Get help brave heart.

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

It is a well-known fact, and the punchline of many jokes and silly conversations behind my back, that I do have bipolar disorder. I feel pity for ignorance.

I was diagnosed at 14 years of age with manic depression and over the years the medical fraternity came up with a new word to scare people. Bipolar! Bring the holy water!

I want the stigma removed and by being open about it, I know from the emails I receive, that it helps others come to terms with mental health. Climbing and admitting there is a mountain obscuring your positive view, is brave and courageous, not mental asylum potential.

Nobody looks the least bit shocked or horrified when I say I am also diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and Fibromyalgia. It seems your bones fusing and your soft tissue cells attacking each other is just dandy…. Just please don’t add depression, then people fear what they don’t understand.

I’Il take my medication religiously, but it is no guarantee for a free ride. Oh hell no! That would be way too easy.

I have rapidly cycled. Quick ups and downs.

The ups are unbelievable. Your brain is 100% in overdrive and your thoughts are clear, quick to the point and you kick productivity in overdrive. You are bullet proof. It is my favourite stage as it is with most bipolar patients. Powerful. It is to be alive with all your senses firing on all cylinders.

The downs are dark and you get there fast. Stay in bed, head under duvet kind of dark. Not eating. Not talking. Silent. Sometimes tearful, other times howling at the moon crying or plainly feeling numb to the world at large. It is horrible. Yet to meet one of my kind who likes this phase, however if you channel that pain, by far the most creative. You write deeply. Real. You reach people. Those that draw produces unbelievable pieces of art. Music is raw. Acoustic. Deep. Breath-taking.

It is documented that many creative creatures have bipolar. I am drawn to the arts like the smell of fresh Kitka to a Jew on Fridays (that includes me). I become alive and the bravery, vulnerability and generous giving of a performer fills me like a sponge. I cry at many performances for it touches an open raw wound. It is a beautiful mind.

There are those that think you must simply decide to feel better and you are better. Positive thoughts I believe in… but good luck with curing cancer!

Bipolar, depression and anxiety is treatable and can be managed. Being suicidal is not like riding a unicorn at all. Get help brave heart*.

*Call the Cipla SADAG free helpline on 0800 456 789

I wish you enough,


  • #DONTLabelMe
  • #ItsOKtoTalk
  • #ItsOKtoAsk
  • #ItsOKNotToBeOK
  • #StopTheStigma
  • #mentalhealth
  • #depression
  • #hope
  • #whatif


It always seems impossible until it’s done.

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I know people would love for me to just move on, but good luck with that. I miss my child.

Liam James, London, 2018

My therapist says to just feel it. The missing of my Liam James. Sit with it as long as I need. It feels so much like grief although Lee is very much alive, and *only* 10 000km away.

Six months. It’s a long time to sit… and feel. I’m tired.

Please stop asking when I’m going to visit. There is no money for such things. I know you mean well.

I wish you enough,



Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I’m a woman


Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I’m a woman


Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can’t see.

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman


Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need for my care.

’Cause I’m a woman


Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

– Maya Angelou, “Phenomenal Woman” from And Still I Rise.Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou.

I wish you enough,


Just Add Peppadew

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Last night I attended a beautiful function at Workshop55 where the town was painted red with Peppadew South Africa!

We enjoyed an extensive menu of dishes that included Pepperdews®.

It included a Spring Garden Salad with seasonal vegetables that was pickled, roasted and pureed with herbs. It featured hot, sweet piquanté Pepperdews®.

One of my favourites were the White Fish Goujons. Hot mango atchar (also part of the Peppadew® range), hot, sweet piquanté Pepperdews®, pineapples, chimichurri, coriander and pickled carrots.

The Spicy Chicken was a bit hot for me, although the sweet piquanté Pepperdews® were mild! It was served with black rice (a first for me), ginger, garlic, mild Pepperdews® Vegetables Atchar Yoghurt and green peppers.

While the rosemary vinaigrette kicked my butt, I did enjoy the Orange and Ricotta dish. The dish included mild Pepperdews® sweet piquanté, fennel shavings, slow roast tomato and sunflower seeds. It loved the fresh orange, roast tomato and ricotta combination. Love!

The Ostrich Fillet was prepared to perfection and thus dish disappeared from the serving dish the fastest! Hot, sweet piquanté Pepperdews® with hot vegetable atchar, re-fried bean chilli, smoked baby corn and sour cream.

