Fawk(s) this!

Remember, remember the fifth of November...


Is there anyone out there who knows how the rest of this rhyme goes? Right, I didn't think so. We are, after all, no longer part of the Commonwealth so why are we still celebrating this day?


A few years ago, the powers that be tried to do away with Guy Fawkes Day and tried to replace it with Halloween in stead. I don't always agree with the powers that be, but I have to get behind this venture mainly for the following reasons:

1. It has become dangerous: In the smaller communities children and young people actually gang together and smear people with shoe polish, ink and quite a few other nasty concoctions that I would rather not mention (Hint: number one and two). I have it on good authority that attackers even conceal blades between their fingers and cut people in their faces as they conduct their smear campaigns and have even heard of women who have been smeared with No-Hair depilatory creams! I have witnessed these gangs wreak havoc in my own community, attacking grown and elderly people as they go to the shops and damaging cars on the roads (because there is safety in numbers - no adult can take on a group of twenty or so kids). And in schools you can actually smell the fear among the kids as they know what they will have to endure when they walk home from school. Still not convinced about the danger of this day? Police visibility is critical on this day and at times even this is not enough to keep the little fuckers at bay!
2. It is cruel to animals: Aside from the fact that animals have sensitive hearing and will therefore be scared shitless (sometimes quite literally) by illegal explosives going off - especially in the residential areas - some of the little hooligan-gangs that was mentioned before got the idea that it would be funny to shove fireworks into certain places on the animal's body and ... (I think you can fill in the blanks here).
3. Shopkeepers become unscrupulous and sell illegal fireworks to kids who then let them go off in residential areas. This is especially dangerous in the light of all the gang violence we have been experiencing lately.

It is not my intention to spoil anyone's fun, but I don't think one person's fun should be at the expense of the next person! Of course there is still a long way to go before Guy Fawkes is finally scratched off the South African calendar. Until then, God help us! Have a safe (and, if possible, happy) Guy Fawkes Day.

The Triangle

The following short story was something I submitted for an internship at a well-known publication about two years ago. Unfortunately it only got me as far as the interview but at least they were impressed with it. It has been chilling in my portfolio ever since so I decided to take it out, dust it off and post it on this space. Enjoy!

The worst thing I ever did

Written by Ronel Sampson

“I love you.”


My straw stops toying with the lemon slice floating on my Coke.


“Don’t worry, you don’t have to react,” his soft voice gently assures me. “I just wanted you to know. I know I can’t compete with your precious fiancé.”


Dean! For a second there I forgot about Dean!

“All I want is this moment…” he takes his IPod out of his pocket and unwinds the earphones. “One moment…” he continues as he switches it on, “…that I can take into eternity with me.”



He holds out one earphone to me. Melting into his aquamarine eyes, I lean forward. He brushes my hair gently away. “Any excuse to touch you.” He whispers as he inserts the earphone. He inserts the other piece in his own ear; presses ‘play’ and both of us drown in a heartbreaking Italian lament.

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *            

“What the fuck!” I am shaken wildly from my slumber and my cellphone (that was right at the bottom of my bag) is shoved under my nose.


“Why is this prick sending you messages?” Dean demands fiercely.


I take the cellphone from him and read the message he opened last: “Change your mind and come with me. I can make everything happen, just say yes!”


Dean is rocking himself forward and backward.  I want to comfort him but do I have the right to touch him? I’m not sure, so I don’t do it.


“Did you kiss him?” he whispers. I don’t respond.


Dean pulls in his breath sharply, then bends over and beats the floorboards with his fists…

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *            

I knock tentatively at his door. I shouldn’t be there! I left this room just a few moments ago with my head held high. We had finished a bottle wine and merrily stumbled into his room. Laughing, he fell onto his bed. Then his laughter died down, his eyes became soft, he moved up a bit and held out his hand: “Come here.” He commanded gently.


“I don’t think Dean would like that,” I bit out evenly. Then I left. Now, I’m standing outside his door again, in my pajamas! The door opens and there he is, wearing only his pajama bottoms, ready for bed. “Hey,” surprised he opens the door a little wider. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”


My mind blank, I utter only two words: “I’m sorry.”


“Sorry? For wh…?”


