Letter to Becky

Oh my friend have you no shame, devouring cubs like that?! You do know this is jealousy speaking here, choma. I so wish I were there with you. That Bob boy sounds like a dish, nka mo otla ka kuku a tagwe, choma. Wa nkitse nna.

So, Arthur invited me to his get-together braai last week. I decided to ask Pabi to tag along with me, as I wasn’t sure what type of crowd would be in attendance. You know how women can be at times, choma, like you are doing flashing your BlackBerry 39-what-what at me like Paris Hilton flashing her punani for cameras.

Tshepo came to fetch us with his father’s Grand Voyager. Pabi and I sat in the seat behind the driver’s, despite Tshepo asking Pabi to sit on the front passenger seat. We opened bottles of Vawter on our way to Arthur’s place. Tshepo was playing some old school RnB on our way there. There’s just something about Janet Jackson’s songs that makes me wanna open my thighs for a hard long dick, my friend. Worse when alcohol is beginning to take it’s toll.

When we got to Arthur’s place we found him braaing, but there wasn’t as many people as we had anticipated. Apparently, many of his friends had attended a wedding in town. There were 3 other guys there, two with their girlfriend and another helping Arthur to braai the meat. That was great because it meant more booze for all of us and guaranteed dick for me in Arthur. I really didn’t care for much.

I sat on a camp chair, just outside the sliding the door facing the braai stand. Choma, I had front row seats of Arthur’s tight ass.

I was wearing my polka-dot summer dress with a straw hat. My dress exposed my DD bosom and down south I went commando. As the deep house tracks were taking me away to a land I have never been to, Vawter took my hormones where I wanted it to go. Arthur kept taking sips of his Heineken while he bumped his head to the beat of his recorded megamix. I wish he would look my way but he was busy engaged in conversation about whether Black Coffee was a better DJ than Kent. Boys!

His friend, whose name I never got, kept checking me out but I pretended not to notice him. Each time he looked my way, I took a sip of my drink and looked the other way. I know my thighs were killing him, as I was sitted with one leg over the other. What we call a ‘four’, mgani!

When Arthur finally paid me attention, asking me to get a plate for the meat, I pulled a Basic Instinct on him. I slowly pulled my legs apart, flashing my pussy at him, stood up and walked to the kitchen. I could see him drooling all over that clean-shaven, beetle-shaped tswana kuku of mine.

After meals, it was already dark and most of us were tipsy. The two couples drove away and only Tshepo, Pabi, Arthur, myself and that dude whose name I never got. Each one cuddled their motho on the couches, the dude was all alone and kept drinking while ogling at us. At the time, Arthur’s tongue was licking the back of my ears.

Tshepo and Pabi were also at it. It was clear they liked each other, from the afternoon, as they followed each other everywhere. I couldn’t see them, but I heard the sounds they were making.
“oooh, ahhh, ohh-shhhit.”
Arthur had his hand up my skirt and was fondling my already wet pussy. The volume of my moaning kept ascending with each rub against my clit. His hands were firm, yet his touches were delicate. As he was busy with my pussy, I was slowly unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly. I reached inside those tight polyamide/spandex boxer shorts and out came that black anaconda. I quickly got into positon to kiss its head and insert it into my mouth. I blew him, paying attention mostly to the tip of his head and I heard him scream “ooohhhh – shhhhhhit!”
I went down to his balls and I felt them roar like the king of the jungle. I kept licking his shaft from top to bottom. Each time taking a peek at that single dude whose name I never got. He pretended to be sleeping but I could see he had a hard on, as it was portruding through his tight pants. He had built a tent, my friend. As I was sucking his dick, I kept looking at Arthur’s facial expressions. They changed from time to time. One moment he would be biting his lower lip, the next he would be breathing heavily and the other holding the couch tight and shaking his head like he was been tortured with electricity. I could feel his toes curling and muscles cramping. I knew he was close to nirvana. In a blink of an eye, he popped.

Cum shots came out as though it were water lanched from a spraygun. All over my face, breast and dress. He spraypainted me cream white. He laid there, on a couch, exhausted like he had just ran a marathon. As I gathered my handbag and walking towards the bathroom, I heard Pabi say “Aaaahhhhh!”
I knew that was the sound of Tshepo burying his bone inside her cookie.

I quickly freshened up and prepared myself for serious bonking. As I came out the bathroom door, I came across the dude without a name. He had his hands in his pocket. Choma, I swear he was fiddling his dick and about to jerk off in the bathroom.

When I got back in the sitting room, I was greeted by Pabi’s screaming.
“Tshepoooo! Tshepoooo, Harder!
Tshepoooo, Harder! Faster!”
That soundtrack was just too much, I instantly wanted hard dick. I wished I could join them. Tshepo was sitted, she was squatting over and riding him like a cowgirl on a wild horse. Arthur had passed out, I tried in vain to wake him up. I was so disappointed thought of bonking the other dude. At this stage he had gone to the other bedroom.

I went to Arthur’s main bedroom, got into his King-sized bed and attempted to finish the job myself. I just couldn’t concentrate, due to the sounds Pabi was making. It made me lust after Tshepo.