We ended the evening with mild, sweet piquanté Pepperdews® chocolate ganache, pistachio ice cream with rosemary and berry coulis. I enjoyed the pastry, crust texture with the smooth ganache.

Workshop55 is a gorgeous venue with a well stocked gin bar. I’ve never dined there before, so I cannot comment on their regular menu, but the service was superb. I often ask for my water to be kept topped up, and I love when it actually happens! I’m into details. 😉

I wish you enough,



Die Ellen Pakkies Storie

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I attended a VIP screening of Die Ellen Pakkies Storie tonight at Ster Kinekor.

It was one of two occasions where I was so emotional that I chose not to interact with the cast, but leave to cry in my car.

To grasp #DieEllenPakkiesStorie would be to open yourself to the unthinkable. A mother killing her adult son.

You have to see this heartbreaking, raw, unbelievable true love/life story to understand the depth of a mother’s love, and the width of her despair.

I cannot rate this movie higher than I do.

Jill Jazz Levenberg portrayal of Ellen Pakkies is authentic, crippling with emotion and without pretense. Wow.

Jarrid Geduld in the role of Abie Pakkies, is pure to the point of cringing at the pain, evil and psychologically feeling the desperation every time the word “Mommy” escapes. Phenomenal.

I wish you enough,



Guest Post: A part-time transgender woman.

Male Privilege: Yes, It Is Real

HPIM0011 (2) (002)When typing the heading to this piece I felt myself fighting back the words ‘no shit Sherlock’ and then wondered, ‘should I carry on writing this?’ Then I remembered why I wanted to write this and resolved to carry on bashing the keyboard relentlessly. You see, I have been told, sometimes by women close to me and very definitely by many men of varying degrees of closeness, that male privilege does not in fact exist. But, I know that it does. I experience it daily both as the beneficiary and the ‘victim’ of it.

As a part-time transgender woman, I make my way through the world, sometimes in the guise of a man and sometimes as the woman, I know myself to be. I am not ‘out’ at work and very few people I know socially know both iterations of me. I am therefore privy to much of the unedited, ‘normal’ male decision making, thought processes and behaviours that underpin society. I also enjoy some ‘passing privilege’ and am assumed to be a woman rather than the dreaded ‘man in a dress’ by many I meet socially. This changes at some point after meeting, but even after I have been discovered, being feminine means I am treated fundamentally differently to the way I am treated when presenting as a male. I know this because I experience it.

So let’s get this out the way … I’m a cross dresser

As a man, I can walk freely down the street, without fear.
As a woman I feel afraid to walk down the street, wondering whether I will be sexually harassed or worse, be the victim of a gender-based assault.
As a man, I can visit pubs and nightclubs (should I want to) at will.
As a woman, I am afraid to go to the mall at night, let alone a nightclub or bar alone.
As a man, I have little fear of my drink being spiked.
As a woman, I have to think about what I order, how it is delivered, who has opened it and where it is at any given time.
As a man, I can engage in debate and argument (both online and in person) and have my ideas respected (even when I am not agreed with).
As a woman I have my own arguments repeated back to me and I am regularly mansplained to.

HPIM0003 (2) (002).jpgThe sad truth is that men think less of women and men dominate work and social spaces. Their ideas carry more weight, their voices speak louder and with more authority and they move through the world with little (if any) fear. Some women accentuate this. They listen more attentively to men, they reinforce the male ego and they often do not support other women in business. Some women even think those who experience gender-based violence were ‘asking for it’. I have experienced unwelcome sexual attention. It has happened to me in mid-winter wearing jeans and jackets, it has happened to me in summer wearing a skirt. I have never welcomed it. This proves that this is a fallacy. I am fortunate in that I have never had anything escalate to physical assault, but men feel empowered to act like this. This is not normal it is not acceptable.

We need to change the way we think. We need to change what we think. We need to assert our power in the face of this male privilege. Men get away with thinking it does not exist because that is the nature of privilege, it is so entrenched it seems normal. We, women, have no such excuse. We are in this together. We should stand together.

You can reach Daniella on her Blog , and on Twitter as well as in a business capacity, Priscillas Services – Assisting the Gauteng LGBT (especially transgender and cross-dressing) community, with make-up, accommodation, storage, fashion (personal shopping) and transformation services. Safety and discretion guaranteed. Fun and happiness assured. Johannesburg, South Africa.


Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I felt it building. The exhaustion. From Monday to Thursday I realised I was incredibly tired by bedtime. Like there isn’t enough sleep in the world to feed me.

Last night I felt myself crashing. It’s a tired I can’t explain. I took my daily meds to assist sleeping and not having my body present itself as a stiff job in the morning. Usually I fall asleep soon after. Nothing.

I’m so tired that my eye lids feel heavy but still, no sleep. Round 3am I took my anxiety meds. Again feeling more relaxed I should fall asleep, but nothing.

I think I have the feeling that toddlers have when they are over tired down. No wonder they are so grumpy.

I lay down this afternoon and slept about 90 minutes… but again, not a deep sleep either. I woke up with a headache firmly in place (probably from a lack of sleep) and that familiar Fibromyalgia ache all over my body. I really am not keen on a flair up please. Spare me.

It makes me sad. I feel guilty if I ask @SirNoid or my children for help as they work long hours and I feel like a burden during weeks like this one.

I physically hurt and psychologically it makes me feel pretty useless. Really positive on the self esteem chronic illness is.

I try to communicate how my body feels but I know it doesn’t translate well into words. I just sound like I need some cheese with that whine.

I wish you enough,



Guest Post: It’s all about the boobs!

1 October 2008

It was a normal Wednesday… Work, clients, paperwork, homework with the kids, dinner…. A lovely day actually… That evening, after bath, I was applying body lotion, and when putting it on my breasts, I felt something strange…. A bump/lump…. WTH??? I checked, checked again, lay down on the bed, felt this way felt that way, went to the mirror, turned sideways, checked again… and yep, there it was…. a fricken bump, about the size of a large marble (a goon as we called it as kids)!!!!! I called Jacques, more like a little scream actually, “come here quickly!!!”… He hurried into the bedroom and asked what’s wrong… a spider? what???

.I looked at him, big eyes, and I think I resembled a fish… I wanted to tell him what I’d found, but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth…. I put my hand up, “wait”, I took a breath, gulped… And told him I felt something funny… Funny haha or funny strange he asked… Funny strange I replied…. I told him, “a bump” pointing at my upper right breast, I showed him the exact spot, put his fingers over it and moved them in circles, his eyes opened wide, he felt, felt again… stepped back… He looked worried…. and that’s when I burst into tears.


How did this happen? I often checked my breasts, as per doctor’s instruction and various magazine articles… One week after my period, every month… Wait, had I checked the previous month? And the month before that?…. I tried to recall when last I’d done the self-exam. Jeez, almost 7 months had passed since I’d checked them the last time!!! How could I have forgotten? I’m usually very good at the “look after myself, thereby look after my family” thing.

I didn’t know what to do, the only thing on my mind was CANCER. Shit! What the hell do I do if I have Cancer? I’m the breadwinner, I have responsibilities, my kids are still small, I’m the MOM for goodness sake!!! I immediately called my mom, and asked her if we have a history of Breast Cancer in the family, nope, never had anyone with those issues, on either my mom or dad’s sides. Thank goodness, a small comfort at least…. I explained what I’d found and she said to call my GP first thing in the morning and make an appointment. She tried to comfort me, telling me not to worry, wait until I’d seen the doctor, and then, once I knew the facts, take whatever steps are required to “handle” the situation. Truthfully, I’d always been very good at “handling” situations. I’m a tough cookie. Stress, issues, worries, problems… Yep, I can handle anything…. Anything but the thought of losing my breast?????

I went onto the internet, BIG MISTAKE! Any idea how many articles on lumps, breast cancer, breast abnormalities etc. there are on the web??? THOUSANDS!!! After the 5th or 6th page, I freaked and turned off the computer. I felt sick to my stomach, and suddenly very tired…. I tried to watch tv, couldn’t concentrate, and around 10pm, went to bed… No sleep, nil, nothing, nada…. I kept feeling the bump, hoping it’d go away, or just feeling the texture… It wasn’t painful, but hells bells… it was THERE… It felt bigger every time I touched it! The scenarios going through my mind were not pretty, I’d seen pictures of mastectomy op’s before, and of course, my little internet visit hadn’t helped at all…. I kept thinking about what would happen to my family if I died? Shit sakes!!! I’m 37 years old, and thinking about death???? No way Jose!!! I just simply would NOT die! Well, that’s what I thought, and I prayed…. Wow did I pray… Hadn’t prayed so hard since the day my dad was killed in a car accident, and I prayed that my mom would survive…. I’d been 8 months pregnant with Danielle at the time… Yep, it took 17 years for me to talk to God with such desperation and begging, I’m sure the poor Man didn’t know how to handle a sobbing, begging, praying, sniffling ME! I just remember saying please don’t let me die, please let me raise my kids… please, please, please.

