The life of Sephephe Francisca Mamabolo

 

Sephephe Francisca Mamabolo (neé Bopape) was born on the 28^th of March 1935 at the St. Benedict Mission in Magoebaskloof. She is the second born of the late Theophilus and Maite Bopape.

She was joined in marriage to Charles Maisha “CP” Mamabolo in 1956 and they were blessed with three children; daughters Florence and Josephine as well as a son Eugene.

 

She received a prestigious Catholic education attending primary school at St.  Scholastica   in Ga-Molema for Sub-A and B, Standard 1 to 3 at St. Benedict in Magoebaskloof and Standard 4 to 6 at St. Montfort in Louis Trichardt. She completed her JC at Mokomene High School followed by the Higher Primary Teachers Course at Mokopane College of Education. These she obtained as the first woman from Segopye, Ga-Mamabolo to leave her home and children to pursue higher education. She subsequently obtained her Matric certificate by correspondence. She obtained her tertiary qualification, the Senior Education Certificate, from Vista University.

 

Her teaching career started at Motholo Primary School in 1967. In 1968 she joined Sekwala Lower Primary School as a teacher where she taught English and Arithmetic excellently for 20 years.  In 1988 she founded Madipadi Pre-School, at Ga-Van Vuuren in Segopye, where she worked until her retirement in 1995. In 1998 she opened Children’s Haven Pre-School in Unit-C in Mankweng Township where she worked well into her 80’s. This is where she introduced the popular family trip to the National Zoo in Pretoria which was a great achievement. Additionally, the annual graduation was the highlight of the school year.

 

Francisca Mamabolo was a staunch and proud member of the Roman Catholic Church. She was part of the group that established St. Bernadette Catholic Church in Segopye. She served as a diligent member of St. Anne Sodality for over 60 years. She took on various community projects teaching women how to knit, sew, and bake.

 

She was an enthusiastic traveller. She enjoyed sightseeing and taking family picnics to the Ebenezer Dam. She visited world-class destinations including Cape Town, Swaziland, Botswana, Zimbabwe, London, Rome, France, and Israel.

 

Mogaleadi, as she was affectionately known, raised three of her own children and many others throughout the years.  She was a strict mother and often enlisted near draconian rules for the children making sure that they are brought up the correct way.

 

Mogaleadi had a deep affection for her family and took on the role of a unifier. She would ensure that all her relatives know each other and that they care to check-in on each other.

 

She was a strong and brave woman who displayed unparalleled tenacity throughout her life. She spoke her mind unapologetically. She always stood for what she believed in regardless of the consequences. She was a warm person with a good sense of humour. A cheerful giver who always thought of those less fortunate.

 

She will be remembered for many things including her unique singing voice, active dance moves, the blue Toyota van, and famous banana bread.

 

She endured a long illness and departed from this world on the 7^th of January 2021. She is survived by her sister Walburga Letlalo, daughters Florence Mathosa and Josephine Letsoalo. Her grandchildren Mashadi, Ketse, Maisha, Karabo, Tshepo, Tšhegofatšo, Maisha, and Mogale as well as her great-grandchildren Wilben and Eugene.

 

Robala ka Khutšo Mogaleadi Serokolo serapa sa mmea peu.

Mamorudi!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Salute; Oupa Ben

The eulogy by Mashadi Mathosa on the occasion of Ben Harris’ funeral on the 20^th of February 2020 at the family plot in GaRamongoana, Moletji, Polokwane.

Maisha Mathosa laying his Oupa's grave marker 

My name is Mashadi. I have been given the great privilege to address you today in tribute to our Oupa. Usually when I meet people and they discover that I have a connection to Oupa they ask “Which one is your daddy?” and when I tell them, they say “Oh the tall; handsome one from Turfloop.”  I am Willy Mathosa’ s daughter.

All people are special. But some are more special than others. Once in a while, God gives us a person who becomes the symbol of an era. They define a time in history. These people live a life so extraordinary, so magnificent, and so powerful that we can only consider ourselves blessed for having been in their presence.  Benedict Harris was a man fit for this description.

Oupa’s life was destined to be a tale of survival from the day of his birth. It was not “cute” to be born as a person of mixed parentage in 1931. In fact, it was illegal. From the day, he was born, Oupa had to fight to live.

Growing up, Oupa had to constantly deal with the condition of being colored having had a black mommy and a white father. Imagine living in a world where nobody, nobody looks like you.

Oupa grew up at a Dutch mission and Dutch was the only language he could speak.   So, naturally he was taken to the mission school there, but, he was not allowed to get in. The white teachers locked him out and said “Ons soek nie hotnotte nie” (We don’t want Hottentots) .  I asked him once, Oupa, what did you think you were?  And he said “My baby, I thought I was a person.”

Oupa, was also mocked and rejected by black people. The black people would call him “Amper Bass” (This is a derogatory term to describe children born from black and white parents. ‘Bass’ is the Afrikaans word for a white male boss. Amper the Afrikaans word for almost. The term then loosely translated means ‘almost boss’). When he cried to his mother she said “Don’t worry one day you are going to be a boss and you are going to give them jobs” And he did.

With all this Oupa did not resent anyone. He embraced all people. In fact, Oupa would say, we are all mixed blood. If your mother is Shangaan and your father is Venda, then you are coloured. This was Oupa’s stance because he knew that there is only one race and that is the human race.

I mentioned earlier that Oupa’s story is a tale of survival.  He was named Harry Moloto but lived his life as Ben Harris. (By the way, Oupa had another name in between but he said I must never tell you).  When Oupa arrived in Johannesburg he could not use the name Harry Moloto because he was classified as coloured. Oupa then took his name Harry and turned it into a surname -Harris.  Then he took his baptismal name Benedict and turned it into his name-Ben.  And thus…Ben Harris was born. I do not think it repugnant to say that Harris was a self-made man.

