{"id":75,"date":"2017-01-20T06:00:00","date_gmt":"2017-01-20T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dev.shortstorydayafrica.org\/?p=75"},"modified":"2017-01-20T06:00:00","modified_gmt":"2017-01-20T06:00:00","slug":"weekendread-fundzas-lovereading","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/?p=75","title":{"rendered":"#WeekendRead – FunDza’s #LOVEREADING"},"content":{"rendered":"<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
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FunDza<\/a> and Cover2Cover<\/a> have the shared goals of encouraging young people to get reading and making relevant, local stories accessible to them. #LOVEREADING collects popular pieces from FunDza\u2019s mobisite as well as discussion questions and writing activities for reading clubs and classes. Enjoy this excerpt and sharing the three stories with a young reader this weekend.<\/h3>\n

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Stages of happiness<\/h3>\n

by Nandipha Tshabane<\/h3>\n

Nongayindoda (almost a man), Ntombikayise (daddy\u2019s girl), Bhuti-Sisi (Male Female), etc. those were some of my childhood names. Names were just a small part of growing up lesbian in the township. The beliefs though took this to another level as I was always asked to show my second private part.<\/p>\n

Growing up and \u2018playing house\u2019, I would play the role of a father: that seemed natural to me. Come soccer time, my name changed to \u201cAce\u201d. Ace used to be one of the greatest football stars in South Africa, so of course I was proud. That gave me a sense of belonging with the boys.<\/p>\n

However, my poor mother tried to bring me closer to girls by buying me dolls. Boy, did I break their legs! Then she gave in and bought me cars, which I cherished with my heart.<\/p>\n

The name-calling only started to hurt when two humps started growing from my chest, then it hit me that I belonged with the girls. At the time I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I was a girl, the humps turned into big melons or \u2018breasts\u2019 as my mother referred to them. Menstruation put a nail in the coffin, I was indeed a girl.<\/p>\n

My family did not make coming-out any easier. My mom and sister referred to being gay\/lesbian as \u201cfashion, like a pair of jeans\u201d and I would \u201csoon get over it\u201d. Then my dad sealed it by asking me the \u201cSo tell me, why are you sleeping with your friends?\u201d<\/p>\n

After that the questions continued. Here are three questions that I despise the most:
1. So, who is the man in your relationship?
2. So tell me, how do you do it as two ladies?
3. Did you always know you were lesbian?<\/p>\n

Being gay means that you not only have to find a way to accept yourself, but to also confront those who find it hard to accept you as you are. The community gets involved. Some people look to culture and use the \u201cancestors are cross\u201d myth. Once you think there is no more that can be said about that, then religious people start going on about it being a sin to be gay or lesbian.<\/p>\n

But if God dislikes who I am why did he make me this way, when I did not choose to become lesbian? The most amazing part about that is that I love God with all my heart and have complete faith in Him. I truly believe He will never forsake me.<\/p>\n

The older generation also contribute at this stage. This comes in the form of my granny who suffers from memory loss asking where my children are, yet I have never had any encounter with a man whatsoever.<\/p>\n

The list is long and endless. It has been a tough journey but I have finally found and embraced who I am. Hopefully one day I can share more on this through a book.<\/p>\n

The question I\u2019ve often asked myself is \u2018Do I regret everything I went through?\u2019<\/p>\n

Well, my answer would be I chose the route to happiness, I eventually found it, so that means it was all worth it in the end. Never be afraid to fight for happiness \u2013 inner happiness \u2013 for it is the one thing that no one can ever take away from you. You don\u2019t choose to be gay but you do get to choose the route to happiness, always.<\/p>\n

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Nice smile bad hugs<\/h3>\n

Sicelo Kula
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Feeling scared is nothing new to me. I\u2019ve always been scared of something. Hugs were scary. Handshakes were scary. Smiling made me shit scared! You can probably come up with your own list of ten random things right now and you\u2019ll find that I grew up scared of at least one of those things. That\u2019s how bad it was.<\/p>\n