I was up, dressed and ready for the day at 6am. I waited until 8 and called my GP, explained to the receptionist what I’d found, and begged her for the earliest appointment. I think the poor woman must have heard the fear in my voice… She told me to come in immediately, and that the doctor would see me as soon as I arrived…. I drove to the doctor’s office, walked in, and was told Dr C’s waiting for me… Dr C has been our family doctor for 17 years, direct, honest, and nice! I walked into her consulting room, and the tears literally flowed… She sat me down, and we talked…. I explained what I’d found, she told me to lie on the bed, examined me, and actually took the time to check the left breast as well…. Yep, as I thought (and of course felt), there was quite a large lump in my right breast…. She told me I’d need to have a sonogram so that we can see what we’re dealing with.

Well, off to the Clinton Clinic for me. Arrived, went through, and waited, then into the little room for the sonogram… The poor radiographer could see that I was very nervous.  She completed the sonogram, both on the right breast and the left, then advised that the Doctor would be in to check, and explain the findings… The doctor arrived, had a look, and explained…. Yes, there is a rather large cyst in my right breast… along with several smaller ones… WTF? SEVERAL SMALLER ONES? And then he checked the left breast, and yep, you guessed it…. MORE!!! SHIT!!!! My mind was reeling, cysts? In BOTH breasts? How? Why? How? I had to ask the doctor to stop talking, and backtrack; I’d missed some of what he was explaining to me…. It looks like Fibrocystic Breast Disease…. OMG… DISEASE????? He told me it’s fairly common, but that the large cyst in my right breast was indeed a concern, and also two in the left breast…. He also advised that I’d need to go for a Mammogram… But But But…. I tried to argue… Mammogram to me equals Breast Cancer… He’d just called it something else??? He explained that due to the size of the large cyst, and the number of smaller ones visible, that a Mammogram was also required… He typed up his report and off I went to the Union… Filled in forms, had to wait for the Medical Aid to authorise the Mammogram… Went into the little room… and there it was… the torture device…. Yep, the vice grip of all vice grips…. The radiographer was very professional, explaining how it all works, that it “might hurt a little” etc…. Then it began… Well, “might hurt a little” was the understatement of the fricken CENTURY!!!! FRICKEN HELL!!! It felt as if my breast was being squeezed enough to pop…. A very very unpleasant experience!!! First the right, top to bottom, then side view… then the left…. I stood there, crying, not quite knowing if it was the pain of the Mammogram or the fear of the results…. Done, and report in hand, I was on my way back to Dr C….

Again, walked right in, she was waiting for me, she took the two envelopes, opened them up, started reading, and said, MMMMMM. I never thought I’d ever say this to a doctor, but I just blurted out… “what the F&ck does MMMMM mean?”…. She looked at me, and explained, all over again, about the Fibrocystic Breast Disease, the number of cysts found in both breasts, how it works… (little bubbles that fill with fluid during your period, then go away)…. Surprise surprise…. Mine did NOT go away!!! They’d taken up residence in my breasts, and seemed quite happy to stay and thrive!!! She informed that the large cyst in the right breast would need specialist attention, so I was referred to a Specialist Physician…. I was lucky enough to get an appointment for the Friday…. Oh groovy, just another sleepless night or two… Not like I wasn’t tired or anything….??? I left her rooms, feeling numb, and not quite focused…. I didn’t even bother going to work, no way could I do anything constructive with the stuff on my mind… I called Jacques and explained in a very clinical manner about the sonar, mammogram, results, referral etc… Yep, when I panic and stress about something, I treat it as if it’s happening to someone else, and does not bother me in the least…. Yeah right…. I was actually quivering inside…. Shit, I was so scared!!!

Friday morning, off to the Park Lane Clinic… One Specialist Physician appointment to nail…. A page and a half of questions (yep, I do that… write down every single thing that I think I might need to ask, and make a list, so that I can quiz the doctor, all the while, shaking like a leaf, and wishing I was one of those people who kept Prozac in the bathroom cabinet…. DAMN, felt as if I’d pop one or two very easily)… I was scared.