Oupa was a very consistent person. He lived his life like clockwork.  He followed the same routine for years.

Sunday: Anglican Church on Biccard Street

Monday: Labour Conflicts at the Transport Office

Tuesday:  Karoo-Osh Auction along the N1

Wednesday: The farm at Mara Buysdorp

Oupa was loyal to his routine. This made him reliable. You could predict his whereabouts with absolute certainty.

We see the theme of consistency manifest itself in the way Oupa did business. Oupa had entrepreneurial prowess. Oupa was a beast in business. He had the respect of everyone who met him in business.

Oupa went to auction every Tuesdays. My brother, Maisha spent many Tuesdays there with Oupa and I now quote my brother “Oupa sat in the same place every time. And he sat as what he was. He sat between the whites and the blacks. I always sat next to Oupa. He had secret signals with Hawick the auctioneer and remember he started the auction with Hawick’s dad. You could never see when Oupa bid for cattle. If people did not bid the right price for his cattle he would say “Hulle ken die pad huis toe” (They  know their way home) There were no more auctions of late. But when Oupa passed on the auctions opened again. Sister,  Maybe Oupa asked God to open them for us.”

Oupa was brave. He was not afraid to venture into different things. Ben Harris started Hamba Buya Tours, the Westernburg Café, the butchery, the filling station, and the farms. It is decades later and they are all still running. CONSISTENCY!

We do not have a word in English or any other language for that matter  to describe what a hard worker Oupa was.  Oupa worked himself to the bone and no work was above or below him.  Oupa never instructed anyone to do a job that he couldn’t do himself.  He could service a car, dig a borehole, drive a bus and then write a letter for Nelson Mandela’s release from prison.  Oupa never went on leave and never had a plan for retirement.

If there is one thing Oupa hated, its indolence. Laziness.  There are people who came face to face with Oupa’s sjambok because of this. He wanted everyone to work hard and to be self-sufficient.

Oupa was a generous person. In big ways and in small ways. When you came to see him, after the greeting he would ask if you’d had something to eat.  This I reckon is an attribute he got from Ouma, Elizabeth Harris, his late wife. He founded a home for his people, gave them refuge in his house, he built a school for them, he buried many people even strangers (one of them lies in this very cemetery; Oupa never met him but he buried him) , he donated cattle, bags of maize but also ,Oupa gave us his time. Once there was a drought here in Romongoana, there was no water for the cattle, Oupa was so worried, so he made a water connection so that the locals could bring their cattle to drink. He didn’t ask for a cent. See,    Oupa loved a  few things, but his favorite was a cow.  Oupa loved cattle. His mind was on the busses and the shops but his heart was on the farm, near  cattle, and a  Brahman for that matter.

Oupa also dabbled fashion. It was the Ben Harris style. It was a timeless collection of khakis and a veld sun hat. One day we found Oupa dressed in a blue police shirt, complete with epaulets, the only thing he did not have was a badge. He told us that someone gave him the shirt, and that it was still strong and mostly that he looked smart in it. Oupa was careful with his things and he didn’t like waste.  His simple clothes and aged vehicles were a sign of his humility.  Oupa even ate caterpillars (Mopani worms)  and he enjoyed them. Oupa was humble and approachable, with his hair slipped back with water, and a pen and diary in his breast pocket, he looked like the man next door. If you knew nothing about him, you wouldn’t guess that he was a man of such high caliber .

Ben Harris was a story teller par excellence and an immaculate custodian of our history.  Oupa was sharp. He never forgot a thing. He had a great sense of humor and told many jokes. Some of them were not for children under the age of 13.

Oupa loved people. He always wanted to spend quality time with us – all of us seated here.  He would say “You people must come to see me; all my friends are gone”. Oupa loved his family, his friends and neighbors. He attended as many events as he could to offer his support and he usually insisted on speaking at events. See, Oupa loved people, and where he couldn’t inspire them by doing he inspired them by his words and this he did until he could no longer hold the microphone.  Oupa spoke about education, discipline, corporal punishment, corruption, hard work and among his greatest laments was that the government  should give the schools back to the church.

Oupa was a Christian, a God fearing Anglican man who helped many churches and religious communities including the St. Benedict Sisters of the Catholic Church.  The congregation that gave him his name.  The Motto of St. Benedict is, Ora et Labora, Pray and Work, he is the patron saint for Farmers.  Is this coincidence? I don’t think so.

Oupa loved all his children, especially the grandchildren.  Oupa was besotted with  his grandchildren. You could not get passed Oupa without a hug and a kiss. Oupa would have done anything for us.  There are times when we disappointed Oupa and broke his heart. But Oupa never gave up on us. Oupa gave us chance after chance to become great men and women.

Oupa,

Thank you for making us.

Thank you for showing us who we are.

You fought for us and worked for us.

Now, we are thoroughbred Harris Bulls.

We carry your blood Oupa and it is the blood of champions.

You taught us love and compassion

Empathy, tenacity and perseverance.

Oupa, you did not wait for the world to tell you who are. 

Your defined yourself and chartered the course of your life.

You are one of a kind.

A thought leader,

You are a pioneer Oupa, a game changer.

Oupa for a man for all seasons.

Look at yourself now Harry Moloto.

You are Ben Harris.

You, are a king.

I feel at peace today, because I know that my Oupa’s work was done. I know this because if Oupa was not finished he would have simply said to God, “Man wait a little , we are still working here.”

Bye, bye Oupa.

Restore to Factory Settings

In  a matter of days I will be 35 years old.  October 8 , 1982.  That's when all of this magnificence entered the earth. It was  a Friday afternoon; three o'clock to be exact. Ten fingers, ten toes, 3.8 kilograms .  Pietersburg hospital, Bantu  Section ( that is what the sign said, and that is how our country was).

