No your honour, I cut my self shaving.

We seem to be a generation that is so obsessed with self mutilation. Cutting our skins open to expose the blood (perhaps even defend our very humanity).Displaying our blood and gore for all to see. Trying so hard, too hard , to create a thrilling and riveting African experience to the white man. We are stuck in the cast of a play where we perpetually play the weird voodoo doctor, while the oppressor plays the Philosopher. The philosopher watches the voodoo doctor with fascination and agrees there is something interesting there, however it is not interesting enough to be taken seriously, however – by all means let the show go on.

Indeed it’s not interesting enough to be taken seriously. Fictitious dramatization of the African experience is like watching a Shakespeare Play in 2012. Everything is overdone. The makeup, the wardrobe ,the gestures even the language-“give me excess of it….that surfeiting the appetite may sicken and so die”. Really , like what the fuck??.The only thing that keeps you watching is the mental footnote that it is a classic play. It is a classic play because the critics said it is and the literature teacher supported them. There is something sobering about originality. Not having to apologise for who you are. Not apologising for the scars on you back, the stretch marks on your hips or choosing to eat you Yam or Pap with your hands. Not having to apologise for a mental sodomy where you ought to apologise for growing pubic hair.

Why can’t we just be ?Why can’t we be left to our own minds to decide for ourselves who we are. Why can’t we lock ourselves in the closet long enough to forget what we learnt in the Concentration Camp and emerge perhaps feeling like the authors of our destiny not characters from an African version of Gulliver’s Travels.

It is not enough for the slave driver to move out. He must move out of our heads and stop whispering in our ears “Don’t pick your nose at the table Kunta”.I’ll pick my nose when I want. It’s my nose and it’s my fingers. Isn’t that what they too said when we asked for our ancestral land back- “We will leave when we want”. Ours has been a very interesting journey.

It’s time we decided for ourselves who we want to be and lived that description. It’s critical as Africans that we decide which route we want to take and take that route once and for all. It’s time we got out of the closet and decided to be the people that god envisioned us to be.

By

Zana’Kay

Lions like People.

Africa…a postcard

Today as I went about my errands in town I saw something very disturbing .A group of Chinese tourists rushed out of a tour guide bus ,cameras in hand and started snapping away at people crossing the street. Bending down in fancy photographer angles and taking pictures of people buying airtime, of men leaning on Jacaranda trees or sitting on the curb. I wondered to myself, what is so peculiar about a human being engaging his lower limbs and crossing the street?. Is it not what Homo the Sapien or Sapien the Homo, whichever comes first has been doing for millennia? I don’t know where the tour bus was exactly headed or what was going through the mind of the bus when it entertained the idea of stopping in the first place.

The tourists appeared very fascinated. Like they didn’t expect to see real civilised people. Like the postcards forgot to mention that Zimbabwe is not one big zoo. “I was in Africa and I saw Lions like people walking the streets. Buffalo in tennis shoes ,chewing bubblegum like cud and staring at my camera inquisitively. Impala like children, drinking Coca cola and smiling at the Ice-cream man. I took pictures and went back to the hotel”. Perhaps that’s what one of them will say to his friends back home.

This picture was tagged- “In Victoria Falls with natives”

Why do you think that a huge percentage of the American population believe that we have lions and giraffes for pets like those pictures in the Jehovah’s Witness Journals? I’ll tell you why ,because this has been the image sold to prospective and potential tourists. We have commercialised and packaged backwardness as a tourism product. Our posts cards are riddled with pictures of the big five, of native dance troupes’ sky high in leaps of tribal dances. Tourists come to Africa expecting to see mud huts , bushmen and elephants roaming freely on our streets. No wonder the general first world perception is that Africans are savages .

I am sure I do not speak for myself when I say that it feels as if I am being mummified alive. I am being made to become my own ancestor, literally. I might as well stop appeasing my ancestor with beer and drink it all by myself since all the postcards allege that he did not die but continues to live his ‘Version 1876’ lifestyle through me. Just come to Zimbabwe and you will see for yourself.

It’s not fair that I am being advertised as a split image of him, with no consideration of civilization whatsoever. It doesn’t make me less African that I post my poetry on Facebook instead of reciting it at the mountain top on the night of the full moon. If it’s any defence there is no mountain in my neighbourhood anyway. It doesn’t make me less African to wash my Afrocentric clothes in the machine while I cook Amacimbi in the microwave. You see,I have evolved in such an intelligent way that I have managed to package my Afrocentric lifestyle in a way that is compatible with civilisation.

There has been a lot of talk lately about cultural preservation. May I enlighten that the process of preservation is one which modifies something so that it will last, so that it will not change, so that it will not live. To be alive requires something to move, to grow, to change. So if you want to keep something from changing for a long time, kill it. For the process of life to exist, change must occur. Life is change. To grow is to change. Every living thing is constantly changing, either through growth or decay. Nothing in this existence called Life remains a constant, Not even time itself. Basing on this premise ,I would like to suggest that ,for something, in this case culture to remain relevant and functional ,it must change, it must adapt ,it must evolve…with the people that claim it. The culture dimensions that we are most interested in are literature, dance ,cuisine, music, art,architecture. By exemplifying positive evolution in the light of 21st century developmental needs we allow culture to be expressed in the most relevant way possible.

King Shaka of the Zulu kingdom one said-“If the Leopard were offered wings to fly, he would be foolish to refuse them”. I believe that civilization as we know it, has offered us wings to carry our culture across generations. Wings in the form concrete, steel and glass…We would be foolish to refuse them.

The preservation of songs, dances and music, is good because it enhances the sense of identity, an important factor of capacity development. But some practices and values need to change if a community is to get stronger. To grow and adapt to changing conditions, we must be able to wear different aspects of our culture in different conditions. We need to pick and choose what is appropriate and effective. If some aspect of our culture is hindering us from surviving, growing and winning in the environment in which we now find ourselves, then we must don new cultural traits. We therefore should not say that we must choose the best of our traditional culture and preserve that. We should say that we must maintain our identity, but we must be able to adapt our values, our habits, our ways of thinking and acting, to use those which will make us stronger.

We the stakeholders of post colonial Africa need to consciously choose those that are appropriate for making us stronger, for our own empowerment. Architectural blunders\weaknesses of our past are such as ,the unnecessary clearing of large areas of land to create a compound or Iguma (promoting deforestation, soil erosion, poor climate control etc.),the grass and reed domed structures were built in such close proximity that should a structure catch fire, the fire would spread easily. Poor ventilation resulting from the lack of windows had serious health impacts. Social practices such as polygamy meant that the huts were located in such a way that they only served in the sexual and material interest of the male ,ie the head of the home. Current values centre around the importance of a healthy family unit, love respect and security ,with material things and status taking a slightly lower seat. I believe therefore that it is important to take responsibility in the direction of our culture, by engaging values of sustainability, unity, respect and appreciation of the arts.

Architecture through the use of concept, creates self-consciousness of culture. A concept or idea having gone through the creative process and reason can emerge into a functional physical object ,in this case a building. The operational requirements of a culture can be met by architecture ,as since men is an intellectual being he requires a physical environment to exercise or implement the ideas and values born within his psyche as a way of creating self-consciousness and that environment is the Built Environment. We need to equip Zimbabweans will values of patriotism and heritage so as to ignite the creation of concepts that truly mirror the Zimbabwean man.

Postcards from Africa

Traditional dance groups and poets have commercialised and only perform at fancy hotels ,weddings ,airports and state functions .Traditional healers and herbalists operate from dingy flats and rented rooms, and very few people dare to be seen visiting them ,even if it is only out of interest. Where as traditional beer used to be brewed for family functions, people opt for the convenience of buying soda drinks and cooking rice ,English cuisine. I was very surprised to note that people shun funerals where they are served with boiled goat meat and pap as pauper funerals as they expect to be served rice, pastas and fancy exotic salads. Our very own indigenous fruits(umtshwankela ,umphafa ,umkhemeswana etc) are sold at dingy street corners, and never see the fruit and veg corners of upmarket supermarkets. This might mean whilst stone games from the stoneage are part of the historical activities of young people nowadays young people enjoy Hiphop and Poetry slams,social networking, graffiti, breakdancing, virtual gaming, skateboarding etc.there is definitely a creative way to marry these activities with historical cultural values or symbolic motifs.

Foreign instigated reconstruction of culture is not original.Unbridled cultural tourism involving ‘weak’ formerly colonised people has the potential to chip at local culture and essentially re-invent it to fit the exigencies of the tourism industry resulting in an outwardly instigated ‘reconstructed ethnicity’. This is what historians Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (1983) have referred to as cultural innovation or the “invention of tradition”. Some of that ‘reconstructed ethnicity’ in the tourism industry has resulted in a powerful and doctrinaire political lobby, an influential commercially-driven point of view, a demeaning service industry, shallow tawdry images of the past, commodification and exploitation, and perhaps worst of all, a downmarket denial of proper access to its legitimate pasts to the society whose very curiosity triggered the opportunity in the first place (deCuellar et. al 1995: 185). It is pivotal therefore to use ourselves as the point of reference to determine what it is that distinguishes us. What are our values , beliefs, strengths’ and weaknesses, both past and present? What is it that makes us a unique people? What is it that we have learned from the outside world that has made us a stronger people or that we have adopted into our culture? What is our future as a people? It is through answering these questions that we come up with a genuine identity which we can then infuse into our built spaces.

Whereas we would alter our culture to suit the tourism needs of the world, we instead showcase our culture in a unique, truly original format that presents its self as not another African destination on the tourist list ,but a totally new package for the world. Each generation therefore should tell its own story of the culture of the people carrying on the baton from past generations. To allow the world to assume that the only Africans worth seeing are the ones still living as if it were the eighteenth century is to undermine and ridicule the steps that Africa has taken forward in civilisation and development .It silently states that we are unable to celebrate our uniqueness and flair with civilisation as we know it.

