Miss Kay's Way

[misskaysway]

First day of school

This day is exciting, daunting, exhilarating and this year, I added fun to it. Mine was extra special because I hadn’t managed to raise the full school fees to get my children admitted into school - outstanding fees 🥺 the drunk uncle who always manages to ruin every celebration.

It was only a day before school opening that I managed to pay in what was required of me. Isn’t it amazing how the internet decides to be slow, the phone rings and no one picks up, you reach your daily limit even though you haven’t transacted in ages or banking online decides to go on maintenance on the day you need all these things to work? By the time I could send the POP it was late for me to speak to the bursar to arrange for the kids to join their mates on the annual bonding camp.

Have you ever met a mother hen protecting her chicks? I was in full gear and ready for war. I swapped the heels for comfortable takkies. The afro was nicely tucked in under a matching cap and I still put on a beautiful black dress to boost the confidence and simmer down the anxiety - we must confuse the enemy. 

When I reached the bursars office, a line had already gathered momentum and I was not willing to sit, let alone stand in the queue. Hang on 😳 90% of the people in the queue were women? Where are the fathers? Kuri ✋🏽right now is not time to assess the reasons for the lack of men in the queue leading to the bursar.

I decided to change direction and head to the college reception to speak to the HOD. I like the HOD, she has always responded to my sometimes-stupid questions with such kindness. I remember a time when they miscalculated my daughter’s math mark and she missed out on an award. The lady apologized profusely when she realized the error that the class teacher had made. 

With a stroke of God’s goodness, when I got to the reception, I came across the school principal talking to another gentleman. How I envied the casual and warm rapor this man seemed to have with the school principal and I could feel the green eyed monster 🤢slowly creep up my backside when I was startled back to reality by the principal saying: “morning mam, I received your email and wrote to the bursar and administrator notifying them that they can let the kids go to camp.” How could he steal my moment? I was ready to beg, scream and kick until I was dragged across the lawn, with my weave stuck to my toe.....WAIT 😮, did he say it’s ok? And where would the weave come from, Kuri? Please stop your attention seeking behaviors, today is not the day. With a sigh of relief, I thanked the principal, and headed home. 

I arrived at home just in time to pick up the happy campers and speed back to the school. 

With the kids safe and snug in their respective buses, I took a moment to look around and I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight that confronted me. The school grounds, looked like a war zone - the guns were replaced by school bags of different shapes and sizes, the soldiers were parents trying to win the battle of getting their children in class safely with all 10 fingers and toes on the first day of school and the commanders were the teachers trying to speak over the loud voices of screaming children, issuing one instruction over the other, the line to the bursar looked like the emergency room of the broken and bruised....and then there was me.....The Russian, right in the middle of it, the one that got her kids into a bus to camp. 

Motherhood is a war zone - may I add, parenting because there are fathers doing their best in such cases. Take joy in all that parenting brings. It’s not the absence of trouble that we experience joy however it’s the presence of Christ amidst those troubles. Everyone is fighting a battle, others more than the other. Don’t allow your circumstances to silence you, paralyze you, overwhelm you because IT’S NOT ALWAYS ABOUT YOU! Even in instances when we’ve done all that is right, all that we can do, bad things can happen to good people. Find the funny side in all things and life will be more enjoyable or at least bearable 🙌🏽💃🏽🤸🏽‍♀️

[misskaysway]