It was a female doctor, a Professor…. Lovely lady… She was sweet, and when she’d read the reports, told me to go into the exam room, she’d come and have a look…. She prodded, she poked, the checked, she looked… And yes, there was indeed a fairly large lump in the upper right breast (oh wow, this was NOT news to me!!!), and it would need to be removed surgically… The cysts in the left breast did not require surgery, as they were small, and their “walls” were smooth and according to the sonar and mammogram, nothing to be concerned about. She said she could operate the following day… She explained the procedure; she’d make an incision around the areola, remove the cyst, and stitch it back up…. The growth… (ugly word… cyst sounded better, cyst sounded not dangerous… like a blister… growth sounded like a foreign thing… an unwanted foreign growth in my breast… YUCK)…. I asked if it was Cancer? She said it was impossible to tell, she’d remove it and send it away for analysis…. It takes about a week for the results she said…. SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!! A week??? How the hell was I going to make it through a week….?

My head was reeling, it was so much more real to me now, knowing I’d have to go into surgery, they were going to cut my nipple off, and remove the “uninvited guest”…. I asked her about scarring, she said it would be minimal, as she’d make the incision around the areola, and would do a fine stitch to put it back together.

Surgery is nothing new to me… I’ve had three kids, two by C-Section, and I’ve had over 20 surgeries to have ovarian cysts removed… But these surgeries were on my stomach… the scars not really noticeable with all the stretch marks and c-section scars… They didn’t bother me… But DAMN….. My BREAST?????

I left her consulting rooms, went downstairs to the hospital reception, filled in forms for the procedure, got authorisation from the Medical Aid, all on Auto Pilot…. I felt numb… I think I was hoping that once I saw her, she’d tell me to take a course of antibiotics, and I’d be fine…. Now I was not so sure… I left, and called Jacques once I got in the car… The poor man was worried, I could tell, but he just said, it’d be a breeze, that I’m tough, and that we’d deal with the test results when we received them….

Next morning, arrived at the hospital at 6am, booked in, and assigned to a ward… Visited by the doctor and anaesthetist, drip inserted, and the procedure explained again, in detail…. The surgery would take no more than 45 minutes, and I could go home after 3pm…. I told Jacques he could leave, and go to work, but he’d brought the latest Clive Cussler, and waited. I went into surgery around 9am…. LOVE those little pre-med tablets they give you… WOOHOO…. Drowsy and happy was ME!…. I woke up around 11am, and expected to feel pain… I felt nothing… I immediately checked to see that I still had a breast…. Yep, it was there, bandaged, but there…. I smiled at Jacques, said something stupid like I love my boobies, and went back to sleep…. The doctor came to see me about an hour later, explained that the procedure had gone well and that the cyst (5cm round), along with some surrounding tissue, had been removed. About the size of a golf ball….. This would be sent to the lab for analysis, and she would contact me as soon as the results were back… I asked her why I felt no pain, she explained that she’d injected me with some aesthetic into the breast, which would keep me pain-free for 72 hours…. YUMMMM…. I don’t like pain, so this was good…. She talked to me about wound care etc, and that the stitches would dissolve. I had to see her on Tuesday, to remove the bandage and for her to see if all is ok.

We left just after 3…. A week, I had to wait a week? DAMN!!! Jacques tried to tell me it would be ok, but I didn’t even take it in…. I was worried… It’s a woman thing, I don’t think men understand about us and our breasts…. They’re what makes us female…. and mine was not exactly fantastic, but they weren’t awful either… I liked them, they were mine, I’d had them since I was 14, kinda became attached to them, and would very much prefer to keep them… !!!

The weekend was a quiet one…. I tried not to think about anything…. Monday came, had the checkup, she removed the bandage, and there was just a little white sticky tape on the breast, basically halfway around the areola…. Very little swelling… and she was pleased that there was no sign of infection…. I asked her whether she’d heard anything about the tests??? No, nothing yet, she would call me… she promised…. F&ck!!! Call me??? I can’t wait another four days…. I left her rooms and went back to work…. I have no idea how I functioned during the next few days…. Auto Pilot… I love Auto Pilot….

