Being Missus Down Low…

Of all the songs out there about the ill-fated love affair between a married and his mistress, none quite cut as deep as Amy Winehouse’s “Tears Dry on Their Own”. None quite detail the often dark and undignified persona that is THE MISTRESS. None quite capture how much the mistress is a hopeful, pitiful and albeit hapless participant in the enthralling game of deceit.

The song’s lyrics will probably bite just a tad deeper when one has been there and done that; probably through the memory of feeling quietly disgusted with oneself after spending yet another sexually charged but empty night with him. He was probably not the first (unavailable but available man), who knows?

Unfortunately there isn’t much sympathy out there for the mistress, irrespective of whether one knowingly or unwittingly entered into a relationship of this nature. Perhaps your bosom buddies might assist by lending a shoulder to lean on and offer ears to listen AND forgive you because, well, you are friends. What is the likelihood that when confronted with a third wheel in their own relationships, they will be as forgiving?

I surfed a few websites by mistresses of all sorts; those in distress because they aren’t getting the validation they require from their so-called Married Men (MM), and those who are quite happy being number two (or whatever number) as long as they don’t have to wash piles of dirty socks or put up with morning breath on a daily basis.

Nobody gives a hoot whether the mistress is perpetually caught between a rock and a hard place because her romanticized expectations are not materializing. Her self- destructive nature probably renders her a deserving candidate for a melancholic, pathetic existence.One has to wonder whether she likes herself all that much either.

Yet, the woman who cuts a lowly figure; coming across as an all-consuming and greedy,spineless creature isn’t always one seeking material benefits from a man. She is a highly intelligent and sophisticated woman. She clinches deals by day and is a mother (or not). Some other man calls her his wife. To the world, she is proper. Sometimes she is an open book. She is probably not the best looking woman yet. She is most women.

I would say it is a truly brave feat to pursue the affections of a man even with the open secret that they are reserved for someone legitimate.One would have to walk a mile in her shoes to get an idea, at the very least. Yet, it is very unlikely that many would admit that they’ve been there themselves for the purpose of self-preservation. Others will breathe a sigh of relief that “at least I didn’t know”, as if that makes for a better class of mistress. Ignorance certainly is bliss!

Being the mistress is arguably one of the most difficult jobs in the entire universe. In line with keeping up appearances, the mistress has to master the art of discretion. She ought to know better than to call the man at crazy hours of the night. Her job is to stroke the ego to the max, gently please! Knowing her place and sticking to it comes highly recommended since there can’t be two missuses. Dreaming of picket fences and sunny skies is not encouraged. In addition, asking too many questions is an exercise purely reserved for the main girl. Not forgetting being the goddess in the- you-know-what…

In a perfect world, the mistress would be a misnomer. She would be an urban legend because women would be far too discerning to be consumed by the pointless exercise that the affair truly is. They would also be less compromising of themselves and their values. In a perfect world, the mistress would realise that not every action is based on love, therefore love isn’t everything and neither is it always practical.

We don’t live in a perfect world.

Good Fences. Good Neighbours

It is a tingling pleasure to listen to Clarence Carter as he sings about giving his neighbour’s wife some much needed “service”. One certainly hopes that the neighbour’s missus got a good dose of that service; with the right size…err… tools. Everyone needs a neighbour as thoughtful and generous.

They say good fences make good neighbours. Good fences can make sure nosy folks can’t see more than they need to. They can also shield one from the condescending opinions about whether slaughtering chickens with one’s bare hands is an abomination. Good fences can also give one a false sense of security.

Pity I cannot recall having a neighbourly conversation with anyone since the move from my childhood township home. Welcome to the ‘burbs ma’ am, where the closest interaction you will have with your neighbour is when they drive past your house or when they bring two pals in uniform along with because your Maskandi is a tad too loud.

It is largely accepted and known that people who live in the suburbs keep to themselves and are quite happy to mind their business. So it was rather surprising that during the fatal shooting of Oscar Pistorius’ late girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp, it was the neighbours who alerted the police about the commotion in the house. Kudos to the neighbours!

The other extreme was that in the late Steenkamp’s hometown of Port Elizabeth, some neighbours admitted that they were not even aware that she had lived there, which begs the question, just how important are neighbourly relations?

