willing to take off in front of an audience or cameras.

I have been disappointed by a number of young female artist- particularly because what they do not only affects their albumn sales but leaves a mesage (not a pretty one) in men's mind and influences little girls who look up to them.

See for yourself

Lebo Mathosa- A.K.A Drama Queen

Kelly Khumalo- Qinisela

Lil' Kim A.K.A Queen B

Let's talk. Let's exchange words, thoughts, ideas and opinions.