I trap him against the wall and take his unfinished question into my mouth. He is only startled for a second before he regains control. Swinging the door shut, he drags his mouth along my jaw and nibbles my ear. “I’m sorry…” I rasp with the first lungful of air I drag into my lungs. “I’m sorry…”


“Don’t be!” He grunts and swings me from the wall onto his bed … Only; he wasn’t the one I was apologizing to…

My whimsical weekend

Imagine a group of young-at-heart people running and twirling and frolicking around Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens.

Imagine a fun-filled atmosphere with laughter, music and dancing and a small market selling delicious snacks and interesting trinkets.

Imagine the group of young people interacting with each other by playing games that encourage lots of movement and getting to know each other.

These are all the things that did NOT happen at the 9th Cosplay which took place on 18 October 2014.

In theory this concept should have been a roaring success; so what went wrong?

1. The Cosplayers (I use this term loosely) don't seem very open and accommodating of any new Cosplayers who, ON INVITATION, decided to join in the fun. Those that have been part of the event from the beginning flocked together on their picnic blankets under the trees and completely disregarded the few blankets surrounding their orbit (despite the fact that those people were obviously there for the event). It was like the popular table at high school all over again!
2. The event seemed a bit disorganized. Organizers were still falling over their feet at the event while trying to hand out bingo cards and pencils (thank heavens those were in place). I asked one of them to walk me through the event but she came across a little ditsy and distracted - almost as if she didn't know what was happening herself! Like children organizing their first event without adult supervision, they demanded the attention of everyone present at the event in order to make a start but in stead of doing that, they still congregated and made little jokes among themselves. 
3. Voice projection was also a massive problem and, as there were no mics available, they had to shout (which, to them, involves raising their voices slightly above the sound of a whispering wind). Also, when the event made a proper start (eventually) the "main speaker" was constantly interrupted by some of his supporting staff 'offering' corrections and missing information - thereby confusing the audience and, I think, even themselves (I still don't know whether the next picnic is on the 13th, 20th or 25th of December - not that I will be attending).
4. There were no games. Just Bingo. That's it...and after the 'photo shoot,' the event was basically over. My disappointment knew no bounds!

Luckily for me and my friends Kirstenbosch offers a lot of distractions for those willing to look for it. So we stumbled upon The Enchanted Forest not so far from the Cosplay picnic ground that will actually make you believe in magic. Feeling whimsical, we climbed a tree that could easily have appeared out of a story book (that's how high and thick it was). We took photos high up on a bridge that shook every time someone took a step (now that's what I call living on the edge). We even found a natural spring where water came bubbling forth, ice-cold and good enough to drink without it having to go through any kind of processing.

Dressed up in our costumes while frolicking around in the ice cold water and exploring the rest of Kirstenbosch (and getting lost in there at some point: note to self, get a guide) it warmed the heart every time we passed a child whose eyes lit up when they saw an actual magical creature pass them as if it were the most normal thing on earth...and I think that is what the idea behind Cosplay and every other fantasy inspired event should be: to spread a little bit of magic in the everyday humdrum of our lives and to spread a bit of happiness to each other and those around them - albeit only for the five or so hours they are allowed to inhabit that small picnic spot in the middle of Kirstenbosch Gardens.

The Wisdom of the Ages

"Grandmother is dead."

This was the text message that I received one morning in church that had my whole world shatter and come down around me.

Ouma was the first mother I had ever known. She raised me for the first sixteen years of my life before returning to Riversdal, a small town in the Western Province. Not long before her departure, I had a disagreement with my father whom I never really liked. We walked circles around each other for about a week or so before Ouma took me aside and said: "You know, child, displaying good manners doesn't mean that you have to like the person. Good manners costs you nothing but it says a lot about you." That was the pearl of wisdom that I took from Ouma that day. Not long after that she left. I saw very little of her afterwards and then ... never saw her again. She died in April 2013.

Ouma Ida (my father's mother) was about 10 years older than Ouma. In spite of this age difference, they were the best of friends. She would often come and visit and the three of us would tend to Ouma's garden (they were both very fond of gardening and, as a result, so was I), cook (they taught me how), bake  (they taught me  how to make bread which was especially useful to me when I went to Angola where a bread can cost about R30,00) and just spend some time around each other. As a child I was especially fond of Ouma Ida as I didn't see her very often and she would often spoil me with sweets or money. However, as time went by, she also became a thorn in my side. I remember about five years ago she was quietly watching me and my fiancée (who was only my boyfriend then) and I suppose we looked a little too joint-at-the-hip for her liking. Later on she had a talk with me: "Child," she said, "I know that you are fond of this boy and he seems like a good kid but maybe you shouldn't ruin a good thing by being around each other all the time. Be on your own and do your own thing sometimes. He doesn't need to know everything that you do."

