I was at home visiting family in March and I would occasionally take walks in the afternoon. The potholes, the unkept common areas, the lights that have gone useless, daily water-cuts. What used to be parks is now breeding ground for crime and designated dumpsites.

I was born and bread in the Free State Province and I now don’t live in the province, however every time I go home it pains me to see the state of my hometown, especially. It’s like I left the place under the care of a tenant who doesn’t care for your things/property in the same manner you would. A tenant you’d have no choice but to keep their deposit because they’ve severely damaged your things. You’ll use that deposit to hopefully repair your place. Only difference is, I don’t have funds to fix my hometown.

Welkom is a town popularly known for traffic circles, we only have two sets of traffic lights (I stand to be corrected) which ultimately lead you out of Welkom and yet that set has not been working for as long as I’ve been going home. I then think, if we can see the obvious things such as poor and non-existent service delivery. Imagine the things we can’t see, the things we don’t have direct access to as the public.

I prefer staying indoors when I’m home because stepping outside really pains me.

What is so hard for our leaders to manage our country? I’ve made peace with the fact that every politician is a scam, but can they at least first get sh*t done and then keep the rest for themselves.

What are our children and those who come after us going to have left of South Africa? I genuinely want to know.

(I could go on, but I’ll stop here for today)

Honestly, I don’t really know why I went into this hiatus, maybe I needed it, because it was during this very long break of mine that I constantly thought back of my writing, how I missed it and how I wanted to quickly get back into it. I thought of it as if it were something I didn’t easily have access to — if felt so distant all of a sudden. Quite frankly it was a login away.

Like I said, I might have needed the break- maybe not. I wish I could say I’m back with the world’s biggest must read story, but that’s not the case. I’m back because my entire being has been itching to produce and hopefully I will produce as much as I have been itching.

So much has happened in throughout this silent time. I’ve been retrenched and back in the work environment again. I’ve lost weight and gained it back again haha. I’ve stopped consuming alcohol, I don’t know for how long though. So don’t ask. I’ve made some great choices and gone back into making the same mistakes, but above all, I’m still grateful that I am still alive.

With all that said, here’s to more writing.

What I’ve mentioned below isn’t just limited to ten year olds, some of the activities can be tried with people your age, etc. The only difference is that these were specifically tried and tested with my ten year old sister, Naledi. I was at home and so was she, I on leave, and she on school holidays. In a town like Welkom, entertainment is limited especially for children. You need to get VERY creative as an adult when you have an active child, one’s who’s always eager to do something.

So, below are ten things you can try. You’re welcome to add or remove some activities. Every tip mentioned below is made possible through making time. If anything, I hope this list helps you get laughing and active with the young ones around you.

1. Arts and Crafts

You needn’t be a Van Gogh or a Nelson Makamo. Just get some paper, magazines and glue, you can add a pair of scissors and some pencils for drawing too, but it’s ok if you don’t have them as well. Once you have these things, pick a comfortable spot in the house and go wild! Don’t make rules(by this time a 10 year old knows how to handle a pair of scissors) it limits creativity. Make the child aware of this too, tell them that they can do whatever they want.

2. Play some board games

My sister is a chess player and she loves it. Something I recently learnt. I’ve played chess in my younger days. So, when she brought out her board for us to play it was fantastic. Funny enough, she thought I didn’t know how to play, but she got the shock of her life *inserts evil laugh*. Nonetheless, this was fun and it kept us busy. In case you were wondering, no I didn’t let her win, you got to train them young haha!

3. Bake together

Naledi is a very active child, quite inquisitive too. What I’ve noticed, baking makes her feel like she’s a grown up. Probably like how every child would feel, like they’re a part of something “big” which is usually prepared and enjoyed by grown-ups. There’s a sense of responsibility and achievement felt. So, here it’s important that you as the adult loosen up a bit, allow the child to have fun. Monitor the entire process, but don’t get too uptight. Who knows, you could just be sharing the kitchen with the next Siba Mtongana or Jamie Oliver. Psst, you needn’t bake from scratch if you don’t want to, just get a packet of ready-mix.

