Daddy's Little Girl.

Every girl deserves to be their Dad's princess. What happens if they are not is quite scary and heartbreaking- Siphathisiwe.

 Because he didn't, I had to master the art of being Daddy's little girl in a man who held my hand, hugged me tight, opened car door for me parked outside what I thought was a hotel in Las Vegas yet he called it home. I had to learn in the arms of a man who took me to expensive dinners, who pulled a chair for me, who listened attentively, lay my head on his chest and told me he would fix it and he did.

He did.

One call at a time, one chair at a time, I am becoming Daddy's little girl.

With every hour I spend on the mirror at 1900hrs, I feel wanted. With every honk of that big car by the dark street at 2000hrs, I feel needed. With every purple  and red and white bouquet and a perfect card calling me love or baby at 2010hrs, I feel loved. The holding of hands under the dinner table at 2045, the whole attention as I blurt my childhood dreams in that fancy club at 2200hrs, damn, I am precious, I am worthy all the attention.

Because he did not, I do everything to please the one who does. So I drown the Margaritas in that fancy club at 2215hrs. Ask for some strong whisky instead of some Tequila at 2220hrs, and delightfully lose it when he nods his approval. At 2230hrs, I am all in. Daddy is mine so I will please him, like he pleases me. Bold now at 2235hrs, I have Daddy's arms around my tiny waist which he pays for in that up town gym. My head is somewhere unseen close to the glass floor and I am drowning in this whole noise while his arousal awakens as he follows the rhythm set by my perfect behind trying to please his hungry front. Daddy provides, Daddy's little girl serves.

Because he did not, my knees hurt, these heel straps cut into my ankles but damn they are Jimmy Choo and Daddy bought them for me so they stay. At 2330hrs, The Weekend says he Feels it coming, so does Daddy. So we leave having danced all our troubles and drunk my fear away. 2335hrs, I feel amazing, out of this world. Daddy tries to steal some kisses in the elevator. I feel naughty and that is some wild fantasy so I give in but some janitor gets in. I sober up, I hate the way he looks at me. I say, "Grandpa, you are so judgmental". Daddy chuckles, rubs my back and says to me, "I love it when you are naughty". The janitor watches Daddy's perfectly manicured hands, which are way below my back, something like 15cm away from where my back ends or starts, I do not know.

At 2340hrs, Daddy opens the passenger door for me, I feel amazing. I love how strong his grip is, like the man who would slay for dragons for me. Daddy kisses my cheek and tells me to sleep, he will wake me up when we get home. He cares right? 0010hrs, we are by the mansion on the hill. I love it here, the fresh air which blows my hair away and everything that seems heavy. Somehow, I feel happy, my soul is light as I watch the sparkling pool and I'm elated as Daddy's neatly shaven beard tickles my neck which is bare of anything but a little chain neck with some tiny black opal which accentuates my skin and reflects my soul, black, shiny, beautiful. I love Daddy's cologne, I know it, it is called Dark Rebel Rider, some top expensive John Varvatos brand with some woody scent. Daddy says he will help me start my perfume business since I am so obsessed with them, all I have to do is work on a detailed business plan. Daddy is a whole meal, and so am I.

0030hrs, I cannot hold it in anymore. Daddy says he is teaching me a relativity lesson. So I am an obedient, attentive student and willingly let him do all the work. Last time we had the handcuffs, I do not think I want them ever again. So Daddy opts for something else. He calls it 69. Feels good but I have to fight so hard not to gag or puke, there is always a bitter end and a sweet one, funny how one can have both at the same time and enjoy it too. 0040hrs, I am beyond reasoning. Drowning in a pool of ecstacy and what seems like mucus only that it came from a strange place. My thoughts are wild and naked. So I want to be naked too. Daddy can not keep his hands to himself but he wants some play. A daddy who plays with me, that is really something  I have always wanted. So what is more funny than a tutor who wants his student so badly that he wants his body on hers and she in equal measure wants all the loving like it is a ritual. With every stroke, I forget my name, with every caress I forget home, with every scream, groan and moan, I am filled with purpose, I forget that mama says I am useless, I forget that the real Daddy never loved me. With the throbs of a violent orgasm,  I lay there on the spacious bed and the white sheets, spent, mended, defeated, filled, conquered and healed.

