Power

(This is the first guest post by our Guest Blogger, Sibongiseni Lefalatsa. See my introduction of Sibo here.)

I was once offered a chance to partner in a business concept I knew nothing about, with a man I hardly knew and a promise that the money would be good. Now I worked with this gentleman so it was a professional conversation and friendly. After rejecting the idea he said, “I see you are more of a worker, you’ll be working for others instead of making money”, I told him, well I don’t work for money I want Power.

Many people associate power with dominance, superiority and control and for them it’s a zero sum game. If I’m not dominating, then you are. If you’re superior, then I’m inferior and if I’m in control then you are the one being controlled. When I speak of Power I speak of something far more liberating, a process of self-knowledge, acceptance and self-respect and appreciation and the use of this self-knowledge to influence: my circumstances; my future; my relationships; my finances, basically, whatever it is that matters to me.

My grandfather, was a very interesting man, the most influential person in my life, so you’ll bear with me, many things I reflect on will relate back to him and my grandma. I lived with them everyday along with my parents, I grew up with 2 generations of couples in the same house, my grandparents and my parents and that has left a big impression on me.

My missionary-school-educated-ex-headmaster grandfather married for himself a feisty woman. It was not beyond her during an argument to tell her opponent no-matter who it is, that, “I have 2 qualifications my dear, teaching and nursing, and I studied psychology, how many qualifications do you have?”. She was also known for butting in on conversations in which she was not a recognised participant. Men coming to seek counsel from my grandfather would be shocked to hear her enter the conversation. Unfortunately, they’d make a fatal error by seeking to reprimand my gran by saying “I came to speak to the man of the house, how do you as a woman interrupt”. My grandfather, would always promptly end the conversation right there by saying, “sir you have insulted my wife and I never accept that, leave right now”. ’Nuff said.

My grandfather had the added issue of having in me his only granddaughter, yet another argumentative, fight-to-win woman. What I loved about him and why we were so close was that he always took me seriously. Our arguments about religion, politics, history, gender issues were heated and sometimes quite tough. I loved them…I’ve seldom met men who without the exertion of the force of my character take me or many other women seriously at an intellectual level. My grandfather held his own in arguments, don’t feel sorry for him, he gave back as good as he got, but if defeated, he accepted, he acknowledged a well made point, even if it didn’t convince him to change his mind and  if an argument or a point made him change his mind he would openly acknowledge it.

He was powerful like that.

 It’s funny, because of all our fiery personalities, people got scorched and it was in these instances that he exercised his power. Our family had what I’ll call a “council”, the operation of this council was taken very seriously. Any member of the family, when aggrieved by another, especially where it was an inter-generational conflict, could approach my grandfather with an official complaint. The council would assemble with every member of the household in attendance (mom, dad, my two brothers, my grandmother and myself). During the council session, the complainer would be asked by Mkhulu to state his problem. It was no holds barred let me tell you, under the protection of my grandfather a child could even accuse an adult of lying if the accusation was that an untruth had been spoken. When an adult got annoyed they’d sometimes try to interrupt while one of us children were speaking, my grandfather would always reprimand the adult by reminding them that they’d have their turn but must allow the accuser to speak. At the end of the accusation and defence, my grandfather would if required refer to some of us in attendance for our views or you could volunteer your view. Soon the truth was quickly discovered and my grandfather would give his judgement.

Whoever you are you could be found to be in the wrong and required to apologise, and the accuser who often said something in anger during the time of the incident would be reminded to remain respectful no matter the circumstances. Everyone respected and I mean everyone respected my grandfather’s final word and everyone walked away feeling justice had been done.

What point am I making by recounting this memory?

I often notice how we as people in general but particularly in my experience men, seem afraid of the power of others in our intimate relationships. I wish they could understand how much power there is in being surrounded by powerful, self-assured people, women included. Being comfortable in your own skin so that even if a person told you they are better qualified than you, you are not threatened, it’s true isn’t it, so what? True undisputed power  that rightfully belongs to you, will be given to you simply by the implementation by yourself of your self-knowledge and self-love.

My grandfather made no secret of the fact that my grandmother was more of an intellectual than he was, he would tell us so himself. My grandmother never had to pretend not to be and she is a proud woman, no one had to cut her down. He asked for help when he was in over his head. Yet those around him knew their own weaknesses and felt comfortable to admit them in the face of someone who seemed comfortable to do the same. The same feistiness and tenacity that made us academically successful could negatively affect our relationships and we knew he had the power to influence us to a point of healing.

