A LOVE PREDISPOSE CONDITION

 As human beings we settle for what we perceive is the ‘right partner’ because we think, or know that we can sustain the emotional intonations that will not wipe out the initial attraction that brought us together as friends, lovers and life partners.

A conversation with a friend about a perfect partner, not settling for less, took a dimensional fascination on loving relationships.

Can one attain a love interest with a ‘perfect’ partner?

You’ll hear folks who were emotionally burnt lamenting: “I won’t settle for less anymore, I’m looking for a complete package.”  

Given a humanly conditional condition, that we humans find ourselves in _ the rise and fall of everyday life, the changing of human nature and emotions_ What is really less in a relationship? Does settling for less mean, you, yourself are not any lesser than the person that altered your perception of love and relationships? Is less non-human, and can less be attributed to animalistic behaviour? What is less?

Within the known erroneous ways of all human beings. Can an individual say: “I am looking for a complete package?” Is there a complete package? Is there perfection in an individual?

The myth of a complete package still lingers on, on the human condition, even after eons of existence, chronicles, bearing witness to loving relational that were firstly thought of as perfect partnership, only to crumble when it’s least expected.   

Those that do find a heavenly made union of everlasting attraction and camaraderie – can never explain it to anyone, but is only known by the precondition that they themselves cannot explain. Yet, it can be deemed as ‘perfect’ love, for we all know that perfection lies in the eyes of the beholder.

I saw such a couple once, and it was neither Romeo nor  Julies, but my eyes saw what they saw but, not perfection – just two people who were madly in love.

The rise and fall of everyday life brings a sustain truth to us as human being. A truth that we are not invincible.

In the confines of pleasure. In the confines of amble. In the confines of breath – the conditional condition, in a loving relationship lie with those that can endeavour their circumstance of what it means to be together: the expectations, the disappointments, the honesty, the half-truths, the measure of their loyalty to each other, the give, and the take*

I am not an expert in love and in loving relationships, but I know one thing – no one is perfect in this world.

Work with your package*

WORD TO A PACKAGE DEAL PARTNER REVOLUTION

Linda Sakazi Thwala

THE BORN FREE SUFFRAGE

The term ‘born-frees’ has been loosely thrown around for the past two years, in the national political party campaigns_ pointing out the post-apartheid generation that represent a neo-political viewpoint of young adults who are new voters, that could bring about change, or not - leading up to the 2014 elections, on the 7^th of May.  

A hullabaloo about the term its self surfaced a couple of months ago regarding the use of the term ‘born-free’. In debates that occur within the media, some folks termed it an insult to the intelligentsia of the young people that will be casting  as neo-voters.   

The ‘born-frees’ are free of all the brutal burdens, and political oppression that seized 20 years ago in South Africa.  Their political perspective is solely formed  on what has been preached to them about the past, Apartheid and human suffering that was encountered_ dimensionally weighted against the social, economic, boundless eclectic freedom, that they were born into.   

An ideological foundation to the ‘born-frees’ would be: ‘THE FUTURE SEPARATORS/ DECIDERS’ to a neo-political change and freedom, in our country. Their suffrage stands as a scale to the magnitude of policies that will be implemented by our future leaders. Their suffrage stands on how the state will face the fierce debates on Nationalisation of natural assets of our country, Expropriation of Land_ citizen custodian of shares and profits of land production. Their suffrage stands on how strategic economic sectors of our country will be managed by the elect.     

As deciders to our newly acquired democratic state, the ‘born-frees’ are a systematic weapon to those that need real change and progress in our country.

The ‘Born-frees’ are a new voice that needs to be nurtured, educated and given a hand, and liberty to make that mark*      

       

A neo-vote is important  to a neo-political view point, ultimately to a socioeconomic and social change to the people of South Africa.   

People died in and around South Africa to gain and defend our Democracy*

WORD TO A NEW BORN-FREE VOTER REVOLUTION

Linda Sakazi Thwala

A MAN ABOUT NOTHING.........

In my family, I am a man that is not respected – not for any particular neurological, cultural weighty rationale, or justification.

When I was fourteen years old, everything about me, being a child, a boy, and a family member stopped_ when my sister became pregnant with her first daughter.

An allegedly worthwhile justification that is pointed out to me by my mother is that: ‘I don’t have children of my own, hence I should father my sister’s children whether I like it or not.’  (allegedly because it still has to be proven in other families and cultural norms)

My two cents worth question is: “Who slept with her?”

This is problematic: Since her first pregnancy, my sister became pregnant three more times after that whilst living at home and still does;  not being a father to any child (ren) - whenever I have money I have to share it with four of my sister’s children even in crude terms; when I do have money to spend for my own pleasure, I have done an injustice to the children I did not plan to have; my mother doesn’t want to see women visiting me or next to me because I refuse to be a father to children that are not my own; I am an uncle however, none of these children ever call me ‘uncle’, it’s either by name or a made-up weird moniker; add to everything, I am judged for children that are not my own whenever they disrespect me and I discipline them, for disrespecting me.