0130hrs, I lay there in Daddy's  warm embrace. He kisses my forehead, heaven. Holds my chin up and looks me right in the eyes, "You're precious, my little girl" and that is all that matters. To know that I matter, to know that I am wanted, that I can make  a grown man moan, that I am worth something. As I feel Daddy's light snores of a satisfied man, his rhythmic heartbeat, his legs entwined tightly around mine, his hands pressing my head closer to his chest, sharing the air we are both breathing, I regret nothing. I do not feel ashamed or remorseful, I feel safe here. I am protected from everything that would have hurt my little fragile heart which was never loved by the first man who was supposed to love and protect it. So I give in to the calls of sleep with a content smile on my face. And tonight, I do not dream of chocolate papers and piggybacks and the attention little me craved. I am content, here tucked safely in the arms of a stranger. All that matters is I am Daddy's little girl.

And at 0600hrs as I watch the sun rise through Daddy's glass walls, I am grateful for a taste of a love I longed and yearned for from one man who did not care enough to grant it.

Because he did not do it;

One bed at a time, I am wholly loved.

One notification at a time, I am spoiled.

One call at a time I am  wanted.

One chair at a time, I am Daddy's little girl.

One man at a time.

 

Guka Makafela: A crystal clear death.

Yatongova Guka Makafela, dai matogara guva makachera- Holy Ten.

 A conversation with my friend goes like, 

"Hey Tino, what's guka." He rolls his eyes and I guess that's because I didn't say the name right so I try again with the full name.

"What's guka makafela?" And now I know I have his absolute attention as he puts his phone down and carefully assesses me before shaking his head. That doesn't seem good, but I'm on some information searching spree so I do my absolute best not to burst out laughing.

"What do you need it for?" he asks after a while.

Innocently, "Studying. Heard I can stay awake for days on end"

He loses it!

I get the information I want!

It's dangerous! 

And then, "Don't ever try it if you wanna live".

My own risk taking, adventure lover, experience seeking, fearless and free spirit friend won't even hear of it and that's one thing he vows to never ever take whatever the circumstances. Of course I get some scolding but the information is worth it. 

But Tino isn't the only one who has expressed great fear of this new drug on the block. It definitely gets you high, but the crash is so down low, so low it could be 6ft under.

Guka Makafela also commonly referred to as crystal meth or Mutoriro is a man-made drug which potently stimulates the nervous system. Depending on where you're from, it's referred to by many names. The ghetto youth would call it Guka or Mutoriro and the suburbanites would most probably deceive you into thinking it's all lights and life by referring to it as Ice or Glass or Speed. 

The drug is strong and highly addictive, hence even in the medical field, it is less commonly used as a second line treatment for obesity and Attention Deficit Hyper Activity. So the only legal methamphetamine product is the tablet to treat these two but well, we wouldn't be here taking of this if this drug has not gotten into the wrong hands and is being used for all the wrong purposes.

Remember, crystal meth unlike cocaine or weed is synthetic. It has been around for so long and can be traced back to World War II where it was used by German Soldiers to keep them awake for long hours. So if they could have made it then, what's to stop young people from making their own. 

You know, with poverty comes desperation and with desperation there comes creativity. And necessity is the mother of innovation. So in case you wonder where the youths are getting this highly addictive drug, all I can say is they are creative, they make things happen. So a lot of simple day to day products is where drug producers are getting this drug. One common ingredient is the common cold pills for common cold remedies. Some ingredients are extracted from these and are combined with other products which you won't believe. These other products could be anything from battery acid, drain cleaners, lantern fuel, some powders extracted from Smart TVs and fluorescent lights and once these are mixed, the drug is stronger than ever. Also, mangemba/ dai papa (anti-psychotic pills) are being mixed together with crystal meth and honestly speaking this should give law enforcers a clue on who to nab in relation to supply of guka makafela.