Year of the 80′s babies

It’s a whole mood, I say. I turn 40 this year - I’m not 40 yet, I’m going to turn 40. One of my friends, who lives across the seas said: “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned. It will be too much for social media to bear ” It’s FOMO written all over this statement. There’s a lot that excites me about this point in my life because I have a lot going for me. In my 20s I was curious about what would become of me and so I dedicated much of my time to reading, learning and figuring things out. I started my company in my 20s, got married and had kids at the same time. That’s what we call an adventure and I loved it. All of this gave me purpose and I put my heart and soul in it. It’s very exciting to start a family, build a career and make loads of money young however it can also be overwhelming for an underweight, highly optimistic and ambitious young woman.  It was my 30s that were exhilarating, a roller coaster ride of note. I tried everything, traveled almost everywhere, uprooted and rerouted. I had near misses and heart stoppers. Major decisions were made in my thirties. We were two and then it was me. I learned about fetal position after I found myself in that state because my body needed to protect itself due to extreme physical and psychological trauma. My fetal position became a tale, me and a friend would laugh over as we replayed and relayed the events leading to it. Now when we face challenges, we giggle and say maybe we should voluntarily go into the fetal position.  I moved provinces, my business went bust, liquidated to be exact - the hardest, traumatic yet rewarding and greatest blessing I experienced. I went back to school and started to single handedly raise children. I cut my hair to grow an afro, long before it became fashionable - (it was initially a financial and cosmetic necessity - financial management 101 🤷🏽‍♀️). I jokingly woke up and ran 5km and never looked back. I now run the comrades marathon and maybe it’s time I looked back . I stopped drinking alcohol for 4 years (not that I was ever a heavy drinker, I just chose to be sober so that I can listen attentively to the pain of life and get over it quickly). I decided to do strength training to gain that 5kg that my doctor requested of me and I was tired of being classified anorexic by my nitendo wii - apparently, 47kg is not a healthy weight. I’m sitting comfortably at an additional 3kg and fighting for that elusive 2kg. Skinny girls also have weight problems guys 🥺 - we should talk about this. I now dance and sing not because I can but because I want to, mostly in front of my mirror. Laughing and smiling is no longer my default position but my only position - it helps with my morning beauty regiment so I spend less on face masks, trying to get rid of the wrinkles caused by unnecesary, excessive frowning. I write secret love notes to my children and force them to take pictures and videos so that I can look at them when I miss them. I hang out with a friend some Friday nights at a “white club” because he is the only one who enjoys dancing to so called “white people” music like I do - maybe it’s because we never mastered the vosho and no white person there will turn around and go: hahaha you can’t dance. And as I wrap up the 30s, I realize I’m calmer and more self assured. I love spending my time cooking and eating - hard to believe but I do. I run, whether I feel like it or not because once I’ve run, I am content. I started a blog, for no one in particular except that I enjoy writing and I release positive energy as I pen my thoughts and experiences. I love my own company and I have days I binge on Netflix, read books or simply start a debate on one of the chat groups I belong to. My kids catch me laughing alone or spaced out into what my best friend calls “Kuri land” My evenings are spent listening to my teenage daughter as she shares her escapades and in the little stories, I figure out who is her latest crush and what’s the next frightening thing she’s preparing me for. My son on the other hand is forever negotiating and cooking up a scheme or two that will bring him extra cash or how the playstation can be reinstated or how he can have a play date that will definitely break a vase or two. And when I do finally get time to myself, I grab a glass of red and chat to my best friend for hours on nothing really except that we enjoy each other’s company. So my 40th will not be a single event, it will be an experience, mostly filled with surprises that will span a whole year, heck I’m Kuri, let’s say, the whole decade. As I start the count down, I’m ready for the next chapter of my life and to live life as Kuri knows it 🤸🏽‍♂️

[misskaysway]

Today I’m a mother to a 16 year old. The thought of being responsible for a human being still overwhelms me.

If you knew what goes through my brain, you wouldn’t trust me with anything that breathes but God has different ideas. I guess the old man saw something that I seem to discover daily as I raise this child.

I used to change diapers as if it’s a roads planning meeting. Where is that mat, did they say the powder comes before or after the bum is wiped. It was a project and there were specifications and procedures that needed to be followed. Follow procedure Kuri and the kid will be ok, I would tell myself.

She was a calm one this one. Never said a word, sat on the car seat with hands clasped as if she’s praying - Lord, if I make it with this mother, I will dedicate my life to serving you. I think that’s the prayer because with a mother who doesn’t sit still, I see Uber receipts, lift clubs, early morning door slams as she rushes off to a prayer walk, Homecell and other church stuff she does and that confirms that she made a pray very similar to that one. I think it’s working out for her because she bursts through my bedroom door to tell me one story after the other with eyes beaming and a wide smile that only says, life’s good.

She’s a communicator this one and before you say anything, she doesn’t take it from me. She has a mouth full of words that I also don’t know where they come from so it can’t be me. I don’t know when that voice got unleashed but she has not stopped talking ever since. I have 5 set of ears to manage her. I had to borrow ears from my parents and friends because I couldn’t keep up. After a long day of fighting corporate South Africa, my head can’t always absorb everything.

She’s a bully, yes she is and before you point fingers, she doesn’t get it from me either. The only reason her brother is still alive, still in school and managing to pass, is because she’s the self appointed mother hen. I don’t escape the bullying tendencies, nooo. I get told how to discipline my own child. Mummy, if Kulani doesn’t get his act together, tell him you’ve reached your last straw and you’ll leave him at a random traffic light to find his way in life. Instead of confidently saying I’ve got this mothering thing together, I whimper and say but I try, I threaten him, I even promised to take him out but he still plays video games the whole day and doesn’t brush his teeth, what can I do. She then spins around, switches the tv off, confiscates the cellphone and we are all banned to our study desks to study and read a book.

She’s compassionate and has empathy. Recently, she came and told me maybe she’s a bit hard on her brother and I’m like really? You only figuring this out now? Didn’t say it out loud since I’m the child in this conversation. You know mummy, I must learn to encourage him more. You know he responds well when Aunty Chantel tells him he will look good if he puts a little more effort. I’m like go on...from now on mummy, I’m going to be a sister that encourages instead of threatens and I’m like heaven, you did all this on your own, I did nothing but ngiyabonga.

She loves nature, art and being herself. She mixes her own face masks, loves her natural hair and insists on speaking Tsonga. She self taught by the way because listen “I’m mixed, of color 🤪” yes Tsonga is my mother tongue - no guys my mother is Sotho, Mupulane. Why didn’t you say father tongue, it would have made sense in my brain. The confusion in my speech started right there. My mum and dad are still correcting my speech til today so jaa, I won’t take credit for her Tsonga speaking because I’m terrible but I try.

