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Candice Nolan / Mar 7, 2019

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I am a webmaster. Not yet master of the web, I’m afraid.

Not by any stretch of the imagination! This is my Clarke Kent moment. On second thoughts, I’m more April O’Neil thank Clarke Kent. I have a mutant radio platform that I’m brewing by night. And I have a day job. And a toddler. To say I’m over extended, would be putting it mildly.

It doesn’t feel like work though. This is my future. Our future. And its very exciting. I am coming into my own, in a way that I never have before. I was always a brilliant and masterful storyteller. The difference is, now I’m proud to say it whereas before, I would have doubted myself.

There is a newness about my spirit. A confidence that was certainly lacking before. I put it down to the work I’ve been doing with Hymie. The resonance repatterning I told you about previously. I think I may have neglected to mention, that Hymie also did a numerology reading for me. Turns out I’m psychic. Very much out of touch with my “guides”, as it were.

I was raised Christian. I have come to question alot of what I was taught. And alot of what I was taught to believe didn’t fit in with the image I had of my maker. I have always had a problem with organised religion. It’s too flawed to be anything other than a fiction. I also feel that, as a woman, I cannot subscribe to patriarchal ideals of religion which largely leave females out of the creationist script.

So here I am. Raising a daughter in a completely non-secular way. And yet, I have a yearning for her to be raised in the church, to attend sunday school and perform in plays (just as I did). I’m not a stranger to the irony. She attends a strictly non-traditional, multi dimensional family idealistic type school. And on the first day of the week, I do her hair up and dress her in her Sunday best and take her to Church.

And yet the two ideals seem to fit perfectly together in my psyche. I do not believe in corporal punishment, but remain enamoured by tales of Jezebel and the not-so-hungry lions. There is a sense of comfort in the old church pews and worn pew bibles. And something resonates with my soul during those Sunday morning services. Perhaps, the familiarity?

I have this tattoo. It mimics a rock painting from aeons gone by. A nomadic people are believed to have been the first settlers of the land we today call “South Africa”. They were named other (San) by pastoralists, who called themselves “men of men” – Khoe Khoe. Many assume that the other were wiped out by a genocidal campaign lead by the european, with help from the Khoe.

It was said that the Khoe cut off the breasts of their other victims and used them as tobacco pouches, using a method they were taught by their Dutch masters. This fact rings in my ears, even as write this. Breasts. Tobacco pouches. Genocide. It is said that the other is our mother. The true ancestor of the people who call them selves “South African”.

In honour of my other mother, I had a tattoo done. The image is the side profile of three women – painted onto the rock of a cave (I imagine). Its attributable to Wits University and is freely available on the interwebs. The three (buxom?) women have rather large but shapely buttocks. It is said that the San typical drew images of people in trance. I think it was an image of the same woman at different stages of an illustrative dance.

I joke to those who stop to ask about my tattoo, that it depicts Saartjie Baartman and her two sisters. Saartjie Baartman was kidnapped from her home in the same neck of the woods that my grandmother came from. Baartman was sold into sexual slavery, died and was buried in Europe. She was put on exhibition, gawked at, humiliated, experimented on and her remains later exhibited. Baartman had a big bum. This is the feature that comes to mind when one thinks about Saartjie Baartman. That bum.

So that’s the meaning behind (pardon the pun) my tattoo. It has everything and nothing to do with this blog post. I am a webmaster.

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