4. Watch a movie

Go to the cinema. Stepping outside the house is always exciting for young ones (change of environment). If you’re not able to head out to the cinema, you can turn your living room or bedroom into one. Buy some microwave popcorn or even better buy the corn and make the popcorn together. Get some cool-drink (children love Oros), sweets whatever snacks you have. Then switch off the lights, get comfy and hit play.

5. Teach them a new skill

My sister constantly volunteered to make us tea. Even asking if we wanted a cup when we weren’t thinking of it. My mother, over cautiously as she always is (which isn’t wrong), would check that everything was well in reach and safe for her, especially the hot boiled water. Sistas was always adamant that she didn’t need any help from us. The first time she prepared the tea, she asked how we would like it. Thereafter, she wouldn’t ask because she had memorised everyone’s preference. I for one capitalised on her eagerness- I love tea. This once again made her feel like she was in charge, responsible.

6. Reading time

I love buying books for my sister. So whenever I go home to visit, I always travel with a new book for her and since I don’t believe in a lot of screen-time, I always encourage her to do other things than just watch TV. I’ve introduced what I now call reading time (which is never in the TV room) and I’m proud to say that my sister has now gotten into the habit of picking up a book and getting into it without me prompting her. I didn’t force this, but I encouraged it. We’d both read at the same time, I read my book while she read her book. Thereafter, we’d chat about it. Take the kids to the library too, when she can my mother does this with my sister. Books are quite expensive, I know, but libraries are available almost everywhere and membership is free. Take a walk or jump into the car with your little one(s) and let them explore.

7. Go for walks

Yep, you read that correctly. If you’re a “boring” adult please don’t let that be an influence on your child/children. Like I mentioned before, stepping outside the house is fun for kids. Stretching their legs, exciting their eyes and bodies with a mini outdoor activity is always better than sitting indoors. It could be just walking around your block. Children want to pick things up, they want to kick and throw, jog a little and jump, shout and maybe catch their voice in an echo. These might not make sense to you, but they definitely do for those little ones. So, what better way than to let them be.

8. Play some cards

A shuffle here and shuffle there. Naledi really enjoyed these. A day hardly went by without us playing a game or two of cards. It was always entertaining, full of laughter and competitiveness. Children can get so competitive. It’s good to encourage some healthy competition. I witnessed my sister’s winners spirit continuously rise. It was interesting.

9. Dance together

My sister is so shy. Oh my goodness, it’s funny because as far as I can recall at her age, my brother were the opposite. We danced no matter what. As long as there was music playing, we danced and entertained those who found it entertaining, performer kids. Naledi doesn’t easily dance, she’ll perhaps sing while she shyly moves her body from side to side. She does have two left feet, something which came as a shock to us because once again my brother and I are quite the dancers. Nonetheless, my family has always been a dance and music type of family. It’s so encouraging. It’s so releasing. So, I’d tune into Trace Africa, ShoMadjozi is spot on for children.

10. Hide n Seek (Black maipatile)

An oldie, but a goodie that’ll never die. A little bit of running around and giggles. No kid will ever say no to doing this. The bright side, as the adult you’d clock in your step count on your Fitbit. A little bit of cardio ain’t never hurt nobody.

With all that said, my sister and I do get up to a lot of things together. It’s so easy to try convince children to do things which don’t interest them, but it’s also just as easy for them to lose interest. Children want and need attention. I don’t know how to scientifically and psychologically prove this, but it’s a fact. Give them enough attention, and try not to spoil them because we all know… spoilt brats are just way too unpleasant.

The Farming Foreigner

Naledi’s father had worked long and hard years in the gruelling mines, to ensure Naledi received the best education. Yet this is how she chooses to thank him, by opting to marry Ebuka, a farming foreigner! He never really showed interest in what he did, “what kind of a Nigerian is a farmer anyway, apparently he is smart” unbelieving, “how smart do you need to be to sow a few seeds on the ground? I too can do that.” he thought.

Sitting on the porch with Ebuka, the interrogation begins.

‘Have you considered that my daughter here is a soon-to-be pharmacist?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you considered that she is now completing her bachelor’s in pharmacy and will proceed to do her MPhil in the UK?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you considered, young man, what kind of future you, an unschooled farmer, will have with her?’

