I started writing this post a while back when I was in one of my “moods”. But a few things have happened and I’ve met a few people that changed my mind just a little. So I changed the ending a bit…

03-ps08-67ehumanity-posters

I have always tried to believe that there isn’t an us and a them. That there is just us. That we will all care about each other if we really try a little bit harder. If we just sat still for a moment and looked around us. If we just took the time to share a meal. Or a hug. Or a handshake even. Just start a conversation and we’ll all be okay with each other.

But now I am not so sure. I don’t know about “us”. I think there might be us and them. Maybe we are more fundamentally divided as a human race. More divided than just amongst those fake walls of religion, politics, race and whatever other lies we tell ourselves. I’m not saying any of those are naturally bad – just that we sometimes use them to keep us apart instead of using it to pull us together. A divider and not a uniter. And maybe the divide is deeper than the bridges we can build.

Divided between those who care about the world and the people who live among us and those who only care about themselves and their own self interest. Divided between those who care about the individual in the group and those who believe the individual is more important than anything else. Divided between those of us who believe in the us and those who believe in the me. Ubuntu compared to me-me-me.

I want to live in a world where we all care about each other. Where we care about our actions. And our decisions. But we don’t live in that world.

We live in a world where too many of those who rule rule only for themselves or for those who look/believe/talk/walk like them. Where decisions are made not in the best interest of everyone but in the interest of the few. Where people do what they want to do to get their own fill and damn the consequences. A world of those who have and want more versus those who have little and just want enough to make it to tomorrow. A world where the actions of a few can damn the many into poverty. An economy where those looking after the me can drag us down while they stay on top. A world of injustice. A world of inequality. A world of limited freedom. A world of no liberty. A world of those who have it and will keep it and those who have little but will still share. A world of us and them.

And then I met a few people on the road again. I looked at my kids and realized the world is still not black and white. It’s still shades of gray. I walked into a few old friends and made a few new friends. And I realized that we will be okay. It’s fun to fight injustice. It’s good to take on inequality. It’s right to demand freedom. It’s better to ask for liberty. Because us few can change the world. Little by little. And we can live while doing it. We can have life while doing it.

We can save one child and that will be fine. We can work with one farmer to make it better. We can fight one disease ridden community at a time. We can stop one rape and make a difference.

Yes, the world isn’t black and white. There are so many good people out there fighting the good fight. Not just people but companies and politicians and activists. A company I love reminded me of that. Good people. Not questioning whether they should be doing all this but just doing it. Ha! Never thought I would find inspiration amongst the evil money-makers! But they are not evil. Not even close. They make a damn fine… hum… product. And they are good people. On our side.

Some of us will protest in the streets. Some of us will run our businesses to make it better. Some of us will just make a difference without thinking. Some of us will help the old lady cross the road. Some of us will speak up when we see something wrong. Some of us will stand up for justice alone and feel the power of the others. Some of us will share our last meal with the hungry outside the door. Some of us will tell our children. Some of us… Some of us will never forget. And all of us will make a difference in our own way. Nothing is too small and nothing is too big. A difference is a difference… No matter who makes it.

We are together even if we don’t know it. And even when we forget we are together and we are there for each other without knowing. Us. Separate. Divided. Alone. And together…

Together we will overcome. You and me and them. We are few.  But we are strong.  And we will never give up.

Ubuntu. I am because you are. I am because we are. We are…

I'm back!

I'm back!

Okay…

I know I have been a very, very bad boy. Not blogging and being all quiet for the last few (or many) weeks. I am soooo sorry. I promise I won’t do it again. BIG promise! I promise on the right foot of Steven Gerrard. And if you have to go and look that up… Come on you Reds! You’ll never walk alone! Anyway…

Getting off topic again.

I’m back and I’m back with a bang baby! Loads have happened in the last few weeks. Loads. All good. Started a new job with an amazing bunch of people and a great organization. We almost moved to DC but thanks to the intervention of some really good people we decided to stay in good old Boston. It took all of 2 minutes for us to “consider” the offer to stay in Boston… It’s how long it took me to put the phone down, talk to my lovely suffering wife and phone them back. Wish I could tell you more but I know you don’t really want to know. Let’s just say that everything is good and I am back.

I can feel the blood flowing and the thoughts running wild. Actually…

… I have over 100 drafts almost ready to go! So be ready to be flooded with some new stuff and new ideas. I am African! I am On The Loose! But I’m not really that Angry. Damn… No one is perfect.

