Where are our heroes

We make it so easy for people of other races to insults us and keep us below the food chain. We want economic emancipation, but the people in charge of the economy cannot take us seriously if we have people among us eating grass and testifying that it takes like Macaronni Pasta. Steve Biko would be so disappointed in the self-hate reigning among the black population. 

When police force of a black government gun down its people like flies. It is reminiscent of the dark days of apartheid when it was clear that a black life is cheap and could end any time. We hate ourselves so much we view our own people's call for drinking water as a nuisance. We oppress each other. 

Pastor Lesego Daniel is a great example that the self-hate is not among our politicians alone. He uses religion to degrade, insult and ridicule the black race. I tend to agree that a traumatised nation is very likely to continue inflicting pain on its own. 

We have no heroes. We have nothing tomcling on as a sign of hope. Tue good crop of black men that wanted dignity given back to black people are dead! Their ideals died with them. We want to be happy.  But where are our heroes. Simphiwe Dana highlights this in her song Ndim Nawe. We need heroes. We need Sheroes. We need a bit more than hope.

So it is time, I believe, we follow people of Mothotlung and Marikana. Let us mot be discouraged by the guns and the power they have. We gave it to them and so we should strip them off the power. Let us be our own heroes. 

The Perfect Sinner by Matuba Mahlatjie

Being the perfect sinner is enjoying and feeling the joy of imperfection. I want to be the perfect sinner. The one that would kiss your best friend and go all out for you not to find out. The sinner that would buy you flowers on his way back from my lover. 

The sinner that patronises guilt and enjoy the fruits of imperfection. I want to be the sinner that would know about your extra marital affair and not confront you. Your imperfection is the dagger that eliminates my own guilt. I am a religious sinner. 

The one that laughs in private when caught, but works hard to keep you. Keep you in my bed. Keep you in my imperfect world. While everyone longs to be like Jesus – I hide behind the alter and gobble up the Holy Communion wine. I shackle myself in the imperfect world. I am devoted to being that sinner. The perfect one. The one that makes mends for the imperfections. 

You said you loved me by Matuba Mahlatjie (Written in 2009)

Maybe you said it in jest and I took to heart. Was it to mind? I don't quite know. But the words 'i love you' came out of your mouth and you projected them so well. They were engraved somewhere inside of me.

I never once interrogated or questioned this love you so often confessed. It almost became traditiön. I got acustomed to it. Some things are better left unquestioned. I am not even curious to know how long the love will last or how much of it you have.

All I know is that if it ends, I'll be cripled. If it is less than I imagined, I'd die inside. You said you loved me, I did not take it for granted. I löve you too.

The fear of dying By Matuba Mahlatjie

I am so scared of death. The thought that one day someone will announce my death gives me heart palpitations. Then I think of many other brave men and women who succumbed to death. Mandela, Nkosi Johnson,  Rosa Parks and the list goes on. Ukufa akunaqhawe. It's a Zulu expression that says in death there are no heroes. When death strickes even the mighty and strong fall. That is how I console myself. 

My struggle now is to live a fulfiling life. It's a struggle because I am still burdened by my past. Painful past. It is not easy because there is a constant reminder I chose to be immune against. When I made that decision I forgot that I am only flesh and blood. Just human. It contradicts the pact I made with myself that I should always be honest about my feelings. I conceal them in my desperate bid for peace.  Inner peace. I also use love as an excuse to hide the scars that remain. 

You probably think I am speaking in parables and wasting your time. Maybe you just want to stop reading and hope I see a shrink before i slit my wrists. Hahahahaha! The opening line of this blog tells you how terrified I am of death. But writing this blog has brought me to the conclusion that maybe I am not scared of death, I just love life too much. Mostly because I enjoy it. There are very few things that are not going right in my life. Too few to mention. But I think you have gathered that I have a past that haunts me every now and then. 

I expose myself like this because I often say to my friends, I don't have space for skeletons in my closet. And those who perceive this post as being vulnerable and weak are probably right too. I am showing off my true human colours. I will die some day, but when it happens, I want to have lived a good life that makes me happier. I want my thoughts, good and bad ones to echo. Maybe not to the whole world, but to those who will feel the void when I am no more.

And while I am still enjoying living, I'd like them to challenge, comfort or even embrace me.

Jacob Zuma:Who keeps sweeping things under the carpet?

The silly season is done and dusted. The escapism is over and all the things that depress us are back in spotlight. Nkandla, e-Tolls and the petrol pice top the list of those issues. 

But I have had a question that's never been answered since 2009. Maybe it's longer than that, but my question remains unanswered. Unfortunately my question does involve our President Jacob Zuma. 

Who's interest is it in, to have Msholozi remain in power? There has to be someone benefitting to keep him in the highest office. And it is definitely not the general public. 

We always use the metaphor that so many things have been swept under the carpet so Mr Zuma can assume the office of the president of the republic. But every time he walks over that carpet, dust comes out and we all start coughing and uncomfortable. 

I am wondering now if Nkandla is going to be one of the scandals that will be forced down our throat. And if indeed things are being swept under the carpet, question remains, who is holding the carpet up and who is operating the broom? It's surely not President Zuma. That's why it's so easy to conclude that there are puppet masters. And I say all this not ignoring the millions of our people who's lives improved. Housing, sanitation and electricity is a reality for those people. But it is difficult to appreciate what we never had if we have a discredited leadership. Starting from the commander in chief, down to a premier who spends thousands of tax payers' money on take-aways. And still keeps her job? 

So, my question people, who is having it easy as Mr Zuma continues occupying the office of the president? The broom operator, who keeps sweeping things under the carpet, who is he or she?

Before Mangaung Conference, it was easy to divide the church. There was a Zuma and Mbeki camp. We had a clue who wanted Mbeki out and Zuma in. But now there isn't talk of camps. It's off-the-record conversations with politicians that are interesting. 

And we remain in the dark about who the broom operator is. It's months before another election and I wish someone could plot a scenario and explain to me and probably many other South Africans who are keen on finding out the logic behind keeping President Jacob Zuma as the face of the ANC.  

I suppose for now, we head straight to the pharmacy and stock up on some Gaviscon. SA politics give me heartburn.