Sikiliza

There is a running joke with my friends that I am a magpie. From the myths of our colonizers,  magpies love (and steal) bright shiny objects and hoard them. I have never encountered or heard about these shine-loving thieving birds in the African savannah, so I can only draw references to European folklores. And so if the magpie’s occupation is anything to go by then we have a similar calling. I frequently like the things so called fashion gurus find shiny, tacky and averse. I love glitter, busy patterns, chunky mismatched jewellery, bold colours, sequins and big patterned prints and all manner of perceived fashion faux pas. I never take too seriously those who are scandalised by how people look and dress. I pretty much wear what I like and like what I wear and definitely I enjoy people who are as liberated from fashion faux pas.   And so this got me thinking a little bit about our bodies, adornments, appearances, body images and their significance.   I also t...

  Phalaenopsis orchid I once spoke about the phases in my life when I suffer night terrors. I was terrified of peeking through the window to see the flickers of the lights in the dark; to me they looked and seemed like macabre and grotesque eyes peering in as I lay in bed; watching and staring. I found safety in covering my face with bed linen from the exposure of the night air. I felt a sense of safety in shutting my eyes tight to shut the windows of my soul from the invasion of lurking evil. Mercifully sleep would take me. My nightmares and terrors made me a handful of a child to deal especially when everyone was exhausted and patience quotas were frayed thin. My mother was the only person who could handle my traumatised  self. For one she always sat next to me listened to the gory details of my frightful dreams. As I described the depravity of the monsters that terrorised  me she listened deeply. She did not interrupt or question me as though to fact check ...

my clutches on the dying art of letter writing As a teen I spent my youthful angst writing long bad poetry...... What I really mean is that I trace my windy way with words and clumsy poetry to my teens; often sending long missives to hapless victims and objects of my affection.   You see words put together for me were and still mean many things; they declutter, detox, delight, define, declare, deride and detail my feelings and thoughts You see I really like words; the construction and deconstruction of ideas and thoughts using words make me very happy. And so as a teenager in boarding school words were a life link to the outside world...I likened boarding school to prison time. I remember spending countless hours looking out at the plush tea estates beyond the confines of our school grounds longingly. School years were dog years and I could not wait to break out and be free.   Well I take that back now and in hindsight over two decades later, I...

the self, 2017 It is true I admit that I occupy wide spaces literally and figuratively. I cannot deny the zeal in which I love and long to be loved. It is no surprise that because of this intensity, often I can only be taken in small doses. But, do not conflate my bluntness for arrogance. It is just that over the decades you unlearn windiness and relearn to crisply say what you mean and feel. And that does comes with a calm confidence over time. Perhaps it is also being more introspective about the way life plays its hand in your space. It allows me to see me and myself in all the experiences I have had; good, bad and downright messy. I saw and continue to feel and acknowledge these experiences and lessons that life throws my way. Some of the things are not easy to tease to the surface - still raw and festering; some of the things are a joy to piece together and others I feel deep contrition. But these glimpses of me and mine are never going to limit the little time I ...

things are THINGS and I like things I cannot tell a lie but I don't LOVE things. THINGS are things which keep me warm and dry but I don't stay up THINKING of things. THINGS are things c o l o u r f u l  bright and elicit smiles that lift my lips but don’t TOUCH my soul. THINGS are things that house me and my things for perceived safety but don’t CONFRONT my fears. THINGS are things that bridge the gaps of life and lifelessness but do not breathe PASSION into me. These THINGS are things, just things aiding my existence but do not STIR my essence. They are just THINGS.... things I need but do not DESIRE. They are THINGS... things I crave for but they not SUSTAIN me. They are THINGS... things I aspire for but draw me little PLEASURE   They are just THINGS... things I have but do not keep me up DREAMING , WANTING , CREATING , WISHING , ACHING , LONGING , LOVING ... LOVE . THINGS, just THINGS these are...