Now one would wonder why young people would go to all extents to consume such dangerous stuff and it does not even come cheap. At $12 a gram, its more than what an average young person can afford. 

Rudo says sometimes looking your absolute best is everything and opens doors which won't open if all they see is her big tummy and wriggling thighs and bingo wings. So if Guka can make her feel good about herself while helping her get that trim waist and long thin legs, and a form anyone would die for, then she would definitely pay $12 for a single gram of meth. But then she says, "you know there is a price to pay. "Ukaramba uchirova Guka, you can't stop the premature aging". Now that's scary! Looking 40 while 18 all for a slim figure.

"Wangu, wangu!" a young boy of about 15 says to me, "tiri muma streets and we want to cope and stay vigilant so Guka ndozviripo mdhara". I don't even know what to say, but well, the street kids say Guka keeps them vigilant. What a way to survive!

Kai, coloured and a vibe to be around won't even hide that Speed is his thing. But watching him talk makes you so uncomfortable because his teeth are not like ours and his breath is heavy and makes you want to puke. "Its all for PnP, and trust me you won't regret it. Once you take it Mitchel, you become a binge and crash baby". Of course I have to ask him to explain these terms to me in laymen terms which he does because he thinks I'm a new recruit to this new crystal life. He says it makes him happy and that is all that matters so he would rather live a Guka-induced happy life and die young rather than live a long miserable life.

By PnP he means it is a "Party and Play" drug. After smoking, snorting, swallowing or drinking Guka, there is a quick rush of euphoria, high confidence levels and the party becomes lively and vibrant. Quite useful, right? By "Binge and Crash" pattern, Kai means that they repeatedly take the drug because the high from the drug starts and fades within a short space of time so they take repeated doses in a binge and crash pattern. Now think of how much Guka that is and how much money that will cost. From a medical perspective, the Binge and Crash pattern is influenced by the release of dopamine in the brain as an effect of taking Guka. Rapid levels of dopamine release strongly reinforces drug taking behaviour and acts as  motivation for user to want a repeated experience of meth.

Again, Kai suffers from what is called meth mouth and this is an irreversible dental problem caused by Guka intake. Check your friends' mouth and teeth you might know if they are on a Guka run or not.

Thabani says she watched Why Women Kill and knew that the answer to all her studying problems would be solved by meth. When she takes Guka, she gets her assignments done on time and covers most of her studying without feeling drained of energy. That way she says at least she won't have to ever sit through long family meetings discussing her poor grades and she is sure she has studied and will ace her exams. Thabani says when she takes the drug, she goes on for several days without sleeping a wink. She likes the increased wakefulness, decreased appetite and increased physical activity. But you know what else she doesn't like, the violent behaviour hence she keeps away from people and she hates the intense itching which might explain why she is always wearing long sleeved shirts nowadays. Seems to me like a case of trying to save yourself from everyone else by losing yourself.

While these are just a few examples of ordinary people, taking Guka on a daily basis, there are many others taking this harmful substance and it is disturbing. We stand to lose  a generation of brilliant minds, of eager young people. In a population made up of 77% young people, we can't afford to lose the face of tomorrow against a drug pandemic that could have been easily solved had the underlying issues been solved.

And don't be fooled into thinking that the drug users ain't aware of the danger they are putting themselves through. They know very well that Guka means irregular heartbeats and increased blood pressure, they know that it affects judgement leading to risky behaviour, they know of the hallucinations and paranoia and anxiety. They know that Guka results in cognitive and mental health problems and changes in brain structure and function but they are helpless and in their helplessness they dig an early grave for themselves.

