2010...

First of all I would like to send a huge thank you to the Great I Am for letting me see another year. I’d like to thank him for giving me such a loving and supportive family; gorgeous loyal friends and a job with a steady pay check. But hey, it’s not over yet!

Let me take a moment to say thank you to my parents, my brothers and my sister. Without you I wouldn’t be half the person I am, hell, I wouldn’t even be here at all. We’ve had a blessed year. It’s been beautiful. Love you with all I am.

To my girl, who has risen with me, stuck by me when I was down. You deserve all the love in the world. Grow. Flourish and be happy, that’s my wish for you. We’ve had a great year and yeah there’ll be many more!

To my girl, I miss you. Really, I do…take a minute, leave the past behind. We had dreams, and I would like to be there when we grow old. Let 2011 be better for us…

To people who have used me. It’s cool, I’m not mad. As tough as you make it to love you, I still do. What use is love if it can only be given to those who love you? You’ve aged me, I’m wiser now than I was twelve months ago. I suppose that’s a good thing. One day, if you get famous don’t forget to credit me. In case you pretend to forget, it’s cool…see you around.

To all the liars. Hell, what do I say to you? The injury was only momentary, but the lesson will last to infinity. But that aside, I need to thank you for showing me the value of truth in my life.

To all those great writers who filled my soul with great literature, you made me laugh; cry; want to love. Thank you and keep churning those brilliant books. Thank you for inspiring me to improve my craft. May you grow as writers and stay true to the art of weaving stories and committing them to words.

To music. Thank you for letting me dance, sing along, jog to you, cry out to you. You’ve hit so many nerves in me. And to the gifted musicians…keep making that music and inspiring the world. What would we be without you?

To sports. Thank you for those moments of heartbreak, of unspeakable joy. A special shout out to FIFA and SAFA for hooking us up with the World Cup, I had a ball.

And before I go...

To my destiny, I am so ready for what you are about to unfold on me. To all my fellow dreamers, we will get there! Just put in the time, and the heart…

The hippie wishes that you may be peace, love and prettiness forever. 

Music and Me: Songs I remember Most From My Childhood

Caiphus Semenya- A woman has a right to be

This reminds me of road trips with my family to Swaziland in the cream white Sierra. The road that seemed enless back then, I always imagined it was a full day trip which was in reality a four hour trip. 

Mama Said Knock You Out- LL Cool J

Holidays in Swaziland: my cousin Mandi and my older brother Sibusiso. First clear memory of rap music. Sibusiso says it’s more like the days when NWA first came out, but I don’t really remember those so I’ll still say that LL Cool J, MC Hammer and Run DMC were the reasons I fell in love with hip hop (I was six/seven).

Abide With Me- Ella Fitzgerald

This was one of my maternal grandmother’s favourite hymns along with What a Friend We Have In Jesus and Rock of Ages. We had them all on record. I remember coming back from school in my blue and white school uniform and hearing her singing along. I miss both my grandmothers…

Dear Mamma-TUPAC and Juicy-The Notorious BIG

I remember these years of hip hop when we had to choose between two great MCs. We couldn’t admit to loving them both, even though we did. I could list twenty songs that each dropped that moved me during this time right up to their deaths and beyond. With their death, the course of Hip Hop changed and I’m not sure if it was for the better…

Wannabe- Spice Girls

The only reason this song is on this list is because it was my last year of primary school. I remember short skirts, mini shift dresses and platforms were big then and so was trying to act older than I really was. I guess I now realise that I should have held on longer to being a child instead of rushing into my high heels.

Higher-Creed

This song was my first confession that I loved rock (after denying for years that I liked Alanis Morisette, Oasis, Smashing Pumpkins, REM...). Until this song came out I remember making statements like, “I only listen to hip hop”. It was uncool to identify with anything remotely white, but it was a huge hit in 2000. It was a new century, a new decade and I guess it was time for a change and for being me and being okay with being me. Biggy was dead, PAC was dead and Hip Hop would never be the same again.

Poverty and Me

When I was in primary school, I considered my grandparents poor. They didn’t have cars. They didn’t have indoor plumbing, a video machine, a big yard. Rich people, to the child me, were people who drove big cars and lived in huge houses and their children had a mountain of toys. When I was twelve one of my mother’s relatives who lived in Orange Farm passed away. I had never been to Orange Farm before this, and if I thought I knew poor, poor got a new face on that day.

Orange Farm is a shanty town of corrugated iron and haphazardly created streets. It’s an informal settlement that the government was forced to make formal because of the large number of people who started calling it home in the early 1990s.  It’s a town that when it rains, the red sand turns to clay that even 4X4s struggle to navigate through.

I had never been inside a shack. It was hot, stuffy, dark. There was no fridge nor was there a stove, except a gas plate. Both my grandmothers had always had fridges and electric stoves in their homes. I had never been in a home without fridge. There were only three plastic chairs and the only table in the “house” was an old door on a steel frame. For the first time in my life I was faced with desperate poverty and it was in my family. This little shack could fit into my bedroom. I suppose I remember so much about that shack because it was a moment where I understood for the first time what real poverty looked like.

You see, a lot of people in South Africa are poor. But they are not equally poor. Poverty in South Africa is often separated by geographical areas. If you live in Soweto, you might face this level of desperate poverty, but chances are that you won’t unlike if you live half an hour away, in Orange Farm.

Yes, my grandparents were poor. But they had decent furniture, electricity, running water, basic appliances, a roof over their heads. Sure, they would have to use taxis and government hospitals, and they had little in savings but they could afford to have a meal at least once a day.

And then there is the other poverty. The poverty where scrapping a meal together a week is a mission. Where one member of the family who has a minimum wage job is supporting eight other people and not all children. Families where eating thrice in a week is sheer luxury and a fridge is a far off dream. Families where vegetarianism and organic eating don’t register as choices because just getting any food in any form is a blessing.

And I think, do I have an obligation to these poor people? Yes I do because it is expected of me. It is expected of all of us who live in excess. We have more shoes than we need. More clothes than we need. We go out every other day of the week and waste more money than we save.

Helping out that one child with school uniform is going a long way to easing financial pressure on these families. Donating a 25kg bag of maize meal a month to ensure a family is fed is going a long way. Giving away that you no longer need so that someone can have a decent outfit to wear when they go job hunting is doing your bit to easing the desperation in one family.