Just a quick story before I come back with a bang though over the next few days.

I am the funny one…

It is official – I am the funny one. I was away for a few days and my poor lovely suffering wife had the girls all to herself. You know I mess around with the girls when I am at home – have another look at Quick! Pull My Finger! and Love Is In The Air and She Doesn’t Care and… Okay, I’ll stop there for now. Anyway, my little princess (the youngest one) and me always do funny things – pulling faces in the mirror before I bath her (“picture time!” as she calls it), tickles until she begs me to stop and asks me to lift up my arms for her to tickle me, and we do a little bit of “potty talk” when I call her peanut-butt and she tells me she has “art in her fart” (and my wife tells me she needs another adult in the room please…) We just have fun. I love seeing her laugh and shake her head in disbelief because of her silly dad – just like a mother. It’s my “job” to make them laugh. And we have our little rituals to ensure we have fun and a few laughs every single day. And my poor wife tries to take over on the silly part when I am gone. And she really tries hard.

She did all the stuff I do when I am home. A little “potty talk”, funny faces in the mirror and tickles that stops just when I think her loud laughing might scare the people next door – or in the next town…

So my wife was doing all the stuff I do and really trying to be the funny one. My little one just tilted her head and said with a bit of a sigh, “Moooommmmm”. (You know the way kids stretch out the word to tell you enough is enough and then roll their eyes? Oh wait, my wife does that with me…) But no laughing from the little one. Just a “Stop it, moooommm.” My wife asked her what’s wrong and why no laughs. Her response?

“Dad is the funny one”.

And what about mom?

The truth and nothing but the truth from my little girl. And I could not agree more.

“Mom, you are the lovable one.”

Damn right!

__________________________

See ya all tomorrow! Get ready. Be ready. Or run… We’re gonna go on a bit of a ride. I just read Ubuntu and What Are We Doing? again to remind myself why I am doing this in the first place. Oh… And don’t forget about I Am A Traitor

I’m back. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

I know what you blogged last summer…

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I’m just a guy. You wouldn’t take notice of me if we walked past each other in the street. I look like anyone else you might see in your life. Someone sitting at the airport waiting for their plane home. Sitting next to you on the train in the daily commute. Just a guy.

I love what I do. I love what I do at home and I love what I do for a living. But I am a guy who doesn’t believe in a job in the way many people would think of a job. I am my job. What you see in my work is what you see at home. A little crazy but I love what I do. I seriously love what I do. And like my life because of the people around me. People who make me think and push what I do to the edge. How can we do it even better? How can we push the boundaries? How can we make a real difference? How can we make it better together?

That ubuntu – I am because we are. It is so true. I am at work because of others. They inspire me and they drive me. They ignite the flame inside me that makes me who I am in life and in work.

This is really difficult to explain… Let me put it in another way…

I am pretty good at what I do. I know that. I know that because people tell me so. And I know I am good at what I do because I have no clue why I think the way I do! But I also know that I am good at what I do because I challenge myself constantly. And I somehow always find an “angle”. I am proud of what I have achieved and I am proud of what I stand for. But not proud like in full of myself. I know I am only who I am because of others. I would not have achieved a thing without others. Every person and every team made me better and taught me new ways of thinking. Ebrahim Patel was a genius who taught me how to think on my feet. How to find new angles and solutions to problems that no one else even considered. Martin Kalungu-Banda taught me about being humble and a manager at the same time. How to be subtle about leading others by inspiring them and finding the best in them. Oh man, so many people made me better and made me who I am today.

The names just flash by – Adrian, Demba, Sophia, Sumi, David, Patricia, Cunningham, Herbert, Chris, Gordon, Vernon, Sahra, Robert, Jane, John, Siviwe, Peter, Themba and so many others. Names to you. More than just people and faces to me. They made me.

I hardly said thank you. But I hope that me just being me and opening up to them showed that I did appreciate every single minute they gave to me. Every single day that they helped make me who I am.

I love what I do because of some of the people I have had the pleasure to work with in my life. They are not clients and they are not colleagues. They became friends. They are people I want to have coffee with. People I just want to hang out with. And sometimes it happens that they want to hang out with me as well.

They are me. No. They make me better than what I am.

