A Man of Honour - Part of the 16 Days of Activism

By Tumelo Joseph Maje

It was on a typically scorching day in Gaborone last year when I visited a very close friend of mine in the suburb block 7.

It was after the usual male banter and small talk that he mentioned he was dating an older woman. My obvious pride in the fact that the said friend had managed to snare a cougar turned to ice cold concern when he went on to say that the cougar was married to a soldier who was serving on a tour of duty outside the country.

With the recent spate of passion killings over the past few years, I was worried my friend would become a statistic.

But what drives a man to blind rage that is so violent it kills the very person he is supposed to love?

What is it within us that propels us to snuff out the life of the ones we hold dear? Those are some of the questions my friend and I pondered as we spent the afternoon chilling.

Being raised by a single mother, a strong, proud, black woman, I couldn't imagine ever touching a woman in anger. So it is with rising alarm that I see the ever increasing despicable acts of violence against women by men who have been rebuffed on, or cheated on.

In life there are many disappointments, things don't go according to plan, people don't act the way we want them to. If we all murdered or attacked then society would be in anarchy. The truth is there are a select number of disturbed, cowardly men that perpetuate these crimes by wanting to prove their masculinity by preying on women. And do not represent the current state of relations between the sexes.

The fight for gender equality has gone a long way and women have made many inroads over the last 20 years in society's acceptance of their worth as more than just weak, docile creatures that whose only place is in the home and all  that progress should not be overshadowed by the twisted realities of little cowardly men.

Because there are many honourable men out in this world that cherish their wives, sisters, mothers, aunties and grand mothers because they understand a woman's worth.

A Woman's Worth - Part of the 16 Days of Activism

By Lwando Mufune

I came across an extremely powerful image of a woman’s hand recently!

Now what struck me about this picture and what I will always remember about it is how her beautiful hand clad with a wedding ring was attached to a chain. The most powerful thing about this image to me was that you aren’t able to see who holds the chain all you see and notice is that its attached to her wedding ring, it is an extremely powerful message... a sad one too because as a woman it tells me in no uncertain terms that in this day and age women are still the inferior sex, and we are still in some places considered the property of men. 

This image was made as part of the 16days of activism campaign against Gender Based Violence. And while there are so many different angles I could take when discussing Gender Based Violence, and in spite of how I have chosen to begin this thought process I will restrict myself to contemplating passion killings. Why? Well honestly because it is the one gender based act of violence that is very visible in the part of the world I live in and also as an eternal student of law with a huge interest in criminology...passion killings are a puzzle to me, a phenomenon I need to understand.

‘Passion killings’ ... (Well, personally I dislike the term but my bias aside) are according to most legal definitions, crimes of passion, both a legal act and a defence because even though a crime was committed it wasn’t intentional or premeditated in the normal sense of the word, no, it was committed as a result of intense feelings and emotion (usually jealousy, heartbreak and anger) that overwhelmed the person committing the crime.

‘Passion killings’ are a real problem in the Namibia in fact it’s almost common place, to hear a story about a young woman killed by an estranged boyfriend.  

As a young woman living in Namibia myself I have had many discussions about why this is the case and interestingly enough it’s rare (extremely rare), to hear someone argue that these killings happened as a result of intense feelings or emotions. In fact quite a number of my male friends and indeed some female friends have pointed to the fact that a young woman’s death is to be expected especially where she was in a relationship with someone who showered her with material gifts and money, and all of a sudden for whatever reason she opted out. Sometimes I have even been left with the impression that somehow there is a sense that the death of a young woman... the victim here... was her fault because she may have accepted that a man, a boyfriend provide for her financially thereby indirectly becoming his property. It is almost like she signed up for this.

While I might not like this argument at all, I understand where it is coming from... but I guess this is the point where I go on record and say that I believe that the cause of the problem is deeper than that!

