🚨“Not Letting Your Kid Go Out Might Just Be a Crime (Yes, I Said It!)”🚨

– A Confession From a Grown Child With Trust Issues, One Friends, and a Passport to the Grocery Store Only

Let’s talk about something that needs to be addressed louder than my mom’s look of disapproval when I dare to breathe outside: Parental Overprotection. Some people grew up with "go outside and come back when the streetlights are on." Meanwhile, some of us grew up with “where are you going?” followed by an interrogation, a background check, and possibly a GPS tracker.

And no, I'm not exaggerating. Okay... maybe just a little. But still.

📍Exhibit A: My Social Skills Were Left in the Oven and Burnt

You know what happens when a kid isn’t allowed to go out, socialize, make mistakes, or even hang out at their cousin’s place without being looked at like they just declared a rebellion?

👉🏽 They grow up into me.

A 19-year-old girl who:

Feels weird asking for plastic at the store.

Has anxiety about greeting her own age group.

Can hold deep convos... but only if I’ve known you long enough to feel like you’re not a serial judge.

Has more confidence talking to 6-year-olds than her own peers (because kids don’t ask, “Why are you so quiet?”).

I am not shy. I’m socially malnourished.

🤔 But Wait, Isn’t That Just “Good Parenting”?

Let’s debate.

Some people say, “But it’s just protection. They love you!”

Cool. I get that. But love without freedom is a cage. You can’t raise a lion, feed it only kitten chow, and then get surprised when it can’t roar in the wild.

Let me go out. Let me fail. Let me come back with a dumb story and a sunburn. Let me meet friends I’ll regret (and later blog about). That’s how humans grow.

😩 When "Walking Around Too Much" = You're Doing Life Wrong

So picture this: I go to netball practice (healthy, social, outdoors). I come back. Then I go to the store for my mom (dutiful child points). Then I try to go see my cousin (someone with the same bloodline!) — and what do I get?

👀 The Look™️

The "you’ve had enough freedom today" look. The one that says, “Why are you not glued to the house like wallpaper?”

Ma’am. Please. I haven’t even lived.

🙃 The Plot Twist: I Still Want to Be Brave

I joke. I rant. I even laugh. But the truth?

I want to be confident. I want to have friends. I want to walk into a store like I own the place (instead of rehearsing my order 12 times in my head).

But you don’t get there by being locked in the house until your social battery is dead and buried.

💡 Final Thought: It’s Not Just About Me

There are so many kids, teens, and even adults who were raised like this and now walk through life unsure, hesitant, scared to take up space.

So to the overly strict, overprotective, overly suspicious parents:

We love you.

But also... please let us live before we have to Google how to make a friend at 30.

🧠 Let’s Argue:

Is strict parenting secretly damaging more than it protects?

Can overprotection count as emotional neglect in disguise?

Or am I just being “too sensitive” like y’all love to say?

Drop your comments. Unless you’re my mom. Then please just pretend you didn’t see this.

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

🎬THE CINEMA IS DEAD?!? Wait… WHAT IN THE BLUE SMURF IS GOING ON?! 😳💔

🎬THE CINEMA IS DEAD?!? Wait… WHAT IN THE BLUE SMURF IS GOING ON?! 😳💔

It’s official.

Ster-Kinekor — one of the last standing giants of South African cinema — is closing down its cinema in a major Cape Town mall.

Let that sink in.

No, seriously, breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

Because this might be the beginning of the final curtain call for cinemas in South Africa.

🏢 Which Ster-Kinekor and Why Is It Closing?

Reports say the closure is due to financial strain, a massive drop in foot traffic, and the cold, hard truth: people aren’t going to the movies anymore.

They’re just… not.

Why?

Because why pay R120 for a ticket, another R80 for popcorn and a Coke, and your soul for transport, when you can just download a movie on Moviebox (yes, that shady lil' app we all know) for free and watch it in your pajamas at 2 AM while eating bread?

That’s the reality now.

Sad? Definitely.

Surprising? Not really.

🥲 A Personal Cinema Eulogy (From Someone Who Barely Went)

Now let me get a little personal here.

The last time I went to the cinema?

I think it was in 2017. We went to watch a Smurf movie — and don’t ask me which one, I just know there were blue people jumping around on a big screen and it was my friend’s birthday. That’s all I remember.

Before that? I was like 2, to 4 years old when I last set foot in a cinema. It’s honestly wild.

As a child, I used to dream of celebrating my birthday at the cinema like the cool kids.

But then? Reality said, “You? Cinema party? Hah. Be serious.”

Because you see... financial struggles are a curse. I’m telling you, they limit everything. From small joys to big dreams.

💔 What This Closure Really Means

Let’s not lie — this is bigger than a single cinema closing.

This means:

More unemployment in South Africa.

