I won the Twincare South African Hairstylist of the Year 2017 almost a year ago. I chose to take that title and champion it to a cause I wholeheartedly believe in. My country, my people, my beliefs. I am Africa!
Although my history and living experiences are vastly different to the majority of people of ZA in my age group, their plight has suffered much in my heart. I cannot tell you why I am like this, I have always been for as long as I can remember. I was asked yesterday, clients, after publicly declaring my multi-racial relationship if I had been judged. The answer is an obvious one, but also the applause has been warming. For years as an artist I have known that one needs contrasts of light to depict a subject in it’s best form. It is advice I dispense to my clients when choreographing Hair & Makeup to a wardrobe for an event. As an example, if one is going with a classic outfit one might break the simplicity of it by having bedhead hair teamed up with beach-babe glow makeup. Or nude tone outfits teamed up with slick hair and sultry makeup…..contrasts. Anyhow, the point is that the cards have been on the table my whole life that I would end up finding the contrast to my own skin deeply interesting and appealing. Goodness knows that I spend fortunes on getting my skin to a sun kissed glow….the Africa kiss….lol. It just so happens that I have landed myself into a relationship of contrasts. His espresso skin that light dances off, delights my eyes to watch. I have tried a few times to take a pic of how the light dances on his skin. My amateur photography hasn’t cracked it yet. The visual of my blotchy pink skin against the glory of his is spell-bounding for the artist in me. It makes me feel rather insignificant, to tell you the truth. I count myself fortunate to watch the sun dancing off of his flawless skin. And moi, it’s spray tan with glitter sprinkles etc etc to even get a glimpse of anything dancing on my skin. Life can be so cruel!
(Power to the People)
I am bursting with the ‘toy-toy’ in my veins today. After a bad nights sleep on Friday night I didn’t pay much attention to the announcement of the Courts decision to, finally, hear the charges against Jacob Zuma for his theft of the South African people’s lives. I certainly hope that some levels of self-respect are left in the legal fraternity and the Oath they swear by to uphold the ends of justice. If not, shame on you. I certainly hope that in the face of the people of ZA, not one legal mind will spit on us by defending these criminals to a country’s hope, pride, dignity and survival. There comes a time in a man’s life where he must face the music, if he is to be called a man at all!And a time to take a stand and disassociate with people of such.So today as I scan through the tweets, news and information regarding Zuma/ESKOM/Gupta/ANC I hope that my little voice will ripple through this gorgeous nation. This nation that when it shines it reflects a hope unlike the world has known. We are Africa, and we have endured, fought and held on. We are Africa and you just cannot keep forgetting us. We are proud of our honesty and we are proud of love, even when you fail to love us as we have loved you. Don’t forget to sparkle our diamonds you wear in that crown daaaaaaarlin’; that is our love….big, bold and fabulous huuuuuuney! That leopard on your wall, let it remind you that we have bleed for your opulence. That fur you walk on that is is our dignity that cushions and raises your feet. We are Africa! Our love is Africa and you have yet to match it! Catch up….we grow strong!
This pic I took of these salad servers I bought at the Hyde Park Craft Market on Friday night are already serving. They serve to initiate the point of today’s blog. With the backdrop of Mixcloud, the mood in my heart is set on serving my dose of a love salad….like only I, arguably, can…😜!
Dear Powers that Be
43 years, 6 months, 4 days, 5 hrs ago, today, I was born. I was born in Addington hospital, Durban, KwaZulu-Natal. Back then my dreams were shot to hell by a society that judged creative boys. Every opportunity missed because I didn’t fit the mould. When I finally fell in love, for the 1st time at 17, my life changed forever. I discovered the cause of the freedom fight. Even though 1 of the people who raped me as a child was of a different skin to me, I was strong enough to not judge the all by the one. I lent my life to the cause for which a hero arose in Nelson Mandela. I was more free to explore these people I cared for, whom I didn’t know. I did. As the years trickled by and my own dark places encroached and stifled my growth, still I dreamt of freedom for you and for myself. I was scared of not being accepted as my society had robbed me of that already so well. As I learnt to face my personal demons and struggles as I still do, the path back to lending my little life to a cause I had left behind has grown strong again. No longer can I find my own quiet peace amongst a people I love so much because the tears they cry keeps me up at night. Their tears haunt my dreams. Still the theft of their lives goes on. In Mozambique, in rehab, I confronted my own perceptions of privilege by acknowledging that I had had it easy, even though in my society I was frowned upon….I was poor, not hip, and certainly not from the right stock. They were wrong. I am from the stock that taught me to love all people no matter who they were. She read those stories and showed me movies on how not to judge by filters that colour the world so wrong. He taught me to survive. I did even from his own torturous hands. I am from that stock where Africa runs free. The stock that learns to forgive, even when wronged. And we rise early to show our dignity even if your hate is still so long. Now the time has come that the children of this land no longer will stand for the rape you did back then, and still. You are old and we are strong! You taught us to stand up for truth! We stand! Against you, then and still! We want our opportunities back. The freedom you took , then and still. Our dreams are more important that the fat you carry in your belly from our labours. Our dreams must be lived! Yours have gathered dust that eat the moth! You got it wrong, then and still.
An Angry Africa Child
you are old and frail. Our dreams are bigger than your lust.