Here is another thing. Most people go out in life and find things in other people they don’t like. That is easy. It is easy to find the things that we don’t like and the things that are different from ourselves. It is easy and it is lazy. It is life with blinkers on. The people I have met along the way have taught me something else. Finding the things in people I like and building a relationship based on what we have in common. And celebrating the differences as the bits that make us unique. Those differences makes up the rainbow of life – flavors and tastes for everyone to share. It is one hell of a way to meet new people and learn from others. I am one lucky guy to have been able to celebrate these differences with others. One damn lucky guy.

But I can only do this by being myself and being true to myself.

All we can be is ourselves. Nothing but ourselves. We can hide behind a mask or be ourselves. I picked the “be myself” way of doing things. I don’t think about it. I just do it. I don’t think of the consequences and I don’t think of the reasons. I just do it by being myself. Like breathing.

But we all have good times and bad times. And sometimes you doubt yourself and your style. Should I not be a little bit more like this or a little bit more like that? Should I wear a suit more often? Ha! But you sometimes question your style and the way you work. Do I need to be different? But it won’t work. It’s just not in my blood. All I can do is be myself. And I like it that way. I am who I am. And it works for me.

Hell, I really don’t know how to write this…

So I go through life and I make friends. It’s just one of those things. I make friends because people inspire me. They truly inspire me to be the best I can be without even thinking about it. They inspire me because their genius touches me and teaches me. And I can only have these relationships because I am who I am. And you never ask whether it will pay back or whether it has any benefits. You just do it. You are just you.

And then you get an email from someone that really makes you realize that we live in a pretty good world with damn fine people in it.

I left out many names in that list at the start of this blog. Recent names. I did that on purpose. I am to sh*t scared I leave someone out! But there are many other people who have touched me and who have become friends of mine. People I hold close to me no matter what the distance is between us. Good people. Geniuses who make me better.

I got an email from someone not on that list who would in another life be seen as a “professional relationship”. But she isn’t. She is a friend. A good friend. And she emailed me and had these really kind words about me. It was really a bit of a shocker as I don’t do what I do to get credit or to make myself feel better. I just do it because I like it and I like most of the people that go with my life. They all somehow made me a better person for just knowing them and having worked with them. She reminded me that who I am is what drives me. I am a better person because of people like her. People like her allow me to be just me.

I won’t share the whole email but these words really hit home. I’ll give you a little bit from her email. Edited of course…

“small world my friend.  i was having dinner the other night with some folks at X…  i was ranting to them about all sorts of things we need to do…

somehow i mentioned your blog and X said — “wait a minute, you know (him)?”  then he told me they had been talking with you…  i of course waxed poetic about your big brain, smart savvy approach and your ability to get (people) to think about how to push to the ‘brave place’ rather than just the easy place.

seriously, it was a glowing endorsement.  …and we could light things on fire.”

That last sentence says it all for me. “… we could light things on fire.” It’s about the “together” isn’t it? It’s not about me. It is about us. I am because we are…

I wrote her a thank you email. And this is part of what she wrote back…

“you don’t owe me, you earned it.  it’s the whole kizmet / karma / destiny paradigm. you… make real connections and it all comes back to you.”

She reminded me of the good people I have met along the way. And she reminded me why I enjoy the hell out of what I am doing. She reminded me that I do what I do and I am who I am because of people like her. To that person and everyone else I have met along the way. Thank you. Thank you for being my friend and my teacher. Thank you for allowing me to just be me. A guy who likes what he does and who likes hanging out with people like you.

I owe you a life of living. You are my ubuntu – I am because we are.

Now let’s have a coffee together…

Make mine a four-shot skinny Venti latte. (I’m getting all fancy and checking my weight!) A Starbucks Ethiopian Sidamo, please and thank you. Strong and deep like Africa with a fleeting aroma of floral left behind from the men picking flowers when they return from another hunting trip. A little spicy and a touch of chocolaty taste to go with our sweet tooth. Hum… Some of us also recognize a bit of wine in there! And to give it a bit of a bite and round it off nicely, the best Sidamo coffees have just a hint of lemon. Who said us Africans can’t have a feminine side? First sip… Aah… That’s much better. Wait! Better still. Just hook it up to an IV and I’ll be just fine…

barney

He used to drive me absolutely bonkers. Really. Just bloody crazy. The big fat purple blob called Barney the Effing Dinosaur. But there he was again. Singing the Barney theme song…

Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination
When he’s tall he’s what we call
A dinosaur sensation
Barney teaches lots of things 
Like how to play pretend
A-B-C’s and 1-2-3’s
And how to be a friend
Barney comes to play with us
Whenever we may need him
Barney can be your friend too
If you just make believe him

Yeah… I would just like to “make believe” chopping his bloody head off. That’s what he “taught” me.

