Tuesday, 30 June 2015

My 25 years as a prostitute !

The candour in which this tale it is narrated made me want to share this with you ....

It is a story of horror and of hope, and what can be achieved with strength of character and as South African musician Johnny Clegg's lyrics would call "the spirit of a great heart."

"Brenda Myers-Powell was just a child when she became a prostitute in the early 1970s. Here she describes how she was pulled into working on the streets and why, three decades later, she devoted her life to making sure other girls don't fall into the same trap.

Right from the start life was handing me lemons, but I've always tried to make the best lemonade I can.

I grew up in the 1960s on the West Side of Chicago. My mother died when I was six months old. She was only 16 and I never learned what it was that she died from - my grandmother, who drank more than most, couldn't tell me later on. The official explanation is that it was "natural causes".

I don't believe that. Who dies at 16 from natural causes? I like to think that God was just ready for her. I heard stories that she was beautiful and had a great sense of humour. I know that's true because I have one also.

It was my grandmother that took care of me. And she wasn't a bad person - in fact she had a side to her that was so wonderful. She read to me, baked me stuff and cooked the best sweet potatoes. She just had this drinking problem. She would bring drinking partners home from the bar and after she got intoxicated and passed out these men would do things to me. It started when I was four or five years old and it became a regular occurrence. I'm certain my grandmother didn't know anything about it.


She worked as a domestic in the suburbs. It took her two hours to get to work and two hours to get home. So I was a latch-key kid - I wore a key around my neck and I would take myself to kindergarten and let myself back in at the end of the day. And the molesters knew about that, and they took advantage of it.


I would watch women with big glamorous hair and sparkly dresses standing on the street outside our house. I had no idea what they were up to; I just thought they were shiny. As a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be shiny.

One day I asked my grandmother what the women were doing and she said, "Those women take their panties off and men give them money." And I remember saying to myself, "I'll probably do that" because men had already been taking my panties off.


By the time I was 14, I'd had two children with boys in the community, two baby girls. My grandmother started to say that I needed to bring in some money to pay for these kids, because there was no food in the house, we had nothing.

So, one evening - it was actually Good Friday - I went along to the corner of Division Street and Clark Street and stood in front of the Mark Twain hotel. I was wearing a two-piece dress costing $3.99, cheap plastic shoes, and some orange lipstick which I thought might make me look older.

I was 14 years old and I cried through everything. But I did it. I didn't like it, but the five men who dated me that night showed me what to do. They knew I was young and it was almost as if they were excited by it.

I made $400 but I didn't get a cab home that night. I went home by train and I gave most of that money to my grandmother, who didn't ask me where it came from.


The third time I went down there, a couple of guys pistol-whipped me and put me in the trunk of their car. They had approached me before because I was, as they called it, "unrepresented" on the street. All I knew was the light in the trunk of the car and then the faces of these two guys with their pistol. First they took me to a cornfield out in the middle of nowhere and raped me. Then they took me to a hotel room and locked me in the closet.

That's the kind of thing pimps will do to break a girl's spirits. They kept me in there for a long time. I was begging them to let me out because I was hungry, but they would only allow me out of the closet if I agreed to work for them.


When people describe prostitution as being something that is glamorous, elegant, like in the story of Pretty Woman, well that doesn't come close to it. A prostitute might sleep with five strangers a day. Across a year, that's more than 1,800 men she's having sexual intercourse or oral sex with. These are not relationships, no-one's bringing me any flowers here, trust me on that. They're using my body like a toilet.

And the johns - the clients - are violent. I've been shot five times, stabbed 13 times. I don't know why those men attacked me, all I know is that society made it comfortable for them to do so. They brought their anger or mental illness or whatever it was and they decided to wreak havoc on a prostitute, knowing I couldn't go to the police and if I did I wouldn't be taken seriously.

I actually count myself very lucky. I knew some beautiful girls who were murdered out there on the streets."