While my family has always been on the reserved side even before the move to less dusty places, we nonetheless enjoyed good and mutually respectful relations with our neighbours. I have recollections of my sister and me running around in the dark one evening en route to the neighbour’s house to watch the eight o’ clock drama on her TV when ours had broken down. Even those days when my mother and another neighbour were both expecting and they would be chatting over the fence. It was rather amusing to witness the sight of their distended bellies.

It was therefore a minor cultural shock coming from a place where one couldn’t pass elders in the streets without so much as a greeting, to a place where people search their feet awkwardly (maybe, that’s me) or stare into unknown horizons until out of earshot and sight. This is not to suggest that a sense of community is absent in sub (urban) areas; it does, in its own form. However, the migration of former Bantustan settlers to the urban areas and the consequential cultural mix may be a contributing factor to the locked-in behaviour of urbanites.

Let’s not ignore that there are benefits of keeping to oneself. There are many people who can attest to having sour relations with neighbours for one reason or the other. From perceived voodoo (Serious stuff) to money issues, gossip, jealousy…the list goes on. As with any other relationship setting clear boundaries is important, through action or verbalization, to avoid people stepping on each other’s toes. It needs to be managed because let’s face it, you might be stuck with the same neighbour your whole life!

Whether the sense of neighbourliness in black communities was created by the historical demarcation of land –which means that if the guy next door trips, he may very well end up on your door step- or because of an entrenched sense of community integral to African communities, it is an essential part of building inter-personal relations.Body corporates in gated communities also serve the same purpose.

Ultimately, it feeds into the notion that no man is an island; therefore neighbours (regardless of location) can be one’s best allies. How about some tolerance, folks?!

Is Africa Self-defeating?

The month of May kick-starts the commemoration of the 50^th anniversary celebration of the founding of the OAU, as well as the African Union which was founded little over a decade ago. It is also a good time for the Union to reflect on how far it has come in its mission to “promote an integrated, prosperous and peaceful Africa, driven by its own citizens and representing a dynamic force in the global arena”.

A McKinsey report reveals that despite the obvious challenges such as conflict, a shift in economic and social policy could see Africa making headway in the long run in terms of development.

The report classifies African states into three categories: Diversified economies; South Africa forms part of this group along with Egypt, Morocco and Tunisia. These countries are said to be the most developed, with the least volatile GDP.

The second categories of states are those in the Transition phase; countries such as Cameroon, Ghana, Kenya are included in this group. These ones are not nearly as developed as the first group, though exhibiting potential for growth. Pre-transition economies such as the DRC, Ethiopia and Mali constitute the third category of countries with the lowest GDP and are still very poor.

This is the state of Africa fifty years on. The truth is that the continent remains generally poor relative to its abundant natural resources. South Africa has played a key role in many developmental endeavours (such as NEPAD, SADC) both in the Southern African region and the continent at large through the contribution of financial and human resources.

Therefore, it is not surprising that recent reports of negative statements by Zambian deputy president, Guy Scott about South Africa (and South Africans in general) put a damper on things for some of us who believe that despite our country’s internal discord- within the international arena-South Africa has proven itself to be a force to be reckoned with. While I believe his statements were lacking tact, the level of truth in them cannot simply be swept under the carpet.

One of the statements made by Scott was one pertaining to the historical (under) development of South Africa in comparison to other African states. While at face value it appears that Scott is ignorant of the structural development in this country; the reality is that the rampant corruption, looting of state resources and abuse of public funds is undermining economic growth. Other areas compromised include education and health care and sanitation, which South Africa should, ideally, have under control.

In the eyes of Guy Scott and others who share his perspective, South Africa is a lot like the self-absorbed and ignorant spoilt brat of the continent who has most things at her disposal. In most instances her people refer to the greater Africa as the ‘other’ and suffer from severe xenophobia. This is despite the fact that her children have one of the lowest ratings of literacy and numeracy skills at basic education level- ultimately resulting in an inadequately skilled workforce.

Having listened to many ‘comic’ yet equally alarming conversations by some ladies on regular commutes to work, passing the snaking queues at the Home Affairs branch in Marabastad; it is clear how ignorant ordinary South Africans are to the harsh realities faced by fellow Africans. This is often revealed in statements that suggest that the demise of Mandela will signal the mass exodus of all immigrants. The snaking queues on the other hand, reveal the stark reality that, for many refugees and asylum seekers, South Africa is a beacon of hope.