By designing spaces ,businesses ,tourism products etc that allow for the respect and celebration of culture as we know it now and yesterday ,while forging ahead in development and civilisation we conquer this problem. Our culture seizes to become a commodity of yesterday’s pictures ,food and clothing, and becomes a lifestyle. It becomes alive and relevant to every individual and family unit, community…and communally celebrated.Zimbabwe seizes to become a monument or a museam ,but a place of coming together and celebration,of innovation ,excellence and development.

There is nothing wrong with growing or changing. We seem to have found a way to make ourselves the skeletons in our closet, and let hologram of who we really are now roam the streets but there is something about a closet that makes a skeleton terribly restless. The sooner the real Zimbabwe comes out of the closet the better ,because I am tired of being made to look like lion in a human suit….My Zimbabwe

by Zana’Kay

6 ways to commit suicide in a little country called Zimbabwe.

Well , perhaps I’ll start with the basics.

1. Hang Yourself and hope the rope doesn’t break because it often does. Then you’ll live the rest of your life having to explain to people where you got the horrible scar on your neck and no one will take you seriously at job interviews.

2. Throw Yourself In Front Of A Moving Train.This is very messy but the worst that could happen is,as you know train schedules are so erratic in Zimbabwe .You might actually have to wait hours because the train often runs late. You wait so long that you change your mind about killing yourself altogether.

3. Swallow Crushed Glass. A friend’s brother did this and survived as they always do.I wasn’t sure whether the flowers should go with an ‘I’m sorry’ card or a ‘Congratulations’ card.Who can blame me?

These first three ways are the most stupid ways to die.

So you want to die because you’re 30 and not as rich as your peers or something stupid like that.Well,the prospects of striking it rich one of these days is not enough to want to keep living anyway.For all you know only 5% of the Zimbabwean population are considered ‘affluent’.The rest just work for affluent people or ‘important’ brands.Some people are ok just working for a really well known company or famous person,and getting the perks like a company car,house,expense account etc and of course that business card that says Finance Director at “BLAH BLAH”.And I really mean BLAH-who gives a ****.Don’t be stressed by business cards and fancy cars. Money is the last reason to want to die.

The general life expectancy is 75 years, that is if you don’t do something stupid like kill yourself. So if you’re 30 you have 45 more years at the party. The odds are-

You still haven’t met your best friend.

You still haven’t had the best sex in your life.

You still haven’t seen the best movie ever.

You still haven’t seen the most ridiculous President in the world and I’m assuming you already know about Idi Amin.

You still haven’t met the most beautiful woman or man.

You still haven’t found your dream job.

You think you owe people money ,you still haven’t really OWED people money. It’s not as bad as it seems, trust me.

You still haven’t had a conversation with the dumbest person.

You still haven’t heard the best joke.

You still haven’t had the happiest moment of your life.

All these things there is a great chance you haven’t done.But I digress.You wanted to know suicide ways. Let me not waste your time.The last 3 suicide ways to are the most interesting ways to die.Sometimes you even die without knowing it or wanting it.In a little country called Zimbabwe, more people die this way every day than they do of AIDS or Cancer or any other medical condition.

4. Stop Believing.

Governments are well known to promise things all the time and not deliver on their promises. All governments do that.All of them.It’s a public secret. The idea is to believe whatever it is you are meant to believe at the time you’re meant to believe it. You may be asking-“Whaaaat? why the heck should I do that?”. Well your act of believing benefits YOU actually.It creates a state of mind that prepares you to be a part of something. Whether that something really comes is not entirely important because by the time it does come or does not you would have generated so much zeal and capacity that you might as well do it yourself. The government promised to give young people money to start-up businesses.ONLY if they had really good business ideas or proposals.What then happened is every other young person was talking about their ’brilliant’ business idea, or brainstorming on how to come up with a brilliant business idea,in the buses, in the bars at the internet cafes etc.Everyone was talking business, indigenisation and independence.

Here is the thing. There is NO sane way that the government can give ALL the young people money to start up a business or ALL the young people farms.It wouldn’t make any economic sense. So only a select of the youth actually got the grants.The rest were left with their brilliant business ideas and no immediate means of funding.Now a brilliant idea is like an itch in the privates.You just can’t help but scratch. Now the little country called Zimbabwe is filled with lots of young people withbrilliant documented business ideas and visions, thinking of creative non-conventional ways to start up. Now if you are one of those that didn’t believe the government in the first place ,you are screwed. Not only do you not have the grant, you don’t even have the well documented business idea.You do not have a well thought out plan or document that causes you to be taken seriously.If you were a character in a video game this would just about be the right time to die. You have unconsciously committed suicide.

Light Bulb Youth revolution in Zimbabwe.Sometimes it doesn't hut to believe.

5. Stop Thinking.

We live in an idealistic world.You are what you think.Your mind describes an ideal world for you and your body responds by living in that description.The catch is ,most of the time your mind responds to your environment.So if you live in shitty house with no electricity and just a walking distance from a better suburb where people have bacon and eggs for breakfast and have swimming pools in their backyard, there are two responses that your mind can engage.Either it will wish it were living in that suburb and come up with ideas on how you can end up there or it will think of ways to renovate you current dwelling to suit that lifestyle.Perhaps pay the electricity bill,paint the walls or something.The point is this Your mind will not magically come up with ideas or means of how to take you where you have not seen.If you have not seen the coolest houses Bulawayo, Harare or the richest houses in Hollywood be it in a magazine,movie or in person.Technically and ideally,according to your mind that place does not exist.There is no way your mind can plan to go to a place that does not exist. So expose your mind to knowledge. Find out as much as you can about the world you live in. How much does that house cost……that girl you like-what’s her name.The first step towards living a happy fulfilled life is to picture it. Visualize. What does your dream house look like ?- buy a Home Owner magazine, what does your dream job look like ?- Google about jobs, what does you dream wife or husband look like ?- meet lots and lots of people, spend time with people who have sound relationships. What kind of schools do your dream children go to?

Some people in this little country called Zimbabwe think life is unfair.No-life is fair.It gives you what you think about. Spend your life in a little cocoon,insulate yourself from knowledge and dread even thinking of a plan. Walk straight to work and straight home afterward and never take a short left and you would have successfully crippled your dreams and condemned yourself to a slow painful suicide.

6.Think About Yourself.Only.

Dreams are like DNA.We all know what DNA is and we all have a different signature of DNA.We all have dreams and these dreams are made up of units that we all identify with like we know one can have vanilla, toffee, caramel, chocolate or whatever flavor ice-cream.The difference is we all have a different ice-cream.No dream is identical to the other and no dream is absolutely original.You may think chocolate chip ice-cream is original but when you think about it , it’s simply chocolate plus chip cookies plus ice-cream,and we all know those three elements exist.Even the Bible says there is no new thing on the earth.A dream is a reflection of what your unconscious creative nature want to do, what you fear or what you yearn for. A vision however is something that makes you absolutely original. It is the forecast of something an event, effect, result or product that has never been forecasted.A vision is YOUR effect on the universe.It is your unique musical composition to the music of the spheres. The vision is the Agenda and the dream is the Means.Being the richest man in the world does not qualify as a vision.It is a dream.A vision is that which by realizing your dream you trigger.It is the universal reaction of the world to your realization of your dream.

How the universe responds to your dream is extremely important.Does it edify the universe?.You need to understand that the universe does not depend on your wallet, your fame,your fancy house, fancy friends or important job,otherwise it would not have survived the Flintstones age,or the stone age or whatever.Maybe I’m getting a bit metaphysical here but what the heck,Remember earlier I asked if your dream will edify your universe,I didn’t ask if your dream will cost the universe or subtract from it because that can never happen. If your dream so happens to be at loggerheads with interest of the universe,the universe will reject you, perhaps even eject you- and I am putting this in the most modest way possible.

You see the universe operates under certain laws and principles.Very basic important laws.The law of love.The law of attraction,the law of giving(when you give,you create a vacuum that attracts reception).The law of ease or allowing.The river takes the easiest route possible.Flowing downwards not upwards.Effortless. Not struggling.If you see yourself having to go against nature to achieve a personal goal that does not attract positive interest from the universe then you are universally screwed.How does your vision benefit the environment?How does your vision benefit the livelihood of people around you?How does your vision improve the quality (not quantity)of life for everyone within your sphere of influence?How does your vision improve man’s attitude and contribution towards life?How does your vision add flair to the holistic universal vision?

If you are a villager that refuses to attend village meetings, poops in the communal well and steals neighbors livestock ….and wives.You might consider yourself successful and maybe even ‘in charge’.But the reality is – you do not co-operate with the holistic vision of the village. Naturally and eventually the village will reject and eject you.

So how does your vision co-operate with the universe? The bible says-“for what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul”.It is possible to gain the whole world, to take the world by storm, be a household name ,a legend ,an icon even. It is possible do all that and still lose your soul.The earth is just a little speck of sand in the universe.There are gazillion planets and some that we haven’t even discovered.Do you think the universe has different laws for all those planets?Yet we are told that we were given dominion over all. Captain Planet aint got nothing on you.You are Captain Universe.Which means that although we live in a small town called Earth.Whatever we do affects the universe. I don’t know about you but that’s a hell of a load of responsibility.The best and surest way to commit suicide, is to think only about YOURSELF.

To think that if you made a nice quiet exit from the world no one would miss you. Perhaps overdose on Aspirin or slit your wrists in the tub while you burn candles and listen to soppy classical music.Believe it or not I’ve thought about all of those.I’ve researched on ‘ways to die’ more than once. Either because I had been dumped or I felt like I wasn’t achieving enough, achieving fast enough, achieving at all. Sometimes just because I felt like I had been constantly messing up and the world was no place for my kind.It doesn’t help being a little person in a little city called Bulawayo in a little country called Zimbabwe that a man in the Antarctica doesn’t even know exists.No it doesn’t.

Here’s one thing that helps-God knows my name and the universe accepts me.If it didn’t I would fall of a flat road while I walk or something scientifically crazy like that. Maybe I just wouldn’t wake up in the morning; the universe wouldn’t see the need to wake me. I guess the universe still has a little faith in me. That I can make a difference in my little town in my little country perhaps even in the world,the universe doesn’t really care.Because whatever little good thing I do,in my little life in my little town – it sends good ripples throughout the WHOLE Universe. So until I figure out a way to do good things bigger, which I hope my dream will take me there, until then, I’ll keep it simple. I’ll do me….as best and as simply as I can.