I felt to impart all this incredible woman's story may be too harrowing for many, but if you would like to read further, then I would urge you to click on the link I have provided at the bottom of the page.  This is a story of horror, abuse, hope and redemption.  And I for one salute Brenda Myers-Powell for her strength of character.




"Together with Stephanie Daniels-Wilson, we founded the Dreamcatcher Foundation. A dreamcatcher is a Native American object that you hang near a child's cot. It is supposed to chase away children's nightmares. That's what we want to do - we want to chase away those bad dreams, those bad things that happen to young girls and women.

Three years ago, I became the first woman in the state of Illinois to have her convictions for prostitution wiped from her record. It was after a new law was brought in, following lobbying from the Chicago Alliance Against Sexual Exploitation, a group that seeks to shift the criminal burden away from the victims of sexual trafficking. Women who have been tortured, manipulated and brainwashed should be treated as survivors, not criminals.


My two daughters, who were raised by my aunt in the suburbs, grew up to be awesome young ladies. One is a doctor and one works in criminal justice. Now my husband and I have adopted my little nephew - and here I am, 58 years old, a football mum.

So I am here to tell you - there is life after so much damage, there is life after so much trauma. There is life after people have told you that you are nothing, that you are worthless and that you will never amount to anything. There is life - and I'm not just talking about a little bit of life. There is a lot of life."


Many of us (myself included) have had thoughts of "my life sucks"  "this year has to get better"  "life has to get better" "I just can't cope or deal with this anymore."  But beside this story in it's entirety and the lives of so many others who have almost seemingly unsurmountable problems ... our lives start to look one hell of a lot better.  

So chin up friends  .... and let's crack on and make this day, this week and this year an amazing one .... for all of us.

The contents of this blog are courtesy of BBC News - the magazine section and of course Brenda Myers-Powell.  If you would like to read the full story .... and I would urge you to do so, please CLICK HERE.

I do write more fun blogs ... but something about this story touched me to the very core .... but if you'd like some fun then CLICK HERE

Monday, 15 June 2015

Youth Day in South Africa Amidst the Al Bashir Cluster Fuck.

So the wasp-filled pinyada has been walloped by a stick.  But by whom?

The Pretoria High court decided that Al-Bashir should be arrested for war crimes wherever he goes. 

And our government ... the ANC let him leave … probably supplied him with a limo, caviar and champagne too.

It's mentioned on News 24 that Julius Malema has said South Africa cannot endorse Bashir’s arrest because the wanted head of state is not on holiday or officially visiting South Africa. 

If I had any respect for Juju before it has vanished now.  He jumps on every bandwagon with a megaphone, and until now has appeared an intelligent man.  But this has to be the most ludicrous and puerile statment he has ever uttered.  I'd like to say 'what a tool' but that would lower the tone of the blog.  

Actually, the subject matter unfortunately does that for me, so what the heck.  What a tool.

Was Al-Bashir a hologram?  

No he was here in our country.  

South Africa signed the Rome Statue ...

By the rule of law he should have been arrested as soon as he landed. 

In addition to this cluster-fuck AU president Robert Mugabe .... I can't believe I'm even typing this ... yes African Union President Robert Mugabe (in my opinion) a tyrant and dictator ... how did THAT get voted in?  Pot luck?  More like gravy-pot luck. 
Allegedly it is a rotating Presidency ... but this really was good timing for the anti- west, anti-US and anti-EU countries and politicians.

But I digress ... according to the ENCA website Mugabe has stated .. and I quote: 

"South African President Jacob Zuma had vowed to not allow police to arrest Sudanese President Omar Al-Bashir, African Union chairman Robert Mugabe said at a media briefing following the closing of the AU summit in Johannesburg in the early hours of Tuesday." 

So laws mean nothing in South Africa if you know the right people.  We already knew that internally ... but to flaunt it to the rest of the world really makes me wish I'd waited to bring in my pounds to convert to rands ... there goes our credibility and there goes our currency even more ....

A truly sad day for South Africa.  I can only hope that the youth of South Africa does a better job of running the country than our current government.

