“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” – Edmund Burke

“What is the warmest part in a dead baby’s body?”

“My piel”, kindest regards, the internet.

As a journalist, scrolling through hundreds of headlines is a daunting part of my job.

“Couple caught while trying to conceive a baby-toy”.

Brain processing information.


An Ex police officer and his girlfriend were infiltrated while trying to conceive a baby, in order to rape it.


Somewhere in meeting each other, falling in love and deciding to fall pregnant, they founded their mutual desire to rape infants.


Now, I understand from an academic perspective that the human psyche is a product of environments and other variables… But as these two were essentially strangers before pursuing any romantic avenues, when exactly did the conversation emerge?

Over smoothies?

“Mmhm, I love Young gooseberries..”

“It’s funny you should say that….”

Or perhaps in bed someone said;

“you know what would make this better? ………”

Were they suddenly broody after years of dating and finally decided to have a baby? Then one day one turned to the other and said, “Do you think once our child is born, we should naai it?”.

While psycho number 2 replied..



Now, I am hardly one to offer a disclaimer, but if I have upset you, I amicably suggest that you stop reading (and in conjunction, breeding) as the realities I am about to divulge are in fact just that, reality.

I am a journalist.

This translates to Many things.

To some, it is synonymous with glamour, exclusive access and photo shoots.

To others, and most recently to myself, the word is synonymous to Hol-borsel.

I sieve through hours of bile that no one else wants to swallow, in spite-sized chunks.

My offering this week is of a slightly different nature.


That moment your ex bf emails all your naked pics to your technologically-wii’tarded mother, is the moment that you understand that your family is devoid of all emotion.

“Shana wat is die?”

“I think that’s my vagina mommy.”

“Ooh. Nou hoe kry dit dan my gmail se nommer?”


Growing up on the Cape Flats (Don’t roll your eyes, this is the expected precursor to all award winning tales)..

I’ll start again.

Growing up on the Cape Flats, I saw the mediocre of our society interact with each other.

I saw them interact with each other. And very importantly, I saw them interact with their kids.

And only in retrospect do I see how we as a society have allowed our children…. To be naaid.

I say Naaid because that is what is happening.

Nobody is making consensual love to our toddlers.

And we #gasp and make furious Facebook status’s.

We like links. We share posts.

And then, because of our selfish nature, we go to bed, as if the naaiing stops while we sleep… Till righteous indignation rapes us in a week or two.

And then, consequently, we share more posts.

It’s the same with feeding the hungry.

“Would you like to add a R2 to your R500 kentucky order to feed a hungry child, sir?”

#Gasp. #RighteousIndignation.

Fuck the hungry people in Africa. I am the hungry people in Africa.

I’m hungry. 

I’m in Africa. 

And this naai don’t wanna give my Kentucky.

And if you do donate that wallet-wrenching R2, you take your Barrel, fully loaded, ready to commit coronary suicide… And drive past the four or five hungry children who are actually in your immediate vicinity.

Because, fuck them… That’s why.

“They all have a choice you know.. (Munch munch munch sip) … I saw that lightie before… (Chew chew) he tik… His parents died and they used to sell him to get drugs (laugh chew sip light entjie…) Kak mad. (Exhale) But I usually give. I then gave him ten rand last week. What did he do with it? You can’t help everyone man. (Burp).

Kryp in your greasy, obese Poes.

A noteworthy digression to my families hereditary iceboxes, while sitting in the TV room one weakday evening, I suffered from child-induced mucosis…

I had nursed both of my children back to life, and in the process, contracted whatever creche-demons they had played conduit to.

Not particularly in the mood for Sidney Jonah’s shenanAgainAndAgainAndAgains, I switched him off during an advert that he motions to every time it airs.

Nataniel, the White-Afrikaans communities most successful embarrassment stands on your TV screen at peak hour straight-facedly promoting Prime Wors.

Swallow the irony.

I am now compelled to quote a meme and avoid a joke by admitting that I was going to tell one.. BUTT fuck it.

In any event, at this point Sidney coughed and I did what every self respecting coloured mother naturally would do..

I fetched the Vicks.

If you are unfamiliar with the Vicks phenomenon.. It has been the afro-eclectic (read: gham) remedy for anything from whooping cough to a low battery since around 1990.

While sneering him uit, I went a bit too close to his eye and he started screaming like I had maimed his fucking cornea.. To which I politely whispered. . .” Don’t be a bunny”.