One of my earliest experiences with fear was when I was seven. My mother was a business woman travelling long distances for her business. It hurt me every time she left. I remember one night in particular. She was gone the whole morning and afternoon. Eventually, it got dark. But she was still nowhere to be seen. My nanny\u2019s son was bullying me, punching and pulling me in all directions. All I could think about was that if my mother was there none of the bullying would\u2019ve been happening.  When she wasn\u2019t coming back I feared she\u2019d abandoned me, left me behind with the evil nanny. But, no. she came back. At midnight she came back.<\/p>\n

Sadly, I didn\u2019t learn a lesson from that night. I didn\u2019t learn about how my fears were crazy or that bravery is one of the reasons why a lot of people are successful and happy out there.<\/p>\n

Instead, while in the Eastern Cape, in grade 6, my fears got to a new level. I was so scared of being bullied that I bunked school a lot and my days absent totaled 44 days for the whole year. Bullying brought my little world to a stop. Each morning I would get so nervous about facing up to my group of bullies that I ended up not wanting to go anymore. I was determined to not try and report them to my teachers again. I knew they\u2019d deny it like they\u2019d done the previous year, in grade 5, and my teachers would, once again, think I was being some drama queen who couldn\u2019t play well with other boys. I was paralyzed by fear and loneliness.<\/p>\n

There was only one person I could turn to – my mother. She, being the superwoman that she\u2019d always been, took matters into her own hands. She first advised me to stand up for myself, to walk taller and hit back at them with my own brand of teasing and punching. When that didn\u2019t work and my absenteeism from school got worse, she took me to a sangoma.<\/p>\n

Going there, I still felt scared. But deep down I forced myself to believe that it could work, that the sangoma would prick me with some magical needle and let me walk out of there braver than I\u2019d ever been. I wished he would tell me to chew some root or smear myself with some secret lotion that would make every moment of doubt, fear or nervousness fade away completely. But it didn\u2019t happen. I walked out of his hut feeling the exact same fear I felt going in there.<\/p>\n

My mother was so hopeful afterwards. Feeling the weight of her excitement, I had a new desire. I desperately wanted to make her proud, to make sure that the money she\u2019d spent (which was our last real money) wasn\u2019t wasted. I woke up the next day, still feeling scared, but the desire to not disappoint her was way more powerful. It made me bounce back in a big way. I stopped bunking. And at the end of that year I was given a certificate for being one of the best learners in the school. When I left for Cape Town at the beginning of the following year I felt like I\u2019d found some peace. I was ready for a new beginning.<\/p>\n

Arriving here in Cape Town, I was confronted with conversations over girls, sex and partying. It seemed like my life would no longer be about doing well in school, watching cartoons, playing soccer and fearing bullies. Suddenly, girls (and boys) told me my lips were too big, my teeth too crooked, my thumbs and feet too big, that I\u2019m awkward and funny-looking. I went through high school believing I wasn\u2019t worth hugging, smiling at or even kissing. I put my hand in front of my mouth and looked down whenever I smiled or laughed. I was hiding my smile.<\/p>\n

Getting to university changed things. I started meeting people that didn\u2019t care about how beautiful or ugly my smile was. They were more fascinated by my intelligence. But two of those people (Nosicelo and Nosiphiwo) were interested in my smile. They encouraged me to smile more and stop looking so serious in my pictures. For the first time, I realized that I had a nice smile. I started liking myself more and more. Hugs still made me nervous, but I practiced. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I practiced (not only on these two new friends of mine, but in the mirror as well).<\/p>\n

Eventually, I got to a point where even if I stress about the little things, it never turns into the fear I grew up having. If it does turn into fear, I\u2019ve surrounded myself with strong people who believe in me and encourage me until I overcome that fear. I now refuse to let fear control my life again.<\/p>\n

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Judgement Day<\/h3>\n

by Morena Maoka<\/h3>\n

This is a short story, written in a colloquial, chatty style, which makes it more amusing and \u2018real\u2019. It was one of the winners of a competition where the theme was: Don\u2019t judge a book by its cover.<\/p>\n

So we just got home from church. I see my gran conversing with the lady from next door.<\/p>\n

\u201cHeeey, Nelly! Where\u2019s your ma, Charmaine? She hasn\u2019t been to church in a while hey! Greet her for me okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

