Tuesday, October 6, 2015

I wish you a safe journey (a WARNING to the hustlers)

An old woman once saved some money so that she could buy her grandchildren Xmas groceries. When Xmas approached, the old woman caught a taxi to the shopping complex in town. After a whole day of shopping, she then caught a taxi back with heavy plastic bags full of mouth-watering groceries for her grandkids, whom she wanted to surprise. When she got off the taxi, she needed to walk about 500m to her house. As she limped forward, some two boys offered to help her carry the heavy items home. Seeing that she knew these boys, she let them help her. In a blink of an eye the old woman realized that she was walking alone. She had been robbed and the cruel boys were nowhere to be seen. She only had one plastic bag left in her hands. Given the severity of the pain she felt for losing all her hard-earned efforts, she started feeling dizzy. It was all too much to bear. She had spent months planning to surprise her impoverished grandchildren. In one elderly heap of disappointment she collapsed and died.
I have seen such similar incidents occurring in our line of hustle. All hustlers know that having great ideas is useless if you have no one to help you turn them into cash. Unfortunately, most of the people who come to help us, bring their corporate guns to rob our asses blind once the ideas start flying, if they do. Sometimes you will only see your own idea on TV or read about it in a financial magazine. The greatest challenge for aspiring entrepreneurs is to find their own doors and keys to unlock their own futures. Those locks and doors are otherwise known as Information & Knowledge. If we don't get these keys, we will be robbed blind. Stress will kill our hustle and sup all our ambitions. I have been used in some business arrangements in the past 12 years or so. I have worked with people on some money-making projects only to hear from financial auditors that money long came in and was split among all of us, including me. I have signed deals worth more than a million Rands, but to this day I am still hustling. Chapter 11 of my book, 12 Types of People to Love... From a Distance, deals with the ruthlessness that comes with the hustling territory. I have come to know that it is not everyone who comes to help us nourish our ideas who has noble intentions. I have realized that most of the times, those who come to help us only come to eat. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. The scavengers only arrive for a killing. Get the right Information & Knowledge. Don't go around blindly brandishing your ideas to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Trust is a rare commodity within the business world. Once you find people you can trust, then you have scored big - you have found the gold that has eluded many of us.

I wish every aspiring entrepreneur a safe journey to business success.‪#‎GuardYourHustle‬

Wagago
Kgoshii Lerabela

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Are we artists okay in the head?


I have an ego, I must admit. And so do you. Ego can be constructive in protecting us from social degradation. However, ego can also be atomically destructive and cause us the worst forms of social degradation. Unfortunately, more often than not, our egos can mercilessly lead us into the unwanted evil of our self-manufactured downfall. For an extended example, if you want to see the ugly nakedness of ego, just live closer to what we shall call Musicians And Stupid Singers (The MASS). We musicians and stupid singers have such unbearable egos. And for that reason, we hate any person who has the tiniest inclination to criticise our musical products. "Don't touch me on my studio" is noisy song we sing whenever we go looking for people to approve of our half-baked musical products. Trust me, I know. I have been part of The MASS for the past 20 years.

The challenge is that this ego-ravished approach to creating excellent musical products will never work because The MASS are in their own way. Admit it or not, we are in our own way. We fear criticism so much that we won't give an ear to anyone who doesn't feel our music in their ears. You may be saying, "Yes, it is true that the fear of criticism is worse than our fear of death, but how does this work against musicians and singers?" The major challenge with this MASS Ego is that a musician or singer will approach you with their song in hand and ask you to give them your "honest" opinion about their musical product. You listen to the song and then give your opinion. What happens next? If your opinion is not complete adulation or gargantuan adoration for their musical product you are going to have an argument on why the product is good. Now, how is that asking for someone's "honest" opinion? We musicians and stupid singers are nothing but a bunch of egomaniacs and shameless pretenders. We come to you pretending that we are looking for an "honest" opinion or assessment when we are in actual fact looking for praise. How diabolic is this approach to developing our products into the best out there? Haven't we learned something from the story of Lucifer who, because of an unbearable ego, messed with his Creator because he wanted to shine brighter than the One who made him? Now, in the same way, we mess with our own creativity because we just want to ascend to the throne of praise even when we have not created anything worthy such applause. We musicians and stupid singers always pretend we are looking for an opinion that can help us improve on what we have created when in truth we just came for a standing ovation. This is madness. This is ego at its destructive best.