My mother heard.


“Daai is fokken abuse….”.

And then it hit me. (Get it.. Cos it’s abuse).

Our kneejerk reactions seem innocent, but every word we silently whisper, even under our breathe to our offspring is the difference between whether they grow up to be mentally healthy.. Or whether they grow up and pick a baby up by the feet and start moering the mother with it.

Are we ever going to discuss that incident?

Let me put the current State of our Nation into perspective for you. Feel free to walk out. 

In the past few months several nannies have been caught on camera fist fighting 2 year olds. . couples have been incarcerated for either starving and maiming their own children or planning to spawn their own sex-toy and then kill it. A creche was caught tying babies who have started walking to unsanitary toilets and a 1 week old was found in a bin on a dump-site.

But all that’s trending in my news feed is that Die Antwoord said Drake is a faggot.

And Kanye West is a malnaai.

And there’s a fire on the mountain..run…run.

But I digress, the reason we allow our kids to be naaid (I will keep saying Naaid until you are sufficiently angered to either report me_ which will contribute an accumulative fokol to society…


… till you put your hand in the paper compartment of your wallet (By essentially taking it out of your hol)……….and start helping the organisations that don’t sleep at night..

And find the kids who are chained to beds, in the cold, far away from Mama and Dada because they were stolen, so that not-so-well-adjusted people can make videos of them being raped and murdered to sell to people who really need to take a skommel…)…..

Is because we ignore them.. Resulting in one of two things:

A) while we aren’t looking, they go missing forever.

B) while we aren’t looking, they miss important developmental steps that only come from healthy parent/ child interaction and they become the perpetrators who end up skommeling to vicarious images of their lost childhood.

Look up from your WhatsApp Tracy, your lightie is walking behind you in the Promenade….


Upon entering the glass doors of my former office, I was bemused as the Woodstock youths huddled in the corner of our entrance.

“Whats happening guys?”, I noticed how I immediately became an unrelatable aunty, hipper than a pelvis.

“No. We waiting for the last year matrics to write their papers from overs.”

“Uh huh. Aren’t you guys writing?”

Huge dignified laughter.

“No aunty. We did pass.”


Just like we have underestimated the teaching of the English language in schools, I reiterate that we as a society neglect the effects that mental illness has on us at a community.

We do nothing to educate kids.

We do nothing to ensure their mental health.

We buy them vriete and hope they watch Ceebeebees so we can Facebook/twitter/read some irrelevant naaier’s blogs in peace.

And what is the result?

A generation of sociopaths who cannot even read the contra-indications on their Anti-depressant prescriptions.

What do you get when you nail a dead baby to a tree? An erection.

I am open to many things. I have to be, or i’ll be prosecuted.

“Shana, you better love the gays, and the blacks, and the foreigners, especially the gay black foreigners who have our jobs, okay? Don’t question anyone with a belief system/education level/ hair texture different to yours.”

“Please stop saying “it stinks like Poes” at the gym.”

“Please dress properly, that people is saved”.

“Don’t rock the boat,bite the hand or any other euphemism that makes the proverbial “they” uncomfortable..”


And I was willing to make these concessions on a daily basis, until I realized that this is exactly what the problem is. 

The inhumane condition is just making a cornucopia of concessions and rationalizations so that we are convinced that we are helping, while we do nothing.

An entire race of inactive good intentions.

Always offended and never offensive, and passive and accepting to the point of letting people molest our kids.

Because essentially, when we do nothing.. We are giving them permission, right?



But alas, my righteous, dignified rant feels irrelevant, while presently we all look at the mountain in hopes that the fire changes colour, or magical unicorns emerge.

A great distraction from societal issues.. It feels pertinent but not too intrusive…


Let’s all send canned goods to Fishhoek and cough emphatically in the train…

I am a journalist.

I am not sure how many more articles I can write about one motherfucking blaze.

But all I can ask is “Fellow South Africans, waar brandt it regtag?”…

I’m gonna go with………

In every molested toddler’s genitals.

Only… I just don’t think Vicks is going to cut it this time.

I don’t have a PHD

Nobody even donates R2 to feed a hungry child because that R2 is then for a losse entjie.. Hoe is jy dan?

Share this post. Fuckit share its contents and don’t even add my link or my name. Let this initiative spread like wild-fire.. I have no more fiery metaphors… Just fucking Do something.

I am just Shana

I am just fertile

I am just a hoe… With babies


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