Who’s got your back?

I had a mini heart to heart with Tumelo Thursday about my outlook on the whole “some friendships are seasonal” concept. In short, I don’t believe in it. However, I am aware that situations change as do people’s trajectories, so the focus shifts and as do individual interests. And though this might affect how the friendship is navigated, I don’t believe it should die nor do people have to reject each other and stop supporting each other’s dreams because the other has “found” success, while the other is still finding their way.


In the past four years, I have lost friends to, what I have diagnosed as this rubbish way of thinking. Some of them stopped inviting me to those all-important milestone celebrations, others stopped talking and socialising with me. No explanation.

You’re reading this and (maybe) thinking “could you be the problem perhaps?”. Well, I don’t know, now we’re both left pondering the same thing.


On the one hand you want to accept the situation and move on, on the other, you’re trying to understand if you unintentionally hurt your friend. Did they hear/see anything at that offended them in you? Is this elusive “thing” the reason for their distance, their silence, their rejection? Which, by the way, hurts like a female dog.

I am obsessive about my friendships, I love my friends hard, I love them wide and very deep. So, I take “losing” them very, very badly.

You don’t simply give up on a relationship, you try fixing it. You do that untill you bruise yourself trying to dig into the root of the rot, so you can painfully pull it out and flourish freely. If it all fails, you walk away with a broken heart but having exhausted all options.

I agree that one should not be self-pitying. Why complain about a pit you planned to fall inside of from the start, right? Self-pity.

Sometimes we treat hurt people like their expression of pain and disappointment is nothing more than a hangover. As if they went out had a grand old time with their choice of alcoholic drink, then woke up with a massive hangover and now they’re merely complaining and moaning about a self-inflicted consequence. Hungover people probably get more sympathy than emotionally hurt ones anyway.

I did not intentionally choose (possibly) emotionally inept people to be my close friends, giving them the power to hurt me deeply, so I can then go out there and write a blog about it.

In the grown-up world; playgrounds have been done away with and so have lunches in the quad, civvies days at school, 13th, 16th and 18th birthdays are a distant memory. If you surround yourself with people who add value in your inner belly, are for you, genuinely for you, the drama and pettiness also stops.

But not completely. The awful thing about being an adult and having friendship dramas is that it’s embarrassing, to admit to. We’re grown now, we’re, “above all that”.

I was unarmed for them because I believed that I had chosen my friends wisely in my mature and insightful age. I am saved, I love Jesus, my friends love Jesus so they are what I refer to as “safe spaces”.

So the morning after my conversation with Tumelo I prayed for fruitfulness, I surprisingly heard myself say:

“Lord, please don’t take my friends away from me, don’t let me reject them or push them away. If I am in a fruitful (or hard) season and they are not, show me how to love them, include them and take them along with me.”

I prayed this because it had occurred to me to pray “REMOVE ANY AND ALL FRIENDS IN MY LIFE WHO NO LONGER BEAR FRUIT FOR ME AND WHERE I WANT TO BE”.

But actually I have gone through too much rubbish, nonsensical friendship hurt and rejection for this to be my prayer. I can’t be helping the devil win in my life by praying prayers that make him win.

I am still hurt and still healing, it is hard to trust new people in my life, but I am learning to work through that valley.

To end off and clarify, toxicity is never an environment you should be forcing yourself to be around, so I am not advocating that in this post.

So silverliners and sunnyday lovers, go out there and flourish in your friendships and have your people’s backs instead of turning your backs on your friends.

I've got your back
I’ve got your back

Drop me a mail if you can relate or would like to vent and speak on your hurt.





The process of i to I.

The future is bright

i am living in the shadows. You know i am.

i am lulled by invisibility.

i can’t be embarrassed by failures no one knows i have.

Let me step out into the light.

The shadows are suffocating.

It’s warm and familiar in my corner of sheltered shade

It is my place of comfort and solace.

From today to eternity i want to step out from them

into blinding sharp, hot unbearable light.

Now I finaly accept the the courage to walk towards the light and embrace it.

I hate hiding.

Let me out.

Of course it is!




Letting go.

