Trust the process...

I’ve been thinking about the scripture “All things work together for good…”

The other day I had a chat with a guy who managed to summarize his life until thus far and all the moments in his life that collated into the diverse person he is. Basically, he lived in about 5 different places, ranging from the hood to downtown then the suburbs. Shifting schools in line with the new locations. He does mention that as a child this was quite strenuous because he couldn’t maintain friendships in a time he needed to. In hindsight though, he has an appreciation of that time because he agrees that it molded his multi-faceted character; his ability to be around the guys from the hood and still hold his own in the boardroom.

Now I wish my childhood was that interesting… we lived very different lives but the point I want to drive home with this note is that if we embrace all those little moments we have gone through, we will learn to appreciate the perspectives they have contributed to our overall make up and what the bible means when it says “All things work together for good…”

I grew up in the hood and attended township school for the duration of my schooling life. The first time I was around a lot of white people was in varsity and you can imagine how overwhelming that was especially when some of them were racist. (In 1^st year, I almost beat up a girl who said “you people” referring to us blacks. I’m a better person now)

In high school, I was part of a debating team and we had opportunities of going to private schools to go debate and actually won. In retrospect, that phase taught me to stand up for my argument and have the confidence to put it across no matter the audience. I also played chess with the boys in my class. Chess teaches you to think strategically and give yourself enough time before you make a move – the unpredictability of life demands this sorts of leaning thus I encourage everyone to learn the game. My experience of playing chess at school helped me get into the UJ national team in first year and do well. I didn’t pursue it further because everything became too overwhelming so I had to sacrifice it.

After high school, I spent 2 years at home and life wasn’t happening – or so I thought. Those were the years where I grew my relationship with God, learnt how to pray and stay the course of belief in the midst of uncertainty.  I also realized my love and ability to write. I read any and every book I came across and I just got to know who I am. These sorts of things you get to appreciate in hindsight because when you are going through them, the hope that you will get out and be better is little to none. That period also taught to me to be patient when I go through a bad patch because if I could get out of that misery, I can certainly get out of anything.

I learnt how to articulate myself from reading a lot of books and writing words I didn’t know and managing to fit them into the next conversation. (I remember how I used to love saying “in the greater scheme of things” hehehe). I’ve also mentioned before that I didn’t know the computer at all – I’m very happy that my former high school now has a computing facility because that’s very important. Dineo and I came across a call center programme where we were taught how to type, amongst other things. Strangely enough, that’s the only good thing that came out of it. God will always put you in places that will end up working in your favor. It was such a drag going to that place because I knew I didn’t want to work in that sector but I went anyway because I wasn’t doing anything at that time. This is another thing I have learnt; don’t disregard everything you do because you don’t know what you’re going to get out of it.

I can safely say I’m grateful for everything I’ve experienced thus far because its made me the versatile person that I am. I get to work and chill with the ladies that clean the kitchen and can easily waltz into the MD’s office with ease. I can twerk on a Saturday evening with my friend and wake up to reading a book. I can drink some gin and wake up to run some few kilometers only because I can be whomever the hell I want.

I just hope that you embrace whatever you’re going through right now because when the bible says “All things work together for the good for those who love God” best believe that’s the truth.

Book Review: Period Pain

I saw this book on my twitter timeline and I knew I had to get it.  It’s the first thing I purchased when I got paid and it was delivered 2 days later at my house. In 4 hours I was done with it. Beautifully written, real and in touch is what I’d describe this small gem.