He did that with an authority that was never questioned, no one ever told us there was a council, it just came about by operation of the fact that we as children ran to him to help us reason with adults who we believed had done us wrong or adults who felt children were being unnecessarily argumentative. We did it. His wisdom, his calm in the face of heightened emotions and his strong sense of justice meant that we trusted him with our moments of shame and torment to come to the solution. He feared no other man or woman’s power or ability and was steadfast in his own. He always used to say to us that he didn’t want us children to fear him but to respect him and we should know the difference.

Power, let’s all have it within friendships, romantic relationships and families. Let’s give it away and cultivate it in ourselves. When you find yourself fighting for it…you’ve probably already lost it.    

Finally, a female voice

One of the things I loved about the Men's Fellowship at Christian Action Fellowship (CAF) at Wits, was the quality of talks we had. I enjoyed the vigour with which we tackled issues. We had many options for which we could have opted in conducting our meetings. But we always tended to choose the unconventional route.

When we had planned on our calendar to have a “brothers' night”, instead of just having fun watching movies (and there's nothing inherently wrong with this), we would choose to rather spend the night talking on things that we felt were vital to us. No, I'm saying it wrong, "we deliberated on issues, mchana", we would say in our "comrade" speak.

One day, a guest speaker we had invited to come address us on one or another topic suddenly dropped us at the last minute. It was late on a Monday afternoon, the 21st March 2005 to be precise. Thinking on their feet, the committee decided to quickly call on one of our fellow members of CAF to come speak to us. What was revolutionary about the committee making this call were 3 things. First, the person, was our peer - (normally we invited outside speakers, veterans with years of expertise in their fields). Second, the peer we decided to call on as a replacement was a lady. Finally, she was going to speak to us on, wait for it.......fatherhood. Yes!!! A young lady, unmarried let alone childless (at least at that stage) - invited to speak to a bunch of gents (mostly her age), about fatherhood. Hey?

Sibongiseni came on such short notice but her address was as if she had been preparing for years. She really just blew our minds away. I remember after the meeting I kept asking her, "where have you been? Where did you come from?". Sibo, as we called her, had always kept a very low profile. In an organization like ours where noise and shouting the highest "hallelujahs" were the norm, it would be hard to notice her other than when she took the microphone -  and when she did, we all paid attention. She had a presence.

Sibo is now a prolific lawyer doing great things in corporate. Apart from that, she is now a mother raising a family with her husband, Hape Lefalatsa. Hape is also a former member of CAF.

Sibo is very passionate about issues which we normally deal with on "Chronicles of a Builder". Hers, and many others, are voices we need as we continue to grapple with how we can heal this country, South Africa. It is my hope that as we continue to talk and engage each other, we will come up with constructive ways through which we can build our country for our children, and our children’s children.

Sibo has graciously agreed to come on as our very first guest blogger on "Chronicles of a Builder". So, in the not-so-distant future, she will take over this space, albeit for just a stint, so we can finally hear from the heart of a fellow female builder, Sibongiseni Lefalatsa.

It starts with men

Men are troubled souls. We are.

When I started this blog, one of my main objectives was to unravel and interogate the real reasons why South Africa is such a troubled country. I also wanted to contribute to the dialogue on how we can help re-build and heal this beautiful nation. This remains my objective. But for that to remain an authentic and meaningful exercise, I will need to be open about myself, however taunting that may be.

I was raised in the church and I remain a dedicated Christian, flaws and all. Flaws which I never thought I had. I think that was the problem - I had a distorted view of my Christianity. I thought Christianity was about being perfect.

For all intents and purposes, I was a model pastor’s kid. At least I thought I was. I was dedicated to the things of the church; always astute to attending all my church activities and duties. And I loved serving The Lord. It brought me joy. But there was a blind spot that I neglected to keep checking. I’ll come to this in a moment. First, indulge me a little while I tell you about me…

Getting into romantic relationships can be exciting for a young adult, such as I was. But I wish I was a little bit more prepared for what I would discover. Perhaps I would have dealt with all the challenges more maturely and constructively. But that’s not for this blog.

Anyway, in general terms, relationships can be excellent mirrors. Okay, granted, if you get involved with nasty partners, you will live with a distorted view of who you are because nasty people tend to make you feel worse than you are, and if you are found lacking in self-confidence, your self-esteem will just take a nose-dive. I was fortunate, I met wonderful girls. I’m not sure if they were so lucky with me though.

It was through some of these relationships that I discovered the ugly and nasty side of my character, the blind spot I never cared to observe. It was a confusing time because my outlook on life was, in many ways, very "one-dimensional'. So I never thought a person could have so many layers in their personality. But I would soon discover, for example, that I had quite a bad temper. An explosive one.