After they were done, they came into the bedroom with Arthur in their arms and threw him onto the bed. I was disgusted. Didn’t even want to look in his direction. Pabi and Tshepo took out a blow up bed and prepared to sleep. Once they had settled, she made that sound again.
I just couldn’t deal. Arthur was lying there stone-cold. He wasn’t moving, just breathing softly. My pussy was soaking wet and it wanted dick asap. I gave the mutherfucker a mother of all BJ’s and he repays me by passing, depriving me of that joystick. Tshepo kept banging Pabi’s head against the side of the bed. I wished I could just get Pabi out there and open up wide for Tshepo to screw me ’til I screamed his name.

I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, guess who I bumped into? The dude whose name I never got. I grabbed him and we kissed. His dick was already hard and I too was wet. He picked me up and pinned me against the wall, with my legs over his shoulders. His rock hard chest rubbing against my calves as he thrust harder and deeper. At this point I wish I had asked for his name because I wanted to let him know how much I appreciate him fucking me after Arthur had let me down. He stood up hard for me and I opened up wide. He thrust deep and I screamed hard. I felt him, feeling me feeling him deep inside me. I wished for him not to stop. The screams in the bedroom had stopped. They were then listening to me. I screamed hard, I wished Arthur would come out of sleep and see me getting fucked by his buddy. The man knew his story, as he pulled my hair, pinned me down the on the floor and dominated me. He thrust so hard and deep, I feared he would dislocate my womb. I felt like an absolute whore being fucked by someone whose name I didn’t even know. The pleasure made it all worth it. He turned me around and had me on my knees. From behind, he reached even deeper. I held on to the foot of the toilet seat. My mind was miles off earth. The excitement, elation and ecstasy of it all is beyond description. Orgasm, the highest point of excitement. My toes curled, my eyes crossed, I bit my tongue. Faster, harder, deeper. I heard rolling stones, thunder strikes. I went, I came

I did Dinny

I hate it when visitors I don’t know spend more than an hour in the house. I feel absolutely violated and my space invaded. So when my grandfather passed on, I knew it was going to be a challenge dealing with all the people coming in and going out. Though the funeral wasn’t at my place, relatives and family friends arrived at my place because grandad’s house isn’t big enough. Cousins and uncles I have never met before, claiming to know me and all telling me they last saw me as a toddler. Like I really care.

I locked myself in my bedroom and kept myself busy with my BB. My mom kept interrupting me to introduce me to more mourners and to ask me to make them tea and biscuits for them. Right there in my reluctance, dragging my feet, I set eyes on three people from whom something stood out. This woman had a clear skin and her daughter the most charming smile. They were with a guy, that had broad shoulders and a silky smooth voice. He killed me with his “Pleased to meet you”. I thought, “Meat me please! I’m not one to let dick go to waste”.

In all honesty, I didn’t warm up to the girl. She had a flat stomach and long smooth legs. Jealousy just got the best of me. I think I must have thrown a cup in her direction, without even looking her way. Her beauty made my stomach churn, but her brother’s voice melted my heart. I wanted to jump him and have my legs around his waist.

I’m usually at my horniest the 3 days before I get my periods. At this stage, I had reached the peak of purple flames. I wanted to extinguish them right there and then. It was as if God had heard my prayers when I heard they would be sleeping over. I vowed to pretend to be sleepwalking and get into bed with him. The sleeping arrangements were such that the girl, who was introduced as Dinny, would share a bed with me and Jabu would be in the guest bedroom, while my mom would be sleeping with their mom.

Realising this, I decided to be more polite to Dinny and showed her around the house. She had a perfume that neither smelt feminine nor masculine. It was just attractive and made me want to walk closer to her, but at the same time had to convince myself that I hated her. The more I tried to enforce my hatred for her the more I was drawn to her. Her mannerisms were just magnetic. How she flicked those dreads back and stuck them behind her ears. How she moved her lips gave me that feeling I cannot explain when she said Nthabi. My name has never sounded that sexy before, worse it was from a girl I hated at first sight and whose brother I was eyeing.

Once we were in bed, I locked the door, played Anthony Hamilton and whipped out the previous night’s leftover whiskey. We drank from the bottle, as I was already comfortable with her.

As liquor began to take its toll, conversation soon became about how badly men treated us in the past, but we still live in hope that we will one day meet the right one.

Right then my mind was wondering of the things I would do to her brother who was sleeping next door, but I knew I was in no state to do anything. I thought I could always blame it on alcohol, the morning after, but decided against it. Soon after the bottle was finished, I got into my nightie and prepared to get into bed. As I was tucking in, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Dinny’s body. Firm C-cup breasts, a size 34 figure and a pear-shaped ass. She looked like a handcrafted work of art. Her silhouette stuck against the wall like a pinup poster as I switched of the lights and left the side lamps on. Her presence illuminated the darkly lit room and my heart beat fast as she slowly approached the bed.
“Sweet Dreams, hun!” she said.
What an anticlimax that was, as the lights went off.

