Just Drivin'

I find myself,
Just drivin'
Like I'm in Tracy Chapman's Fast Car
Asking my self 1 million questions...
Searching in the crevices of my mind,
Mining the depths of my soul...
For some kind of wisdom...advice
That I must have heard in these 26 years
...1 million questions with no answers.
Just drivin'
Same road,
Different day.
Just drivin'
Coz that is what I do best
Drive
I even drive for all the other crazy suckers on the road who think they are not really driving, but actually flying...in their very own air space, where no one else exists.
Just drivin'
This car which I will probably be paying for for the next 6 years.
Just drivin'
Just effin' drivin'
So I pop a CD in...
It's Mr Lover-lover
Telling me it's hope that keeps him holding on
And that no matter how I'm sad and blue
There is always someone who has it worse than me.
So I think, Well fancy that, God sent Shaggy as an angel to me today
Coz it's true you know,
I would rather be
Just drivin'
On the 'boulevard of broken dreams'
Than walking...
Through the valley of the shadow of death.
So I bop my head and just keep drivin'

Nobody Can Stop Reggae…

Lucky Dube passed on to the next life this past week…
It was an armed mugging in Johannesburg…
He died on the spot…
His was the last concert I went to in New York City…
My girls and I were right up by the stage…
I touched his arm as he went up to amaze us…
He was so real in his lyrics, so pure in his singing…
So sincere in his performance…
I could tell that he truly believed in what he was doing…
I could see his passion…
Even though the club was full, it was just him and his music…
I swayed in awe…
Lucky Dube never felt the need to answer to anyone…
He never felt the need to follow trends…
He was his own genre, his own trend…
His performances and fans were the answers…

Lucky Dube…you are no longer a Prisoner in this Crazy World, but as a Rasta man and Freedom Fighter, you showed us that although we are Different Colors, we are One People and we need to come Together As One even though It’s Not Easy, because You Reap What You Sow, and it is everyone, including the Rasta Man’s, Prayer not to be a Lonely Man or woman. Thank you for these and the many other sentiments you shared with the world. And now, rest in Peace, Perfect Peace with your Jah…

One Love to Bob Marley when you see him…

"Life, without passion, is Unforgivable."

Today I tried the new fragrance, Unforgivable Woman by Sean John. Initially I was in love with it, and then as the day went by, the little cardboard square I had sprayed it on started to make me wrinkle my nose. The novelty of it wore off quickly.

What didn't wear off, and keeps replaying in my head, is the ad slogan, "Life without passion is unforgivable." It is very hard for me to be passionate about my life right now, but no matter how bad it gets, there are those moments, brief though they may be, of sheer passion. It may be when I am driving down the road with the windows rolled down and the breeze in my hair. It may be when that raspy voice of the lead singer from Nicklback comes on the radio and starts singing about being a rockstar...and I rock out with him. It may be when the warm water massages my kneck, my back... and the rest of my body at the end of a hard day's work. It may be when I simply let the Oreo ice cream slide down my trachea...

Zeal, Fire, Passion, Wreckless Abandon! When I die, that is how I want people to remember I lived. Anything less would be unacceptable...unforgivable.

"My feet are scraping the sky..."

I am still so incredibly high from my solo road trip accomplishment.

The thing is, from now on, everytime I see a globe, or a map of the whole world, I am going to be able to draw a line representing the distance I drove (all by myself), and not need a magnifying glass to see the line! That's a LINE on the planet Earth! One that I can see with the naked eye!

How small the world is...and therfore not as intimidating...

So this is how it feels to be "on top of the world..."

What?

What?

just me...and all my material stuff. What?

just me and all my stuff in a small s u v.

What?

just me?

Driving sixteen hundred miles?

Just me?

New York City to Dallas, Texas?

Yeah Baby! Two days and the open road!

Just Me!

What?

What's my name??!!!!!!!!

"these are the days of our lives"

In the midst of preventable plane crashes in Sao Paolo, mysterious gas explosions in New York City and plastic Emmy Award commotion, an elementary school class raises money for their janitor to take his dream trip with his wife to San Francisco... and that, makes this world...not such a bad place.

In Heat...

...because it is a thousand degrees in New York, and two thousand underground when waiting for the subway

in heat...because my walls are red, my sheets are red and almost everything in my room is red

in heat...because it is Friday the 13th, and six years ago today I left the Motherland to pursue something better

in heat...because I "still haven't found what I'm looking for"

in heat...because even though I want to, Bob Marley is telling me not to cry

in heat...because I am starting to live, think and act, like one of those weird beings called adults

in heat...because becoming one makes me realise that Boys II Men never happens

in heat...because that means I am doomed to have children with a "child" in a bigger body

in heat...because THAT means I am doomed to be a single parent

in heat...because in spite of all that, I have a burning yearning to breastfeed the fruit of my loins

in heat...because every month I discard another warm, comfortable, safe place to grow

...can somebody get me some ice water...or snow...infact, just bring me Alaska...like NOW!

Alone in this Craziness...

A few months ago I decided I wanted to have a baby. Well, I have always known I wanted to eventually have kids, but I suddenly became super-ready for the stork to tap on my window and make his delivery...and then a few seconds later I got over it.

