Between the devil and the deep waters

I feel waterlogged
No matter how much I try caulking the waters away from me

The deep waters keep coming 

With a huge conviction to get to me

When I look in the horizon,

there are monster rocks too

They seem ready to crush me to death if I run towards them for shelter.

I seem to have fewer options.

I have looked closely at Me

My beautiful landscape was there

There is no confirmation of that now, save for a shattered bridge

That is a symbol of what was there.

My head has been buried in the sand, to escape the perils of fanaticism

To my surprise all my efforts have become so pointless

My beautiful landscape is becoming ruined by the day

And I have no other options but lift my head up

My choices are limited?

Do I allow myself to drown in the deep waters of bigotry

Or make a run towards the approaching devil’s monster rocks?

Or roll over and die despicably irate?

Oh! Why should our existence be so testing?

Celiwe Ngwenya

Fashion faux pas

As usual my lunch break buddies and I congregated at the table for our lunch time banter. This is a platform for anything and everything. We have an unspoken rule, "we agree to disagree". Topics are random, and they sometimes leave a person wanting to do something about what was discussed.

Top of our list today was poverty. We wondered aloud about SA, if we would ever win our poverty struggle – and it was unanimously agreed that it definitely is becoming impossible for the country to think of social upliftment when it is busy trying to fit-in in the global stage. We also agreed that as a people we have equally become unfailingly selfish!  From the discussion it sort of dawned on us that we are feeling the effects of globalization. Phew! We are experiencing hard times! We went on and on until it was time to go back to work.

Once alone I thought of our discussion; is globalization really our enemy? “What really does globalization mean to the man in the street?” . I ran straight for the dictionary, and it didn't let me down. The Cambridge International Dictionary defined globalization as; an idea that events in one country cannot be separated from those in another and that a government should consider the effects of its actions in other countries as well as its own. 

Psst! I don't really think there is an actual definition of the word, because most  times when experts explain the concept they associate the word to events. Nonetheless, the dictionary definition made me think. The butterfly effect jumped straight into my mind ... Something I heard and read about somewhere:-) To try and explain this I'll say, the butterfly effect is always associated with chaos. In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is described as the sensitive dependence on initial conditions, where a small change at one place in a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences to a later state. Good or bad!

So, when I was alone thinking about the discussion I had with my posse, I thought of globalization as a butterfly. The flapping of its wings being the movements of products, ideas, money, people and cultures into the world today. This is supposed to be good but somehow in our shores these movements have managed to widen the socio-economic imbalances.  So to explain our glum lives we can argue that though we have had a history of being poor in this country - created by the legacy of disfranchisement, since globalization became our pop-culture, the plight of the poor has been accelerated to poorer. 

So where do we go from here? Others argue that the remedy is in the poison itself. So if we don't talk about issues how would we identify the ingredients in the recipe that need to be discarded?  Why aren't we talking about this? What happen to social spaces developed during our ‘revolution’ for liberty, equality and fraternity? Have these discourse spaces become a fashion mistake? Should we create new spaces for economic freedom?

I got a lesson on “Me time”

I have had this conversation with a colleague this morning (separate departments), he was surprised that I was already at work at 6h30 yet my day starts at 8h00. I told him that I like being on my own before everybody else arrives, and that if I arrive with everybody my day is thrown. He wanted to know what I do that early – I told him that my early mornings give me a perspective for the day and that I also use this time to reflect upon  previous day's events. He then told me that he also prefers the early mornings as a ‘me – time’. So our conversation moved towards things that people can do during me time.

He mentioned that his ‘me-time’ is always spent praying, especially since he has come back from the dead, he said he  has something to be grateful about. He was diagnosed with Cancer two years ago, and he says there were days when he thought he would not see the next Xmas, which was 2012, he beat that mark and is now healing every day. Gets you thinking, doesn’t it? 

He left me wondering about what I would have done, and what I'd still be doing if I were in his situation.

This poem was inspired by my this morning's 'me-time'

Becoming

Sunlight vanishes to Night

Darkness transforms to Light

Winter disappears, Spring appears

Seedlings grow into Crop

A chrysalis transforms to a butterfly

So pretty and colourful like a painting

A chick becomes a bird

That serenades with sweet reverberation.

A flower sprouts out in spring

Alas, in autumn it withers.

A child becomes a man -

So strong, and gallant and capable

Alas, old age creeps in,

The man, fades and perish.

Become the light

Germinate into edible harvest

Be the butterfly

And sing like a bird.

Be delightful and converted

Enchant us all before time catches up.

Celiwe Ngwenya

Growing pains

There was one trying and interrogative question that relatives, teachers and to some extent, if you’re lucky your parents, always asked when we were young; “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  I can still hear them, in their monotonous tones, you'd swear they were related! 

Very often there was some form of expectation attached to this question. I guess the inquisitors wanted aspirations that would lead the uncertain into an “upstanding” member of society. The list of expectations was limited to teacher, nurse, doctor, policeman, teacher, nurse, doctor, and policeman. This was a closed directory. Whether what was in the catalogue suited us or not picking one was a must!

