My Right To Hurt…..(The Rich Also Cry)

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I’m so depressed, my boyfriend is cheating on me…

Ah, that’s not important, you have a good job….”

Can you believe what that Pamela has been going around saying about me? I’m so hurt!

“You complain too much sha, thank God you have such and such degrees..”

I feel so lonely, I wish I had a friend..

“With the amount of money you earn, I wouldn’t be worried about not having any friends, go shopping…”

I feel suicidal, I feel like I can’t cope.

“Don’t be ridiculous, so many guys are falling over themselves trying to date you….”

 

It’s not that I don’t count my blessings, I do, each and every day…..when I wake up and when I go to bed but it wouldn’t matter anyway  if I didn’t because I can name at least 30 people who would be happy and willing to count them for me. It’s not even that they need my invitation, NO, my ears are already ringing from their constant reminders of how lucky or blessed I am……You’re so lucky you have a good job, You’re so lucky you’re intelligent, You’re so lucky your parents are still alive, You’re so lucky you have such a close family. You’re so lucky you got that promotion. I really envy you. I wish I were like you. You are my inspiration, God has been really kind to you……..Arghhhhhhhhhh

 

Wouldn’t it drive you crazy as well? I’m so sick of it. It’s not that I am ungrateful, not at all, I more than anyone else know that God has been more than merciful to me but I feel suffocated by the need/expectations from people to show how eternally grateful I am for the small…….actually big mercies that God has shown me. It’s not the fact that people are constantly reminding me to be grateful that bothers me, it’s the fact that for some reason people believe that the traumas, misfortunes, problems, catastrophes that I have gone through are simply inconsequential and not worth recognising since my ‘countless blessings’ make up for whatever hurt/pain/humiliation I might be going through. For the same reasons, I am the type of person who has to wail loudly before someone recognises that I am in pain, weeping silently just won’t cut it and even when they finally recognise my pain, my feelings are instantly dismissed because they do not matter……simply because I have achieved more than the odds for a 25 year old African woman.

 

I never get to have a voice……this is the story of my life! I feel as though I am being punished for having achieved more, having conquered despite the odds even though I am where I am today through sweat, blood and tears. I hate the life that I have, not that it’s not wonderful but because I do not matter enough. People have stopped seeing the real me and have started seeing degrees, intelligence, a privileged upbringing etc. Sometimes I feel if I were to commit suicide, the first comments wouldn’t be of concern but those of reproach, What a waste, her life was great!  or She killed herself, why? I thought she had a good job and all…..(and NO, I do not plan on committing suicide).

 

From a very early age I learnt to shut up about my pain. I did not like to complain or let anyone else know that I was unhappy. I learnt to feel guilty for being unhappy which made me even unhappier, which then made me feel even more guilty and ashamed of myself, which made me even more depressed and then i’d feel even guiltier (if there’s even such a word) for being depressed when I should have been grateful …….in short, it became a vicious cycle.

 

It probably still is the same up to now. I still have to think twice before I tell my problems to people because I’d need to say them at least 5 times before they are taken seriously. I remember once after a very traumatic incident absolutely no-one comforted me and when I tried to reach out to people, they simply told me not to be silly, my life was good, how they envied me! I remember calling my cousin in tears telling her I couldn’t cope anymore……I remember her telling me not to be silly and to compose myself! I was the luckiest person in the world and a lot of people envied my life…..She said to me that she was cooking and that I should call her back when I have had a grip on reality. “Don’t be silly…”  she said, but if only she knew how close I was to the brink at that precise moment! Do you know that a large number of suicides are committed by people who are middle class or higher? Not that it’s a sport for the rich and fabulous or fantastic but statistics show that they are more suicides committed than by poorer people……I guess that is what they mean when they say Money Can’t Buy You Happiness….which is not true……it is because people are too busy thinking that your money should buy you happiness that they forget to make the time to ensure that you are really and truly happy .

 

I guess I am just sick and tired of having to shout in order to be heard. I’m tired of having to stand last in line when it comes to receiving compassion and kindness, cuddles and warmth from other people simply because I have been unduly blessed. Just because God has been merciful to me doesn’t change the fact that I am still human. I have insecurities. I have days that I feel ugly. Periods of time where I feel like the world is crushing on me, closing on me and I cannot breath. There would be days where I would require a shoulder to lean on. There will be months where I would gladly trade my life for yours, weeks where I won’t feel like getting out of bed, mornings where I weep and cry out to God, why me Jehovah? It doesn’t mean that I am ungrateful or have lost sight of the countless blessings that I have……it’s just that I am human and despite the countless blessings and the great mercies, if you cut me open I will bleed! So next time I am in despair and I could do with a friend, please do not recite my numerous blessings…..just give me a hug. I could do with a friend and not a blessings accountant.