My solution is simple. If you really want an "honest" opinion on your musical product, just bear the criticism and go evaluate it in your personal creative space. Don't attack on spit on the honest opinions of people you approached for an opinion in the first place. If you don't want the criticism, don't ask for anyone's opinion. Just take your product to the public and they will decide whether they think your product needs some work or not. One thing I have learned in this world of music is that, hypothetically, one song can generate 10 different opinions from 10 different listeners. When someone doesn't like a song that I composed, sang and/or produced, I don't take it personally anymore. Trust me, I have heard people criticising or not even paying the slightest attention to a Tupac song that I thought was the best hip hop song in the world. Now, if someone doesn't honestly feel the legendary Tupac, or a song that I thought was one of his best, who am I to boil with rage when someone doesn't feel my song? This is too much ego and it's poisonous. It can destroy the very art we try to create. When someone criticises your song, they are saying to you, "You might want to consider this before going out there with this product." What is so wrong with considering something? If you feel the person is wrong, don't take it personally, don't argue and don't attack. Just go with the opinions of the nine others, or at least one of them. If you want praise, just play the song and hallucinate in self-praise. Only the market can judge you. If the people love you out there, there is no need for you to go pretending you are looking for an "honest" opinion when you are in fact looking for a fan. Lamentably, this is the same story you come across when dealing with fine artists, crafters, journalists, dancers, athletes, bakers, love-makers, etc. We human beings just don't want to be told anything, unless it's good to our ears. However, I feel it is fair that sometimes we should tell people what they need to hear, when it really matters.

I'm sure I have stepped on a lot of egos with this post, but I don't care because I'm still also going to approach people for their "honest" opinion about my music. And I swear to you, I will do that with my heart hoping that I get some serious praise. Mine is not to frown when someone points out that tiny room of improvement. Criticism in general is hard to stomach, but we must treat constructive criticism like bitter medicine aimed at treating an ailment. We must grin and bear it. We must be brave enough to suffer three constructive criticism opinions than to suffer the embarrassment of being told to quit music and look for a job. Like it or not, a thousand plus critics await your music out there. What are you going to do when they rubbish you in the open just because you refused to listen to advice in private. This is the sorry story we see of families banding together in support of someone who believes they will be the next Idol when in fact that person can't sing to save his or her life. We need to be honest enough with ourselves to take some criticism. Remember, criticism is not meant to stop us, but meant to highlight areas where we can become better. As an author, I have received some constructive criticism from some of my friends who read 12 Types of People to Love. It was hard taking the criticism but as time went along, with many others showering me with praise, I have seen that I can use some of the criticism to my advantage in my next offering. I can't change some of the unnecessary parts in the book now, but I sure can do better next time. English author Neil Gaiman once wrote, "I suspect that most authors don't really want criticism, not even constructive criticism. They want straight-out, unabashed, unashamed, fulsome, informed, naked praise, arriving by the shipload every fifteen minutes or so." The same can be said about The MASS.

Sadly, criticism is a controversial topic. Inspiration speaker and author H. Norman Wright once argued, "Is constructive criticism really constructive? Not really. You can't make a child better by pointing out what you think is wrong with him or her. Criticism either crushes spirit or elicits defensiveness. Constructive criticism is an interesting combination of words. 'Construct' means 'to build.' 'Criticism' means 'to tear down.' It creates defiance and anger as well." As much as I agree with him to an extent, as an author and a musician and stupid singer myself, I have to also caution against following that line of thinking. If your friend is building a beautiful mansion in a water-logged area, would you be fair to only celebrate the beauty of their house when you can see that it won't stand for long? One of our own South African products, Unarine Ramaru, a journalist and graphic designer had this to say about criticism: "Choose criticism wisely, it might help you improve some elements of what you do."

It's up to you? Are you looking for an "honest" opinion or are you looking for praise? Be clear what is it that you want; you can save all of us the ego madness.

Wagago
Kgoshii Lerabela


Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Are You Leading Or Misleading?