Anyway, the point of the matter is, then adults placed so much burden on our little shoulders with their expectations, and we thought of that as torturous, yet when we think of it now, we know they cared!. Sadly enough, the same "cruel" mindset is still prevalent (guess who are parents now:-) -  and the trying question is still the essence of the inquisitors’ frame of mind. These days however, the inquisitors have become aggressive. Their fallen dreams are to be lived through their young. The often sung tune these days is that “my daughter /son will be a doctor, lawyer or engineer”. Does the poor child know about this? Not really. Does this optimistic individual know if his/her child has the ability to be? Nope again!

The truth of the matter is that parents believe that this is the right thing to do. Coming to think of it, it does make sense, parents are merely looking out for their young. Unfortunately, parents are seldom right about their preferences because often  there is some soul out there crying over what could have been. 

Anyway, because parents take no prisoner to get what they want the poor devils have no alternative but submit into what is desired. Unfortunately they end up walking in a limp, since what they could have been was cut off. They will go through life in borrowed robes and when it is their time to be parents they start seeing reason; their parents were right! The cycle begins again.  It is a chain-reaction!

Unfortunately this is every child's fate. Out there lurks some adult who is ready to chisel some child into something conventional, because  it is their duty to knock some sense into the idle mind. 

When I’m confronted with this I get to think about my childhood. Were my circumstances the same” Yes, and more! Did I know what I wanted to be when then? Not really but somehow I knew that the inquisitors wanted answers, and I always told them what they wanted to hear; a teacher. They would nod in approval. Well it was easier for me to say that because my parents were teachers! I’m also lucky somehow because despite the little fact that I got socialized into becoming a teacher, I ended up loving it..I wonder though, had I told my inquisitors that “I am my hair” Lord forbid; I would have been branded a trouble maker. My parents would have admonished the worst of punishments.Read this as a metaphor, that I really didn’t know what I wanted to be.  I was really my matted coils of hair that have their own personality! Every child is like that - some form of a mystery! A jigsaw puzzle! As they grow older, they reveal themselves in snippets to parents and to themselves. Are snippets trustworthy? It depends! Some complex matter! 

Heroes and Villains

When someone goes an extra mile to help others s/he is considered a hero by those showing appreciation. In addition, we also refer to those who brave dangerous conditions/circumstances to save others’ lives as heroes, like the recent story of a certain gentleman in some informal settlement who braved an inferno to save a life (a story for another day). He is regarded a hero to the life he saved, a hero to the family and a hero in that informal settlement community.

Ever wondered about the origins of the word? Well I hear it owes its origins to Greek Mythology and is somewhat explained as a word that means a defender/protector. Apparently the definition originally referred heroism to martial courage or excellence (think of the exploits of Hercules, Odysseus, Theseus to name but a few) and later the definition was extended to more general moral excellence (heroes of Greek Mythology would never qualify in this category;-).

Now that we are all on the same page, like everybody else I also have a fixation with heroes. Top of my list are the garbage/waste collectors. I should warn you that there won't be any mention of my family  because they are in by proxy.  In my topsy-turvy world, they were long ago anointed  to be my protectors, so whatever they do won't be seen as 'going an extra mile act'.

Anyway, the on-the-job hazards the garbage collectors are exposed to are never ending; you will find amongst other dangers disposed needles, broken glasses, diseases that come with contaminated waste, dog attacks, pests, dust, rough weathers, and foul odours. I don’t know how they do it but these men are forever smiling and full of banter. I have lived in many places and in all the places I've lived in,  I’ve yet to meet a grumpy garbage collector.

Subsequent to these guys, I also consider petrol attendants  my heroes too.The level of patience these guys exude – bless their souls! Oh my goodness, the supermarket parking attendants, (I may be showing a bias towards a particular gentleman who always find me a good spot at the supermarket). There is also the shoemaker up the road where I live, my goodness what would I do without him. I don't want to forget my neighbours (we are chalk and cheese, but operate like salt and pepper)! My list can go on forever but I think I will conclude it with Mrs Moses, my Sub A teacher (Grade 1 was called SUB A when I was young). Dear Mrs Moses, may her soul rest in peace! she smoothed me out into who I am today. I was her apprentice (another story to tell in the not so faraway future)! At the moment I just want to say I'm forever grateful to have met my heroes.

Lord be hold! I seem to be going on about the good guys, you know we can’t really tell stories about heroes without mentioning villains. They creep out everywhere where there is a good guy. We have Lex Luthor in pursuit of Superman. We have Popeye’s world being the target of Bluto’s envy. There is also Megamind who defeats Metro Man but later finds out that life is without purpose without Metro Man. Talk about the reality of life!

Nevertheless, like everyone else I also have a few people I secretly wish them many things that would not be appear on this page, like the girl you meet at the till-counter when you have to pay for an item, who’d size you up then make a suggestion that a certain brand will be good since the one you are about to pay for is expensive. Not to mention the girl who chooses to serve a handsome gentleman behind you at the confectionary. Once I threw a fit, and overheard the little witch mumbling something that sounded like she doesn’t know why I frequent that counter since I was already bulkier than the hippopotamus.