 

“For sometimes late at night, when they lay naked in their beds with only the clock ticking to keep them company, long after the safes are locked and the banks are closed, well after their expensive clothes lie in the laundry basket and the jewellery is removed and the Jaguar is parked in the garage. Long after the stock market has closed and the house help has gone home and the curtains are drawn……..they are overwhelmed by a deep sense of loneliness …..sometimes the rich…….actually……..sometimes I, Felly, just like the rich, also cry!”

 

Thank you to my amazing family, especially my sister Mai Sama, who is relentless in ensuring my happiness. Thank you to my soldier – my mother, who would give up everything to see me smile. Thank you to my friends, Vee, Shannon, Sharon, Vimbai, Trish and Ashley, who listen to me rant day in and out without ever complaining. Above all, thank you to my Father – for without you as a friend and advisor, I would never have known true happiness. I appreciate your sacrifices for my happiness, daddy! 

 

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Lessons Worth Learning…

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Let me start with a disclaimer LOL.

I love my mother……but I will not pretend like the rest of you do that I am best friends with her. She’s just mama – not a pal, not a BFF, not a friend but just mama LOL.

Anyway, growing up, my mother taught me a lot of valuable things – lessons that were mostly practical and delivered through the use of dangerous body damaging apparatus such as my father’s leather belt, sticks and sometimes whatever was near her that she could throw at me at the time. My mother was a professional at all kinds of lessons that required torture, however, she forgot to teach me the biggest lesson of them all, Under No Circumstances Shall Thou Spit At Random Dudes, especially those hanging around the taxi ranks! I shall never forgive my mother for this oversight…..the tiny shreds of my dignity were completely made a bonfire out of as a result of this unfortunate incident.

 

“He massacred my ass  right in the middle of the shopping district. I ran like the wind towards my mother’s office with my 6 inch heels held firmly in my hands. I mean, what better place to seek sanctuary than in the arms of the woman who gave birth to me? Big mistake! He ran like a tornado and chased me right past the uniformed doorman and the revolving doors whilst still trying to kick my ass with his size 10 clad feet (who knew that men could multi-task? lol). With this random boy still in hot pursuit, I bumped into mama in the reception lobby and my mother being the strong Black woman that she is, decided to take charge of the situation. By taking charge of the situation, my mother wanted to know a) Why I was 20 minutes late for our appointment b) Why I was charging into her office shoeless and out of breathe and c) Why an obviously crazy airtime selling boy was chasing me. But the opportunity to address the situation was completely taken away from me, I did not have the chance to answer because airtime selling boy had already uttered, Ma…..I do not know this girl but can you imagine that she spat right in my face…..like I was common filth! Can you imagine that Ma? “

 

I cannot begin to describe to you what took place after those words escaped the mouth of airtime-selling boy. All I can say is that Hell hath no fury like a woman whose daughter just spat at a random stranger! She domestic-violenced my ass, right there in the reception lobby and in full view of the underpaid receptionist who had on a hairstyle she could barely afford on her wages and was clearly being sugar-daddied  by one of the senior management. It was in full view of the doorman and his weather chapped hands  that had roughed from years of opening doors for management, who were clearly not disabled but were deemed too educated to be carrying out trivia such as opening doors for themselves! For a very brief moment, mama turned to airtime-selling boy and said in her boardroom authority, Mwanangu, let me handle this…….There and then, she took off her high heels, placed her handbag on the floor and proceeded to wallop me in an expert and effortless fashion, not giving a damn about the people who had started to gather.

 

I danced the 2-step with my feet yo-yoing on the ground like I was stepping on hot coal whilst my mother was working in her expert fashion on me. The doorman tried to come to my rescue but almost got his weather chapped hands amputated by mama’s high heels which were landing on different parts of my body in quick successive fashion. I could smell death…..even the plea’s from the underpaid receptionist  were not deterring my mother from disciplining me in full public view. Next thing I knew the doorman was down on his knees, hands held high as if in surrender and crying out to my mother, Ma……please stop! She has had enough. She has learnt her lesson now. Please stop now Ma….My mother went in a bit longer and after she was satisfied the tiny shreds of dignity I had left had been completely made extinct, she ordered me to her office. I swear I could hear my mother offering the airtime-selling boy $10 for the indignity I had him suffer, which the boy unashamedly accepted! I can honestly say that was the best or worst beating of my life….depending on who you were interviewing, my mother or I.