There is a difference between a leader and a title holder. A title holder is by virtue of the title expected to lead, but normally they want everybody to simply believe they are leading, when in fact that is called misleading. A leader, on the other hand, doesn't give a damn if they have a nice title or not, they simply get everyone on board and they get the job done.

Are you a Leader or Misleader? Are you more concerned with the title or with the job well done? What do the results say about your leadership?

CONFESSION: I am a title holder and I want to become a leader.

CONVICTION: I am learning about leadership and I am willing to lead through action rather than through title.

I hope this message has struck a good vein of leadership in you. If you were a Misleader, please join me in my quest to be Leader.

Wagago
Kgoshii Lerabela

#LeadingOrMisleading

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Honourable Speaker, Please Recognise Me


"Please recognise me."

These are the words that have become synonymous with our 2015 National Assembly. While many argue issues around the EFF being disrespectful or the ANC house chairs being intolerant or biased towards their own, what most of us are missing is the meaning behind the words, "Please recognise me."

Listening to my favourite rapper of all time, and personal role model, Tupac Amaru Shakur, I heard the words, "You better recognise." This took me back to my embryonic years as an uncontrollable hip hop fanatic whose main sources of entertainment was music and violent movies depicting black American youths killing each other within a maze of cuss words and unprotected sex with one another's girlfriends. In one of those movies, Above The Rim, Birdie (played by Tupac) can be seen stabbing his enemy who had been sleeping when he was woken up to meet his Lord through the sharp end of an indifferent knife in the hands of an angry young black man. As he stabs the black flesh, Birdie says to him, "You better recognise."

Now, as I grew older I started reading philosophy and psychology books. Reading was a prerequisite for any true follower of Tupac, whose greatness can be attributed to the thousands of books he read. Unlike Tupac, my mother didn't have to send me to the library or have me read entire newspapers as punishment for my misdemeanors. I read because I loved Tupac's mind and he attributed it to the heavy books he read. Peradventure, among the sheets of material that I read in stacks of stolen textbooks and through my defunct Encarta computer library was one philosopher named Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, a German idealist whose works have influenced a lot of present day socio-political discourse. Hegel championed an argument that at the centre of all human life and history was what he termed, "Kampf um anerkennung (Struggle for recognition)." Through Hegel, Tupac and our parliamentary (or unparliamentary) shenanigans I have come to recognise that we are indeed in a struggle for recognition. Every human being wants to be recognised, acknowledged, respected and favoured (sometimes above others). The struggle for recognition permeates our family lives, work environments, friendships and romantic relationship.

In my work as a sub editor, I have come across a number of freelance journalists who lose their tempers when their stories are published but their bylines are not used. I would wonder why these people would be so angry at not getting a byline when everyone knows that some publications only use the news agency's name as a byline for all stories that come from us. Listening to Tupac, watching the Parliamentary Services Channel on 408 or via internet streaming and reminiscing on my Hegelian days as a rebellious youth hungry for knowledge, I have come to understand. We all want to be recognised. Journalist or not journalist, we all want the byline. If you buy booze at a round table at Orange Restaurant or Cappello, you'd probably feel bad if most of the people guzzling the liquor had no idea it was you footing the bill.  You want your byline. If you bought your lover a present using your last money and they failed to recognise your efforts, you might somehow feel dejected and uninspired to continue doing good for them. You want your byline. If your team won a big contract and everybody in the team knows without you their goal would not have been achieved, but they still failed to recognise your hard work, a resignation letter might follow suit. You want your byline. Everybody wants their byline.

Unfortunately, the struggle for recognition doesn't just end or start with genuine demands for recognition. Even those who don't deserve to be recognised still desire to be recognised. When it comes to the struggle for recognition, the mantra "Give respect where is due" doesn't matter; people just want recognition even when they have not earned it. We want to be recognised as the best child to our parents, best brother or sister among our siblings, best cousin among our relatives, best employee at work, best lover ever to our significant other, best friend amongst our acquaintances. The irrational need for recognition even prompted the writers of the Bible to depict God as a recognition-hungry idiot who'd unleash eternal fire and brimstone upon anyone who failed to recognise that he is God. The struggle for recognition is real. You can see it on our social networks when we tear each other down in various forums or comment boxes; where some of us write long post in order to demonstrate our unmatched intellectual abilities. The only people I know who don't care about recognition are resting quietly in their graves or fragments of ashes either stored in an urn or scattered abroad like the children of God in the Bible.