My theory is that people have mini versions of themselves in order to escape their lives and start living vicariously through the "little ones", so it is some kind of reincarnation, and they have a chance to redo or do-over (shout out to Texas!) their screwed up lives and try their best not to screw it up the next time... or the next few times around.

What they don't realize is that the "little ones" come with their own little brains and little personalities that are likely to morph* into adults that will inevitably screw up their own lives or at least get bored of living them and decide to spice things up by having more "little ones." And the cycle continues...

So, we do need people around us, usually a partner and then possibly kids later. We need this person so that we don't go insane! The fact that there is another human being who knows my life is screwed up and thinks their life is screwed up, but somehow if we come together we will see that our lives are not screwed up as long as we are together, and help each other, and share things, and love and cherish, in sickness and in health...until...well until it just gets too much to handle, and we fish out the prenup papers from the wedding china cabinet...um...I think I should stop, because I am kinda rambling...

*Please note, I have now used the word(or adaptation of it) morph twice in two consecutive blogs! I think it is my new favourite word...after woo. But woo is still pretty high up there...hint hint...anybody wanna woo me? Lol, now I am just being silly, but I do think a silly blog entry is in order...once in a while...to keep the sanity...

Blissfully Sleeping

Last night I slept for fourteen hours...and it wasn't a hang over!
FOURTEEN hours! That is like two nights in one! And I'm pretty sure I had five different dreams! My newborn niece probably doesn't even have that luxury! Her little stomach won't let her sleep for more than three or four hours at a time!

On one hand it was incredible, to just sleep with no end in sight, on the other hand, the metamorphing adult in me thought it was a lot of time wasted. Either way, it happened, fourteen blissful hours. I'm still trying to figure out why I was so exhausted. Could it have been because I had spent at least a quarter of the day before tracking down a poetry club in lower Manhattan with someone whose legs are triple the size of mine or the fact that I make drinks with Italian names all day, or could it have been a good catch up since the last eight hour sleep I had...

I think I am going to set aside one day a month when I can sleep for two thirds of the day...I think I will be an even happier person...

Count Your Blessings

This has been one of those weeks... The one's where I get through it because I remember my mother singing "Count your Blessings..." You see, I am one of those so blessed people, that no matter how bad it gets, I'm always going to have it better than someone out there. Lately, I have been thinking that I have reached rock bottom, and there really is nowhere else to go, so "something's gotta give" but then something else happens... It's been a long day at work, it happens to be raining, and I have to walk from my train station to my house - about six blocks, and some woman in her fabulous silver car, decides she is the one who is almost going to run over Tjidzani Maphosa. And even if I got the fright of my life, and even though my heart jumped into my mouth for a second there, the key word is almost, and because that is the key word, I am still here, I am still breathing, I don't even have a bruise or a scratch. And so even though yesterday one of my best friends moved away, and yesterday I decided to quit my job and find my career, and yesterday my landlord told me he is selling the house in a month and I have to find somewhere to live...yesterday was yesterday, and today, I am grateful, because there are some people who don't have friends let alone family on another planet, and there are others who don't have the choice of where to work or whether to work, and there are still others whose home address is "at the bottom of the stairs, on the left side of the uptown 6 local train platform, 14th street, Union Square...So I just keep counting...

New York Summer

Summer officially began yesterday, and New York City is dressed to impress in all her colors. There seem to be eight million more people on the streets than usual, and everybody is walking with a spring in their step.

New York City, who ever thought I would call it home?! After a miserable winter which included but was not limited to, slipping and falling down the train station stairs, I was almost ready to pack my bags again and go the heck back where I had come from. But something stopped me. A little voice whispering, "Hang in there. Give the Big Apple a chance."

Then one day I woke up, and it was summer in New York City. As I got dressed in a summery mellow dress and painted my toes pretty pink and skipped and hopped into the streets of Manhattan. The hearty smell of Halal wafting through the air, interupted every block or so, by the familiar scent of that Seattle company's coffee.

Streets go up and down, avenues go left to right, and I go all around the "City that Never Sleeps" wishing I had literally hibernated over the past six months, because I am not going to sleep a wink this summer, with all that New York has in store for me!

How Frustrating...

...To be an Artist.
Being so excited about your Creation that you feel like you could literally BURST.
Feeling like every waking moment, should be spent developing, perfecting;
Every sleeping moment should be dedicated to dreaming,
About your Idea.
Believing you are wasting time at your 40 hour a week day job
When you could be spending more time in this bliss of Creativity.
And you happily would
No matter how much or how little it paid,
Because artists are not confined to the parameters of this world…
Except when it’s time to
Pay the RENT.
How Frustrating.

Tjidzani

Corrective Action

I'm sitting in a Starbucks store, at least an hour from home...well, my definition of "home" being, "the place where one sleeps at night"...and I just taught myself a valuable lesson. Giving is a good and positive thing. Gifts are blessings.

Sometimes we are provoked by a certain statement or act, to think in ways that do not follow mainstream rational...or that follow it to an extreme. Our emotions temporarily indoctrinate our brains into believing that our next course of action makes more sense than breathing oxygen. And then we take off on a crazy mission, turning up the heat, simmering the blood in our veins and nothing can stop the negative energy except, well except positive energy.