Throughout the night I hoped she would accidentally touch or roll onto me, but she was well-behaved. She didn’t make a single sound nor move. Smelt good too. I just wanted to have my arms around her, but was afraid to. In an act of desperation, I turned away from her and intentionally let my foot touch hers. My heart raced as I realised what I just did. I was expecting her to kick me so hard I fell out of bed. She surprised me when she didn’t. She slowly rubbed my foot against hers and moved closer to me. I felt my hair slightly move, exposing my ears and a warm tongue ran behind it.
My heart almost came to a standstill when she whispered, “I hope you don’t mind this.”
I couldn’t grasp my breath and get my words out, but I reach for her face and caressed her cheeks in approval. She didn’t need a second invitation and licked away. Moved lower and started working on my neck. As I turned around, our lips locked and we smooched away. I couldn’t keep my hands away from her Coca-Cola bottle figure. She felt soft and delicate in my hands, I moved closer to her until my breasts were up against hers. I stuck my leg between hers and felt the warmth contained in there. Through that deep kiss, I felt my pussy getting wetter and wetter. Even more so when it hit against hers. With my right hand I kept fondling her left breast until it her tit got rock hard. Her breathing went heavier as her tongue rolled deeper against mine. She began making sounds and I knew we were feeling each other, as I had also began moaning. Once my mouth was detached from hers, I started nibbling at her one tit while rubbing another with my hand. She was running her fingers through my hair and I could feel her muscles stiffening, as she gripped my head tighter.
I helped her take her panties off and slipped my finger between her legs. In a Yellow Pages movement, I alternately ran my index and middle fingers against her clit. Bit by bit my fingers were getting immersed into a sea of natural juices. I stuck my middle finger inside her and bent it to caress the front wall of her punani. I felt that area becoming larger, as she was getting wetter. The grooves dilated and I felt the entire surface area of her G-Spot literally triple in size. Through her dilations she held me tighter and firmer. Softly, I heard her say “Nthabi, Don’t Stop. Nthabi, Yes!”
I knew she was close. She tightened her thighs and screamed. Her body stiffened and she shook like she had been electrocuted. She pressed her pussy against my fingers and thrust hard and fast, as I rubbed her punani. “Aaaah!” she arrived. We cuddled and slept with our arms around each other and didn’t wanna let go in the morning. To wake her up, I licked ice cubes off her body and woke up to get to the church service.


In a frenzy, I pulled my 9mm parabellum pistol from underneath my seat and ran towards his car, holding it close to my chest. As thought it was a stethoscope measuring my heart rate, my heart beat frantically against this weapon that was manufactured for a single purpose. To kill.

Hoards of onlookers cleared a way as I approached. Some taking their children away from what was soon to become a scene filled with blood. I had one thing in mind. I had no doubt I was justified in my actions. Once I reached the vehicle, I bit my lower like, pointed my weapon at his head and fired twice. It silenced his violent screams. His sister thanked me with a kiss on the cheek. She told me she appreciated my bravery in affording her brother a dignified death.

Traffic backed up for about a kilometre, with most people out of their vehicles to get a good view. A scene of a collision between sedan and a petrol truck. The BMW M3 pierced right through the belly of the truck and immediately caught fire. Wails from the driver sent shivers down everyone’s spine. It was a scream straight out of a tormented soul. Hell’s soundtrack. His door had crashed against the truck and it appeared his feet were trapped too. His screams were intermittent and varied in noise levels. He sounded like he was violently shouting a woman’s name, while he struggled to release a seat-belt that had already caught fire. He was grilling. Smell of burning flesh filled the air like a cloud of gathering rain. “Auwww, shame. Sizani bo.” some said. We all felt helpless. Then I resolved to end his misery. I fired two shots straight to his temple and his suffering ended

Magic Waters

Her torn clothes exposed her nipples. Naked she was, in front of the world. Ashamed of her bare state, she couldn’t maintain eye-contact. She was clearly embarrassed to be seen in that state. Though she was a proportionally built woman with a firm body, she didn’t find her nudity sexy. Her cracked lips and battered skin told a story of treacherous roads she had traveled. Troubles of her bruising past had worn her out. She was so dehydrated, even her tongue was dry. A state that impaired her speech. She was thirsty and desperate for water. For the sake of her life, she needed a drink.

He too wore torn clothes that exposed his manhood but he walked like it didn’t bother him. So comfortable and confident he was with himself, he looked people straight in the eye when communicating. He paid so much attention he looked to be zooming into the pupils inside people’s eyes, as though he could see into their souls. He was attentive, yet the torn clothes he wore exposed his manhood. He walked like his nudity was sexy, but it couldn’t be any farther. His skin was silky smooth and his lips hydrated, for he carried a bottle of magic water. He kept taking sips off it as he listened to all who spoke to him. He never spoke much, but people enjoyed his company. All he had was that magic water that kept his skin glowing.

Stumbling upon her words and struggling to get her voice out, she asked for a sip of his magic water. With a smile, he duly obliged. Miraculously, her skin was instantly re hydrated.

Her cracked lips moistened and her once dry skin glowed. Her tongue loosened up and speech returned. Her beauty shone and confidence returned. She was now comfortable to maintain eye-contact. Her torn clothes still exposed her nipples. Even though her beauty resembled the stars in the night sky, she was never comfortable. Though she was more beautiful than the orange and yellow rays of the rising sun, she was never fulfilled. Unlike him, her nudity bothered her. He asked her to stay with him, but she couldn’t for he wore the same torn clothes as her. She left him behind, in search of a cloth to cover her nudity. In spite of his repeated pleas to stay with him, she left and followed a man who wore silk robes.