The novel is based on a young woman called Masechaba who travels back and forth in time during her uprising to tell both a story of a changing South Africa and a teenage girl. Masechaba lives with both her parents and her older brother, Tshiamo who, a little later, commits suicide (I swear, I don’t go out looking for books that talk about suicide. They just jump in front of me *Cues MiWay Ad*)

The title of the book is a double word play on Masechaba’s very heavy period and a time where South Africa was experiencing xenophobia, which resulted in a painful period in our history. This book is Masechaba’s journal where she communicates to God about the happenings of her life. In the book, we see how, as she grows older and goes through bad experiences, grapples with the idea of God and religion. “And besides, Jesus wouldn’t get it. Jesus never failed at anything. He never did a thing wrong. That’s the fundamental difference. Having to live with failure will always set us apart from the Son of God. Having to live with the shame of not being better, not being courageous, not being great”

Growing up, Masechaba was a timid and reserved child due to the scarring that came with a heavy period she experienced. It was literally an overflow that needed her to wear 2 panties, 2 pads and a tampon and this would go on longer than the maximum 8 days of a cycle. One can imagine how that affects the upbringing of a young girl who’s desire is to be normal like other kids and do normal things like sleepovers and sports and wear anything she wants, without the shame of a bloodbath. This unfortunate imbalance makes Masechaba cave in and find refugee in her only friend, her brother Tshiamo. He seemed to be the only one who understood her because Masechaba’s mother is a typical black mother who believes in witchcraft and that Masechaba can’t do any form of surgery to heal her because she might ruin her chances of being a mom one day.

Tshiamo is into arts and he’s not the most affectionate person and that gets to Masechaba because she loves being hugged by her brother and doing everything with him. A few pages in the book, Tshiamo hung himself on a tree and a safe part of the world that Masechaba knew seized to exist. She grows to become very angry at her brother for ‘taking the easy way out’ and not being strong enough to face whatever he was going through. He didn’t write a note so now one knows why he did what he did.

Masechaba’s grieving process is captured throughout the book. She goes on a period of 2 years where she keeps on emailing Tshiamo and updating him on everything she experiences. She has accepted that her brother has passed away but this is how she chooses to deal with the loss.

Masechaba goes on study medicine and is now a qualified Dr, you must read to find out why she chose that profession, very interesting. Her periods have subsidided and she doesn’t experience anymore pain but she can’t seem to get out of the routine of dark clothing and a pile of pads just in case the sleeping monster awakens.

Masechaba is now a Dr who has moved out of home and now lives with her only friend, Nyasha. Nyasha is a medical officer from Congo whose view of the current South Africa is so robust it, oftentimes, becomes overbearing to a quiet Masechaba. Nyasha is very pretty with beautiful brown eyes and dreadlocks. She complains about pretty much everything and hates every living white person in the world. She doesn’t understand black women wearing weaves (a young Hugh Masekela) because she feels they are being too westernised. “Now I must keep these dreadlocks, even though they wear my head down, even though I’ve grown tired of them, because one of us, some of us, must have pride” – Yep, that’s Nyasha and her lotfullness(don’t google this word, it doesn’t exist).

Chaba’s mother doesn’t like Nyasha, in fact she detests all African brothers and sisters because like every other xenophobic person on this earth, she thinks they are here to steal our jobs and use their magic to take our talents and money… so funny!

At some point, later in the book, Xenophobia gets too bad that people are being hurt and some killed. This period of pain causes a drift between Nyasha and Chaba because Nyasha believes Chaba is like every other south Africa who sits quiet and does nothing while the white man continues to divide the black man. With Nyasha, every wrong thing is as a result of a white man’s existence on our beautiful earth.

Chaba who currently hates everything about her life and her job decides to do something about the xenophobic attacks and starts a pertition that goes viral and becomes somewhat of a success until she becomes a victim of correctional gang rape from 3 south African men who are teaching her a lesson from ‘protecting makwere-kwere’. She goes into a heavy depression where she stops working and her heavy period comes back again. She goes through therapy which doesn’t seem to help her because she doesn’t really belive in it.

