“What Is It?” Part 2

Is it a headdesk?—is it a facepalm?—is it a handcheek? Heck, I don’t know what it is this time. You decide.
– [Read Part 1]
Double Facepalm Diasporadical

I should have just walked out. Except I couldn’t. I was going crazy wondering how much crazier this bunch of people could get. I had to know. So I opened my mouth. Again.

‘But these men who beat up women…what exactly is their problem?’ I asked. Continue reading

Of Societal Obligations

BY AKELLOVE

Weddings

With age comes wedding committees. Now there’s a valuable adage my mother forgot to tell me. This could prove to be problematic, seeing as I don’t particularly enjoy weddings. I mean, yeah, the dancing is cool, and maybe the groomsmen will be cute, but it’s just really tiring at the end of the day. Kinda like a funeral. Sorry. (In my defense, in the olden days, black was worn to weddings and white to funerals. There must have been a reason, right? One saying you poor sucker and the other you lucky bugger. Go figure.)

The reasons I don’t like weddings vary in their intensity and depth. Continue reading

What is it?

Is it a headdesk? Is it a facepalm? Is it a handcheek? No, it’s just the sourest of grapes. Apparently.


Namaste.

So when, for some reason, I am feeling rather uninspired and I can’t think of anything decent to write about, I walk into the nearest semi-public space and say something most people in there won’t want to hear. Something that will get them pissed enough to offer to kill me, even. Pissed enough to, say, get my number from heaven-knows-where and send me texts like, ‘OK. I have Hepatitis B pellets and a guillotine. What will it be?’

Thus, I walked into the adjacent room, mouthed a few hellos, sat down and applied myself to the task of reading the youngest-looking magazine I could find. Or rather, I pretended to apply myself to the task of reading. After about five minutes, I abandoned the magazine, affected a facial expression (and body posture) of supreme boredom and then opened my mouth.

‘Marriage is sooo overrated. Women can be alone without being lonely. It is not unheard of.’

I might as well have said, ‘Cue system prompt. Open floodgate 1. I’m asking for it.’ Continue reading

Five Reasons Why Matriarchy is a Minority

As I was having breakfast this morning, I bumped into a documentary on KBC. What? I was channel surfing and I saw a guy climbing a tea tree. Anyway, I watched for maybe an hour, because I like documentaries. In that one hour, I saw a pretty girl on a horse, naked men doing the twist on tea leaves, and a 16 year-old crying because of forced marriage. He was a guy. Continue reading

AGNES, YOU’RE THE MAN!

Dear Agnes,

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD!"

Consider this your 1,000,000th fan mail. Yup, you’re my winner!! Actually, you stole my heart. You captured my attention and captivated my mind while Ciku busted you on live national radio. Seriously girl, you did it! Whatever your reasons, you courageously stepped into male territory and did what a man would do and not get the kind of heat coming your way – you cheated and got caught. Continue reading

Adoption? Listen, I’m Not Trying That At Home

There are certain people…

Knowing them, being friends with them, means it’s sorta compulsory to know a bunch of other people and have some sort of nodding acquaintanceship with them.

So, I know this chick, and for some reason she always knows a good number of white people Caucasians people who turn red when they are embarrassed. At any given time, she knows at least six. A nirvana-bound hippie tourist. A lone-wolfish expat that’s having trouble sleeping at night. A vet on a $500-a-day vacation in Africa Uganda. An engineer without borders. A do-gooder that’s considering cycling from Cairo to Port Elizabeth to raise money for charity. In addition, an ex-supremacist that’s hell-bent on diluting his Caucasian genes by bedding and subsequently marrying a Negro local.

She is like the True North for white people Caucasians people who turn red when they are embarrassed. They flock to her, I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because she is like one of those éclairs—dark brown on the outside, but creamy white on the inside. Perhaps it is because she is like Eminem, but with the polarities reversed. I don’t know why, truly.

All I know is that hanging out with her and her friends equals hanging out with a range of [dis]beliefs, [non]proofs and [mis]judgements. Sometimes it’s fun. Sometimes it isn’t. Continue reading