The man with silk robe gave her one of his finest, especially imported from Syria. She smiled, yet the moisture on her lips had weathered. The magic water’s effect works only for a short space of time. Though it never runs out, one has to continuously take sips of it to remain moisturised. She was clothed, yet her skin was cracking. The man with silk robe had a gravelly voice. Doctors said it was due to a deteriorating state of his internal organs. Many gossiped he suffered from Soul Decay. He would temporarily regain the voice, every time he took his robes off. That seldom happened so much he never noticed. Though his skin was generally in good condition, the magic water would have the same effect on his voice and internal organs as it has on the man with torn clothes’ skin. He knew that.

The lady’s skin condition was fast deteriorating to levels worse than experienced before. She came to a realisation that she needed the magic water. She went back to the man with torn clothes and glowing skin and demanded the whole bottle. He told her he could only give her a sip, but even then she had to take off the silk robe she was wearing and promise to walk with him. She refused to take the robe off but begged him to have a sip. He wouldn’t budge. Told her she couldn’t have it both ways. It was either the sip that would rejuvenate her skin to glow like sunrays or the robe that hid her nudity from the world. She chose the robe.

Upon return to the man with silk robes, she told him of the man with torn clothes but had magic water that could help both of them with their conditions. For the man with silk robes, the magic water would renew his internal state. For her, it would rejuvenate her external state as it once did and restored her impeccable beauty. They had a Eureka moment.

She went back to the man with magic water and smiled at him. He looked straight into her eyes and saw through her nervousness. She swayed her well crafted hips gently from side to side as she took off her silk robe exposing her cracked skin.
“A sip is all I need and I am all yours”
Overwhelmed by temptation, he duly obliged. Instantly, she transformed into a beauty on witnessed in fairytales. She kissed him, but instead of experiencing Nirvana that lied on her lips, blood came out his mouth. A dagger had been stuck on his back, resulting in internal bleeding. He met his end, courtesy of a conspiracy between a man and a woman in search of his magic water. The bottle fell to the ground and disappeared into thin air. The magic water was his and could only be used by him on himself and whoever he chose to let have a sip.