He never thought to give Ebuka a chance to reply, perhaps it was the fact that he too replied like Katleho, the SeSotho speaking pharmacist, with a “Yes, sir.”

He had particularly grown fond of Katleho. He would have been the preferred candidate for his precious daughter. In Mr Motsepe’s world, Pharmacists were just as doctors in stature. Due to his regular visits he had interacted with a few from his local pharmacy, it was his chronic medication he collected. He loved how Katleho respectfully replied to him with a “Yes, sir”, something which his daughter had now grown fond of, could be something they learnt at their medical school, he thought.

Coming from an era, in his country, that particularly looked down on farmers. Particularly during his younger days, it was mining that was highly esteemed, but now, that his daughter was about to complete her pharmaceutical studies, pride filled him. But now she wanted to marry a foreigner who farms! What will those close to him say, He worried “Those makwerekwere! They don’t belong here! They come here to take our jobs… And our women!” words screamed carelessly in the streets of his township. He wanted to remain loyal to those around him, but his daughter didn’t share the same sentiments as everyone else did.

Ebuka, peacefully waited for his moment to talk, he had grown used to this treatment. He had no problem with the questions either. This wasn’t the first time. All he had to do was sit and obey, he did it for Naledi, he loved her. He appreciated any form of attention Mr Motsepe gave him, he believed that he’d soon soften up, he believed that.

Back in high school, I had a teacher who would totally freak out if you called out his name, well his surname, incorrectly. Sometimes, he would even go as far as writing it out on the board just so to help us get it right. He either did that or slowly say it just so that we got the gist of it.

For me, his name wasn’t difficult to say. Somehow, I feel like I’ve always had a thing for pronouncing people’s names correctly (I’ve trained myself). Often when people give me their shortened name, which I can usually pick up, I’d immediately ask them for their full name. People usually give a shorter version of their name because they tire from constant repetition. And if the name sounds new or foreign to me, I’d often ask what it means. This is always exciting. So, unless the owner has granted me the permission to shorten their name, I refrain from doing so.

I have a massive fascination with names, I believe that the names we carry are powerful, they are the first thing people know about us, looks and mannerisms aside. Our names are our brands and often I believe that our names really reflect us. A lot of parents go into a thoughtful process before they name their children. As for other parents, like the popular Hollywood stars we know, they seem to just slap a name onto their children. I will never forget Gywneth Paltrow and Chris Martin’s child’s name, Apple. Now I’m sorry, unless you know of any other meaning to the name apple, I think that’s just plain hilarious. Perhaps they were very much in tune with their natural side of things, you know, an apple growing from a tree. Or even better, perhaps they were leaning more towards the spiritual side of things- The garden of Eden and the apple. I somehow imagine that they pictured a green apple, I don’t know why- thoughts running wild, but then again I’ve always known the apple in the Garden of Eden to be red. Is this getting too technical? haha.

A while ago I was at a book launch by Ena Jansen. It was the title and cover of the book, Like Family (a book about domestic workers and the families they work for), that attracted me to her launch, I hadn’t heard of the author before. I became curious and a lot of backlogged questions in my head started popping up. However, one of the many important questions I’ve always had about domestic workers are their names or the names chosen for them by their employers. I highlight this because I know that these women always have other names, but they probably end up with these names because these are the easiest names for those who’ve employed them. Many times the employer doesn’t even bother learning the “other” name. Names such as Sophie; Princess; Tryphina etc. usually get first preference. If ever the employee has no other name, their original name is often butchered to the core or just simply shortened.

I remember how, in high school again, a teacher shortened a fellow classmates name simply because it was “ too difficult” for her to say. I must be honest, at that time when she did that, we all thought it was cool, but then I grew up, I realised how twisted all this was. Someone concluding, “No, I’m not going to say your name that way, it’s too difficult. What were your parents thinking? So, I’m going to shorten it and we’ll all be happy, capeesh.” Teachers neh…

How can we forget North West, no, not Sun City you South Africans. North West the daughter to Kim and Kanye West. I hate to admit, but this just made me realise that I actually do follow a lot of pop-culture. Anyway, Kim once said they chose the name because it was representative of the highest point. Something which is of high esteem. Of course this didn’t make sense to anyone, especially the South Africans, but that’s not the point. The point is the parents had their reasons- they thought the name through. Hopefully Northie, as she is affectionately known, will share the same sentiments as her parents once she’s all grown up.