Remember his other “hits”? I Love You? Or maybe You Are Special? Okay Barney my mate… I don’t love you, but you are way “special”. Or maybe Barney Barney Go Away instead of Rain Rain Go Away? Do Your Ears Hang Low? No Barney, it’s just my mood dropping… The Bear Went Over The Mountain? Excellent! Why don’t you follow him? Are You Sleeping? No, I’m just praying that you would go away! The Itsy Bitsy Spider came down and sucked the life out of Barney. If You’re Happy And You Know It… Then just shut the hell up and keep it to yourself! The Wheels On The Bus is about to hit you and I am the driver. If I Lived Under The Sea I won’t have to see you or hear you!

You get the message… Barney used to drive me crazy. No sh*t Sherlock.

But we had to suffer through it. Day in and day out. Why? Because…

Because our oldest one had a her first crush ever on the purple blob called Barney the Dinosaur…

“Dad! Can you put Barney on for me please? Big pleeeeaaazzzeeee!”, was what we woke up to almost every single day. 6 am – just before the rooster woke up. Barney when she woke up and Barney when she fell asleep. And about another 60 hours odd of Barney videos packed in between waking up and falling asleep. Yes I know there is only 24 hours in a day, but you try and watch Barney again and again. And some more. And then again. One more time. How about a last time? It feels like a lifetime.

Of course there was all the Barney books to go with it as well. And coloring-in books. And tapes to listen to in the car. The the soft toys. Of Barney and all his friends. Baby Bop with her weird way of talking and even weirder blanky dependency. BJ the over-achieving sport star and older brother of Baby Bop (Is that a Red Sox cap he is wearing?) And let’s not forget Riff. The odd looking late-comer with punk hair and spots like chicken pox. Yeah. Real inspiring stuff.

The worst was the talking Barney. WTF? No. What the hell were we thinking? A talking purple blob? “Look dad! I just push his hand and he sings and dances with me. And if I hug him really tightly he talks!” Wow… I eventually did some “surgery” on him and removed his batteries. “Sorry girl. The batteries must have gone flat. I don’t think this is the type where you can change the batteries.” I had to do it. I could handle it during the day when I was at work. The nervous twitches subsided the further I moved away from blobbie Barney. But it became too much when you are deep asleep and she turns in her sleep and effing Barney starts talking or singing. He is bad at 2 pm. Try 2 am.

Of course it didn’t help even if you removed Barney when she is asleep. Prying it from her hands. Hoping she won’t wake up. You remove it slowly, making sure neither the little one or Barney wakes up. You slowly put him down amongst the other toys. You go back to bed and gently fall asleep again. And then you wake up in a cold sweat with “You are my best friend!” The bloody dog decided to go lie on the toys and accidentally sat on Barney. And not even our fat big-boned dog could keep that sound down. So I wake up in a cold sweat. The dog barks at the crazy toy and is about to go into attack mode. The cats go wild because of the racket. And the little one wakes up crying because Barney isn’t in bed. Good old days I tell you…

And did I mention that Barney is also a bit of a goody-two-shoes? Bloody charity clunk if you ask me. Subversive. People used to come visit us and our daughter would hand out toys left, right and centre. People didn’t even have to ask. She’ll just give them toys and insist they take it home. That they should have it. For keeps. Why? Like you really didn’t know the answer. Well, according to our daughter, “because Barney says sharing is a special way of caring dad!” I blame Barney for half of the poverty that we have suffered in our lives. I never saw him handing out Barney toys. Oh no, those you had to buy. Jeeze.

Oh, we went to the concerts and the plays. She had the outfit. The posters on the wall. You name it. Barney was bigger than Purple Rain was in the 80′s. Well, purple mullet blobbie Barney sold more stuff to our little household than Prince The Artist Previously Known As Prince Symbol “that guy” sold albums worldwide in the 80′s.

And then she met him…

That broke the ice a bit. Barney looked like Barney. He was pretty friendly. Signed her a nice picture of himself – the one he just gave her. Smiled for a photo with her (Okay, he always smiled. Like it was stuck on. Or as if it was a mask.) He gave her a big hug. A big old Barney hug. He danced a bit. Did the stuff she loved. But there was one tiny little problem. This Barney had a South African accent. Haha! Revenge! No more crushes. Or rather… Barney, feel me fists crush you! Hahahahaaaaaaaaaaa! (Dr Evil laughter in the background.)

