“What do you want to be when you grow up?”. This is the question that has brought supremely – amongst many – hilarious and at times answers that give ambition a bad name among black communities in Mzansi.
Once upon a time in high school (apparently you can say that if you can’t remember specifics) a teacher asked a class I was in this ‘small moment’ question with a ‘huge significance’. Either our class at the time was too unique – or too aware of obstacles created by poverty that we gave answers that warranted a frequent random release of the rod from the teacher (the withholding thereof, notorious for spoiling children). Whether our collision with that rod was meant to wake us up to the reality of the importance of having dreams and achieving them - or to take the teacher seriously at the time – I never got to know. But the question stuck in my mind, more so, the answer I gave – which let me add was not met with the rod as we had observed that some answers were dangerous, thus kept a good distance – it was met with a pronouncement that would warrant a teacher, in today’s terms: a weekend spent in jail.
“I want to be a taxi driver”, said yours truly in all honesty to the teacher. Up to this day I cannot tell you right away what it is about taxis that fascinate me, but maan I have a healthy constant attraction to them. Come to think of it, I haven’t met many people who became what they once wanted to become - when young. Either one or all of the following happened: they out-grew their dreams, dream entirely different dreams, stopped dreaming, or their dreams were deferred. Whatever happened, most people are not where they always wanted to be, I’m no exception. Anyways, the teacher summarized most of our dreams as rubbish – although we objected that they are achievable and have direct results. We also reminded the teacher about immediate wealth to our dreams, she did not want to hear any of it, she even asked “why are you wasting time here”. Duh… me thought. Age! I’m still too young to do that, besides my parents would disown me were I to leave school for that. Point is she gave us a long lecture about the difficult life we would meet and that education is very important, permanent jobs (not necessarily decent) and being ‘normal’. We reluctantly bought the idea – not making any commitments. Frankly, for most of us, our dreams were slaughtered there. Although upon matriculating as we were parting, we joked that ‘we’ll meet in the taxi-rank’.
Since then, I eventually moved away from my dream to pursue ‘clean career which make better money without risking your life everyday’. I was becoming content until about a month ago, whilst working in this knowledge factory (research institution), I met this Zulu guy who also worked there, but based in Pretoria, he was on a week assignment in Cape Town. After exchanging greetings his cell phone rang, he spoke to it a little and thereafter turned to me, ‘taxi drivers’ he said. I asked him, what’s his story there – this guy I had learned that he holds a PhD in Statistics and has produced a lot of publications. He told me that he owns quite a number of taxis – bought them after obtaining his PhD! Attempting to explain this mystery he said “don’t you know that Zulus are in the taxi-rank!”. Infact he expressed his disappointment that in all the years I spent in Cape Town I haven’t secured one or two taxis of my own. So is that why I love taxis? I’m Zulu *more confused*. This is the same ‘logic’ like saying “truck drivers love women because of diesel smell in the trucks”.
It is then that he told me that he always wanted taxi – but couldn’t get them when growing up as it was a frowned upon business – due to killings associated with it – thus his return now. If anything I learnt from this guy is, no matter how ridiculous your dream is – hold on to it, it is yours. Ray Kroc of McDonald franchise once explained his interest in the business by stating ‘It has nothing to do with burgers, I always wanted to own buildings – separate from others, it didn’t matter what was therein – burgers were the fortunate choice’. Perhaps the biggest favor we can all do for ourselves, is not giving up on our dreams – because they have a way of haunting you and giving you no peace.
Yours truly still dreams of waking up one day – in his front yard to see his Toyota Hi-Ace Siyaya parked there!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Private schools, but no private universities – hoekom?
Someone is pulling a joke somewhere, really – otherwise how do you make sense of this? Or maybe my mind is taking being too simplistic seriously. Ok, this thought is sparked by frenzy during this time of the year whereby most parents are trying to give their off springs ‘best of the best’ in life. Education, an inheritance that no one will ever take away from them. Or as my parents would say when I refused to go to school ‘imfundo isinkwa sakho sakusasa’ (Education is your bread for tomorrow – direct translation). I have learnt since then that it is actually not bread but a knife. I am not implying that my parents were not truth-friendly, God forbid, but I am identifying a gap in that metaphor. Education is to me a proverbial knife that one can use to cut anything edible, bread among them, cake, veggies, meat – depending on your proverbial appetite. The knife also helps you to cut the size that you would like to enjoy – hopefully not more than you can chew or less that you starve to ‘death’. Back to school.
During this time kids are registered at schools mostly of their parents’ choice – influenced by parents’ pride, wishes, dreams, guilt, ideals and money – or the lack thereof. You got to love those parents. Most mull-over whether the schools be public or private. Let me be the first to state that yours truly went to public school – exactly ten years ago and hated every moment of it. I always wondered why do parents take their kids to private schools – what was sometimes referred to as ‘model c’ (whatever that meant) and mostly against their ability to finance. Ok maybe it’s for the ‘conducive learning environment’, and that is a good reason, if that translates to what I’ve read to ‘smaller classrooms, maximum exposure, sports, and individualized attention’ – which after identifying something wrong can be referred to in-house psychological help. I believe there is more, but since I didn’t go there it remains unknown to me, so I’ll comment on what I know. My learning environment was nothing like that; sometimes it would be like a war-zone, classes without roofs, no glasses for windows, and no fence – thus cows would entertain us by chasing feared teachers to classrooms. In those classrooms we would be overcrowded, seating four-four, we were usually not below 55 in number. Sports we had were the usual flavour for darkies, like soccer, netball, sadly debate never came, and athletics at the beginning of the year. Well since I’m not a sportsperson, I don’t feel like I missed out on anything. I wish we had a library though – mind you, I got my first library card, a year later when I was sitting at home having not a clue what to do with myself. Apparently things have improved since then.