Zana’Kay.

The Devil wears Mbare sandals…

I’ve never been one to worry about another’s fashion taste, but when I feel like I am being victimized for my own I tend to get pretty defensive. So I went to a certain church last Sunday. I wore a pair of comfortable jeans , a java print blouse and some really Afrocentric sandals I bought for $5 at the Makokoba Market , similar to the Mbare market if you’re from Harare. I pulled my long black braids into a pretty pony tail and I felt absolutely beautiful. Fresh girl next door-ish. It wasn’t until I walked into the church that I began to feel out of place. You know the embarrassed look that parents would give their 4 year old toddler  when he walks into the living room packed with guests ,with his mother’s  red G-string over his head looking like Spiderman?. Yea .I got that look.

My God, I felt like I had killed Jesus. I felt like I was the very reason why Jesus is said to have wept in John 11.35.

“Behold it came to pass that Zana’Kay appeared in the house of the Lord in no name handmade African Sandals. and Jesus wept”.

The sandals that got brought me trouble...and i love them to death.

I got these stares like I just stepped out of a Shaka Zulu movie and not in a celebrity kinda way. Half the church was in business suits ,stockings and Lady Gaga stilettos and I’m not even trying to talk about the other half because those are fashion exempt 60 year olds.

You know that feeling that if the Pastor were to lay hands on the congregation it is assumed that you would be the first to manifest demons of some Pan African inclination, not only because you are spotting dreadlocks ,an animal hide bangle and some green and yellow beads but also because you seem not to grasp the concept that salvation comes with a kind of pious look involving business suits and Lady gaga sky high platform stilettos. A kind of modesty that requires you to look exactly the same as the next person in a Jehovah’s Witness kind of way. A silent mob psychology declaring a defacto state of war with your person for your decision to look proudly African. I have read in the Bible that the Devil is quite a handsome man. I am not sure if he wears Prada but based on the above premise I am deeply confused at what sort of deductive thinking causes one person to assume that dreadlocks plus African Couture equal demon possession. In any case, if the devil is so obsessed with looking beautiful why would he look like something you have obviously in you usual wisdom or lack of the same branded as bad?

I’m quite famous for showing up at important functions in my African regalia. Just last year I attended a 3 day church conference where I wore my proudly Zulu+Xhosa+Swazi+Sotho+Khalanga outfits( Yes I am a hybrid).I received so much attention for my dress sense it was quite disappointing.Disappointing that in an African setting everyone seemed to have chosen to look like New Yorkers. The few that dared to go Afro wore bold Nigerian Couture. At the conference, I earned the nickname –African Princess. I am not an African princess. I have no royal blood and I am not looking for it. I am just an African woman. But I digress.

It is sad that the African woman, the very nurturer of hearth and home shuns her very own heritage. What the world says we do, we do. What the world says we wear we wear. How the world says we should think ,we think. How the world says we should raise our children ,we raise. The values of foreign lands we pass onto them like breast milk to an infant, without sieving, caution or contemplation. If you have sexual intercourse with a man in a clowns suit ,complete with a clowns face paintings and red round rubber nose, is it then not correct to assume you have conceived the son of a clown??…..and so, the sins of the father are passed on even unto the seventh generation.

It is about time that we decide for ourselves as African women who we are in this world, and live that description. Time we decided for ourselves what makes us beautiful. Time we defined beauty for ourselves without prejudice.

First it was the bleaching of the minds. The emptying of our minds to allow a new kind of  thinking. An allegedly civilised thinking. One where we were made to realise that we should be ashamed of ourselves for parading around naked for thousands of years in the full view of the Holy God. Then the bleaching of the hair to make it straight and shiny and “beautiful”, not curly and course and stubborn like the hair we are born with. Then the bleaching of the skin to make us glow and look ‘exotic’.

Hee!!  I am tired wooooo. Abeg abeg wooo.Wa iz dis prison dah has no walls?? Free me nah wooo. Abeg!

Is it really necessary??

A famous feminist once said ,I quote: “If you want to conquer the world you must first learn how to walk in Stilletos”.

To that woman I would like to take the honours and say- Off is the general direction in which I would like you to fuck!!

In my opinion that is the most undignifying statement that has ever been said to an African woman. Perhaps let me counter her quote and say.

“The first sexually transmitted disease the African woman encountered was the Stiletto.The idea that she looked more beautiful standing on her tippy toes . The suggestion that the mark of a lady begins  at the soles of her feet and not in her head. The false concept of grace attached to the practical inability to run away from danger. Tying the foot down from wondering too far. From venturing into untrodden territory, metaphorically speaking. Compressing us as would the corset or the foot binding in Asia. Confining us to a rotten mindset that has defined women until today”.- Zana’Kay

Tsika pasi semunhu wepasi

African woman, don’t be afraid to let the full span of your feet feel the soil that you set foot.

To let the soil appreciate the very existence of your uniqueness.

Ungaqoqomeli, ukuqoqomela ayisikho kukhula.

Kodwa qoqa ingqondo zakho,

Qondisa amaphutha akho ubengumqeqeshi.

Bethi lapho oqoqoda khona.Ivuleke imnyango

Kunyathele wena….daughter of the soil.

I am not on a vindictive Safari Trip in the Central Business District of Bulawayo. Squealing at  the joy of driving down Jason Moyo Street and shooting woman’s ankles with rubber bullets. I’m on a soul searching mission. Defining my African self, for me. I was raised to believe that jeans, U.S.  40’s (military cargo pants) and red lipstick belonged in the devil’s dictionary, but there’s something about forbidden fruit that’s orgasmic. There’s something about making your own cocktail out of life ,picking up this and that, customising yourself as Zimbabwean Blogger RepublicofSunshyne would say-“Being Limited Edition”. Shocking Africa out of its wits by presenting yourself as a truly unique African masterpiece.

I might be onto something here ,but  then again I might be onto nothing but one thing  is for sure. We cannot go back and undo history. We need to forge forward building on the wisdom of the past. Adopting that which truly works for us and makes us a better people. That which adds value to us.That which makes our very existence a celebration of the uniqueness of each and every one of Gods creation.

I am not my hair, I am not my clothes, I am not my job or my ideas. I am all of these combined. As I am an extension of God, what and who I interact with becomes an extension of me. Although I am a global citizen, the blood of Africa flows within my veins. I will not hide it, I will not condemn it because it is not a coincidence that I was born in Africa.

I will celebrate it ,in my works of Architecture, in my poetry and in my graces. In my every contribution to the world.

Yimi uZana’Kay.

I am so so proud to be an African Woman

umaZilankatha, uGabadeli, uNhlansi, uMlotshwa, uKhambule, uZikhalizomkhonto, uMlandelalanga loshona ezintabeni zoKhahlamba! yen’owaseNyangitheni, yen’owabonakala ngokuza kweNkos’ekhaya,

Tina esadl’abaNguni!,0Ntongende,

uMzilakawulandelwa – ungawulandela ndaba zakho!!

Ong’hlomile akakang’qomi,ongiqomile akakang’shadi,ozanshada uneNhlanhla

-Nomakhosazana. Khanyile. kaNcube!!

Matters Of The STATE.

This week I had to console a friend of mine for hours after her boyfriend told her she was an ‘Off layer’. For those of you that don’t know what that is, an Off-Layer is a chicken that is too old to lay eggs.It just takes up space that should be filled by fresher, younger chicken. Even its meat when cooked can be fibrous and hard. Now this girl, my friend ,is a gorgeous ,healthy 28 year old with a good job, car and her own decent place.This is why I am quite angry today.

Two years ago, this brother called me up offering to marry me. Offering me the prestigious role of matching curtains and carpets in his Hillside home. After I had politely declined the offer, he became agitated. He accused me of having expired and then had the nerve to offer to buy me for a bargain to which I responded, ”I am not for sale”.

Expired??? Me Expired???

Now let’s have a serious talk.

Who is this idiot who feels he has a duty to stamp Sell-Buy dates on our buttocks? Who decides when the deadline is? It’s sad some men still view women as a cup of Yoghurt that’s  got a best before date. What kind of 21st century thinking gives men the right to ‘drag us to the market square and bid us ‘.You go about your cocky ways putting on airs, fooling yourselves into thinking that you’re some sort of ‘badge’ that some lucky woman will wear one day. Do you ever stop to think that maybe we are actually the ones that add value to you-that without that x chromosome you would simple be all steam n no engine, like a dead man all dressed up with nowhere to go?.

While the rest of the world (women) is busy acquiring knowledge, talking climate change, nuclear disarmament, Millennium Development Goals ,some people  occupy their  narrow minds with playstation, sex and sell-by-dates. The world is not a f****n zoo where game wardens are busy matchmaking or cross pollinating plants like some botanic garden, that’s what God is there for. If ever I choose to marry , it will be to a Human Being who sees me as the same. Whose badges of honour are of experiences, knowledge and wisdom and whose value grows exponentially. Someone who poses  a worthwhile investment. It won’t be because he’s 35 and closer to prostate cancer. If ì want Super Maheu , i’ll buy it not marry it. That my friends is the difference between a man and a woman. You see boobs and stretch marks-we see the bigger picture.

Who is this idiot who feels he has a duty to stamp Sell-Buy dates on our buttocks?

Now ,if you belong to the group of men that are in the business of buying women I am ashamed on your behalf. Go on and have yourselves a ball-drag us to the market square and hang us by our nipples. Sell us for $2,£2 or R2,write ridiculous sell by dates on our buttocks based on the stretch marks and forecasted effect of gravity. Drink Castle while you’re at it ,braai some meat and play some loud music. After all , what would the world be without a party of fools!!!Because a real man knows a real woman, gathers no mould….

