Posts tagged ‘Africa seeps through my veins’

Listy-bisty-bobisty-banana fana- fo-fisty

Lists are easy to read. and this makes them fun.

My Extraordinary List of Awesome things:

1. Johnny Depp in the Libertine.



I watched this movie for the fifth thousandth time. Each time I am moved by it.

What is truly enjoying life? At what expense? This movie is rad. (in a oh my word I can never ever show this to anyone- kind of way)

2. Finding The World According to Garp.



I thought it was stolen. But alas, it has been redeemed from the confines of under-my-bed-opolis.

3. Sleep.

’nuff said.

4. Hubs.

He’s really awesome. Even when I lose my temper and yell at him. *blush*

List of Not Awesome Things

1. Spilling bleach on all my black winter clothes.

Stuff you bleach! grr…

2. My University is being retarded.

Stuff you University!

3. Clients.

Anyone who works with the direct public can say this all together:

“stuff you clients!”

4. The Striking Magical fairy that cleans my flat.

Stuff you mag…i…ca.. oh wait. That’s me. I can’t possibly stuff myself. Unless it’s with *copious* amounts of food. And when I do that I get all chubby around my face and that is just so NOT sexy. So no stuffing of ones self here.

(I probably don’t want to know the google results on that one)


Things I am waiting for:


1. Summer time

2. Summer time

3. Partying in the Summer time

4. Warmth and not coldness. (Just FYI: it was -4 this morning when I went to work *shocker*)

This concludes the post where by I sing a gay little song and write random stuff in a list format for you to read and judge me on.

The End.

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July 28, 2009 at 7:51 pm 12 comments

Home.

time is a cruel thing.

the days that i wish would go faster, crawl behind me.

the days i wish to slow down, zoom ahead.

evenually im left with only a handful of memories of people ill forget.

“I wish I were with you, I couldn’t stay…Every direction leads me away.
Pray for tomorrow, but for today…All I want is to be home.

Stand in the mirror, you look the same. Just looking for shelter, from the cold and the pain.
Someone to cover, safe from the rain. All I want is to be home

Echoes and silence, patience and grace. All of these moments I’ll never replace
The Fear of my heart is th absence of faith. All I want is to be home

People I’ve loved, I have no regrets. Some I remember, some I forget.
Some of them living, some of them dead. All I want is to be home.” -Home Foo Fighters

it s time for me to go home.

July 22, 2009 at 6:16 pm 5 comments

With Love

Today my thoughts are not on me. They are with those in Mozambique.

Last year this time, I was packing up from my trip to Panhame, a small village in the middle of Mozambique. I pulled out my album and took some time to think and pray for those I met.

Being an ex-Portuguese colony, there are cultural differences beyond white and black, wealthy and poor. They appreciated the stuff we brought, but the true joy they expressed was not in the toothpaste, medical supplies or blankets we gave, but in our message.

Someone in this world loves you and not only do we love you, but the Creator of the ground you walk on loves you more than you could ever imagine.

They wished more than anything to hear the hope we brought them. AIDS is ripping apart their country. The life expectancy and infanct mortality rates are the worst in the world. They didn’t want our blankets as much as they wanted hope.

And they found it in Jesus Christ.

I learned more about true joy in a little dusty village in the middle of nowhere than in my own life.


This isn’t the first time I’ve posted about this trip. I posted about it a week after returning home. and still couldn’t shake what I saw there. I posted again on the first of January 2009.

Definitive Moments– 1 January 2009

I have had several moments in my life that I place in my definitive category. Some I will never find words to express. Some are so deeply entwined in my core that to remove them, analyze them, and reveal them would strip them of their power.

But some of them only have power when stripped open. Some moments yearn to be shared. These have no shame. Like the beggar at the traffic light, they cry out to me. Sobs of fear, regret and desperation are met only by my own heartache and incompetence.

I had another dream about her. Her name was Sali and I first wrote about her here. Lately, she has been invading my subconscious, crying out to be shared.

I met her July of 2008 in a small village in Mozambique called Panhame. Her lifestyle is what you see on National Geographic with little comfort and even less guarantee of tomorrow.

Yet, she aroused no pity from me.

Sympathy, sure. “Man, somebody’s gotta do something” sure. Pity? No.

This does not mean that I am immune to the sadness of seeing impoverished people. I felt no pity because she felt no pity.

This was her life. She is 4 or 5 years old and herded her family’s goats. She helped her mother with the only meal of the day. She would probably never get an education or learn where babies come from before she was married. This was her life and, at her age, she seemed to accept her life in all its entirety.