Without seeking to justify our obvious short-comings as South Africans, the large influx of our fellow Africans is a burden on the economy of the country, and the scramble for scarce resources a direct consequence of that.How does Mr Scott suggest resolving this?

Truth hurts. Naturally, when confronted with absolute and unadulterated truth the first response is denial. However, the revelation of truth offers one the opportunity to reflect positively on what the implications are and how to best go about managing change (if any). So, the truth really acts as a necessary control measure to ensure that we don’t get caught up in our own illusion.

Of course South Africa has its own demons, but so does the rest of Africa.The latter, whose citizens make up the numbers of refugees and asylum seekers in the country, need to do some introspection of their own. The Guy Scotts of this world also need to be part of the solution and not merely criticize at will.Now is as good a time as any, especially within the context of the 50^th anniversary of the OAU.

When We Can’t Afford Silence

 

Where I come from, an air of mistrust exists towards people deemed to be “too” quiet. These people, otherwise known to you and me as introverts are faced with the perception that they are too deep and secretive. Dropping bombshells when people least expect is their speciality. Perhaps this is what irks people; that they don’t know it all hence the discomfort.

A few frustrated outbursts have come my way once too often particularly from my mother. She, of course knows the introvert in me all too well. ‘Still doesn’t understand her, me…it. As it would occur, introverts not only like their words at a minimum, they like their space too. I have settled for being ‘misunderstood’.

There’s an old song titled “Silence is golden”. While the high pitched melody can be confusing irony, the phrase in itself is true. Silence, in comparison to noise and much ado about nothing, is dignified and  can reveal more about an individual’s sense of integrity than anything else. Let’s rememberwhen he was ‘recalled’ from office, former president Thabo Mbekiremained silent while the rest of us bemoaned the treatment rendered to him by his own comrades. It was silence that also hurt KgalemaMotlanthe’s chances in the presidential race preceding the ANC elective conference in Mangaung.

Who knows how things could have turned out had Motlanthe been vocal enough? Possibilities abound, however, we will never know. Of course some will insist that one fakes in until he makes it. In this case, being strategically silent until the crap that hit the fan dissipates.

 I reckon our dearly beloved President Zuma is one of those who believe in this tenet. How can one assume differently when all but the man spoke out during the many scandals of his career? Corruption trial  -silence. Rape trial -silence. Concubines -silence. Nkandla -silence. Guptagate…

This kind of silence is not of a golden nature, I’m afraid. It is one that is actively pitting one South African against the other. It is of the kind that says, “I’m out of my depth and God, I don’t even know it!” Hence when something is uttered, statements like “The problem with South Africa is that everyone wants to run the country”are first in line. Oh well.

Over the past week social media has been abuzz, as has been traditional media with the Gupta clique landing their jet at a National Key Point (without proper customs procedures being followed and with absolute disregard for the sensitivity of our national sovereignty by those who authorized the landing) and receiving high level escort to the wedding venue.

While the president has not been implicated in this storm-in-a-tea cup, his ties to the Guptas go far beyond acquaintance level. The loyalty exhibited by his loyalists is admirable but I reckon it is time some took off their rose coloured glasses. This current scandal is a clear indication that our country has been sold to the bearer of the deepest pockets. So, which Master do we really serve?

Silence is not golden. It is fatal. A collective silence from the masses to the decline of our country into a state that does not command respect in all the necessary arenas, demanded by those who are against criticism of those at the helm of government, is an active reversal of the strides made by others in the past. Our silence will be the vehicle ensuring that the narrow interests of a few continue to flare corruption and rot in our society. We cannot afford to keep silent.

Single Mothers: Ghastly Lepers?

Imagine a couple of guys sitting at a bar on a boys’ night out. They are crouched around the table mulling over what seems to be a serious issue. Never mind the diski action on the screen. “You’re brave, man!” they say, “Uzoba strong” they mock pitifully. Jabu has met a woman…and she comes with “baggage”, an infant boy. His pals give him a big pat on the back while he anxiously gulps down his beer…

Nobody knows how tricky relationships can get post baby more than the single mother.  While even those in relationships where both are the parents of a child hit some sort of slump once babies come into the picture, the common bond created by the child can provide a safety net. Admittedly, I navigated the whole relationship terrain with some difficulty during my late teens and early twenties; however, it wasn’t all that bad. That age provided room for some carefree living. Well, that’s how you be ending up with babies, ain’t it?

