Karma is a bitch, she knocked on my door on the 25th Jan 2008

It took exactly 4 years and 6 days for me to summon so much courage to speak about a torment that dawned into my life of living large, with all kinds of relativity.

I find it very vegetating and unfair on my part to have to live such a monotonous life, for 4 agonizing years. So called friends, dissected family members, colleagues and the aberrant lay man asking the same question. Mafedi/Bigboy kgane go dirigile eng? (Mafedi/Bigboy what happened?).

You see there was a part of my life where I was living my life without a care to be given, whatsoever. This part of my life we can call the Achilles heel, you see we call it that as this was the time where I was at my weakest, despite my alter ego telling me that I was in fact on top of the world. With just about everyone down there, the funniest thing about this and to my credit is that despite my been so remote to all things humane, I had a truck full of friends. This as you would imagine, inflate my sense of self importance to some exaggeration.

We all have that part of ours that’s just full of callous actions, even you do have it. It’s how you control it that makes a difference and gives you a better stand over life.

On the 25th of January 2008, I met a fatal accident. I almost lost my life, people even pronounced me dead. People I know and those that I didn’t even know. Was admitted at a hospital called Union Hospital in the Eastern side of Johannesburg called Alberton. Got into a coma for almost 9-10 days, with my right leg been literally pulled out of my intestines using what is called a traction, a mechanism that was drilled into my thigh, using weights to pull out the leg. Had a raptured bladder, resulting into a laparotomy operation, that still left a boasting scar on my abdominal. My mom only got to know about all of this after 3 days of my hospitalization, no one could summon the courage to tell her that her Biggy was fighting for his soul with the ancestors. The nice thing about a coma is you loose all touch with the world and anything that doesn’t add any value to your life and you loose weight.

As an Information Techonology professional, I too found myself learning at a fast pace about the human anatomy. One day as I was on my bed, ridden and dependent. My then doctor, Dr Jan Venter, made an unusual visit to my private room with all kinds of Sunday newspapers. This is of course how I then got to know that it was a Sunday, having been slipping in and out of mild comas loosing track of the outside world. He had came to tell me that I will have to confine into a wheelchair for the rest if my life. This is and was the time that I lost a lot of my then friends, I was more dependent you see and mostly a nuisance at large.

I spent 11-12 months on a wheelchair, I at this time started questioning God’s existence and subsequently that of Jesus. Having forgotten who had made and turned me into a success of a young man. You see the questioning of God came naturally, the Dr had also told me it would take a miracle for me to bare weight on my lower body, thus meaning I won’t be able to ever walk on my own again.

The saddest thing is that I had to deal with question from people that I thought were friends about what was happening to me, needless to say that I had expected them to tell me what had happened. I did expect a lot from people. A close friend asked me if I would have done differently if it was someone on the receiving end, I squarely said NO, I know that’s cause I didn’t know better. I have since almost went back to doing the same mistake of fostering friends, even though I know I don’t care about them. This I found is the underlying reasons I lost a lot of them, as they could careless. I just liberated myself off another friendship that almost enslaved me, sad but it had to be done.

My road to recovery is probably one of the most inspiring things to me, I saw myself come alive without even having milestones nor pragmatic ways of doing it. I got off the wheelchair, something that took my doctor and physiotherapist by surprise. I then used a walker for 7 months, then two crushes for a while. Now I use one crush on the righten hand to balance, as I had injured what’s called a lumbar plexus, a coil of nerves that provides the lower body with senses that ranges from touch, pain, balance and so on. Knowing very well that some people don’t necessarily care about all of this, for those that do care, you will be glad to know that my lumbar plexus is getting better by the day, hence the use of one walking aid.

Karma had got my address, the bitch never forgot the address. She came, knocked at my doorstep and ran the whole house.

The highlight of the aftermath of all these atrocities is the man I have become, one thats
imperfectly perfect. You will equally be glad to know that I am on my road to recovery and have found love inside of me. My head is always upright, well most of the times. I have also found a woman that loves me for who I am. My relationship with my little sister has went from nonexistence, to been the epitome of a bigger brother.

My career has remained stagnant and I know why, I am however working on this. The truth of the matter is that I am one happy young man and you should embrace that in me as family and friends.

Next time someone asks you about me, tell them I am doing fine. Probably better than them.

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Decipher and decode the encoded.

It has become rather obvious that the recent poster that has been thoroughly depicted by the students’ wing of the Democratic Alliance (DA) viz, Democratic Alliance Student Organization (DASO) not only depicted a thousands meanings as the adage goes about how a picture can have a lot of meanings. But it also sent a lot of tempers flares amongst the clearly distinct bourgeois, peasant and proletariat lines of inequalities that is our so called rainbow nation.