When a quiet, modest man suddenly takes a gun and shoots his wife and children, then turns the gun on himself, people often wonder how such a nice, calm person could do such a thing. There are certainly many reasons why a man would decide to brutally end the lives of those he loves and his own, and I am no psychologist, but one of the reasons would be that he cannot face himself.

For example, when I first discovered that I possessed a not-so-clean "vocabulary", it was when I suddenly found that I could swear at a girlfriend. And I hated myself for it. Yes, I hated the fact that I had hurt her, but I think what I hated even more was the fact that I, Saint Livhu, possessed the ability to hurl insults at another person. I soon learned that I could be hurtful in more ways than I’d ever imagined. You see, I had always bargained my way in relationships using the chip that I was a good man, a “perfect” man if you will, and when I found that to be far from the truth, my world crumbled.

My natural instinct after I learned I possessed the ability to be a monster was to run away and not deal with that reality. Some men, and I say this without any empirical evidence, would resort to ending the lives of those they love. This would be because such a man can’t live with himself. Statements like “you bring out the worst in me” or “you made me hit you” start being thrown around, in the hope to project the blame because he is unable to own himself and his actions.

Another example: when a man who thought his money is what earned him the love of a woman he would otherwise not be able to court had he been poor, suddenly wakes up one day bankrupt, his response would be to turn on his woman. He might not necessarily kill her, but he might certainly start being abusive, emotionally, financially and so forth. Why? Because he no longer has that “bargaining chip” that he believed kept the relationship alive. The bargaining chip that won him the woman.

Had he gone into the relationship with the full awareness of who he is and not go into it because he had, things might have turned out differently for him, and his partner.

I was fortunate that I had access to clinical therapy to be able to unpack some of the issues I had. And I also had men around me who helped navigate my way out of my mud. And no, church and Christianity were not the source of my untamed emotional outbursts and flawed character. I simply lacked the tools on how to deal with the “self”. And I will be honest, going deep into oneself is not easy. You will discover uncomfortable truths about yourself. But I'm glad that I have been able to go into some of those "places". What a liberating feeling it is when you are able to navigate the dark spaces of your character as a man.

I knew an old man who used to warn us about trusting a religion that only made us feel comfortable and good. True religion (read faith in God) should encourage you go into yourself and interrogate those things that make you uncomfortable. But I digress, this is not about religion. It’s about women. We are celebrating women this month.

Ever since I became active on issues of gender relations and more pointedly, women importance, my belief and understanding has always been that we will never fully realize and reclaim gender equality if men still believed women to be inferior. If men are not given the tools to fully interrogate and go into who they are, addressing all those uncomfortable truths, our fight against gender-based violence will never be won. Wife after wife and girlfriend after girlfriend will remain imprisoned in the shackles of their marriages and relationships. And as we have been seeing in the last couple of years in South Africa, grannies will also continue to be raped by their own grandsons, two month-old babies by their uncles.

For as long as we are sick, our celebration of women’s month will constantly be overshadowed by the reality that as soon as the festivities are over, when the music has quietened down, the poor South African woman will be going back to that prison hole she might occasionally call “home”.

Let’s heal our men, so that women can have the space to live meaningful, celebrated and fulfilled lives without fear.

                                             (source - www.religionnews.com) 

                                         

I wish men would talk about women

I was once the leader of the Men’s Fellowship of the Christian Action Fellowship (CAF), a Christian organization at Wits, during my student days there. Our vision during our term of office, adopted from the team that had led a year before us, was simply “To Raise and Develop Men of Integrity”. To this day, I can still feel the profundity of this statement and vision.

Many of us were barely out of our teens or had just hit the 20's, but it’s astounding that at such a young age (I myself was 20 years old), we had managed to correctly diagnose what our society needed: South Africa was in dire need of men of integrity to steer this nation forward. We certainly had our finger on the pulse.

For a year, the fraternity tackled all sorts of issues which we felt were affecting us, men, and posing a challenge to our endeavour on becoming men of character. We tackled issues such as fatherlessness and how this affected us later in life, as grown-up men.  “Integrity in the corporate world” was one of the issues we also addressed. Twice, we organized what was simply dubbed “brothers’ night” and the depth of the topics discussed there still makes me marvel.

For Mother’s Day that year, we did something special for the ladies in our organization. Most of them, being young students, were obviously not mothers themselves, but we told them we were “celebrating the mother in them”. They were charmed.

