There was a time when the sound of youth could be heard by the tapping of a skipping rope as it hit the concrete. We would gnaw on chewing gum and marvel over the...
Category: Nthabiseng Maphisa
My university education has been a long and difficult journey. I have changed courses multiple times and even now, in the final year of my undergraduate degree, I am uncertain as to what doors...
Many of us have had the misfortune of watching time move as quickly as a tortoise. There are times in our work, school or ministry that bring us to a moment of staring helplessly at a clock.
Rich. Filthy rich. That’s what they are. Off of our vanities and insecurities, they are made wealthy. In their eyes we are piglets to be raised for slaughter. They will press and pull at our flesh and then turn us on our backs and say to the butcher: “Cut it here.”
I want to be famous. I want my face splashed across billboards on national highways. I want to be on the cover of Time magazine. I want National Geographic to do documentaries about my...
Nthabiseng Maphisa asks: Why are we so attracted to royal fairy tales? I am not close to any members of any royal family on earth. I am neither a duchess nor an empress. As far as my knowledge can stretch, I am not a princess, though I have dreams of living like one some day.
I feel bad for those who have become so consumed with the errands of the day that they have not taken the time to lift their heads and count the white threads in God’s own tapestry. They sit like jewels in a black velvet box.
And just as I am tempted to bite into a burger combo, I am in the same way tempted to sink my teeth into the daily dish of parish affairs. That’s right, people, ain’t no gossip like church gossip.
The opening words of the sonnet “Death Be Not Proud” by the 17th-century British poet and cleric John Donne have resonated with me over the past couple of weeks.
I am absolutely convinced that TV producers and writers gather in secret limestone towers in the shadows of the night with the wind howling and rattling the windows. Together they concoct potions and spells that awaken every woman’s desire for beauty and love.
Every woman knows all too well the stirrings within her that come from being attracted to someone and hoping to be noticed by them. I have not escaped such a treachery and soon found myself in love’s quarters.
The battle of the sexes seems to have taken on more sinister overtones. There are some women who see men as the source and root of all evil, and there are men who see women as nothing more than temptresses, seductresses, models for lads’ magazines and child bearers.