 

Rewind 15 minutes earlier.

You see, I had met airtime-selling boy outside the taxi/bus rank as I was on my way to my mother’s office. OK. It is true that I had spat right at him, in his face  and this is exactly how I had done it – I had looked him right in the eye and had spat at him with all the force that I could fathom! But I can explain because I see you all getting judgmental……Airtime selling boy had asked for it! The boy had literally begged me to do it! As a matter of fact, his exact words had been, If you don’t fancy me like I fancy you, then spit in my face and I will know that you mean it and I won’t ever bother you when I see you get off the kombi (mini-bus). Obviously me being the obedient child that I was taught to be in Sunday School, was not comfortable with his demand but airtime-selling boy had insisted! He had even started to follow me to my mother’s office and I was pleading with him not to, as I would get in trouble with mama if she saw me with a random dude who sells airtime at the bus and taxi rank but no, the boy had insisted. Spit in my face and I will leave you alone……..Spit in m………I didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, I turned around, looked him right in the eye and dutifully obliged!

 

Fast-forward 3 seconds later….

He massacred my ass  right in the middle of the shopping district. I ran like the wind towards my mother’s office with my 6 inch heels held firmly in my hands.

 

So, lessons learnt!

I woke up missing my mother so much so dedicated to do a throwback post to some of the classic moments we all laugh about now. I say I am nothing but my mother’s child and that is because I am. I would not change a thing about my childhood or her…..for whatever she did was in the hopes that I would mature to the amazing woman that I am today. And in case you were wondering……I WAS NOT ABUSED as a child you guys and my mother is definitely my closest friend!

Happy Monday y’all!

Sins That Almost Sent Me To An Early Grave…

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Happy New Year everyone. Long overdue but at least I have said it. Remember, it’s the thought that counts.  Anyway, several things have happened to me, some of which are life changing but too boring to blog about and some that I could blog about but at the risk of a Defamation of Character civil suit which I’d rather avoid. I was actually going to blog about recent developments in my love life….or lack thereof but since I’m still trying to make sense of that situation, I’ll leave it for my next blog post but I’m telling you, my spirit is in oneness with the nuns and all those who dedicate their lives to love of God and no other. I’ve been taught lessons for life. Anyway, I figured I’d confess my sins instead and the times mama danced dangerously on the brink of culpable homicide in an effortless fashion to get me on the straight and narrow. So here goes my 10 honest sins and their subsequent consequences. Enjoy.

 

1. My mother almost killed me for playing with a condom I had found in my brother’s bedroom. She kept screaming, ‘Show me where it goes….’ whilst beating the living daylights out of me. I became permanently scarred such that even in my adulthood, my heart is almost leaping out of my chest buying condoms in case mama jumps from behind the counter and asks for Show and Tell of where it goes!

2. I once ‘shared’ a man with my cousin as she was not convinced that a certain guy was an expert at handling a woman so I agreed to let her experience it for herself! Big mistake, sisi delivered the news to mama as soon as she arrived home from work who then proceeded to shambock us for trying to run a prostitution ring in her yard!

3. Whilst on holiday at my grandparents, I wrote a letter to my dad bitterly complaining of my grandmother’s alleged (false) cruel treatment of me. All I was hoping for was for my parents to then collect me back to the city but No, my mother decided to drive all the way from Norton to Gokwe with the letter and forced me to read it out loud in front of my grandparents and several other people. And in true domestic violence fashion, disciplined me for lying and decided to leave me in Gokwe for the during of the holiday. The treatment became accurately cruel(and not false) for the duration of that holiday.

4.  I was nearly expelled from Primary School for writing explicit letters with hand drawn pornographic images. My mother has never forgotten this and she tattooed scars all over my body with her trademark weapon of choice – shamhu yemuHabrose!

5. I once got my mother to fire a new maid because she had too many pimples on her face and I refused to eat what she cooked. My father concerned that I was not eating, got mama to fire the house girl. My mother disciplined me in my father’s absence for being shallow and turned me into the maid for the remainder of the school holidays.