Then you get the Zimbabwean parents. Wow! If you want to know about the serious effects of taking English names to the next level, ask any older Zimbabwean, males especially, their names. You will be blown away.

For example, what you’re about to read, this is a real life story. Nothing here is fabricated.

One day, a friend of mine shared on her WhatsApp story a thread about how she had been in an Uber and the name of the driver was “Anyway”. Like a true friend of mine, she asked the driver if this was really his name. Indeed that was his name. My friend even shared a screenshot of her Uber trip. Now, this wasn’t the first time I had come across this. I knew of someone called ‘Eventhough’ and this was when I used to be an Undergrad student. I remember the first time he told me his name, I thought he was joking. Wouldn’t you either?!

Anyway, Anyway then explained to my friend the story behind his name, my friend had asked him. And then, a little while after seeing the WhatsApp story I had to leave my place to go somewhere. I requested an Uber, low and behold the driver’s name was ‘Never’. I honestly didn’t find this funny, instead I found it quite sad. Now, is it my place to feel this way about such? No it isn’t. I got into the car and two minutes into the ride I asked him about his name and he confirmed that indeed it was his name. I then took out my phone, quickly showed and read to him (without obstructing his view) my friend’s WhatsApp story about Anyway. He giggled. I asked him why this is the case- I’m a curious nut ok. I also asked him if he had another name and BINGO he did, Tendai which means “thankful or grateful to the Lord”. The name even has a beautiful twist to the tongue. I asked him why he didn’t use that name. I don’t remember him giving me a solid answer. He said something like, he thinks his parents wanted an English name for him. Very lazy if you ask me. Regardless, we still respect him and his name.

One of my good friends, her name is a beautiful Asian name. One I had never come across before I met her. It took me a little while to get used to. This included saying it correctly. After what would be a few months of knowing her, I had grown so comfortable around her that I decided, without her approval, to shorten her name. So instead of saying Lye-Yeng, I decided “No… let’s go for Lye… because we’re cool like that”. One morning as we were running together, that’s how we actually met, through running, I decided to ask her, “Do you actually like that we call you Lye?” Then she replied, “No, I’d prefer that you guys call me by my full name.” To say I wasn’t embarrassed would be a lie. I felt so horrible, the thought that I chose to call someone by a name they didn’t even recognise. I stopped right there and then. I even made it known to the other girls, who weren’t present that day that we’re stopping with this “Lye” nonsense. Here we were thinking we were cool, but actually we were being disrespectful.

As for my high school teacher, I still remember to this day the big fuss he made about his one and only name. The name which, no matter the language you spoke as his learner you had to master because he knew exactly how he wanted it to be pronounced. In the exact same manner his parents had intended. There was no way other people would all of a sudden come and try to butcher his name. “Mr Van Huysteen, not Mr Van Heysten or Mr Van Huysteyn. What’s so difficult about that?” he would ask. This he would have said a couple of days or months earlier before he called me “New, instead of Neo”.

My point, let’s just learn to respect people’s names. Nothing deep, nothing philosophic, just that. Don’t be lazy.

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The current mood in my country is electrifying. Walking around the city, street lights are clothed in election posters. Yellow, red, blue are the striking colours we’re greeted by. A whole lot of promises are also boldly placed on those placards, I don’t buy any of them, but I’m voting.

I don’t know about you, but I am indeed part of that group that’s very much excited to be voting. I think, for the first time in my adult life, I’ve truly grasped what I am going to be doing tomorrow. With that said, this isn’t the first time I’ve made a cross on the ballot paper. I’ve voted before, but I think, back then I did so because everyone else was doing it and I had heard that I needed to do it because it’s important- I was young, wild and free LOL. So, obviously like a responsible tax paying citizen I did so. I remember that day, I was with my cousin. I can still remember what I was wearing and at which station we were allocated. This wasn’t that long ago, but that day had a great impact on me.