So, next time you see an honourable member standing up in parliament and shouting, "Speaker, recognise me, please recognise me," you must understand that this is just another chapter in our quest to educate ourselves about ourselves. Human nature demands to be recognised. Yes, it is an ego thing, but it is a real thing. Somebody better recognise.

Wagago

Kgoshii Lerabela (byline)

Friday, July 10, 2015

Are You Defending Poverty?

ЖЖЖЖЖЖЖ

Meet The Guardians of Poverty

“Good Morning Mbuyangwana,” said the prosecutor, with a loud voice, as if deliberately awakening me from a long night of deep sleep. I felt as if I was cosily slumbering on a couch that was floating on a pool of water and still wishing I could continue sleeping. I must have been dreaming. The prosecutor turned to look at me, as if I was one hell of an idle truant being rudely awakened to face another day of reluctant schooling. I fixed my eyes on the man-animal. The prosecutor was wearing a black suit, with a jacket revealing a white shirt that briskly covered his torso. From where I was sitting, I noticed that the prosecutor had an eagle’s head. I don’t know if the litigator was therefore a man or a bird, or both: a man-bird, perhaps. In fact, upon close inspection, I realised that was no eagle’s head at all; it was a raven’s head. When I fixed my eyes on the raven’s head, I also realised that he wasn’t speaking to me, but to a certain gentleman man who was uncomfortably sitting in the witness box.

“Mbuyangwana, please tell the court the truth,” he said, to the other gentleman.
“Describe to the court what kind of virus you employed in your endeavour to destroy this man’s life,” said the prosecutor, pointing at me. I was surprised, employed to destroy whose life? Mine? Who was this gentleman? I looked at him; he looked disoriented. He seemed ashamed; not too happy to confess to what would be a brutal truth in front of my astonished eyes. There seemed to be a tinge of remorse in his eyes.
“Go ahead Mr Mbuyangwana, the court is all ears,” the prosecutor urged him on.
Mbuyangwana turned his eyes away from me as he started to explain his Machiavellian ways to the court.
“Well, the virus is one of the highest viruses that any scientific lab could have ever produced,” said Mbuyangwana.
“What do you mean? Could you be a little bit more specific?” asked the prosecutor.
“Only the Engineers of Human Suffering could come up with something so destructive to the human population,” said Mbuyangwana.
“Mr Mbuyangwana, we need to have a little bit of clarity, please elaborate on the virus,” said the prosecutor.
“Okay. The virus is like that of a Tsetse fly, that once bitten the victim falls into a life of sleep; they sleep-walk through every decision that they make about their personal life. The virus’s chemical engineering is way beyond ordinary scientific experiments. It actually involved the de-fragmentation of human DNA strands through the inter-pollution of the neuro-biological pathway, especially targeting the human emotion pool, consequently causing an almost irreparable damage to the perception and the worldview of the victim. The virus messes with the philosophy therefore traps and invalidates the psychobiology of the victim,” he said.
“In other words, you turned your victim into a moron. You forced him to mess up everything related to the matters of his personal growth and development?” asked the prosecutor.
“Yes sir,” responded Mbuyangwana.
“For our records, does this virus have a name Mr Mbuyangwana?” the prosecutor asked further.
I was still in shock. The victim referred to in this matter was me. I had DNA strands that had been totally destroyed, courtesy of some people called the Engineers of Human Suffering. The destruction had affected the way I reasoned and conducted my day-today business? Tjerrr! What the hell was this? I wanted out of the court, but it seemed I was stuck. I was trapped. Somehow I knew that I had to witness the trial. I was the victim and Mbuyaman was seemingly the perpetrator. Worse of all, we had just been introduced to each other. I never knew that I had someone who was working on my life, ensuring that I never made it in life. No wonder there’d never really been any progress in my life, except for Ona. Oh, Ona. Where was she? Had I really died? How was she taking my death? The whole affair was beyond me. I had drowned and now I was attending a court case somewhere between heaven and earth? Tjerrr! What a night!
I looked at the judge. He was sitting aloof on a golden throne while the accused sat on a big black leather-coated chair across the clouds. The centre was too misty to notice, but I could see that the prosecutor walked with ease, as if on ceramic tiles, the sound of his shoes registering a statement that he was indeed a man of authority. From around the courthouse came murmurings that made me look sideways in a fruitless attempt to identify the voices. I searchingly looked to my right and looked to my left, but could not see what my eyes were yearning to see. I concluded that the murmurings came from some invisible attendants who were present in the celestial courthouse.