 It was a  wonder-filled day.

Right,  back to  the future.   I am not  dreading 35  ,nor am I expecting to wake up to decipher  the meaning of  life.  However, there is call to pay a little  more attention to this  age  than there was to, say,  27 or 34.  There's  definitely something about 35.   I don't want to do a retrospective analysis of whether my life has had any deep meaning  thus far or  if  I have made significant contributions to people's lives . I mean that is pretty obvious.  I would however, like to share a few  things I  have learnt.

The world will screw you over , sometime or another one way or another,  you will be screwed.   Over a number of years,  mostly in your twenties, your body will betray you, people will show you that they suck, you will  discover that no matter where you are employed you  work for  the government and the bank ,  you will learn that  the experience of  romantic love is mostly complicated and you will realize that sugar is shit.  You will go through a quarter life crisis where you question everything that you know  and one day you'll want to quit it all and search for the truth but by then you will have so many bills that you'll have to stay in your  job and  keep a stiff upper lip.   You will be screwed.   It will happen.

Now, don't despair . You can unscrew yourself.  And no , not by following the advise from glossy magazines because those are actually designed to  make you spend more money, but by figuring it out yourself.  I did.  ( Well some of it)  There are  actual, real life things you can do to unscrew yourself. These things will help you remember that you are lovely, that you are full of grace, that you are worthy and that the world wouldn't be the same without you.

These lessons are  in random order.   I wrote them as  I remembered them.

Number One: Put yourself first
Yes.  Put yourself first.  Think about what you want, makes sure you get it  and then you can see about other people.  Believe me  the happiest people are those who tend to their needs first.  I can't tell you how many stories  I have heard that have utterances like " I can't believe she is so selfish", "  I did this and that for her but she never thinks about me", "  She introduced me as her  old neighbour ... I thought we were best friends".   This happens because your  parents, catechism or  Sunday school school teachers may have told you to be humble and put other's needs before yours.  Catch a wake up  Lucy .. the world doesn't work that way. People serve their own interests first , get with the program! There is a positive interpretation to this assertion and that is the oxygen mask theory.   When the air hostess prepares you for a plane crash, she asks you to put on your oxygen mask first so that you can help others with theirs.  It's quite simple,  You can't pour from an empty cup .  So love you yourself, look after yourself, satisfy yourself then you can deal with other people.

Number two: Have some water with the wine
Nothing feels worse than a hangover. NOTHING. So  drink slowly and have a glass of water after every glass of an alcoholic drink. Hangovers  give you a loser's complex and make you doubt  yourself...so  don't do it!  And  in the words  of one Joan Armatrading " have some water with the wine".

Number three:  Stay clear of the shops (online too) when you are feeling sad
Don't get into  the habit of buying things to help you to feel better.  You will become an emotional shopper. You will max your credit card.  You will feel worse and  you will get into the vicious cycle of debt.  Things will not solve  your issues. Learn to save money.   Saving feels good. You will feel triumphant.  The money you have saved will probably be the only money that belongs to you.

Number four:  Listen to the voices inside your head
That is your intuition.  That is the voice  that told you it was time to get out it your mother's womb.  It is the voice that propels you  to take a different route home on an arbitrary day.  The 'establishment' spends all its time teaching us to ignore that voice.  Listen to it.  Listen to your inner  voice, pay attention to your dreams and desires, those are your prayers answered.

Number five: Go home
When the world has whipped your butt  go home to Mama, or granny or aunty.  You don't have to say anything. You don't have to tell her what happened.  Just go home  and help her with what she's doing. You will feel better.   Home reminds us who we are .  It reminds us of the sacrifices our elders made to get us to where we are.    Home gives us confidence ,it reassures us. Home makes us feel at home.  So when you feel royally screwed ...just go home.

Number six: Pray
Pray. And if you don't know what to say say thank you.

Number seven: Just.keep.breathing
Something happens when you breathe deeply and mindfully. Pay attention to  your breath. Watch your belly expand .  Do it again.  As long as you can do that there's hope for you yet. Just breathe.  Everything will be alright.  And once you get into the rhythm of breathing drink water.   Breath and water are a  great combination.  Think about how the great baobab or a delicious monster goes about its day.


Number eight: Love your own company/Fall in love with yourself.
Especially if you are single.  Boredom may lead to destruction.  So cultivate ways to  entertain  yourself.  Cultivate ways to be at peace with your solitude.   There  is a lot of hardship that can be avoided by learning  to be by yourself.  Exercise self care.  Practice acts of self love . Love yourself like you  the way you want to be loved.


Number nine: Commit to your deal breakers
If you decide that you will not allow a man to cheat on you. Stick to it.   If you decide that  you allow people to be only 15 minutes late  for a meeting. Stick to it.   Have integrity.  Let your thoughts, words and deeds be aligned.   Don't allow people to take you for a  ride.  Stick to your convictions.


Number ten   Don't be afraid  of your naked body
Don't be afraid of  your naked body.  Don't be afraid  of your  bald head.  Don't be afraid of your clean face.   When you lather  your body with soap and soothe it with oil talk to it and thank it for carrying you through life.   Look into the mirror and say " I love you" .  When you  extend  love and acceptance to your body you will give it the care that it deserves. Try. Just  try to eat well, to rest, to drink water  and to embrace your body as it is.  You are beautiful.


The bonus one:     Dance to  your tune
Do life the way you see fit.  Walk barefoot if you like.  Be a vegan in June and  devour steaks in July.  Be a Catholic Buddhist . Sleep during the day and work at night.   Watch cartoons and drink wine.  Drive a truck and listen to jazz. Wear clothes that don't match.  Wear a weave  while growing  an afro.   You don't owe anybody an explanation.  Define yourself , create and recreate yourself as often as you need to. You are alive. Live.