Lastly, perhaps to parents delight – we paid maximum R30.00 per year, now equivalent to airtime today, for the school fees. For instance at STD 6 I paid R19.00 school fee – I kid you not and the parents complained that it had gone up! I hear that some of the private schools charge as high as R150 000 per year! By all means, if parents are eating a R2 potato. But my issue is – whoever that promotes private schooling does not mention that there are NO private universities in Mzansi. In my first year at varsity we had a classmate who found it to be of particular importance to remind us that she went to some prestigious school in Cape Town. But all this for me meant nothing because I had matric and I was there, right next to her, having paid less than R1000 for my entire high school years!
Ok, I guess I’ll never know what I missed and surely am not implying that those who went to private schools should be apologetic about it, no ways! But whether you went to private or public school, in varsity we all sit together, 200 of us at times in a lecture hall. Also the nicest part is when the course is complete, we all have Bsc, or BA or B.Com or LLB, and nothing whatsoever is mentioned about your high school, it all boils down to the amount of work and dedication given. Now for me the most ridiculous thing is that the parents pay R150 000 per year for high school and fail to pay R27 000 for university fees! Even more ridiculous is that after graduation, the person gets a job that will pay him or her per year money equivalent to the high schools fees, how is that for a joke?
So I ask, does it make sense to have private schools which do not feed into private universities; which in turn doesn’t feed into private companies – only; not serving private clients; who do not live in private communities?
For parents, is all this worth the money?
Yours truly!
During this time kids are registered at schools mostly of their parents’ choice – influenced by parents’ pride, wishes, dreams, guilt, ideals and money – or the lack thereof. You got to love those parents. Most mull-over whether the schools be public or private. Let me be the first to state that yours truly went to public school – exactly ten years ago and hated every moment of it. I always wondered why do parents take their kids to private schools – what was sometimes referred to as ‘model c’ (whatever that meant) and mostly against their ability to finance. Ok maybe it’s for the ‘conducive learning environment’, and that is a good reason, if that translates to what I’ve read to ‘smaller classrooms, maximum exposure, sports, and individualized attention’ – which after identifying something wrong can be referred to in-house psychological help. I believe there is more, but since I didn’t go there it remains unknown to me, so I’ll comment on what I know. My learning environment was nothing like that; sometimes it would be like a war-zone, classes without roofs, no glasses for windows, and no fence – thus cows would entertain us by chasing feared teachers to classrooms. In those classrooms we would be overcrowded, seating four-four, we were usually not below 55 in number. Sports we had were the usual flavour for darkies, like soccer, netball, sadly debate never came, and athletics at the beginning of the year. Well since I’m not a sportsperson, I don’t feel like I missed out on anything. I wish we had a library though – mind you, I got my first library card, a year later when I was sitting at home having not a clue what to do with myself. Apparently things have improved since then.
Lastly, perhaps to parents delight – we paid maximum R30.00 per year, now equivalent to airtime today, for the school fees. For instance at STD 6 I paid R19.00 school fee – I kid you not and the parents complained that it had gone up! I hear that some of the private schools charge as high as R150 000 per year! By all means, if parents are eating a R2 potato. But my issue is – whoever that promotes private schooling does not mention that there are NO private universities in Mzansi. In my first year at varsity we had a classmate who found it to be of particular importance to remind us that she went to some prestigious school in Cape Town. But all this for me meant nothing because I had matric and I was there, right next to her, having paid less than R1000 for my entire high school years!
Ok, I guess I’ll never know what I missed and surely am not implying that those who went to private schools should be apologetic about it, no ways! But whether you went to private or public school, in varsity we all sit together, 200 of us at times in a lecture hall. Also the nicest part is when the course is complete, we all have Bsc, or BA or B.Com or LLB, and nothing whatsoever is mentioned about your high school, it all boils down to the amount of work and dedication given. Now for me the most ridiculous thing is that the parents pay R150 000 per year for high school and fail to pay R27 000 for university fees! Even more ridiculous is that after graduation, the person gets a job that will pay him or her per year money equivalent to the high schools fees, how is that for a joke?
So I ask, does it make sense to have private schools which do not feed into private universities; which in turn doesn’t feed into private companies – only; not serving private clients; who do not live in private communities?
For parents, is all this worth the money?
Yours truly!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
For them thunderous holidays...
Ok, I hope I’m not the only one who seem to have blinked and it’s December already. Unbelievable, isn’t it. It’s as if it was last month when in remote villages across the country we cried our lungs out at midnight welcoming the long anticipated two-thousand-and-mine, now few believe it was theirs. Now that we have to do this whole merry-go-round again, I decided to pour myself a calabash of thick- home-brewed…*ehm*, warming up for the mighty consumption of the same stuff that is calling me till the brink of a new year – whereby we’ll pause for a minute to thank the Almighty for carrying us throughout the year and urging him with ‘sincere hearts’ to renew our contracts next year.
