TIME OUT FROM WHAT EXACTLY?

‘I need some time off; I can’t deal with this’ he said with a face that looked so sorry you could swear he has just killed someone.
‘Ok, its fine’ she replied.
‘What do you mean its fine?’ he asked
‘I just mean I hear you, what you want me to say’ she wanted to cry.......

She could not understand what he meant by all of this, time off? Can’t deal with this? This? What is THIS? Just then all the memories of the previous year came rushing back, how she had all so happily packed up her stuff and bid her farewell to South Africa to go and study on a scholarship she had received from the Belgian government. It was a dream come true, she was excited – over the moon infact – it was her first trip overseas and she knew she would make the best of it. BA Journalism hmm, just the sound of it made her smile to herself. Finally she would have a qualification and hold her own with the country’s top journalist, yes, that’s what she wanted to do, be the best journalist South Africa has ever seen. She knew her way around the industry but just needed certification that she could survive the cut throat world. When she got the application for the visa, there was a section where they required all applicants to go through a medical test in order for the visa to be issued. She knew her medical results too well and had no time to look back or to waste so she had gone to her friend who is a doctor and asked her to certify her fit to travel – which she did and off she went to Belgium.

Belgium was a culture shock to her and her mental state, she became aware that she was not at home the minute she jumped off that plane, but it was fine (as she liked saying). ‘It is going be an experience’ she told herself. The registration at the university was a complete nightmare and so was finding accommodation but eventually, she got connected with the other African community around the area which turned out fine. The university was fine; there was a big language barrier but that also she took in her stride. She enjoyed her time and met a lot of interesting people and had fun. But the internal exams were drawing closer and she heard via the other students that the university does another medical to all the foreign students, including an HIV test. She could not sleep that night. ‘Lord, please let it be all a lie’ she prayed that night. There was no ways she could pass a medical test. She thought of home, of how proud they were to see her off to go and study “overseas”. She thought of her mother, how proud she was, her father how he had tried to smile even though you could see the tears when he dropped her off at the airport, her grandmother and how she had prayed and asked the Almighty to guide her and be with her at all times, after all of that she started to cry ‘i can’t lose my scholarship, not after all of this’ she asked and pleaded with God to show her one of his miracles.

The following day was the medical tests day, she was nervous – did not know what to expect from all of it. The forms were handed out to all the students who were in the university clinic to be filled out. There was a check sheet in the front of all the ‘diseases’ they would have to check for:
Cancer, TB, High Blood Pressure, Cholesterol, Bipolar disorder and at the bottom, there it was in capital letters; HIV! She trembled, took the piece of paper and just walked out of that room, what was the use – they would find it and she would be humiliated in front of all the other students and the findings would have to go to the ambassador of South Africa before they kick her out of the country. She had met the ambassador before and was in no mood to deal with her when it came to the matter and to deal with the embarrassment of being told to leave the country. So she took a taxi back to her flat and started packing. ‘It’s no use postponing the inevitable, I’m going to get kicked out anyway’ she told her friend in South Africa over the phone between sobs as she packed all her belongings. She booked a flight for the following morning and called all her new found friends and told them that she had decided to go home, that she could not handle the living arrangements and the culture difference in the country – she lied to them and they believed her. How could she ever tell them the truth? What was the truth? That she was not smart enough to study at their university? She cried all night. The next morning everyone came to see her off, she kept her strength about her, did not even shed a single tear, she pretended to be happy to be going home until she got into the taxi which was taking her to the airport, that is when she broke down. ‘big shot journalist, never going to happen’ she thought to herself. She was going back home without the qualification and she the thought of it made her sob even more. On the plane, she cried so much that one of the hostesses came over to ‘assist’ with whatever problem she might be having “please come and talk to one of us by the cockpit if you would like, you seem like something very big has disturbed you” the hostess said with a sympathetic smile. She just nodded her head, she did not want to speak to anyone about it, she was going home and there was nothing anyone could do to help her. ‘Home, how do I explain this to my parents? My grandmother? Why was life so being so cruel and unfair?’ she could not control her sobbing and did not care about the other people on the plane.