So today, a switch went off in my head, and right before I got to my destination I saw a Starbucks store. In the blink off an eye, I decided to substitute the gift of "a piece of my mind" with a gift of brewed coffee. Instantly I felt more nurturing, caring and loving. Like that cup of coffee erased everything I had planned up to that point. And it was a good feeling. The feeling that I had overcome the irrational period which would have surely sent me into a time of mourning and regret. The feeling of control and peace. The feeling of positive energy coursing through my being, like a happy little stream, dancing down the mountain side.

Fired Up!

I set my head on fire.
Platinum Blonde.
Bleached the "blackness" right out of it -
"I'm looking at that woman in the mirror."
The Texans say, "Oh shucks, that Big Apple went and swallowed her up, mind and all."
The New Yorkers say, "Stupid Texas, if you don't want the sun to fry your hair, lose the horses and invest in a freaking subway system!"
I've resorted to telling people that I have this hair for a part in a futuristic off off off broadway show...
...and since I only have one reader, I'm getting away with it;)

The Strength of Africa

Africa,
Restless Spirit,
Struggling to overcome the pangs of cramping in her various joints.
Cramps produced as a result of other men.
Her first love, Europe, betrayed her.
Promised her happiness, joy and love forever,
But used her and abused her.
Stripped her of her abundant wealth of natural resources,
Stripped her of her innocence and
Overwhelmed her with foreign ideas.
Of colonialism,
Of capitalism
Of democracy.
Ideas completely unlike those of her fine cultures,
Resonating with centuries of tradition.
And so she lies,
Choking in her own blood.
Raped
Beaten and
Left for dead
By Europe and the Americas, and those that simply watch, Asia, Australia,
Are just as guilty of this attempted murder!
But Africa’s heart beats with the pulse of her ancestors,
Pumping life through her veins,
Nile
Zambezi
Limpopo.
Rhythmic and strong, her heart beats,
The Spirit of her forefathers cheering her on.
From the darkness, she rises.
Through the sadness, she rises.
Above her transgressors, she rises.
Her strength enough to give her unborn child
That same Heartbeat,
That same Spirit,
But a different
Life.

Tjidzani

Love is...

30 years and counting...

It's meeting at cultural events, from down south to the Eastern Highlands.

It's keeping each other awake by tapping toes.

It's growing, living, loving.

It's postponing the wedding until after her graduation.

It's sitting on the cold hard floor during negotiations.

It's wearing a "duku" until he pays up.

It's excited families, joined by their first borns.

It's May 21st. 1977.

It's honeymooning in the car.

It's Mr and Mrs, growing, living, loving.

It's old friends and new friends and new family too.

It's a one room quarters in the "wrong part of town."

It's growing, living, loving.

It's us and the baby.

It's us and our two girls.

It's us and "All our children"

It's happiness, joy, laughter, tears, sorrow, stress and back around to growing, living, loving.

It's us, 30 years on and counting, and sharing with all whom we love, and all who love us.

Happy 30th Wedding Anniversary to the "Honey Bee and Sweet Pea"

With love from "the zygote" - May 21st, 2007.

Ishmael my son...

BBC is headlining the murder of a cameraman in Zimbabwe most likely, for leaking journalistic footage to the rest of the world.

I just watched the book review and signing of Ishmael Beah's book, "a long way gone."

The author likes cucumbers.

As he described the beautiful Sierra Leone, before and after the war, the reasons for the war...I couldn't help but think of my beloved country.

With 80% of the population living in poverty and inflation of 1700%, I couldn't help but wonder if Ishmael could be my son in the future. Speaking about what had prompted the war, and how terrible the war was, and how difficult it is, not only to rebuild a country, but also to rebuild souls.

The spirit of Zimbabwean people is alive but it's breathing has become heavy, and seems to be quickening. Deeper, heavier, faster... War is not necessary my son, but something is...

http://www.bordersmedia.com/store01/beah/default.asp

"The Ides of March are come..."

Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow, I find myself drifting, floating, nonchalant. What is the meaning of my life?

Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow, I contemplate, what will I be doing in two months? Where will I be? Where will I be going? Drifting, floating, nonchalant?

Somewhere between this morning and this evening, the ides of March came...but are not yet gone.

So I continue to drift, float...nonchalantly until I fall asleep.

Tomorrow is another day.

Mom's the Word

Oh my gosh I have a blog!

Today is my mother's birthday. She is 55. I am 26. It seems to me like she has always been the same age. I spoke to her...miles away, wished her happy birthday, the whole bit. How long am I going to live in this abnormality of a life? Where the ones who bore me only get to speak to me once a week? Where I can be anything from 'foreigner' to 'alien' because my passport is not blue. Where I have been in hot pursuit of happiness for over half a decade, but somehow am starting to get the feeling that I've been pursuing a happiness that isn't necessarily mine; leading me to the question...What/Where/Which/Who is my happiness? Should I be asking this question at my age? Or should I be "all grown up" by now, and know the answer?