Wednesday, January 29, 2025

Congo: A Nation of Wealth, Betrayed by Its Own Leaders

Congo: A Nation of Wealth, Betrayed by Its Own Leaders

I was born and raised in South Africa, but my roots will always be in Congo. And right now, I am heartbroken. I am angry. I am frustrated. The war between Congo and Rwanda is not just another conflict—it is the direct result of years of corruption, mismanagement, and betrayal by the very people who were supposed to protect this country.

Every day, I see people posting " Our ❤️ to Congo" on their statuses, sharing photos, praying, and hoping. But is that enough? We are just watching, mourning, and waiting while the situation gets worse. We do not have the connections, the power, or the possibility to change things directly. And the ones who do—the government, the president, the so-called leaders—have done absolutely nothing.

Six years and four days. That is how long Félix Tshisekedi has been in power. Six years and 4 days. Yet when war came, the Congolese army was left with no proper training, no advanced weapons, and no real strategy. The government fled while soldiers stood on the battlefield, abandoned. What was he doing all this time? Where was the investment in the military? Where was the preparation?

Instead of ensuring national security, he focused on his image—playing soccer, holding babies, making public appearances. This is a Western strategy that does not work in Africa. Western presidents can afford to play PR games because their countries are stable. But in Congo, where people are dying, where cities are under attack, where our resources are being looted—who has time for soccer games and photo ops?

And let’s talk about those resources. Congo is the heart of the world’s economy. Our minerals—cobalt, coltan, diamonds, gold—are used in phones, laptops, cars, electricity grids. We should be the richest nation on earth. But instead, we are being exploited. And it is not just outsiders stealing from us. Our own leaders sell us out. They hoard wealth while the people suffer.

Yet, when I look at the people, I see so much intelligence. I have met Congolese students who arrive in South Africa barely speaking English, yet they excel in school—especially in math and science. They are always among the top students, always getting distinctions, always achieving. But after graduation? Where do they go? They forget Congo. They chase Western dreams, focusing on personal success instead of national progress.

And what about the culture? It feels like all we celebrate is dancing and comedy. We are a nation that only knows entertainment. Where is the nationalism? Where is the ambition for Congo? Yes, many women dream of weddings, which is not a bad thing—but where is the dream of rebuilding the country? Where is the urgency to change things?

Congo was supposed to be the one helping neighboring countries, leading Africa, setting the standard. Instead, we are fighting to survive while our leaders steal everything for themselves.

And the worst part? Many Africans do not take their presidents seriously. Why? Because these leaders have made themselves into a joke. They make empty promises, praise themselves with meaningless titles like Fachi Beton, and abandon the people when it truly matters.

I wish I could do something. Right now, I am just here, expressing my anger, my sadness, my frustration. But what I refuse to do is stay silent.🇨🇩❤️

Sunday, January 12, 2025

When Talking To Your Parents Feel Impossible

Ever since I was young, I’ve struggled with something I didn’t even have the words to explain back then: talking to my parents. You know, those deep conversations where you sit down, open up about what’s hurting you, share your needs, or even just talk like friends. For some people, their mom or dad is their best friend, but for me? That’s never been the case. My mom is just my mom, my dad is just my dad, and I’m just their child.

It’s not like I don’t want to talk to them. I do. But it’s like there’s this invisible wall that I can’t break through, no matter how hard I try. I’ve only realized how deeply this runs when something big happens in my life—something that shakes me—and I find myself struggling to tell them about it. The words just won’t come.

Why Is It So Hard?

I think part of it is the way things have always been between us. My parents, whether they meant to or not, created these boundaries that make it hard to see them as anything but authority figures. Talking to them about my emotions feels unnatural. And it’s not just me—I know I’m not alone in this.

Maybe it’s because, growing up, I didn’t feel like there was space for that kind of openness. Or maybe I’m afraid they won’t understand, or worse, that they’ll dismiss my feelings entirely. But what I do know is that it’s not entirely my fault. This is how our relationship has been shaped over the years.

Confiding in Others

Here’s where it gets even more complicated. When I can’t talk to my parents, I look for someone else—someone I feel I can trust—to share what’s on my mind. It could be a friend, a mentor, or even a stranger. Somehow, it feels easier to talk to someone who isn’t as close to the situation.

