Blame it on Singende

Last night I told myself I would wake up first thing and go to gym. But here I am sitting in front of my computer instead, and I blame it all on Singende.

Gym cross-trainers
Photo by Allen Chipangura

Singende was a guy I met at university during my first year. He was dark, handsome and athletic-looking. He loved showing off his muscles in small t-shirts. One day Singende invited my friend Christina and I for a tour of the varsity gym. Like sheep we followed him. When we got there, he showed us around and identified the various equipment around. It was a very poorly equipped gym, I know that now. Most of the equipment were heavy weights. He made us try the several pieces out. And there we were, wanting to impress the handsome tour guide. We went overboard lifting everything on sight. Singende encouraged us and said if we felt a bit of pain, that was a good thing. It meant the work out was effective. 

He didn't tell us we needed to warm up first, or that working out had to be gradually built up - a process, not one grand event. We left the gym feeling this had been a day well-spent, and that we would be back the next day but alas! 
The next day saw me having to ask my room mate Siduduziwe to help me rise from my bed to prepare for my lectures. Every inch of my body screamed in agony. I struggled to take a bath and dragged myself to my morning lecture, which I was inevitably late for as I moved like a chameleon to avoid further damage to my aching muscles. I was convince I would die that day. I could not even laugh without feeling a hundred degrees of pain shooting through my body, I could not hug my friends. My ribs ached, my shoulders seemed damaged, my legs were heavy logs... Nothing on my body functioned the way it was supposed to. If I thought going to the lecture was difficult, I had a near death experience waiting for me on my way back. My room, H4 Swinton Hall was on the 2nd floor and now I had to go up the stairs. Those that have been beaten up by ruling party militia in a certain African country had nothing on me. I eventually got to my room and collapsed on my bed for what must have been several hours. The pain took more than a week to dissipate. Singende came to collect us for the next gym session, and said we needed to keep exercising for our bodies to become more resilient. Needless to say, he didn't see any of my teeth that day, or on any other thereafter. I avoided him like the plague, and he eventually gave up.

Gym circuit
  Photo by Allen Chipangura

More than a decade later, I joined gym again. I stick to the treadmill, stationary bike, cross trainers, and sometimes aerobics.

When I look at the circuit at my gym, which is quite cool for many, all I see is a mass of heavy metals with a potential to leave me bed ridden. One look at them and I'm on the verge of a panic attack. All because of Singende.I didn't even get to know his first name, but I know my children's children will get to know about him.This Singende who scared me off weights and is the reason why my arms aren't as toned as Michelle Obama's. 

Guns aren't great toys

"Hands up!" someone whispered into my ear, as I felt something cold pressing against my forehead. With my heart in my mouth I slowly opened my eyes to see my gun totting eight-year-old son standing by my bed. "Please can I have some food," he asked, still holding his toy gun in his hand. I fell short of slapping him but knew in my heart that he was oblivious of how he had almost given me a heart attack.

What message are we sending to our children when we buy them toy guns?

The much hyped Oscar Pistorius trial under way brings the issue of gun possession into the spotlight. My strong feeling is that Reeva Steenkamp would not be dead, Oscar wouldn't be standing in the dock now if he didn't have a gun. He wouldn't have owned a gun if he hadn't learned to love guns. Media reports are that his father, Henk Pistorius, is also a gun enthusiast, so possibly Oscar learned to love guns at an early age. 

The toy gun that my son threatened me with as I lay peacefully asleep was bought for him on his birthday by my husband. I protested against such a choice but it fell on deaf ears. Allen thinks there's nothing wrong with keeping a gun if one sticks to the laws governing their possession.  He feels that if an intruder had indeed come to Oscar's house, he would have been able to defend himself. I still think the cons of people owning guns outweighs the pros. A lot of lives have been accidentally or brutally  lost because of guns: A six-year-old girl in Bela-Bela, South Africa shot her friend with her grandfather's revolver, A Grade 11 pupil shot a bully using his mom's service pistol, and some fathers have shot and killed their daughters after mistaking them for intruders. 

Owning a gun gives people certain powers that they would otherwise not assume if they didn't have a gun. Timid, law abiding men suddenly become all macho and gangster because they are carrying guns in their pockets. Recently there was a road-rage incident involving a biker and a lawyer. Men that were deemed decent by those who knew them suddenly themselves either dead or in police custody because of guns they had on their persons.There are a lot of lousy drivers on the roads that make you want to pull your hair out with frustration, but we don't shoot them because we don't have guns.When you have a gun, however, it looks like a solution to all your problems. Violent movies do not really help the situation. Actors that have guns flying everywhere are very popular, they make gunning down several people look sexy. 

We buys dolls for our daughters to nurture them to be good mothers when they grow up. What message then are we sending to our kids when we buy them guns? 

No hope for the human race

The Metro Music Awards were held on March 1, and what happened during, and after, the band Big Nuz's performance broke my heart to smithereens. 

One of the band members Sibusiso Khomo, popularly known as R. Mashesha has been in the media spotlight for a while now because of his ill health. On Saturday there was evidence of weight loss on his part, and twitterverse descended on him like a tonne of bricks. Speculation is rife that he is HIV positive and twitter was abuzz! Mean comments were irresponsibly thrown around, comments that will surely break his heart when he gets to read or hear about them. Jokes about his health were cracked left, right and centre, with some people asking: "Are we sure they're splitting the money equally?", insinuating that Khomo's weight loss was caused by starvation owing to getting a raw deal from his fellow band members. Some wrote "010 - that's Big Nuz with R Mashesha in the middle", others called him the toothpick from Big Nuz. When did someone's poor health evolve to entertainment? I can't wrap my head around that. 

No-one has Khomo's medical records to prove he indeed has HIV, and even if he does, does it make it OK to find that hilarious? Where does the indecency to laugh like a pack of hyenas at someone's suffering come from? If he had cancer or some other illness, people would have been compassionate. I would have thought at this point in time we would be educated enough not to stigmatise those with HIV. Billboards about stopping the stigma are peppered everywhere, there are countless drama series covering that too, lots of money has been spent towards that cause. But evidently no-one is listening. 

Some of the people who said mean things are probably people who respected R Mashesha before he got ill , now they've reduced to the butt of every sick HIV joke. Does one lose respect for being ill or having HIV? Such attitude counteracts all the efforts that have been made to ensure people get to know their HIV status. Who wants to get tested and risk having salt rubbed into their wounds should they be found to be HIV positive? 

I'm not even a Big Nuz fan but I'm thinking of anybody else who is in Khomo's shoes and has too endure dirty looks and being kicked while they are down. 

In this day and age of technological advancement, it is unwise to act so thoughtlessly on public platforms. It will come back to haunt you one day because once it's out there, it's out there like an unstoppable inferno. Prospective employers might dig all that up and not want to offer a job to an imbecile that just throws insults around. Once you make such comments, you've made your cyber footprint.

One day the grandchildren of the grandchildren of those insensitive people will be able to read the cruel things their ancestors tweeted about. Instead of remembering them with respect , all they will do is shake their heads in disbelief and disgust and say, "What a moron grandpa/ grandma was!" 

And all I can say now is what a shame, what a crying shame!