She’s full of jokes this one and that humorous side is not me at all. We get front row seats daily to some comedy show and skits she does at random. Her favorite past time is to mimic my parents - how they drive the car, speak on the phone, basically, being themselves is funny in her eyes. She takes random pictures of me and her brother and captions them with a comment that simply says we are jokes to her.

I love her. She’s quick to give a hug and say I’m sorry. Please and thank you, are her best friends and I love you is her butter on warm bread. She reminds me of birthdays and special moments. She can sit the whole day and make cards out of nothing and makes sure her brother has the costume that’s needed at school the next day. She nurses me back to health when I’m sick and my hype man when I’m low on energy.

She loves me too by the way, she said it just a couple of hours ago after I fetched her from a hackathon. Yeah, you thought she’s a teen and stopped giving me kisses. I still get them, thank you. I used to get notes on my bed and now I receive secret messages on my phone, at random times in the day and it warms my heart. It can get deep sometimes and I’m sat down on the bed to be told how amazing I am and shouldn’t lose courage. I can do all I set my mind to. You are a great role model mummy and I’m proud of you. Now those words I recognize. Last time I heard them, I was saying them - maybe I’m hearing echoes but then again it’s her voice that makes me know it’s real.

She’s my daughter guys and I wouldn’t trade her for anything. So here’s to Ndzalama becoming 16, buckle up coz the ride is going to be exhilarating!

[misskaysway]

The Original Beauty Therapist

My mother like many women in the township, is the original day spa owner and beauty therapist. It used to cost me nothing except arriving at 18:00 every night after a hard day in the streets playing bantu with my friends. It was hardly voluntary. Sometimes it came with threats and ear pulling but I would arrive, nonetheless.

I would find a bath tub filled with steaming hot water, that would require me to suspend myself mid-air, with only the tip of my toes touching the water for a good 5 minutes and my little beating heart hoping that her preparation of the “necessary” event that’s about to take place, will take longer than usual so that this water can cool down a bit more.

She would lay out all her wares next to this shiny silver steel tub and I knew it’s about to be a session that might relax her but would leave my exhausted body lifeless and bedtime, the most desirable place to be. Who can forget the stone that was used to scrub the feet? I believe that was taken straight out of Nsami dam with my name on it. As she scrubbed those tiny feet, I would hear her say passionately:

Kurisani u ta va nhwana wa njhani na magwaru? (what young woman, would become of you, with cracked heels?)…A wu mbali tintanghu, a wu rhandi ku hlamba, hayi man! (you don’t put on shoes, you don’t bath - what is “hayi man” in english? aahh well...) A ni nwu rhandi nwana wa thyaka! (I don’t like a dirty child!)

My feet were just the entrée, as the french would say. Soon enough, we would explore my back and I knew the time was arriving when her hand will exert more pressure on the body and at that point, her words came with more force and a higher pitch than normal.

I’m telling you; her fingers ran down my spinal cord area with a force that would propel a spaceship into orbit and her actions were accompanied by words that sounded like she was talking about someone else.

You were born light (really, me?) vona se u ntimile? (look at you now, you are dark). That’s the skin tone I’ve known all my life…dark and nothing else - I would retort in my head. ithaka leri Kurisani (this is dirt, Kurisani), she would say as she extends her hand as if to show me the dirt that she has peeled off my back. A wu hlambi Kurisani! (you don’t bath Kurisani). At that moment, she had lost me. This woman bathed me every night. She must not be doing a good job of it, if that’s how she views the works of her hands, my little brain would answer back.

I knew we had offloaded some “weight” and we were in orbit when I would hear her say - Ni ta fanela ku ku hlambisa, hi ku a wu basi (I will have to bathe you because you don’t clean yourself properly). The next thing, I would be adjusted in the bath tub as if there was room for me to get comfortable. And before I knew it, a gushing flood of water will hit me on the top of the head. As I try to catch my breath, another would hit me again and I would feel my body vibrate and my lungs search for the little oxygen I’m allowed to inhale. As one last flood comes, I’m like, Jesus take me right now, I’m dead anyway.

Atleast her day spa didn’t provide detox packages but man, my aunt didn’t let me escape. Every June holidays when I get shipped to my grandmother and of course would visit my aunt, I would get a detox before I’m accepted as a guest in the “Inn”. I remember that bowl filled with water that was a shade of grey and some strange green with a piece of equipment that would administer whatever that concoction was, straight up my bum as if nothing will get unsettled in there. Just the sight of it got me unsettled anyway but let me tell you, this children’s right thing is a new trend. My right at that moment, was to accept the fate that was ahead of me - with a smile.

I will get to spend the rest of that beautiful day in a pit toilet and I would dream of faraway places that were made of gold toilet seats, shiny floors and aunties who saw my insides as clean as Cindarella’s glass slippers.

Now and then I would drift in and out of my hallucination and, I swear, I felt an air-conditioner blow cold air into that toilet but it was just a cold breeze that would escape in through the gaps on the wooden door, that separated me and whatever other kids were down the street were excited about.

You have to give it to abo-Mama, they conceptualized day spas. They should be earning royalties when this thing became commercialized. I still see the same pieces of equipment when I visit the spa. They are just better packaged but do exactly the same thing, maybe with less force and “passion”. The person giving the therapy is just unfamiliar and I get to part with a couple of hundred rands, to get her to rub my feet and back. I must say, none of the spas measure up to my mum’s day spa.