Less space for real-life memories.

Children of Gen Alpha and beyond will grow up never knowing the magic of watching a movie in a giant, dark room with strangers, hearing the sound explode through surround speakers.

Cinemas? They’ll be something you only see in cartoons, old movies, or your parents’ “back in my day…” stories.

It’s giving extinction. It’s giving history.

It’s giving, “We used to go to those things called cinemas, sweetie, now eat your cereal and watch Netflix.”

📉 The Harsh Truth Nobody Wants to Admit

Cinema operators, you’ve got to face it.

Your era is ending.

You can’t compete with streaming anymore — it’s fast, convenient, free (or creatively free, if you know what I mean).

No one is rushing to the mall anymore just to sit in a cold theatre to watch a film they could find online with subtitles, behind-the-scenes, and a reaction video — all in one sitting.

😔 Final Thoughts: I'm Mad. I'm Sad. But Mostly, I'm... Tired.

I’m disappointed. Not because I was a loyal cinema-goer (clearly I wasn’t), but because the idea of cinema — the fantasy, the community, the vibe — is dying.

Even though I didn't go to the cinema often, I always felt like I still could. That it was there. That maybe one day I’d have enough to rent out a whole cinema for my birthday, or just treat myself to that experience.

Now? I can’t even pretend that dream is realistic anymore.

This is more than just a movie theatre closing.

This is another space of joy and escape being erased.

And as someone who’s lived with limitations, this hits deep.

So, yeah. Rest in peace to the cinemas.

Say hi to Blockbuster in heaven. Tell it we miss it. 🕊️🎥

By someone who just wanted a popcorn birthday party once in their life.

(And maybe one last look at the Smurfs on a big screen.)

Lessons from the Dentist: Trust, Money, and Silent Apologies

Four Months In: My Braces Journey, a Rainy Day, and a Hard Lesson

It’s been four months since I got my braces. Every month, I go in for a check-up, and today was no different — except that today left me feeling defeated.

I still remember how I got here. Someone believed in me and sponsored my entire braces journey. I mentioned it once in one of my blogs. It’s something I’ll never stop being grateful for. Every appointment reminds me of that blessing. But today… today tested my heart.

The day started early. I woke up at 7am to a cold, rainy, gloomy morning. Still, I got up, dressed, put on some music, took a bath, and got ready for my appointment. By 9am (not exactly on the dot), I caught my bus. The ride was actually quite peaceful — the gentle sound of raindrops against the windows, the gray skies, the quiet of a city slowed down by weather. I even saw two of my aunties and greeted them before settling into my phone. Eventually, I got tired and just sat back, taking in the stillness.

I arrived at the dentist, greeted the receptionist, and confirmed my appointment. She checked my name — Lilo — and asked me to select a date for the next visit. I did, thinking everything was sorted. I wasn’t jumping for joy, but in my heart, I was actually excited to just be progressing.

Then, I asked if my dad had already paid for today’s appointment. That’s when the mood shifted. She told me there was no proof of payment. No confirmation. She asked me to call him, and thankfully, I had a little bit of airtime left. I called and explained the situation. He asked for the dentist’s number so he could speak with her directly. I changed my data quickly, WhatsApped him the number, and called again to confirm. He said okay.

Then, a few minutes later, I was called in for my appointment. The dentist greeted me kindly, asking how I was doing. I shared a bit about how the braces were feeling, and he got to work. The usual — removing the old metal wire and replacing it with a new one. My elastic color changed too — from pink to black. I hated it. I wish I’d chosen a bright, happy color, but in that moment, I didn’t even have the courage to ask.

Suddenly, I heard my name being called outside the room. Loud and clear. I said yes. The receptionist was on the phone with my dad, on speaker. That’s when it happened. In front of the dentist, the assistants, whoever was in earshot — I heard her explain that braces appointments must be paid for on the same day. And I was confused. Embarrassed. Hurt. Because I knew we had the money. The sponsorship covered it. Why was this happening?

She walked into the room and reminded the dentist that he had already started the appointment, implying that there was no going back. I sat there, a lump in my throat. I could feel my entire mood sink. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t ask for a new color. Couldn’t even look around. I felt like crying.

All I kept thinking was: what happened to the money? The money that was meant for this. My money. The money someone entrusted to my family for me. I didn’t want to believe that it had been used for something else — but the signs were there. Every time I mentioned my appointments lately, my dad got nervous. Not obviously, but in that subtle, macho, African-parent way. Now I realize that was a red flag.

After the appointment, I went to the front desk again. The receptionist smiled at me gently, not saying much, but I knew she could see the pain on my face. I felt so exposed. So small. I walked out of the building like I didn’t care about anything anymore. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to be seen. I just needed air.