It is Youth Day in South Africa today ... and I urge and beg the youth of South Africa to make their voices heard, and to make our country one to be proud of.  I know they can do this ... and I believe in them.  

I do not believe in the ANC, our seemingly corrupt and greedy president or any of the seemingly insanely corrupt officials that make up our political structure.

But I do believe in our youth and those who have the courage of their convictions with good intent. 

So while our current politicians may be using and abusing their positions to line their pockets with gold as they rape the country ... there is hope for our future. 

And that hope lies with our youth.



If that was a bit heavy here is something FUN AND FUNNY & UNFORTUNATELY TRUE .. SO CLICK HERE!

Genocide ... South Africa and African Leaders .. we are losing faith

I wish this was a 'fun post' but with everything going on in the world today I wanted to share this with you.


As a woman who lives in South Africa I am losing faith in the justice system here, and what is held up as justice in other African countries. 


I like to keep an eye on the news, so on Saturday morning I was gobsmacked to read that the Sudanese President is here for an African Union summit.  


Our government has chosen to flaunt its growing antipathy towards "Western" rules, and towards a court in which so many African leaders now appear to have lost faith, or at the very least respect.  


As I mentioned President Bashir is in Johannesburg for an African Union (AU) summit and my blood was boiling since members of the AU had basically implied rather patronizingly that the ICC was a white run organization picking on african countries.  


South Africa has often shied away from this sort of diplomatic headache, but this time the government stepped deliberately, into controversy, courting Western fury by rolling out the welcome carpet for President Bashir.


This morning I woke up to the news that a South African court will decide today whether he should be arrested for war crimes and genocide.

The Pretoria High Court will rule on whether he should be handed over to the International Criminal Court (ICC) who have charged him with the crimes.  Whether this court will have the teeth to make a difference or whether the ANC or the president will step in and over-rule has yet to be seen. 


President Bashir is accused of committing war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide during the Darfur conflict.


The UN says that about 400,000 people in Sudan have died and more than two million have fled their homes since fighting began in 2003.


On Sunday, the court ordered Mr Bashir not to leave the country until the case had been heard.

This is at least progress since it looked like this was all going to be left alone with no action.


But will the ANC or our President over-rule any judgement that finds against President Bashir?   I think the hornets nest has been nudged, and later today I guess we'll find out who is going to beat it with a stick like a pinyada.



Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Brave and Inspirational. The man who cut out his own appendix.

This story blew my mind when I read it earlier today.   I guess when one's back is to the wall anything becomes possible, so maybe we'd all rise to the occasion ... I'd like to think so.  This is an incredible tale of an exceptioanal man and I'd ask you to take five minutes out of your day to relax and read it.  This blog has been taken from excerpts from the article by


During an expedition to the Antarctic in 1961, Russian surgeon Leonid Rogozov became seriously ill. He needed an operation - and as the only doctor on the team, he realised he would have to do it himself.


As the polar winter rolled in, 27-year-old Leonid Rogozov started to feel tired, weak and nauseous. Later, a strong pain developed down the ride side of his abdomen.

"Being a surgeon, he had no difficulty in diagnosing acute appendicitis," says his son, Vladislav. "It was a condition he'd operated on many times, and in the civilised world it's a routine operation. But unfortunately he didn't find himself in the civilised world - instead he was in the middle of a polar wasteland."

Rogozov was part of the sixth Soviet Antarctic expedition - a team of 12 had been sent to build a new base at the Schirmacher Oasis.


It was not an easy choice. Rogozov knew his appendix could burst and if that happened, it would almost certainly kill him - and while he considered his options, his symptoms got worse.

"He had to open his own abdomen to take his intestines out," says Vladislav. "He didn't know if that was humanly possible."


"I did not sleep at all last night. It hurts like the devil! A snow storm whipping through my soul, wailing like 100 jackals," he wrote in his diary.