Restore yourself to the magnificence that your Creator meant for you to be.   Everything that you wish  to be...you already are!

This is me.  I will soon be 35.   In the last 15 years I have been screwed so many times .  I have been rejected, lied to , dismissed and neglected.  I wasn't always the victim.  Sometimes, in fact quite often I rejected, lied to, dismissed and neglected myself.  I am a size 38 and I'd rather not be. I struggle with my weight but I am fully aware that I am beautiful.   I fall in and out of credit card debt seasonally.   Some of my life choices still tie my stomach into knots. I work myself into a ball of anxiety  at least once a month.  I suffer from insomnia.   I am not always confident.   But, I am here,    I breathe slowly  and mindfully.  I love deeply and I am deeply loved.  I  know how to take care of  the people I love.  I am a giver and I  have finally learnt how to receive.  I am smart  and witty and  I  crack a mighty good joke.   I do life and  I do it well.  I sing my own song and  I dance (with very little coordination) to my own tune. I love it!   I say thank you everyday . I know  who  I am and  I know that the good Lord aint done with me yet!  I am here!

My Ray Chikapa Phiri

*Phone Rings*

Mashadi : Mr Ray Chikapa Phiri

Chikapa:  My Daa-ling! MyShadi

Mashadi: Chikapa. How are you?

Chikapa:  I'm talking to you. Life is good! Talk to me Shadi...


Eight years ago, on a  hot Polokwane afternoon  I met Chikapa.  It was a Saturday.  I was 26 years old and didn't think too much about the future.   I couldn't have imagined that tomorrow would never be the same again.   Tomorrow  and  today thereafter became the realest of  fairy tales.   I worked with Stimela, yes the whole band, I met them all.  My task was to interview them and write short biographies about each member and then  about Stimela itself.   For two months of my young life, without a day off,  I lived and breathed Stimela,  Everything I know about Ray Phiri...he told me himself.

I too was surprised when the project finished and Chikapa kept in touch with me. He insisted that I stay.  He  said "  Your heart is in the right place Shadi. Learn,lalela (listen),  this is how Stimela works..."  and this conversation went on until  he could no longer come to the phone.

I am not able , at this point to talk about this extraordinary friendship.  My feelings are untidy .  I need to  distill them first.  Identify with them  and then  I will be able to express them.  For now I'll tell you what I now about my friend:

Ray Chikapa Phiri

Mashadi Mathosa

He wore a round copper bracelet

A soft cotton T-shirt

Pageboy hat

Denim jeans and

Converse All Stars

He took his coffee black

And his tobacco strong

He loved a blended red wine

And his cognac on ice

He sat with his left leg crossed over his right

Sometimes with his chin in his hand

He nodded again and again in agreement

And pressed his lips together

He loved to look up

He joked with school boy charm

And laughed with teenage mischief

Breaking into a  cough

Fisting his right hand

Arching his back

And laughing some more

 He read libraries

And never forgot a thing

He loved listening  to  music

And knew all of it

Take your time!

Think!

Let’s Talk!

Lalela!

Take it easy!

Inspired

By Father,

Dancing marionettes,

By Love,

Life,

By you.

He bared his Soul

He left nothing unsaid

He belted out his feelings

He gave us all he had

Asked us questions and

Gave us the answers.

His songs tell his story

“I’m having fun”

The resident chef

The bottom-less pit of stories

The guitar strumming genius

Always left the party in full-swing

“Are you afraid to die?”

“No. Dying is a release”

“Why should I be afraid?”

"Don't be  afraid Shadi"

"I've given you everything"

He is Frankie and he is Jonase

The dreamer

The master

The channel

The friend

The father 

The lover 

The superstar 

He is the Highland Drifter

“I can see shooting stars writing my name”

Ray Chikapa Phiri

 ------------

Chikapa taught me how to throw caution to the wind.  How to pick a great wine and  how to cook fish. He showed me the best books and the greatest music.   How to rise from a rut and let my light shine.How to listen to the voices in my head.  He taught me how to  filter a good coffee and mix a refreshing gin and tonic.   He reminded me to drink water . Chikapa taught me how to live. 

 I miss him.

2009 , At my parent's house in Turfloop

Recommended for MyShadi, The art of loving.
2010, La Toscana Polokwane

2010,   at the SABC Studios in Polokwane

 

2012 , at the  ANC  centenary celebration in Bloemfontein

2015,  with our friend Lethabo at his home in  Nelspruit. It was was the 12th of July.

Mashadi:  I love you

Chikapa: Shadi , I love you for my life

Mashadi:  Chikapa, I love you always

Chikapa: I love you for my life

* drops phone* 

The things Sarah helped me remember

Sarah quit her job as my domestic worker on the second day of this year .  We hadn't had a disagreement or anything like that.  In fact the last time I'd seen her I had given her a Christmas bonus and paid her for days she hadn't worked. The agreement was that she would come back on the first working day of  January to catch up on some laundry and cleaning.  Standard.    I phoned her to wish her a happy new year and to remind her that  I was expecting her.  She simply said "I'm not coming back" ,  As it were,she  had stumbled on a life altering opportunity during the  festive season and had decided to go with it.  It turns out there  is a road construction near her village and she had been enlisted as a road-fixer-lady.   I of course have no issue with her decision only that she had hadn't informed me of her change of plans .  So there I was  baskets full of laundry and the aftermath of having hosted the New Years Eve party. 

So, I did what any level headed 30-something would do...I  filled a glass of wine to the brim and started cleaning.   As  I went through piles of  worn-only -once  jeans, water stained glasses, dust  filled shelves,   sofa stealing coins, insect coffin carpets that  hadn't been touched once in six months, I  came face to my face with myself.

I realized for the  first time  since moving into my house that  I took so much for granted. 