Women have the right to decide what they want to do with their lives and when they want to do it without prejudice. In Town Planning there are certain patches of land that belong to the state or local authority. These stands cannot be sold or owned by an individual. They are reserved for developments of community or state interests like a school, hospital or any other public building. In theory, these patches of land possess a potential of developing the country. Now of these patches that cannot be sold some of them can be leased from the local authority or state to persons or bodies intending to develop or invest. These leases can be as long as 99 years, but at the end of the lease the land reverts back to the hands of the state. Some patches however cannot even be leased. They are reserved  for local authority or State future developments.

Likewise not every woman is for sale. The majority are but a small percentage is not. Of these that are not for sale there are two groups.

1. The ones that can be leased (borrowed to an individual, group or company ) for a specified time provided that the developments invested in these women benefit the state in one way or the other. Now if you are a brilliant woman and you lease yourself to a man ,an ideology or a religion, that adds no value to you whatsoever and spends you so riotously that you add no value whatsoever to the state. Then my tears are with you at this time.

 2. The second group of women are those that can NEVER be leased let are alone sold. These women are like the patches of land that possess historical , cultural or religious value to the state. These pieces of land are sometimes pivotal in the remembrance or demonstration of the struggle from colonialism, the gains of independence and declaration of sovereignty and humanity of the state. The land on its own ,even without being developed is a monument in its own right. Likewise the women belonging to this group are not Micky Mouse business. They are the flags mast ,reminding us of who we are and where we are from. Even if you had the money, you cannot afford them .

Were they to be sold , there would result an uproar from the nation because you cannot monopolise a ‘State resource’. These women belong to the State. Not the State of Zimbabwe or any other country, but the ‘State of Mind’. They are the torch bearers and the fort holders. They are the ones who stay up at night thinking, planning, devising policy for tomorrows women.

Betty Makoni .Zimbabwean Gender Activist

Cleopatra 69 -30 BC

Joan of Arc 1412-1431

Mary Wollstonecraft 1759-1797

Jane Austen 1775-1817

Emmeline Pankhurst 1858-1928

Marie Curie 1867-1934

Emily Murphy 1868-1933

Helena Rubinstein 1870-1965

Coco Chanel 1883-1971

Katharine Hepburn 1907-2003

Mother Teresa 1910-1997

Dorothy Hodgkin 1910-1994

Rosa Parks 1913-2005

Eva Peron 1919-1952

Margaret Thatcher 1925

Marilyn Monroe 1926-1962

Anne Frank 1929-1945

Oprah Winfrey 1954

J.K.Rowling 1965

Wangari Maathai 1940 – 2011

Betty Makoni 1971-

Winnie Madikizela Mandela 1936-

These women are the reason we have the liberty of thinking the way we think. Perhaps even the liberty to wear trousers and red lipstick. Should you feel super compelled to enter into a contract with such women. A contract such as a marriage. Bear in mind that you are not marrying a little girl. You are marrying a State. Not just any state, but a State of Mind. This of course has nothing to do with who wears pants in the house, because that is just petty domestic politics not even worth my ink. You must have the capacity to carry such a woman .The state of mind to handle the STATE OF MIND, because should you fail, you would have made a fool out of yourself for trying to grow a Msasa tree in a Yoghurt cup. Should you have an affair with such a woman, remember, the State Of ‘Affairs’ will always be overshadowed by the STATE OF MIND.

I have to confess that the older I become the more fearful I am of having children. I am a hopelessly impatient ,workaholic perfectionist. I watch my big sister go about grooming my nephews and nieces with such ease. Effortlessly raising respectful young men and women of tomorrow and I appreciate. I appreciate that we all have our forts to hold. Some are mothers, some are soldiers, some are models and some are judges. Some are wives ,standing behind successful men, some  are writers tattooing the scrolls with messages of hope. Some are even two, three four things all at once. We all have our forts to hold. We all have our forts to hold.

Some women are perfectly happy living their lives in Bonsai Tree style.-Perfectly sad if you ask me.

Some women are perfectly happy being made into Bonsai ornamental trees, being placed on the kitchen window sill just to brighten up the home. Being shrunk into pretty miniature versions of themselves. A little cute plant not in anybody’s way. Living a hundred years, without affecting a soul. Some women would rather take the road less travelled, dare to grow and reach for the skies. Risk being trodden over by elephants or eaten slowly by termites. Suffer being refuge for birds and insects. Hold the soil together, hold ground, hold fort.

Choose yea this day which woman you want to be.

Zana’Kay

Doorkeeper at the State Of Mind.

Potatoes don’t grow on Robert Mugabe Way.

There is no such thing as the African dream. Only individual dreams of each African bound together by a mortar the way chewing gum could stick back the broken handle of a porcelain teapot. Dreaming is a very personal thing, like masturbation. You cannot dream for someone. Maybe just about them . The only person who can experience orgasmic satisfaction from your dream is yourself, the Dreamer. You cannot form a Dreaming Club where you all combine your energies and dream one big dream. You can share a common opinion and maybe a common agenda but never a common dream. Each dream has its own signature that sets it apart from any other dream.

Second to a woman, there can never be a more cunning thing than a dream. Should you try to ignore it, forget it or delay it by staying up late into the night watching Aljazeera .It lies invisibly on your bed, naked, just waiting for that moment when you doze off, then it will pounce on you and deal with you all night long. The next day, there will be a peculiar ‘I know what you dreamt last night’ odour on your skin that only you can smell. So cunning is a dream , it will even seduce your friends at your own funeral.

A dream is an offspring of that part of our minds that refuses to be tamed or intimidated. That part of us that believes nothing is impossible. Fear is the nightmare that a dream has when it is asleep. It whispers bitter nothings to us. Torments and accuses us with nothing but circumstantial slander.

Among us,there lives a very dangerous people that try to be passengers of other people’s dreams. To renovate someone else’s dream to suit their own desires .Those people are called Failures. While others are dreaming they hide behind bushes waiting to pounce on the best unsuspecting dreamer that comes along.

"To think of these stars that you see overhead at night, these vast worlds which we can never reach. I would annex the planets if I could.I often think of that. It makes me sad to see them so clear yet so far."Cecil John Rhodes.Love him or hate him this is a man who was no afraid of his dreams.

There is another type of dangerous people. The ones that dare to dream and dream boldly .If you are found without a dream, without the slightest idea of how to fulfil your dream or without enough power to defend you dream, these people will forge you into the human resources devoted to the realisation of THEIR dreams. These people are called Cecil John Rhodes. I am one of them. Only death will stop them from pursuing their dreams, and even when they are dead they will live amongst us in school text books , statues ,street names ,foundations and even in bar conversations. You cannot ignore these people. People that know what they want cannot be ignored.

Katt Williams(comedian)says “Don’t blame people for messing up your self-esteem. It’s called SELF-Esteem B**** I’ts a thing of your Self”. Don’t blame people for ruining your dreams. They are YOUR dreams .You are the one who dreamt them and it’s your duty to empower yourself enough to defend them. Your dream does not need to be appreciated or understood by other people. It is your dream. Trying to get your dream appreciated is like asking someone to say hello to the sperms in your Testis. Until your sperms materialise into something that speaks a coherent language , they shall remain YOUR Sperms in YOUR Testis and we have no business wondering what lies inside your boxers.

Over the past few weeks I have been running into people who’ve read the posts on my blog. I won’t forget a cousin of mine I had drinks with the other night. He asked me if I was troubled. If I had issues, especially with men . Over thirty minutes he tried to counsel me, giving me this look like I am a potato that’s just fallen off the farm truck and hurt itself badly. A look that’s says – poor you, you could’ve made one tasty Simba Potato Crisp. You could’ve gone to the city, seen the bright lights of Harare .You could’ve been devoured graciously from a platter at the Meikles Hotel .Eaten gently and softly by a loving couple over some classical music. If only you hadn’t fallen off the fucken truck!!!

I couldn’t help thinking NO I do not want to be a Simba Chippie. No, I don’t want that stinking cheese and onion spice all over my skin. I’m worth more than that. I’m worth more than the average storyline of a potato. I fell off because God knew I could take it. I was born in the circumstances that I was born in because God knew I could take it. I’ve worked mighty hard to look this fine. You aren’t going to just fry me away in 20 minutes in some greasy industrial pan. No No No. I’ll fall off that truck again if you put me back.

I am the seed of the future. Of generations to come. Scarred women that dared to succeed. I admit sometimes I sound like a bitch. When life’s a bitch I deal with it like one. I will not make apologies for being born way before my time. You see scarred potatoes don’t usually make next season’s seedling batch, they don’t make the Simba Chips batch they don’t even make pretty jacket potatoes. Potatoes that fall off the farm truck are nobody and everybody’s potatoes.

Perhaps I am that potato that once lay on the wayside of the road. So I wrote. I wrote to tell stories of how hard it is to find a good friend and how beautiful it is to find one . A friend that is with me when I am at my highest and richest and isn’t ashamed to squeeze in between me and poverty when I’m at my brokest.

I write of the biting pain of loneliness and the sincerity of an orgasm (when not faked).I write because I have been through times when I felt I’d done everything within my power to keep a friend that didn’t want to be kept or a man who did not want to be kept.To love a man who did not want to be loved. I write of disappointment and appointment. Of how stupid it can be sometimes to give people third, fourth and fifth chances. Because often I’ve given people licences to come back and trample all over me again. I write of being taken for granted. Of being the backup plan and the backup plan of the backup plan. That two rand coin that fell into the crevice between the kitchen counter and the wall. No one ever looks deeply into the cookie jar. No one ever checks to see if the cookies are still there. They just plunge their hands in the wicked hope that a cookie is in there waiting to be eaten. So I write. To exorcise myself of whatever comes between me and my idea of happiness. Between my dream and I.

At first I wrote because it was the only way I knew how to cope. Now I write because I have to. They say one of a baby’s first instincts is the fear of falling. Interesting isn’t it. The fear of falling too hard. The fear of being caught in the limbo of falling. The fear that the world goes on without you while you fall. The fear that the world may not remember you when you have risen from the fall. The fear that you may never rise. I write so I can face my fears. I write to expose them, strip them, lynch them, embarrass them .There is no greater power than knowing the name of the demon that plagues you. Singling it out during the 5pm hustle and bustle of Lobengula Street Bus Terminus as it tries to disguise itself as one those hawkers selling chicken feet. I have never been known for private exorcisms .I will expose the very nipples of my fears if that is what it takes to defend my dream.