Then one day, I visited a friend of mine at his room in the residence. He was distraught; sometime before I arrived he had clearly been crying. He still had tears in his eyes. He had read an article in the newspaper which told of how a young woman in Tembisa had been gang raped by a throng of men. As if the gang rape in itself was not enough, one of her attackers wrapped his penis with a plastic bag as some form of “condom”, and proceeded to rape her. My body shivered. Quintin told me of how he had cried bitterly when he read that story. With tears in his eyes, he asked me, “Zakes (as I was then called), what are we going to do about this?”

As leader of the Men’s Fellowship, I had proposed to the CAF council earlier that year at a leadership retreat that the Men’s Fellowship be given the approval to host an event in honour of women on the 9^th August 2004. I was quizzed by the council as to what this event was about etc. One member of the council, a man, voiced that he wasn’t prepared to vote that the council simply allocated funds to an event without knowing how the money would be spent. Another council member, a lady, retorted, rather comically, that the chap challenging my proposal must not spoil the ladies’ surprise, much to the cheers of the rest of the ladies. Our proposal was approved.

So when Quintin asked me what we were planning on doing for women’s day, I understood that indeed that question was also a challenge that our focus shouldn’t just be about celebrating women and making them feel good, as we had done on Mothers’ Day. Much more than just a celebration of women needed to be done.

Who were these men that were raping women, in such despicable ways? Were they living among us? Were we those men? Would we, the men in our circles, turn out to be like the men in Tembisa that raped that powerless woman?

We started debating this issue and after a few hours, we knew what needed to be done. I was going to speak to the MF committee and propose the angle we would be using in the event celebrating women. This event was going to be about US just as it was about women. We were going to challenge and confront ourselves as men, and ask ourselves some very painful and uncomfortable questions.

Women would never enjoy the benefits of freedom in South Africa, if men still felt that they had rights and authority over women’s bodies. Women in South Africa constantly lived under the fear of being raped and violated.

We canvassed the men in the fraternity and held discussions were we discussed, quite intensely, about what women meant to us, and what informed our behaviour towards them. One of the key questions which I remember Quintin asking was, “how do you know, as a man, that you will never rape?”. That’s a question I still ask even today, and will continue to do so, until my grave. The prominence of that question in my mind keeps me on the toes, so to speak. It’s a constant reminder and check of the man I am becoming.

The 9^th August 2004 arrived. We had really planned a special event, and it was organzied right down to the tee. The setting of Umthombo Building 10, the lecture theatre where this event was hosted, is that it has three blocks of seats. We arranged that the gentlemen would sit on the side blocks, and the ladies would be “sandwiched” in the middle block. Our male ushers made sure that as people arrived, the men would be kindly separated from their female companions, at least for the duration of the event. The lecture theatre was packed.

The arrangement of the programme itself was excellent. Mduduzi, a young male student from Kwa-Zulu Natal opened the event with a resounding poem, paying homage to our guests of honour, the women. We invited a female doctor to speak on women and HIV/AIDS. Our second speaker was a rape survivor, who had been gang raped on that very campus one evening when she was walking back to her res. Another lady gave a motivational talk giving women encouragement to “fly like eagles”. This was followed by a panel discussion on all three of these talks. Quintin directed the programme.

The event culminated with the men, standing up from their seats, and reading in unison, a one-paragraph speech, pledging to the women in the hall that they would love and protect them. At the end of the pledge, each man walked to at least two women and gave them a copy of that pledge. It was so moving and many in that room were impacted. Hugs were exchanged, as men made a commitment that they wanted to change the landscape of the country, to one where women were respected and honoured.  

Before we made the pledge, I had to give a speech to round up everything. As this year’s Women’s Day was approaching, I have been thinking long and hard about that Monday afternoon in 2004, when we made that pledge. How far have we come as a country? Has the condition of women changed in the last decade?

More and more women continue to be raped in our communities, and very little seems to be changing, at least in my eyes. And why, oh why, are we no longer having the kind of conversations we had 10 years ago? I know talking might not solve our social problems entirely, but many years ago on the N1-South in Midrand, there used to be a huge MTN billboard which simply said “When talking stops, war begins”. I wish we could go back to talking about women. We need to.

I thought long and hard about the speech I gave for that event on Women’s Day in 2004. Besides the over-personalization on some parts of the speech which in hindsight embarrasses me a little, I’m still astounded that some of the things raised therein are still relevant 10 years later. During my internal struggle as to whether I should publish that speech, earlier today I saw a status of a lady friend of mine on Facebook declaring that she wished that men would use this day to “reflect on the way they treat women”. And I agreed.  After reading that status, I felt justified in my desire to publish the speech.