After that came Horatio Hornblower. A television series about a swashbuckling Englishman roaming the seas. The guy she had the crush on is the same guy who played the stretchie guy in Fantastic Four. She never missed a program. Oh, he was a bit of a wimp really. An English toff. But he was better than her third crush…

Steven “Budda” Seagal… Yes, it was that bad. We left the television on by accident and didn’t realize that Under Siege was on. She walked past as Steven… I mean, Casey Ryback, was about to hit another guy into oblivion by just moving his thumb at lightning speed. Bam! The guy goes down and Steven takes another 30 guys down by flicking his hair back. You know how it goes. And my daughter was staring at the telly. And all she could say was, “Dad. Did you just see that? This guy is tough! Hey dad? Can you do that dad?” Thanks Steven. I think I still have problem with my left leg muscles in winter. I looked more like Spongebob Squarepants doing karate than Steven Seagal. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I know the dog never truly recovered. It was an accident. I swear.

I was really hoping her first crush would be Nelson Mandela. No luck. She loved him to bits. But he really isn’t much of a pin-up. She read his books, but no crush. Heck. I would have been happy with Bruce Springsteen. Hell, I played his music often enough. But no, she went with Purple Blob, Toff and the Fat Guy.

So that’s the stories of my oldest daughter and her first crushes. Now it is some smooth boy from High School Musical or something. Not sure. They change faster than I change my underwear nowadays.

Guess what? I think my youngest has got her first crush as well. Guess who?

“Dad! Look! It’s President Obama!” Yeah! I think she might just have a crush on him!

Or maybe it is me pushing my luck here. Maybe it is Mandela all over again. Maybe she really likes him. But more like a photo and a story. Nothing more. Maybe she’s got a crush on the dinosaur. Oh God please no. Not McCain…

It’s fun to watch the girls grow up. To see their crushes. Better than seeing actual boys visiting…

But tell me, who was your first crush? You want to know who was mine? You’ll never guess. I was just a little bloke. A laaitie as we would say in South Africa. You really want to know? Haha! You’ll be surprised! Go here and see for yourself. She was in all the movies late on a Sunday night back in South Africa. Once we got television in 1978.

I am just happy that she didn’t last long. Stevie Nicks and then Cindy Lauper were much better picks…

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mamaafrica

Mama Africa died. The voice of the people. The song of the people. She is no more. But her music lives on. And with it… Her love for Africa and its people.

This is from one of her first songs that the world got to see. Hum… She was hot! Mama Africa singing Pata Pata.

The one song every bloody Souf Efrikan whitie knows… (And she is still hot!) Miriam Makeba singing The Click Song. (With a bit of an intro into Xhosa and politics – sorry, I had to use a new link so the politics got lost. Someone removed the original from YouTube!)

And this one has a bit of a long intro but it hits you hard when she starts singing. Man… Did I mention that she is hot! Sinead O’Connor of Africa singing Amampondo.

But in the end Mama Africa was about so much more than her music. Miriam Makeba made music. Mama Africa spoke for her people. A glimpse of what she had to say to the UN back in 1963. Being Mama Africa…

Her citizenship was revoked shortly after this. She couldn’t go back to her country. To her people. But she always fought on. Always for justice. Always for her people. The people of Africa. And her people from South Africa. From fighting for justice when she married (and later separated from) Trinidadian civil rights activist and Black Panthers leader Stokely Carmichael to receiving the UN Dag Hammerskjöld Peace Prize. She always fought for justice. Always.

But she saw her country united at last. She came back in 1990. To her home. To her people. And this song was made for her to sing. (The intro is played by Hugh Masekela. Another legend and another ex-husband of Mama Africa.)

Mama Africa never forgot about the fight for justice. Never. She didn’t die at home. She died in Castel Volturno in Italy, in the evening of 9 November 2008, of a heart attack, shortly after taking part in a concert organized to support writer Roberto Saviano in his stand against the Camorra, a mafia-like organisation. Camorra finances itself through drug trafficking, extortion, protection and racketeering. It is the oldest organized criminal organization in Italy. Mama Africa… Mama World… Mama Ubuntu… No matter where you were, she was with you in your fight for justice, freedom, liberty and equality for all.

She died just after singing Pata Pata. She died on stage.

In the words of Mama Africa, “I will sing until the last day of my life.”

So she is gone. But live on. Always.

Viva Mama Africa! Viva! Long Live Miriam Makeba! Long Live!

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