I must have been in my third year at university, in a gender law class to be specific when I first heard the idea from my lecturer that ‘more and more, young men are becoming emasculated’. We live in a constantly evolving world that embraces and promotes the idea that women can do it all, parent, work be independent, have an identity independent from a man and be the breadwinners of their families etc, we promote these things and at the same time we take away from what is considered to make a man... a man, including the idea of how much control a man has over a woman. In my lecturers view this was part of the reason we have so many passion killings in the country, it’s reactionary almost, because it is almost offensive that a woman would leave the relationship just like that. In addition there is a sense of a lack of respect on the part of some young men for women in general.  The weird thing though is that despite our advancements for women’s rights, independence and equality, we still have young women who are prone to being romantically involved with young men with a sense of entitlement over them. Is it because of poor self-esteem, lack of confidence or a false misconception of what relationships should be like? I think so but I can’t be hundred percent sure...

I am sure though that this ‘passion killing’ phenomenon is a difficult thing to completely understand especially when one is trying to understand it solely through observations. I will say though that contemplating this topic is always interesting because like most causes of crimes the causes of passion killings are often psychological and maybe even culturally deeply rooted.  

I guess the whole point of my post today has been to  be part of a discussion that argues that we ought to start asking WHY... why are acts of violence against women so common still? why are passion killings in Namibia still prevalent? WHAT are we doing wrong, do we need to re-work the methods we use to campaign and fight for the end of violence against women? or maybe it is that we have we failed to appreciate how hard it is to fight something we do not always take the time to understand

Return of the Mac

What is in a comeback? 

We all know the story, we have all heard the rumours, but what is the truth? Why do people love a good comeback story? Is it the triumph against adversity and drug abuse and chronic masturbation that inspires us? Or is it that there is nothing more beautiful than seeing a phoenix rise from the ashes?

Well, who knows all these things, all I know is that the remarkable Lwando Mufune of the LM Squared blog and our very own Lwando’s Blog is coming back with a once in a lifetime blog about penis size and its correlation to aggression!

Ok maybe I’m sensationalising the topic to lure readers, but what’s truly sensational about this is that Ms. Mufune, who has a masters of law, is back with the vengeance of a learned woman to dish out some awesome and, according to early reviews, controversial views about the male penis – is there a female penis? Who knows these things?!

So catch my guest blogger this week on the Diary of a Psychitzophrenic Fat Black Man.

LM Squared is a blog by the dynamic sister duo of Lwando and Lwimba who hail from Lusaka Zambia. The blog is an expression of their thoughts, opinions and interests and is unlimited in its content.

The first day of the rest of your life....

It all started with the stain of a single drop of blood in a half-empty bathtub.

You know what? I’m getting way ahead of myself; let me back up a few short years so as to give you the whole, unadulterated picture.

Its 1985, Nelson Mandela rejects an offer of freedom from the ‘South African’ ‘government’; blood tests for AIDS are approved; a volcanic eruption in Columbia kills 25,000 people; VH-1 makes its broadcasting debut; 59 people die as Egyptian forces storm a plane on Malta; and, Live Aid, a 17 hour rock concert broadcasts worldwide from London and Philadelphia, raising $70 million for starving Africans.

You know what? I don’t really need to go that far back, let me fast forward to the juicy parts.

I had never thought I’d ever be in this position, in this place, in this moment in time – I mean thinking about it is one thing, but the sobering reality of the cold slice of the blade, the warmth of the oozing blood, the staining of the clear cold water in the half-filled bathtub, is a magical sight; it’s something to behold as it is both mesmerising and captivating, and, in the right light, it adds the colour otherwise missing from most mundane lives.

In that moment, in that instance, everything was clear and everything made sense – I realised why each drop is life itself.