Here, I publish the full speech. Save for one factual correction to the speech, I have cited it verbatim, to protect its authenticity, grammatical errors and all.

Happy Women’s Day.

The Importance of Women

9 August 2004

Umthombo Building 10,

Wits University

In his first State of the Nation Address, May 1994, the then President Nelson Mandela said, "It is vitally important that all structures of government, including the President himself, should understand this fully: that freedom cannot be achieved unless women have been emancipated from all forms of oppression. All of us must take this on board, that the objectives of the Reconstruction and Development will not have been realised unless we see in visible and practical terms that the condition of women in our country has radically changed for the better and that they have been empowered to intervene in all spheres of life as equals with any other member of society."

It has been a little over a decade since Madiba made this statement, and as much as things have changed for the better, many things remain the same- more so in the church and the family structure where women are still being viewed as being inferior to men. The fact that a woman is killed every six hours in South Africa is evident to this statement. What is even more frustrating is the fact that the perpetrators committing this injustice are the women's intimate partners. The irony is that these are the men who are supposed to love and respect these women. The critical question which then emanates from this is in whose arms are the women suppose to feel loved and protected when their men are the ones who inflict such horrendous harm on them.

Many women are making an incredible mark in business and perhaps in government. That is wonderful. That is, however, only one side of the coin.  A survey, published by the Institute for Security Studies, found that half the women who experienced economic, emotional and physical abuse said the perpetrator was a spouse or partner. The study found that 80 percent of the 1,000 survivors of abuse interviewed had experienced emotional abuse, 76 percent physical abuse, 63 percent sexual and 62 percent economic abuse. To mark International Women's Day in 2003 Mandisa Kalako-Williams, president of the South African Red Cross Society, said "..As long as gender stereotyping and discrimination limited the development of girls and women, preventing them from fully participating in society, they would remain vulnerable."

It is a fact that a woman born in South Africa has a greater chance of being raped, than learning how to read. One in four girls faces the prospect of being raped before the age of 16 according to the child support group, Childline. "Baby Tshepang" was just 9 months old when she was brutally raped in the Northern Cape town of Louisvale in the early hours of 27 October 2001.

I dare say that this is only a tip of the iceberg. It is highly probable that thousands have been raped and have been subdued to any kind of abuse and have not reported it in due to the intimidations of their abusers. Millions of females across our country live in fear-whether they are abused or not. The South African woman lives in a world of uncertainty. She is not sure whether she'll make it home from work without her taxi driver taking a detour to a deserted place to rape her. She is not sure whether she'll wake up in the morning without her husband having raped her as a punishment for coming home late from her strenuous job. She is even frustrated more by this because her own family says and does nothing by this, because after all, he is her husband. The only comforting words she'll receive are that- 'mosadi o tshwara thipa ka bogaleng.' She is not sure whether she'll wake up tomorrow to see her little daughters grow because her husband has threatened to kill her because she can't give him a son-as if she was God!!

The plight that the South African women find themselves in is appalling and it is terribly unfortunate that the church is silent about this. The church pretends that it is a problem out there in the community and not in the church which just shows how isolated the church is from the community- so much for being the light of the world. We cannot claim the blood of Jesus to have set us free and yet our women remain imprisoned. We have been quiet for far too long and this has come to an end!!

We as the Men's Fellowship of the Christian Action Fellowship (CAF) have realised that if the issue of women importance is to be reclaimed, it has to be through men. If we want to change this unfortunate situation, we first have to change our perceptions, because perception is a powerful thing. Perceptions "...govern the way we see, and the way we see governs the way we behave.” by Stephen R. Covey. If we change our perceptions of women today, tomorrow definitely will be a brighter day.

When we start to view women as our equals our behaviour towards them will definitely change for the better. I have been waiting for a day when I would truly be proud to be a man.

Ladies and gentlemen, fortunately that day has come.  We have gathered here today to witness and be part of an extraordinary declaration, which I believe, is the first of its kind. The men have convened to this place with an agenda, one that has the motive to change the condition of women dramatically. We take full responsibility of what women have been subjected to over the years. We take responsibility of the injustices that women have received fro men. We own up to the precarious condition the women find themselves in. We do not end there! We are turning the tide. We are making a commitment to ourselves, to the women and to God that we shall perceive and treat them, as God would want us to. We are saying that we shall give them the utmost respect that they deserve. When we have even moved beyond the boundaries of Christian values and morals, we shall understand that when a woman says no she means no and not yes, whether she is a wife, or otherwise!!