I went to buy food, caught a taxi (since I missed my bus), and stopped by my cousin’s house. I needed those hours of not seeing my parents’ faces. Just five hours of being somewhere else, somewhere safe.

Later, I caught the bus home — a long ride, probably an hour and a half, but it felt like thirty. I came in, and of course, like African mothers do, my mom acted like nothing had happened. Just started asking me to do things. I didn’t roll my eyes. Didn’t talk back. I just did them.

Then my dad came in. I thought he had gone far, but he had just been around the neighborhood. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes. And I couldn’t look at him either. Eventually, he tried to make small talk. Then he brought out a packet of sweets — his way of apologizing. Typical African parent move. It didn’t work. Not this time.

What broke me the most is that I can’t even ask him questions. You can’t confront African parents — they twist things, make you feel guilty, act like you’re disrespectful for just wanting the truth. I couldn’t even express my pain.

So here I am now, thinking hard about my life. I’m on a gap year. And I know now: I can’t depend on my family for big things. They try, but the truth is, they don’t have money. Especially in winter, when they earn less. Summer is when they hustle, when things are better. But now? Things are bad.

And I’ve decided: I’ll do any job. I don’t care what it is. Cleaning, lifting, anything. Because this is what happens when you depend too much. I never wanted pity, and I still don’t. I just wanted to tell my story — the raw version. My blog is my diary. And today, I’m writing as a girl who got caught in the rain, not just outside, but in her heart too.

But I’ll get through it. I have to.

Freedom of Speech or Shield of Hypocrisy? The Mohamed Hijab Dilemma

Let’s Be Honest: Why Is Mohamed Hijab Still Getting Away With This?

By Lilo Phedra 

Let me say this upfront — this is not a personal attack. This is not an emotional rant. This is a call for honesty, accountability, and consistency. Especially when it comes to public figures like Mohamed Hijab.

For years, this man has been active online—on Twitter, YouTube, public debates—saying and doing things that, frankly, most people would’ve been cancelled for a long time ago. But somehow, he keeps getting a pass. Why?

His Tweets Alone Should’ve Been Enough

Let’s not pretend we don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen the tweets. He’s tweeted vulgar, sexually explicit insults about people’s wives, mothers, and families—especially aimed at Christians and ex-Muslims.

> "Tell your wife to stop messaging me"

"Your mother too"

(These are not jokes. They were public tweets that went viral and shocked many.)

If any Christian public figure had said something like that about Muslims or their families? Game over. They’d be called hateful, Islamophobic, reported, probably de-platformed. And maybe rightly so — because there should be consequences for that kind of behavior.

So why not him?

 He’s Not Debating — He’s Bulldozing

If you’ve watched his debates (and trust me, I’ve watched more than enough), you’ll notice a pattern:

Interrupting constantly

Shouting down his opponents

Throwing in jokes and insults instead of actual counterarguments

This is not how respectful religious dialogue is done. Whether he’s debating David Wood, Apostate Prophet, or anyone else, his tone is aggressive, not persuasive.

You can disagree all you want with Christianity, ex-Muslims, or atheists — that’s your right. But dragging people’s families into the conversation? That’s not debating. That’s straight up bullying.

The Irony of "Free Speech"

Now, here’s the irony. Hijab always shouts "freedom of speech" when he wants to say something controversial. But when someone questions the Quran or talks about what it says about non-Muslims, suddenly they’re “Islamophobic,” “disrespectful,” or “provoking violence.”

So let me get this straight: He can say whatever he wants — no matter how vulgar — but when someone disagrees with Islam publicly, they must stay silent or risk backlash?

No. That’s not free speech. That’s selective freedom. And it’s very clear.

Why Hasn’t He Been Banned or Arrested?

This part confuses many of us. Hijab doesn’t live in a strict Muslim country — clearly. Because if he did, I don’t think he’d dare say or did half of the things he says and do online.

And yet, he's not banned from platforms like X (Twitter), YouTube, or even demonetized like others have been for far less. Why? Is it because of his popularity? Or fear of being accused of Islamophobia?

If a Christian influencer made constant threats, insults, and religious mockery at this level, they’d be all over the news, probably doxxed, maybe even arrested in some places. But for Hijab? Silence.🤐

That’s not justice. That’s selective outrage.

Real People Have Called This Out — Even Muslims

This isn’t just me talking. Plenty of people — including ex-Muslims, Christian apologists, and even some concerned Muslim viewers — have spoken up:

David Wood: “Hijab lost the debate the moment he brought up my wife. That’s not apologetics.”

Apostate Prophet: “Hijab is obsessed with intimidation, not truth. His threats aren’t even hidden.”

Random ex-Muslim on Reddit: “I left Islam in part because of how aggressive people like Hijab were. It didn’t feel like peace — it felt like control.”

So What Is His Real Agenda?

