Women You are More

 

 

It has been a good week reading and hearing the voices that speak up and out about acknowledging women in literature and in every professional, political and social sphere. The momentous global Women’s Marches this year are indicative that times have indeed changed, however, silence or ‘Feminism Lite’ as warned by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, subvert the right of a woman to proudly be herself, to be seen and heard for what she believes is good for her.

 

 

 

She has music in her soul and justice in her blood

 

Ironically the media on this day, 10 March 2017, has reported, much to the chagrin in many quarters of society, that stay at home mums,  are draining the country of much-needed skills. This understating of the role stay at home mums play in raising children, raising the next generation to be upstanding citizens and contributors to the world of tomorrow is questioned and frowned upon as not making a valuable contribution to society and hindering the economy?

This says that the War of Women against such opinions, studies and other such claims is an ongoing battle. Margaret Atwood’s states that The Handmaid’s Tale is more relevant than ever and Jude Kelly, theatre director and producer enlightens in a TedWomen talk on  ‘Why Women should tell stories of humanity’. 

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My Tribute to YOU

  • YOU are amazing in all you juggle in your day
  • YOU are amazing in the boundless energy and strength you demonstrate
  • YOU are amazing for your selfless dedication to your profession, family, friends, community
  • YOU endure each day with no complaints with an ever-ready smile for others
  • YOU are the rock when things fall apart
  • YOU are kind, generous and loving
  • YOU are SPECIAL –  NOBODY can take that away.

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 I leave you with two powerful messages from MEN on the significance of YOU

THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE IS THE HAND THAT RULES THE WORLD.

BLESSINGS on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace.
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy’s the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother’s first to guide the streamlets,
From them, souls unresting grow—
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission,
Here upon our natal sod;
Keep—oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky—
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world

-William Ross Wallace (1819-1881)

As long as outmoded ways of thinking prevent women from making a meaningful contribution to society, progress will be slow. As long as the nation refuses to acknowledge the equal role of more than half of itself, it is doomed to failure.’

– Nelson Mandela (1918-2013)

‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ Moment

 

Going to the movies for the first time was a landmark moment in many ways. Living during the ‘Group Areas Act’ era in South Africa meant living in racially segregated suburbs. Going to the Grand Theatre on the upper end of town implied being in the same space – somewhat anyway with white residents. This anticipated visit to the Grand Theatre generated tremendous excitement in a young child’s world to see, yes that’s right, ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves!’

 

Apart from being a momentous event in a young child’s life, it came as an awakening event that dwells deep in memory resurfacing with vigour when situations trigger the enlivening of such a memory.

 

Two queues lined up to buy tickets for the show – one ‘Whites only’ queue, the other, ‘Non- Whites only’ just as the local park benches and public toilets were labeled. This negative, exclusion labeling applied to the airport arrival and departure terminals areas too.

The stares across the racially segregated ticket purchase queues are remembered with the awkwardness and need to keep one’s eyes downcast for fear – fear that if the stare was returned it might be perceived as ‘doing the wrong thing, an unlawful act’ – such was the fear the dark child of apartheid felt.

 

Entry into the movie theatre, needless to say, had its separate entrance too, this time the Non-White entrance led to a flight of 100 steps up to the gallery. Non-Whites had to sit in the upstairs gallery while White patrons to the theatre sat in spacious seats downstairs. In the early teenage years, this ignited the child’s connection to Harper Lee’s ‘To Kill a Mockingbird,’ when Tom Robinson was on trial. Non-White folk who were confined to the upstairs gallery in the tightly packed Maycomb courthouse was reminiscent of the segregation at the Grand Theatre in the dark days of apartheid South Africa.

 

Peering over the upstairs railing from the high in the sky gallery, childlike curiosity prompted the voyeur within to see how ‘the other side lived’. Thinking back to that moment stirs the soul with sadness – the distance between the upstairs gallery, out of sight from the downstairs gallery, a hundred steps up – no stairway to heaven for an asthmatic child or aging grandparent who lovingly accompanied grandchildren on this momentous visit to the movies.
Snow White and the dwarves transported the child into a magical world leaving behind the racially divided queues and hidden away, out of view, sky-high seating.