I write so I can be real to myself. I write where it hurts and the stitches heal. I do not write for anyone. I don’t write fiction or bedtime stories. I write of the parts of my life story that keep me awake at night when I should be dreaming. I write because my writing casts no shadows. I write to smile. I’m not your everyday girl. Sometimes I wear my skeleton on the outside.

A dream is the beginning of great things. So humble is this beginning that it cannot be seen by the naked eye. I write because I am the dream of the world. The story untold. I write because once I lay dusty, fallen off a farm truck. Once the world doubted that I was even the dream. Forgotten like so many ,who though rough around the edges are bursting with potential .I write because Rome was not built in day. I write because this potato boldly roaming the streets has a beginning.

Potatoes don’t grow on Trafalgar Square or Robert Mugabe Way. They grow in the rich soils that we sometimes despise. Far from the madding crowd or the monkeys minding machines. Far from the fancy flower pots in highrise office buildings. Far from the company of the average man napping in the toilet cubicle waiting for the lunch hour. It’s not sad at all that a potato like me didn’t make the Simba cut. Potatoes like me, make the headline news on Robert Mugabe Way….

My dream is my beginning, the bar code that sets this potato apart.

I am a wanted person. Born way before her time to bring a message of hope and courage and strength Although I write with freedom, I write to cage my fears What would you do if you woke up in the morning and your face was all over next years paper? If you were charged for time travel? If the constellations conspired for your apprehension? In the future happiness is a political prisoner and love is on the stock exchange, Sue me for kidnapping happiness and putting the world off balance For rewriting my destiny one word at a time So what if I’m wanted for committing a crime against time? ,

Carve my name on sunlight’s hearse

For hanging my skeletons on the washing line

I live for the day.

What would you do if you were the potato that fell off the truck?

And rewrote her story one step at a time?

That’s right – March on Robert Mugabe Way.

And make the world take notice.

Never despise humble beginnings….

Zana’Kay        1 February 2012

The Statesman this road was named after wasn't born on this road.He was born somewhere in the middle of nowhere.A dusty village called Matibiri,far from the scent of Tar.

Gold Digging for Dummies..

I aint saying she a gold digger,but she aint messing with no broke n**

Gold Digging For Dummies

If you’re reading this book you must be tired of paying the bills ….like me.

Actually, this is not an actual book because I am not a qualified Gold Digger ….Yet

(I haven’t even earned my learners licence).

This is just a rugged manuscript of the critical areas of study I’ve always secretly wished to endeavour.

This manuscript is dedicated to all my girlfriends who are tired of paying for shit…..like me, and just want do what they love to do without having to do what they have to.(if ever that is possible)

And of course to all the women who think this Miss- Independent-I-Pay-for-myself business is over rated.

Men love to provide .It comes naturally .Why don’t we just let nature take its course, after all isn’t that what being eco-friendly is about.… Supporting nature?

This manuscript is inspired by veterans such as Khanyi Mbau, Victoria Beckham, Kevin Ferdiline and a few Presidents wives that I shan’t name .

Preface

Okay, maybe before I expose the contents of this manuscript let me say.

My Pussy burns in the feminist hall of shame because I want to be a Gold Digger!!!!

I am a young intelligent, ambitious alpha female with an ‘independent’ mind-set and a solid hard work ethic .I am a poet, writer ,model ,motivational speaker and am in the advanced stages  of becoming an Architect. I have a bright future ahead. Heck I’m already experiencing some sparkle. According to my calculations I am well in the path of affording the lifestyle I want in this lifetime. Given an additional lifetime and an extra teaspoon of bossiness I could qualify to join the Condoleezza Rice Fellowship. Thank God I only have one lifetime because I am not much of a Condoleezza fan and I don’t like rice anyway.

Here’s  my brief  back ground. I put myself through most of primary school by selling hand drawn greeting cards, entering art and drama competitions, gymnastics, drum majorettes ,athletics you name it. I put myself through high school by winning public speaking and debate competitions, playing chess, housekeeping at my aunt’s house over the school holidays amongst other things. Winning beauty pageants , doing private architectural jobs and other part time work augmented my Architecture School fees. The song ‘Everyday I’m hustling” is the sound track of my life and you know how annoying over played songs can be.

I’ve heard people call this kind of independence ‘sexy’. So speaking as a candidate for the ‘sexy’ badge, let me say, when you’re ‘sexy’ long enough you stop wanting to be sexy. All you want is to be ‘normal’. I’ve been sexy for as long as I can remember and frankly I’m just tired. The sex appeal that comes with being the hardworking Miss Independent is relative. In fact hard work is a relative term on its own. Lying on your back with your knees up can also be hard work especially if you’re dealing with an African man….I’m just saying….

Because African men are good like that….

and I am by no means giving the Department of “Horizontal Work“ more credit than it deserves but there must be a reason why when you go black you don’t go back ,but I digress.

Anyway  I’ve observed that kids that grow up having it all tend to find so much thrill in becoming ‘Independent’, doing their ‘own thing’, making their ‘ own name’. I shan’t lie, at this point in my life I would be very honoured if that cup doth passeth me. I have had enough of that independence wine thank you very much.

Interestingly,   I always meet the kind of guys that find my ‘sexiness’ sexy. Guys that jerk off on my ambition and drive. Guys who fantasize about overhearing the guys at the bar talk about how the new boss lady (me) is making waves. How I’m no push over. How I attained my PHD cum laude. How I’d make it big in politics. How him and I are such a power couple. It’s always a disappointment when I tell them I want to be the woman who works from home as much as possible and as far as being a boss is concerned, if being the boss means dressing up in a spandex cat woman outfit and wielding and whip and handcuffs .YES PLEASE. count me in.

Here’s the thing ,its not only poor women who wouldnt  ‘mind’ a rich men. Successful independent women too.The reasons vary from wanting someone who can provide for them to wanting to balance the power in a relationship .We are raised to believe we are special and we have something unique to offer the world.That we deserve the best .No-one wants to be exploited.

From an era where it was perfectly normal for Eve to live off Adam comes an era where its demeaning for Eve to live off Adam. These ‘independent’ super woman times anchored with the technology that comes with Dial-A-Pizza , Dial- A- Handyman, Dial- A – Fuck haven’t made it easy for us to really sit down and think,now that money is in the hands of women what is the impact on the traditional roles of men and women? What is acceptible and unacceptable.

I used to despise Gold diggers. On this side of the world Gold diggers are labelled as Machiavellian women desperate for a free ride. If you have no job or means of earning a formal salary and you happen to date or marry a super-rich man you are labelled a Gold digger .If you have a pattern of dating men in the same high net worth bracket, you are a Gold digger. Gold digging and early marriage are considered  the easy way out. Now let’s all get off our high horses for a moment. Women with an ‘unacceptably’ high craving for the good life but do not want to ‘work’ for it themselves are labelled Gold diggers.  Really now? I am compelled to go back to my argument about the relativity of hard work. We live in a highly evolved world where man himself has been identified as the biggest resource and professions have been sculpted around this premise .Human Resources, Marketing, Management, Counselling, Medicine the list goes on, all these professions hinge on the same thing-The desire to manage ,control, motivate ,manipulate and rehabilitate man. Now the very premise of business is identifying a need and capitalising on it. Gold Digging is a profession. It might not be a noble one in the eyes of many but it’s a profession nonetheless. Do we seriously think that these men whom we claim fall prey to Gold Diggers are robbed or swindled of their hard earned money? No, these men support the luxurious lives of the so called Gold Diggers willingly. These Gold Diggers identify a need and offer a service.Heres why.

Its not enough to conquer one must also learn how to seduce-Voltaire

There is a famous quote that says “It’s not enough to conquer, one must learn how to seduce’.

There are so many women who are masters of running huge companies but can’t even seduce their own husbands. Rock solid women that run the world but wouldn’t know how to take their bra off at just the right speed. Frigid women with concrete backs that don’t bend over for nobody let alone bend down for anything. Rich men’s wives busy redecorating the house ,buying Tupperware and attending high teas at the country club. Do you think Gold diggers just walk up to a rich men and demand a million dollars? Really now. Do you think these women march into Donald Trump’s office and demand diamonds? These women snatch our boyfriends and husbands with just red lip stick and suspenders. Not dissertations, not smart talk about world economics. Grown ass, well-educated and successful men willingly give them these expensive gifts just for a dose of youthfulness.

Cry all you want but as much as I believe in the sacredness or marriage let me tell you that the more we try to monopolise or domesticate love or emotions at any level. Holding each others emotions at ransom by creating obligations. Causing each other to swear and construct restrictions  and boundaries that I will only have feelings for you, to have and to hold, till death do us part .Causing me to practice a version of love that is not free. A version that threatens to inflict emotional pain by divorce or sex sanctions should I deviate from it. A love that has been reduced to the level of promise. Promising that you will love me more than anyone else on this planet. Its a promise that God himself cannot make. It is against the very nature of love. Love is free, unconditional,unrestrictive,forgiving etc.I have a right to love whatever I choose to love to the degree at which I choose to love it for the time I choose to love it. I have a right to enjoy my life and spend my money how ever I choose to spend it and with whoever I choose to spend it on. I have a right to pursue my idea of happiness, and so does everyone else. If by any means you cause me to fail to exercise thus right I will forever jump the fence,and so will these men.

These men are searching for freedom, adventure and youth with THEIR money and their own will. These women offer exactly that. Now who are we to morally police two independent souls in the consensual business of pleasure and condemn them .Whether you like it or not in every man there’s a little boy that just wants to play and in every woman there a little bitch that wants to climb that pole. Unfortunately we’ve drowned the bitch in feminist propaganda and Bloody Mary’s. Now I am not exactly condoning Gold digging but I’m just saying if the world just took a break out of our so so self-righteous zone ,we might notice something interesting here. Gold digging is a talent, believe it or not.