After being at home for 6 months she met him, oh yes him. He was so mature, so gentle, understanding and he made her laugh and made love to her mind. She liked him a lot and he liked her – or so she thought. She had made it a point to be open about her status since she got back from Belgium ‘no use in hiding it because its not going anywhere’ she told her mother one day. When she told him about her status the first thing he asked was ‘how can I help you’ which was so sweet and mature of him, so she thought. The date was the 30th November just a day before World AIDS day. She was itching to disclose her status to help others, so on the 1st of December when she got that call to disclose her status on national radio she thought she had covered all her basics, her family and close friends knew and now her boyfriend also knew so going public would not shock anybody – so she thought. The interview with the radio station went fantastically well it was only that night that the ghost of Belgium came knocking at the door. When the boyfriend came around he seemed distant, confused. Finally he said those dreadful words “we need to talk” and that is where my story begins.

Meshelle

Well, ever since he made a 'FOOL OF ME', it's been difficult for me to find 'COMFORT IN ANY wo/MAN'. Though i aint altogether 'BITTER', mainly coz i know he had 'GOOD INTENTIONS'; i feel that i need 'PEACE BEYOND PASSION', 'LOYALTY' & 'SINCERITY'..not just someone physically 'BEAUTIFUL' so i'm 'THANKFUL' that with the 'GRACE' of God, i've got someone who's forever 'FAITHFUL' and one that i can 'TRUST' so we can gracefully sing the 'PLANTATION LULLABIES' and 3 'LOVE SONGS'.....


DEATH WILL COME FIRST......

The Earth, the beginning of the end (part 20)

Understanding the beginning to the end and embracing the space between then, now and the continuance. The beginning, creation, the earth, humans, sin, punishment, angry gods, greed, endless needs and the continuous need to be relevant. Analysing the deception, the crafting of lies, propaganda, truth and how expensive it is and how one thing can have two or three different meanings. The world known truth that is not being acknowledged or reckoned with, i wonder why. Its hidden but right infront of our noses at the same time. Coups, oil, bombs, igolide, murder, love, izimpi zombango, infedility, hate, the end of the world, being cast to burning hell to meet lucifer, the fallen angel for eternity, religion, the dos and donts, self realisation and the tears related..... (to be continued)

Burn, Burn, Burn

Down went their squatter camps in the middle of winter... What happened to the children i ask, i wonder-no answer. Burn burn burn, down went their squatter camps while waiting for fallen programmes to materialize... What happens to the children i ask, i wonder-no answer. Burn burn burn, down went their squatter camps.. While endless costly conferences continue-just to swear someone into their cushy post, costly conferences that could build 50 000 low cost houses had the money been redirected mmmh what happens to the children i ask, i wonder- still no answer....... Burnt down were the squatter camps while up up up went the salaries of those who are relevant, while waiting for programmes to jump from paper to action. The party's parties costing millions while its in the middle of winter - people left out in the cold with stubborn black ink on their thumbs - they made their mark - "your vote is your voice" hehe.... What happens to the little children? I ask i wonder while the squatter camps continue to burn burn burn

I have lost the plot

The struggle, the pain is visible from the lines on the face. The continuous need to be free, clearly narrated by the blisters on the fingers. They came past your space for you to acknowledge, learn and be better a people. The tears did not fall on deaf ears rather on thirsty grounds. When all you live for is the fight for survival in this demo-crazy. Noone is going to listen. Monologues and words live not to tell the tale rather twist the knife and push it further in the back of those who really knew what time it was and still know. What do you require of my sanity? Ngoba noba ungang'bulala ngek'uwathol'amandlami nje, ufuna ngithini? The initial step into the madness showed no thorns but perfectly trimmed roses, maybe that was the plan. Wallow im my misery, convince me that its all worth my while while all i see is broken dreams, memories in shabbles-what the fuck was all of this supposed to be about? Truely, i have lost the plot

India for me in a nutshell

When we landed, Bombay was drowning – monsoon season they call it. After a 9 hour turbulent filled flight over the Indian ocean (i was writing my message and getting ready to put it in a bottle incase the plane didn’t make it over the ocean) i was tired and nauseas. My sister who i was travelling with had been fast asleep throughout the turbulence, she, unlike myself, was doing this trip for the second time.