It’s always been a tangled mess in here.
I can’t seem to undo any of it.
The harder I try, the messier it becomes and the tireder I get.
Can I sit right here and never, ever move again.
Please Lord Jesus.

Be still and know

The opinion of a leader. Tangle.
Past failures. Tangle.
Stage fright. Tangle.
Rejection. Tangle.

All these invisible knots tied tightly to me, tripping me, chafing me, pulling me back.

Oh, and FEAR.

So much fear…
am I good enough?
For you Jesus
for my friends
for my family
for my church
for my work
for myself.

Do I deserve life?

I am bold and full of life.

Carrying this fear in my voice; I sing – spirit lead me where my trust is without borders – inside I cower but Lord Jesus how will I ever reach these waters when even the sand on the shore looks like it will sink me in.

Again I sing –Holy spirit burn like a fire, all consuming, consume me– inside I still in a corner and reason with Jesus, saying Lord please not too much, lest I be seen as a distraction on platform. Let me only ever burn and be free in the quiet walls of my home, the time when it’s just you and me, allow me to keep my dignity in public.

Over and over again I shout out – I’m gonna sing until my voice won’t let me, as thunders roar I’ll shout your praise- then whisper… Please don’t let me be singing too flat, off key, too loud, too distracting… For the sake of those around me.

Always busy with knots and the fear,

Yet a still small prayer prevails, refusing to be silent, relentlessly beseeching,

Teach me Jesus, teach me, show me, lead me to let it all go. Unfurl me and guide me to being who you made me to be. The worshiper you whispered in me and gave life to as you lovingly molded me with your hands from your heart’s desired imagination. Lead me to living as that person. Fearless, abandoned and wholly stitched in your glory. Moved only by your breath.  Remind me who I am and grant me the grace and freedom to be that person.

This is my heart’s written prayer.

Catch the wind!
Song references
Hillsong Worship/young and free:
Open heaven – River Wild
End of days

The Prodigal friend. My friendship garment.

You came with one side and I with the other. We gently stitched each of our sides together creating our lasting cloth of friendship. It was awkwardly at first, well at least for me, but we carried on stitching. Now I love it, this friendship garment we’ve gently crafted in our own time. It’s ours and no one else wears us the way that we do.

Our colours include singing in the living room with spatulas, while you twirl in circles pretending to be a ballerina and I to be Beyonce. It is telling you about my family sorrows and private battles. My broken parts and my financial woes at Primi Piatti, as tears I am no longer able to control stream down my face.

I see our friendship as beautiful bold bright colours, bursts of laughter and defending a viewpoint we feel passionately about. Even on opposite sides I learn from you. Your opinion is always the one that is most unique amongst others. I had moments where I wished to be gifted enough to dedicate a poem to how it feels to be in friendship with you. I love wearing and boasting of the unique beauty of our friendship garment.

Our friendship garment is strong, even in the frays, it is inclusive, a picture unpixelated. The shades are different but clear, the cloth varies, but it’s stitched with strength, unity and Jesus. It is a sweet smelling aroma to anyone close enough to observe it.

Today I felt our garments opposing, I felt yours shrinking away from mine, I tried to stitch it together, but you shrunk even more and I was left with a gaping piece of cloth and nothing to stitch it onto. You pulled away, slowly at first, almost reluctantly, denying and even laughing at my hurt and concern in the obvious distance you created.


What do I have today? A one sided woven garment that used to be ours; once warm now draughty. Having you apart from it is cold and empty. There is an echo, because your voice and presence isn’t here as I speak and call out in expectation of your response. Each time my heart hopes. I tentatively make a sound in your direction but an echo of my own words responds back to me. Now I’ve put it away for a little while, this precious loved part of me. The part that is you.

It’s hard. I second guess myself. Has it been too short of a time for me to just put away who we are or used to be? Is putting us away giving in? Am I a bad friend, the kind to fold in, fold up and “put away” who we are/were? Or I am holding on to something that can never be pieced together again?

How long before I stop expecting you to be my friend again, how long from now to “I give up” on us?


All I know is, once we were friends and now we are are a shadow, a weak shadow of what and who we were. I used to mind, hurt and cry much more, I still do, but I no longer pay attention to those emotions, to stay sane and I carry on. I don’t know what else there is to do.