She Had to Die

As far as they were concerned there was no doubt he had done it. Emeka, her loaded boyfriend. Now that I think of it, we should have called him Mr. Make It Go Away. Whatever your problem was, he’d make it go away. If someone owed you money and they didn’t want to pay you back, he’d “talk” to them and you’d get your money back. If your boyfriend broke your heart, he’d “talk” to him and if he didn’t come back to you he’d at least have felt the same pain you felt, albeit physically. A colleague bullying you at work, Emeka would make it go away.
Lying in a bath tub full of water diluted with blood, her left wrist that bled the life out of her lay on her left thigh. “She knew what she was doing,” someone whispered. ‘’…for she cut the vein vertically, as opposed to horizontally.” Maximum impact! The first to see her lifeless body was her mother who then called the deceased’s sister,who then called her friend. Lastly, the boyfriend arrived unannounced and uninvited. Her mother, her sister, her best friend and her boyfriend gather around her body. Four people that were in her life for their own convenience, four people that kept her close to leech off her. One of them killed her, one of them is me.
If is boiled down to motive we are all guilty; Sindi and her mother never really got along. She left her with Granny while she remarried. They’d had a turbulent relationship ever since, but that’s not why she’d kill her own daughter. She grew jealous of the success Sindi attained despite being raised by Granny with little resources. Sindi went on to become head of Public Relations at a top firm, drove fancy cars and bought a flat in an upmarket area, while she and her favourite daughter, conceived in a new marriage, never amounted to nothing more than being defendant on their husband and father.
Nomsa’s motive would be tied to that of her mother. When Sindi would take a lot of time without visiting they’d accuse her of thinking she was too good for them, when she visited regularly they’d say she was there to flaunt her material gains. A Ping-Pong battle of ‘’I don’t ever want to see you here again’’ and ‘’now that you’ve made it in life you think you are too good for us.’’
Since the death of her granny, work has been Sindi’s family. Other than that, and when he was available, she was glued to her boyfriend of three years. Prior to that, she was best friends with a bottle of Pinotage. During Easter and Christmas holidays she’d either fly overseas or tag along to a family gathering of one of her online friends, colleague or neighbour. Never one to play it safe, she made friends easily, but never really had friends. Nor family.
Besides living a parallel and fiercely competitive life to Sindi’s, Tshidi owed her money. Tons of money. Tshidi did everything in her power to make everyone believe she and Sindi were still best friends, but things had long fallen apart and Sindi was even way past the pretending stage; she was ready to set Emeka on Nomsa.
Just an inquest opened, the death was considered suicide until further evidence that suggested otherwise came forward. Nothing concrete, apparently, could be found to suggest ‘’foul play’’, but I looked at the murder weapon, the razor blade sandwiched between her right thumb and index finger, and it appeared unused. I don’t think they checked it for prints or even traces of DNA that didn’t match hers. I wasn’t the only one that thought something was amiss.
You don’t need a motive to make Emeka look guilty. He is a foreigner without a recognised job, tons of cash and reputation of a violent character. If he isn’t guilty, he is definitely a perfect fall-on guy. Someone we could all hide behind.
The scapegoat trick was never late down someone’s sleeve. “You killed my daughter, you bastard,” barked the “inconsolable” mother. You’d never know if she meant he did it physically, drove her into doing it or attempted to divert attention away from herself.She is jealous of Sindi, but no mother would kill her own daughter; except she has tried before.
Very early in the marriage, her family tried to bring Sindi to stay with her mother and the new husband, as they were financially secure. Tragic because she had not told him Sindi was her daughter. He didn’t know she had a child, and she was already seven. He had seen Sindi before but there were a lot of kids living at Granny’s house, he wouldn’t know who was who, nor would he really care.
On one of her visits to Granny’s house she cooked and laced rat poison into one of the plates and handed it to Sindi who was too preoccupied with playing with her cousins to notice. Sputnik, the family pet died a slow, painful death; curiosity landed the cat at the wrong place at the wrong time. A human life spared; almost everyone knew instantly what had happened, though no one would dare breathe a word. The plan to take Sindi to live with her mother was immediately aborted.
Later on in life, Sindi would hear the story from an uncle who had had a bit too much to drink. This worsened relations with her own mother. The uncle lost his mind, and was never seen sober again.
Inconceivable that lightning would strike twice at the same place, Sindi’s sister, Nomsa, could have a motive of her own, or one similar to that of her mother twenty years ago. She grew up privileged, had all luxuries Sindi dreamt of. It was only natural that a rivalry would ensue. Jealousy could have driven Sindi to kill Nomsa long before Nomsa even knew they were sisters. Granny never hid anything from Sindi; she told her who her mom is. Nomsa only knew the truth in her early teens. By then Sindi already had a Bachelor’s degree while she had just had a baby girl and struggling to finish high school. Sindi had three cars and a not so modest flat in town. Nomsa felt Sindi was flaunting her newly foundopulence the same way Nomsa was doing with her father’s money
The truth about Sindi landed on her mother’s husband’s ears, she was already a child any parent would be proud of; academic success and financial fruits, she was everything he wished Nomsa was. He warmly opened his house to her, gave her a room in the house no one else was allowed to use in her absence. Not only was Sindi’s mother nauseated by the insincere gesture, it incensed Nomsa; the torture of being constantly compared to a “low life” like Sindi was unbearable for both of them. That and the fact the Sindi had taken their places in their father’s and husband’s heart. It became clear his love for Nomsa was as conditional as it was for her mother.
Sindi abhorredpoverty and everything the represented it, she steered clear off everything that reminded her of her childhood days at Granny’s house. Her choice of friends bore testament. Tshidi was a Human Resources manager at a blue chip firm; she belonged in the same tax bracket as Sindi,and should be enjoying the same lifestyle as her friend; except she didn’t have an Emeka in her life. Nonetheless, she not only aspired to, but lived the social media lifestyle that came effortlessly to the Sindis of this world. The Caribbean cruises and Dubai shopping sprees; she did those on formal and debt, while Sindi had Emeka to pay for it. Tshidi’s last trip to the Seychelles was funded by a R35 000 cash loan from Sindi. She hasn’t paid a cent back in over a year and she knew Sindi was about to set Emeka on her.
Although it didn’t start off that way, Emeka was more of a sponsor than a boyfriend. He spent less time with Sindi, but showered her with cash at every opportunity. A woman in her sexual peak, Sindi opted to outsource what was missing in her relationship. She’d often go to pubs to pick up random guys to sleep with, just to satisfy the urge. She eventually picked up the wrong guy, and Emeka found out. He confronted her about it and she denied it, but she knew Emekawas a street justice type of man. Though he never said much about it nor cut her allowance, she knew he would seek “justice”; it was just a matter of when.
A man she gave up her dreams and ambitions for now placed first a child she was willing to kill to keep him. He had her quit her nursing studies at second year level because he would not have a wife that works. Now he is Sindi’s number one fan because she is independent and doesn’t wait for any man to do things for her. Everything he didn’t her to be, he now admired in Sindi. Her anger was more directed at her husband who betrayed her loyalty. She’d kill him if she didn’t depend on him for livelihood.
Grew up his princess; had all the toys, all the clothes she wanted. Even attended multi-racial schools. He’d always brag about her white friends sleeping over at his township, but lavish house. The apple of his eye that did not live up to his expectations; if only she had completed matric, went on to study medicine so there would finally be a Dr.Ndlovu in the family. He had always wanted to be a medical doctor, but was prevented by the political atmosphere of the 70’s.
Though Sindi wasn’t a medicalor a Ph.D doctor, he loved that she was childless, aggressively pursued a career and did not live off a man. Nomsa hated her father’s admiration of Sindi for it reminded her of how he loved a young Nomsa. The sparkle in his eye when he speaks to Sindi was the same one when she had when he would hoist little Nomsa up and told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world. He no longer said those words; no longer praised her for anything except remind her she turned out just like her mother, who was a teen mom and went on to quit school so she could be taken care of by a man. “Why can’t you be like Sindi?” were haunting words that came out of her father’s lips lately. Sindi had stolen her father’s love from her, Sindi had to die.
More so because she is a lying and cheating whore. Emeka is not the kind of a guy you want tocheat on; he makes problems go away for a living. A missing person’s file has been open for two weeks for the guy Sindi slept with; still she knew Emekawasn’t finished and soon hewould come for her. All the money she spends on hermade her the envy of her friends and she repaid him by making him the laughing stock of his friends.
Street credibility is key in Emeka’s line of business; he is an underworld debt collector. When criminals want to branch into organised crime, such as an internet scams, hijacking and/or cash-in-transit heist qangs, but don’t have the financial resources they borrow money from the drug underworld money lenders at 100% interest. The debt doubles exponentially every month. Debt collectors like Emeka collect from problematic clients on 30 % commission.
It takes specialised intimidating tactics to threaten even the most hardened of criminals to honour their debts. Emeka is that guy, feared by even the most feared of criminals yet he could not keep his woman’s legs crossed. Sindi’s actions were bad for Emeka’s ego, street credibility and business. He had to kill her to send the message to the underworld.
Tshidi has seen Emeka at work. The thought of him coming after her frightened her. She had to stop Sindi from setting Emeka on her because he would takeaway her German Luxury Sedan and, with it, her social status. She was already deep in debt and could not afford a replacement car nor would she be seen dead driving a cheap car. The carpet was about to be pulled from underneath her. She wouldn’t allow that. What would people say when she is a pedestrian? She had to kill Sindi to avoid that humiliation.
Despite all the bickering throughout their lives, Sindi longed for a family and was willing to make peace with her sister and mother. That is why her mother went to Sindi’s house and “found her dead” in her bathtub and she was so “distraught”she called her daughter and Sindi’s sister, Nomsa, who then called Sindi’s friend Tshidi. Emeka was there to see his girlfriend and found the women consoling one other around herblood-bathed body. He called the police who declared it suicide in the absence of evidence to suggest otherwise.
Her mom was not genuine in her efforts to make peace with Sindi; she was looking fora way to get her in her husband’s bad books. And thus reclaim her position in his books as a good wife. Maybe if he saw she wasn’t perfect he’d realise his wife is not what is wrong with his family. What kind of a perfect daughter commits suicide?
Nomsa also wanted her position back in her father’s heart. Sindi had stolen her joy and it was payback time; her chance to go one better on what her mother failed to do twenty years earlier. She’d do it so clean no one would suspect her; it would all be seen as Sindi’s own doing.
Tshidi was never gonna allow her lifestyle to downgrade. She lived it infront of 20 000 followers and she could never risk them learning she was no longer the globetrotter they knew her as. She made sure she stopped Sindi before her friend sent Emeka to turn her world upside down.
Emeka had seen way too many of these scenes. If he couldn’t collect a debt he’d have to bring the debtor’s skull back to the creditors; everything done so clean the police don’t come after anyone. He’d staged a few suicides, people jumping off buildings, shooting themselves in their cars parked at shopping malls and hanging themselves in their children’s bedrooms. Sindi cheating on him was more than just an invite to make her disappear without a trace, but he had to sign his work with excellence and display it for all his future clients to admire it.