Later she realises she’s pregnant and will never know who the real father is because of what those 3 bastards did to her. Because its too late in the pregnancy, she decides to keep the baby and surprisingly, she becomes the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She calls her daughter Mpho “…Because that’s what she is, because its not her fault, because she doesn’t deserve to have this stain on her future, because I refuse to allow anyone to tell her, or me, otherwise. She’s my Mpho, my gift”

This book deserves a part 2 or some sort of continuation I think. I enjoyed it and would really recommend it. I hope you enjoyed the review and thank you for reading the blog.

Do You Have A Lisa In Your Life?

Have you watched Being Mary Jane yet? Its one of my favorite series and a lot of black women can totally relate to her story. There’s a bit of MJ in every one of us and everyday is a constant battle to fight the set status quo.

Why can’t we have it all…? A great career, good family, money, good relationships and awesome friends? That’s not too much to ask, surely!

MJ has a close friend called Lisa, who eventually commits suicide on season 3. Lisa is an accomplished Doctor who’s very pretty and lives in a beautiful house. But Lisa is the most unhappy person ever, she suffered from depression and as I have touched on it before, this illness steals your joy and make you feel inadequate and useless. Lisa is so envious of MJ’s life that she doesn’t see how well her life is. Do you have a friend like that? Well, I did.

Lisa goes as far as going after the man that MJ has always loved and in season 3 she dials MJ and includes her in the conversation she has with David, the guy MJ loves. She wants to hurt her friend so bad. This is how someone who is not content with their life will always come at you. They will try everything to make you feel like they do always and unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do to help them. I read an article about someone who said they sympathize with Lisa because they felt that she commited herself to their friendship and MJ didn’t. I disagree…While friendship is a 2-way street, you should never expect your friend to translate their love for you the way you do for them. We show love differently and service each other in a way we each know how. 

David might not have been the best partner for MJ but it wasn’t Lisa’s call to make. As friends, I am happy for you to share your opinion on my matter, but you need to afford me the opportunity to choose whether to go ahead with it or not. Don’t ever impose your rules of living on someone else.

About a month ago I was walking my friend, Dineo, home and we actually touched on the subject of happiness and the importance of being content with what you have right now. I appreciate her because she constantly reminds us of where we come from and the struggles we have been through because that makes us appreciate our accomplishments and the dreams we have. Happiness is an everyday job and you need to work towards being happy.  

Joe Budden once tweeted this “She don’t want your man. She wants your happiness… She just thinks he’s the source of it” – This is true in every sphere of life because people see you happy and think its because of a particular element but you make it a point to be happy inspite of everything going wrong in your life. Like I’ve said before, Those people whose lives seem to be smooth sailing and look like they don't encounter problems decide which part of their story they want to tell. Like a showreel, they edit out the worst moments, their problems, battles etc. So don’t ever look at someone’s life and be envious of it because you don’t know what they are choosing to hide.  You must also be weary of the advises you listen to because not everyone has your best interests at heart.

Be careful of that friend who will always reveal your secrets because ‘they can’t keep shut’. That person who will want to hurt you deliberately so they can feel good and think an apology with solve it. Protect your happiness because its costly.

Grief: My Journey To Healing...

A few days after his burial I began therapy. I’ve never believed in therapy because it never made sense how one heals by talking to someone and repeating the same thing over and over again.

I was at work when I  experienced my first panic attack and it was so difficult. It was more sad seeing my collegues helpless and not knowing what to do. I was traveling to Cape Town for work the next day and my boss got such a fright that she called a therapist to urgently come see me before I leave. That’s how my first session began…

We went to a quiet place in the office and she literally watched me cry for about 20 minutes; very strange encounter for me. I managed to stop the tears enough for me to say “Hi”. Then she introduced herself and started asking me questions… Shit I hate!

If the first session was anything to go by, I was not going back to that woman. I couldn’t comprehend how that was going to work. I come into a room, cry and then still get asked questions, but thanks to my friends and family who urged me to go to my second one.

I continued meeting with her and it got better, in fact, I looked forward to going to the sessions because I came out with a different perspective and feeling lighter on some days. I highly recommend therapy to everyone for any situation.

