petrol fumes and my guardian angel

Yesterday morning, something pretty amazing happened to me. In true me style, I pulled into my closest petrol station with 5km left in my tank. My salary cleared late, and I made it home on Tuesday night with 20km left in my tank.

I was running a little late yesterday; I had gotten up later than usual, and that just had a total snowball effect on the rest of my morning. This included leaving the twins’ bag at home, as well as my gym bag. I however did not know that I had left these 2 bags at home, until I got to the petrol station and asked for R200 worth of fuel. I had gone to gym on Monday night, and had placed my purse in my gym bag, because that’s where I keep my gym card. I was going to gym last night, and so had packed my bag yesterday morning (it still had my purse in it) but then forgot to put it into my car.

Right. So now what? I would have probably been able to drop off the twins and Morgan-Lee but then I know I’d be stuck. As I’m a regular at the petrol station, the manager was contemplating giving me a R100 advance, as I promised him that I’d come in and pay it last night, and I went to tun my ignition on to show him that I only had 5km left in my tank.

I turned the key, and it showed 79km left. Guys, I swear to you, I had 5km of petrol left in my tank when I pulled into the petrol station. What I think happened, is that in my mild state of panic in realising that I didn’t have my purse, I couldn’t put any petrol in my car and not being able to get hold of the husband, a good Samaritan quickly and quietly paid for R100 worth of fuel for me, as my petrol cap was open from when I first arrived. I was so distracted by trying to phone Lee, pacing next to my car and talking to the manager, that I was not paying attention to anything that may or may not have happened by my fuel tank. But I know that someone did something amazing for me; they saw a frazzled mom with 3 kids in the car, that it was after 7am, and that I had left my purse at home, something that I think most of us have done. And so they helped me get my kids to school, and myself to work.

So, to my guardian angel, the good Samaritan that helped me at the Total Botha’s Hill yesterday morning; I don’t know who you are, but I will be paying it forward.


G x


remembering you

There is a certain fragrance in my life, that transports me instantly back to my childhood. To sleepovers and giggles, to whacks across my backside, lazy summer days at the public pools, and trips on the bus across town. To long hugs, nuzzling my face into the crook of your neck, sitting at your dresser dabbing cream onto my face and arms. Your cream. Your smell. Your love.


Source – Google

I cannot smell that cream without a flood of emotions and love barreling into my heart. I cannot smell that cream without a gut-wrenching sucker-punch to my psyche. I cannot smell that cream without thinking of you.

It’s been 20 years since I smelt your love, and almost 17 years since you left us all.

But I am grateful that I have a way back to you, a way to remember you when my memories seem to fail you.

My Nana.

via Daily Prompt: Fragrance

so i’m famous… kinda

I have an amazing friend, Matthew. Matthew is a kick ass journalist who, just over 4 years ago helped me to secure my new job at a major corporate, by helping me with my lost Matric information. For this, I am eternally grateful.

On Tuesday, I was able to repay the favour, by telling him my story for his story, thus far. Guys, it made it onto the front page of The Times! *insert shocked emoji here*

A while back I wrote a post about who I was, who I was becoming. Whilst not much has changed from that blog post to today, I am still proud to be fighting the fight, to not have thrown in the towel. To still be here.

All I have ever wanted is to be a strong role model for my children, to teach them right from wrong, to provide for them in the best possible way that I can. By having just an excerpt of my life out there, it has allowed so many others to take a step back and say ok, we’re not alone. We’re not failures. Just because we’re struggling financially and are maybe working more than 1 job to keep the bills paid, does not make a person a failure. If we gave up, if I gave up, then I would be a failure.

So, for those of you that haven’t read Matthew’s team’s article, here it is.

I’m damn proud of myself for sticking it to the man, and for slogging it out every day. You reap what you sow, and I want to sow determination, loyalty, hard-work and happiness.

I think I’ll get there. I think we’ll get there.