Getting back on the dating scene came about after some serious contemplation on my part; naturally after assuming the serious role of being Supergirl’s mother, my options of a man were narrowed down to “focused, family oriented, ambitious, generous man”. That is exactly what I wanted. Self-help books (that I don’t read) advocated that one must be clear from the onset what she seeks from a relationship, you know? I obliged. It made tons of sense. Who needs endless buggers hanging around, meeting your family while they have no intention of making a “good” woman out of you!

oh mother…!

A frank conversation with a male friend brought home the realisation that when it comes to single parenting, the odds are stacked against single moms. He did not mince words when he said, “men are discouraged from getting into relationships with women who have children”. The situation is completely different for men, who enjoy the unequivocal adoration of women whether they have children or not. An aunt told of her nephew who at middle age, with ten plus children (all from different women), married a young lass from neighbouring Botswana. She had no kids of her own prior to that. We love them, warts and all!

Well, my friend was right. It is not easy to love a child that is not your own and perhaps it is better not to have people who will not make that effort. So, why does the single mother evoke such anxiety from men? When my motherly instincts kicked in, the first thing that also came to mind was my desire and need for stability. As I began dating again, I soon became faced with the subtle tug of war between my role as a mom and as a woman; a lover. I guess the problem that men have is that with single moms, there is no spontaneity unless of course granny will do the sitting forever.

What kind of mother relishes in relinquishing her duty to her kids to someone else? What kind of a man expects this huge sacrifice when he knows what he has signed up for? Another thing that I struggled with was (is) the fact that men (even those who have never married, in their 30s onwards) on my dating radar still wanted to get their groove on and play the field or “have fun”…whatever that means! Of course when that happened, I would direct my energies elsewhere.

Mybrotha.com sums it nicely, “Most single mothers are not looking for a casual or open ended relationships.” It does not take a rocket scientist to figure out where the mention of commitment can drive a man to. Hence single moms are also encouraged not to become exclusive too soon.

 Single motherhood, although increasing in numbers in our era, is by no means a new thing. A lot of children have been raised by men that did not father them. There are many who can say, “I turned out well”. There are those who are permanently scarred from being raised by individuals who dished out doses of conditional love, unfortunately. “It takes a certain kind of man to mentor and care for another man’s children”-Mybrotha.com

While some of us still feel a sting of sensitivity when confronted with the reality that it is a patriarchal world we live in. Love in the time of single motherhood is not entirely elusive. A lot of my hopes were dashed because of expectations. Perhaps when these are totally removed and the focus put more on living then, then life (and love) will be more blissful.

From Braamfontein, With Love…

‘Ever walked into a room and felt that something was amiss; that your feet had a nagging desire to do a 360 degree turn and help you flee that sinking feeling in your stomach? Perhaps you’ve gone into a nightclub and simply felt uncomfortable from watching (at age 35) all those 18 year old sweaty weaves on the dance floor?

Maybe I should shy away from generalisation on this matter, because I suspect not all of us feel that way. There are some who still marvel at this sight. God knows, they’ll still marvel at it in their eighties even! Bless their souls.

   

I experienced this discomfort when I stayed over in Braamfontein for a few days in March. Being in a town that had been home during my student days, I suddenly felt like regurgitated food: Tossed aside while the world moved on. The sight of lively and obnoxious (through my condescending spectacles) left me feeling rather deflated. In all honesty, I felt quite old. Now just imagine how country bumpkins feel when they come to the big ole city! LOL!

All romanticized memories fell away with the realisation that my beloved Braamfontein had moved on and grown without me. That growth is a wonderful thing, trust me. When I came to Johannesburg as a student in 2005, the place was a far cry from what it is today. Back then, one had to contemplate a shopping trip to a reputable store past Park Station.

statement pieces

That the town has got more buzz than ever before is evident in the rapid business development that is designed to cater for the student and on-the-move young professional (that would be me, right? ). From up-market Manhattans style apartments, apparel stores; art galleries and lifestyle joints for the chic.