I remembered how much I had fought for have this house.   A little under five years ago the bank had almost refused to finance me for a house.  I in turn refused to accept their refusal .  We had to bargain from there.  The bank said they'd only give me a loan if  I paid a  deposit  amounting to 10% of the total amount.  I had some saving but  I had plans for a renovation and I was not going to give up my dreams of a Nate Berkusesque  makeover.  Damn...don't they watch Oprah?  So, I took the shady deal they offered me, singed countless affidavits that  I was good for the money even though I was not married, paid exorbitant amounts in bond registration and lawyers fees and three months later I had a house. 

Now for the renovations.  It was like a scene from those BBC Lifestyle makeover shows.  I dug out the tiles and stripped the walls.  Light fixtures , window treatments and even the stove were donated to whoever  wanted them.   I had spent no less that a year dreaming and visualizing  my country style home.   I had a year's worth of decor magazines with the theme.  I  read and made notes  from books I loaned at the public library and spent hours on end collecting items that  would suit 'the look of and feel' of my new home.  These included soliciting a fireplace from my parents and digging through my granny' storeroom for her old dining room suit. (Now you must understand my granny is hoarder so there was another scene for another BBC lifestyle show) .

When Sarah quit I had to fix my house not realizing that I was being reminded of my Mikenos!

I took me months to get that house together and  boy did I make memories there.  Those we the best days...I created a home, not only for myself but for my friends and family as well.  Oh if those walls could talk.. The joy, the laughter, the tears and the DRINKS.

Her name was Lavender Blue: Mikenos Manor...the home I built for us! 

It's not you, it's me

There is no easy way to this.  I've been seeing someone else.  I fell in love and I just could not contain myself.  So , for months now , behind your back  I've been involved in a love affair.   Taking every chance that I could to be in that space.  To nestle in the warm embrace,  to retreat and dream about this whole new world.   I'm quite  certain you  felt , my  daze.

It's not you, it's me.  I love  you;  I'm just not in love with you anymore.   I gave you the best day of my life  and my figure too. There's no point in holding on to something that no longer serves either one of us.  I know you feel this too. I'm not hurting your feelings am I? Sorry  sugar but its time  for me to move on.

Its not you, its me.    When you found me I was a child . In essence you  made me.   You groomed me, taught me everything , made me a  cute bad ass; I wouldn't be me if you were not you.  And look at me now, grown up and sure enough to leave you with ease.  Its not you, its me.

Its not you,its me. I will love you always.  And in some ways I will always be yours. And without doubt I'll come back to you every once in a while  because  I know who I am . You are my root and I love you but there's plenty more for me out there.  Set me free. 

Its not you , it's me.  Let me devour this new love,  Let me explore and  exploit it,  We will create a story  more  magical and  more prolific because of what you sowed in me. Wish me well.  My wings are spread out wide. 

It's not you, it's me,  Dear  Polokwane I 've moved to Pretoria.  

Chronicles of a formerly slim girl ( So...I lost 6 kilograms)

My bathroom scale is a complete and utter traitor!!! I'm quite certain that there were other ways to tell me to shed  a few kilos but no...it had to come to this.  It  shattered into a  thousand little pieces...now if that's not a sign I don't know what is.

(Ok, I actually crashed my scale by kicking it against the wall but perhaps that's a tale for a different battle)


I had to do something drastic so I went and did this crazy 13  day diet.  Those of you who frequent the  internet  diet fraternity  know exactly what I'm talking about.  Yes...the coffee and steak one; sometimes called the metabolism diet.   This diet is draconian...I'm surprised you are even allowed  to breathe while on it.

So, they give you this set menu right and you must follow it like marching ants follow  each other and you, may, not, cheat! If you cheat you might as well just quit...like you cant even have a stick of gum.  Some days are better than others like the days you have steak and salad or fish and tomato.  I liked these and saw them as post diet meal options. And then there are days like carrot and cheese day.  This is pretty much like eating chalk with a side dish of rubber...

Nonetheless I did. Thirteen days of a caffeine laden, calorie deficit battle in the hope of seeing some kind of change. And I did.  Having taken one for the 'chubby cheeks team' I cared to document all my meals for 13 days.   Please see  how it all went down on:


ididthe13daydiet.blogspot.com


Now the trick is to keep doing the right things.,

Ten books every woman should read...

Talking books

I was invited to address a women's day event yesterday.  The brief said  'Shadi.,please come to talk to women about the ten books they must read before they die'.  Yikes... ten books!  It's like having to pick your favorite child to give a speech on...its damn near impossible. One thing  I know for sure is that the list changes  every day  because books talk to how we feel and well, that changes everyday.  So this is how I felt yesterday...  In  random order.

1. The Alchemist ( Paulo Coehlo)
2. The Prophet ( Kahlil Gibran)
3. Roots  (Alex Haley)
4. So long a letter ( Mariama Ba)
5. Nervous Conditions ( Tsitsi Dangarembga)
6. The Bluest Eye ( Toni Morrison)
7. Love  Interrupted ( Reneilwe Malatji)
8. What looks like crazy on an ordinary day ( Pearl Cleage)
9.  Eat Pray Love (Elizabeth  Gilbert)
10. Sleeplessinpolokwane.blogspot.com  ( well you know....)