But then, sometimes that person goes to my parents. Maybe they mean well, but when my parents find out, they’re upset. They start asking me why I didn’t talk to them first. Their moods change, their attitudes shift, and I feel guilty. It’s a cycle that leaves me feeling worse than before.

The Guilt Trap

That guilt hits hard. It makes me question myself. Why didn’t I just talk to them? But the truth is, I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was that I didn’t feel like I could. And every time this happens, it just reinforces the idea that talking to my parents is impossible.

What Can Be Done?

Honestly? I don’t know if this will ever change. Maybe some relationships are just too deeply rooted in old patterns to be rewritten. I’ve tried thinking about how to fix it—starting small, writing letters, finding common ground—but it feels like no matter what I do, we’ll never have the kind of relationship where I can pour my heart out without fear or hesitation.

So where does that leave me?

For now, I’ve decided to focus on finding support where I can. Maybe that’s friends, or a therapist, or even just journaling to process my emotions. And maybe, one day, I’ll find the courage to tell my parents how I feel. But until then, I’m learning to let go of the guilt.🫡

A Message to Others Like Me

If you’re reading this and you feel the same way, know this: you’re not alone, and it’s not your fault. It’s okay to struggle with opening up. It’s okay to confide in others if you need to. And it’s okay to protect your peace, even if it means setting boundaries with the people closest to you.👍

I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this: your voice matters, even if it feels like it’s getting lost in the noise. Keep trying to speak your truth, in whatever way you can.💯

Tuesday, January 7, 2025

Feeling Stuck: The Rebellion I Crave

THERE'S a part of me that’s itching to break free—to embrace rebellion in all its glory. Piercings, dating without overthinking, running away from the mundane, drinking without guilt, dressing boldly, staying out late, and coming home whenever I want.

I recently saw some of my old primary school classmates and ex-friends. They’re living the dream—or at least, that’s how it seems. Their lives are filled with freedom, adventure, and risks, while mine feels stuck in the same place. My family’s world has become my cage. I can’t take risks; I’m still fully dependent on them for everything. For crying out loud, I’m 20 years old. Well, almost 😬

can’t help but believe that if I were a boy, life would’ve been better. Boys seem to have fewer restrictions, more freedom, and fewer judgments. It’s like the world gives them permission to explore, to fail, and to rise again. For me, the weight of expectations feels heavier.😔

BUT deep down, I know this isn’t about gender—it’s about finding my way. My life is stagnant because I haven’t taken the leap yet. The truth is, I don’t just want rebellion for rebellion’s sake. I want rebellion because I need freedom. I need to prove to myself that I can make choices, take risks, and learn from them.

IT'S time to start carving my own path. I want to try things, even if they don’t work out. I want to feel alive. Maybe this rebellion isn’t about running away from everything—it’s about running toward the person I want to be.

FOR now, I’ll start small. A piercing? Maybe. Dressing a little more boldly? Absolutely. Staying out late? I’ll get there. This is the beginning of me rewriting my story.

TO anyone else feeling stuck: maybe it’s time to take that first step, no matter how small. Let’s embrace the dream we want, not the one we’re told to follow.🙂




Saturday, January 4, 2025

The Lonely Road To Self Love - My Schooling Journey Part 1

Hey Dreamers !🌟

Every journey has its bumps, its unexpected turns, and moments that shape who we are. For me, it started in the classrooms of my elementary school years. Looking back at it now, it’s hard to believe how much my schooling years shaped my path. From the teasing and bullying to those rare moments of self-discovery, each chapter has taught me something invaluable.

School, for me, wasn’t always about acing tests or fitting in. In fact, it was often about navigating the storms of peer pressure, loneliness, and feeling like I didn’t belong. Yet, those very struggles gave me the resilience I carry with me today. It wasn’t always easy, and there were days I wanted to disappear into the background, but I learned that even the most difficult chapters in life can be the ones that build us up.

Join me as I take you on a ride through my early school years, from Grade 1 to Grade 7. From awkward moments to those little victories, this is the first part of my schooling story. And trust me, there’s much more to come.