My gran walks in and I know what\u2019s going to happen next.<\/p>\n

\u201cWoooo that one!  My friend Charmaine – I think she\u2019s become an atheist I tell you. I\u2019m sure it\u2019s that DSTV she had installed last month, she can\u2019t get enough of it, hey! She even skips church now!  And she has no time for her friends either! (claps once)\u201d<\/p>\n

Yep, exactly that.<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s my story. I come from a small township called Katlehong. People in my community, they love church. I live with my gran and she raised me in such a way that I think of Sunday as \u2018thee day\u2019! So if ever I swore on a Sunday as a kid, I\u2019d quickly go down on my knees and ask the Lord for forgiveness.<\/p>\n

\u201cYohhhh, pleaase God, don\u2019t punish me, don\u2019t make me a mute, I will never swear again on a Sunday, I will stop on Saturday. Askies, Amen.\u201d<\/p>\n

During the week I\u2019d wear nothing but my dirty shorts, I\u2019d save my best clothes for church. From Monday to Saturday we ate pap, and Sundays, you know mos, \u2018Sunday Kos\u2019 \u2013 rice, chicken, and vegetables. So imagine how long 2kgs of rice would last us.<\/p>\n

We go to church, nod our heads at whatever the pastor has to say and chant hallelujahs. We listen to everything but there\u2019s that one phrase we implicitly seem not to agree with: \u2018only God can judge me\u2019.<\/p>\n

I know for sure that we do a whole lot of judging in Katlehong. I think it\u2019s just in our nature, you know, black communities. We really don\u2019t care what your story is. We will judge you.<\/p>\n

If you have a slight cough, you have TB. If you\u2019re skinny, you have HIV, and if it\u2019s cold and you\u2019re shivering, you\u2019re a junky. Yes, often the judgements we make are totally wrong. Hence they say, do not judge a book by its cover. You see, every procedure that Judge Masipa had to follow during the Oscar trial is just irrelevant.<\/p>\n

\u201cHaa Guilty!!!\u201d is what we would say.<\/p>\n

\u201cHy het haar geskiet, voetsek!! Vat ook die bene!\u201d we\u2019d shout, no questions asked.<\/p>\n

My gran reads a note from church saying that there will be a funeral next Saturday but it does not say whose funeral. She puts the note aside.<\/p>\n

After we\u2019ve digested our Sunday kos, we chill on the stoep and watch people walk by. We have one of those 900mm high gates. Let me tell you what happens in Katlehong when you walk past a house with a low gate and with people sitting on the stoep\u2026<\/p>\n

As soon as you walk past you become the subject matter. Either you or we will greet first \u2013 township procedure \u2013 whether or not you know the people, you just have to greet. You will get the most random compliment and as soon as you\u2019re out of sight, we get down to it, until somebody else walks by, of course.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelllooo young man! Gosh you look so pretty! Your ma must be proud of you, keep up the good work with the veggies.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now that Sibu and his veggies are gone, my gran says it like it is: \u201cLincoln!!! I don\u2019t want you to end up like that boy, on the streets, pushing trolleys, wearing torn jeans and probably smoking nyaope too! Luister jy?\u201d<\/p>\n

For argument\u2019s sake I always have to respond, \u201cja gran.\u201d<\/p>\n

What my gran didn\u2019t know was that I knew the guy, Sibu. He matriculated with five distinctions. He is very smart and business-minded. In fact selling veggies out of a trolley is one of his numerous business ventures for the holidays. No, he is not into nyaope and those torn jeans are probably kak expensive \u2013 today\u2019s fashion. I didn\u2019t even bother telling my gran that she was wrong about the guy.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

It was the funeral today and Gog\u2019 Charmaine made it to church\u2026 in a coffin that is. Turns out she has been sick, hence she hasn\u2019t been attending. She died and we didn\u2019t even know.<\/p>\n

Earlier on I heard my gran praying, I think she\u2019s done with the assumptions and the judging, for now at least.<\/p>\n

\u201cGod, I know you are a forgiving God. Forgive me for jumping to conclusions about my friend Charmaine. Forgive me for judging her for no reason, and for not checking up on her instead. I have called one of your angels an atheist and for that I apologise. May she rest in peace. Amen.\u201d<\/p>\n

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#LOVEREADING is available on Loot, or at Cover2Cover’s offices at 85 Main Road, Muizenberg, Cape Town. Or simply order it from any bookstore. 
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