My father was never there for me in anything I wished for, or endeavoured to do in my life. Nonetheless, he has time now, and the audacity to tell me that I should financially father these children, my sister’s children. And has told me numerous times over the years on the telephone that I am a ‘useless man’. (I’m not a rich man)

Even during my studies for Media and Journalism, when I pressed myself to achieve my best without ill-feeling  against my father (because, my paternal grandfather taught me to respect my elders irrespective of any circumstances) – when I had lost my working contract, my own father called me to tell me ‘I belonged in hell’ and ‘it’s good that I had lost my contract’. (I’m not a rich man still)

My two cents worth question again: “Who slept with her?”

I’ve never, not even once in my life engage in hating or hurting, my mother, my father, my sisters nor these children that do not call me uncle – psychologically or physically.

I am not respected because I am a man, and nothing more.

The good book says: “Those who spare the rod of discipline hate their children. Those who love their children care enough to discipline them” (reason I know why my grandmother hit me with that ladle many years ago. Thank you granny!)  

My uncles in Tembisa, never gave me a rusty cent, I respected them. My uncles in Katlehong, Springs, Soweto, Newcastle, Pretoria, Rustenburg _ never gave me even the soil, I respected and respect them still.

Even if my mother disrespects me, says I am ‘paranoid’ and then stands up for her disrespectful grandchildren: As a man, I’d rather be a man about nothing to my immediate family, done be a man that financially fathers children who are taught to disrespect those that do not give them money.  

This is emotional abuse, straight up*

WORD TO BEING A MAN ABOUT NOTHING J

Linda Sakazi Thwala

HERE’S TO FREEDOM!

Sketch by Dockzeen

Growing up during the days of the 1980’s uprising, was a tumultuous time of seeing, and the unknown. Comprehending the violence that came and went sporadically – a Mellow Yellow, a Hippo_ shipping soldiers in and out of the townships.

Petrol-bomb-totting comrades, the so called banned terrorists, crawling and dodging rubber-bullets, bleeding on hands and knees: Cadres of the exiled, of the wrongfully imprisoned, and of those that will never be seen. Our comrades, cadres of a shout and silent cry*     

Inside the State of Emergency, in Katlehong, Soweto and Tembisa – innocently, I saw the remnants of the wordy acerbity of political dogma of a Nationalistic State.

On ‘Black Christmas’ our clothes were old rags, the new ones tucked away, to be seen in good times, usually Sundays - food supplies, shopping, goods-delivery-trucks; anything that came from town, was banned. Our mothers and fathers shoved into police vans for passes. Nothing came in or went out.  

In the brink of political suffrage and democratic freedom, during the Codesa 1 and Codesa 2 talks, not long  after Mandela’s release and the unbanning of all Liberation Movements.

A choir of singing machineguns, was heard afar and nearer to home. It was the 1990’s, and Katorus (Katlehong and Vosloruss) were drenching in violence, and blood of hotel dwellers, and household owners. Streets were blocked with stones, makeshift blockades - those that did not pronounce R1.00 (One Rand) with the location lexicon or colloquial way, felt the brunt of the locals.

One night during a World Cup soccer match, in Katlehong, adjoining the open field that separated my home from Natalspruit Hospital, a field that is used by taxis and buses to collect and transit locals to Johannesburg, Germiston, Soweto and places far afield as Transkei. Men were awaiting an attack…

My home’s windows were laden with blankets, to cut the light from our television set from emitting into the dark streets_ a man screamed, pleading not to be hacked to death, another shout: “Look out!”_a gunshot. More gunshots. I switched the television set off, when Italy was in the penalty area. More shouts, nearer now, gunshots, footsteps, running. A stop. Running again. Shouts. My home’s backdoor butted, it was locked and bolted, another bump, much harder this time. Nothing happened. Gunshots into Letsoho Street, footsteps of men running, over the fence they went. Gunshots, gunshots, gunshots, more men in pursuit, over the fence. A ringing. Quiet*

WORD TO THE FREEDOM REVOLUTION

Linda Sakazi Thwala

DAYS OF MY YOUTH

Sakazi

Remembering the days of my youth – when we, my friends and I, use to attend our Youth Club, Impumelelo Youth Club. It was the days of the country’s political maieutic, a social change and spiritual birth that will lead our country, South Africa, into a social infusion – Black and White, Coloured and Indian were to walk, and think the same autonomous attitude.

We, my friends and I, were youth and eager about the world _ dreaming of things to come and things to be - the flattering of youth.

We belonged to a youth club that kept us off the dusty streets of Mambisa (Tembisa) and took us to the seductive stage of dancing, singing (mostly miming to famous groups and songs) acting (our own material) and dreaming of....getting the girls. I don’t know whether the girls in our crew dreamt of getting.... the boys, I certainly didn’t ask.

We did not play sport in our club, Impumelelo Youth Club - however, we did organise Sports Day once, to get our community in Tembisa, particularly Hospital View, involved in youth activity.

I remember, Zimi, Kenny, Jabu, Delina, Daisy, Lerato, Andrew Coach, Matsila, Tsibo, Mpho, Meketsi, Dumisani, Phillip, Nhlanhla, Prudence, Gift, and you. Yes, you that I forgot to name.

We went to places Kenny organised for us to go to. We saw people, we saw females...sorry, fashion_ we made friends.

There was no Facebook back then, there was Kwaito Music, Politics, Dreams, Festival, Street Bash, more Dreaming, YFM and the SABC (South African Broadcasting Corporation)

Days of my youth******

WORD TO THE YOUTH REVOLUTION

Linda Sakazi Thwala