Let's go! ☺️ 

When I first entered primary school, I was so eager to fit in, but nothing really seemed to work. I remember how I used to dress—looking back, it wasn’t exactly what I would call “on-trend” at the time. I wore this weird Powerpuff Girls outfit in Grade 1, and I could feel the stares of the teachers, especially those two popular twins. They giggled as I passed, and even though I was just a kid, I could feel the sting of their laughter. It hurt so much then, but now I see that it was just the beginning of the awkward moments I’d face in school.

Grade 2 and Grade 3 weren’t much different. I was still that kid who didn’t really fit into any group. My clothes were always out of place, and it was obvious that I wasn’t the “cool kid.” One of the toughest moments came when I posted a picture on Facebook for the first time—just a simple selfie, nothing special. But it became the talk of the school, and that feeling of being bullied on social media was a punch to the gut. A guy I once considered a friend turned on me, and his cruel words cut deep. It felt like nobody had my back, and I had to block him out just to escape the pain. That was a moment I’ll never forget.

As I moved into Grade 4 and Grade 5, things didn’t really improve. I was still dealing with the bullies, the teasing, and the feeling of being left behind. And don’t even get me started on the pressure I felt to be in a relationship. Everyone seemed to have someone—except me. I was the "ugly duckling," the one who was left out during Valentine’s Day, the one who wasn’t dating anyone, the one who didn’t fit in with the popular crowd. I felt invisible, like I was stuck in the background of everyone else’s lives.

struggled with my self-image, constantly thinking that if I just dressed better or looked a little more like the other girls, I might finally be accepted. But when I tried to change, when I wore makeup or accessories that I thought were stylish, I was just met with criticism. I remember one of my so-called friends telling me that I shouldn’t wear makeup because it didn’t look right on me. Back then, I was just trying to fit in, but all it did was make me feel worse about myself. Looking back now, I realize that I was trying too hard to please people who didn’t care about me in the first place.

By Grade 6, I had grown used to being the outcast, but I still held onto the hope that something would change. It was in Grade 6 that I made a surprising discovery about myself. One day, in the middle of class, I found out I had gotten the highest grade in history. The teacher called my name out loud, and I remember standing there, stunned. For the first time, I felt proud of something I had done in school. That certificate at the end of the year made me believe that maybe, just maybe, I could do this—despite all the challenges I had faced. But after that, the spark faded. Grade 7 came, and I was no longer the student who stood out for good reasons. I just became another average kid trying to survive the drama that came with school life.

Grade 7 had its highs and lows. We had this teacher who seemed like he was going to be amazing, but he turned out to be just as frustrated with us as we were with him. We were the loud, rebellious class that drove him to quit halfway through the year. We had another teacher, a lady who wore a hijab and covered her body completely. We nicknamed her "Ninja" because of her attire, but the truth is, she had it hard with us. We made her life difficult, and I regret that. We were all loud, restless, and rebellious. I don’t think we gave her the respect she deserved.

By the time the Grade 7 camp rolled around, I was ready to leave the school. But before that, we had the camp to look forward to. They promised us it would be a traditional, fun-filled adventure with a campfire and bonding, but in reality, it was nothing like that. We stayed at the school for just one night, not two like they said. And what was supposed to be a night of singing around the campfire turned into a quiet, lonely experience for me. Everyone had a partner, but I was alone. I remember trying to dance, pretending to be carefree, but deep down, I felt the weight of loneliness. I didn’t fit in, and I felt it more than ever during that camp. But that was the reality I had to face, and I couldn’t change it.

left primary school with mixed feelings. I was happy to be free from the bullying, the pressure, and the constant feeling of being an outsider. But I also left with scars—scars that came from years of being misunderstood and overlooked. The pain of those years still lingers, but I’ve learned that they were necessary for me to become the person I am today. Those early struggles with fitting in, with dealing with bullies, with finding my own identity, were all stepping stones toward growth. They taught me resilience, self-awareness, and most importantly, how to be true to myself.

It wasn’t a perfect journey, but it’s mine. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Stay tuned for the next chapter of my journey!❤️



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