I pondered this to really find out the missing ingredient. The only thing I can conclude is that they all lack the look of satisfaction that my mother had after she had padded me down with a clean towel and looks back at me and say….

“there you are Kuri - now you look like my girl”, as she administers the camphor cream all over my tiny body. I would grin, not because I agreed with her but I had survived another day at the spa.

Nowadays I get to experience it through my kids as she combs the hair that was made intentionally to be on the rough side. And my daughter will burst through my bedroom door with desperation on her face to say, “mummy, please tell kokwani that I like my hair like this”. And I’m like, child, I lost that war 39 years ago.

My favorite, is when I listen, as she tells my son, the same thing she used to tell me….u thyakile Kulani, a wu hlambi u basa (you are dirty Kulani, you don’t bath properly). U tava jaha ra njhani ro chava mati (what sort of young man will you be if you don’t like to bath). Kurisani vana va wena va chava mati (Kurisani, your children don’t like to bath). This time I get to grin with satisfaction and say in my head, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree….that’s my boy, I came home with the right kid from hospital. However, I must say, the cherry on top is that, I get to experience my mother all over again.

Bless mothers everywhere, the original beauty therapists.

[misskaysway]

Ok, someone better wake me up from this dream I’m having. 

God entrusted me with a complete, whole human being and she can cook at 16. This is big if you know who her mother is. My mum was praying that I lift a teaspoon at 16 and here I am with a complete human being that cooks and actually enjoys it. 

As the story goes, she popped out of my belly. If you checked out my waistline lately, you’d swear, it never produced a baby, I tell you. Apparently she’s well mannered and I raised her. I really don’t have a recollection of all of that. God must be playing a joke on me or something. 

The strange thing is I never wake up, no matter how much I try, the dream continues. And as I was trying to accept this mystery that is my life, another one chirps in and calls me mummy too. 

Lord help, I need to be committed. Two human beings?! We cannot call this a mistake anymore, it’s real. I have two functional, living human beings called Kurisani’s children. I birthed them, I raised them - well let’s just say I popped in now and then to assist my mum and sister with the diaper changes. 

My son is a bully, just like his mum. He is always screaming - “mummy, I’m on a tight schedule, we need to go.” What could he, possibly be busy with? My daughter is the overbearing “mother”, always lecturing me on how to raise my son and not spoil him. What does she know about raising a child? 

They gang up on me sometimes. Apparently, I threaten to take them out now and then, since I brought them into this world. I must be honest, I did consider that when they were two years old and they wouldn’t let me sleep in. 

I know deep down they think I’m a clown because they make me dance and they take videos inorder to laugh at me later on. I hear comments of mummy, you are extra and very demanding. I just smile and wave. 

My daughter tucks me into bed almost every night because I’m too exhausted to get under the covers without help. My son is my alarm clock, as he plants a kiss on my forehead like clockwork at 5am. Which boy wakes up at 5am guys. When did I become the child and them parents? 

Like I said, I must be dreaming and I’m willing to let this dream go on for a lifetime. I Thank the Lord for putting a smile on my face daily as I wake up a mother to 2 dear children. This role has become such a privilege in the country I live in, where you are never sure whether all of you will arrive home at the end of the day. I’m filled with gratitude when I see these two mackerels walk in every afternoon and hear the showers go, every morning - alerting me that life still remains in their not so tiny bodies. Only God does the hard work, I just get to enjoy the ride.

Indeed they are a heritage from the Lord (Psalm 127:3)

[misskaysway]

SKIN IN THE GAME

People tend to glamorize entrepreneurship and therefore setting themselves and others to frustration, strain and sometimes failure. Becoming an entrepreneur does not make you a better person than the next, nor define you as courageous or stronger than the next person, all it does is push your struggles and your wins much more into the public eye. Entrepreneurs should be celebrated because they create opportunities and jobs, they advance society through innovation and solutions, they take risks that lead to great financial rewards for themselves and others. 

But there is a story that no one wants to hear or talk about. 

That’s the story of the entrepreneur in South Africa, call it what may but it’s a concentration camp. You never know when your day in-front of the firing squad will come and for many that day comes too early. 

For decades our mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters put the struggle on the streets. It was embodied by chants - quite rhythmic you’d forget it’s an actual cry of desperation. We call it Toyi Toyi. It was accompanied by stone throwing and the retaliating gun fire from the oppressor. That struggle has not changed, it has just taken a different stage. It’s no longer the dusty streets of Soweto but the corporate buildings of the sky scrapers that cover the Sandton skyline. It’s no longer the stones but the business ideas that never seem to measure up because the goal posts keep on shifting. It’s no longer the gun fire that retaliates and sends fear down the spine of a grown man but it’s the policies that never get implemented, the balance sheet that never measures up, the funding that has a few in mind, the criteria’s created to leave the masses out and a system that gets manipulated to continue to enslave those who dare to dream. It’s not always clear, it’s systemic but it’s still crippling to a point of death. 

Don’t confuse this analogy with a cry for sympathy nor a desire to want sympathy, this is just me being dramatic. 