Ok, not that it’s any of your business, but I decided to write this now because most people who might read it will not be able to, due to ‘blessings’ of end- year office parties, so next time they might stop to read my concoctions, it will all be irrelevant. This is the time whereby most migrant workers, prodigal sons and daughters like me and you resume contacts that possibly ended on the 5th of January this year.
As I’m ‘planning to get broke systematically', I’m reminded of what plays itself every year during these times. Knowingly or unknowingly, you are likely to witness the following in your various places of origin. The big brothers, uncles and cousins who disappeared to Jozi will be mostly celebrated; they will be enjoying this whilst boasting with their nice cars with GP registrations. Ok, I admit I envy them, I always wanted to be ubhut’ waseGoli when I’m old, pity...nx. Eintlik, why vele do even people today who live in Jozi always seem to be likeable than others? When you have CA registrations, people hardly celebrate you, instead they feel sorry for you. Strue. They are sorry that you do not only live in God-forsaken far away place, far from everyone and everything central to Mzansi, you’ve also got terrible weather, and since Helen Zille and her white people still rule Western Cape - you are likely to be poor, if you are above poverty line, chances are you’ve spent all your money on the road trying to get home. The nice part about this is it makes you less of a target for ‘cool drink’ monies, except for those uncles with unforgiving hearts. All this is a walk in a park for me, but yey there are heavens to be feared. Izulu. Rain, or more appropriately weather. Have you ever noticed that most natural disasters in recent years takes place just after Christmas, Tsunami took place on the 26th the Boxing Day and many disasters in our country. One of the few joys of living in Cape Town is that although we aquaplane day-in day-out, and that we’ve stopped teaching off-springs about the 4 seasons of the year to them, but narrowed to being 4 seasons of the day; the weather here doesn’t give that dramatic exhibition of lightings and deafening thundering, instead the Almight gave us in His infinite wisdom, rain only. I know in some places elsewhere that long before Christmas, people are already homeless due to that notorious dramatic display.
As a result during these festive times my fun is continuously spoilt by gazing at the skies for signs of another show, this is so traumatic that I get to be in touch with all my extreme feelings, at once. Yes, the sun is lovely, but there is thundering. One minute you are attending a wedding, the next the whole event has turned to a rescue mission. To be exact, the most things I fear are lightnings and not so much thundering. When growing up we were drilled into fearing it. We’ll be told to sit down and be still when ‘God starts shouting at us’. As for why would He shout at us that much, I never got to ask. This fear of lighting and rain reduced fear of teachers at school to nothing. I remember very well, in primary school, whenever clouds gather and its starts thundering, we will be called to assembly and be set free to go home quickly before it gets too hectic. I suspect teachers hated themselves for letting us go when 30 minutes later the skies clear and walla, we have half-day of schooling. In high school, whenever clouds starts to gather, especially after lunch, we will inform the teacher that ‘the river will start its business, I must be on my way’, even me who didn’t have to cross a river, will remember that the beds, electrical appliances at home were not properly catered for to avoid them rain-drops. Thus we must be on our way to put protective measures like placing dishes, jugs, mugs, pots and everything else to prevent water from damaging the furniture. Before the teacher consents, we’ll be off and if it ends up not raining, then we are in deep sh*t the following day.
The worst part of it all is that, there is a possibility of being struck by a bolt of lightning – worse still, sent by your long-forgotten enemy. I’ll not elaborate on the know-how of the village astrologers and scientists; I’ll not tell you where to get a discount in buying them lightings for your enemy. But you know, whenever clouds gather and it’s starts thundering, I remember all my enemies and always hope that whatever happened no longer matters.
So as we go home, when it starts thundering, remember the village general science, if you are at home disconnect TV aerial, sit down, shut your mouth, and do not fall asleep. But should it find you in an open land: do not run, do not walk on the path – dummy, that’s where lighting runs, oh and do not follow anything with tail, you will be on a hectic receiving end.
To all my enemies, if you can’t forgive me, let’s start this again next year.
Happy Holidays mense!
Ok, not that it’s any of your business, but I decided to write this now because most people who might read it will not be able to, due to ‘blessings’ of end- year office parties, so next time they might stop to read my concoctions, it will all be irrelevant. This is the time whereby most migrant workers, prodigal sons and daughters like me and you resume contacts that possibly ended on the 5th of January this year.
As I’m ‘planning to get broke systematically', I’m reminded of what plays itself every year during these times. Knowingly or unknowingly, you are likely to witness the following in your various places of origin. The big brothers, uncles and cousins who disappeared to Jozi will be mostly celebrated; they will be enjoying this whilst boasting with their nice cars with GP registrations. Ok, I admit I envy them, I always wanted to be ubhut’ waseGoli when I’m old, pity...nx. Eintlik, why vele do even people today who live in Jozi always seem to be likeable than others? When you have CA registrations, people hardly celebrate you, instead they feel sorry for you. Strue. They are sorry that you do not only live in God-forsaken far away place, far from everyone and everything central to Mzansi, you’ve also got terrible weather, and since Helen Zille and her white people still rule Western Cape - you are likely to be poor, if you are above poverty line, chances are you’ve spent all your money on the road trying to get home. The nice part about this is it makes you less of a target for ‘cool drink’ monies, except for those uncles with unforgiving hearts. All this is a walk in a park for me, but yey there are heavens to be feared. Izulu. Rain, or more appropriately weather. Have you ever noticed that most natural disasters in recent years takes place just after Christmas, Tsunami took place on the 26th the Boxing Day and many disasters in our country. One of the few joys of living in Cape Town is that although we aquaplane day-in day-out, and that we’ve stopped teaching off-springs about the 4 seasons of the year to them, but narrowed to being 4 seasons of the day; the weather here doesn’t give that dramatic exhibition of lightings and deafening thundering, instead the Almight gave us in His infinite wisdom, rain only. I know in some places elsewhere that long before Christmas, people are already homeless due to that notorious dramatic display.