A little thunder here, a little thunder there; lightning flashes here, lightning flashes there. The trial was in progress.
It seemed like this was the day everybody had been waiting for – everybody except me. However, I could not tell whether it was day or night. I just knew that the hour had come: A time to come face-to-face with all the elusive answers to why my life had been such a mess. It was time for me to get answers to all the uncomfortable questions I had spent my life dodging. According to my scanty understanding, I was led to this place to be a witness, a hostile witness to say the least. It took a drowning for me to get here. I had to be here; I had to witness the testimony being given by a man called Mbuyangwana, the very gentleman who was being cross-examined over there on the black leather-coated chair. To my surprise, Mbuyaman looked a little familiar. He was wearing a black robe that covered his entire body, with a hood that covered his head and only revealed his face. I now noticed that I was wearing school uniform, primary school uniform. It didn’t matter though; I was more interested in Mbuya, I somehow felt closely related to him. He was facing a string of charges, mainly that of messing up my life.
Apparently, Mbuyaman had turned celestial witness against the Engineers of Human Suffering, a formidable group believed to have masterminded my downfall. Their goal was to guarantee my downfall even way before I could rise. They ran my life like an automatic programme. His role was to ensure that the plans of his masters became a reality in my life; all he had to do was ensure that everything I did turned out to be a disaster. According to the charge sheet, he had slowly infected me with a virus that disabled all my efforts at living the life I dreamed of living: The life Q was living. The virus had left me tremendously stupid. It was like a bug that bit and turned me into a non-man. Once bitten twice stupid. I was infected. Good God! How did this happen under your watch? I asked myself, but no answer came, at least not immediately. Worse, I had no idea of the infection until I briefly appeared in the celestial court.
“During the production of this virus, our Engineers of Human Suffering labelled it the Plawt virus,” Mbuyangwana answered the prosecutor’s question.
“The plot virus?” he asked.
“Yes, Plawt; spelled P.L.A.W.T,” he answered.
“Okay, go on,” said the prosecutor.
“The Plawt virus represents Poverty, Lack and Wishful Thinking,” Mbuyaman explained. “It affects how a human being thinks and how he or she conducts his or her life in the world.”
The prosecutor moved around for a few seconds, one hand folded and another on his chin.
“Could you please explain to the court how this Plawt works!” he said.
Again Mbuyaman seemed uncomfortable. He somehow feared that the truth might hurt me. However, he had sworn to tell the truth; and unlike the entire celestial courthouse, I was all ears. I just had to hear. Finally there was an explanation to why I had lived my life the way I did. I would finally know why I couldn’t afford to give Ona what she expected out of me. I would know why I had enlisted to the Domkops Anonymous Project.
“This is how the Plawt works. It first makes the victim to be unafraid of poverty, which is a good thing because fear on its own is dangerous. However, not only does Plawt make the victim to be unafraid of poverty, but to be comfortable in it as well; to embrace poverty. Once they embrace poverty, they do everything in their power to stay in it; to protect and serve it. In other words, to become Guardians of Poverty,” said Mbuyangwana.