I’m a drama queen and I only come out in the enclosure of my own bedroom because I wouldn’t dare show corporate South Africa what is not the required etiquette for a black entrepreneur, lest I lose the scraps that they are willing to drop off the table for us undeserving, to have. 

Many moons ago - no stop your drama Kuri, in 2007, I opened the doors of Kulani Engineering Consultancy. Armed with drive, passion and naivety, I embarked on a journey that would take me on a roller coaster ride of my life. It wasn’t pretty, not all of it anyway and it’s that ugliness that I want to talk about. This is a side that we don’t allow ourselves to experience and be comfortable in it. Well I’ve had enough and I’m going to say it for everyone - the struggle is real, the failure is great and this life will cost you. That is the skin in the game that people want to quickly dismiss and disregard. 25 years cannot measure up to centuries of being in the race. The balance sheet I have is my skill, my talent, the lessons accumulated through trial an error. Wasn’t Silicon Valley built on a sum of failures? I guess that privilege was set for a few - It’s not for you black child, that’s the response I get every time I knock and get that no. 

But let me tell you......I’m the come back kid. The one who was kicked to the gut of liquidation by corporate South Africa. Laughed at by those who should have been in my corner. Rendered homeless to be sheltered by loyal friends. Let me tell you about modern day stokvels that brought me back from the gutter because many believed in me and still do. It’s true that what won’t kill you, will make you stronger. This is not stubbornness but it’s the same fire that got Lisa Parker to sit on that bus and not move. It’s the same conviction that got women together to stand against the dompass and it’s the same passion that will ensure, the world knows “we are enough!” 

I don’t ask for a seat at the table any longer, I just sit. Wait - I carve my own table and invite those worthy to sit. Just like Isaac, the wells can be taken, closed, stolen but Isaac just needed one well and his promises of Yay and Amen became real for the world to know that there is a God. 

Entrepreneurship is not about measuring up, it’s about leveling up. It’s never about speed but about finishing the race. Many say it’s lonely, I say you are alone but never lonely. If you want a cardio session without a heart rate monitor, this is the road to take - become an entrepreneur. You will sweat, cry, there will be pains and aches, you will scream and hate everyone who looks like they know what they are doing. You will consider quitting but don’t, did you hear me....don’t. Push through, the gym session will end. You’ll gain better friends, colleagues, you’ll influence and impart, you’ll change the game and empower. The reward will be far greater than money but the dollar signs will put you to sleep every night. You already have “skin in the game” and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

#she_engineers #entrepreneursworld #riseandstay #skininthegame #carveyourtable

[misskaysway]

Attempting something for the 2nd time is not easy. Twelve months of training and sometimes failing to meet the fitness you need always reminds you of the initial failure however the human mind is not the one in control, it’s the heart and what it believes. I thank God for always reminding me that I’m more than capable of anything I set my mind to. I’m so glad to be surrounded by all my e-family and e-friends, your love and support is so much appreciated. We made it, the medal is for all of us. Learn this from me: Life is to be lived, trials are to be overcomed and do everything with a heart of gratitude 🙌🏽🏅👏🏽 https://www.instagram.com/p/ByhhuAqFzhOGH6Cw4kVSbp8QDYBykeWiHMuJjI0/?igshid=14l30llshfxyo

[misskaysway]

This year’s comrades is extra special to me. My sister who is many years my senior decided to come out and support her little sister. My sister dopes me with behind the scenes love. Until I was in grade school, I don’t have a recollection of her because she was in boarding school so we never really experienced that sister sister bonding. I remember well her baking and cooking during school holidays. She would dress me up in pretty dresses she would bring back from uni. In later years she would be my first visitor, 2 weeks after I gave birth to my daughter and she took over like a mother hen that she is. And when my son came years later, a month after he was born, I dumped him at her house like a love sick teenager and she stepped up as always. I still shop in her grocery cabinet but this time around she Uber’s the woolies bags that always come as a nice surprise, just before I scream poverty. She’s not big on calling or celebrations so most people don’t know she exists in my life (I must admit, I’m also not big in calling). Growing up I used to envy those with sisters who seemed to call, drop by and just hangout together however as I grow, I realize she’s always been there when it matters most. Now comrades ???? It’s a big step for her and she’s excited as much as I am. I’m sure it’s nerve wrecking but like the mother hen she is, she won’t show me. No wonder I’m confident and I’m not worried about anything because she’s always ready with the phone to manage everything . My big sister is here and that’s all the race food I need. #comrades2019 #sizonqoba #sisterslove https://www.instagram.com/p/Byct3b_Fr501BFmbiX2l41snc6sRyxETxcf4UQ0/?igshid=6teain835kp8

[misskaysway]