 And the books I sneaked into the list are :

A Thousand Splendid Suns (Khaled Hosseni)
Memoirs of a  Geisha  ( Arthur Golden)
Animal   Farm ( George Orwell)
Eleven Minutes (Paulo Coehlo)
The Blacker  the Berry ( Wallace Thurman)
All books written by Maya Angelou
Call me Woman ( Ellen Khuzwayo)
491 Days ( Winnie Madikizela Mandela)
All books by Dr Seuss
All books by Daleen Mathee

And  that's my list...well at least for yesterday



P.S My friend Mulayo was so gracious she dressed me for the event. She makes the most amazing jewellery.
 Find her for the best custom made, handmade jewellery:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/seremanicreations
Instagram: Mulayo_smc
Email: mulayos@gmail.com

My meeting with life

Mmaphuti Mathato is  my breath of fresh air in the very  dreary world of our common office work.  I know that when we meet the conversation will move from the grey hues of government work to a kaleidoscope  of   life's  more heart warming topics.  Interestingly...I too met her at a meeting ... our agenda however was not nearly as riveting   this.

 Engross yourself   in her meeting with life:

I have periodic meetings with life, usually I am the convener depending on how I feel at the time  and my feelings are informed by either pain or pleasure. I summon life to talk about whatever is going on during that particular time

To my surprise this time the invite came from life complete with an agenda on some :

1.       Opening and welcome

2.       Ratification of agenda

3.       Business of the day

a.       Karma

b.      Love

4.       Q and A

5.       Way forward

6.       Closure

I ratified the agenda with no changes and the meeting started

Life welcomed me and thanked me for the manner I sailed through the waves the past few months and told me it summoned me because it’s commendable.

We then got to business of the day,  KARMA … with tears in my eyes I asked KARMA how long is its minimum turnaround for its services because I’ve been waiting with baited breath to see it locate a few of those who dealt me some wicked hand . People you won’t believe the nerve of that KARMA how he said “we are still teaching  you patience, until you are ready we will strike no one” I responded with a “whatever “ and suggested that we go on to the next  item.

Now love. I was pleased to report to love that it has presented itself to me in an extremely beautiful way, it made me blush, feel, it made my heart full, made my nights magical. It also introduced  new packaging. I’ve always thought the love I deserve would come packaged in a masculine tall , dark and handsome brother and like all else in life , life requested me to ascertain if the love of my life is actually  not a woman.

I thanked love for presenting itself all so beautifully, for making me believe again for making me feel sane that I always believed that the fairy-tale exists  . While I was blushing thanking love I realised that even though I felt the intensity of pure love it had  to be complicated , the lover had to be  divided and like life being disrespectful it left when I was still busking in it. Oh well I broke my heart again.

Now I said to love , I know what I know now you enticed me to the possibility of me living the love I know I deserve so I’m giving you three months , go and locate one with my name on it send it directly to my door , please ensure that I don’t get restless in anyway ensure that its easy and real. Only then will I be able to sit down and talk to you. You know life your work is now much easier since you have the specs

The lover should look at me as if to make me float, as if I’m magic, the kisses should be something I live for, the nights …oh the night must have a story and above all let it be exclusive , intense and overwhelming .

We are in this together mos life?

Q and A

Then life said but you say love left when it was so perfect what have you learned

I answered I learned that all happens in due time even if it’s just to confirm something

Then life said “what is meant to be will be, just be still”

We then shook hands and closed the meeting.

Hey Life...Im ready

Chronicles of a formerly slim girl ( Bite me..I had a cupcake for breakfast)

There is an urban legend  doing its rounds in town.  Folks are spreading  rumors that" Summer bodies are made in Winter". Seriously...Like jack had a beanstalk!  I know a fairy tale when I see one.  Okay like dead in the middle of a Polokwane winter I am going to  take on a health challenge ?  Food, exercise and all,  then  miraculously emerge with an hour glass figure when the season changes again ?  You must not know about me.

Nee Nee Nee... Daai kite gaan nie vlieg nie.

The first thing I refuse to believe is that anyone can get out of bed before 06:00.   In June, this is an ungodly hour.  The world  is as dark as  the night and even  nocturnal animals are still prancing around in their portion of the day.  I cannot participate.  I usually raise my right arm to reach as far as it can go and the temperature difference between my bed and the air in my room is a fate I am not able to confront.  I wont event start  talking about the toilet seat...

Then there is  the lie about  a morning exercise routine.  I just will not buy this. Exchanging  comfy pj's for spandex and driving to gym? Putting on a  Verimark Zumba DVD  " and that's not all ",   or worse hitting the road for a jog? Puh-lease , lets get real ! Why would anybody volunteer  for this. To me it is right up the alley with Chinese torture.

Nee Nee Nee...Daai skou gaan nie wys nie. Nie op hierrie stasie nie.

The bit that gets me the most though is the food fib. Come on !  You telling me that people out there are mixing  cold milk and pink dust  for a  shake in seven degree temperatures?

Even the little bear's portion could never be 'just right'.

So, this is how things are in my house in Winter.  I  hit the snooze  the button and suck that last  five minutes for all its worth. I   run a bath,  a hot one, and   I sit in  it while I have my first cup of coffee. I pray and ease myself into the day.   I layer my body with grease and cotton for proper insulation.  I gather food like a dray of squirrels (yes I googled it) . If it  is soft, creamy and requires hours of cooking  I've  got it.  There's no calorie counting here!

I don't mess with Winter.

If  there is some truth to this 'Summer bodies  are made in Winter'  myth  then the opposite will have to be apply  for me.  My winter body is made in summer...

Breakfast this morning: Caramel centered chocolate cupcake. Chocolate and coffee are our best allies against the cold. 

Bite me!

You had me at goodbye...