"Still no obvious symptoms that perforation is imminent, but an oppressive feeling of foreboding hangs over me… This is it… I have to think through the only possible way out - to operate on myself… It's almost impossible… but I can't just fold my arms and give up."


He nominated two main assistants to hand him instruments, position the lamp, and hold a mirror - he planned to use the reflection to see what he was doing. The station director was also in the room, in case one of the others became faint.

"He was so systematic he even instructed them what to do if he was losing consciousness - how to inject him with adrenalin and perform artificial ventilation," says Vladislav. "I don't think his preparation could have been better."

A general anaesthetic was out of the question. He was able to administer a local anaesthetic to his abdominal wall but once he had cut through, removing the appendix would have to be done without further pain relief, in order to keep his head as clear as possible.

"My poor assistants! At the last minute I looked over at them. They stood there in their surgical whites, whiter than white themselves," Rogozov wrote later. "I was scared too. But when I picked up the needle with the novocaine and gave myself the first injection, somehow I automatically switched into operating mode, and from that point on I didn't notice anything else."

As he reached the final and hardest part of the operation, he almost lost consciousness. He began to fear he would fail at the final hurdle.

"The bleeding is quite heavy, but I take my time... Opening the peritoneum, I injured the blind gut and had to sew it up," Rogozov wrote. "I grow weaker and weaker, my head starts to spin. Every four to five minutes I rest for 20 - 25 seconds.

"Finally here it is, the cursed appendage! With horror I notice the dark stain at its base. That means just a day longer and it would have burst… My heart seized up and noticeably slowed, my hands felt like rubber. Well, I thought, it's going to end badly and all that was left was removing the appendix."

But he didn't fail. After nearly two hours he had completed the operation, down to the final stitch.


Rogozov returned to his normal duties just two weeks later.

This story has been taken as from excerpts from the article by

Monday, 4 May 2015

Stories like this give me hope ... and we could all do with hope in our lives !!!

What happened when an anti-Semite found he was Jewish?

Three years ago, a Hungarian far-right politician with a strong line in anti-Semitism discovered that he was Jewish. He left his party, and set out on a remarkable personal journey to learn and practise his Jewish faith.


Only seconds before he goes on stage, Csanad Szegedi paces the school corridor like a bear in an unfamiliar forest. Then the headmaster's introduction is over, the pupils who pack the hall are clapping enthusiastically, and the big man is going up the steps, the blood roaring in his ears.

The confidence returns and he plays to the crowd, just as he once did at party rallies, or as a member of the European Parliament.

He comes across a bit like the American singer Johnny Cash. "Hello, I'm Csanad Szegedi." And the schoolchildren of the Piarist Secondary School in Szeged hang on every word.

"I'm speaking to you here today," says the tall chubby faced man, with small, intelligent eyes, "because if someone had told me when I was 16 or 17 what I'm going to go tell you now, I might not have gone so far astray."


As deputy leader of the radical nationalist Jobbik party in Hungary, Szegedi co-founded the Hungarian Guard - a paramilitary formation which marched in uniform through Roma neighbourhoods.

And he blamed the Jews, as well as the Roma, for the ills of Hungarian society - until he found out that he himself was one. After several months of hesitation, during which the party leader even considered keeping him as the party's "tame Jew" as a riposte to accusations of anti-Semitism, he walked out.

Not a man to do things in half-measures, he has now become an Orthodox Jew, has visited Israel, and the concentration camp at Auschwitz which his own grandmother survived.

He discovered that his grandmother wore long-sleeved shirts, or a plaster in summer, to cover the tell-tale concentration camp number tattooed on her arm. As his old personality collapsed, Szegedi performed radical surgery on himself. He even set fire to copies of his own biography, I Believe in the Resurrection of the Hungarian Nation.

Today he speaks to the students without notes, sometimes striding along the stage, sometimes sitting back in a chair, but keeping their attention with a mixture of confessions, family histories, and jokes.

His volte-face seems complete - there are giggles from the girls, awkward squirming from the boys in the audience as he describes his circumcision. Then come the questions.