Many of us genuinely wonder: If he’s happy in non-Muslim countries, why does he still carry so much anger toward non-Muslims?

Some say, “Oh, he’s just defending Islam.” But if your method of defense involves insults, threats, and bragging about Shari’a law in secular countries — is that really defense or is it a soft push for something else?

And if the Quran does say problematic things about how to treat non-Muslims (and yes, there are verses that raise eyebrows), is it wrong to ask questions about that?

Final Thoughts: Enough Is Enough

This blog is not about hate. It’s about calling out double standards. It’s about asking: why are some people allowed to break the rules while others get cancelled for having respectful conversations?

If Mohamed Hijab wants to be a public figure, a voice for Islam, then he needs to act like one. That means apologizing for vulgar posts. That means respecting his debate opponents. That means accepting that criticism is part of public life — even if it’s about Islam.

Because if we’re going to talk about peace, respect, and truth, then those values must be shown, not just preached.

💬 Got a Story? Drop it in the Comments.

Whether you’re Muslim, Christian, atheist, or just curious, I invite you to share your thoughts — respectfully. Let’s have a real conversation. No threats. No insults. Just truth.

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

She Went on a Date and Never Came Back

What Are We Not Seeing?

Every day—yes, every single day—there’s a story of a woman killed. Sometimes by a man she trusted. Sometimes by a man she just met. Sometimes by a man she never even had the chance to run from. And every day, the reasons get more senseless. Cheating. Rejection. Misunderstanding. Or no reason at all.

And you want to ask: What is actually going on?

This is not a horror movie. This is not one country’s problem. This is a global crisis, but it’s also the new normal. If you scroll through your social media, turn on your news, or walk into a conversation with women today, someone is grieving. Someone is scared. And someone is asking the same question I’m asking:

What are we not seeing?

Because it’s not just about bad luck. It’s not just “the wrong guy.” It’s not just dating apps or social media. It’s not just rituals or revenge or mental health. It’s something deeper. Something dangerous. Something that has already gotten out of control.

Let’s face this head-on.

It's Not Just Fear Anymore. It's a Pattern.

We can’t pretend anymore. Every week, the same headlines. “She went on a date.” “She met him through a friend.” “They argued.” “She never came home.” And somehow, we keep being shocked—even though it’s now routine.

We can’t say we didn’t see the signs. The signs are all around us:

Men bringing weapons on dates.

Women disappearing in familiar places.

Girls being buried while still called "missing."

You think you're safe because you met him through family? Or because you prayed hard enough? Or because he goes to church? We’ve seen cases that prove otherwise. So really—what is the guarantee anymore?

"Not All Men" But... Why So Many?

Yes, not all men are violent. But women are dying every day because of men.

And let’s not twist this into a debate about who’s worse. The statistics speak for themselves. The media shows it every day. Women are dying at the hands of men, often for reasons that make no sense.

Cheating is not an excuse. Disrespect is not a reason. Rejection is not a death sentence. And yet... women are being slaughtered, dismembered, buried, erased.

The question we must ask isn’t “Why?” anymore.

It’s “Why still?”

What’s the Real Solution?

That’s the hard part. Everyone marches. We post hashtags. We light candles. We share their names. But the killings continue. So again, I ask:

What are we not seeing?

Maybe the real issue isn’t just with strangers. Maybe it’s in our systems, our silence, our normalization of control over women or something spiritual. Maybe it’s in how we raise boys to believe a woman’s “no” means “convince me.” Maybe it’s in the justice systems that turn a blind eye—or in religious spaces that teach women to endure instead of escape.

Yes, we pray. Yes, we try to be careful. But is it enough?

For the Parents, the Brothers, the Pastors, the Teachers

If you love a girl child, this matters to you.

Don’t wait for the violence to reach your doorstep before you care. Because by then, it’s too late. These girls were loved by someone. They had dreams. They had people waiting for them to come home.

Whether you’re a father, a brother, a leader, or just someone who thinks this is "not your problem"—this is your problem. Start talking. Start protecting. Start educating.

Because tomorrow, it could be someone you love. God forbids!

This is Not a Trend. This is Terror.

We need to stop acting like this is just another cycle in the news. This is not a trend. It’s not content. It’s not awareness week. It’s terror. It’s real, and it’s here, and it’s daily.

Let’s be honest: women are not overreacting. We are under-protected.

So the question remains:

What are we not seeing?

And how many more women need to die before we finally open our eyes?

The Glitter and the Grown-Ups: Miss Shirley’s (LaR'iyah Jesireé) Rise and the Restless Questions

The Concern Isn’t Jealousy – It’s Protection | Part 2

There’s been a lot of noise surrounding the rising internet star, Miss Shirley (LaR'iyah Jesireé). I’ve watched the videos, read the comments, and now even seen a response from her mother. It’s clear that emotions are high—and understandably so. But let me make one thing very clear, not all of us voicing our concerns are doing so out of jealousy.