I love to write ,yes, but even more than that , I love  to read. I'll read anything from the  back of a milk carton to The Complete Works of William Shakespeare via the African Writers Series.  In the era of social media we find many  'writers' because we are given space for our 'status update ' and while most people display unpalatable narcissism  and horrendous grammar others with no great effort  pen down the most captivating observations of life.  One such  person is Maropeng Ralenala. Pinch me twice and slap me silly...this girl is good.  I enjoy her banter so much I knew  I had to have her in my little piece of the world.  And this my friends is how she has become the first ever guest blogger on Sleepless in Polokwane.   Ladies and Gentlemen I give you:


YOU HAD ME AT GOODBYE
By Maropeng Ralenala

It’s 17:10 and I am standing in the longest knock-off hour checkout queue at Woolworths Foods. I am wanting to kick myself for it, questioning why I didn’t plan to get to the shops early enough to avoid the infamous maze long 5pm queue. You know, the kind that begins at the frozen foods section, long before you even reach the demarcated checkout lanes. Whilst contemplating all of my regret and self-created misfortune, the queue shuffles along slowly but steadily. Eventually I reach the beginning of the actual checkout railing and as I look up ahead, I am at least glad to see that all of the tellers upfront are operating during this peak-shopping hour. Along we continue shuffling.

As one does when having to walk through any Woolies Food store checkout lane, you have got to prepare yourself for battle… for you and your fellow unsuspecting checkout-ees are about to enter the Sugar Warzone…

Blood-sugar spiking hand-grenades of red and gold-wrapped fudge and nougat bars explode in all directions, as you duck and dive for your life. Creamy Lindt chocolate rifles fire ruthlessly at your exposed wounds; liquorice torpedos launch from their twisted black hiding places threatening detonation. Carbine cartridges fire carb-loaded ammunition of savoury crisps. Marshmallow machine guns lay in wait, disguised as pink and white clouds of innocence, firing only when you’re close enough for the perfect aim. And just when you think you’re about to make it out unscathed and alive, bright rainbow-coloured gummy candies landmines await you right at the end of the queue to blow up what little self-control and dignity you have remaining after walking through the valley of the shadow of sugar death. I watch the lady in front of me in the queue crash and burn, going up in flames as she succumbs to a hand grab of Hazelnut Ferrero’s, a peanut crumble and a slab of caramel chocolate; I want to cry out, tell her to stay strong, but it’s too late, she’s bleeding from too many places now as she finally reaches for a tub of jelly snakes; they watch her coyly from behind their transparent plastic cage, hissssing at her, ready to strike her fatal blow. I watch her throw it all into her trolley, her trolley filled with leafy green vegetables and lean meats. Another one bites the dust. Another casualty of the ruthless Sugar War.

The queue suddenly begins to feel like it’s refusing to move. So in an attempt to distract myself from the surrounding sugar ambushes, I begin to aimlessly look around at the people surrounding me.  A lot of mommies with their children, some young adults looking tired at the end of a work day, a middle-aged couple walking side by side through the store without any exchange of words. And then I turn to look behind me… and spot the most beautifully wrapped man standing right behind me in the queue. I hardly even notice what his face looks like. I turn back forward very quickly to not stare at his dressed perfection. But I had to look again, get a better glimpse of the exceptional style and panache I had just witnessed. He was a very tall and lean, dark-complexioned man, looked maybe just a tad older than me, dressed a.b.s.o.l.u.t.e.l.y impeccably. He quite literally looked like he had stepped right out of a Vogue Hommes style guide. I tried to get a proper look, but also didn’t want to be inappropriate and have him catch me staring, so I just played the sneaky side-eye trick; the oh I’m-just-looking-at-something-next-to-you-not-at-you maneuver.  So I did, and after a full appreciation of this stranger man’s suave, I wanted to exclaim out loud to him, “Wow, you are really dressed well!” But I stopped myself.

If this was a woman I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second- I compliment stranger women that are well-dressed all the time and anywhere. But somehow I knew that saying the same to this man would be perceived somewhat differently. Just because I’m a girl and he’s a guy. I felt so disappointed as we kept going onwards in the queue, thinking how I really just wanted to be kind and compliment his efforts, but that such a simple spontaneous compliment now had to be thought through for the potential consequences it could yield, consequences I wasn’t interested in entertaining.

Now I would never normally afford this much pre-thought to interacting with the opposite sex; I usually freely and spontaneously enjoy interacting with them, whether stranger or familiar. But as we stood there, with nothing else to do, I just began to contemplate all of the unspoken intrinsic complexities of boy-girl interactions, considering the potential traps that a well-intentioned gesture could create.

He might think that I’m trying to get his attention, am using the compliment as a means to chat him up, or any other possible myriad of societal boy-girl scripts that follow us everywhere we go, particularly in a world where sincere kindness has become a myth, where hidden ulterior motives are the prevailing reality. That me saying “Hey, you look really nice” might just as well be a frontage for “I wanna have your babies.” :-/ But, I think to myself, perhaps he’s an evolved mature gentleman who won’t immediately jump to the conclusion that by saying he’s dressed well that I am secretly wanting to take those beautiful clothes off of him; for I certainly wasn’t. Or what if he would try to start up a new conversation after I compliment him? I noticed that he didn’t have a ring on, but I just hoped that he wasn’t available in whatever form and wouldn’t care to cross any lines of interest if I was to try and be nice to him. Because despite how great he looked, I had no interest for a suggestive door of any sort to open up.

We were now finally edging very close to the end of the queue, and I began to feel insolent towards the invisible barriers between our mars-venus male-female planets. And so, as happens whenever I feel caged in by societal expectations, the rebellious anti status-quo impulse in me decided not to conform, and so I slowly but boldly turned around and looked at him straight in the eye.

“Hi, I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but I just wanted to tell you that you have amazing dress style.”

He looked back at me with first a surprised look then a mischievous smile, and mumbled “thanks”, but so quietly under his breath that I could barely hear it. I smiled in response and turned back forward. I felt so proud of myself; I was true to me despite the risk of unwanted social innuendos. It felt good to be genuine and well intentioned regardless of how it would be perceived.