These are just a few faces that are accorded the VIP spot on my dart board. However, these don’t top what I secretly wish to bestow on one  particular person, my Standard 4 teacher. She was the meanest person I’ve ever met. She made me hate school. I know sometimes that I asked for it because I was a little Missknowitall, but it was all for her. I tried so hard to impress her, she just didn't like me! I couldn’t understand why she didn’t like me because everyone liked me, corpulent shape and all! Anyway, if she is alive I know she will never be able to read this extract because she would be as old as hills, besides she wouldn't be techno savvy. But if she does read this, when it is late at night and her old bones are stinging, I'm in collaboration with the universe against her because that's what always happen to villains in the end, the universe returns everything the villain once dished out!.

Transgressions are the quintessence of youthfulness

Last evening I had quite an interesting conversation with an interesting young person whom I admire because of her achievements at such a young age, she is 25 years of age by the way. She runs her own business and has a few people working for her. She’s my role model! 

Her jargon! Lord have Mercy, consists of words like branding, projections, procurement, surplus, profits and all other technical expressions used in business. You better believe me when I say, my role model is 25 years of age! Anyway, as our conversation progressed, she shared something about  her younger sister who is ‘a piece of work’, and whom she believes is narcissistic and needy, and that she worries about her because her life seems to be a “roller-coaster ride to nowhere”. I asked if this “little monster” was the youngest member of the family, and she nodded. Suddenly, a gush of bittersweet memories engulfed me, “it’s difficult to be a young family member,” I said, “the expectations ( I sighed) can be burdensome, your older siblings become your compass, and your actions are adjudicated through theirs when they were your age.” I was not talking about her sister anymore I was on about my youth!

I don’t wish to bother you about ‘the pleasures of my youthful transgressions’ my conversation is about what it means to be young. Being young means an over obsession with life and the world. Being young means the yearning to be different and loved. If you can't find love at home you search for it everywhere, and in all the wrong places. Being young means to be a little selfish and irresponsible. I still have to see a young person whose values  are in sync with that of his/her parents! Regardless, my idea is not to bash parents and promote delinquency but to add tit-bits to what parents already know. 

The youthful mind is like a sponge, and wide-open to influences, be it positive or negative influence. Unfortunately as adults we spend most of our time condemning and preaching instead of trying to understand the pressures of their world. Somehow we forget that we were once young, and that during our youth things were different, our pressures were home-grown not global. We were not plagued as much by many deadly illnesses. We were taught to respect our elders, and today we teach our young not to talk to strangers. And there wasn't so much information (good and bad) going around. I can go on forever... Anyway, I don't really have any combative solutions about how the youth should be treated because that's not my style, but I do know though that if we keep condemning everything we will never know about what goes-on in their lives. My outlook, I shared this with "my role model" as well "don’t be an enemy, create a ‘circle of trust’,  and powers to influence, positively I must say, will be bestowed upon you, by the transgressor of course. " And the rest ... you decide!

Rising from the Ashes

As I sat in traffic on my work today I observed a throng of people walking past, to work I imagine, some were walking in long strides, carefree and chit-chatting, others walking shoulders hunched as if they were headed to a  slaughterhouse. I then wondered about my set of circumstances, whether I was with the carefree or the downtrodden. I couldn’t place a finger on it, instead my thoughts wandered away from the strangers to (as strange as it may sound) Greek Mythology. I thought of how a friend from my youth, a profound gentleman with the biggest of hearts, often spoke about the Phoenix rising from the ashes; at the time I could never understand how relevant this was in our lives, but now I’m a convert!

I have discovered that nothing in life is constant and that we have to somehow constantly try and make it work. Unlike the Phoenix our rising from the ashes is a continuous engagement. We shouldn't lose that! We just have to learn to manoevre the waters. I’m tempted to say the waters can be defeated but I know that would be untrue because that is not life. The Life as we know it is a constant challenge. There will be times when we are broken and times when we experience the ups. So if you are up today be content with your all because your tomorrow might be tested. And if your spirit is broken today be certain you will also be gratified.

I have been broken and I have been content, broken again and content, and broken again then content, with that I want to say this poem for every broken and hunched shouldered soul.

A Broken Spirit

A Broken Spirit,

What an amazing formation!

Ever wondered what becomes of a Broken Spirit?

It wallows in misery, gets tangled in anguish while engrossed in ancient wounds.

The frame of mind becomes suspicious, presumptuous and evil.

And the Man becomes a Victim and blames everyone about him.

The world ceases being beautiful

Everyday becomes dark and sad.

The Man sees the bad and ignores the good.

The Man antagonizes kind actions of others.

The Man becomes glad when others notice his misery

His shoulders become slumped by the day

He rekindles old wound and sinks further in his misery

And the bitterness becomes his realm.

Then again, They say the Lord delights in the person with a Broken Spirit.

When we experience brokenness blessings follow, a Broken Spirit produces genuine sorrow.

Out of a Broken Spirit there is humility and pursuit of Salvation

Out of a Broken Spirit there is willingness to change, compassion and gratitude.

Remember, the Spirit is a marvel formation of the Lord

And He delights in the Broken Spirit.

Celiwe Ngwenya