I really can’t imagine not voting right now. I take this opportunity very seriously. I think of other countries, where voting is merely but a dream. I think of my great-grandmother and grandmother who couldn’t even vote at my age. I’m reminded of how privileged I am. Remember that popular saying… “I’m my ancestors wildest dreams.” I believe this, completely.

I write this a couple of days after the University of Stellenbosch released a study that practically calls Coloured women stupid. GUYS! These are the times I’m currently living in, in my country, South Africa. I still can’t believe this happened. I’m most upset at how those who conducted this research felt like they had the authority to make rulings over other people. I’m upset at how people of colour are always taken advantage of and used as guinea pigs. During such times, I often ask myself- why don’t these researchers ever conduct such work on themselves? Then I’m reminded, people will hardly ever represent themselves in a manner that’s negative. I mean, the happiest countries in the world, apparently, are the Norwegian countries- according to research.

In a world where Caster Semenya has been told by the IAAF that she would need to take pills because she can’t continue running faster than the other girls. I guess, it’s unfair that she has to constantly win, she must give the other girls a chance to shine, right? What a tantrum! First world problems if you ask me. You ever heard of Michael Phelps and his advantages? I’ll leave it there. The Caster Semenya saga sadly reminds me of the French ice skating champion Surya Bonaly. (PS: If you’re on Netflix, check out Surya’s documentary, under the series called Losers).

Anyway, back to voting…

The opportunity to cast my vote is me saying, I believe in my country and I want it to be better and I will also try help make it better. Not just because I pay tax, but because I’m always reminded of how far we have come as a country. Those who have the means to leave the country are doing so, some of them even choosing to renounce their citizenship. Choosing to live in places where people probably have less problems. Unfortunately, in this Mandela rainbow nation we have tons of problems, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have good things as well.

South Africa will never be like Canada or any other European country for that matter, I wouldn’t want it to be. However, I do believe that we can do better and be better, but not perfect. We aren’t first world countries, they’re supposedly perfect.

As an older sister to a young girl and an aunty to a beautiful niece and nephew, I find that it is my duty, my responsibility, that I help shape the direction of our country. Yes, things aren’t going well, but I cannot give up. I refuse to throw in the towel. My great grandmother and grandmother never gave up. Those who ensured that I now have these opportunities never gave up. Of course I cannot compare my elders past with my current times, but who knew that I would be living this life today?

Above all, even though no political party will ever be perfect- fact. I feel so privileged that I am given an opportunity, in my country, that says to me “Hey Neo, your voice does matter. No matter what the outcome, your cross on the ballot paper is worth it. Things might not change instantly, but know that your cross is creating some form of a shift.” I don’t know why, but this is a strong conviction I have. I believe that my voice counts. I believe that I am also responsible for my country. My country is like my home and if I don’t help take care of it, no one else will. Instead people will come and continue to loot, people will continue to come and exploit it. Yes, it seems pointless, but I just can’t stop caring. Every little bit counts.

As we all go out to vote tomorrow, I have the hope that the South Africa that my sister, niece and nephew will grow up in will be better than the South Africa I’m currently living in. In any way possible, I want to help make it better.

Before I left the office earlier this afternoon my boss turned to ask me, “Are you ready to vote tomorrow?” and I confidently replied, “Yes I am! I’m actually very excited.” Then he playfully adds, “don’t be swayed by anyone.” And I turned and said “I’m not a loyalist, I’m not swayed by anyone.

Nkosi Sikelel’iAfrika

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I still love you: 06/02/2019

I’ve been with you for a blissful three years now.
I must say, it does feel like it’s been forever- maybe it must be the times when I used to stare at you in those Elle Magazines my mother used to pay for when I was a teenager. You had such a big influence on me. I knew right there and then that you were meant for me. I still remember those days, vividly.