Chinese Sweat Shop How the ANC manufactures Black

If we as a country would be able to establish a Chinese sweat shop that manufactures blacks, who would be able gain a wealth status from that? Would it be the anc and government or the Chinese?

More than 50 decades ago, around 1910, whites formed what we now call South Africa. South Africa would then be an organizational structure that would administer all that dwells with in it in accordance and rule of the minority.

With the minority status in mind whites knew that in order for them to have their right of way the majority had to be excluded from the administration of South Africa.

So they classified everyone and made sure that non-whites would not be able to take part in all democratic processes in the land.

Today in the Republic of South Africa you have the system reversed. The ANC now needs everyone to be non-white, black, so that they can benefit from all the support that they need. In the ANC’s abuse of power quest the ANC now needs everyone, coloured/Indian/Chinese, to be black. If they can have all ethnic groups classified as blacks, then more votes and support they are likely to get.

Imagine the Psychological effect it would leave on Indians if they would not be classified as blacks, chances are indeed that they would distort away from the anc. The same fate can be experienced when it comes to coloured’s that are also known as black.

During the Apartheid years Indians and coloured were seen as second, glorified assistants, to those in control of the administration, whites.

Today in the Republic of South Africa Indians and coloured are seen as second to those in control of the administration, blacks.

For the mere fact that these two ethnic groups, Indians and coloured, are playing a similar role during both era’s of rule, black and white rule, one should logically detect that there’s something wrong.

How can these two groups be in a similar position while we know that post and pre 1994 were two very big contradictions. It’s not just the ANC that benefits from the classification or votes, the Indians and coloured are benefiting extensively as well through our many policies, BEE/Affirmative action/employment equity.

During white rule, whites were the dictators and judicators of who can be South African. Indians were denied the liberty to be official citizens of this country until one Gandhi tabled a brilliant plan; that of Indians to assist whites in their program to gain control of blacks and their lands during the wars in Natal.

The globally great Gandhi’s plan was that the Indians would be the ones who would take care of the injured and starving white soldiers and generals while at war in the BUNDUS against the Zulus. So not only did whites have the “de luxe” of armor, they now had first aid as well, topped off with spiced nutritional care.

Whites could not resist this presentation, generous offer, from Gandhi and negotiations were concluded with Indians being finally granted South African citizenship at the cost of the many blacks, Zulus, who fell in the bush at the hands of the white bullet.

Coloured played a similar role. Whereas the Indians assisted at war, coloured’s did so at the workplace. Martin Luther King’s “house niggers” were represented by coloured’s here in South Africa where the coloured would watch and report every black persons wrong move, being at liberty to give out instructions for the white man, get all the left over’s and old clothes.

Today the coloured is still playing the role of the “house nigger”. In Cape Town every senior position is either in the white or colored’s position, you as the black still come far behind the colored. If it’s not the colored then it will certainly be the Indian that will be recommended ahead of the black.