Keep fighting the good fight.


on being racially profiled

Racism is something that I’ve quite honestly never really given a second thought to. Yes, I am very aware that it exists, and that there are extremists still out there, but in my own little world, all was fine. That was naive of me. I know that now.

My mom and I had a pretty awful experience on Sunday afternoon, in that we were racially profiled. We were verbally assaulted because of the colour of our skin. We were not allowed to open a case at the police station, because of the colour of our skin. And it hurt. It still hurts.

I don’t understand how one can be judged, based on their race, their “colour”. I find it despicable. The last time I checked, we were all human beings, all inhabiting this place called earth.


Simon Kneebone – 2014

I think what has upset me the most, is that if the shoe was on the other foot; if I was the person of colour and had the white people shouting racial slurs at me, it would have been a totally different story. Just Google Vicky Momberg, Penny Sparrow, Chris Hart. Why is it not the same when it’s the other way around? And believe me, there are cases of black on white racism (reverse racism), but they’re just not as “freely” reported on.

Yesterday, a popular radio DJ was fired because he referred to the South African president as a zombie. He has even been reported to the Human Rights Commission. But I was not allowed to open a case at the police station after my mom and I were racially profiled and sworn at, and called false names. The police officer told me that “these racism cases are he said/she said, and that it would be very difficult to prove.” I was also told that I had to bring my own witnesses, and that because there was no physical damage, nothing would be done. I asked the officer if he was a member of the South African Police Force, and he said yes. I then said surely as a police officer, armed with the information that I provided, he would then go and do his job as a police officer and investigate, locate the witnesses, interview them and determine from an impartial view, what transpired on Sunday afternoon. He just looked at me, and said that no case was going to be opened. You know, even if the case was thrown out due to a lack of evidence, I just wanted the 4 people that were involved in this matter to realise how serious what they did and said was. That it was a crime to throw racial slurs at us, and to also physically grab me. That’s all I wanted. But I’m the minority. Apparently, I don’t matter.

This now makes me think of the majority of the inhabitants of my home, South Africa. How they lived in fear because of the colour of their skin. They weren’t just racially profiled and sworn at. They were beaten, tortured, imprisoned, murdered. I know that what I experienced on Sunday was minuscule compared to what so many of my fellow countrymen have gone through, but that doesn’t make it right, or make it hurt any less.

So my rose-tinted glasses have been cracked, and that’s probably a good thing. My children see colour, and I encourage it daily. But they do not, will not and never will racially profile someone because of the colour of their skin. Actually, they will not racially profile full-stop. I was brought up to accept each and every person for who they are, flaws and all. You are not flawed because you’re white, non-white, yellow, pink, purple. You are a human being, I am a human being. We both bleed red blood, require compassion and love to thrive, and we need to learn to love one another.

We are going to destroy the foundations that were fought so hard for if we do not learn to look past the colour, respect our fellow countrymen, and work together.

I for one, am never going to stop learning and pushing forward.


on making a decision, any decision

There’s something oddly calming about making a decision. Like this invisible blanket of comfort and fortitude envelopes you, and for that one moment, you feel safe. You feel ok. I’m not talking about deciding what meal to eat at your favourite restaurant, or what movie to watch on tv. I’m talking about life changing decisions, decisions that will affect you and those around you for years to come.

I am not known for my decision making, and I’m even more infamous for back tracking on any decisions that I do make. I tend to take comfort in my routine, in my norm. In what I know. And that has been hurting me.

I am far from perfect, as most people are. I know that it takes 2 to tango. But there comes a time when you have to take a step back, and take that plunge. Make that decision.

I’m currently in limbo at the moment, with a huge decision being made only yesterday. And as much as this decision is hurting someone who loves me dearly, I need to find me again. Right now I do not know who I am, and if I don’t know who I am, how can I be the best that I need to be and can be for my children?

These next few weeks are going to determine the rest of my life, our lives. But if yesterday was any indication of how it can be, it will be good.


via Daily Prompt: Puncture