Sometimes the hills are real and not a metaphor and they have names like Cowie’s hill, Botha’s Hill, Drummond, Inchanga, Polly Shorts. Even those hills which are like mountains for legs that have been running since the crackle of the crow at 5:00am, have to be conquered. The board meeting will start gradually. The executives will be united until 50km. There will be casualties that will result in resignations. But I’ve been trained to keep going no matter how hard it is. Deep down I don’t know how to give up. And that’s why when I get to Camperdown, I will remind myself that: There will be mountains, that I will have to climb (and I will still be climbing). And there will be battles (mental and otherwise) that I will have to fight. But victory or defeat, it’s up to me to decide (it can’t be anything else except victory). But how can I expect to win, if I never try (and try I will) I will remind myself that: I just can't give up now. I've come too far from where, I started from (approximately 65km away). Nobody told me, the road would be easy. And I don't believe He's brought us this far to leave us @nikiwemachaba @amu_papatiboys2 @ddliwayo @maxenshire @tahleho_mohlakoana @rueben_rikhotso #whatgoesupgoesup #comrades2019 #4daystogo #sizonqoba #thisisbiggerthanus #icametowin https://www.instagram.com/p/BySVmjIFcNq4z4Qnq5n5Wxeqx688AhHr2wHVpk0/?igshid=aob1tiudicmz

[misskaysway]

Healing is liberating. It is not instantaneous however it’s a commitment to daily choices towards a future that you foresee for yourself. You have to make up your mind to love yourself first and choose you daily.

We’ve been taught that focusing on ourselves is selfish however why would putting on an oxygen mask on yourself first before you help others on a crashing plane be selfish? It can’t because a dead self is useless. You cannot add value if you are dead because you have nothing to give. Save yourself first and that’s when you can have the capacity to help others. This principle is true in relationships, finances, career, spirituality - life in general.

If you have lived more than a year, you would know that life is challenging and those challenges sometimes bring trauma which some struggle to push through however for those that do, it’s a daily commitment to self.

Four years ago, I made a choice to love myself and that choice led me to a traumatic event in my life that made me question everything I knew about myself and the world around me. However God’s grace helped me to make little choices that make me look back and say, “I’m loving my future more than my past and its ok” and I hope it can be for many of us! #healedandfocused #purposedriven #victornotvictim

[misskaysway]

I’ve been pondering on this idea of generational wealth and it is a discussion that happens in certain circles but very little in the African community.

We’re kind of raised to believe that generational wealth begins when someone dies and leaves behind, at most, a life policy. This is what I know:

You cannot train up a child in creating, managing and delivering on a budget when you are dead!

You cannot equip a child on investments and investing when you are 6 feet under!

You cannot up-skill a child in the knowledge of wealth creation, sustainability and growth when you can no longer be heard!

Teaching children good understanding of the value of sacrifice and hard work begins whilst you have breath in your lungs, a beating heart and a brain that works.

It is estimated that 70% of wealthy families will lose their wealth by the second generation and 90% will lose it by the third (basdaq.com).

Wisdom and skill is not passed through life policies, trust funds and unit trusts. Wisdom is a daily investment that gets passed on through mentorship, coaching and teaching. Before we can instagram post “Cell C take a girl or boy child to work” how about we start with our Oikos. Generational wealth is developmental and a future focus. It should happen on car rides to school, curtain washing sessions during June holidays and dishwashing endeavors every evening.

You really don’t want your children to start where you started and you definitely don’t want them to squander what you’ve begun. Always have the end in mind in all you do. Someone once said, children are great imitators, so give them something great to imitate!

[misskaysway]

Music just like books transport me. I get to explore worlds unknown and visit magical places, I might not ever get to. My recent favorite song is Gugulethu by Prince Kaybee. Nothing much get said in the song except Gugulethu but I must tell you, my blood races, my knees knock and my hips sway when that song kicks in. I transport myself to a place called Gugulethu. It’s in South Africa by the way but I know nothing about it except locating it on a map. I see myself there, with shades, sun beating down, milk soaked skin, twang flowing out of my mouth, eye lids batting left and right, hips swaying - I’m transported, to a world unknown to me and I only have a song and my imagination to take me there. I feel like one of those girls. I don’t know who they are since they are not fully described but I will make up one that fits my imagination. I’m walking the streets, having fun. I locate that heart that finds “impilo ya se lokishini” imnanzi, a yi fani na se dolobini I should know because I’m faced with a beautiful sunset, on the outskirts of Pretoria East, watching wildlife that I wish I could shoot for dinner tonight but I’m scared Kgosi Mampuru might find me a humble abode. Still it’s not Gugulethu! So as I take out my magwinya in the boiling hot oil and locate the atchaar in my cupboard, and scream to the kids, where’s the Oros? The beat drums in - safa mnandizi oo, khona la e gugulethu, maybe Pretoria, oksalayo, 8 minutes, 39 seconds of play, I’m in Gugulethu #ImaginationGoneWild https://www.instagram.com/p/Bxm67W0HQB8OCyDhcuiK9H-BbRG5rstM_qQ-aY0/?igshid=1tchytzwpj339

[misskaysway]

Mother’s Day is an emotional day for me. The day moves me because in my 39 years of living, God has multiplied the number of mothers I have. From the nanny who raised me, to the teachers who dedicated their life to uplift me. To my mentors who continue to guide me, to my sisters and cousins who shower me with love. To my friends who step in and step up, to my aunts who ululate and celebrate me. To my colleagues who give their time selflessly and associates that share their catch. To neighbours who babysat me and the Body of Christ that prays for me. It does indeed take a village to raise a child.