A guy  whilst trying to pick up  a girl I know mentioned that he was a manager at the Samsung brand shop to which she replied,

“ Manager??? Mina ngifuna uSamsung wang’khona la.Hayikhona wena”.(Youre just a manager,I don’t want to talk to you,youre a nobody.I want Samsung himself in person here not you.Thats who I want date.Samsung).

I don’t know if its twisted ambition but that girl taught me something. Before you settle for second best ask yourself why you can’t get the best.If youre going to pick me out of a crop women as your perfect choice.I have every right to question if youre really the perfect choice for me.

So ukandiudza kuti unoshandira embassy yeGermany ndokuudza kuti inini ndoda Germany wacho.Ndiye wandinoda kutaura naye.Kwete iwe mfana wake .Wundza Germany wacho pano ndiye wandinoda ku ‘Dealer’ naye.

If you marry a poor man you’re considered a fool, because love doesn’t pay the bills….kinda true.If you marry a rich man the world labels you a Gold digger, If you don’t marry you’re considered a cactus, too hostile and stubborn to marry or a bitter feminist. Tjo!!!

When you look at it really, there are two types of women. Gold diggers and Gold Forcasters or what   I’d professionally call Investment Analysts. The difference between the two is like the difference between white collar crime and pickpocketing. White collar crime is obviously classier. It takes a certain amount of intelligence and planning. Like hunting. You study your prey and watch it go about its business waiting for the right moment. Gold forecasting is spotting a man who has the ‘potential’ to succeed and kinda ‘hanging’ around for a couple of years  until he blossoms .Gold digging is just finding yourself a rich man, finish and clara. Less devious more and straight forward if you ask me.

Being independent has its own perks. Highs and lows. Super broke days and super rich days. Doing things for myself is my default setting It’s the only way I know how. If I could change one I would consider being a Gold Digger or the woman who married rich, but then again I don’t know how to be that woman. That woman is like a stranger to me. She possesses a perception of life so different from mine. Certain skills that I may never learn.A certain kind of happiness that I do not understand and may never. A kind of happiness that I may admire but were it mine I would not know what to do with it.

She possesses a happiness unlike mine of getting a promotion ,clinching a major deal, acing an exam, solving an equation, finishing a project. Although we are both women she may never understand my kind of happiness. One thing for sure is, I’m done despising the next woman just because she does things differently.

We seem to be living in an era where being a woman who can pay her way is so fashionable. An era where women figuratively convene in some feminist hall to construct more cursing words for stay at home moms , housewives or ‘jobless’ women dating rich men. We take women that have the skill of milking millions out of men and burn them on a borne fire. Old fashioned women like I, who like to be bought dinner, flowers ,jewellery and who actually like to have the door opened for us are forced into some sort of cultic confession room, where we spit on Adams statue and are made to feel guilty for saying ‘yes please’ and ‘thank you’.

We are brain washed to think more power and  more money is sexy. That dependency is a sign of weakness. It’s almost like while the world slept the alchemist changed our chemistry and dependency became the syphilis of the time. May I ask, since when did dependency belong in the enemy camp?

I depend on my friends for support and companionship. I depend on my mother for unwavering love. I depend on God for wisdom, inspiration and direction. We depend on the rain for bountiful harvest, we depend on tribulations so we can experience triumph. The very essence of unity and humanity is founded on dependence. Love like electricity depends on each and every one us to have the capacity to carry it and pass it on ,completing the circuit. It should not be shameful to depend. At what point really does dependence become Gold Digging and is it our place to mark that point.? Whether my dependency cost someone four million dollars or four dollars ,if they are receptive to it and me to theirs the rest of the world should go and hang.

So what if I work for my own money and buy my own Range Rover? Does that make me more dignified than the woman who just got hers as a gift from a rich boyfriend. Does hers not park in a garage like mine? Does mine move on the Holy spirit instead of Petrol/Gasoline.? Its sound mathematics to deduce that good job equals good money good living, There are many things that will always fascinate me in this world, like how sex can cost $20 on the street and the idea of it cost $10 000,a Charles Greig ring or even a Lamborghini  .I will always be fascinated by a woman makes away with $2 million dollars in broad daylight. I find the women that perform these feats are very fascinating. How do they do it? How do you convince a grown ass man to offer you $2 million with just suspenders and red lipstick? I could never write a dissertation that could convince someone to give me $30 grand just out of the goodness of their heart.Yet these women do it effortlessly. Pure genius I tell you. They deserve a documentary in National Geographic Channel.

My pussy can burn in blue flames for all I care but there is no way I’m skinning my own goat this Christmas when the handsome boy next door will gladly do it.  I carry all the tribal marks of the 21^st century independent woman, strokes of my brushes with the hard knock life. They are scars that remind me that some battles should never be fought alone. These scars don’t only remind me how brave I am, they remind me that at some point in my life if not always …I will need to depend on someone. Not only for comforting words or a shoulder to cry on. But even for things that test my pride. To help me take a bath after that caesarean section. To buy a pack tampons or just to pass the salt.

One of these days I am going to buy Myself MY dream car and build MY dream house. Lay on MY rug and watch the stars through MY telescope while I sip MY wine. One of these days….but not today. After 15 years of ‘independence’ and ‘Sexiness’. I  am taking a sabbatical. This month I am not paying for shit. Not lunch, not that new pair of shoes I want, not my airtime not my manicure,  NOTHING!!!!!!!

Yea call me a gold digger and see if I care. I’ve earned it.

I’m not expecting you to buy my story but I want to be a gold digger even if its just for a month. I might not last a month because I don’t possess the necessary skills but that’s not stopping me from experiencing life from a different perspective .I’ll never make a good gold digger anyway. I’m just too headstrong and impatient. But I’m not too headstrong to get my man to search half the town for a 1984 $2 note just to get that lap dance from me that’s so worth every cent. If there’s anything I’ve learnt from the world its that there’s something I can learn from everything.

Gold digging is an art and maybe in my warped idea of a proper world ,no let me rephrase that, maybe in my genius idea of a proper world it deserves its own faculty in a university alongside other disciplines: I may miss most lectures. But Seduce Your Man 101 is one lecture I’m not bunking.

The manuscript :

Gold digging for Dummies-

Chapter One – Simple Equations-Why 10 missed calls + 3 messages = desperate ( and desperate is not good)

Chapter Two – Get paid not laid.

Chapter Three- The Art of Seduction and other fine arts.

Chapter Four – Mistressing made simple. (be a mistress not a distress).

Chapter Five- Dealing with the other woman, kids and other baggage.

Chapter Six – The Wife and the Mistress. Politics behind the de facto state of war.

Chapter Six- Disaster management and Emergency Drills .

Chapter Seven- Fortune Telling- Auditing his net worth at a glance.

Chapter Eight- Stereotypes –Lawyers,Doctors,Accountants,Architects,Sports men etc.5 reasons why you should date them and 7 reasons why you shouldn’t.

By,

Zana’Kay

Part Time student at the Zimbabwe School of Mines – Gold Digging and Forecasting /Prospecting Major.lol..

 

The New Miss Zimbabwe.

The first modern pageant was staged by P.T.Barnum in 1854 in America, but his beauty contest was closed down by public protest. He previously held dog, baby, and bird beauty contests .I really don’t know since I was not there but I  guess humans decided  that they wanted to identify with the feeling that a dog, baby or bird gets after winning a contest because soon after that, the concept of beauty pageants began to take the world by storm. First masquerading as a search for beautiful bodies in 1920′s,then celebrating the heyday of Hollywood in the 1930’s,bringing the world together in the 1940’s World War times ,tackling race and feminism in the 1970′s,celebrating diversity in the 90’s then calling for more brains ,more talent, more personality and more goodwill from its contestants in the new millennium. Today the pageant scene in Africa is popular as a platform for controversy and scandal. It’s a formal venue to pimp oneself to the rich and famously stupid.

I know I am going to receive a lot of criticism for this article but what the heck. I am a former beauty queen. Ever since I was 8 years old ,I wanted to be a model. When I was 12, I wrote in my scrapbook that when I grow up I want to be an Architect and Model. I watched Miss Universe and Miss World religiously year after year and tore off pictures of models I liked and pasted them in my scrap book. By the time I was 18 I knew all the former Miss Zimbabwe’s  and Miss ZimSun Supermodels by name and year. I was obsessed.

I come from a very academic family so when I told my mom I wanted to take a modeling course she wasn’t very impressed. After I promised I wouldn’t let it affect my school work she let me take a modeling class. So after school I would go to modeling class at a local agency. There we were taught to smile, the cat walk , pose as well as how to act confident. I now say act confident because I have grown to realise that acting confident and being confident are two different things. A year after I started modeling I became a finalist at the Miss Zimsun Supermodel competition. Then Miss Bulawayo and Miss Zimbabwe First Princess on the next. The experience was great. When you’re shoved into that kind of limelight you have no choice but to grow up very fast. I also got to travel and meet all sorts of interesting people, no exception to the rich old men that were also very interested in meeting me.

The modeling industry is a tough one and it’s the last place to expect a pity party. There is more rejection than acceptance. You need tough skin  to survive. I knew the modeling business is a multi-million dollar industry based on just looks but I wasn’t prepared for what I met, especially at the pageants. Fashion modeling was fun. No one zeroed in on your personal life or what you were about. It was about having the look and selling the goods that go with the look. Very vain and so fun.

Pageantry is another dimension of hell altogether. The focus is mainly on the beauty of the contestants , although they often incorporate personality, talent, and answers to judges’ questions as judged criteria. You will not believe the amount of hate that can be hidden behind those Cinderella smiles. Girls that will do anything to get attention and get that crown. Just look away one minute your skin foundation is laced with acid, your evening dress is torn to shreds or even illegal drugs have been sneaked into your suitcase.

Zanakay answering a question at the Miss Zim 2005 finals.

I remember the night of the Miss Zimbabwe finals. The question and answer segment. We were all asked the same question.

What is the role of Women in Tourism?