As a result during these festive times my fun is continuously spoilt by gazing at the skies for signs of another show, this is so traumatic that I get to be in touch with all my extreme feelings, at once. Yes, the sun is lovely, but there is thundering. One minute you are attending a wedding, the next the whole event has turned to a rescue mission. To be exact, the most things I fear are lightnings and not so much thundering. When growing up we were drilled into fearing it. We’ll be told to sit down and be still when ‘God starts shouting at us’. As for why would He shout at us that much, I never got to ask. This fear of lighting and rain reduced fear of teachers at school to nothing. I remember very well, in primary school, whenever clouds gather and its starts thundering, we will be called to assembly and be set free to go home quickly before it gets too hectic. I suspect teachers hated themselves for letting us go when 30 minutes later the skies clear and walla, we have half-day of schooling. In high school, whenever clouds starts to gather, especially after lunch, we will inform the teacher that ‘the river will start its business, I must be on my way’, even me who didn’t have to cross a river, will remember that the beds, electrical appliances at home were not properly catered for to avoid them rain-drops. Thus we must be on our way to put protective measures like placing dishes, jugs, mugs, pots and everything else to prevent water from damaging the furniture. Before the teacher consents, we’ll be off and if it ends up not raining, then we are in deep sh*t the following day.
The worst part of it all is that, there is a possibility of being struck by a bolt of lightning – worse still, sent by your long-forgotten enemy. I’ll not elaborate on the know-how of the village astrologers and scientists; I’ll not tell you where to get a discount in buying them lightings for your enemy. But you know, whenever clouds gather and it’s starts thundering, I remember all my enemies and always hope that whatever happened no longer matters.
So as we go home, when it starts thundering, remember the village general science, if you are at home disconnect TV aerial, sit down, shut your mouth, and do not fall asleep. But should it find you in an open land: do not run, do not walk on the path – dummy, that’s where lighting runs, oh and do not follow anything with tail, you will be on a hectic receiving end.
To all my enemies, if you can’t forgive me, let’s start this again next year.
Happy Holidays mense!
Monday, November 9, 2009
For the fear of not making it, is the root of many a success
Exactly why do we bother to wake up every morning –assuming we slept, say our prayers (at times very hurriedly), take a bath or the summary thereof and hit the road in pursuit of…what? There are many answers to this question, varying from mortals to mortals. I’ll not pretend to be deep and sound like I have read the book “The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari” or any be anything like my current favorite President Ahmadinejad of Iran – who insisted on staying in his house after being elected a President. No. I’m not that deep – simply because the surface is still shallow.
I once posed a question to my learned friend, as to ‘what keeps him motivated to study further?’, He simply answered, ‘because I fear not making it’. Not content with such a simple reply, I pressed further, citing to him that I find his academic achievements convincing enough that he has made it, ‘what else does he still need to prove? Still he humbly replied ‘still I fear not making it’. Rubbish, I spoke to myself walking away…is this what ‘making it reduces us to…fear?’. Well, I didn’t really think about it until recently when I ignorantly entered what I soon discovered to be regarded as a highly respected institution in field of social research. In a certain room, these men and women of great intellect gathered to praise each other’s achievements, more like ‘celebrities on stage celebrating each other’. See, ignorance helps me most of the time, since I didn’t know ‘who is who in this zoo’ (I like the rhyme – am not saying they’re in the zoo or they resemble the natives thereof), I could not help but marvel at the sheer chasing of the wind – as King Solomon once said. I thought, so these guys are serious about this education thing; and they take each other very serious, calling each other ‘doctor - doctor’. Mhh, I did some quick self-introspection right there and there to check if it’s not jealousy talking, so as should it be the case, to immediately repent or else burn in hell, as some preachers tell us. I’m yet to find out. I almost stopped them just to ask, so guys, ‘is this what you’ve worked all your lives for?’ Are you happy now? But I soon learnt that, no, actually they still want to publish some more, study some more, have more influence, become expects more, and more and more and more. Rubbish…me thought “I honestly hope they are happy”.
See I have heard that in the days of King Shakas military, a regiment (soldier) will spend most of his youth sharpening his fighting skills, grow to become a hero, and after maturity kicks-in, only to spend the rest of his adulthood resisting using them. But in this day and age, we’re no longer fighting those wars, now we are at war against poverty and ignorance and whatever else that you wake up in the morning to go fight, in the process provoking the anger of the Devil. And when we speak about our ‘victories’ in these wars, it sounds cool, but we still wake up and fight some more. The worst part, some even forget to live, but enjoy the label of ‘workaholic’ or as someone strangely said ‘I work like a devil’. We end up forgetting to live and be content. Some of us in the pursuit of our dream, even out-run our families, the very people who are meant to celebrate successes with us. So when does contentment arrive? Does it come with accumulated resources, status, and religion or with age?