To my mother who gave birth to me, dedicated her time, talents and treasure to make me a virtuous women.

And now the baton is mine. God has equally given me the privilege to raise a village - my inquisitive yet calm children, the many nieces and nephews that call me mum or aunt - and let’s not forget their children that are not “allowed” to say grandma out loud. I’m just starting to wrap my head around the mum bit and suddenly little babies are popping out everywhere calling me grandmother.

I’ve stayed up late at night whilst they screamed their lungs out and fed them hot milk because I didn’t know what lukewarm was. I’ve changed diapers, wait a minute, there was a time it was cotton nappies and safety pins - Kanti how old am I? We’ve watched movies and I’ve made them cry when Mufasa in Lion King died. I gave them maths lessons 10 light years ahead of time and taught some of them how to drive. They send me Mother’s Day messages that make me tear up such that I wear sunglasses the whole day so no one will notice.

I equally love them and don’t get a chance to spend enough time with them but when we do, it’s a party ya’ll.

Being a mum is a privilege and being an aunt is an honor - being both, is humbling. Happy Mother’s Day everyone. Never take motherhood for granted because the moments come and go as quickly as the sun rises and sets.

[misskaysway]

Someone once asked me what I would like to have for my birthday since I seem to have everything. The first thought was that I don’t have everything however on hindsight, maybe I do to them, since our definition of everything might not be the same. I did not initially consider that.

A year later I have the answer after another friend asked me, “how did it go Ms Party?” I started to narrate my recent weekend away to celebrate my birthday, thanks to my family.

Went very well, I started to say to him. Had so much fun, I added.

There was too much food. Between my mum and cousin, they overdo the shangaan thing. Lots of pap was cooked, meat was braai’ed and the kids overdosed on sweets and cake. At some point I saw my brother in-law eating biscuits and garlic bread at the same time.

After settling in and people starting to troll through the fridge and cabinets filled to the brim with food, they turned their attention to the pressing matter of finding Mr M a wife, my buddy, who is now officially my parents last born. This was interesting because the criteria used in identifying the wife was very simple.

Mr M, you love pap and morogo so we’ll find you a wife that knows the management of “ the magezi pot” then we know you’ll wake up to a plate of steaming hot layered pap, the food for men who choose well.

You only locate those women in Limpopo, in locations such as phaphazela, nwa-matatani, ramukhuba, the discussion went on and then my mum chirped in and said Damphries, to which everyone applauded and agreed.

I started to giggle by myself because they narrowed it down in terms of type and location, and I looked over at my friend and thought, I don’t know if this guy knows what he has set himself up for 😂 because these people are my family, they are relentless in pursuit and they will find that wife, noma kanjane.

I woke up early to run as usual. I put in my 10km and got to experience the majestic landscapes of the loskop area, a beautiful part of limpopo. I was part of a group of holiday eager people, so running gave me the escape I needed to connect with my “zen”. I know that without recharging my batteries, I might not make it through the weekend.

I later got to find out that my brother increased my bank balance and now, I can get that crisp white shirt I’ve been eyeing and probably buy electricity. Darn, adulting always creeps into birthday presents too.

My sister filled my petrol tank 😬, I guess she knows that a girl has got places to go and people to see.

The kids taught me how to swim, maybe the correct thing to say is, they taught me how not to sink and embarrass them in public.

The teenagers just sat and watched, feeling everything is beneath them 😃 but they came in handy for topping up my plate. Hard as it is to believe, I eat nonstop and I get tired of fetching the food myself. Honestly everyone needs slaves and teenagers make good slaves, if you can ignore the rolling eyes 🙄 and heavy sighs that accompany the yes mummy or ok Aunty.

My cousin’s husband and Mr M got my dad drunk on one sip of whiskey, more like a smell than a sip. There was just too much excitement at 1am on a Saturday. This would not have happened if my mum had not mistakenly bought wine when she thought she was buying non alcoholic sparkling wine. I must put note to self to show her exactly how non-alcoholic sparkling wine looks like.

At some point I heard a debate ensue on my latest read - “The subtle art of not giving a f*ck” by Mark Manson. The discussion reminded me, that the saying “don’t judge a book by it’s cover” didn’t fall from the sky and that, middle class hypocrisy is a thing.

As the clock wound down towards dawn, we were in full swing, competing with the group of fishing couples camped a little bit away from us, on how much noise a “watch me, I’m on holiday” group of people can make.

The truth is, most people just want to have fun, get a chance to kick the middle class bucket and let it all hang - Keeping up with the Joneses is a lot of hard work.

Until this moment, I was a dull joe, all work and no play. Maybe all those that seem to have it all, want as birthday presents, is a bit of laughter, useless banter, a full petrol tank they didn’t pay for, an increased bank balance they didn’t work for and slaving teenagers, now that’s a sight you don’t get to see everyday and it makes one heck of a birthday present.

[misskaysway]

Happy birthday mommy, you’ll make a wonderful grandmother....wait what? Are you pregnant? No, you are a boy!

Wait how old am I? Did I jump the Kuri got her groove back stage? I didn’t get that kiss under the mistletoe, Lord, I haven’t swam naked at Orient Bay, or kissed my island boy. Lord, one nap, I asked for one nap and I slept through the greatest years of my life.