Naturally I got annoyed with her. He was the one good thing in my life at that point and I wasn't about to let go just to appease this old lady! That was the last time I spoke to her. The next time I would see her is in a hospital bed a mere few hours before her death ... and then never again. She died six months after Ouma ... October 2013.

My family situation has always been a rather distant one where members can go weeks and even months without seeing each other despite the fact that we live in the same house. One day, some time before Ouma's death, my mother sat me down and told me: "Child, it is time that you go and see your grandmothers. They are old and might not be around for long." After establishing that they were not close to death (if only I had known), I very spat back at her: "Why? It's not like they want to see me, they've got G! If they really want to see me, they can come here!"

I can't begin to express today how much I have come to regret those words. I will never see the naughty twinkle in Ouma Ida's eyes again ... almost as if she is about to pull a fast one over you. I will never experience Ouma's maternal presence again...and I am sad.

The only way I have of honoring their memory is in the wisdom they have passed on to me:

1. Good manners cost you nothing but says a lot about you.
2. Spend some quality time with yourself.
3. Appreciate loved ones while they are there...

And of course, I will think of them whenever I bake bread ... they were, after all, the ones that taught me how.

The Price of Having Good Manners

I like to think that - when it comes to manners - my parents, neighbors and teachers did a stellar job.  However, every now and then I encounter someone who either makes me doubt whether all the bases were covered in my own education or whether this person got any at all during his/her wonder  years.


In the movie Blast from the past Eve (the female lead) and her best guy friend (whose name escapes me at the moment) comment on Adam's (the male lead) perfect table manners. What the guy friend tells Eve in that scene goes a little something to this effect: "Good manners are not meant to show everyone that you are better than them. Good manners show that you respect the next person." This was one of the lessons that I took from the movie and tried to apply in my daily life - sometimes successfully, other times not. In addition to the pleases, the thank you's and the excuse me's, I was also taught another lesson: Live and let live. You will not always like what the other person does or says but that doesn't mean that you have the right to correct whatever it is that you perceive as wrong.


Unfortunately I was never taught when or how to retaliate and in which situations it would be appropriate to retaliate. So I'm hoping that whoever comes across this post will be able to aid me in this venture and comment on any one of the following situations with what it is that they would do in this situation. Names have purposefully been left out to protect the identities of these culprits and to make the situation adaptable to anyone reading this post.


Question 1:
You offer to cook dinner for yourself and your housemate(s) or it is your turn to do so and you are cooking up a storm. Suddenly, one of your housemates walk into the kitchen and says: "You know, the kitchen always looks like a disaster zone when you are in here," and then proceeds to walk over to a counter, pick up one of the tea cloths between thumb and fore-finger, pull a face and say: "Eeeuwww!"


Question 2:
After dinner, you are cleaning the kitchen - alone. You prefer that the dishes - and especially the glasses - drip dry overnight so that the tea cloth does not leave a residue. In comes your roommate who says something along the lines of: "So, are these dishes going to pack themselves away?"


Question 3:
You are running late for work one morning and, after eating a sandwich, you simply rinse the plate under the tap and leave it in the drying rack. It is the only dish there as you already did the dishes earlier. Later your housemate requests: "Please don't ever leave the kitchen like that again."


Question 4:
It is election time and you and your travel companion are having a discussion about politics. After giving your opinion about a certain matter, your travel companion responds with: "Now see, that is the colored mentality and that is why the colored will always be stuck in their particular circumstance."


Question 5:
A senior colleague at work is renowned for bullying other employees. One day, being pro-active as is required of you in your job, you offer a solution/suggestion to a pressing work-related problem ... and are consequently rewarded with a "talk to the hand" gesture - in plain view of colleagues and clients alike!


Question 6:
You walk into your workplace early one morning, whistling a tune quietly to yourself. The tea lady and two or three of your colleagues are standing at the coffee counter, having their own conversation. Greeting them politely, you proceed over to pour yourself a glass of water when the tea lady comments loudly: "Haybo, you rude! You don't whistle inside!"


I am very curious to see what responses I will get from this post (whenever they will come).