Some of us are genuinely worried.

Miss Shirley is an undeniably gifted and beautiful child. Her confidence, charm, and talent can light up a screen. I want her to shine. I truly do. But it’s difficult to ignore the growing discomfort many of us—especially the so-called “social media aunties and big sisters”—are starting to feel.

This little girl is being pushed too far, too fast.

We’ve gone from innocent dance videos to full-on adult performances. Not just fun, child-friendly shows—no, we’re talking clubs, lap-sitting, and adult audiences. That’s not just “going viral.” That’s crossing a line.

What began as a moment of celebration is now teetering dangerously close to exploitation.

Her mother’s video response, though passionate, did little to ease concerns. Between the strong accent and the defensive tone, the message felt more like a rant than a reflection. I’m not here to judge her dialect—I understand that every voice deserves to be heard—but communication is key when you’re addressing a wide and diverse audience. Especially when the topic is this sensitive.

The real issue here isn’t "haters" or "jealous people." It’s about boundaries, safety, and childhood. And yes, the questions are valid: Why is a four-year-old performing in adult spaces? Where is the father figure? Is this truly about nurturing talent, or is this about monetising a child’s popularity?

Let’s be honest: when rumors surface about a mother having an OnlyFans account, when Child Protective Services show up, when a child is performing in clubs—those are red flags.🚩 Whether the claims are true or not, the fact that these conversations are even happening says a lot about how far the situation has spiraled.

And while some may argue that a stranger called CPS, my instinct—and I say this respectfully—tells me it was someone closer. Someone in the family. Why? Because often, the people who make the hardest calls are the ones who care but are afraid to speak openly.

Now, before assumptions take over: I’m not against single mothers. Many of them raise incredible children with grace and strength. But being a parent—single or not—requires constant self-checking. When a child becomes a brand, it’s easy to blur the lines between parenting and promotion.

And those lines are already fading.

I’m not writing this to shame anyone. I’m writing this as someone who values the wellbeing of children, especially young girls, who are so often adultified and pushed into roles they’re not ready for. Miss Shirley deserves a childhood. She deserves joy, safety, and protection—not just a spotlight.

So, to the mother: take a breath. Step back. Listen to the voices that aren’t attacking, but asking. Not everyone is out to bring you down. Some of us just want to make sure this bright little light isn’t being dimmed by the shadows of adult decisions.

Let this be the pause before things go too far. Because we all want the same thing—for Miss Shirley to thrive. But let’s not forget, thriving isn’t just about fame—it’s about being safe, whole, and protected.

That’s what real support looks like. 👌🏿💯

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

In Memory of Ama Endorsed – A Star Dimmed Too Soon

In Memory of Ama Endorsed – A Star Dimmed Too Soon

Introduction: Ama Endorsed was more than a Ghanaian entrepreneur—she was a force. A young woman who defied societal expectations by mastering carpentry, founding Namas Decor and Namas Autos, and inspiring thousands through her fearless pursuit of success. She was only 29, and already a beacon for many young Africans. Her passing in April 2025 has left an echo of pain, not only in her country but across social media and hearts around the world.

A Legacy of Talent and Tenacity: Ama’s rise was not luck—it was skill, purpose, and boldness. In a male-dominated industry, she carved her space with elegance and power. Her social media pages were filled with her projects, her laughter, her light. To open a showroom at such a young age is no small feat. It’s excellence.

The Darkness Behind Smiles: Though the official cause of death remains unconfirmed, online whispers of poisoning at the hands of a “friend” are what shook people most. Whether true or not, the rumor forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth—jealousy can live next to you. It can wear the face of a friend. This is not just about Ama. It’s about the many others who trusted too deeply and paid a heavy price.

Reflections on Friendship and Boundaries: This tragedy brings up a difficult question: is it better to walk alone than to walk with people who secretly hope you’ll fail? Not all friendships are dangerous, but not all friendships are safe either. In my own blog, I’ve shared stories of betrayal. While not as tragic as Ama’s, they’ve taught me the same lesson—trust is precious. Boundaries are necessary. And discernment is survival.

You don’t need enemies when fake friends can do worse. Laugh with people, talk with them—but don’t invite everyone into your inner world. You can love people without letting them into your secrets. Not every “friend” deserves a seat at your table.

A Final Goodbye: I saw the man cry at her funeral. Real tears. Ugly tears. That kind of sorrow doesn’t lie. Ama Endorsed touched lives. Her loss cut deep. We may never know the full story, but we know she lived with purpose and left behind a standard. May her soul rest in perfect peace. May her story never be forgotten.🕊️

Is the DRC-US Mineral Deal a Step Forward or a Trap in Disguise?