With the sentiments of DASO probably been of Nobel intentions, we can’t see past the misconception from incorrect reasoning that is the poster. To me as I sat and disgruntled the poster and used the same method that I was taught at the bourgeois school, I safely came to the conclusion that DASO was trying to tell us that we can cohabit only if we are prepared to say the white man is superior than the black, thus perpetuating but carefully tweaking the architect of Hendrick Verwoerd of a neighborly society that knows and embraces its indifferences to allow the half baked rainbow nation that was only but a dream for the Mandelas, the Sisulus and the heroes and heroines et al.

Here is my deciphering, encoding of the decoded. The caricature that was conjured overnight said and stood striped and bare to me as a picture that depicts two races, which I think was the aim. It however goes on and tries to show the intimacy between the two, I suppose this is to perhaps depict an interracial relationship. Where the failing starts dawning, as it epitomized the clear lines that suggested how DASO and it’s mother body DA represent. A South Africa were we all live in with a master to be servered, you can try and search for the poster and tell try to thoroughly have a look and tell me if you don’t see how the black female on the poster is firstly showing how she depends and looks up to the master, with the master of course looking down on her. Not only is this depicting that but it also shows who is to be servered and who does the serving.

It also metaphorically when put asunder perpetuates a South Africa that always believed a black person is to be screwed to the gallows, the idiocy that came with it was that I understand it was not designed by the white men in the student wing. But people of colour, the only two reasons that can better explain how the poster got to be approved is either it was a slothful day on their part or the master found it depicts what they would rather represents as they to some sorely know that a nation of interracial screwing is inevitable.

I wouldn’t dare label the poster callous, but I know for a fact I felt and heaved a sigh with chagrin as I saw this instrument that went to clearly show how far we have gone as a nation that is not ready to embrace change or rather how we haven’t went anywhere in the contrary. But the truth is that the obstinate that is innate to a vast majority in the minority lurks about us and someone must plan to rectify this or plan to forfeit all, including lives.

Without taking anything away from the white people that have seen past the issue of race, this is all I have to say about the disgust that is the DASO poster.

I must also say that I found SASCO’s response to all of this highly immature and totally unnecessary. Not that I would mind a white maid, I sure would.

Mafedi Selepe.

Chez nous: Where we live

It was on a Friday morning as the crack of dawn broke open on the eyes of the Ba-Phalaborwa people. You see this part of the Sub-Sahara is known for its extreme high somatic sensation of heat. Growing up here has had me swear on my mother’s life and my father’s grave that I surely can prepare food from the sun. Like any other suburb, Phalaborwa has its own township, Namakgale. It was at this township that I learned that most if not all of the youth think and do the same thing on Fridays. They are either going on a drinking spree or that one game that ends up with all of us painted with the same brush and called with the same tag line of “boys will be boys”. oh and any other day.

 

The uninvited sunbeam beamed into my bedroom, ok not mine alone, I shared it with my two siblings. I had to wake up and get ready for the marathon that we see or hear about, that of running for the bathroom, of course after boiling water as substitution for our geyser. Did the runs, only to find that my eldest brother was already in the bath, bloody bastard!

 

Like any other day, I got ready on time for school at the local senior secondary school called Sebalamakgolo High, this is where we indeed count some thousands as the name implies. I mean people sold from titbits to sweets, cigarettes, marijuana and ecstasy, enmasse. On my way to been part of the counting thousands hoi polloi, I find a lot of different people on the road. You find the elders and juniors imbibing the amber nectar of the gods. Failing grace to these limpid liquids, these are some of the people that should be jaunting with me to class. Either for getting educated or educating, oh Namakgale my beloved township, has turned to self-hate. You think I’m slandering my home town, think again, surely you can’t explain the hurling at our teachers square in the eyes.

 

If we do have the Lord, father of the only Son of Mary’s mercies we have quiet classes. It was on the same Friday that a classmate got that call that his father was not coping well, under the retroviral pill. You see my friend had a father that wouldn’t grow up at all. We had buried his mother circa his birthday which was roughly a year ago. The thought of having to bury his father again around the same time was probably more than the proverbial say that people say when they have too much on their plate. He as expected had to rush home and play head of the house, at 16years old. What dawned on me and was cringeworthy is the guffawing that the whole class found was salient to the ghastly death of Masilo’s father. I was gobsmacked by this, to some degree.

 

The taboo that the HI virus has always carried with was not of equal strides to the kleptomaniacs that were harboured in this very town. I say this with a wagging tail, who am I fooling. It is not even wagging. I am scared for my life. That is if they do get this and obviously get someone to read it for them, I am history. My peers were killed in gory and obscene manners, by some of my peers. I have had to bury a lot of them without the others.