Little girl lost

About five years ago, a boy slid a sterling silver cubic zirconia ring on the ring finger of my left hand and said jokingly: "What I've put there, you don't remove!" That was his idea of a proposal. Excited at the prospect of spending my life with him, I accepted the ring that I disliked from the moment I opened the Galaxy box. My heart overflowing with joy, I immediately went about showing off my ring to all my friends and changing my Facebook relationship status to 'Engaged.' Unfortunately, that was where everything ended.


Five years later and what do you find? Well, firstly the starry-eyed twenty-six year old girl has been replaced by a 31-year-old woman with dull eyes; the dreams she dreamed about five years prior left in ruins by the passing time. She no longer wears the ring he had slid onto her finger so many years ago. The silver ring, along with the promises that were implied, lies forgotten at the back of his clothes cupboard.


The boy, however, is still there and merry as a clown; still very much in love with the starry-eyed girl who is a starry-eyed girl no longer. The wendy-house in the backyard of his aunt's house has also remain unchanged along with the non-existing financial situation.


And the woman-child finds herself wondering: How did things become so wrong?

Letter to my future daughter

Dear Jeremy-Lynn,


A big "Hi" from your mother in the year 2014. You do not exist yet but as you can see, I have already dreamed about you and named you long before you existed. This name was selected for you many years ago and is basically a mush-up of the names of every single man I have ever cared about. In other words, your name is an ode to all the men I have loved and lost.


Jeremy, your mommy would like to talk to you about the nature of men and how best to protect yourself from them - albeit only emotionally. Your grandmother and great-grandmother also spoke to your mommy about these things and Babe, I really wish I had listened to them. I feel that it is only fair that I pass these "trade secrets" down to you so that you don't repeat the same mistakes the Old Girl did in her day.


See, Jeremy, at the moment your mom is a 31-year-old woman who has been engaged to the same man for almost five years (and been with him for almost six). Baby, he is a very kind and loving man, albeit a bit needy. Perhaps he even got as far as the ultimatum I gave him not so long ago and will he be your father soon. The only problem is that we have been together for all this time and he has not made one  single arrangement to prepare for our lives together. This might not have been so bad if your mom was still in her early twenties but as a 31-year-old woman, time is running out and there is a real danger that you may never exist. So, in order for you to avoid the mistakes of your mother, heed the following advice handed to me personally by the Sampson-women:


Don't make a man your entire world!

Sweetie, please don't do this. This is something your mother did and trust me my girl, this is one of the biggest mistakes we as women make. Doing this is especially devastating if your feelings are not returned (or returned as fervently as they were given). Hold on to your God, who will never disappoint you so that, if the worst happens, your entire world will not be shaken up as much.

Keep a little bit of yourself for yourself...

Baby, don't buy into the hype of "Sharing is caring." Sharing of yourself is great but you need to ration it out. Giving your all in a relationship can be very draining so listen to your mother when she tells you this in love: Sweetie, spend some time with yourself, your friends, and other people. He also doesn't need to know every single detail of your life when you are not with him, you don't want to give him the idea that he has a right to your personal life and that you need to give a report of all your doings. A personal life is just that...a personal life. It's yours!

Don't be kept on a line

Sweetie, about five years ago my fiancé slipped a (sterling) silver, cubic-zirconia ring on the ring finger of my left hand ... and that was where it stopped. If a man loves you Sweetheart, he will make preparations to have you in his life. He should start putting away money, looking at places where you can live, bettering himself by studying and getting a good job so that he is able to provide for you. Now don't get me wrong, Baby. I'm  not saying that you are exempt from doing the same. Remember: marriage is two people making a life together. It is an equal giving and taking, so you also need to bring your part. However, something like this can not be one-sided. You can't be making all the preparations by yourself! If a guy should ever propose to you, make sure that he knows what goes for what BEFORE he slips  the ring on the finger. WHEN does he want to be married? WHAT preparations has he made up until that point? WHERE does he plan on living with you? If, for argument's sake, he's thinking of dragging you off to a life of living in a wendy house in his aunt's back-yard, say "no!" Your parents have worked very hard so that you can have a certain standard of living. The day you leave my house it will be to better prospects, not worse!

Don't get involved with the wrong guy!

Sweetie, I don't care how much he loves you. The minute he raises his voice towards you with language peppered with swear words, walk away. Maybe he has never hit you before but if he can, hypothetically speaking, drive his fist through the wall of the afore-mentioned hypothetical wendy house and break the hypothetical full-length mirror hanging against the afore-mentioned hypothetical wall, run! If he loves you, he will make you feel safe no matter how angry he is with you. If he does any of the above, he is THE WRONG GUY!