Is the DRC-US Mineral Deal a Step Forward or a Trap in Disguise?

Lately, there has been a lot of talk about the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) getting closer to signing a deal with the United States. This agreement is focused on minerals and security. Basically, the U.S. wants access to our rich resources like cobalt, lithium, and other minerals that power electric cars, smartphones, and even renewable energy technologies. In return, they’re offering to help us with security issues in the eastern part of our country and to invest in infrastructure.

Now, on the surface, this sounds like a good thing. We get support to fight rebel groups like M23, improve transport systems, and create jobs. But here’s my concern—and I think a lot of young people like me are thinking the same thing: what happens when we want to be truly independent?

Let’s be honest. We’ve seen this story play out in other African countries. They accept deals with powerful nations, and in the beginning, things seem to be going well. There’s money, development, new roads, maybe even peace. But fast-forward a few years, and these same countries get hit with sanctions, political pressure, or worse, if they try to pull away or stand on their own feet. These big powers don’t just invest for charity—they want control, influence, and long-term access.

According to reports, the deal is set to be finalized around June 2025. U.S. companies will gain rights to mine and export minerals. In exchange, the U.S. will train our military, support our fight in the east, and work on trade routes like the Lobito Corridor. There are promises about transparency, protecting workers, and respecting the environment—but how much of that actually happens on the ground?

I’m not saying we don’t need partnerships. We do. But let’s make sure it’s a partnership, not a dependency. We must think long-term. Will this deal help us become stronger and more self-reliant as a country—or will it tie us down to foreign powers again, just like in the past?

Some African countries are trying to move independently, and yes, it’s hard. Some face sanctions, some are isolated. But the goal is freedom. Full control of their land, their economy, and their future.

As  young Congolese citizens, we need to ask tough questions. Who benefits the most from this deal? What guarantees do we have that our people—not just foreign investors—will gain from our own minerals? And are we prepared for the long-term consequences if we ever want to walk away from the agreement?

This is a big decision. We shouldn’t rush into it just for short-term benefits. Minerals can build a future, but only if we stay in control of them. Let's be smart. Let's be awake. Let's not sell our future for temporary peace.

— A concerned Congolese youth🇨🇩

Corsets at Weddings: Must I Stop Breathing to Look Beautiful?

Corsets at Weddings: Must I Stop Breathing to Look Beautiful?

By The Dreamer’s Pause

Let’s address the tight-laced elephant in the room.

When did beauty start requiring a battle with oxygen? Because these days, if your wedding dress doesn't have a corset that hugs your waist tighter than your grandma's prayers on your wedding night, people start acting like your outfit is a fashion crime.

Especially in African wedding culture—yoh! The way corsets have taken over, you’d swear they’re a sacred bridal requirement. Fashion designers? Obsessed. Celebrities? Wrapped like Christmas presents. Content creators? Promoting it like it’s a new skincare routine. If your ribs are still in place, it’s “not giving bride.”

And guess what? We’re all watching women suffer in 4K.

Let’s be honest. Behind every “snatched” wedding dress is a woman who hasn’t eaten since the previous afternoon, can’t dance without doing calculated math, and is wondering if fainting on the dance floor might actually get her to breathe again.

You see the behind-the-scenes clips, right?

One bridesmaid is holding the fan.

Another is holding her bouquet.

A third is whispering, “Just hang in there, sis.”

Meanwhile, the bride is standing there like a statue in a museum, smiling through the pain, ribs clapping hands inside her body.

It’s painful. It’s dramatic. It’s… fashion?

Now don’t get me wrong—corsets are gorgeous. The craftsmanship? Impeccable. The snatch? Snatched. But must we trade food, comfort, and basic human function to be seen as “elegant”?

I refuse.

I’m not fasting for a dress.

I’m not losing weight for a zipper.

I’m not getting bruises for aesthetics.

I want to eat and, dance with uncalculated joy, and hug people without bursting seams.

Yesterday, I saw a bride wearing a simple, elegant, non-corset dress—and I almost cried. She looked radiant, comfortable, and free. She was laughing, moving, dancing—and most importantly—she was breathing.

And guess what? No one died from shock. The world kept spinning. And she looked stunning.

So, to my fellow ladies, especially my African sisters:

You are not any less of a bride because your dress lets you live.

You don’t have to fight with your clothes to feel beautiful. You don’t need a corset to be unforgettable. Your joy, confidence, and glow? That’s the real elegance. Not your waist measurement.

Let’s normalize saying:

“I want a dress that lets me sit.”

“I want to eat at my own wedding.”

“I’d like to leave with the same number of organs I walked in with.”

To the fashion industry: Beauty doesn’t have to hurt. To society: Please, let women breathe. Literally. To brides-to-be: Choose you. Choose comfort. Choose elegance that doesn’t come with a side of suffering.