It was then finally my turn as I reached the tellers and the display  screen red arrow indicated that a teller was now available and the robotic voice dictated that I was to proceed to “te-ller-num-ber-four”. I walked to the till and paid for my groceries. As I finished and was walking away and then out of the store, I silently congratulated that stranger man for not being opportunistic like some tend to be, as all women regularly experience, who would have turned an innocent gesture of kindness into extraneous opportunity. You see Maropeng, I began telling myself, don’t make assumptions about people that way, many will surprise you! And then, as I reached about a few meters outside of the store, I heard hurried footsteps coming closer and closer my way, together with a call out: “Heyyy, sorry…”

Oh no, I thought, as I pretended not to hear it. It was too good to be true, he’s going to try and start up another conversation after all, isn’t he? The simple moment from back in the queue was about to be ruined. I immediately wished I had trusted the cautious inkling to keep the compliment to myself. He eventually caught up to me and I couldn’t pretend not to notice him any longer, “Hi, hi sorry” he stuttered.  I stopped and I turned towards him, a little sad that my niceness was about to be jaded. “Hi”. He said again. “What’s your name?” he asked with the same interesting smile, as I thought, great, well here we go Maropeng, you should’ve known. “It’s Maropeng,” I say, trying to be polite in return. “Oh, OK Maropeng. I’m Khutšo. Uhm… I just wanted to say thank you properly… your compliment really took me by surprise back there.” “Oh, no problem at all,” I replied. He smiled a big smile and nodded his head, pausing, then mischievously added... “Uhm are you rushing off to go and make dinner for Mister Maropeng?” Seriously? I think to myself almost wanting to say it out aloud with laughter, how disappointingly predictable. “No. There’s no Mister Maropeng.” I say, smiling knowingly at the blatant tactic. He smiles even bigger at my response and then says, “Well, I hope you have a lovely evening.”

I hope you have a lovely evening. Wait, huh?? Confused, I quickly reply “Thank you, you too.” He then began to walk off heading towards the parking lot, as I was too.

Wow. OK. Just a sweet friendly guy then, he really just appreciated the compliment. It IS possible to share simple kindness with an opposite sex stranger without it being turned into something sinister. I felt so impressed by the brief, mature and genuine encounter; that, as far as he displayed at least, he didn’t assume that I had additional motives through my kindness, nor did he himself try for anything when he could have. How wonderful to experience, how refreshing indeed! Restoring my idealistic hope that a stranger guy and girl can in fact enjoy and appreciate genuine kindness between each other.

So why is it then, that I quickly reached for my super-lustre shine lip gloss in my handbag, and flash-fixed my hair, quickly before reaching the parking lot…

"A bit of sugar, a little spice , but mostly all things nice" Maropeng Ralenala 

Mad Drama for your Mama...

Note:  this piece must be read with  the accent of an inner city African American woman from the projects.

See, what ha’ happened was.

Last Tuesday  I took a trip to the hair salon to fix the hot mess on my head. So there I was sittin’ in my chair, Hakeem detanglin’ my hair, mindin’   my own damn business when suddenly there was a screeching sound us.  Someone was a getting a beat down…

Lo’ have mercy.

See, the nail technician, let’s call her Peaches, has been knocking boots with her customers’ husbands.  Turns out while Peaches is fixin’ your nail extension and listens to you going on about your life she be thinkin’ how she can get herself some of what you got. Mmhm.   So this customer in particular, let’s call her Shaniqua, done gone and found out about Peaches and her husband and she is not the type of sister to fix  this  sorta thing behind closed doors.  She came into the salon and gave Peaches a beating right in front of everybody. She be hurling insults at Peaches like “ you B***h”  this will stop you from  f******g around with my man”.  Now I don’t know if maybe Peaches got her a death wish but she say “no it won’t, I am not leaving him.” Shaniqua got so mad, she was madder than befo.  She was a hufffin’ and a puffin’.  She had smoke comin’ outta her ears and s**t.

Sistuh. Honey. Gurl. It was hot  up in there…

Maybe you wonderin’ what me and the other folks was doing while this was goin’ on.  Well, Hakeem just he just  kep’ on creaming the relaxer and I was just lookin’ on, shocked outta my mind but laughing on the inside. ( kikikikiki) .  One guy was lookin’ at a magazine actin’ like he don’t see what’s goin’ on.

Now, Peaches got herself free and locked herself in the bathroom. Now, I don’t wanna judge but she was looking like a hoodrat running away from the landlord.  Shaniqua, while fixin herself said  “ you best be ready to live there forever ‘cause I aint goin  nowhere”.   Now Hakeem , he leave’me to  give Shaniqua a talkin’ to after she say she was gon’ go campin’ at his salon forever.    Hakeem, he talk to her , he says “ ma’ am , this here is a place of work, please could you  sort your problems somewhere else, maybe you could go home and talk to your husband ‘’.  Shaniqua wasn’t having none of that, she say “No no I’m done talkin’, I’m gonna whip is a** too”.  Shaniqua was real mad.  She did walk away though shaking her head fixin’ to go beat down her husband. 

Peaches also came out of the bathroom going on about how she wa’nt about to stop knocking boots with Shaniqua’s husband cause she say Shaniqua too full of herself.  She smoked two cigarettes and walked away looking over her back just in case…

I sure wonder who got to the brother first.

Now, I am not one to stick my nose is other people’s affairs but this one darn gone and followed me.  I walked out, hair fixed, bouncing like the girl in the shampoo advert, going back home, grateful for my comparatively drama free life.

Note: This is a true story that happened where I get my hair done at the corner of Voortrekker and Thabo Mbeki in Polokwane. Montel Classiques is what it’s called.  It’s a fantastic salon.  It is clean, beautifully decorated, they have a speed point and drinks and such. Very comfortable. It is usually peaceful sans Peaches and Shaniqua drama.  Hakeem himself is a hair genius, he took me from being a straw haired girl to a lady in Ebony magazine.