I as the leader of the Men's Fellowship am tremendously proud on this 9th day of August 2004 as we celebrate 10 Years of Freedom, that my men are taking an affirmative stand. I am proud to be their leader because they are taking a stand that is politically correct and at the same time, a stand that I believe to be Godly correct. They are honouring our treasure and God's precious gift to us- a woman. They are also making a commitment to protect the women and forever be there for them. Gentlemen, I love you and I am proud of what you are doing and are about to do today. I believe God honours this day too!!

As I conclude: Last night, before I could stand here today and make a commitment to these beautiful and lovely ladies, I made a commitment to the 5 special ladies in my life, and all of you ladies also are. I called my 4 sisters, that is, my two elder sisters, my twin-sister and my sister in-law. I told them I love them and I made the special commitment that I am about to make to you to them. I also called my stepmother, who is my mother for a special reason. My biological mother died 17 years ago when I was only three. She was killed by the cruel disease of breast cancer, which is one of the diseases killing many women even today. God was gracious enough to bless us with a second mother three years later. It is through this woman that I got to learn about the importance and relevance of a woman in one's life.

I am what I am because of what she has imparted in me. At the age of 35, in 1990, she took a tremendously bold step of becoming a second mother to 5 children. 3 of them, that is my 2 elder sisters and brother, were teenagers and 2 of them, my twin-sister and I, were only 6. She not only faced the tremendous challenge of being a second mother to us, but also to fight the traditional belief that stepmothers are evil. In spite of all the negativity and hostility that greeted her in a foreign culture of Venda and with her being a Motswana, she stood the test of time. My parents will be celebrating their 15-year Anniversary next year and I can tell you with all confidence, boldness and honesty that I couldn't have asked for a better stepmother. I am saying this to give a picture of how much value I place in women. I am also saying this as a challenge to the guys gathered here that after they have made this commitment to the ladies here, they must also commit themselves to the closest ladies they have at home, because the principle of "charity begins at home" is very much true.

Finally to the all ladies, I, Livhuwani Matsila, the leader of the Men's Fellowship, would like to say to you on this great day, that your significance in my life as a man is invaluable. I stand here before you, before the men and before God and I have this to say to you: You are important and significant in my life. I pray to God that you grow and continue to be the women God has destined you to be-'Women of Noble Character'. I LOVE YOU AND GOD BLESS YOU!! 

Tribute to my mother - Takalani Faith Matsila

I don't remember when I first became aware that my mother had died. I don't remember anything about her funeral or when she fell ill. Everything I know about her I learned through those who knew her closely. Other than two distinct memories I have of Mma, my mind is clogged up with snippets and pieces of vague, distant memories of her.

Two weeks ago we held a small, intimate ceremony for the erection of Mma's tombstone. It was during the service when someone mentioned "Garankuwa hospital", that the mere utterance of that hospital, suddenly evoked some vague flashes of the pain I remember each time it was said Mma was going to Garankuwa. I would later learn, as a grown up man, that this was where she received her chemotherapy.

Early one Saturday in March of 1986, while attending a wedding, my mother called her close friend to the bathroom and revealed, for the very first time, that she had breast cancer and how far advanced it had become. That is how some of those close to her came to know what she was suffering from, and that this was the same sickness that had claimed the life of her own mother. It was soon discovered that the cancer had already reached stage 4. And thus began her battle with cancer and rigorous chemotherapy at Garankuwa, and that is how that hospital is etched in my memory.

Some close friends started praying for her, even dedicating 8 days for fasting and prayer for the healing of my mother. Her close friend, the one she first disclosed her cancer to, tells me that it is during this time that she (the friend) specifically started praying that the pain would go away, because my mother's pain had become terribly unbearable. Their prayer was answered, in as far as pain was concerned. Mom became better, and she was able to go back to teaching.

One weekend in May of 1987, three months after going back to work, she attended a conference at a church which didn't have windows and it was particularly cold as winter was approaching. So cold it was that weekend, especially in the church, that on her return home, she contracted pneumonia and was hospitalized. On Thursday, the 14th of May 1987, my mother, Takalani Faith Matsila, left this world to be with The Lord.

My 3 elder siblings were fetched from school on the morning when mom died. Nothing was said to them on the drive home. It was only when they reached home to find our two grandmothers there that they started suspecting something had gone terribly wrong. Papa took them to the bedroom, and here, they were told that Mma had left us - she had succumbed and lost her battle with breast cancer.