And if anyone says your dress needs a corset to look nice?

Just smile sweetly and say:

“Sis, I came to marry, not to medically collapse.”😘

The Silent Insult of Racial Policies: A Call for Real Empowerment

The Silent Insult of Racial Policies: A Call for Real Empowerment

Let’s talk—honestly and openly. I’m a young black person who values fairness, merit, and unity. But I’ve looked around me, read policies, and listened to real stories, and I can’t stay silent anymore. What I’ve realized is both painful and eye-opening: policies like BEE, BBBEE, DEI, and Affirmative Action, while created to correct past injustices, may be doing more harm than good in the present. And I believe it’s time we start talking about it differently.

BEE and BBBEE: The Intention vs. The Reality

Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) and its broader version, Broad-Based Black Economic Empowerment (BBBEE), were introduced in South Africa to address the imbalances caused by apartheid. They were supposed to uplift black South Africans by offering them access to jobs, education, and ownership opportunities that were once denied to them.

But here's the truth: the implementation feels like a quiet insult. Instead of empowering black people to compete on equal footing through skills and merit, these policies often push companies to hire based on compliance, not competence. It creates a perception—and sometimes a reality—that the 30% black ownership or quota isn’t about ability but about ticking boxes.

That’s not empowerment. That’s dependence.

DEI and Affirmative Action: Repeating the Pattern Globally

In the United States, Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) and Affirmative Action follow a similar logic. They prioritize race over skill, background over merit. Again, I understand the historical reasons: segregation, slavery, institutional racism. But just like apartheid, those systems are no longer in power. Many black people today are more than capable of achieving greatness without being handed things just because of the color of their skin.

Isn’t it more insulting to assume that we can’t succeed without help?

What’s Really Happening

These systems are creating:

A culture of entitlement, where people expect handouts instead of working hard.

Frustration among skilled individuals, especially poor white and Indian people who get overlooked just because of their race.

Dependency on government and corporate charity, instead of independent, self-driven growth.

We’re not teaching empowerment. We’re teaching compliance. We’re not building resilience. We’re building reliance. That’s not justice. That’s injustice in a new costume.

The Unspoken Divide

Let’s face it: race-based policies have fueled quiet resentment and widened the gap between races. While they were created to bring equality, they sometimes cause division. And the sad part? Many black people don’t even realize they’re being insulted by the very policies that claim to uplift them. It’s subtle, but it’s real.

We are still classified as “previously disadvantaged.” But apartheid is over. We have opportunities. We have the internet, we have access to education, free courses, mentorships, and resources like never before. We are capable. We are strong. So why are we still being treated like we’re not?

What Real Empowerment Looks Like

Education and skills development that are real, not symbolic.

Support for all poor people, regardless of race.

Hiring based on skill, not skin.

Encouraging self-reliance, not state dependency.

A merit-based system, where excellence wins—not politics.

If I were a business owner and had to choose between two candidates—one black and one white—I would choose the person with the right qualifications, intelligence, experience, and potential. That’s fairness. That’s equality. That’s the world we should build.

Let’s Be Brave Enough to Say This

This isn’t about being pro-white or anti-black. This is about being pro-truth. And the truth is, our generation can’t move forward while dragging the guilt of the past as an excuse. It’s time to demand systems that uplift all people, reward hard work, and truly heal the wounds of the past—not keep them bleeding.

We don’t need crutches anymore. We need confidence.

We don’t need to be pitied. We need to be prepared.

We don’t need to be rescued. We need to rise.

And that starts with having the courage to speak up.

Let’s start a new conversation. One based on merit, unity, and true progress. One where every South African—and every person—can stand tall, proud, and truly empowered. No labels. No quotas. Just fairness.

Because that’s what real transformation looks like.

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

When Family Love Feels One-Sided: A Reflection on Celebration, Guilt, and Boundaries

When Family Love Feels One-Sided: A Reflection on Celebration, Guilt, and Boundaries

This week, something happened that’s been sitting heavy on my chest. I want to share it—not for pity, not for attention—but because someone out there might have felt the same way. And like me, maybe they’ve been made to feel like they’re wrong for simply feeling overlooked.

So here’s the story.

My cousin recently graduated from high school and celebrated his birthday in the same week. That’s a beautiful double win, and I was happy for him—even if we don’t really know each other. In fact, the last time we had a proper conversation was years ago. But still, I thought, “Good for him.”

Soon enough, my phone was filled with family statuses. Everyone—cousins, uncles, aunties—was posting him, celebrating him, sending long warm wishes. And while I smiled at first, a quiet pain began creeping in. The kind you can’t easily explain.

Because when it was my turn—my graduation, my birthday—where were those posts? Where was that same energy from my cousins?