Well, I have in my life interacted with a lot of people who at their old age look back at their ‘lost’ opportunities and think, they should have done things differently when they were young. Some say they wish, they stayed longer in school, listened more to their parents and teachers, they should have married that lady or that man, shouldn’t have drank alcohol at that age…and very few think they should have started earlier – as they have realized how much they’ve been missing. But most, more often than not, I hear people saying, they are happy with the way things turned out to be, imperfect as they may be, but they are happy. Others – that I would like to meet more of – say feel that they have climbed the ladder of success, ‘only when they are on the top that they realized, it is leaning against the wrong wall’ (to borrow the metaphor). Now, having spoken to those who are ‘there’, or supposed to be ‘there’, I turned around and asked those ‘getting’ there, what would it take for them to be content? Few are able to answer to their satisfaction, me included. Some of the answers are based on making peace with what may seem impossible to achieve now, others are so driven that they are not willing to settle for anything less – fearing to ‘get less than what they settled for’. Some they hope whatever the outcome, to look back and be content…
So one way or the other, contentment is something that most people seek to attain. Perhaps, it comes with being happy with who you are - at peace with who you are not; proud of what you have achieved – and still pressing towards what you think you’re capable of achieving; being comfortable in your own skin; at peace with your abilities; and basically knowing what makes you – you and not someone else. Perhaps right there, (see as the ‘salt of the earth', I need to gooi a verse or two) this is where we should not be envious of God’s blessings to others, as if He is not blessing us enough, if at all. So contentment, we may find on different things, various stations in life, on different people, and positions – if we ever find it and I hope we do. I therefore ask, in and of you, what will make you to be content?
Eish…
KM
I once posed a question to my learned friend, as to ‘what keeps him motivated to study further?’, He simply answered, ‘because I fear not making it’. Not content with such a simple reply, I pressed further, citing to him that I find his academic achievements convincing enough that he has made it, ‘what else does he still need to prove? Still he humbly replied ‘still I fear not making it’. Rubbish, I spoke to myself walking away…is this what ‘making it reduces us to…fear?’. Well, I didn’t really think about it until recently when I ignorantly entered what I soon discovered to be regarded as a highly respected institution in field of social research. In a certain room, these men and women of great intellect gathered to praise each other’s achievements, more like ‘celebrities on stage celebrating each other’. See, ignorance helps me most of the time, since I didn’t know ‘who is who in this zoo’ (I like the rhyme – am not saying they’re in the zoo or they resemble the natives thereof), I could not help but marvel at the sheer chasing of the wind – as King Solomon once said. I thought, so these guys are serious about this education thing; and they take each other very serious, calling each other ‘doctor - doctor’. Mhh, I did some quick self-introspection right there and there to check if it’s not jealousy talking, so as should it be the case, to immediately repent or else burn in hell, as some preachers tell us. I’m yet to find out. I almost stopped them just to ask, so guys, ‘is this what you’ve worked all your lives for?’ Are you happy now? But I soon learnt that, no, actually they still want to publish some more, study some more, have more influence, become expects more, and more and more and more. Rubbish…me thought “I honestly hope they are happy”.
See I have heard that in the days of King Shakas military, a regiment (soldier) will spend most of his youth sharpening his fighting skills, grow to become a hero, and after maturity kicks-in, only to spend the rest of his adulthood resisting using them. But in this day and age, we’re no longer fighting those wars, now we are at war against poverty and ignorance and whatever else that you wake up in the morning to go fight, in the process provoking the anger of the Devil. And when we speak about our ‘victories’ in these wars, it sounds cool, but we still wake up and fight some more. The worst part, some even forget to live, but enjoy the label of ‘workaholic’ or as someone strangely said ‘I work like a devil’. We end up forgetting to live and be content. Some of us in the pursuit of our dream, even out-run our families, the very people who are meant to celebrate successes with us. So when does contentment arrive? Does it come with accumulated resources, status, and religion or with age?
Well, I have in my life interacted with a lot of people who at their old age look back at their ‘lost’ opportunities and think, they should have done things differently when they were young. Some say they wish, they stayed longer in school, listened more to their parents and teachers, they should have married that lady or that man, shouldn’t have drank alcohol at that age…and very few think they should have started earlier – as they have realized how much they’ve been missing. But most, more often than not, I hear people saying, they are happy with the way things turned out to be, imperfect as they may be, but they are happy. Others – that I would like to meet more of – say feel that they have climbed the ladder of success, ‘only when they are on the top that they realized, it is leaning against the wrong wall’ (to borrow the metaphor). Now, having spoken to those who are ‘there’, or supposed to be ‘there’, I turned around and asked those ‘getting’ there, what would it take for them to be content? Few are able to answer to their satisfaction, me included. Some of the answers are based on making peace with what may seem impossible to achieve now, others are so driven that they are not willing to settle for anything less – fearing to ‘get less than what they settled for’. Some they hope whatever the outcome, to look back and be content…
So one way or the other, contentment is something that most people seek to attain. Perhaps, it comes with being happy with who you are - at peace with who you are not; proud of what you have achieved – and still pressing towards what you think you’re capable of achieving; being comfortable in your own skin; at peace with your abilities; and basically knowing what makes you – you and not someone else. Perhaps right there, (see as the ‘salt of the earth', I need to gooi a verse or two) this is where we should not be envious of God’s blessings to others, as if He is not blessing us enough, if at all. So contentment, we may find on different things, various stations in life, on different people, and positions – if we ever find it and I hope we do. I therefore ask, in and of you, what will make you to be content?