The entire court was buzzing. It was fox-trotting with sounds of shocked attendees, whom I could not see. If there were humans in the courthouse, I promise they would have killed Mbuyangwana without hesitation. They wouldn’t kill him for what the virus did to humans, but for exposing their cathexis of poverty, their love; our love, an undying love.
“Once the virus has fully entered the human blood stream, it affects their DNA and their brain function, and consequently they no longer see poverty for what it is. They see it as a way of life, their way of life – their Tao,” he said. “The evidence is all there. It’s really normal for anyone in the world to say I’m sick or I’m broke or I’m poor. Yet it is esteemed high treason and ungodly for anyone to say I’m rich or I’m financially healthy. No wonder the majority of the world is sick, broke and poor. A majority of human beings are operating in the Plawt gear, so progress is a hated word in the world, because the quagmire into which they have fallen is swarming with lovers of poverty.”
“Is this the only way of life they know?” asked the prosecutor.
“Not necessarily, that’s just the only way they have chosen,” answered Mbuyangwana. “Imagine that a group of people are walking in a jungle. Then they get to a place where the roads separate into two. One road is written Food and Water Path while the other one is written The Road of Fasting. After long deliberations a majority of the group chooses the Road of Fasting and only a few choose the Food and Water Path. You happen to have gone with the majority. Once deep into the road without water and food, you start talking about water and food; do you think they will love you? No way! On this road they love people who speak phrases like, ‘To hell with the rich, let the poor survive.’ The hatred for the rich becomes intense because they know that to travel on the Food and Water Path they’d have to make a big turn; they’d have to repent, but like they killed John the Baptist for telling them to repent, they’d kill anyone who dares suggest they change their way. They will hate you for reminding them that they chose the dry road – that it is their fault they are in the situation to begin with – and once you decide that you are turning back, they will ridicule you and laugh at you as you draw back to find the good road. Usually, the way back is lonely because everybody insists on going forward on the Road of Fasting.”

“Is this really what happens with poor people?” asked the prosecutor.
“Yes, hundred percent, the Guardians of Poverty consistently ensure that their situation never improves. They only live to get by, until they die. Even when opportunities arise in their favour, Plawt victims turn them down through inexplicable actions solely based on apathy and self-pity.”
The courthouse was frantic. I was speechless.
“Now, why can’t their lives improve?” asked the prosecutor.
“Because of attachment; human beings have a strong natural inclination to become attached to things, whether it be objects or subjects. Once a human being is attached to something, it is difficult for them to become detached. Detachment is a concept they equate to death. No wonder many lovers become attached to their idea of a relationship that should it come to an end they would rather die. Unfortunately, they don’t want to die alone, so they normally take their partners with them. This is because human beings are first attached to their physical bodies and the idea of dying means they have to be detached from the form, so they seek someone familiar to accompany them as they become detached from their bodies through death.
“In the same way, people become easily attached to their road, their way; their poverty. This makes it difficult for them to create a life that removes them from poverty. To them it’s like dying, and they still want to live, in their poverty, to guard its tenets and credos,” said Mbuyangwana.

Again, silence.


Thursday, July 2, 2015

Beware Of The People In Your Life

"Do you know why most people get money and lose it fast? Do you know why most people are drowning in debt? Do you know why being broke is so common? It is how you relate to the People In Your Life.
People In Your Life include all the people that you want to please. No matter what they tell you, we all want to please someone at some point in our lives. We all have a point to prove and emotional scores to settle. But at what cost? Why are you allowing yourself to be tricked into believing that your life revolves around the people who have access to your life? Why do you keep pleasing people who are not really pleased with you and whatever it is you do to please them?
* Who are these People In Your Life?
They are your friends
They are your family members/relatives
They are your colleagues
They are your lovers
They are your haters and critics.
These people are so in your life it is no longer you who lives but them who live through you. Every financial mistake you make is to get their stamp of approval, but at the end they forget everything you ever did to please them. The reason is simple: People In Your Life are hard to please. You can only please them temporarily. You stretch yourself financially because you want them to see your value but at the end you drown in debt and you eat from hand to mouth.
* How do you please the People In Your Life?
- You will no longer buy any clothes that you like (from Pep Stores) because the People In Your Life won't like them and actually cannot approve of such low-priced style. This forces you to go for what is pleasing to the People In Your Life, even if you can't really afford it given your budget of operation.
- You will not be seen dead in public transport or a second hand car that you can actually afford because the People In Your Life won't think it suits you to drive such a cheap hand-me-down-at-less-than-a-dime. This forces you to go for what is pleasing to the People In Your Life, even if you really can't afford the fuel on that machine they think is befitting for someone like you.
- You will not live in a cheap house or flat that suits your budget perfectly because when the People In Your Life visit they must be under the impression that you are living well. This means you will add some good-looking and expensive furniture so they can speak well of you these damn People In Your Life.
- You will no longer be seen drinking liquor in affordable quarts that normally cost R120 per case, but will go for restaurant dumpies and expensive bottles that took years to distill because this makes you look good among the People In Your Life.
- You will no longer enjoy watching people buy you or others food or drinks at Shisa Nyama, but you'll also start reaching deep into your pockets to ensure that everyone knows that you also have the money to take care of the People In Your Life.
- You will no longer allow your children to attend school at an affordable government school but will choke your budget paying thousands of Rands per month just so the People In Your Life know that you can also afford suburban education, even if your budget tells you that you can't afford it.
* What is the solution to dealing with the People In Your Life?
You are your own solution. The people are not a problem at all. Your clinging to them, despite the mistakes they sponsor in your life, is the problem. The question is, how do you solve you? Just love them from a distance. What good does it do you to keep people who don't appreciate your humble efforts? What good does it do you to keep people who put you under pressure to spend more than you can afford?"
*Summary of Chapter 9 (Loving The SUV): 12 Types of People to Love... From a Distance
Those interested in placing an order for a copy or copies of 12 Types, feel free to send an email to: info.12types@gmail.com
Wagago
Kgoshii Lerabela