I am no photographer but here she is:

And these are my words:

To the girl who aided my heart recovery:

Sali

The great expanse of dust packed still
By bare feet trampling
The shadows pool beneath Marula tree
And dusty rocks, undisturbed, watch

Sali toddle across the plain
Heavy laden, haunting eyes
And the beads and bracelets clanking

And she tumbles
Embracing shrouds
The dust- scarlet and steaming

Tear neglected she leapt
To chase the goat
And fade into the blackness.

I would love to share some photos with you of some of the beautiful children that have engraved themselves on my heart. My friends are in Panhame today, packing up their tents and saying goodbyes. Oh how I wish I could see how these kids have grown!

The Local Church Bell

The Local Church Bell



This bell would be rung everyday that there would be something happening in the village, usually in the morning. Several hours later the event (church, town meetings etc) would begin. Talk about African Time!

Local Transportation

Local Transportation



The local ladies still carry their heavy objects on their heads. But if something was too heavy for even a strong lady to carry, it would go onto this cart strapped to two donkeys.

The Local Church Building

The Local Church Building



I promised you pictures of cutie pies. Look closely and look at that little darling walking through the dust in the distance. She was absolutely stunning, but was so hard to pin down for a picture.

but there were plenty who enjoyed playing models for me!

She was so excited to see her photo after I took it!

She was so excited to see her photo after I took it!



She loved to mimic the younger girls on our team.

Don't let the warm clothes fool you. It pushed 45 degress in the daytime in winter!

Don't let the warm clothes fool you. It pushed 45 degress in the daytime in winter!



She is such a sweetheart.

She is such a sweetheart.



So beautiful.

Such Joy!

Such Joy!

With Love to those stunning kiddos in Panhame. With Love.

July 10, 2009 at 10:37 am 4 comments

The Vuvuzela

The Confed cup is underway with lots of noise! The wonderful *choke* vuvuzela has really been causing a ruckus!

The Vuvuzla:



is a plastic trumpet that when blown emits a high pitched blasting sound, much like a big air-horn on trucks, except maybe more irritating.

South Africans have being blowing these things by the droves, drowning out any commentary, music and thoughts of those in the stadiums and watching on the television.

Personally, I don’t give a damn about soccer. Or even the World Cup **may the government and its people not see that statement and throw me in Anti SA prison** But those cursed vuvuzelas can die.

I along with Basil Coetzee “find comments about this being a truly African experience condescending and patronising.” I would like to know how a PLASTIC TRUMPET is at all South African? What about this blasted noise maker is African in nature? It’s plastic. And a trumpet. It’s a gosh darn plastic trumpet.

Unless of course, the nature of South Africans is irritation, inconsiderate, loud and obnoixious. Only then would vuvuzelas be African. And that my friends is just ludicrous.

Isn’t it?

Sure I’ve heard the arguements for the Vuvs. I get that we can’t ban the shouting in England or the other ruckus’s in other countries, but for the sakes of the Wives of Soccer fans, please oh please… ban the vuvuzelas.

Please?


I need to protect my hearing for old age and things.

June 25, 2009 at 1:28 pm 7 comments

I wish I could dump all these words

onto a slip of paper.

To hide them away from my heart.

As much as I want to remember, I want to forget.

June 22, 2009 at 9:50 am 4 comments

Because raising a ruckus is what I do.

This post has a dual purpose.

1. To give some bloggy love to a fellow South African blogger – the lovely Miss Pocohanthas

and

2. Because I’m wondering what you guys think.

Obviously, (by my response to her post) I disagree with her opinion. But, that doesn’t make her wrong by default. And Racism is something that affects more countries than just South Africa. Leave her a comment if you want. Leave me one if you want. Either way express your thoughts on racism. ** Click there for a jump to her post **

PS. No, I haven’t forgotten the awesome stories that I keep promising you. And now the anticipation is so high (i’m sure) that your minds will just blow when I finally get around to typing them up. oh well. Who needs a mind anyway?!

June 17, 2009 at 10:15 am 5 comments

I post twice in one day when I get angry…

I like having criminals in government.

No wait. I don’t.

But over 67% of South Africans sure do.

What bothers me about this…

No one else seems bothered.

Why aren’t South Africans as angry as I am?

15 years of ANC rule has left SA with broken promises, crime and corruption. Will Zuma spare the country from another 5 years of detriment? Doubt it.

This is bullshit and no one gives a damn. Get angry. I have a US passport. I can leave when I choose. Not everyone can. And it seems as if thinking South Africans have just rolled over. Maybe they don’t care.

Maybe it’s not my fight. Maybe I shouldn’t care either. Maybe I should just leave.

And maybe, just maybe I will.

April 24, 2009 at 10:47 am 4 comments

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