"You remember, when sitting there braiding your daughter’s hair that she looks a lot like you at her age and like your mother and your grandmother before her. She is going to school. “Always use your 10 fingers" your mother told you when your father took you out of school. "What is the use of school to a girl who cooks and cleans? A kitchen scholar?" But the resistance of your ancestors boiling in you, kept the spirit alive. You use your 10 fingers, gripping the contours of a pen to write words for women." - Poto Mitan
You’re playing house in Kindergarten.
You’ve got the cutest Fisher Price pink house, plenty of plastic food, and a cool slide too, all at your disposal. And then you have a baby.
Well shit, how did this get here?
Too bad the Teddy Grams in your pocket are of limited supply. Splitting your free snack break milk is going to be a challenge too.
And what happens when it’s nap time? Classtime? Recess?
Shit’s about to get real.
What, they never or told you this while playing with your dollies?
Babies aren’t baby dolls.
Oh South Africa, I miss your mackerel in oxtail soup, yam dishes, peanut butter greens, curry chicken, pap, nochies (sp?), ruskies, and bush tea. Num num num num num.
Temptation is our ex we still have feelings for, sensibility is our deadbeat parent and relapse is our friend to call at three in the morning.
Most days I don’t want the world to see how much of a mess I am. Other days I want to let everyone know and see if they’ll run away.
Why can’t all my favorite people and all my favorite places just exist in the same place?
You mean my life back home doesn’t have all of the people and luxuries, the (mostly) accepting atmosphere and beautiful landscapes that I got used to away?