Bombay was humid, too humid and pouring with rain. The airport was buzzing, it was 8am Indian time. They were making the usual annoying airport announcements loudly but this time they were even more annoying because they were in some strange language – Marathi – my sister later told me. We were in the state of Maharashtra where Marathi is the commonly spoken language. Our connecting flight to a city called Pune was at 11am – i wanted to cry. I was tired and edgy from the flight and there was absolutely no place to sit at the overcrowded airport (i was to find out later that only ticket holders are allowed inside the airport, no relatives or friends – you say your goodbyes outside) so there we were with our luggage, tired and sleepy with no place to sit. By the time 11am came i felt like i had been stuck there for years. Consolation was that the flight to pune was only half an hour.



Pune: formerly called Poona, also known as Punawadi or Punya-Nagari, is the eighth largest city and seventh largest metropolis in India, and the second largest in the state of Maharashtra, after Mumbai (Bombay) the day was bright and the sun was shining, contrary to the coastline of Bombay. Outside the airport there were so many people and God the smell!! It was an oriental, curry filled with dirty rotting debris all in one. We got into what is called a rickshaw – a three wheeled vehicle used as public transport in that part of the world. The road was chaos, cars hooting, bikes zooming past and rickshaws trying to pick up and drop people in the middle of the road. There were no traffic lights so sometimes we would be stuck at an intersection for more than 10 minutes with horns just going off all at once, it was incredible. I laughed out loud, it was ridiculous. Eventually we got to my sister’s friend’s place and freshened up and went about to sort out our papers at the international center – that on its own is another story. I met really interesting African students in Pune and made good friends – fast forward to 2 months later to New Delhi.



New Delhi: the capital of india. It is situated within the metropolis of Delhi and is one of the fastest growing cities in the world and home to a population of 14 million. New Delhi is one of the nine districts of Delhi. When we landed at the Indira Gandhi airport it was – well you guessed, hot! I couldnt breathe. The traffic situation was the same as pune although there were a bit of traffic lights here and there on the road. New Delhi was interesting – with people mostly from Europe working for NGO’s there all over the place. The vibe was different, very cosmopolitan and the clubs did not close! I went to a lot of different clubs there, met South africans who were very arrogant and were not friendly at all! But my main attraction to Delhi was that it was 4 hours drive away from the famous Taj Mahal........



Taj Mahal: the Emperor who built it describes it in these words:

“Should guilty seek asylum here,Like one pardoned, he becomes free from sin.Should a sinner make his way to this mansion,All his past sins are to be washed away.The sight of this mansion creates sorrowing sighs;And the sun and the moon shed tears from their eyes.In this world this edifice has been made;To display thereby the creator's glory.”

Undoubtedly one of the most beautiful sights i have ever witnessed, the story behind it even more amazing. The four hour drive on a bus was a nightmare, it was again too hot to be out on the road but i had to see it and it was worth it. We drove through the most rural areas of the country with unbelievable horrendous statues that are gods along the way. The people there have more than 3000 gods that they worship and they are very passionate about their religion so its a matter of who can build the biggest monster of a god. (to be continued)

Far Far Away

Across the oceans and beyond imagination
dusty roads, polluted air, small cars, camels, buffaloes and elephants on the road
dense streets filled with peasants and their goats
where the full moon alternates with extreme floods - im talking moonsoon
where there is as much beauty as there is ugliness at the same time
a place where a king who so loved his wife built her a world wonder in his grief to show his love
in a land far, far away across oceans where time is told by hypnotic islamic chants on megaphones
where the colour of your skin still determines your destiny in life
in a place where i found love and let it go
a colourful world of saris and nose piercings even with children
a world where only a few liberated women cut their hair
where men are domestic workers and where people openly stare, point and laugh at anyone who is a bit different from them
in a land far far away across the oceans, thats where ive been.