Now this is a question that anyone with an average IQ can answer in an O’Level Geography Exam. I remember asking myself, is that it? Wow. No questions  about climate change and stuff. Wow that’s so cool I thought. The question I feared the most, which really never came was :

What are YOU doing with YOUR life and what values are YOU practicing that make YOU a prototype of the perfect Zimbabwean woman?

I feared this question because I was 19 years old. A first year student in college and barely independent. I had just graduated from the sheltered cocoon of the school system into a wild wild world, trying to find my feet and hold on to my childhood dreams. The reality of what those dreams were , what it took to achieve them , down to question of whether they were worth achieving was dawning on me.

Now tell me what Peace crises and HIV problem  that has failed to be solved by whole governments can be solved by a 19 year old with a crown on her head. I am still looking for the statistics that explain how the Miss Zimbabwe Pageant has improved tourism in Zimbabwe, because last I checked ,the argument that a woman is a tourist attraction didn’t hold much water. And there I was, 19 years old, appealing to Zimbabweans to put their faith in me. Appealing to health professionals, economists , philanthropists ,engineers, former freedom fighters, mothers and fathers who worked tirelessly in 8am to 5pm jobs and paid taxes, to put their faith in me.

Simply put. Me thinks the world’s problems are bigger than 5 inch  stilettos. The reality is that we live in a third world country that has bigger problems than who is going to be crowned this year’s most beautiful girl. America has the time and money for a lot of these activities. America has money for a lot of things I tell you, even a whole city just for sin. A Sin City code named Las Vegas. There is surely something much better we can do with taxpayers money other than fishing girls from various universities and putting them on a televised human peacock show.

Recently ,the ZTA spent a whopping $450 000 on a pageant revolving around one girl. That is a lot of money to spend on a ceremony for a  girl who has not discovered the cure for AIDS, the Formula for world peace or how to stop the glaciers from melting. I’m just saying.

I am a sucker for change. Change is important. I believe that for anything to be considered alive it must be growing  , changing ,evolving , adapting towards the needs of the times. Nothing and Nobody remains the same. Things either get better or get worse and humans being the conscious species make that choice. That said the world of pageantry is not immune to change.

An interesting observation on the issue of Zimbabwean beauty queens is how the crown seems to be losing altitude along the anatomy of their ‘beautiful’ bodies to a point I think the crown now rests right around the buttocks in very close proximity to the other sexual genitalia. With all the sex scandals surrounding these ambassadors perhaps the sash should assume the new position too.

Its time Miss Zimbabwe took to the streets. First of all let me mention there is no shortcut to success. Education, hard work  ,arête and discipline are important. As for pageantry , it is fast losing its lustre .Women empowerment through education has caused women to start challenging the definitions of beauty ,which were in the past thrust upon us without our input. Beauty is 3 dimensional. It comprises of Arête {strength of character and integrity}, intellect and physical well being.

The new Miss Zimbabwe  is the woman who manages to succeed against all odds, the woman who gets up at 3am to go and order vegetables so she can resell and put her children through school. She is the young woman launching mind blowing ideas in the boardroom and yet maintaining humility ,grace and poise. She is the 70year old taking care of HIV orphans and the woman who has gathered the strength to walk away from abuse. For me this is the New Miss Zimbabwe ,a far cry from the figure eight who wants world peace but can’t even spell it.

Whilst beauty queens have not become obsolete ,it is my desire for young women to aspire to be the new kind of  Miss Zimbabwe- the Lawyer, Writer, Doctor, Rock star , Sportswoman, Teacher, Architect, Engineer ,Politician, Pharmacist and not just a pretty mannequin. Those are the kind of Miss Zimbabwe’s we need right now.

This is my question today-

• How does a USD$ 500 000 beauty pageant event benefit the Zimbabwean situation?
• What kind of sick minds take 25 young beautiful girls and decide for them who amongst them is the most beautiful and most talented. Which one amongst them did God put more effort into and who was created when God was rushing for his lunch break?
• For how long are we going to parade our beautiful Zimbabwean women like cattle at the livestock show?

All Zimbabwean women are beautiful. The strength of the Zimbabwean woman is in her love, courage, perseverance ,intelligence, creativity .The women from Dzimbadzemabwe (the Great House of Stone) are a strong and resilient lot I tell you. We survive. We are hard workers. We are courageous. If you are a Zimbabwean woman and you were living in Zimbabwe during the trying times of 2005 to 2008 you know what courage means .To queue all day and all night for bread, sugar and milking in Vigoroni friendly shoes and clothes. We hustled, did everything we could to keep it together. Some of our even more courageous sisters sought employment outside the borders to fend for family at home. Where are these women? Can they please stand up so I can hail them as Miss Zimbabwe’s.

Do you know why I deserve to be Miss Zimbabwe again this year? like last year and the 23 years before. It’s because all the cars that could have run over me in the past year missed me. All the bullets shot at my dreams didn’t leave a dent. Cancer, HIV, Cholera you name it could have put me six feet under but I’m here. I may not be the last man standing but I am standing nevertheless. A proud Zimbabwean woman standing. All the men I appointed and disappointed couldn’t take my eyes off the prize . If you want to see a Miss Zimbabwe just stand on any street in the CBD at 7:45am or at Mbare Msika at 4 am. There can never be a big enough ramp for this year’s Miss Zimbabwe’s.

Ironically this year’s Miss Zimbabwe 2011 pageant organized by Unique Media Events, is to be held under the theme “I am Zimbabwean”, and will have new and exciting features including a proposed reality TV program , interactive website and official magazines

Are you kidding me??? All this ado about a Zimbabwean woman already on the streets. There are Miss Zimbabwe’s right now , living in real time ,real time  reality shows going about the business of empowering themselves and their country .These women are playing soccer for the Mighty Warriors ,Engraving the Zimbabwean name on the world map with her literature(NoViolet Bulawayo), Young women advocating for gender equality (Delta Ndou),Deputy Prime minister fighting Cancer bravely(Thokozani Khuphe) .Trail blazing the fashion catwalks( Greatmore Chatya) Some of them are actually studying for the O’Level exams by candle light as I write this. Others are in labor at various Maternity wards in Zimbabwe right now. Ushering in more sons and daughters for the Great House of Stone.

Every Zimbabwean woman qualifies for that crown. If I could launch a demonstration defending my cause on the day of the show I would but in light of the brain drain in Zimbabwe I have better things to do. Like work on my design project and complete my Architecture degree and help build a better Zimbabwe literally (I’m sure my smile and body won’t protest tagging along on these errands).

My dear New Miss Zimbabwe, put yourself out there. Find out what’s going on in your community.What are you doing about promoting health and combating H.I.V? About protecting  the vulnerable in your community, Coping with climate change ,reducing your carbon footprint ,confronting the water crises? What are you doing for yourself. If you can’t serve yourself, if you’re not a good steward of yourself how can you expect to be trusted with the world?

Image is everything and there is no second chance to a first impression. No matter how well you think of yourself if you don’t package yourself appropriately opportunities will constantly fly past you. Zimbabwean woman, you are a brand, and your mind is a moving business. A brand is a matter of perception, once it is considered cheap or lacks integrity no one wants to be associated with it .YOU were created for such a time as this .Your talents and skills are unique. Find your niche in life and fill it. Find your gap and fill it. Find your purpose- because where purpose is not known abuse is inevitable.

Does this little girl think she needs a crown to believe that she is beautiful?

Zimbabwe is a sovereign country. When the farms were taken the world thought it was a joke. But Zimbabwe does not joke. It’s time we define for ourselves what it means to be beautiful .What it means to be an African beauty. To decide for ourselves what beauty means from an African perspective. To generate a new Zimbabwean vocabulary that speaks in the interest of the Zimbabwean woman tilling in the fields and in the boardroom .It’s time we refuse to parade our women like commodities .The face of Zimbabwe they say. Why does it have to be one face? What is wrong with the other one?  Is it not Zimbabwean enough? Who decides who is the most beautiful Zimbabwean woman and who gives that idiot the jurisdiction to make such a decision?

haaaa guys ka…..lets be serious.

So what if you are the most beautiful woman in the world? Are you going to say to your daughter that- “I’m the most beautiful woman in the world and you are the second in command”? You see the moment we put scales on beauty we submit ourselves to the complication of regulating that scale. If there is a most then there must be a least and what are the values we use to separate these? Who decides which attribute is better than the other?

It is said that before a leopard devours its offspring, it first accuses them of smelling like goats. I may have shot myself in the foot here, because I am a former beauty queen. But fellow Zimbabweans ,this is a foot  I can live without. Aluta continua!!

Zana’Kay.

Former Miss Zimbabwe’s. You ARE undeniably Beautiful.You will always be remembered. It was nice while it lasted. Now it’s time for a new era.

.

Stay True ,Stay beautiful- Zana ‘Kay

Finding a good man is like looking for Saddam.!

556.557,558,559,hello,anybody there? I'm still hiding

A good man is hard to find they say .It’s not only good things that are hard to find. Even bad ones sometimes. You spend a lifetime on the lookout for a good man .You look everywhere. In the closet, under the bed, behind the trees, behind the door, under the carpet. You look in the office, in the church, in the club. You look in all the right and wrong places then finally, you look in the trench, in the middle of nowhere. You think you’ve found him because  he was so hard to find then he turns and you see his face. Lo and behold it’s a Saddam. Evil, manipulative pain bringer. You think “what’s a bad man doing in a good man’s hard to find hiding spot?”. Well bad things are hard to find too.

Finding a good man in the 21^st century is a mammoth task. At church they say women shouldn’t look, that’s the man’s job, the man should find you. Well it’s very hard to be found, and found by a good man. It’s like playing hide and seek , then hiding in fridge. Good women are sometimes like hidden-in –the-fridge things.The men look and look and look and then they conclude we cannot be found. Not until they get hungry do they open the fridge, so they can find Something to eat. Just to eat. Otherwise ,they’ve  given up on looking and  they get the women that are not hiding. Those that really want to be found and are standing on the table in hooker stilettos and a trench coat .Those women really want to be found .I wonder if this so called civilization process  ruined men’s finding ability. They seemed to be so good at hunting Deer and Impala in the stone age. Tracking an animal for days and finally claiming it. Now they just don’t give a damn. They lie on the couch and wait for the animals to parade in bikinis for them to take their pick.