One of my cousins, who posted him proudly, never even acknowledged my graduation. I had greeted her months ago on WhatsApp—no reply. I’d watch her statuses, she’d ignore mine. Eventually, I stopped seeing hers. That silence became too loud.

And here’s the kicker: instead of anyone noticing that, my mother turned around and scolded me for not wishing her (the cousin) a happy birthday or posting a picture. I tried to explain how I felt. Why I didn’t want to pretend. Why I was tired of clapping for people who never clap for me.

But suddenly, I was “talking rubbish.” I was “too logical.” I was “shouting.” I was “unreasonable.” My dad is not even speaking to me.😔 

In that moment, I wasn’t a person with feelings—I was the villain in the story.

But here's the truth I need to speak:

I’m not selfish for wanting mutual love.

I’m not rude for protecting my peace.

And I’m not mean for finally stopping the cycle of performative celebration.

Too often in African families, we’re told that “family is family.” That cousins must stick together. That distance doesn’t matter. But what happens when the only thing bonding us is our parents’ friendship? What happens when the kids were never close, never taught to connect—just thrown into rooms and told to “go play”?

That’s not connection. That’s assumption.

Now, we’re older, and that distance has grown. We don’t talk. We don’t check in. And yet I’m expected to perform affection I’ve never received.

I used to try. I really did. I’d initiate conversations. I’d watch statuses. I’d greet people warmly. But when your love is ignored long enough, you stop pouring from that cup. You protect your spirit instead.

And yes, I’ve now chosen to ignore them. Not with hate. But with clarity. If my celebration is always one-sided, if I’m only seen when I don't perform, then I have to choose peace over performance.

So, if you’ve ever been in this space—misunderstood, guilt-tripped, called too cold for setting emotional boundaries—this post is for you.

It’s okay to stop clapping for people who never clapped for you.

It’s okay to want reciprocity.

It’s okay to protect your heart—even from family.

You’re not too logical. You’re just no longer blind.

And that’s a power no one can take from you.

Written by Lilo Phedra 

A truth-teller. A boundary-setter. And a believer in mutual love.

Borrowed Notes: Why Everyone’s Covering Everyone (And That’s Okay)

Covers, Credits, and Comment Section Chaos: Can We Talk?

Let’s talk about something that has not been talked enough  — decades, even.

You see, every few months, a song goes viral. A new artist (or sometimes an old one we forgot about) drops a beautiful rendition of a song, and suddenly the internet turns into a courtroom.

People are out here shouting, “They stole that from so-and-so!”

“They’re not even giving credit to the original artist!”

And — let me guess — the original artist is black, and the one singing the viral version is white, right?

Now pause. Before we go further, breathe. This is not one of those blogs where I ignore history, or pretend racial injustice hasn’t shaped the music industry. Trust me, I know it has. I’ve read, I’ve researched, and I understand it. But this post? This post isn’t about that.

This is about people typing with their emotions instead of their facts.

Let’s start here: covers have existed forever. Some of the biggest stars in music — from Whitney Houston to Mariah Carey, Aretha Franklin to Luther Vandross — built legendary moments off covers. Yes, songs that someone else originally sang.

Now here’s where it gets spicy.

Sometimes, that original singer? They weren’t even the originator.

Let me say that again: the person you’re defending in the comments might not even be the first person to sing that song. They might’ve done their own cover. Or someone wrote it for them. Or it was part of a licensing deal. Or it’s been passed around so many times it’s basically public property by now.

But what do people do instead?

They rush to the comments like keyboard warriors:

“This white artist is stealing our culture!”

“They didn’t even tag the original singer!”

“Black people don’t get respected in music!”

Wait. Hold up.

Did you stop to ask:

Who actually wrote the song?

Was the version you loved even the first one?

Are you defending the performer… or just projecting?

Because I’ve seen it too many times: outrage, rants, accusations — all based on wrong information. And the worst part? When someone calmly explains the history, people ignore it. No likes. No apologies. Just tumbleweeds and continued misinformation.

Here’s my thing: if we want to protect black artistry (and we should), we have to respect the facts just as much as we respect the feelings.

We can’t scream “they stole it!” when the person we’re defending was also doing a version of someone else’s work. That’s not empowerment. That’s selective memory.

Music is a shared language. It travels, it evolves, it loops back. There are cases of genuine theft, yes — and those should absolutely be called out. But let’s not lump every cover into that category just because we’re used to a face or a voice.

Sometimes a white artist covers a black artist. Sometimes a black artist covers a white artist. Sometimes the original was neither.

So next time a new version of an old favorite pops up, let’s ask better questions:

Who wrote it?

Who sang it first?

Who got paid?

And most importantly:

Is this an opportunity to appreciate the song’s journey — not just the face we’re used to seeing?

Because if we stop arguing in the comments and start reading the credits, we might all learn something.