I discovered, to my pleasant surprise, that the company South Point has moved beyond just student accommodation and lofts to the hospitality industry. Hotel Lamunu (Orange) provided a rich cultural experience of Jozi; celebrated literary and academic giants with innovative and unique yet simplistic pieces of art adorning the walls.

sho’t left

There is a lot more to this place; it’s a lot more than fancy arty buildings and the people. Stay a couple of years, you’ll discover why. I may have felt out of place because of the generally naive human perception that the world waits around while your life goes on. It does not.

Branson Centre for Entrepreneurship…

I’m glad that the young professional has a place in this society but for now, I’m more than happy with my nostalgic hangover.

Quarter Life Musings and All

Miss Leefolt, she’d narrow her eyes at me like I done something wrong, unhitch that crying baby off my foot. I reckon that’s the risk you run, letting somebody raise you chilluns.

Aibileen: The Help by Katherine Sockett

Where I come from, it takes a village to raise a child. This isn’t some made up fallacy belonging in African folklore. It’s an ethos that has prevailed for centuries. One could tell just by the liberty with which grownups in our era reprimanded the young.

A childhood friend’s mother gave us both a whipping after we went trotting around her street asking for vetkoek money in her name. What little crooks we thought we were; children never realise how transparent they are. My mother never went marching to ask why we were given a hiding…and I’m glad. We thoroughly deserved it.

Of course things have changed and parenting becoming a little complex in the face of advanced technology, social media and a range of not-so-newly acquired social freedoms. Just getting your own child to sit while having supper in this day and age is one hell of a task, never mind other people’s kids!

My generation has been branded a lot of names- from Gen D, hugely punted by Dion Chang, and more recently, Gen Y. I’m not certain whether the “Y” refers to “Youth” or otherwise. Perhaps Gen “W” would have been more appropriate since they reckon we are more prone to worrying a lot; about money, personal relationships, job security, and employment. Hell, we even worry about what the neighbours are having for supper! You want something or someone to worry about, come on over here; we sure can lend a hand!

Seriously though, this is not without basis. For some reason, there is a universal conspiracy that this particular generation ought to experience the kind of challenges it faces. Perhaps it boils down to crappy and near sighted leadership, I don’t know. Where does parenting come in?

About a week ago I came home from work to find-to my absolute horror- (LOL!) my daughter’s head being shaved. At boiling point, I enquired why I had not been consulted about this since I had plans for that hair. Frankly, through our common understanding the little one had really made peace with being combed. Naturally, I felt I had been stripped of my authority (over the child) and my motherhood status merely reduced to that of hapless spectator: A deaf and mute one. Before you go on and call me petty, this is just one of many power struggles.

Coincidentally, a friend of mine, who is a nurse, also expressed her frustration at having next to no say in the upbringing of her seven year old. She bemoaned the fact that she has been reduced to a sister figure, with little say. She, like me, is twenty-six years old and still living under her parents’ roof.

I reckon Aibileen from Kathryn Sockett’s book would probably say, “That’s what you be getting for living under somebody else’s roof when you be so darn old!” Well, the truth is, just because you have now become someone’s mother doesn’t mean you can mother everyone else.

The world has turned on its head, and this paradigm shift forcing the current generation to raise children in family structures that possibly belong in the sixties. President Zuma proposed a Green Paper on Families late last year, a topic that got us talking for some time before it waned. Perhaps the question ought to be, what happens beyond the systematic analysis of family structures? What then? What about the issues shaping the family structure in this age?

Gen Y has reason to worry because unemployment (or lack of stable work opportunities) has far reaching consequences. Yes, your personal relationships are affected because you are a (single) parent trying to balance your role as a child vis á vis your full-fledged adult mentality. Yes, power struggles and issues of control will come to the fore. Of course one will feel as if they are being kept in virtual captivity because job losses have forced many people to sell their houses to go and squat at their folks abodes. Talk about a quarter of a life crisis, phew!

Unfortunately I am not patenting any solutions to the dilemma for now. I am certain that my cohorts have approached the thought of having someone mothering them at this age, -and having to raise their own children- with much reluctance. Saying “no” is probably the hardest thing to do; however, it’s probably the most liberating. Perhaps we also need to be grateful that the “village” still exists to cushion the blow of the economic environment and for its love and support. So, aluta continua; tolerance and firm boundaries will have to do. After all motho o kgonwa ke sa gagwe.