We should do away with the current abuse and treachery of ethnic classifications. With all this history and present events we as blacks should now be clear on our position: that there can only be one black, and that’s black. None in-between, similar or close to. If it’s not black then it will be labeled Indian, Coloured, or White.

If Fikile Mbalula were a Woman, His Ish Wouldn’t Have Leaked

He cheats…What did you expect?

How many times have you been cheated on and almost “died” because of it, you are nodding …yes countless times, and every single time it happens you pack your bags and its on to the next relationship….its tiring ne’ or do you stay and pray to the saint of relationships that his manhood does not slip into another woman again? Keep praying if that works for you and if does not work for you start taking notes, this is my general reaction to a cheat in the calmest voice this is what I say; “I am not mad that you cheat, I am mad that you let me catch you…I am mad that you leave traces of your mess, who goes to the loo and leaves their skid marks? Here is my suggestion lets break up and then be friends then maybe I can teach you how to do this thing properly”…shocked? and here is a thought if Fikile Mbalula was a woman his ish wouldn’t have leaked…I am just saying
now breathe studies have shown that women are better than men at this cheating game now lets embrace this thing here is what you shouldn’t do when you cheat;

Number 1;
Don’t under no circumstances send sms’ to the person you are cheating with, even if its to say “baby am going to be late” the point is we are all creatures of habit and once we get used to one mode of communication it never stops, that’s what we are comfortable with that’s what we will do, communicate via the office phone, works like a charm, after hours when and if you must communicate…..’Did you know that public phones still exist”…extreme? not really if you don’t want show your skid marks you will do that, two sim cards don’t work either you will just draw more attention to your nasty habits

Number 2
Do not keep receipts of restaurants or gifts for your side dish! What you keeping receipts for, tax purposes, sentimental reasons? You are cheating why you getting sentimental…lmao as for tax purposes when you buying gifts for the Side dish please, please use petty cash. The gifts should not be as big as a car, the moment you start buying cars is the moment the Side dish sees themselves in the place of the wife, they are already envisioning yachts…this will encourage the Side Dish to disrupt your family life, the Side dish will expose you because they want to move in now, now those inopportune sms’ and calls start rolling in.

Number 3
Do not hide the fact that you are in a relationship from the Side dish, Side dish will still do you whether there is someone else in the picture or not, you can play at their emotions about how unhappy you are and how you have no choice but to stay with your partner…this one normally works like a charm “you cannot imagine your life without your kids, your partner will take your kids away if you leave”…you don’t have kids?….who cares you are a cheater aren’t you, lie it cant get any worse. “My family will disown me if I leave her” this one might not take you too far but it will keep the Side Dish happy for a few months at the least, if that one’s charm has worn off try this “my partner is psycho everything I own and whoever am with will be destroyed” follow that on by giving a horrific story about how u once left your partner…use your imagination. Don’t talk about your partner too much though familiarity breeds contempt in this case contempt will never work in your favour,

Number 4
Never pick a Side Dish from your neighbourhood or your partners hood, Side dishes do tend to talk a lot about their nyatsi’s believe it or not, if its local meat word will get around, do not take your Side Dish to a local restaurant or local mall if the Side Dish needs to eat, be sweet order in, you are defeating the whole point of cheating if you do it in public,

Number 5;
No matter how exciting the Side Dish is never let her name slip into conversations at home, its called subconscious confessions the need to talk about the lady or guy at the office who is all of a sudden the wittiest or is such a helpful person and you have been working at the office for ages and now we cant have a conversation without “the colleague’s name popping in”…we know stolen s*#T is exciting but please contain yourself, don’t raise suspicion or interest in this person that’s a sure fire way of getting caught.

Number 6;
Let your partner know where you are going to be incase you seen at strange in a strange hood do not be secretive about your comings and goings, be “transparent”

I know it hurts being cheated on and you just want to burn someone house down and trash his car, guess what? Your sexy self will be arrested for acting in that way, besides how many houses are you going to torch down before we start calling you crazy b#*tch…here is a thought, what are chances that you will be bothered by his/her bull if you are doing your own thing? Final word do not have unwanted babies whose origins have to be verified in a lab and do condomise… unless the condom does a Fikile Mbalula on you, then you are on your own.

By Coslin Mokoka
@coslin1 on twitter

Eyebags and Dimples by Bonnie Henna

One of the things that make autobiographies stand out from memoirs and biographies is that subjects are expected to reveal all. Whether it’s interesting or drab, good or bad, it doesn’t matter, readers just want all the details to come out in an autobiography. And that’s exactly what Eyebags and Dimples (An autobiography) does. Described as “Bonnie’s shockingly naked account of how her depression almost robbed her of her shine and how she continues to fight this darkness” the book is indeed a naked account of the short life she’s lived up to so far.

Bonnie Henna is well known for being a child star back in the days (as a TV presenter) and a well established actress. From the age of 13 years she managed to pull a happy face on our TV screens as if all was well back home even though she came from a very troubled and unhappy household. But all was actually not well. She has always been followed by darkness right from her childhood up to her adult life. Moving to America to try and pursue her acting career in Hollywood, Bonnie terribly fails to make it into being a “star” she left South Africa hoping to become. As things don’t work out the way she expected them, profound depression settles into her and she’s pushed closer to the edge. But luckily she’s diagnosed on time with clinical depression before falling and losing herself completely.