 

It has also been the harsh reality that I had come to terms with, that I am also a father of this nation. With every single one of them calling me “uncle” if and when they want a fix, a rand, a quart of the amber nectar of the gods. If you think I am fibbing, then you need to come with me on one of my weekend visit to my mom’s house. As Long as you promise to not feel younger than me, as you sure will be hanging with the father of the Namakgale nation. I always make sure I have chickenfeed for instance like this, otherwise I am going to assume a different name from that of “uncle”. This is my home town. I know what I am talking about.

 

I am not taking turns at pelting my hometown, not by a longshot. Because the truth of the matter is that we do have people that made sure the dynamics of the town are diluted. I do by some fourth dimension get a chance to walk around and find minds that leave me thinking is he or she from here.

 

This is my hometown, I love this place. I could shout at the top of my lungs that it too shall one day be habitual to its habitant.

 

By Mafedi Selepe

Open letter to Vodacom.

Dear Vodacom,

 

It is with great pleasure that I express my underhanded disappointment to your of late recent spate of inconsistency to your consumers. You see I say it is a great pleasure to some sorely cause I have as a result found my refugee in one of your biggest competitors, at the moment I’m currently working on getting my family and close friends know of our 12 years long relationship break-up and spill all the reasons

 

I have only had 3 numbers, all of them Vodacom. With no shame I spoke high of you and marked all networks across the board with folly, cause my with the “Yebo Gogo” pay-off line I was sold, well the truth is your network was really stable and had your day to day issue, like any other semisynthetic manmade solution to a problem. But the recent no solution way you have, on the web, phone and over the counter is not helping you slowly dying and incompetent state at large.

 

The adorn Vodacom that had the wade over way of doing things is now surfacing with a feeble sense of been irrational to the men pumping its revenues from the bottom food chain, after been with you for an odd 12 years, Am I not supposed to by now know your ins and outs? I was seen going up and down for a month cause of a weak signal that saw a sudden forays at my habitat of over 2 years, was labelled with a tone of the satirist you harbour as employees as a caricature. That saw me going from pillar to post, from Vodaworld, Vodacare, support centre and your twitter account. I wonder if I am not family no more, albeit my voice SIM card that has been under your highness’s hubris network for over a decade and my data card with Vodacom for over 3 years. I am within my rights to be so irked and peeved.

 

Look my issue here might not be proportionally rationale to your inversely proportion rate of service visa vie your clients. But it has more to do with the way you perpetually fail to make up for your consecutive mess up. I started with the 111 support line, where I was told to call the data line. The guy I spoke to there had either fell grace to the lagers or ciders of SAB or had been equally imbibing some Scottish waters. Failure then coerced me to see myself at the Vodaworld premises, as aforementioned. With no joy, at all. Then I went to Vodacare out in Fourways, this was where I found a little bit of useless help. Shame she really tried, to sound so monotonous with the robotic way of doing things. Told me: “Sir, your phone is losing network because it is on 3G network”, really? Isn’t it supposed to be on 3G and failover over to 2G if and when the area is not 3G ready? Like really now? Now here is a killer one, she went on and said we can upgrade your firmware, for around R200 and I must emphasise that, you have a 50/50 chance of the upgrade working or losing your phone, which we will not be liable to. I vividly remember asking: “So are you saying that from 10 phones that you guys upgrade its firmware, 5 of them don’t make it and you guys are cool with that?” She laughed and said it will take 2 hours to upgrade.

 

We are all aware that you are no longer South African, believe me it really doesn’t change the price of fish and chips. It’s more of a butter for fat situation, I am worried about. Where I give in money and not get my desired service. The service has ebbed since the inception of Vodafone was a public wash down domain, this has been so clear that even us the blind loyal clients had to read via our braille that shit has hit the proverbial fan. I wouldn’t be so highly disappointed if it was a once off, but I can’t exhaust 4 of your different avenues for the same reason with no joy and be expected to act as if family business is still the same. This charlatan way of doing things must cease fire before it is impossible to exit via the stairs. The saddest thing is that, the bottom food chain suffers more from this. The enmasse feeling that I had from the first day I owned a phone 12 years ago, has been bewrayed. Thanks Vodacom, for a 12 years of just about everything and a month of nothing but a waste of my absolute time.

 

Oh by the way, I went to MTN. Got a SIM card, and called their Chilli Lane shop out in Sunninghill and they said they can upgrade the firmware for free in 20min. All I wanted to hear, why charge people to stay with you?

 

Disappointed,
Mafedi Selepe

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