But won't we go down as a nation knowing that maybe something, anything could have been done to help a number of these young people? They have expressed the death trap which is Guka in everything they do, their lifestyle, their hustles. We all know an average young person can't afford Guka at $12 a gram or $15 per  grams depending on wherever they are and we all know what they are doing to get money to feed their insatiable appetite for a drug which to them seems like survival when slowly, it sips life out of them. 

We've heard them express in songs that Guka is a pandemic, that it's crystal, it glitters and draws them to it yet it's dombo, a stone that hits them right on the temple and they die without even bleeding.  We dance to the Mhofela song and choose to be deaf to the lines that really matter- "vakuswera vakadzima, vaka sticker" or are we all takadzima as a nation. They  paint pictures of youth smoking through glass pipes bluish, slightly transparent stuff and to us, it's all a painting. Are we blind or we just do not care?

It's all a shame that we are yet to watch a number of our own die a slow painful death which no matter what good we mean, we can't justify by saying umenzi kakhalelwa or kurumwa nekuchera because somehow we watched it happen and did nothing about it. Because we all want to be a brother's keeper when the going is well and success is striving, we should also be the same keeper when we are going through the most. 

So consider this a plea to save a nation rocked by a pandemic  that seeks to destroy our youth like that biblical  Angel of Death and all the first born sons. 

#SayNoToDrugAbuse.

Till next time

Mitchel

*All names have been changed.

Maybe love isn't overrated.

Hi.

I find it hard to believe that I, Siphathisiwe is really writing on love, like love love, pure love. I know I've written most of my poetry on love themes, heart breaks especially. I've written stories on love but much of these bordered on impractical things as I've come to realise and I do blame those Korean movies for all the crazy stuff I used to write. I've written beautiful poems on beautiful love stories, so beautiful that I've never experienced it myself, the kind that Siphathisiwe thinks belong to a certain type of people if not only in novels because it all seems too good to be true, to be real. And also most of the stuff on love I know, write and experienced is basically limited to lust, peer pressure, sex and just the idea of being in love without really thinking deep about it.

How many times have we heard people say love is overrated? As for me, I say it all the time and honestly it's starting to be so unhealthy. Everytime things don't work out I find myself telling my self it was bound to end anyway, after all it's just love. Everytime you face betrayal, heartbreak, you're lied to its easy to find that little comfort in saying that love isn't as nice as we always see on those Instagram pages. Everytime we give more of ourselves to an un-reciprocated energy it's always always easier to tell ourselves that love just isn't it, it's all just a scam. And so to use the popular phrase, no matter how nice it is, we rather choose to believe that because it is love, it will end in tears.

But what if we have been doing it wrong? What if love is done differently?

What if one not only finds love that takes but nurtures and grows life itself?

What if one finds love that not only mirrors them, but sees through their physical being, through their hurt and fears, down to their very own soul? I'm talking of love that accentuates.

What if one finds love that they didn't have to ask for but a love that found them and wanted them and took all steps to make itself a home?

Is love still overrated where one evolves into a being they have always dreamed of being?

A love where one can completely give in despite the doubts, the past heart breaks, the pain and the fear to surrender to these feelings?

What of a love that is liberating, a love that that nurtures and gives meaning to life?

What of a love that loves naturally, where one is truly him/her and still feels loved? A love where energy is reciprocated to near perfection?

All this would never be considered as a love that is overrated. All this is what we want, what I know I want no matter how many times I tell myself that I'm doing well with playing little games and moving on before it ends in tears.

Thing is in an attempt to protect ourselves from what they call tears, from heartbreaks we choose to stay a safe distance away. In attempts to do so the ability to truly love and be loved back is lost in all this armour. True love is underrated and is left to die behind the shadow of past betrayals and the fear to get hurt again for the hundredth time.

So may we let love win.

Let love run its course without being overshadowed by all these misgivings.

Allow yourself to be loved the way you deserve.

Till next time

Siphathisiwe Mitchel.