 

Growing up in a racially aware, politicised home where Nelson Mandela’s release from prison lived in the hearts and minds of most adults, had a huge impact on the child. Non-White parents put aside their deeply felt grievances with grace and dignity to ensure their children were not denied the joys of seeing and experiencing the fairy tales they loved, come to life on the silver screen, albeit in a racially segregated theatre, so far removed from the reality of their daily lives.

 

Social justice was born from a perception of deeply felt social injustice in the child’s psyche on that very day, the day that Snow White made her debut on the big screen in a little town in South Africa.

 

Atticus Finch soon became Nelson Mandela of the Rainbow Nation where black and white exploded into a palette of many colours – merging in love, acceptance, kindness,  and tolerance.

 

Such were the days of the child’s early childhood in a country racially divided, decreed by the law of the land.

 

Walk away from hatred and unkindness, you deserve better, you have much to offer the world, walk away with grace and dignity to preserve your soul, walk away to love, acceptance and  kindness, walk away to a better world that awaits you…- MN

We all have stories to tell. What’s your story?

Fertilising the Imagination

 

When access is denied, imagination provides fertile ground for creativity.

The absence of television in apartheid South Africa was strategic, to keep the masses ignorant regarding democracy and justice in a bid to thwart the emerging voices of resistance. Avid reading and listening to the radio for recreation offered many hours of joy in a world where outdoor games were limited in apartment blocks.

 

 

My About page with a brief biography on my origins as born in South Africa meant that I had a childhood in an era devoid of a television set in the family lounge room. The only ‘moving pictures’ apart from the local cinema were those created in my imagination.

 

Radio held its own fascination with the popular weekly, Friday evening, crime fiction episodes of, Squad Cars. I listened intently, forming images in my mind about places and situations in each episode. My rite of reading passage into the world of crime depicted through voices and sounds grew each week. Crime/Detective/Adventure fiction in children’s books from the Famous Five series to Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys and ultimately Agatha Christie’s and Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories were hunted down each week at the local library. Visions of snaking queues of children lining up, thirsty for their favourite book is imprinted in my memory. Such were the days…

After school radio programs for children were eagerly anticipated, excitement gained momentum with the chatter of voices speculating what  Noddy (by Enid Blyton) would be getting up to and whether Mr. Plod, the policeman’s kind and watchful eye over Toyland would save another day. Empathy for the skittles who did not seem to care whenever they were run over, filled my waking and sleeping hours. The imagination was ablaze with stories that wove into the stories of my mind’s eye. The imagination was fertilised with self-created images of places, characters, and events. An emotional investment of compassion for those who struggled or were mistreated and revulsion for those who harmed others was set in motion.

Listening and reading awakened the inner being as fodder for the imagination in the years ahead in the creation of my own stories – in the adult years, I turn back to my own voice recordings of my reactions to places I have visited, places that I have been moved by, to mulch and refresh an evocative sense of place through the voices and visions of my characters.

Audio books are a blessing, like reading is, to supercharge the imagination for a personal take on people, places, and events that ‘moving pictures,’ with all its commendable grandeur, might not quite fuel.

‘Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere’- Albert Einstein

What do you think?

 

Beyond the Bewitching Hour

 

 

Have you tried reading beyond the bewitching hour when a hush rests upon your home, all are sound asleep – the only light being your reading lamp setting the page aglow?

Books take on a life of their own when you have undisturbed reading pleasure. Places invite you in, characters entice your entrance into their worlds – you yield  – you enter this magical realm free from the mundane responsibilities of daily existence.

The time spent wrapped inside the pages of a world you enter and leave at will, exudes forbidden pleasure away from the gaze of the world. Each new page, each new chapter, begs you to go on with the promise that hidden discoveries will surface.  Days pass, weeks pass, the tension mounts, emotions are unleashed and you read on – you wipe away a tear, you break out in a smile, you breathe deeply as you smell, see, taste and relish this world you cannot extract yourself from.

The book falls, your head slides off the pillow, you waft off into a deep sleep.

 

Photo credit: Sandro Schuh (Unsplash)

 

The sun comes up, the alarm clock goes off – the day beckons – your book sits silently up against your bedside drawer waiting for your return on the other side of the bewitching hour.

Until then… See you beyond the bewitching hour when the pages of your book are aglow…

Are you a night reader?

 

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