Truth About Me …

These days we are inundated with posts and information on how women lie. The horror. I mean my entire life I was raised to know and believe that women speak the truth, they just don’t lie. Society has made ‘mama’ holy. Lying was a job and privilege given to the men. Men lie. That’s a statement I heard over and over from the eldest female in my life to the youngest. But, enter technology and an access to everyone’s everything and anything, we have thus discovered WOMEN LIE! So, in these trying times, I have decided to be the voice of truth and do a bit to… hmmmm…maybe save holy grandma and mama? Ok, maybe I cannot. The truth is everyone lies, I just think women have masterminded how to do it and never ever get caught. We were doing so well until that Facebook fellow initiated a time in our era that tests our monumental cross-century achievement of ‘not speaking the truth’. In this article I would like to speak some truths that might be relevant in 2019; a list of guidelines maybe, to my future bae:

1. I will not iron My mother taught me everything, I am her first born daughter. She transferred all her mother’s teaching into me easily, sternly and swiftly. There isn’t much I do not know how to do in a house. I just choose not to. Number 1 on that list is IRONING. If this is the prerequisite for getting a free PhD qualification, I have already failed. I have pondered and wondered why I loathe this activity; and have decided it is the standing and swaying the ironing tool back and forth…back and forth… My brain is a hive of creativity, it is constantly thinking and creating things I have no names for yet. This means standing still is one of my biggest struggles. Hell, I can’t even sleep still! I have a part of my brain that demands I keep physically busy at all times. I literally move every 2 minutes while watching a movie. Some or other part of me needs to move. I understand this activity was a once a womanhood test criterion…but Ironing is Cancelled.

2. I own no hairline Many have approached me with remedies to ‘cure’ my hairline. Do this, do that, go there, etc. I kindly tell all of them ‘I was never born with one, I do not miss one, and I don’t see the need to invest time in reviving what was never there’ (insert both arms out emoji here)!. In America they call them edges, here we call them hairlines, mine is called a ‘mpandla’. My mother says I was born with my hairline starting as close as possible to that soft middle part of a baby’s head. Today this strong brave hairline of mine has moved at least 5 cm forward! 5cm…clap hands bazalwane. I am proud of my hairline. I am putting this case here because I have noticed in 2019 this is a very important feature of a woman. I have seen ‘hairstyles’ for just the hairline. Imagine. They show you ways of laying your hairline this way and that way, curved and all. This brings me to the 2nd point on this, my hairline will never lay…or curl flat. My hair is what is called a leshahla, shluthu, a whole bush and I foresee no plans of changing it. This is Brigette from 2019, reporting ‘Hairline Missing”.

3. I love my surname We are getting sensitive now. In Africa…. wait wait wait….is the surname changing thing African? I recall a conversation I had with an African man who had a theory that changing a woman’s surname upon marriage is not African. He spoke of how it was really just to manage the children being born as to who they belonged and how many. So, naming a child had to have a surname indicating that he/she belonged to that certain part of the land. I just get confused because this means the woman already belongs to her… ok. I am not interested. My only reason so far, really, is I love my surname. Maybe they should give women time to see if they fall in love with their husband’s surname before deciding on whether to go with it or not? Or maybe someone needs to explain why this is so without just offering ‘culture’ or ‘law’ as the only reasons. We are over that, we now know we can and will create our own culture. One not oppressive to anyone. This is Ms. Mashile…Keep your surname.

4. I want to be your slay queen Man, oh man. I run my own business. By choice. And on some days I wonder why didn’t I just choose to do all the things that slay queens do so I can have their lives. In my head slay queens are slaying in most if not all categories of how to be pampered with little effort. I sometimes wonder if the job of keeping super fit and makeup every day would’ve been as hard as running a business?!? The truth, most women really want a man who will ‘take care’ of them. Now, the meaning of those two words depend on the who is in your life. The other issue is I don’t want the cost of being a slay queen. Men must just give their money to us like Jesus gives his love; fully and for nothing in return. I honestly just want a well of cash I can pull from at free will…but we live in a world that says only men can bring this into a woman’s life. This, of course, is not true; the problem is most women don’t want to spend their money. Listen it hurts. I’m just telling the truth. I have no clue what we plan to do with the money we make. We just like to make it and multiply it over and over…and… keep it. Maybe its because we are part of the era of women who have just realized we can make our own lotsa lotsa moolah…and we want the party to last. All I am saying is…if you are paying, I am not complaining.

5. I am territorial Maybe its nature, maybe its insecurities…I am territorial. Is it a bad thing…oh well! I have noticed many women are like me, they are just subtler. It’s in the curtains they refuse to let go of, the way they wash their dishes, the way they pack dishes in their cupboards, the way they suddenly call him ‘hubby’ everywhere….etc. A lot of women will fully exercise their territorial behaviour with their children because this is seen as a protective mom, a good holy thing. Then, they will downplay this very same habit with the husband, so as to not seem insecure, or bossy or whatever. I don’t care, I am on both full on. Why? No clue. But if you come to my house, please don’t move my furniture. Ever. Never. No. Aowa. Please don’t move my books. Do not move my vaslap in the bathroom! And most definitely, never ever sit on his lap. You know, things like this. I decided when I was younger that I was not ‘ladylike’; I do not possess those ‘behave’ qualities other women have. I am as potent as garlic and as real as wasabi in your mouth. I can try to pretend otherwise…. but it’s such a waste of our time and energy. In 2019 we call this protecting my space. ‘Don’t touch me in my studio’. Can we get married now?

Writer: Bridget Mashile