I would not change my childhood for anything in the world. I grew up in the ghetto, the hood, the township. Although I spent most of my days being chased by dogs, nursing a cut or walking around with salt at night  in fear of Tokoloshes or Pinky Pinky.

 I sometimes envy my relatives and friends who dont know whats it like being woken up at 5h00 on a Saturday morining by a neighbor who wants to borrow sugar, milk and three tea bags. These people actually have no limts when it comes to borrowing I have a friend borrowed a bikini one sunny December morning. Shocked I asked her what she needed it for and she boldly told me that there is a beach trip and she knows I have  ROXY bikini she wouldnt mind wearing (Shoot me for investing in my Decembers!)

Days were short and nights were too long back then. I could not wait to wake up. Play in the sand, play Jam Alley and play Generations. Oh and how I dreaded being called home for a bath afterwards.

Living there got less pleasant as I grew up. All thanks to one word: NEIGHBORS!

Its a Saturday morning and all you want to do is study for an upcoming  accounting test you are writting on Monday but not so... The neighbor on your left is throwing out furniture because of a squabble he had with his wife about the new leadership in the ANC. The neighhbor on your  right has taken his DVD speakers out, Playing his house music on maximum while mowing the lawn the neighbors on your far right are having a braai and no you are not bitter because you were not invited, its just rude having a braai!

We even had a neighbor who would throw a fit if you saw him sitting on his stoep reading ILANGA and you made the fatal mistake of not greeting him. He once chased around his neice with a sjambok around the neighborhood because she drank his juice.

It wouldnt of been the ghetto without all the conspiracy theories about witchraft and the real reason so and so's son dissappeared from the face of the earth. My favourite one had to be when the well known business man died. Kids loved him, women threw themselves at him and the men: well go figure. It was one of the worse times for his family and the neighborhood. You could hear the drunkards wallpwing in self pity, where they going to get loans from. His mansion was later repossesed by the bank leaving his wife and children on the streets (well not really, ghetto folk make a plan) I was not really surprised when we later heard that he is actually living it up in Spain with his newlyfound  protege.

I am going to make better memories though, whereever I go. My life there although not glamourous and fabulous was funfilled and full of lessons. The two best lessons I will treasure: Sometimes life is best not taken too seriously and oh YES! never leave your washing out during the night.

Why I need a car

Noone has suffered as much as I have when it comes to public transport. Yes, public transport is a great service overseas but South Africa is a different story.So I have compiled a list for God of ten reasons why having a car wouldnt be such a bad idea:


• You wait for a century for a taxi that looks like will get you to your destination safely

• The music Is playing so loud even your thoughts are vibrating

• Then you sit next to some guy who smells GREAT (not) who makes small talk at every chance given

• You have to count  your change and you happened to hate math in high school (like what the hell is  R20-R7)

• They always drop you off at least five minutes walk before your desired destination

• They make you sit at the back because you are “skinny” with three folks three times your size

• Some idiot will open the window when its freaking zero degrees outside

• They always play the nice songs just before you jump off

• People who know they are likely to jump off first sit at the back, and everyone has to move up for them

• You are praying for dear life for the duration of your ride like where the hell did these people get their licenses from?!

So God,  If you are reading, I really need a car. I am not being picky but a peugeot 308 CC would do just fine for starters.

Thanks,
Your loving humble daughter, Me!

Matric Dance Catastrophe

My matric dance, an evening so meticulously planned way before I even started high school was a disappointment to say the least. I remember thinking I should have stayed at home and watched the evening news. (There is nothing like good old ANC to cheer a girl up). Everything that could have gone wrong went horribly wrong.



My matric dance was a family affair. My aunt, a dressmaker was given the task of sewing my dress if I knew then what I know now I would have gladly bought an affordable dress from MR PRICE. While my aunt is very passionate about her job, she rarely listens to instructions. I had asked for a long dress, with a fishtail and a belt. Well the dress I wore to my matric dance although fairly cute was very different to my request. Aunt dearest sewed a two piece which also happened to be a stomach out. Yip! middle of winter and all. To say I almost froze to death would be an underestimation. Although at the time freezing to death was the least of my worries, I had to suck my tummy in the whole evening. Pure agony!


Even though my dress was not as disastrous as it could have been, my date was! He was a blind date that my aunt knew from church. My mother told my aunt and everyone who cared to listen that I like light skinned guys (which of course was not true). It so happened that my aunt knew a guy from her church who was “very well mannered and behaved, nothing like the youth today”. If anyone from high school forgets me, at least they will remember my date. I never really heard the end of it and especially after word got around school that he was a teacher at a nearby unruly school. He was old, short, round and light skinned. I hardly said anything to him and I pretty much deserted him. I spent the evening in the bathroom, chatting to people’s dates and getting away from cameras.


My hair was a depressing sight. The lady who was doing my hair was sickly, this is not me being sarcastic she really was coughing and stopping every two minutes to catch her breath and my scalp was on fire as a result. Not only did my hair not look anything like I had requested but I was also late and I missed the principal’s speech... even though I doubt I’m going to be wondering about what he said that evening one day on my death bed.


The entire evening was spent looking at the time. The food was of no comfort either. I hardly ate (mostly because the circumstances would not allow me to stomach any food) we had juice on our table, yes good old diluted juice in a glass jug.


I was a fool to think that my matric dance would be compensation for the miserable time I had endured in high school. Unlike in the movies where the nerdy girl gets this hunky guy as her date, looks absolutely breathtaking and has the time of her life at her dance, the nerdy girl in this case regretted every second of every moment leading up to the fateful night. It was a friendly reminder that my life was not a movie that my happiness is not dependant on circumstances and most importantly blind dates are a bad idea! These are lifelong lessons I will take to the grave with me.