It’s almost difficult to believe that she wrote the book herself because it is so well written. And I don’t mean that in a patronizing way, please. What I am trying to say is that it is not quite common to find TV stars moving from doing their TV work to writing their stories in such a compelling manner and with such ease. Each and every chapter in Bonnie Henna’s book is totally absorbing and almost leaves a lump in one’s throat.

In the book Bonnie doesn’t blame anyone for her “illness” but rather asks this fundamental question: Having endured the most heart wrenching and depressing period of your life, how do you then own your story and move forward peacefully when you finally find out what the problem is? And as much as Eyebags and Dimples is not a self-help book, anyone with a troubled soul can use Bonnie Henna’s story to acknowledge their pain, deal with it and move on.

The way her mother treated her as a child is horrifying and one gets the feeling when she wrote certain parts (if not the entire book) of the book she was in absolute tears. The stories of abused children are quite common in our societies and even though one is vividly aware of such stories Bonnie Henna’s story will still make you shudder with utter horror. The experience is profoundly excruciating.

Did Madonsela compromise her office by addressing a political (DA’s) event?

There have been calls by some that Public Protector Thuli Madonsela should resign/be sacked. This after she was accused by the ruling ANC of “rubbing shoulders” with DA when she addressed its Women’s Network event in Port Elizabeth this past Thursday during Women’s Day.

While the ANC saw this as “ill-considered” because she now opened her office to “perceptions of political bias” – it would seem it is only the ruling party that seems to hold such “perceptions” about the PP because she was invited to address a Women’s Network of an opposition party.

The ruling party says the PP needs to be “independent, impartial and to exercise her powers without fear or prejudice” as is constitutionally requested. But, it warns, attending and giving keynote addresses at such political events of political parties “has the potential to compromise these basic constitutional principles, which the Public Protector is enjoined to uphold and promote”. Given this perception of the PP’s “closeness to the [DA]” party,”, claimed the ruling party, “members of the public will be justified to ask
how she will in future treat complaints against the administrations under the DA”.

It is not clear which “members of the public” the ANC is referring to because as much as not all political parties represent the public, neither does the ruling party despite it being the governing party (but that’s a debate for another day, isn’t it?).

The ruling party accused the PP of not using “an impartial platform to pursue its public interaction with programme” given the significance of Women’s Day as a national event. As a result the public “will be reasonably suspicious of a head of a state institution supporting constitutional democracy electing to attend a political party-organised Women’s Day rally over an impartial government Women’s Day event”

But Madonsela denied claims that her independence has been or would be compromised. Through her spokesperson Kgalalelo Masibi, she said her attending the DA’s event “was in fulfillment of her constitutional obligation of being accessible to all persons and communities as espoused [in] the Constitution”.

Madonsela said her attending the event such as this was incorporated into the national stakeholder consultative dialogue that she launched in July which included giving “special interest groups” opportunity to interact with her. She further emphasised that her speech was not politically-aligned as claimed by the ruling party (emphasis) but that it “focused on the constitutional promise to women and people of South Africa, and ensuring that the mechanisms are in place to assist the people to hold the State accountable”.

She said the “main thrust” of her speech was “on [her] role as one of the public accountability institutions”, adding that people were given the opportunity to asked questions and lodge complaints. “A lot of the complaints related to RDP housing challenges,” said Madonsela through her spokesperson.

She said people were encouraged to advise others to lodge RDP and other service delivery complaints, adding that she does not decline requests by community groups that require her services.

While I agree that no law bars Madonsela from addressing any event as long as it is not meant to paint or portray other parties – whether governing or not – in a bad way, it is important that she makes an informed decision whether to accept such invitations. She should also bear in mind that she will always be accused by some opportunists of being “bias” and all that non-sense.

What I do not agree with is calls by some – on the social networks specially – that she resigns or be sacked because her appearance at an opposition party’s event compromised her office and its independence. Those who say this speak as if her independence and impartiality would not have been brought into question had she accepted an invitation to address the ruling party event. So if the ANC really “supports” the PP’s National Stakeholder Consultative Dialogue, it should therefore trust her judgement – just as it has done with her reports on corruption and related investigations that her office had been asked to probe.

While I find the ANC questioning the PP wanting, I, however, agree with the party that in these PP events and many others that are to come – Madonsela should just “make sure that such initiatives are not open to abuse by political formations” not only by opposition parties but by the ruling party itself (as it now seems to have done) in order to “advance their political agenda” – whatever it is.

But as friend of mine noted just before publication of this article, it is indeed the PP’s “the intergrity of the public office that is in question rather than her right as an individual”.
Akanyang Merementsi
Follow me on Twitter at @AkanyangM

Black Pride

There is nothing I wish to rectify

I love being black like I love my high

If you are a witness please testify

I swear this my soul satisfy

The Lord is me shepard, on his mercy I rely

Amazing grace, so close to true-lies

A lion in this jungle my roar terrifies

Always come back like a repeat as if I never run out of rhymes

I touch your soul like a book of hymns

I’m just a ‘coal stone’ rolling with the times

“I love you”, they weep, but MaZwai26 cries

I don’t step I stride as if I took ‘Johnny’ for a walk

I am loaded with words like prepaid talk

When the fire burns them I will remain solid as rock

Like a bird in the sky this system I mock

Time is of the essence,well not on my clock

Lost in in space, so lonely light years turned dark, I got no place to dock