Wake up, make sure the curtains are open, the house is clean-make sure she doesn’t see those stains when she comes back from work because she’ll call you lazy, the dirty dishes are washed- that burnt pot must be squeaky clean, make sure her grandmother eats and is alive. You think you’d catch a break, no make sure that meat is taken out for dinner and decide how and what you are going to feed 4 mouths, do homework, do your work-a cycle everyday. “Because as a girl, the sun cannot rise and find you in bed!” A societal saying …

From the moment black girls are born, society already has expectations for them as if I wanted to be brought to this world but anyways here we are trying to live. There are expectations that young girls fall into as soon as they can walk and talk, be clean, sit like a girl, close your legs, you must learn how to cook and clean so that when you get married you can cook for your husband, you should not fall pregnant as if girls are the only ones responsible in the baby making process or do not drink, you will become a straatmate (loose girl). Boys do not have these outrageous social constructs which is mind-boggling to a certain extent and that we still have these social constructs like it is still the 1800s .

So one day I had grown tired of being everything  to everyone. I died a long time ago in silence. I mean being a daughter was just such an exhaustive process that killed me like cancer. Waking up each day exhausted and taken for granted, going to bed exhausted and still taken for granted without anyone asking how I am doing or coping? I remember there were always pills in the house, just lying there waiting for someone who needed them to take them. I remember tears flowing down my cheeks, the bottle of pills in my hand, the exhaustion in my body, the weight of the world on my shoulders, my mind racing in different directions.  Contemplating whether or not to wake up strong again tomorrow. That bottle seemed like a friend that came by exactly when I needed a friend, my heart was at peace because I was finally thinking about myself- well at least I thought I was at that time. I gracefully opened that bottle of pills.  It was as though my hand had a mind of its own. And somehow there it was my hand and my mouth fighting whether to put the pills in my mouth or not?

Shakespeare had this wonderful line in his book Hamlet: “To be or not to be, that is the question…”- these were the words ringing in my head-to take the pills or to not take the pills. I took the pills because that was way better than being in a space where I am being taken for granted yet everyday I must wake up with smiles and be everything everyone wants me to be. The pills gave me comfort that I can finally be me and rest and that I did not have to think about anyone anymore, just me. Opened my mouth as if I was about to eat a burger, shook that bottle like a little girl with that sherbet packet, drank that glass of water and went to bed. Although I was sad and crying I was happy, happy to finally not be exhausted, happy to finally not hide the fact that I am struggling with being everything to everyone. Finally, I was saying no and sometimes in black families saying ‘no’ is seen as disrespect and therefore we are forced to constantly nod and agree to things even when we know all too well that we are not comfortable with them, that we cannot have social lives because others will influence us into drugs, sex and alcohol where in actual fact black families drive us to the very things that they think friends will. The kind of pressures and responsibilities that they expect of us not understanding complexities of the world we live in and how the world continues to change.

My bed was super comfortable that day, I remember closing my eyes on a damp towel thinking about how my pillow has carried me through the toughest nights where I had to wake up in a smile the next morning and as I closed my eyes I began imagining myself finding me in the lush green forests, chasing sunsets and walking besides blue waters. Next thing I wake up in hospital nurses around me, one is poking a needle in my arm trying to find a vein with little success. Fluids are being pumped, a psychologist is talking to me-she mentioned something about booking me into a facility because I am suffering from depression… It hit, the forest’s a dream, now I had to learn to say ‘no’ in the real world… I wonder if they think I am being disrespectful by saying no, if they will think that this was an attention seeking stunt…

Being black is a burden especially in South Africa, now imagine being black and a female in South Africa- exciting yet terrifying an oxymoron really. Now imagine being a young black girl from a rural community not employed- you pay with your mental health. Your wellbeing comes after serving everyone else which is sad. We need to protect young girls but we also need to divorce this societal notion that girls are nurturers and as they grow they need to take care of everyone and expect them to be these imbokodos. They too suffer from exhaustion, they too need love and affection and sometimes they just need to fall asleep the entire day. We live during a time where we are trying to undo a cycle of trauma and violence and for that cycle to be broken we need to undo these societal expectations so that we do not end up like our parents and those that came before them that we do not harbour feelings of neglect, hate, or even exhaustion.