To the Nice Guys

So I took a break.

I’d already put up a post today, and with it the guilt of letting my writing hand go limp for over a week dissipated. I’m still a blogger!

Now onto social media; I’d start off with Facebook for the cute vacation pics that make me hate my life before drowning myself in Tumblr memes for a couple hundred hours #productivity.

But then I saw it. The headline that has stirred up all kinds of debate across the continent.

Karabo Mokoena: the 22yr old Uni student who was murdered by her boyfriend.

It all began down under, in South Africa, where the #MenAreTrash tag was used by women to share their abuse stories. 

It was a movement! 

Inspiring and supportive as it was… someone’s life was going to be saved, I could feel it.

But, as with all good things, someone just had to spoil it.

So once upon a time there was a twiddler, 

a thumb twiddler, 

who could never let anything be, 


not a neat room, tidy and clean, 

“it just has to be ruined!” the thumb twiddler cried

 “or I’d absolutely lose my mind”…and the conversation was changed.

The hashtag was no longer a safe space for women to reach out and encourage each other, but now a platform for the ” good guys exist too” pout fest. It was pretty glorious.

There were articles and super long posts all outlining male heroism and goodness towards women. 

As I said, pretty glorious.

And for once, I think, the Nice Guys won. They did it. Mission accomplished!

Now no one was talking (or at least being heard) about the femicide that plagued us. Or even the feminist uproar that was arising across the Continent as women hollered “enough!”, and the mutilation reversal surgeries in Kenya as women took back their power. Nothing.

 All that matters is the bruising of some random guy’s ego.

So remember that, ladies. The next time you clutch on to your racing heart as you walk home alone, or fret over your outfit as you’re catcalled on the streets…don’t complain! You might hurt someone’s feelings.


4 Comics that Perfectly sum up ‘Being a Woman’

When I was younger, I wanted (among other things) to be a Pussy Cat Doll. I practised dance moves, flipped my braids a lot and wore my skirts as short as my mum would let me (I went to boarding school so they were always pretty short).

I wanted to be a woman…wonderfully and gorgeously a woman. 

Now that I’m here though, I’ve learnt that womanhood is hardly like I’d pictured it.

Beauty breeds confidence-and so do over sized tee shirts…

Looks aren’t everything- there are bills, school assignments, and death inspired exercises all packed in a pretty little tote called Adulthood™.

Wake up everyday like you’re fighting for your life…

Because sometimes you are.

Love feels like a new pair of snug jeans…

Sex does too


You’re a black woman, you’re a skinny girl, and above all, you’re a human being…

Don’t get too hung up on the world’s labels. 

And finally

Your vagina does not make you a woman…

Chanting ‘Bloody Mary’three times in the dark does.


To check out more of Sarah Andersen’s comics, scoot on over to Amazon.

As I Lie

In a hidden world, nestled in all that’s good in my soul, blanketed by the flames of passion and fear and the thrill of the inevitable… There my heaven lies. 

An oasis, you see, a treasured piece of the earth burrowed in my bones…a wisp of the wind in my breath and blood in my hair…a song of skin and spit and reverend tears.

…the chant of dying stars beats in my chest, I say!…the chant of dying stars.


I don’t want to go anywhere today. Every single part of me seems to be in pain: my head hurts, my nose hurts, my friggin eyelids… Eyelids! I didn’t even know that part of me, like, worked.

Okay, I know that they work, obviously. (Chuckles nervously)

But can’t I just get away with flu-addled brain today? May be even get a break from adulting and stuff… Stay in my bed clothes *ahem, ripped tee shirt*, get a little soup action, pop in a few sob-teen movies…

If only the Internet granted wishes, eh?

An Artist’s Lovely Mess (1)


Inside the gallery, lower wing


There’s so much beauty in this world; sometimes so much that the soul can endure no more. Of jewel seas and daring green, borne of pine and oak and scaly ebony dreams…. Then there’s the beauty of man, pilfered like singing blood upon canvas; daring and raw and scared and human, hang against bland wide walls, in bland wide rooms that call for swishing skirts and feathered hats.

Galleries! If only I could live in one.

Perhaps I can?

See, last weekend we drove down to one (‘we’ being my older sister and I, and her three year old son.  These two people are very important to me you must know, something that goes beyond the name we share. My sister introduced me to all things art and literature; actually all three of my sisters did, but she’s the one who really pushed me to writing- and wearing make up, she was very adamant about that one especially.

My nephew’s this tiny little ball of mischief that absolutely lights up my life. He’s also one hell of a storyteller. Usually whenever I decide to sleep over at theirs, he’d curl up into me, kick his mom out of the room, and tell me fantastic tales of rabbits and dogs and the adventures there of, that sometimes, not always, involve monster trucks and hospitals. As I said, the light of my life.)

Okay, so back to the tale! 

We drove down towards One Off Contemporary Art gallery, got lost more than a couple of times before landing into a peaceful little neighborhood with hardly a soul in sight.

I just adore maps.

It got a little tricky at first as the gallery possesses no markers, so we kinda had to do a little une, deux, tres dance till we found it; at last, there it was! number sixteen, opened up by an old cobbled path and creeky gate, shrouded beautifully under chaotic white bark trees.

 This is all you can see once you’re on the premises…and grass, obviously.

Besides the vacuum silence that greets you, is the no cameras allowed signage right by the parking space…and a duck.

An angry little duck that squawked and yelped and tried to bite as we made down bushy stone steps into a lovely clearing. 

Now here we met a dog.

This little guy, I think. Don’t be fooled by the demure demeanor, he’s absolutely ferociously cuddly in person. Courtesy: Carol Lee’s Facebook page.

He barked and kissed and danced circles around us just as a bigger dobble gangér waltzed in; calm and furry and in search of hugs.

Well, I love hugs too!!

Our newly introduced welcome party (and the duck that hated us, of course) then proceeded to push us down another set of stone steps, this one leading straight to the gallery.

The Gallery.

A piece of the wild that rose from the earth; here lies a small part of an artist’s playful heart, beckoning like a mother, a siren calling the wandering spirit…home