To fully appreciate this moment, you need to realise that I was never keen on living, but do not mistake this as to mean that the eternal release into the hereafter was an option either. Being raised a Catholic by loving parents who went far and beyond their civil service paychecks to provide a lap of luxury that left me needing for nothing but wanting for more, instilled in me a strong sense of the foreboding as I was reminded on a daily basis that my actions, whose consequences apparently yielded the comfort and luxury I’d enjoy beyond the things that my hands can touch, were being closely watched by an ever present Omniscience and a multitude of witnesses with nothing to do with their eternal bliss but watch little boys take baths – and people judge the Catholic Priests, and to them I say, “cast the first fucking stone!”

Therefore, this wholeness I feel in my heart – this transcending peace – was not arrived at lightly.

However, if you understood my birth, you’d understand that I never wanted this life that I’m living but made the best out of the many great opportunities handed to me on a silver platter. Even Nature itself could not force this life on me and, therefore, Science had to intervene and prevail where Nature failed.

Ah that Science, the stain that has polluted and raped my land long before lubricant was ever invented; our saviour, our messiah, our very own personal Jesus.

But who said we needed saving? Maybe, just maybe, we were fine before You showed up.

But, alas, Science saved me where Nature failed me. Nature, what a fucking joke. You give us everything but You gave us nothing. Because for ten months You tried to push me out and for ten months I refused to be moved. For ten months my parents joyfully waited my arrival but for ten I was the disappointment that I would become. For ten months, for ten whole months, I stood my ground. Because in those ten months, I was a man and as a man I stood firm. For the first ten months before my life started, I was a man. Even before I took my first breath I knew how it felt to smoke a cigarette next to a spent beautiful woman whose name I will never remember.

Now that you know the context, let’s proceed with the story.

Getting out of the bathtub felt effortless. Maybe it was because I was being carried out of it. Or maybe it was because for the first time in my life I had allowed someone else to be strong for me, to help me where I had failed to succeed, to lead me beyond the path that I saw before me.

Standing besides the empty bathtub I realised that even the toughest stain can be removed with time.

Standing besides the empty bathtub, I realised that she wasn’t breathing anymore. She had died before I could help her, before I could reach her, before I could tell her that I loved her, and now all I have is time but she isn’t here to hear all the things I have hidden from this world in our special place. Living feels like an eternity without someone to love you.

So I let her go.

THE END

Find me

On Twitter @Bibo316

The theory behind why fat midgets can't fly

What is an awkward moment boys and girls? 

That question has always plagued my mind. I have always been of the opinion that it was staring at the most beautiful girl for what seems like an eternity and when she finally stares back at you, you realise that you are scratching your nose, which from her vantage, looks like you are picking your nose whilst ogling her.

It would be funny if it wasn't true... and if it didn't happen today!

But as painful as that experience was for me, that wasn't an awkward moment, no, coz for a moment to truly be awkward it has to jolt you to the core, to your very being and consciousness, to what makes you function... coz I mean, who among can say that they don't enjoy the occasional scratching-your-nose-whilst-admiring-a-truly-flawless-being? 

Then to you I say, cast the first stone, Judas!

Well, to be honest, you'll be glad to know that my awkward moment was as brutal as they come, if not more so. My awkward moment happened today at the gym... and bear in mind that I loooved clinging to the fact that the fatter, more weird and utterly aloof I make myself, the better the writer I will eventually flourish into.. I know what you are thinking, but I can squash that with one answer: I'm not dead YET - at least physically - so don't judge me just yet, I just might surprise you - but if we are being honest, surprisingly I won't!

Wait, were was I? Ok, so the awkward-gym experience. So I went to the gym for the first time EVER coz I thought I was grossly overweight and, thus, needed to lose a couple of kilos - 15 kilos, if we are being precise. As I mounted the scale, a smile broke the corners of my mouth. In that moment I realised that fuck it, I live in Africa and there are people starving and dying and I should be so lucky to have put on the weight that I have, to have been granted the privilege to indulge without fear of not having anything to eat the next day... Coz, in that fleeting moment of self indulgence and haughty introspection, all was right, and I had made peace with whatever weight this mountain of a scale would so rudely shout at me.

