Sikiliza

  Alright, let us gather round the fire to pause and warm our hands and thaw our hearts! Now, imagine a tiny seed nestled deep in our earth.  These aren't just any seeds, though, they are  rich with composting told and untold   African powerful stories of resistance.  The seed represents the tiny hope and dreams we care and attend to that offers liberation, healing and justice. We have one tiny seed growing into a mighty forest of feminist strength and resilience.   Generations ago, our feminist ancestors seeded the ground we stand on today. They were visionaries who dared dream of a world where oppressive systems would be dismantled, where collective liberation restoration to wholeness and regeneration of our hearts, bodies, land, and territories as not just lofty ideas but conceivable realities grounded in transformational social justice. Like us, our feminist forebearers encountered challenges, of course. The storm winds of patriarchy, colonisation, neol...

  Every day, I am find myself reflecting on the reality that the journey toward healing and justice is far from straightforward. The struggles endured by our ancestors were immense and complex, yet their unwavering spirit and resilience carved a path for us today. It is because of their relentless determination in the face of adversity that we stand proudly and firmly, embodying the bravery and sacrifices they made. We are not just beneficiaries of their efforts; we are living proof of their courage and the liberation dreams they fought for. Right now the world feels overwhelmed by crisis, leaving many human rights defenders and communities grappling with grief, rage, fear, and despair. It’s crucial to take a moment to reflect on our emotions and seek solace in our connections with one another. While here, let us resist the desire to isolate.  Try not to take too long because we need you. Your beloved, strangers, adversaries alike, including the planet itself needs you to be y...

Hello 2024! It's a few days short of my birthday (yay), and I am turning 46 and appreciate being here and being alive. This year, amidst the whirlwind of shifts and transitions, I find myself taking stock and embracing my journey of self-discovery and acceptance that comes with being in my forties. This particular year has different quality and energy to it as health revelations finally come my way after years of questioning. For one, I lost my hair due to alopecia - it was so dramatic and while I am now totally loving my bald look, the grieving and loss is real. Power to those folks struggling with hair loss and reinveting themselves in ways filled with self-compasssion. One of the most ridiculous things people come up to me to say about my bald head is.. ‘ You are so bold to cut all your hair...’ or ‘I could never pull off the bald look’ or worse still ‘ You have the for head it, it would not suit me..’ My piece of advise if you are trying to connect and be nice as you come acros...

Lately, I’ve been internally busy and rather neglectful in writing, but that doesn’t mean life and its vibrancy around me changed. While I try to make sense of things around going through perimenopause and find my new rhythms, there has been much to be grateful for. I apparently now have a new, updated look with no hair. There is a saying I will make up today… “If you need to cut off all your hair, your head shape will suit a bald look.” Now that I have accepted this state of affairs, I feel better and enough. But more about this and the adventures of hormones in another post. Someone challenged me last December in a coaching session to make this year count. It’s about time for me to visualise and see through some of my dreams and ambitions. When we come into this world, we often get swept up in the dreams and visions of others, so much so that remaining true to our unique sense of purpose gets lost along the way. So here I am deliberately going through the lost and found box and regat...

Much younger me at Sarova Panafric Hotel in the early 80s My early childhood memories are sprinkled with moments when I was left to my own devices. I was used, no scratch that,    I was resigned (is a more accurate description) to being left behind or on my own in the house for long stretches of time. It was not unusual to be the last to be picked up at school when each of my folks thought the other was doing the school run…the anxiety of being on the school grounds for hours on end lessened when I was older and able to walk home on my own. You see, the age gap between my siblings and I was more pronounced. We grew up in different eras. By the time I was knee-high, they were off to college and boarding school and so away from home for most of the time each year.   My folks were each grappling with their own internal existential crises at the time of my growing up.    They both had vastly different ways to cope that seemed to drift them further apart. Mum, a bor...