Author of 12 Types of People to Love… From a Distance (ISBN: 978-1-920655-18-1)

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Who's Ya Enemy?



There are people of European descent who fought against racism, apartheid and colonialism. There are people of European descent who WISH they fought against racism, apartheid and colonialism. And there are people of European descent who would love us to believe that they fought against racism, apartheid and colonialism. In future, I bet my two quarts of Castle Lager, there will be people of African descent who would have fought against tribalism and xenophobia. There will be others of African descent who will WISH they had fought against tribalism and xenophobia. And there will be some of African descent who would love us to believe that they fought against tribalism and xenophobia.

The poignant point is that some of us love blaming but hate to be blamed. We love criticising but hate to be criticised. We love bossing people around but hate to be bossed around.

For example, five people of African descent would publicly rage against racism, but only two would feel the same rage against tribalism and xenophobia. The challenge before us is an invitation therefore, for us to ask ourselves a deep question: Do we really hate injustice, or do we only hate it when it is meted against us? If racism is an injustice against people of African descent, why can't tribalism be viewed in the same light? "Sela saMswati sela." "LokweMashangani." "Mvecha lwehi." These are common insults aimed at denigrating Swati, Shangaan and Pulana people, respectively. The reason? In order for us to feel great about ourselves or our tribe, we have to belittle people from other tribes. We even laugh and take pride in how we want other tribes to be portrayed in a demeaning way. How can we not mention our brothers and sisters from across the border and yonder Africa's least respected regions? "Ora yela wa Lekwerekwere?" Yet, we have the nerve to rage against racism.

Think about it for a minute. If it's so difficult for us to change from entrenched attitudes that make us ignore, and to some extent tolerate, tribalism; why do we then expect others to stop being racist? Aren't we the same in that none of us sees any injustice in the way we treat our fellow human beings? Is the human kingdom any better than the predatory animal kingdom where stronger beasts prey on the weak among them?

Perhaps there is a cure for racism. Perhaps there is a cure for tribalism and xenophobia. Perhaps it all starts with us, whoever we are.

Isn't it about time we learned to love ourselves before expecting others to love us? Isn't it about time we thought twice before we think five times? Isn't this the right moment to think small before we think big? Let the same Supreme Judge (In Us) who presides over racism preside over the evil of tribalism and xenophobia.

Long live Africa, long live the Mother Land.