Eish…
KM
Sunday, October 25, 2009
For the fear of not making it, is the root of many a success
Exactly why do we bother to wake up every morning –assuming we slept, say our prayers (at times very hurriedly), take a bath or the summary thereof and hit the road in pursuit of…what? There are many answers to this question, varying from mortals to mortals. I’ll not pretend to be deep and sound like I have read the book “The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari” or any be anything like my current favorite President Ahmadinejad of Iran – who insisted on staying in his house after being elected a President. No. I’m not that deep – simply because the surface is still shallow.
I once posed a question to my learned friend, as to ‘what keeps him motivated to study further?’, He simply answered, ‘because I fear not making it’. Not content with such a simple reply, I pressed further, citing to him that I find his academic achievements convincing enough that he has made it, ‘what else does he still need to prove? Still he humbly replied ‘still I fear not making it’. Rubbish, I spoke to myself walking away…is this what ‘making it reduces us to…fear?’. Well, I didn’t really think about it until recently when I ignorantly entered what I soon discovered to be regarded as a highly respected institution in field of social research. In a certain room, these men and women of great intellect gathered to praise each other’s achievements, more like ‘celebrities on stage celebrating each other’. See, ignorance helps me most of the time, since I didn’t know ‘who is who in this zoo’ (I like the rhyme – am not saying they’re in the zoo or they resemble the natives thereof), I could not help but marvel at the sheer chasing of the wind – as King Solomon once said. I thought, so these guys are serious about this education thing; and they take each other very serious, calling each other ‘doctor - doctor’. Mhh, I did some quick self-introspection right there and there to check if it’s not jealousy talking, so as should it be the case, to immediately repent or else burn in hell, as some preachers tell us. I’m yet to find out. I almost stopped them just to ask, so guys, ‘is this what you’ve worked all your lives for?’ Are you happy now? But I soon learnt that, no, actually they still want to publish some more, study some more, have more influence, become expects more, and more and more and more. Rubbish…me thought “I honestly hope they are happy”.
See I have heard that in the days of King Shakas military, a regiment (soldier) will spend most of his youth sharpening his fighting skills, grow to become a hero, and after maturity kicks-in, only to spend the rest of his adulthood resisting using them. But in this day and age, we’re no longer fighting those wars, now we are at war against poverty and ignorance and whatever else that you wake up in the morning to go fight, in the process provoking the anger of the Devil. And when we speak about our ‘victories’ in these wars, it sounds cool, but we still wake up and fight some more. The worst part, some even forget to live, but enjoy the label of ‘workaholic’ or as someone strangely said ‘I work like a devil’. We end up forgetting to live and be content. Some of us in the pursuit of our dream, even out-run our families, the very people who are meant to celebrate successes with us. So when does contentment arrive? Does it come with accumulated resources, status, and religion or with age?
Well, I have in my life interacted with a lot of people who at their old age look back at their ‘lost’ opportunities and think, they should have done things differently when they were young. Some say they wish, they stayed longer in school, listened more to their parents and teachers, they should have married that lady or that man, shouldn’t have drank alcohol at that age…and very few think they should have started earlier – as they have realized how much they’ve been missing. But most, more often than not, I hear people saying, they are happy with the way things turned out to be, imperfect as they may be, but they are happy. Others – that I would like to meet more of – say feel that they have climbed the ladder of success, ‘only when they are on the top that they realized, it is leaning against the wrong wall’ (to borrow the metaphor). Now, having spoken to those who are ‘there’, or supposed to be ‘there’, I turned around and asked those ‘getting’ there, what would it take for them to be content? Few are able to answer to their satisfaction, me included. Some of the answers are based on making peace with what may seem impossible to achieve now, others are so driven that they are not willing to settle for anything less – fearing to ‘get less than what they settled for’. Some they hope whatever the outcome, to look back and be content…
So one way or the other, contentment is something that most people seek to attain. Perhaps, it comes with being happy with who you are - at peace with who you are not; proud of what you have achieved – and still pressing towards what you think you’re capable of achieving; being comfortable in your own skin; at peace with your abilities; and basically knowing what makes you – you and not someone else. Perhaps right there, (see as the ‘salt of the earth', I need to gooi a verse or two) this is where we should not be envious of God’s blessings to others, as if He is not blessing us enough, if at all. So contentment, we may find on different things, various stations in life, on different people, and positions – if we ever find it and I hope we do. I therefore ask, in and of you, what will make you to be content?
Eish…
KM
I once posed a question to my learned friend, as to ‘what keeps him motivated to study further?’, He simply answered, ‘because I fear not making it’. Not content with such a simple reply, I pressed further, citing to him that I find his academic achievements convincing enough that he has made it, ‘what else does he still need to prove? Still he humbly replied ‘still I fear not making it’. Rubbish, I spoke to myself walking away…is this what ‘making it reduces us to…fear?’. Well, I didn’t really think about it until recently when I ignorantly entered what I soon discovered to be regarded as a highly respected institution in field of social research. In a certain room, these men and women of great intellect gathered to praise each other’s achievements, more like ‘celebrities on stage celebrating each other’. See, ignorance helps me most of the time, since I didn’t know ‘who is who in this zoo’ (I like the rhyme – am not saying they’re in the zoo or they resemble the natives thereof), I could not help but marvel at the sheer chasing of the wind – as King Solomon once said. I thought, so these guys are serious about this education thing; and they take each other very serious, calling each other ‘doctor - doctor’. Mhh, I did some quick self-introspection right there and there to check if it’s not jealousy talking, so as should it be the case, to immediately repent or else burn in hell, as some preachers tell us. I’m yet to find out. I almost stopped them just to ask, so guys, ‘is this what you’ve worked all your lives for?’ Are you happy now? But I soon learnt that, no, actually they still want to publish some more, study some more, have more influence, become expects more, and more and more and more. Rubbish…me thought “I honestly hope they are happy”.