Oh how Elle Magazine would compile their annual holiday destination issues for the month of December. You always featured dear Cape Town- without fail. It was usually Camps Bay who featured as “the holiday face”, you know how attractive she can be- even when there’s lots more to see and experience. Little did I know that you had many other surfaces, some which still don’t get much attention. As a young teen seeing you in the ELLE mag- I was always blown away- I really couldn’t believe that I lived in the same country as you. Yes, I’m being serious. You are not allowed to judge me, you know I come from the centre of the country and to be fair, I don’t come from a family of “travellers”.

And how can I forget Top Billing (The best of the good life)- I used to love that show- they drew me to you too, they liked the Seapoint Promenade a lot, especially that popular outdoor gym area- not forgetting those fancy homes around some of these bourgeoisie areas.

I remember arriving, sitting in the Intercape bus all the way from Welkom. I saw your Table Mountain, I couldn’t believe it. I was looking at Table Mountain, for real for real. And now I see it daily, from the view of my window- Thixo Ndiyabonga! To moving in with a girl I had only met on GumTree on my very first day here, boy was my mother freaked out. Don’t get me wrong, I was just as freaked out, but deep down I was screaming like Tarzan, thinking let the adventures begin. Do you even remember that when I moved here all I knew was you my dear Cape Town, no one else?!

My first boss! Tjo, do you remember how miserable I was at that first job? I pushed through either way. That man was a nightmare, but I’m so grateful I never allowed him to ruin my little garden with you. I mean, imagine I decided to leave you, dear Cape Town, just because of some angry ol’ man. I can’t help but remember my theme song during those 8 gruesome months of working for him, Bebe & Cece Winans — Count It All Joy (Songs my mama taught me). No matter how sad or upset I’d be feeling that song knew how to press the right buttons.

I wish I could also talk more about my first time on top of Signal Hill. Actually, why didn’t you warn me beforehand though? I remember it like it was yesterday. That’s still my favourite spot till today hey, it never fails to bore me. My dear Cape Town, Signal Hill is a jackpot.

Fast forward to today and I’m very happy to say that our relationship has flourished in the most positive way. You’ve taught me a lot, helped me adult in the most stressful and colourful way.

You see the truth is, you STILL continue to excite me and that’s why I love you so much. Yes your people- they can really be unpleasant- bloody humans. It’s not you, I’ve seen it. You’re beautiful, serious o motle goed!

Sometimes, I’m snapped back into reality, humbled and reminded of your uncontested beauty. Yes uncontested. I might not have YET traveled as much as I would love to, but I will not allow anyone to argue with me about your beauty dear Cape Town. Living in a city where people come for a holiday- privilege.

There are so many things I’d like to unpack, some negative and very much a reality in your area dear Cape Town. However, this letter right now isn’t about that. This letter is about me thanking and praising you. You’ve made your place a home for me for the past short years. You’ve protected me, challenged me and stretched me.

You’ve exposed me to wonderful diverse people. Wow! I know what diversity is. You’ve enlarged my heart, my mind. You’ve made me an avid runner, lol! You’ve made me smile and talk more. Can we also discuss my dancing IN PUBLIC stints- well that’s nothing new. I speak different languages now, you know I’m not perfect, but I try while butchering them anyway. I won’t make this entry longer than I’ve already made it.

I think I’ve said what I’ve needed to say, even though sometimes words do fail me, but just know that I simply love you my dear Cape Town.

PART ONE:

Now, for every big race there’s a BIG and exciting expo. They usually happen over a period of two days. I LOVE expos, a lot. One day I will write about them. Saturday morning, Rike and I set off, just after 9AM, to Century City Conference Centre. As runners, we go collect our race packs at these vibrant expos. The race pack collection is SUPER exciting, like a child receiving a party pack. For me, this entire “process” made it official that the following day, AN ENTIRE 42.2KM will be waiting for me. A commitment. As expected, the expo was great. We left later than expected.

That evening I set out my clothes, race food, the entire gear. I was filled with so much pride as I did this. Scared yes, but so proud that this is what I would be doing. A little later, fortunately, I did manage to sleep. Not the greatest sleep, but better than what I had been experiencing in that week.