6. I was once chucked out of our local church together with my cousin for being inappropriately dressed. Apparently, our skirts were just not the recommended length for a place of worship. Word obviously got back to my mother who took upon the task of clearing out our wardrobes and throwing away anything that was above the knees. In simpler terms, she left us with no clothes that were not trousers, maJuzi and school uniforms.

7. When still in Junior School, I was so ashamed of an uncle of mine (he had a long beard and had just come from the village) whom my parents had assigned the role of dropping me off at school and picking me up. So I lied to this uncle of mine that adults were not allowed on school premises and that he had to drop me just at the corner. The school then sent my mother a letter demanding to know why I was showing up at school unaccompanied as it was against school policy. My mother after questioning my uncle and realising what I had done, almost sent me to an early grave for being ashamed of my relatives.

8. Mama once made my sister and I choke on eat an entire pot of rice (nearly to death) for her entertainment (not strictly true but painfully accurate). We had gone to our neighbors house and ate our dinner there because it was chicken and rice and we were sick of the Vegetarian (Sabbath) Saturdays. When we got back home, my mother cooked a massive portion of rice and chicken for my sister and I and forced us to finish it all otherwise we would really know who she was. She still beat us up for making the neighbors think that she starved us!

9. My mother once made my cousin and I (same cousin from sharing a man and expelled from church) spend 4 hours outside our front gate in a hailstorm for dodging church and going for lunch with guys at the same Chicken Inn someone who knew her happened to be.  After being made to chill for 4 hours in the cold rain, she still walloped us for not respecting the Sabbath and keeping it holy!

10. My brother who was 7 at the time once got me at age 10 to electrocute myself on a socket claiming that it would feel nice. My mother in an effortless fashion, tattooed his behind, his face and his back screaming ‘is this nice’ over and over again. She then disciplined me for being foolish enough at 10 to listen to a 7 year old boy and almost killing myself in the process.

 

 

Now that confession time is over and it’s been made known that I have done a lot of maturing since, why not turn this into a “TAG” continuation?  The rules are simple, Tag at least 4 bloggers to do posts about random, less serious facts about themselves. It could be sins, childhood memories or the “I Bet You Didn’t Know I Could…..” kinda posts. Keep it interesting folks. I love a good read! 🙂

I’m tagging  joymandabunnyvuAmanya and Hazvinei.

 

 

P/S – I was NOT abused as a child you guys. The disclaimer is there just in case my mum ends up in prison for child neglect and on various child abuse charges allegedly committed in the 90’s LOL. Instead, I was provided with a safe, fulfilling, nurturing and loving home  which made my dreams and come true in my wildest imaginations. I thank God for my mother and I do, with all of my heart love and adore her!

 

Hope 2016 has been great for everyone so far!

** this post was edited to reflect TAGGED on 2/05/2016**

 

 

 

Boys 2 Men Definitely Didn’t Sing A Song About All Mama’s….

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I’ve never been good at keeping promises which continues to blow my mind as I can’t seem to stop making them. I know I had promised (in my head) to blog at least every week but I blame Google for making me choose a password I would have trouble remembering after a few weeks…..I also blame my mama. Speaking of which, if you were to ask me how I feel about mhamha, I’d probably rattle off the politically correct response…..she’s my best friend, on her I can always depend…..I trust her and I would probably die for her. If you were to ask me the same question whilst I was under the influence of alcohol then I might just add the vomit induced quote, “If I were to change a thing about mhamha, I wouldn’t even change a thing blah blah….” Get the drift, right? OK! All lies I tell you. First of all, before you get all judgmental up in here, let me clear off a few things about mhamha – she is not my best friend. In fact, she’s not my friend. Period! She’s just mhamha, not a pal, not a BFF but just mhamha. Before you get judgmental again, this feeling is absolutely mutual, she often screams (and this is a direct quote minus the booming voice and impending slap), ” Miss Felistas, wakuda kundijairira manje. Handisi shamwari yako…” I’ll translate as best as I can to English but that’s taking away from the impact, “Miss Felistas, don’t play with me ooh, I’m not your friend.  Play with someone your age before I tattoo that behind please…” See, it doesn’t get any more mutual than this hehe.