See I have heard that in the days of King Shakas military, a regiment (soldier) will spend most of his youth sharpening his fighting skills, grow to become a hero, and after maturity kicks-in, only to spend the rest of his adulthood resisting using them. But in this day and age, we’re no longer fighting those wars, now we are at war against poverty and ignorance and whatever else that you wake up in the morning to go fight, in the process provoking the anger of the Devil. And when we speak about our ‘victories’ in these wars, it sounds cool, but we still wake up and fight some more. The worst part, some even forget to live, but enjoy the label of ‘workaholic’ or as someone strangely said ‘I work like a devil’. We end up forgetting to live and be content. Some of us in the pursuit of our dream, even out-run our families, the very people who are meant to celebrate successes with us. So when does contentment arrive? Does it come with accumulated resources, status, and religion or with age?
Well, I have in my life interacted with a lot of people who at their old age look back at their ‘lost’ opportunities and think, they should have done things differently when they were young. Some say they wish, they stayed longer in school, listened more to their parents and teachers, they should have married that lady or that man, shouldn’t have drank alcohol at that age…and very few think they should have started earlier – as they have realized how much they’ve been missing. But most, more often than not, I hear people saying, they are happy with the way things turned out to be, imperfect as they may be, but they are happy. Others – that I would like to meet more of – say feel that they have climbed the ladder of success, ‘only when they are on the top that they realized, it is leaning against the wrong wall’ (to borrow the metaphor). Now, having spoken to those who are ‘there’, or supposed to be ‘there’, I turned around and asked those ‘getting’ there, what would it take for them to be content? Few are able to answer to their satisfaction, me included. Some of the answers are based on making peace with what may seem impossible to achieve now, others are so driven that they are not willing to settle for anything less – fearing to ‘get less than what they settled for’. Some they hope whatever the outcome, to look back and be content…
So one way or the other, contentment is something that most people seek to attain. Perhaps, it comes with being happy with who you are - at peace with who you are not; proud of what you have achieved – and still pressing towards what you think you’re capable of achieving; being comfortable in your own skin; at peace with your abilities; and basically knowing what makes you – you and not someone else. Perhaps right there, (see as the ‘salt of the earth', I need to gooi a verse or two) this is where we should not be envious of God’s blessings to others, as if He is not blessing us enough, if at all. So contentment, we may find on different things, various stations in life, on different people, and positions – if we ever find it and I hope we do. I therefore ask, in and of you, what will make you to be content?
Eish…
KM
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Joys of growing up in a village
Recently I went home for a week in KZN, to a small but popular town called Mnambithi or Ladymith in English (not direct translation, Mzansi style - we have a lot of towns that have vernacular names which doesn't mean the same thing in English, like some people I know).
Popular Ladysmith, thanks to Black Mambazo. Gcizela is my village, situated in Watersmeet - you won't find it in GPS. Like most village kids at the time, I envied our age mates who grew up in townships and big cities. They always seem advanced, good looking, spoke fluent English (kanti it was only the accent - their grammar was sometimes flawed), they wore nice clothes. Whereas us, we were shadded (myself atleast) and our girls were strong, some beautiful smiles here and there. Whereas city kids were generally better and they knew it. Finishing matric seemed to take forever, couldn't wait to leave for big cities. There was at the time nothing beautiful about our place, but cities were attractive.
Now I've been living in Cape Town for the past seven years and thought it doesn't get better than this. I also enjoyed the 'respect' I get when going home and everyone talks and thinks I'm more sophisticated. They still carefully observe me - as if to detect how corrupt have I become. It didn't get better than that. Then one day the penny dropped. These city guys pay sometimes a lot of money to have fun for the stuff we sometimes do for free in the villages! Hobbies they call them - especially the outdoor ones. They even buy clothes for that, expensive clothes - hhayi!Take mountain climbing for instance. To them it's a big thing, whereas I climbed a mountain everyday - sometimes more than four times in one day. My house has it's back on the mountain, I climbed it almost everyday for all my high school years - short cut, yet you still walk 30 minutes after. When we still had cows, we'd spend the whole day up there with friends during school holidays or to another higher one for cattle grazing. We'd eat roots, seeds, shoot birds & braai them (didn't have vegetarians back then).