PART TWO:

For the runners, Uber was practically free that Sunday morning. They were running a R100 off promotion, now because of where I stay distance wise- it was basically free. The Uber idea during such times is excellent. After the race, it was a complete blessing. I now wonder if the drivers were ever compensated for this, considering the ridiculous petrol prices, but I digress.

Traffic was heavy, this race is a big deal. Either way we were able to get to the main area. The Uber driver dropped Rike and I off approximately 1KM from the starting area, so we took a light jog to the main area. It was still dark. I think we were meant to be there by 5:30AM (I forgot) but we arrived just after 6AM. The race only begun at 6:40AM. At the main spot Rike and I split to our different batches, I was in F and she in D. She’s a much stronger runner. We did end up having to wait a while before we begun. So I nervously stood there, thinking about my life decisions, read: ANXIOUS.

Closer to the starting time we sang the national anthem, ‎Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika, thereafter the gun shot went off- “this is it” I thought. For the race my strategy was simple, right from the beginning, run at an extremely slow pace. Little did I know that that slow pace would later be a lot more SLOW-ER. I moved from an average of 7 to 8.

While running through Long Street, I ran with a bus/pace makers(can’t remember the time) and on that bus was a woman from Durban (KZN). She lovingly said to me, “This is just four 10 kilometres, right? That’s how we should try and look at it.” I didn’t say much, but giggle. Mind you, we hadn’t even reached 15KM!

Everything was going well until we approached Salt River main road, the wind was such an unpleasant surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about the weather in Cape Town. I just genuinely didn’t expect that change- it threw me off. It dampened my mood a bit, but I got through it.

At what would be the half marathon mark, 21.1KM, I had friends who were waiting for me. When I saw them, I shed a tear. I felt so grateful, seeing familiar faces. I did know that they would be there. With a massive and comical poster they supportively stood there, cheering for me. I couldn’t help but snap a picture of them. They’d brought some bananas and I only grabbed one instead of two, a decision I later regretted.

Generally, I don’t enjoy nor like drinking Coca-Cola or any kind of Soda for that matter, but come long races- I drink that Coca like it’s something going out of fashion. I also find it so delicious during such times. At the hydration stations, I often slowed down to grab two half-full cups to quench my thirst. Then from the volunteers, I’d also take three water sachets. My other strategy. One was for drinking, the other to spray on my upper body starting from the head and the third on my lower body, particularly my legs.

Do you remember my other blog about needing the toilet during a run? Well, this happened to me and I couldn’t ignore it. It was just before the 26KM mark. I decided to rush into one of those many mobile toilets which were so well organised for us. All that water and the Coke had to come out I guess.

I remember reaching 30KM and my spirit lifting, I just felt better. The supporters were unbelievably amazing, this was beautiful I couldn’t help but smile and wave- this was throughout the entire race. I dipped a bit after 35KM. It was difficult, I was emotional. My cousin, Palesa, had sent me videos of herself cheering me on, I emotionally watched these as I was running. She was patiently waiting at the finish line for me. I sent her a text saying “this is painful”. I was a complete mess here. Shame, but she kept cheering me on, right till the end. 38KM was hard, I laugh now about this. But I remember at this point where it also felt like the KMs were stretched to the extreme. My mother also kept texting me and sending voice notes along my route, her nervous condition then makes me laugh now. My family, friends. I without a doubt received the greatest support.

I completed, just after 5:30Hours, my app says 5:48Hours. I actually never got my final results from CTM. My time only clocked till 40KM and that’s where I stopped once again to dance to Waka Waka. My timing chip must have malfunctioned. The last stretch at about 200 metre, we had a blue carpet (SANLAM), the emotions SERIOUSLY kicked in. I wept, as I ran to the finish line. I was overwhelmed by all that just happened.

My body must have not been pleased after all of that. It was in pain. I wanted to be carried back home, on a stretcher. Thanks to CTM together with Deep Heat organised us a massage tent. It was full of friendly professionals who gave us 10 minutes of their undivided attention.

Some might say, I was too slow, but I’m saying- I kept moving. One foot in front of the other, no matter how difficult it was. Did I run the entire way? Of course not- I didn’t. Every now and again I’d have to take it easy and walk.