Wagago
Kgoshii

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Four sex hiccups men fear to raise with women

Four sex hiccups men fear to raise with women
Confronting mediocre sex
Men and women generally dream of a great sex life. Unfortunately, it is not every day that a sex partner is spontaneously able to deliver that dream on a silver platter that threatens to climax to an earth-shattering tremor measuring at Cloud 9 on the Orgasmic Richter scale. Some people will never enjoy sex without following the uncomfortable urge to give a few pointers or some talking-through while sweating it out with their partner. Unless you are the kind of extrovert who won’t hesitate telling someone that their breath is funky, like most people, you’d probably keep the sexual discomfort to yourself or do your best to avoid sex with that person in future.  In all honesty, it is hard for both introverted men and women to tell their partner that they are not enjoying sex with them. It takes several bad experiences with previous lovers for a partner to be honest enough to ask you to work with them during sex. It’s worse when the partners want different things; that means a lot of compromises have to be made. This normally means you must each please one partner at a time. For example, a guy normally becomes horny from the onset, but since most ladies need to be revved up with aroused tongue and lubricated fingers before their engines get going, guys have learnt to be patient enough. The truth is, by the time the guy finishes going down on you, his engine won’t be as strong as it was at the beginning, but that’s a compromise we have learned to live with and derive pleasure from.
What some women don’t know
Some women don’t know that as much as they experience disappointments in bed (or in the car, or on the kitchen table), men also do at some point. It is sad that as brave as men claim they are, some would rather be caught cheating than tell a woman that she is just no good in bed. On the other hand, today’s women tend to have the audacity to speak out against bad sex, which, when handled with the greatest ego-protecting sensitivity, eventually makes sex great. Other men just don’t believe that telling their woman that symbolically she sucks in bed is morally okay. And they are right, remember how it all ended the last time he told you your dress was not looking that good on you when you wanted to attend that function? Or that time he warned you that you were gaining a few kilos that don’t compliment your body? For men, it’s once beaten twice shy; that’s why it is so hard to tell their women how to do them right, unless the woman volunteers to find out. Sometimes communication isn’t the key, but the stone that shatters the glass house. Intrinsically, we all resonate with that unpopular study that suggests people fear rejection more than they do dying. In a way, our subconscious minds warn us not to spoil someone’s sex mood by telling them they are not doing it right.  But what do you do when you desperately need to enjoy sex to the maximum possibility of that divine experience? Well, I have a few sex tips for women.
Four sex hiccups men fear to raise with their women:
(1)    Initiate the conversation. Ask your man what is it that makes him sexually comfortable when you two are together. Ask him while you are in the process, not before or after. Just like learning to drive a car, it is better in practice than in theory.  The biggest mistake women make is that they hold on to the blind faith that they know exactly what their man needs and they will serve it to him the way they see fit. Meanwhile, the poor dude could be suffocating and wishing to hit it elsewhere, coming up with excuses every time you want him to do you.
(2)    Check his state of mind. You need to know that sex is a Tripartite Affair of Pairs. The first pair are the two minds involved, the second pair are the two emotional bodies involved and the third pair are the two physical bodies involved. You can’t have your minds in two separate places and think you will enjoy the same thing. Seducing him can work most of the times but sometimes you just need to find out if his mind is into sex that day. We do understand when you are “having a headache” or are on your untimely period, don’t we?
(3)    Check his emotional state. If, for example, he is stressed at work or financially, he might just need you to first assure him that he is still your hero and that you want to be with him no matter what he is going through. That will make him horny whereas if you don’t care what emotional state he is going through you might end up getting a poor performance from him and eventually accuse him of having a side dish.
(4)    Check his physical state. Unfortunately most women have heard that men don’t want dead weight in bed, so they always want to move and shake for their man. The question is are you moving in unison with his body or are you just moving to score points? Does his penis enjoy your movement or are you actually making things worse? Remember, the body is one hell of a trick mass. We differ in body size, height, width and weight. Just because Sipho used to like it when you gave it to him like this or when you gave him a hand or blow job in this way, it doesn’t mean Steve will like it that same way too. Ask if this “doesn’t hurt baby?” Find out if he gains maximum sensation when you do it this way or should you do it another way. Our penises are not izinduku (rods), they are muscle and flesh and they are sensitive too, please handle with care. Nothing scares the hell out of a man than the idea of his balls or penis “breaking.” He’d rather break-up than have his tools break. Any threat weakens the erection. Tune into his mind, emotions and body and see if this is what he really likes. If you are not sure, don’t be shy, just ask.
Whenever you go sexing your man, always keep in mind that sex is a matter of paired communication between a pair of minds, a pair of emotions and a pair of bodies. Go love your man like never before.

Kgoshii Lerabela
Author of 12 Types of People to Love… From a Distance (ISBN: 978-1-920655-18-1)