So on with the awkward moment... as soon as I stepped on the scale, it read 85kilos... and I was like awkward! 

Let me explain... the moment was awkward because the 85kilos reading meant that I had only gained, count this, 2 Kilogrammes in 3years! And the awkwardness was bolstered because it immediately hit me that I wasn't a fat, disgusting, demented, midget-mud-wrestling loving genius scribe trapped in a weirdo's body, no! I wasn't overweight - ok, let me clarify, I mean by my standards that is, coz technically the BMI of someone my height, 1.70m, indicates that I'm as overweight as heck! 

The truth is I had just given up on everything to such an extent that my body was shutting down on me... Imagine giving up on yourself to such an extent that you can't carry your own weight anymore... that you always feel weak, tired, depressed, and unworthy of a 2dollar whore!

The obvious question would be, how much shit am I full of that I feel heavier than I can stomach to drag around in this world? 

But I guess in the stillness of this night, with Icona Pop's I love It playing in the background, I have come to realise that the most important question that I will try to uncover and face on this journey I have embarked on is, what kinda sins have I committed that anchor my soul so heavily that even 2kilos feels like a burden that will be the end of my existence? 

This journey, my friends, is more than that of one man's desire to lose 15kilos and become as sexy as Taye Diggs but one that will lead to him admitting to himself the vilain he has become... because, boys and girls, not all of us grow up to be the hero. 

So I hope you come with me on this journey and that you will enjoy the unraveling of The Psychitzophrenic Fat Black Man.

The 6minute Mile

Ok I have to confess, I haven't been running! *spoiler alert*

Five days ago I started off running with a bang! And like a star that burns too bright, I burned too fast... puking my guts and having the worst muscle pain since I realised that I'm no different from my father, also helped my decision to take a "break" - which we all know is code for "I give up!"

I know quitting is bad and bla bla bla - plant a tree.

But before you rightly label me a "quitter," one good thing did emerge out of all this. And that is I got to think, and as most people that know me will attest I rarely, if ever, do! So see you judgmental person you, something good did come out of my quitting - so quitting aint so bad! *at least thats what I tell myself to avoid the shame of slitting my wrists*

Ok back to the thinking. Well, it got me thinking of the many things that I have given up on halfway through because, at the time, I thought they were just too bloody hard. In retrospect though, calling myself horrible names because I gave up on my goals is really really... the only sensible thing to do *sad frowny face*

Ok so going down this list of my life's regrets, and at 27 thats one long ass list, I noticed my biggest regret. And it wasn't even what I thought it would, but like all regrets worth having it was a cliche in that it was about a girl - let me say, it was about THE girl (more on that later), the one I called my Cinnamon Buns.

Signs from God #1: You know you are fat when you name the most beautiful girl you've never seen after food!

So it is decided! I am going to run again! *yeah*

I have picked my sorry ass up, and if it wasn't for the rains outside I'd be running up a storm right now, pissed off as hell for quitting in the first place and proving my father's uncle right. In short, I'm back to running, back on track and before the end of the year I, Birbal "Fatass" Boniface Musoba, will run the 6minute mile *queue Vangelis' Chariots of Fire*

Ps tomorrow I will unashamedly post the first in the series of "before pictures" so don't eat breakfast before you read this blog, viewer disgust is guaranteed!

In my quest to ran the 6min mile, I ran today for the first time in ages. After going round the block, my muscles were burning and my heart was racing and I felt the same high I feel after sex, so I was in a good mood. "Sexy Birbal, here I come."

I actually felt so good that I made myself breakfast for the first time in three years - I'm not a big fan of having breakfast; something about sitting at the table all alone depresses me to bits (more on that later). After my first breakfast in years, I felt good and happy and emboldened by this new lease on life.

Then I puked my guts out! Ah-ha! There it was, the kicker! Now my bones ache, my muscles are doing this weird spasm thingy, and I feel like I just fell six feet under - and this is just day 1!

Shit!