One of the things she taught me were the 5 stages of grief and how to deal with a panic attack (I still don’t know how to handle it when it comes). The stages are as follows and I will share how I experienced them in the order they happened:  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

1.    Bargaining:

It takes me around 45 minutes, with normal traffic to get home. When I drove home to my boyfriend it was around 4pm and traffic was steady or maybe I was driving like a maniac beause it took less that 30 minutes to get to him.  

I don’t remember much about the drive but I kept stopping myself from crying because the tears where blocking my sight. Never have I prayed like I did that time. I bargained with God to put barriers to his plans and delay him somehow. I even asked God to stop time from moving so nothing happens.

My boyfriend has never mentioned suicide and although he showed the signs of depression, he never showed signs of suicide. So as I’m driving I’m asking myself if he’s bluffing or if he’s really going to do it.

2.    Anger:

I was the first person to arrive at the scene and I saw his lifeless body laying there. I was alone with his body for about 15 -20 minutes as the paramedics roamed around and everyone I informed was making their way. I can’t explain what was going through my mind. I was so angry at God for allowing this to happen.

I questioned His sovereignty because He is supposed to know everything that’s going to happen and He’s got the power to stop anything, but He didn’t.  I experienced anger for a while as I didn’t understand why the fuck my boyfriend had to go like this. Why would a God who loves me let me go through this and most importantly, why would Keabetswe leave me to explain his actions that are also unknown to me.  

The anger doesn’t go away. Some days you wake up so angry that you cant even cry. I’m forever thankful to those around me who are patient with me as I go through my healing. The most difficult thing is to try an empathize with someone when you’ve never gone through what they are going through.

3.    Denial

The week leading to his burial was the most stressful part as people are expecting you to provide them with answers you are asking the questions to yourself. Everyone is just dealing with the issue and trying to get through each day. So much happens you don’t even have time to comprehend the reality of the loss.

I went to my boyfriend’s house after 2 days; when I had gathered the strength to face the scrunity of those who didn’t know the story. The first thing his mother said when she saw me was “Askies”. Never has one word soothed me so much. When a time like this happens, you seek validation from those close to you because the world is ready to rip you apart. She held me and told me she loves me and I know she meant it that’s why my heart received it. It still hadnt sunk in that he is gone forever.

Only after all is done and everyone else is continuing with their lives you realise that this person is gone. You are faced with an empty, new normal. That’s when the denial came in for me. I couldn’t believe any of this. I spoke about him in the present and still included him in my plans. I kept calling him even though his phone was off. I went to his mom’s house everyday after work and all we did was cry. Every single day! It was our own little routine. I come in and we sit down and cry. We both convince ourselves that he is not gone and will come knocking.

Going there gave me a glimmer of hope that I will find him there and his mother always said everytime she sees me, it gives her hope that his son is also coming. Grief loves company…

4.    Depression

Do you want to guess what this was all about? You are right!

Every worst thing that you can imagine happens in this stage.

The week leading to his burial, I lost 6 kgs because I wasn’t eating. And everything else that was happening weighed me so down I couldn’t get up from my bed. Everyone forced me to eat and nothing went down.

Bathing feels like a huge task that you don’t even want to bother. Nothing matters anymore. I have never drunk like I have in the 2 months after his death, to a point that I would finish a bottle of gin on my own. I did it at home with friends so at least there was a still a need to maintain some dignity. I was too afraid to try and kill myself but I just needed to sleep and not wake up. It all becomes a lot that you are tired of living. It is a complex exercise to participate in the everyday demands of life. As If living was a task, my job became so hectic I couldn’t even breathe. In hindsight, I am glad work was hectic because it served as a disctraction and made me focus what was left of my energy to something other than my sorrows.

Everyday it still a battle to fight off depression, literally one day at a time. I am on panic pills that get me so drowsy, I don't know how get through the days sometimes. 

5.    Acceptance:

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