No hood like this mamahood

The first year of motherhood. May I be so presumptuous as to write about it from within, before I have fully emerged, one-year-old and smashed (sugar and gluten free) birthday cake in each hand? I. The pulsating loneliness of it. I don't quite know how to explain it. You won't be alone, ever. If you're … Continue reading No hood like this mamahood

Birth Pains

“For the first time in my life, I understand the concept of home: it is not a refuge, not necessarily a snuggly place of warmth and cheery domesticity, not some essential rightness like the satisfying click that releases a lock, but rather a sense of peace with contradiction. It is a giving in, an acceptance, … Continue reading Birth Pains

But is it racism?

  Another year, another viral story about Cape Town’s insidious racism. This time the story came from a young woman who was visiting the city with her family over the festive season. At some point, she and her family tried to make reservations at an upmarket Camps Bay restaurant, using (as you do) their own … Continue reading But is it racism?

On Silence and Human Limits

look at what the lord has made. above Missouri, sweet smoke. not an elegy for Mike Brown, Danez Zmith Oh, the week that was.   On Monday morning, I woke up to the news that a grand jury in Missouri, in the US, had decided not to indict the white policeman who killed an unarmed, … Continue reading On Silence and Human Limits

On What I did not Expect

I don’t know quite what I expected.   For the longest time (and I know how lucky we are that for us, that only meant months, not years), we’d been planning for this pregnancy, working as hard as we could emotionally to conceive our miracle, fighting the despair that threatened to overwhelm anything positive about … Continue reading On What I did not Expect

Obliterated Places

    I’m a middle class black person who is married to a white person and who happens to live in a hopelessly unintegrated city (Cape Town).  It should therefore not surprise you to learn, reader, that I am often The Only Black Person in the Room.  It doesn’t often surprise me much, having lived … Continue reading Obliterated Places

Writing against the silence

  I have a very happy, complicated relationship with writing.  It is at once very personal, in the ways that only the places you can call home are, and very public, in the way that professional ambition can be.  Writing has always been a place for me to take the pieces of my life, sorrowful … Continue reading Writing against the silence

The ‘I’ Word

There’s a word I’ve been religiously avoiding using in all my conversations, and writing about this experience, and the word is this: infertility.   I avoid it partly because our doctor is yet to use it to refer to either of us (medically, officially, you are only allowed to assign it after a couple have … Continue reading The ‘I’ Word

On mourning Maya Angelou, Ursula Le Guin and Failure

Last week was incredibly hard.  Dr Maya Angelou died.  I suppose I knew it was coming.  And to be honest, it wasn’t a death I thought of with great dread, as I did whenever I contemplated President Nelson Mandela dying.  Maya Angelou’s work and her story meant a great deal to me, but I didn’t expect … Continue reading On mourning Maya Angelou, Ursula Le Guin and Failure