“Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks…” – Nelson Mandela
Would you like to see your Facebook memories?
Oh Lord. Okay. Just one more hit, then I will disable this feature.
And there he is.
Sidney-Jonah, at around two-years old… sitting in his pram on Strandfontein sports field.
And there I am, next to my burke, watching my son die of heatstroke.
“Why didn’t you send that lighty with your taani them?”
You are only as good as the company you keep.
And between Dora, Thaiba and the son of Charra-American, I was obviously scraping the bottom of the kus-biere.
But this memory lyn is only for context.
Fast forward into the future, and Lyle is gone.
The venom he spat onto another man’s two-year old only exists at the back of my mind.
And his own two-year old sits without him, in her pram…
Preparing to meet my new boyfriend….
I will explain shortly.
In my absence from the blogosphere, many transitions have occured, including my inner-self no longer dreading an imminent Valentines Day. [I will refrain from masturbating while watching ‘Love, Actually’. Unless Hugh Grant me forgiveness Lord].
Besides throwing myself into my feelings with wreckless abandon, my son started his ‘big school’ journey.
I dedicated a post to the trials of finding a fitting institution a while back. Every catholic school I applied to rejected the application on the grounds of ‘What’s his daddy’s name?’.
Apparently saying ‘I couldn’t hear his name over the club’s music’ was enough for a permanent Astigfirrulah.
“So, you don’t know anything about him?”
“Well, he had on a Kufiyah…. so…. just write Mogammat”.
So semi-public school will have to do for the unforseeable future. As dim as it now seems.
In any event, the first day I was amped and ready for the tears my son would spill as I walked away from his explosion in slow motion. We made our way to the gates and he ran in front of me.
There is a certain pride you feel when your children show confidence.
The grade R section was sufficiently kitted out with a jungle gym, sand pit and scantily clad teacher.
I up and downed her. She looked sleg enough for sid to feel right at home.
“Baby, come take a picture with mommy?”
He looked appalled by my ludicrous request.
“Mama, you can go now I’m fine”
And that was it.
The final moment of babyhood.
In a matter of seconds I remembered taking him home from the hospital, wishing he would grow up and get to school. I thought about the years I left him with my parents, and saw him once a week. I thought about the nights I sat up and wished I never had a baby. I then thought about the moments I cried in my room, and my four year old walked up to me, held his arms around my neck and said, ‘We don’t cry mama… we are strong.. “ after I had left him to be with a man who abused me.
And I cried as I left the gates.
It’s his turn to go out there without me, now.
Mom: “Moet jy nie nou jou periods kry nie?”
And that was the moment I realised my debaucherous living had not only traumatised me, but had also put my mother on perpetual menstruation watch.
Bel asseblief die Pussy-polisie. Shana het nie n fella- nie.
The transition into 2016 was unexpectedly romantic. Yes. My loins and icebox have been ignited, and not physically like that one time with the glue.
Apparently, the correct term isn’t relationshiT, but as I have told my newly acquired significant other, baby steps. [Oddly enough, this means, no more babies].
A transition of epic proportions, so soon after the death of my second child’s father, my move to courting a decent human being, after an array of secret add-naaierers has been tumultuous.
And as an act of respect to my loyal readers, I am going to do what I have been known to do for the better part of the last 12 months.
Below, for your perusal… everything:
Now, any good story needs to start from a ridiculously irrelevant background story.
In 2010, when I was pregnant with Sidney-Jonah. I was 128kg’s and trying to start a singing career on the Cape Flats.
Regardless, with the blind support of about seven members of the St. Phillips Catholic Church [Pre- ‘kruip in julle poes’ era], a group of praise-and-worshipers was started by the youth, and I was their husky vocalist.
I have always been drawn to the dark side, possibly the reason why I was the only pregnant and unwed member of the choir. [To the church I attended at the time, there was nothing kwaai-a bout me.]
Most of the members of my group were the spawn of the catholic elite, so we were allowed to use the facilities- even though I was part of the project.