 

As for changing a thing about mhamha, boy, who am I kidding LOL. Trust me, if I had a chance I would (For those familiar with these TV Shows) 60 Minute Makeover/Grand Design/Home Improve my mama if I could. Gone would be the belt wielding woman who dances dangerously close to a culpable homicide charge when she tries to put you on to the straight and narrow. Believe me please, when mhamha is done with you in her effortless disciplinary fashion, you’ll be more bent and crooked than when she would have started working on you. My mother literally loves me with a vengeance LOL. My relationship with mhamha is like traveling on a budget no-frills airline. It generally does what it’s supposed to do but once a while will surprise you with a hell lot of nasty shocks, like £20 for airport check-in, £10 per bag of hand-luggage and an extra £5 for paying by Debit Card. Mhamha is sneaky like that too, you’re constantly feeling like you’ve been punk’d. At least with the budget airlines it will all be in the small print but with my mum, she makes the rules as she goes, in true fashion of an African Dictator. Nah, forget it, there is nothing remotely typical about my mama LOL.

 

As for dying for mhamha, truth be told, that’s definitely a moot point. If a weapon of mass destruction was pointed towards mhamha and I and the gun-man said, Hey, you two decide who we are kissing Es Ta La Vista baby to, I’m not too sure that I would necessarily volunteer myself for this virtuous deed. Hold on your judgment please and let me break it down – I am a loyal and loving daughter and you can call me Judas Iscariot or morbid but speaking on a real, would it not make more sense morally for mama to be the sacrificial lamb? I mean she’s in her 50’s, been there, done that, worn that T-shirt until it turned from White to Grey with age LOL. She’s had the husband, a jet-setting lifestyle, executive positions, good salary, 4 children and 4 grandchildren who all haven’t turned out half bad (yes, me included LOL) so I think it would be quite selfish of her if she refused to be the Isaac to my Abraham (any non-Christians please see me)…

 

Speaking of the one I would trust/depend on, it will only be in a life or death situation like plucking me out of a burning house or for dragging me from under a moving bus but for anything else other than that, hmmmm, she would completely betray me even without the prospect of financial gain, RE: Judas Iscariot LOL. My mother would be the first to ask the headmaster to expel you from school for indecent exposure (instead of pleading with him to let you stay in school). Never mind that the indecent exposure in question would be allowing your first junior high boyfriend a sneak peek at your budding nipple-less mini boobs during PE lol (No, that wasn’t me thankfully, it was my sister and if in doubt, check her behind for evidence scars).

 

I won’t pretend like most of you do that I am best-friends with my mother. Mimi and Sharon, my BEST FRIENDS who have no relation whatsoever to mama are the ones I tell all about my secret fantasies about men at least twice my age and how my antics during a game of Truth or Dare could have me ex-communicated with society if they ever got out in the public eye.  See, telling all these things to my BFFs has no repercussions, they would probably hoot with laughter and trade my stories with their own kinky, dirty, often bad girl ones that borderline illegal.  This is what true bestfriends do. My mother who is not my best friend would literally castrate me if I tried to confess to such abominations (but thank God she is not my BFF and I don’t have a dick )….. but she would definitely hurl me in front of the local priest so that he could baptize such demonic behavior out of me. Surely that is no best friend behaviour!

 

Did I mention that my mother also has ‘super powers’ that are able to detect the tiniest threat of sexual activity before she even sets eyes on you? Mhamha not only preaches abstinence but damn well ensures that it is practiced with the ruthlessness of an African Dictator. My mother is up there with the Hitchcocks and Mafia’s of the abstinence world. For example, mhamha hypocritically states that thighs should be reserved for the eyes of the husband but with the same mouth, she says to my sister, “What kind of a married woman wears such a thing?” The thing in this instance being some tight shorts, ironically, that my sister was wearing for a night out with her husband. Clearly, there is no pleasing some people.

 

Disclaimer
Just in case mhamha is lurking somewhere in blogshere LOL. Now mum, you know better than to believe everything you read on the internet, especially from an amateur blog that less than 5 people read. You know you and I are much closer than the 3000+ miles that separate us. I love you so much mhamha and that’s not only on Mother’s Day and on your 2 birthdays. I have dedicated this post to you because I know you will read it but mostly because you have moulded me into the person I am today. Without your guidance, I would have been nothing – a nobody. I say I am NOTHING but my mother’s child because that is all I am.

I really, really, REALLY love you mama so don’t you dare allow this blog to convince you otherwise. You’re my superwoman and Boys 2 Men Definitely sung a song about you.