"Did you know any Jews before you discovered your own Jewish roots? How do you react when you hear anti-Semitism expressed today? Were you a practising Christian before you practised Judaism? Was it hard to break with your party?"

The answers are straightforward.

"Anti-Semitism doesn't need Jews, because its based on false premises. It is the projection of one's own fears, and lack of self esteem." He had a Protestant wedding, but was never christened. Every rupture was hard, but he tried to do it peacefully, and state firmly his own mistakes. And also did his duty to point to the extremism in his old party.



Later, we meet in a Budapest flat in a popular pedestrian street - one of several he rents out. While once he sold far-right paraphernalia, like T-shirts and flags, he's now moved into real estate, with equal success.

It's as though everything he touches turns to gold.

What does he think of the new, more moderate direction, imposed on his former party by leader Gabor Vona? I ask. If Vona succeeds, might he even consider rejoining it, this time as a practising Jew, rather than an anti-Semite?

Szegedi laughs. "Only the BBC would ask me that question!"



"Vona had to turn to the centre. But the party is still full of people who joined it for its radicalism, its nationalism, its extremism. And they don't want anything less now. So there is a limit to how moderate it can become." There is no way back into politics for him, he insists.

Still a patriot, he defends his people from the slur of racism. Hungarian people are not anti-Semitic, although there is an anti-Semitic discourse in society, he says.

In fact, Budapest is a great place to be a Jew in, he beams - with its kosher restaurants, synagogues, and Jewish shops. You can practise your culture, and practise your faith here. You might get funny looks if you wear a kippah - a traditional Jewish skullcap - but you won't be spat on, or physically threatened as you might be in France or Belgium.

"The paradox of Hungarian nationalism," says the man who used to fly its banner, "is that we are proud of our own achievements, but we're not willing to look at those of other peoples. We're afraid their cultures might be as valuable as ours."


A blog for you on a less tolerant position ... I really do wish we could all learn to love each other and live in peace .... Click here .... but if you want something funnier and lighter click below!


And If you'd like something funnier or lighter ???  Click here ;-) 

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Really ... I have some Adolf Hitler in me?

Thank you SRC president Mcebo Dlamini for saying that I have an element of Adolf Hitler in me.
Are you smoking crack?

Or are you just avariciously ambitious?

I'm guessing the second. Only a bottom-feeding wanna be politician would say something this inflammatory whilst we are in the midst of a crisis like xenophobia …. you disgust me with your blatant disregard for those who are suffering because of it.
You are a disgrace and an embarrassement to South Africa and all who live in it.

With all the anger and suffering in the world do we really need hate speech like this?


In my humble opinion you are an attention seeking tool.
(Yes I know highbrow words indeed!)

I look to Baltimore in the US.   I see the riots and anger there, I see a mother protecting her son #Baltimoremom and I salute her.  Here is a mother desperate to protect her child from making a monumental mistake .... and she takes action.  She is to be admired and I wish more parents would follow in her footsteps to end the violence.  Yes there must be an investigation in Baltimore and I believe the truth will out there. 

But while I see people in Baltimore trying to quell the violence I also see others who are revelling in it.

All over the world there are people struggling to make a positive difference.  And then we get some idiot with a big mouth making South Africa look even more racist and xenophobic than it really is.  

This is hate speech, and while I don't know if we have a law here in SA making it illegal ... I think it's about time one was implemented.







Monday, 16 February 2015

Word of the day and the fab answers that came through!

So everyday now on my radio show... oh hang on did I mention I'm a radio dj?  Aaaanyway, I'm now doing two daily features "Word of the Day" and "Today's Teaser".

Yesterday's word was bandoline ... and I LOVED the answers that came up ... so I'm going to share them with you ....

So what is bandoline?  Actually it's a gloopy pomatum to style hair.  

What is pomatum you ask?




pomatum - hairdressing consisting of a perfumed oil or ointment.

So bandoline is a gloopy kind of hair gel !!!



So how about a fun blog on Buying a House?