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
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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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