- I once again state emphatically state that I am the proudest Black Man I know. And, believe me, I happen to know many, many proud and great Black Men. Starting with my own father, through Muhammad Ali, to Nelson Mandela. And then there is Barack Obama.
I know my strengths, my capabilities, and my potential. Behind every manifestation of real, fake, or fantasised weaknesses, I am at least ten times stronger at any one time. Do not try, do not test, and do not threaten me. I promise you, if you live, you may not be able to tell the story. “You think you are some kind of a God now Simon, don’t you?” I am God. Only no religion, no followers. Just Black & Proud. I tell it like it is, as mine eyes behold.
- I make some strong subjective claims in this posting. Were this an academic PhD thesis, I would substantiate every claim I make, of course. But that has to wait until such a time I do get into some serious PhD program in one thing or another.
Day before yesterday, the lady newly employed to come and assist us with domestic chores and all, does not report for work at the agreed upon time. My younger sister calls her on the phone. It turns out the lady had opted to go out to attend to some official bureaucracy errand instead, and that would keep her away all day. The same had occurred last week Wednesday.
Upon complaining to a girl friend that had recommended the lady, the friend says to my younger sister, “Our people are really strange. Had you been White, the woman would have told you, and requested for leave of absence in advance! Our people have no respect for work, not in the least us, who employ them, especially when we pay them well, and treat them humanely”
After an arduous day of clearing away construction site rubbish, I pay the 10 casual workers each double the normal daily rate in Welkom. I had also bought them a Nando’s grilled chicken + Coke lunch earlier on in the day. Politely, I thank them for a job well done, and ask them to, please, all come back the following day so we can finish off what was left of the rubble. Same generous conditions to apply. “Sure, Ngamla/ Boss!” all in unison, with apparent enthusiasm. So cool!
As I turn away, I hear one of them say, “Eish, bafowethu/ homies, enkleke/ really, I don’t work for Black people, mina/ myself. I’m not coming back …”
The speaker is a starving, unemployed, non-skilled street hustler as black as industrial coal. 33-45 degrees Celsius temperatures in January/ February, in central South Africa, can be very unkind on the skin, especially that of a malnourished one whose owner most likely doesn’t even have a decent place to stay either … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
October 18, 2013