I love you.

In all this I love you, I want to stop loving.

I don’t want to stop loving you.

But I need to learn to understand that once you chose me, now you choose me no longer and I must respect and let go. It hurts.


I hope you don’t mind that I sometimes hint of who we used to be through pictures stories songs and places we’ve been to.

You see, you might’ve stopped loving and trusting and washing your nets with me, but my eye, oh my eye, my heart, damn it to heck for the persistent hope that betrays me in it; will perpetually be on that horizon waiting to run to you ,embrace you and shout “Prepare the fattened calf and let us feast”, should you dare, just dare, to choose me again some day.

Desolate sea- U.Guma



Organic love on a warm plate.


It has been a long overnight drive from Cape Town to Mthatha; we’ve driven through many villages and small busy towns in-between.

I take many pictures.

I am very tired when we arrive, but more than tired I am glad to be close to my aunt.

By the time I have put my bag away, and peed in the bucket behind the door, my aunt has warmed water for me to refresh myself from the long drive, she even gently commands me to check that my bath water is to my liking so she can adjust it if it’s too hot/cold. I feel like a five year old and my sad heart is very happy to be in her loving care.

I finish my bath and ready the shoes, dress and accessories I’ll be wearing to my uncle’s funeral the following day.

It is the day of the funeral, we are on our way to eMalungeni, to mourn, sing, pray, laugh and remember my uncle, her cousin. The drive is reminiscent of my childhood road trips to my grandmother’s house. It’s the same way but for the turnoff.

The funeral is of course a very sombre affair, cushioned by seeing cousins, and elders I hadn’t seen in a very long time. I hide behind taking photos of as many of my family members as I can sneak in.

On the drive back we talk about whom we were able to see and catch up with. My aunt doing most of the talking.

My heart is so full by just being with her, that I hardly make a sound as she speaks, apart from grunts of affirmation every now and again, so she knows she has my attention.

When we get home, we call my mom, who wasn’t able to make her cousin’s funeral. We take turns talking to her until it is time for dinner. My aunt is worried that I might get bored out here in the rural part of town, where the biggest disruptors of peace are roosters in the morning and the insistent moo of the village cows throughout the day.

Home garden
Picking corn for me in her vast garden a few minutes before I leave for Cape Town.

I tell her that I feel almost overwhelmed with a sense of peace and wellbeing. I think she sees the truth of this in my content smile, because her body visibly relaxes.

In the evening she makes me umphokoqo from maize she has refined herself, the maas we use is from a cow whose calf can sometimes be seen being bullied by the naughty village boys.

My aunt brings two blankets out, one for me and one for her. She carries a bench for us to sit on, so we can watch the city lights while we chatter in the crisp cold. The dogs are by our feet and the chickens make gentle sounds in their coup on our right.

Phone photos never do justice in the night time.

She asks me if I’m well, if I’m comfortable, if I’m full, if I need anything more. I look at her under the evening sky and tell her I am content.

This is the thread my visit carries until the day I leave for Cape Town.

She tells me how the lavender helps to keep the snakes away, how the dogs can be a nuisance because they help themselves to the chicken eggs and sometimes the chicks too. She says how the goats and birds eat the harvest and chicken feed. It feels like a dream to me. The entire stay feels like a dream.

On my last evening, my auntie is worried she won’t have anything good or fulfilling for me to eat, my vegetarian ways are the source of her concern.

She makes me carrots, spinach and potatoes, with onion and grated cheese, I look at this plate and picture my aunt, planting the seeds, tending the garden and harvesting it all, to deliberately make dinner for me. Her heart’s work. Her hand’s work.

Organic love on a warm plate

I don’t have adequate words for what I feel when I think of this moment.

All the love my aunt has in her physical being and her emotional being she gives to me literally on a plate yet still she asks me if it is enough.  Asking casually, conversationally and unconsciously, because if it isn’t she has more to pour out to me.

My aunt – She is stature, dignity, diligence and love.


I am reminded all over again how incredible the women in my family truly are.

**I took all the photos  on this blog post. They belong to me. Talk to me before you use my photos please.**