My dad is a strong man. But I do not know how he made it through this very dark patch in his life. As if breaking the news to his 3 eldest children (aged 12, 11 and 10) would be difficult enough, he still needed to tell the news to his toddlers, the 3 year-old twins. I'm not sure what he expected. Papa, in his speech at the unveiling, told those who had gathered of how I reacted when he broke the news to my twin sister and I that our mother had died. She had ascended to the sky, he told us. Papa remarks that instead of being distressed by the news, I responded with curiosity and fascination: apparently I asked him, "how did she get up there? Vho to namela stepisi (did she go up by a step-ladder)?" I don't know what his response to this was, but whatever mode of "transport" she used to go to heaven, we would never see her again. Death had robbed me and my twin of knowing anything more about our mother. She was gone. Cancer had won.

She left behind a loving husband, three near-teenagers (two girls and a boy) and 3 year-old twins (a girl and a boy).

Years later, when her grand-daughter (my elder brother's child) Rinae Faith Matsila, suddenly died at the tender age of just 4 months, I worked tirelessly with the undertakers, preparing the grave where she would be laid to rest from her very brief journey on earth. We worked around the clock to make sure that when the funeral procession arrived later that afternoon, my niece's final resting place would be ready. We laid my niece, Rinae, to rest on the early evening of 8th April 2005.

There is something very heartbreaking about leaving a loved one at the grave. Although a staunch Christian, and one comforted by the hope that I will be reunited with my loved ones when Christ appears, I still couldn't help feeling haunted by the thought and tinge of guilt that we had left my loved ones "alone". I remember very well this heaviness when we left my niece at her grave.
Just 1 week later, this heaviness revisited me when death, in its ugliest form, brought us back to the graveyard, this time to lay to rest my twin sister who was suddenly killed in a car accident that nearly wiped out my family driving home after the funeral, just a few hours after burying our niece. Again, I felt guilty, that we were going to leave another loved one alone at the grave - this time, my beautiful twin sister.

But life works mysteriously, and it has ways in which it brings us comfort in strange ways. A few months ago, when we were preparing for the unveiling of my mother's tombstone, a startling discovery was made. One of my sisters had the task to look for our mother's grave. Buried 27 years ago, with nothing substantial to mark her grave, this seemed to be an arduous task. But as her search for the grave intensified, with the help of the municipality records, she finally found where Mma had been laid to rest all those years ago. But to our absolute amazement, our niece's grave, was only a few feet away from her grandmother.

Rinae's mortal body was no longer "alone" as I had imagined. Very close to her, was her grandmother, after whom she is aptly named. Preparing the grave of my niece that sad afternoon in April of 2005, I did not know that almost next to us, lay my mother, a woman I loved dearly but knew very little about. A woman whose fading memory I fantasized about and yearned more of.

My mother is remembered by those who knew her for her warmth and kind heart. She is said to have had a very hearty and infectious laughter that made people happy, says a family friend. She is also said to have been a gifted soprano. Another close friend of hers described her as a teacher dedicated to the upliftment of the black child through a youth mentorship program she helped establish. My siblings remember her, apart from her love for us, for her wit and sense of humour.

Papa tells me that she was a woman who loved The Lord, a woman who supported and encouraged him to be bold when he needed to leave his secular job to go into full-time pastoral ministry after many years of putting on-hold the call of God. So resolute was she in encouraging him that she assured my dad that even though him being in ministry would adversely affect the financial stability of the family, our family would survive on whatever money she brought in from her teachers' salary. That's my mother.

What will I remember her for? How will I remember my beloved mother? I am not sure. But in memory of her, I recently put up her wedding day picture as my profile picture on Facebook. Very beautiful, donning her breath-taking smile, she attracted beautiful comments from my friends as they acknowledged her beauty. So beautiful and youthful is Mma on that picture that one friend of mine, clearly not privy to who this was, assumed that this was MY bride, and remarked how disappointed he was that he had not been invited to my wedding. Mma's beauty has proved to be timeless.

My mom was a beautiful woman, and she was a gorgeous bride, dearly loved by my dad and adored by her children. And that's how I will always remember her - a beautiful bride to my father, a loving mother to my siblings and I, and true to her names, she was a woman of Faith who made those around her Happy.

We love you Mma, and you will forever be in our hearts.

Reflections

MANY YEARS AGO, in the wee hours of one morning my dad woke me up for a serious talk. I don’t specifically remember the year, but what I do remember is that I was still in high school at the time - so it’s a LONG time ago.