In season, we'll steal mielies, sugarcane in the nearby fields. Obviously as Zulu boys having fun involved violence - stick fighting or straight boxing, which contradicted my church's upbringing. It was compulsory, apparently to remove the cowardness in all of us - I'm not sure if it really worked. Another hobby, camping or camp fire. There was a time when Eskom didn't reach everyone, to those who don't get it - it's like permanent load shedding! We'll everyday sit around fire in the evenings - in the huts and listen to stories, mostly were horror - no comedies. That was our version of TV, since TV was a luxury and an inconvience if U had it coz it required a battery to be charged. And besides the whole village looked like a camping site at night, with all the fire lights here and there - and seeing at night wasn't difficult at all. Swimming. Now that was one point wherein we fought a long a battle with our parents, who strongly opposed us from swimming in rivers - what swimming pool? Disobedience always resulted in punishment - thanks to siblings who were traitors. It's still a strange thing for me to see parents here in cities taking their kids to swimming pools! I still remember my mother's sharp voice "Don't play in water" or when I'm about to get a heavy hiding "What did I tell you about swimming?" The rest will be screams and asking for forgiveness vowing never to swim again, obviously I would be back at it. I later realised that she feared that we'll be eaten by snakes or crocodile or drown (which is why we needed that practice in the first place!) Bless her heart. No wonder most darkies can't swim. But its fun was derived also from its proximity to danger.
Bird-viewing - we did not only viewed them from a distance. But brought them close, very close to a meal, using our slingshots and I was notorious of that, coz as a left handed it was known we never miss. I think I lived up to that. Basically, it's a whole lot of these things - fighting for fun, stealing, climbing, walking long distances (but refused when sent by parents) and playing that shaped me, us. I may not be from ekasi or any other famous township, but from a small village called Gcizela made the person me.
That is where all the trouble began, in those rivers, mountains, fields, plains and all the non-paid-for-fun that make me to sometimes refuse to pay for anything that involves enjoying nature. Instead when I need to get away from these 'evil cities' (according to some people), I go home. Killing two birds with one stone. Unfortunately for those who do not have 'amafama' or 'ancestral homelands' and even those who consciously neglect going back, they have to pay to enjoy these things.
KM
Popular Ladysmith, thanks to Black Mambazo. Gcizela is my village, situated in Watersmeet - you won't find it in GPS. Like most village kids at the time, I envied our age mates who grew up in townships and big cities. They always seem advanced, good looking, spoke fluent English (kanti it was only the accent - their grammar was sometimes flawed), they wore nice clothes. Whereas us, we were shadded (myself atleast) and our girls were strong, some beautiful smiles here and there. Whereas city kids were generally better and they knew it. Finishing matric seemed to take forever, couldn't wait to leave for big cities. There was at the time nothing beautiful about our place, but cities were attractive.
Now I've been living in Cape Town for the past seven years and thought it doesn't get better than this. I also enjoyed the 'respect' I get when going home and everyone talks and thinks I'm more sophisticated. They still carefully observe me - as if to detect how corrupt have I become. It didn't get better than that. Then one day the penny dropped. These city guys pay sometimes a lot of money to have fun for the stuff we sometimes do for free in the villages! Hobbies they call them - especially the outdoor ones. They even buy clothes for that, expensive clothes - hhayi!Take mountain climbing for instance. To them it's a big thing, whereas I climbed a mountain everyday - sometimes more than four times in one day. My house has it's back on the mountain, I climbed it almost everyday for all my high school years - short cut, yet you still walk 30 minutes after. When we still had cows, we'd spend the whole day up there with friends during school holidays or to another higher one for cattle grazing. We'd eat roots, seeds, shoot birds & braai them (didn't have vegetarians back then).
In season, we'll steal mielies, sugarcane in the nearby fields. Obviously as Zulu boys having fun involved violence - stick fighting or straight boxing, which contradicted my church's upbringing. It was compulsory, apparently to remove the cowardness in all of us - I'm not sure if it really worked. Another hobby, camping or camp fire. There was a time when Eskom didn't reach everyone, to those who don't get it - it's like permanent load shedding! We'll everyday sit around fire in the evenings - in the huts and listen to stories, mostly were horror - no comedies. That was our version of TV, since TV was a luxury and an inconvience if U had it coz it required a battery to be charged. And besides the whole village looked like a camping site at night, with all the fire lights here and there - and seeing at night wasn't difficult at all. Swimming. Now that was one point wherein we fought a long a battle with our parents, who strongly opposed us from swimming in rivers - what swimming pool? Disobedience always resulted in punishment - thanks to siblings who were traitors. It's still a strange thing for me to see parents here in cities taking their kids to swimming pools! I still remember my mother's sharp voice "Don't play in water" or when I'm about to get a heavy hiding "What did I tell you about swimming?" The rest will be screams and asking for forgiveness vowing never to swim again, obviously I would be back at it. I later realised that she feared that we'll be eaten by snakes or crocodile or drown (which is why we needed that practice in the first place!) Bless her heart. No wonder most darkies can't swim. But its fun was derived also from its proximity to danger.
Bird-viewing - we did not only viewed them from a distance. But brought them close, very close to a meal, using our slingshots and I was notorious of that, coz as a left handed it was known we never miss. I think I lived up to that. Basically, it's a whole lot of these things - fighting for fun, stealing, climbing, walking long distances (but refused when sent by parents) and playing that shaped me, us. I may not be from ekasi or any other famous township, but from a small village called Gcizela made the person me.
That is where all the trouble began, in those rivers, mountains, fields, plains and all the non-paid-for-fun that make me to sometimes refuse to pay for anything that involves enjoying nature. Instead when I need to get away from these 'evil cities' (according to some people), I go home. Killing two birds with one stone. Unfortunately for those who do not have 'amafama' or 'ancestral homelands' and even those who consciously neglect going back, they have to pay to enjoy these things.
KM
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