I turn swiftly in a half drunken sleep state and stare straight at big brown excited eyes and asked, WHY? I take a deep breath in preparation for an answer that might just send me straight to ICU and then heard the sweet voice of my baby boy say fondly:

You’ll make a wonderful grandmother because you love your children so much that I believe you’ll love our children even more.

My brain went through a personal struggle as I tried to digest the first conversation of my 39th birthday morning. My fantasy has always been simple - The kids jet off to a life of their own. I retreat to a remote island, where I will sip pinna colada and get high on a Holy Ghost high, reminisce of a life gone by and enjoy the only one I would be having, of sun, surf and an island “boy”!

I love being a mum but do I really want to be one - forever? On the other hand the acknowledgement of my very presence and my role in my kids lives made me broody - I love being mummy.

My brain started to readjust and rework my future plans. I started to see myself pushing a stroller down suburbia streets, with my grandchild buckled up and snug. I would then lounge around by the porch as I try to get in a cup of rooibos tea whilst catching a bit of banter with my old friend across the fence. I was starting to enjoy the conversation that involved complaining about the weather, my slowing legs, the fast flying saucers and robots that won’t listen to Siri, when I was jerked back to reality by a big wet kiss, plucked straight on my forehead, I love you mummy.

Wait a minute, this boy won’t trick me again. I’m still going to my remote island. I will definitely get myself an island “boy”, maybe change my drink to gin & tonic and once in a while I will send him my location to visit with his kids but let this boy sweat it out like we all did.

I know, I will giggle under my coconut tree as I visualize him going mad when the kids ask, WHY daddy, a 100 times over. Or when they agree to buy one book at the book shop and they end up buying the entire bookshop and busting his budget. Just the look on his face when the security calls him in the middle of a work day to tell him , the kids nearly burned his house down. The cherry on top will be when he has screamed his last breath insisting that sharing is caring and as he rolls over to find the love of his life across their marriage bed, the reality of a pack of other unwanted visitors will destroy him. In that moment, I will laugh so hard, I might choke on my unstable false teeth and then smile, damn my life is so good.Happy birthday Kuri, you’ve done well for yourself!

[misskaysway]

Standing at that start line, I started to ponder on a couple of things. Until you go to a race such as two oceans or comrades, you will never understand the amount of people who go there, whether to run or support.

It’s amazing how we pay so much money to enter a race - for those who didn’t know, running is not free. Add the flights or whatever form of transportation that you will take, plus accommodation. Don’t forget the food, ground transportation and all other tiny bit of things required. To top it all, grown men and women in bed by 8pm with the kids and don’t fight the alarm at 3am? All this voluntary? 🤔 to have South Africa littered with broken bodies of avid runners? - Wow 😮

The splatter of the Cape Town rain brought me back to life and I was drawn to the energy and excitement all around me. Then my legs caught a beat, nearly turning my tummy upside down and I think I heard Fetty Wap singing:

Do you remember how it feels to be young?

And do you remember we can be anyone?

Well, I miss the youth [?] of your roots

September came way too soon

Do you remember how it feels to be young?

It feels great, “mother-blessing”, yeah 💪🏽

Sometimes we do things because we can, because it feels good, because we need a dose of crazy 😜

So #omtom2019 later, 56km at 06 hours and 53 minutes and I’m like.....It Feels Great Mother-Blessing 😬🏃🏽‍♀️🎶

#runasone #celebrateasone

[misskaysway]

Running has taught me self discipline.

It was hard in the beginning, however it is rewarding 2 years later. Running a race begins long before the actual gun gets fired at a start line. Every runner knows that throughout the calendar year, you have to look out for the race advertisements and register before the pack, as the races gets full these days. You have to put in the training and for some like me, it’s early in the morning before sunrise whilst the city is still asleep and the only thing you can hear is the still quiet air of the morning dawn. For some it’s the late evening after the gruesome beating of the daily grind. However, what is common is our desire to meet the tarmac and gain the required fitness to run the kilometers that lie ahead on race day.

The excitement peaks the night before as WhatsApp groups and random phone calls from fellow runners crisscross the communication lines as the last discussions on carpooling, race numbers, race start, car parks and other scary things like chaffing, the perilous loose stomach and blisters are discussed. And then we all retreat to catch the most needed sleep but this does not happen until the gear for the next day has been laid out. The trainers, the shorts, timing chips, sunscreen, race food, Vaseline to protect the most delicate of parts, water, caps and the most trusted friend, the watch. The loyal watch that tracks pace, time until the finish line. You can call it a ritual, a process that is needed for a successful race. This planning, this process, requires commitment that is coupled with discipline. If implemented consistently over time, the rate of failure is minimal. If we can apply this formula to every area of our lives, we would have a society that is thriving. We would have a government that works, communities that build, families that thrive and individuals that are successful. That’s a country I would love to live in. Let’s commit to the decisions we make and follow through with discipline and we will see ourselves raising kids that become leaders we would like to have tomorrow and hopefully live more content and fulfilled lives #omtom2019 #runasone #celebrateasone