Dear God

It’s me again. Almighty sorry that I took my silly time in writing this letter to you, the one I hope finds you well.

Jesus!

It’s been over three years, if not close to that, since I went to a proper church to praise your name and not pray for you. This is because I do the latter in my own space and plek and not only in church.

Oh my God, we even pray for you – if the day does not start very busy, especially on the part of my job which can be hell (although I haven’t been there and trust me, I do not want to go there either) – before we get on with whatever has to be gotten on on that particular day. This has been happening for over a year, if not over, to date. And I am not lying to you. Serious!

Anyway, my God, this letter is to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’m sure you can see through me. Right?

On a serious note, I would like to thank you for this opportunity because I have not been making time for you as I have let myself be eaten by the social networks of this world: from Facebook to Twitter to blogging. And it is the latter which I am so clued and addicted to that takes too much of my time such that people in my commune suspect I do not have a life except being glued to my laptop the whole weekend and that when I get into this small room of mine I call heaven – not the ANC of course – I only go out when I go to the loo, which is still fine by me.

And it is true, at least with me, that indeed social networks make us stupid and crazy and withdrawn from the “normal” life. Just for example, earlier, I received a call from my girlfriend, Kemo. I had not been calling her. In fact, I have not spoken to her since last week Wednesday or Thursday? You see, I do not even remember. I suspected she wanted to just check on me if I am alive or not. These days – look North Africa and just in Zimbabwe – anything can happen. Guess what I did when I got Kemo’s phone call?

Er… Ummm keep keep guessing…

No, I ignored it and did not return her call or bothered to call her back even at the time when I wrote this letter I had not returned her call. This is the withdrawal the social networks have in our love life or just life in general.

Anyway, I have said enough but we all know that there can never be enough with you. Right?

Almighty, thank you for the following:

  • For the air I breathe,
  • For the brains I’ve got and the talent that comes with it (unlike some who cannot use their brain. I wonder how they live),
  • For the family that I have and has raised me from when I was young,
  • To those who have contributed positively in my being where I am today,
  • To those who have treated me like some kind of a rich kind when I was not. I mean, my mother was a domestic worker in Pretoria and she died one. So how rich can I be?
  • To all my friends (and enemies if there are those who have made that their job and mission: to hate me every step of my and their life)
  • That I can write and pray. This is because if it weren’t for the “brains” I would not have written this and if it weren’t for prayer, I still think I’d be left behind,
  • For the job that I still have and hold. I would not want to be jobless. I have been there. That’s one occupation – joblessness – I never want to occupy. Ever. And at least things are still okay at work.

However, I do not like the fact that I am so indebted that I have applied for debt counseling. But we will see how it goes, won’t we?

Oh, and I am so broke but I have hope in heaven – of course not the ANC, as I am not sure what President JZ had smoked when he said the ANC was some kind of a political ticket to heaven – that everything will be okay although that may take time.

Just one last thing, almighty.

For years I have been bothered by the society’s definition of a man. Others describe him one who changes women like he changes his boxers if he wears any because there are those who choose not to wear them and thereby showing their black and very bad-looking asses yet they complain when women do that. I don’t get men. And women too. I mean, who else can ever get them women? It’s no wonder they get left with a lot of babies to raise on their own after these “men” have abandoned them.

More than that, it seems for one to be taken and seen as a man, one has to drink alcohol, smoke, have lots of girlfriends, have a car and a house if you can afford one if you are not going to be under debt review like I think I will be, you need to go with whatever skirt that passes by and thereby – if you do not condomise, that’s if you know how to still use a condom – probably get STDs, HIV, or worse, AIDS.

So, I try to be as one-man-women as I can (I have done that since I started dating) because Papa once told when I came to work in Rustenburg that he only put pampers (if they existed in 1986) once and he’s never going to do it again when I am older. I heard him right. And he was being just an honest father, wasn’t he?.

My problem with this definition of a men bestowed on us men by our society is that if you do not do any of the things expected of these “men” you are then given names. And that’s my problem. Can’t we just live our lives without “name-calling” as if we are at some ANC Conference or at the now failed Congress of the People where leaders moer one another and no longer call one another Comrades?

So, in answering these people, I have a beautiful quote from Robert Kelly taken from his “Reality” song that says: “Any man can make a baby but it takes a real man to be a father”.

This I say to those who think just because I work and am independent, I all of a sudden have to have a baby? What?

Some people… Oh, I pray for them too. Who wouldn’t?

Amen.

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