Cinderella wouldn’t survive in these trying times I tell you. That prince charming would be like, ”The party is starting , where the hell is that honey?.Oh well, Psssst .Ladies who wants to roll with me.?”.

There are so many female skeletons in closets, victims of the waiting to be found syndrome. It’s a shame no one came looking.

Corpse bride waited too long ....A lifetime is a long time

So the magazines tell us to put ourselves out there. Show of our good sides. Be nice and stuff. Hang out in all the likely to meet Mr Right places like at Golf, Book Club, Cricket, Art Galleries what not. The magazines teach us what to say and what not to say. What to do, What to wear. I’m not very good at whitewashing walls so I’ll just be blunt. Basically we are being trained to subtly hunt the men down.

Now since hunting is a new activity for us. We haven’t quite figured it out. HOW TO FIND THE PERFECT MAN- it read on the magazine cover. I bought it and took the advice. What they didn’t tell me is that a bad man is also hard to find. That the difficulty of your search doesn’t me you will find a good thing. It took a whole year  and lots of destroyed buildings to find Saddam you know?.I think I may have run into a few Saddams myself.

Here is a short list of what I found in a hard way,

1.The Metrosexual/Gay-ish man.
He knows all the shades of blue by name.He insists you fold his shirts in a particular way.He knows the thread count of his sheets.His bathroom is filled with goodies such as bubble bath,scented candles,foot scrub,face mask,night cream,day cream the works.Oh did i mention the peach toilet upholstery. He’ll ask you to be careful not to spill anything on the Arabian rug(it was really expensive).In short-this guy is high maintenance. Hello-whose the woman here?

2.Grumpy Smurf/ Mr Passive Aggressive.
He whines about everything.The weather, food, the tv -hes never happy .He never feels like doing anything fun.”i hate,i hate,i hate “like grumpy Smurf for sure. Passive aggressive behavior is marked by vindictiveness, malicious compliance,obstructionism,melodrama,insecurity,paranoia,calculated amnesia,stubbornness,ambiguity,sulking,procrastination,dependency,victimization.THIS GUY IS TRYING TO GET DUMPED AND YOU’RE NOT TAKING THE HINT. Unless you’re qualified to deal with his weapons grade/industrial level psychotic episodes, please leave. This is not the kind of Saddam you want to deal with.

3.The Skinflint
He counts change twice, knows exactly how much rice he uses in a month to the gram, wants a joint account and never pays for anything. Did i mention that he buys cheap Chinese plastic flowers on valentines and his idea of a romantic dinner is pizza or KFC streetwise two .Imali yakhona iphuma nzima njengeZinyo. Unless you’re a dentist, Run.

4. .The Baby Christian.
He just got born again. I mean like two weeks ago and he’s crazy for Jesus. Literally . He will spam your inbox with 60 bible verses a day. He watches Hope tv allday long and will even ask you to join him in a 40 day prayer and fasting. He might even quit his job to follow a ‘calling’ or give half his salary towards church programs and come short on the rent .Being born again is the best thing that can happen in ones life, but unless you’re a paedophile don’t date this guy .He needs time to work on his relationship with God. Time to grow and mature in the Lord.’nough said- Amen.

This is just a brief list.I will make a more detailed list in another note.

I’m a typical alpha female. A thinker and achiever. Super assertive intellectual. Very competitive. At school I was Head girl, Writers Club president, School magazine Editor, Interact club VP, Debate and Public Speaking VP  the works. I was like Gagamel from Smurfs, you can’t escape the evil eye. I’m the girl everyone loves to hate. Hit the modelling runway soon after school and assumed power there. Then hit the books now five years and still counting .Architecture. Typical male field. Not that I care.

How do you spot me  now .Jeans and pumps –check, Satchel, probably with laptop ,sketch pad,diary,Sanitiser,2 hand creams, powder, lipgloss ,blush, nude lipstick etc.-check. That’s what you get for mixing the genes of a fashion model and intellectual. Ipod(playing Asa, Michael Buble ,Enya)creative music for productive people, I know, I bias .

If I was 35 I would say minimum jewellery, business suit, minimum makeup, power car keys like Chrysler, Rangerover etc. Much like the character Akua from the SABC series Society. Not married ,no children, living in big ass house with fine furniture ,powerful , rich, looking to adopt, lonely(sorry but that’s just the stereotype),considering marrying a younger man with lots of potential since Zimbabwean President is not available. Jacob Zuma not an option, Botswanas Khama—–error message——I dont think I’m his type .Anyway I can’t marry a president because I want to perform my sensual poetry in jazz bars and stuff(yea I know. It’s not a split personality, it’s called an altar ego. You know ,like Sasha Fierce and Beyonce?).And you can’t be a sensual poetry cum model cum  architect First lady unless you’re married to French President Sarkozy. So I guess my chances there are zero.

Wow .I really look and sound like a stuck up bitch up there. This finding and looking business has really got me thinking .Maybe I should edit some stuff in my future. I’ll keep the profession thanks but  maybe I should consider dating an artist who doesn’t make any real money from  his abstract paintings ,insists on working from home. Doesn’t want to go to the gym. Smells like Kunta Kinte. Okay not exactly Kunta Kinte direct ,more like Kunta Kinte after taking a long bath and wearing some Bulgari scent.

Or I should marry me a white guy. Not just an ordinary white guy. Marry me those I-was-born-in-Germany-grew-up-in-England-went-to-college-in-America-studied-Engineering-visited Africa-and fell-in-love-with-it-now-i-wanna-stay-here-forever-and-run-an-art-shop.Yea those white guys. .Kinda find them sexy.The whole rugged ,life on the slow lane look. Khaki shorts and sandals sipping coffee at Horizon. These guys don’t want to prove a point to anyone. They have seen it all and they just want to be happy and learn to speak Ndebele.I could do with that kind of vibe. I reckon it would keep me grounded.

One thing for sure I will Not marry me the super educated 30 year old going up the career ladder .I’ve always thought they were my type but these guys are vindictive(now singing Amy Whinehouses- Tryed to take me to rehab and said no no no.)This one guy ,I found hard,  tried to domesticate me. He had me cooking lunches on weekdays, doing his laundry , running his errands including visiting his relatives. My diary literally revolved around him. I said NO NO NO.I think brains turned him on, but he wanted a woman with just enough brains to not want to get a job but stay at home instead .I don’t know whether it was the fear that he would wake up one day and I would have got my doctorate now running for some top post in Government and he would still be trying to complete his masters. This guy fantasized about me in a Toyota Yaris fetching the kids from school everyday , then proceeding to make him and his friends a Hells Kitchen dinner. Which we would eat while we talk about the Stock exchange and fiscal policies  so his friends could see what a smart wife he had. Then later in the evening I would change into a sexy patent leather Dominatrix outfit and give him a good hiding for being a very very bad boy. No thank you. I didn’t need this. Actually I didn’t need him, the outfit idea was good though.

I’m a workaholic. Typical 21st century Alpha female. I work to ease stress and work to prevent stress.I need some calm. Need someone who knows just when to steal me from the rat race and when to let me do my thing. An important man, who makes the news but doesn’t treat me like a groupie. Someone I can have babies for and raise them together with him ,not for him. Someone whose not always in a suit ,always working or dealing or studying. Someone who’s not always trying to keep up with the Jones. A man in shorts ,on the couch, watching How I met Your Mother ,while I try to make chocolate cake (even though I can’t bake).Yea I can do laundry for that man. A man who buys me a book because he thinks I’d like it. A man who carries me on his back, but still has authority in the house.

Well I guess I’ll bump into him one of these days. I hope I won’t have to look in the trenches and run into another Saddam. Maybe I should forget this ‘looking’ business. Yea ,that’s what I’ll do.

I’ll just sit in a big red box written LOST AND FOUND.TAKE A PEEK. Lol.

Lost and Found

Zana ‘Kay

Kanti Okungadliwayo Ngokunjani ?

Kanti okungadliwayo ngokunjani?
Kusemhlabeni la-kukoDliwayo la.
kasidleni,sidliwe,sidlisane,sidlane.

 
Kodwa singakhohlwa ukuthi odlìswayo,udliswa ngoba laye uyadla.
Ùdla ebizela,edlisana labanye.
Sihlezi nje,siyadlisana siyadla.
kodwa nxa kungaphela esikudlayo sizadlana kuphela !!

 

Amatsotsi kawagelani-
hlakanipha udle kuhle,udle uchume.
Ungathi ngizacupha ngidlule, ngidlele’skhwameni-
lawe bazakucutha bakudle ngendlela.
Ungambamba ngodlame omudlayo,uzakudlisa aphinde akudle lawe.

Amadlelo ayalondolozwa Jaha,ngoba izulu lingadlula,

uzakufa ngendlala udl’ indlegu inyamazana engadlìwayo.

Umdlalo wokudlana lokudlisana udlalwa ngabangadlanga,

kanti wena udla- la ,udle- le,kuwusuthi udlisibhasi yini?

Basop!!Uzafelwa li ………,

ugule umkhuhlane wezinja!!
Hlala endlini uchume ,Udle okudliswayo.
Asidleni kuhle- Sidlaneni ngokuhlonipha.
Nkazana bekubumbulu eceleni-okungadliwayo ngokunjani?
Okutshele ukuthi indlamuva yinkosi ngubani?
Sonke sizindlubu zakoDliwayo.
Silande ukuzadliwa, lokudlisana, ukudlisa lo kudla.

 

Kodwa,qala uhlolwe uhlole ungakadli-
uphinde uhlole futhi njalo.
Ngoba ungadla ungahlolanga-uzahlangana lemhlolo!!
Phela kusemhlabeni la.KukoDliwayo qo!!
ungalala-bazakuqoba!!..

By Zana “Kay 9 Nov 2010