Papa has a very admirable ritual of waking up in the early hours of the morning to read and pray (I’m not sure if revealing this detail about him is a violation of his privacy, but I hope he doesn’t mind). If you were spending a night in our home and you woke up just before dawn, you are more often than not, likely to find Papa in the lounge on his knees praying or reading.

I think it was on this particular morning that before or after having poured his heart out to God that he woke me up. I was still drowsy with sleep, but I can never forget what he asked me and what he told me, and the following is an abridged and paraphrased version of the conversation. Perhaps calling it a conversation is not really accurate since very little was said from my side:

Livhu, I remember how you used to always go to church services and leadership conferences with your notepad and Bible. You used to enjoy taking notes. What changed? (I don’t remember answering that question; but he went on). I want to read a small passage from a book I’m reading.

Papa then opens one of John C. Maxwell’s (I think it was) leadership books and reads a passage where I assume the author was talking about investing one’s time and leadership resources. Maxwell then relates a story of how one day when addressing a leadership conference or some such, he encountered a dedicated young man, who’d been attending the conference with so much eagerness. The young man left a lasting impression on the author that at some point during his address Maxwell deviated a little bit to speak directly to the young man.

Papa continues reading to me directly from the book. Maxwell speaking directly to the young man, says something along the lines of the following (please forgive me if the integrity of that speech is compromised – this was close to 15 years ago when this was read to me, but this record forms the essence of what I remember from the passage):

Kevin*, ever since I met you, I have been impressed by your sense of eagerness and pursuit of leadership matters. I met you during the intervals and I have been moved by the dedication you have shown. I want to encourage you to continue seeking knowledge. It might take you a while, but one day, maybe 15-20 years from today, you will start seeing the benefits of having invested in yourself.

After reading this passage, Papa then urged me to reignite my passion for investing in my self-development. And thus ended our “conversation”.

I turned 30 two days ago and as one would expect, there was some deep introspection and reflection that would normally come with reaching this milestone. I couldn’t help but to be drawn to this unusual conversation with my old man, so many years after it had occurred.

Roughly 15 years have passed since we had that conversation, and I feel a little guilty that I have not invested in myself as much as I should have. But with the same token, there is so much that I can be truly grateful for and my focus for the next 30 years is to invest more in self-development.

But I figure the best way to start investing in myself is in what I learned way back at home, from my old man, and that is spending time on my knees. I think everything flows from that.

*I can't remember the young man's name

Shelter from the Rain

LATE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON I knocked on the door of an elderly colleague of mine's quarters. The rain was pouring down heavily and I was soaking wet. Very warmly and concerned seeing how wet I was, Oom Dries exclaimed, "Livhu, come inside man!!".

I kindly declined and quickly explained that all I needed was just a bit of powder soap. I had just finished running a malaria awareness marathon and during my run, I'd dropped a vest in the mud. I therefore needed some soap as I couldn't wait till Monday morning for our minders to take my dirty laundry.

After chatting a little bit and agreeing on a cycling expedition that we would embark on together on Monday, I thanked him and left him for my quarters.

Later on, in the warmth of my room and having washed and freshened up, my over active mind predictably took me back to Oom Dries' kind offer, and the concerned look he had on his face. Would I have done the same? Would I have offered my living quarters, "my home" in many respects, as a refuge to anyone that needed shelter and respite from the rain? 

My room was just a few doors away from Oom Dries’, but he surprised me  by how when he saw me drenched in the rain, he didn't ask why I wasn't in my own room and all sorts of questions; no, without asking anything, he simply offered me shelter and refuge. He acted very much like the father of the prodigal son who, when he saw the son approaching home in his stinking, raggedy and soiled clothes, he didn't ask the son any questions as to where he had been and what he had done with his riches. No, he simply embraced him and welcomed him home!

I recently read a blog on www.garythomas.com where the bestselling author, Gary Thomas, blogs about visiting a pastor’s home with his wife for counselling during a troubled time in his marriage. He describes how the visit made him feel they had come to an “oasis”. Gary then challenges Christians, particularly Christian couples, to live their lives such that those finding themselves in trouble, turmoil and hurt can find it easy to run for shelter and refuge in the company of such couples (I suppose the same applies to singles).

Ever since I read that blog post and when I stood drenched in rain at the door of my elderly colleague, I have been thinking hard about my own personal life – can my life come close to being an oasis?

When Oom Dries warmly opened his door for me to go in it was as though in that moment I was also being asked, can you do the same? “Livhu, don’t you also want to be an oasis? Or perhaps provide that shelter from the rain?” Food for thought…