So Sweetie, there you have it. I hope the wisdom of the Sampson-women will guide you until you find the right man to spend your life with, and Sweetie, I really hope I have done the same by the time we finally meet each other.

Lots of hugs and kisses

Your mom

Ronel Sampson

Re-acquainting myself with the P-word

Last night I took a razor to my pussy!


That's right, I said it!


There has always been this small part of me that rebelled against what everyone perceived as normal. I'm sure we all have that: that small part that encourages us to get a tattoo, a piercing, or (like most brown-skinned young people of the Western Cape) extract the four front teeth - just a little something that, even though society eventually wins in the end and forces us to conform, serves as a miniature 'up yours.' For me, that small part was a dense jungle cultivated Down Under. Of course this poses a small problem when you attempt to make love to your partner with something that resembles a goldilocks scour. If your partner is lucky, he (or she, whatever your preferences are) might escape with something that resembles rug-burn ... if they are lucky!


Having had this problem for some time, I decided that the hair had to go. Armed with a small tub of warm water, a bar of soap, a towel and a small handheld mirror I went to work (not having wax and also not feeling brave enough to torture myself with hot sugar coming into contact with my sensitive flesh). By the end of the night I had a perfectly smooth, puffy-looking pussy that I had not laid eyes on since I was eleven. It felt very sexy and I couldn't stop admiring my handiwork from every visible angle possible ... then the burning itch started!


For others who are in the same boat (scared to death of waxing) and who would like to trim the bush, follow these simple instructions:


What you will need:

• Comb and scissors (or clippers)
• New pivoting razor with multiple blades
• Shaving cream or gel
• Cortizone cream for if pubic area becomes itchy
• Light, unscented moisturizer

1. Trim the hedges - If (like me) you are shaving down there for the first time, you will have LOTS of hair down there. In order to prevent your razor from getting caught in something, trim your hair first (using a scissor or clippers) and cut your hairs about 1/4 of the way down.


2. Lubricate - In my extensive research on this topic, it was suggested that you take a bath or shower BEFORE the shaving process as this prepares the skin and softens the follicles. Alternatively, you can use a warm, wet face cloth and hold it against the area to be shaven for five minutes. Apply your shaving gel (according to my research, it should not be the kind that you would use for your face or legs but something specifically designed for the pubic area).

3. Let your razor do the gliding - I have it on good authority that there are many razors on the market that are especially designed for the pubic area. If you are able to get your hands on one, do so. If (like me) you decide to go the disposable route, please be aware that it is very easy to hurt yourself. Roll up a small hand towel and place it over the clit area and any other area you wish to protect against the blades of your razor. I have also been advised not to go over an area repeatedly as this will lead to razor-burn. Also, if you're using the disposable razor, remember that they can only be used ONCE!


4. Smooth sailing - I do not wish ingrown hairs on any of you ... it is not pleasant and just ruins the effect. If you don't want your partner to run screaming in the opposite direction, I've got one word for you: EXFOLIATE! Just be gentle down there, okay?


And finally, take your time ladies; this is going to take a while. You are sensitive down there and the last thing you want to do is have the razor get snagged on something. Also, you will have to bring out your inner contortionist and she is a little out of practice. So work slowly, work carefully and work thoroughly down there.

Those mean reds!

I have always had a thing for old movies. There is just something about the old-time glamor of the sixties that still appeals - even in the 21st century!

A few days ago I revisited an old favorite of mine: Breakfast at Tiffany's. Hollywood has immortalised the opening scene of Holly Golightly, a young woman in evening atire and huge sunglasses, standing in front of Tiffany's, sipping a foam take-away cup of coffee and eating a croissant (or at least I think it's a croissant). Later we learn that Holly Golightly (portrayed by the stylish Audrey Hepburn) flees to Tiffany's whenever she experiences "those mean reds," when life becomes to much for her:

                   Holly:“You know those days when you get the mean reds?” ... The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling? …Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it. Nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then — then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!”

 

Image: http://www.peatom.info/images/2008/12/19/desayuno-con-diamantes.noticia.jpg

I'm having one of those days right now, the mean reds. I have been having them since I was eleven, when I started getting insomnia or started hyperventilating or even getting bouts of mini panic-attacks worrying about what will become of me one day. My mean reds are always about that...and right now, I wish that I had a place like Tiffany's that I could run to...