The marathon was such an emotionally beautiful experience. I made sure to take it all in, I stopped every now and again to take some photos, to dance and to give hi-fives to the young ones who came with their parents/guardians.

Now, will I run another marathon? Most definitely I will!

I have a whole lot of emotions running all over my body. I don’t ever think I’ve felt like this before. Ok, maybe I have.

The marathon journey this far has been very unpredictable, emotionally speaking. The closer I get the crazier I feel- that I even decided to do this.

This has been quite a daunting feeling, so daunting that I’ve even thought of withdrawing. Imagine!

I vaguely decided last year, 2017, that this year I would challenge myself and run a marathon. I know what you’re thinking. Crazy, right? Well, at that time, it all just seemed so beautiful and far away. To solidify this challenge- as the new year begun, I put an image of the Cape Town Marathon (CTM) on my wall, as part of my 2018 goals.

Closer to the time of the marathon, once the entries had opened I had a whole lot of excuses to submit my entry- talk about self sabotage. I must have postponed two times. However, funny enough, I had already started training for it. I was running with people who had already registered and paid for the race. Looking at it now, I was really just fooling myself, no-one else.

Needless to say, I did enter, I submitted my marathon entry somewhere in the middle of August. Though it was late according to what I had initially planned.

Now, there’s just a few days left before the race. Actually, I’m running this Sunday (23rd September) so much for a few days left. I’m above all feeling very emotionally exhausted. I’m not really able to sleep well at night, waking up is a bit of a struggle. I’m just scared. I’ve secretly decided to take these nerves and use them for my good. Also…

I will be back. I will write a blog and share my experience of running a marathon for the first time.

Leading up to the race, I was very nervous. The night before, I even found it difficult to sleep. I didn’t know what to expect, of course, I’d heard so many scary stories about the John Korasie race. The Redhill, you don’t talk about that 30KM without mentioning it.

Fast forward to the starting line, the gunshot was unbelievably scary. A shot so strong, I felt my heart move at it’s beat. There were a lot of runners, the runners community in the Western Cape is unbelievably loyal.

First glitch, right into the run I desperately needed to pee. Fortunately, we got a small restuarant that was open on that Sunday morning and the owner, I assume it was the owner, agreed to let us use it. Funny to say I wasn’t the only loo-seeker. Once finished, I dashed out because I still had 29 more kilometres to go.

Right after the 2nd kilometer, we got to the infamous Redhill sign, that snake-like 8–9KM of a gruesome uphill. To some, it might be a walk in the park, but to me- I’m just proud to say I did that. A very good thing about this particular snakey route is the breathtaking view of SimonsTown, a guaranteed freebie.

Along this path there was this boom box fellow runner who we ran past. His music really helped for a bit on that uphill. I never thought that listening to a TKZee Family song would help during a run.

Further down in between the 15 and 20 kilometre mark we’re running in the middle of nowhere, literally. It was at this point when I started questioning my life decisions. The area is so dry there’s no way of stopping and refusing to continue there. One foot in front of the other is the key. At this point, as far as I can remember, there aren’t any spectators. It was just us runners. Was the view beautiful here, yes there were points where I actually wanted to stop to take some photos, but you know how something are- they’re better enjoyed and not captured.

It was also during these distances that my lower part of the body started complaining, quite annoying if you ask me, though I can nothing but just listen to this machine that carries me. So every now and again I’d stop running and walk it out a bit. If you didn’t know, this is really encouraged by many in the running society.

My favourite part though! Let me tell you about that! We’d just past the 20KM mark, good Lord was I in heaven. I was so happy because that meant I just had 10Ks to go. Also, we had approached the ocean view, the mountains were doing the most now. The energy had really changed and the spring in my step came back.

But the fun didn’t last long, at about 25Ks we approached a random uphill- honestly this wasn’t bad. I was just moody towards it, that’s all. I got through it, at my own pace.

Fast forward to my last KM. Oh man, that was phenomenal. I felt like such a champion. Something beautiful happened during this last stretch, but I will share it in my upcoming posts.

Once I finished! I was so proud of myself. Man! I ran a 30KM and that is a big achievement for me. Now, I look forward to my first 42KM.