I was well into my third trimester, when one of our members suggested we invite fellow artists from around Cape Town to collaborate on some music. We wanted to up our game, which I supposed meant network with artists, and you know, give birth.
I had big dreams for the next move. We had meeting after meeting and scoured the internet for likeminded youth. I was going to be the next Pam Andrews.
And after a few weeks, we settled on three naaiers from Eastridge.
What not to do, 101. [Yes, that was Pam Andrews joke. Apparently, you’re too young for me bro].
Their group’s name, ‘Contagious Few’. The name was contraception enough. Or so you would think. You know I love a challenge.
These were average boys from what my mind had isolated as the ghetto. I only liked vuilgatte from Ottery and up at the time. Being overweight, and over the wait to kak Sidney-Jonah, I didn’t even pay attention to the very attractive rapper/ producer who was a born again christian.
[Do I really need to stoop to wordplay regarding ‘born again’?]
I wasn’t completely oblivious to his boyish smile, and almost feminine eyes… and you know… fiance. I had had my fair share of ‘did you naai my burke?’ moments, and is borne that would have happened again.
Regardless, we made no contact other than music.
[Side Note: This mahn has been your friend since 2010. Thanks Facebook].
Years passed, with the odd ‘awe my bru, how is your life?’. And so we remained- almost strangers.
Then, life fell apart for us both.
His fiance cheated on him. Lyle was Lyle. And we exchanged a few messages about the pain of existence.
We grew closer, and in a moment of utter bliss…
He started dating my best friend.
Woosah a big poes? You are, baby.
In an unrelated incident [or so she would have one believe], my best friend of four years decided that she was no longer ‘ride or die’, and we parted ways. She started her own makeshift company, and now emulates my life as a B-character in her own spin-off show.
I noticed a lack of Facebook activity from Eastridge-boy and messaged a simple ‘Hey, how are you?’ …And we ended up at Canal walk on a platonic shopping excursion to discuss the demise of his relationships, and how the father of my child [and the love of my life] had recently been skewered.
I suppose close proximity, and his relentless messaging at ungodly hours regarding my well-being melted my frozen soul, or Elsa wouldn’t have agreed to a date.
I know that was a cheap shot. ‘Let it go…… Let it go………’.
Besides never being out with a man who had a job, I finally related to happier Beyonce songs. With my exes, in the back of my mind I always kept repeating ‘Drake wouldn’t treat me like this’.
I went from a tormented Rihanna to a jovial Spice girl.
If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.
“You know, we’re dating right?”
“You know I have two kids, right?”
*This is a developing story.
Me: I met someone.
Mom: Nou wie is die ou?
Is die nie dinges se berkie?
Me: Sigh. It’s complicated.
Mom: Ne. Nou wiet hy jys n bitch?
Me: Ja, en n jintu.
Jonah hates my laptop.
On a particularly needy evening, he closed it while I was mid-work. My anger dissipated when I saw the look on his face, however.
“Mama, no work tonight”
I wish life was that simple.
I thought he was dozing off when he blindsided me, with emotions I haven’t felt since September.
“…………..is your boss a bully?”
The question, for once, left me perplexed. “Why would you ask me that baby?”
“He always makes you work. Morning night morning night….. Is your boss a bully like uncle Lyle?”
The question pierced my heart.
Someone has been taking notes.
In the four years that I was with Lyle, jonah saw him hit me twice. Both of these instances occurred after Rose was born.
The demise of my self-respect was something my son was never supposed to see. And when I am ready, the details of being raped and beaten while my son slept next to me will be divulged, right here where I bear my entire soul… weakly.
But I looked at him, and for the first time I could make a promise that I was better, and stronger and would never put him in danger again. I recognised the maturity in me. I was no longer ‘Just a hoe’.
“No baby, he isn’t a meany. He pays me and I get to buy toys for you. And mommy will never bring a bully home again…”
“Mama…”, he asked me with his eyes closed…. ” and your new boyfriend? What is his name?”
“I told you baby, his name is…….”
I don’t need a PHD to tell you about my life.
But, you didn’t think I’d give it all up on our first date did you?
I am Shana
I am stronger