Thursday morning, 8h15am…. Phone… Dr…. NO CANCER NO CANCER NO CANCER!!!!! Oh my word, those were the best words anyone had ever said to me in my entire life!!!!!!! She explained that all was well, no problem, NO CANCER!!!…. She explained that I’d need to keep a close eye on my breasts, must do self-exams EVERY month, and have both a sonogram and mammogram every 6 months….

If I’d found the lump/cyst, when it was smaller, I could have had it drained via the needle aspiration process…. Surgery could have been avoided, and also the stress, and pain, and fear of those AWFUL 8 days….

I check my breasts EVERY month, I don’t miss a single time… NEVER…. I go for the sonar & mammogram every six months… Yes, I have Fibrocystic Breast Disease… Almost 60% of both breasts consist of little cysts… Smaller than Jelly Tots… But they’re there… and I know the feel of EVERY SINGLE ONE of them…. If they DARE grow a little bigger from one month to the next, I realise it immediately and can take the necessary steps to have them checked, and aspirated if needs be.

The scar healed nicely… well not nice, but it’s ok…. I hate it, Jacques says he doesn’t see it (sweet sweet man)…. Due to the size of the lump/cyst removed, there was quite a bit of tissue loss, and yes, it was very noticeable… About a month after the surgery, I started inserting a little silicone bubble into my bra, to ensure that the right breast looked like the left…. Evened me out a little…. Nobody ever knew… Until now… Shit, won’t be able to face half my friends after this….

marietjie 2The main reason for this note… (ok novel)…. is to stress the importance of monthly Breast Exams…. Ladies, please, check your boobies…. Gents, remind your ladies…. the 8 days of hell live in my head as if it happened yesterday…. And to think, if I’d done the exams, as I should have done, I could have avoided almost all of it….

I’m glad I went through this, in a way…. It’s made me stronger, and it’s also made me realise the importance of looking after myself…. Life sucks sometimes, but hey, mostly life’s pretty damn wonderful…. 🙂


I thank God every day, that it turned out to be something small and I pray, every day, that it never becomes something big…. Every day… x

You can contact Marietjie Albasini on :




Guest Post: Rephethile Kgwale

My name is Rephethile Kgwale and I’m the founder of a campaign called Matters of the brain, I’ve been living with Bipolar Disorder, Generalized Anxiety disorder and Dysthemia for eight years.

After being diagnosed I experienced judgement from society due to the expectations they had of me. I realize how stigmatized mental health is especially around the black community. I realized the gap and need to start this campaign to find ways to eliminate and educate people more about mental health in a safe space.

Rephethile Kgwale
Rephethile Kgwale

Matters of the brain is a non-judgmental platform implemented for those suffering from various mental health issues, those whose loved ones are dealing and not dealing with their diagnosis.  This campaign aims to target mainly the black community within South Africa.

It mainly focuses on these parameters because black people are not well educated to deal with and accept mental health challenges. Many black people are not comfortable to engage in conversations about mental illnesses. Black people can’t differentiate the different disorders, therefore our aim is to open the channels and create a safe educative platform. A platform that will clear the confusion and create a detailed supportive forum.

The minute you start talking about your mind, people get very anxious, because we associate that with being who we are, fundamentally with “us” — us as a person, us as an individual, our thoughts, our fears, our hopes, our aspirations, our everything.

38017320_2302249976458945_2062864691960479744_nFeeling miserable could, in fact, be seen as part of you or an extension of your social world. Applying a medical label to your emotions is not always something that everyone with depression, for example, is comfortable with.

Banishing the stigma attached to mental health issues can go a long way toward facilitating genuinely useful conversations.


Hook up with Rephethile on social media:




Mozambik Linksfield Review

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

We visited Mozambik Linksfield on Sunday. We arrived at 12h00 and by 12h30 the restaurant was full.

Mozambik offers an extensive selection of Afro-Porto cuisine and the necessary Caipirinha! Naturally, I did have to check up on the Strawberry Daiquiri offering… Oh the suffering I endure! 😂 (It ✅ ed all the boxes btw.)

We shared Chicken and Prawn Rissoles for starters which I enjoyed. Crispy with plenty flavourful filling. The Prawn was my favourite.

Almost everyone had Pregos which they said was nice (like Mrs Jones down the road). I chose a garlic chicken with veggies.

The flavour of the chicken was delicious although there is work to be done amongst chickens to encourage body positivity. An extra grain for lunch won’t hurt! A plump chicken is much sexier. The veggies turned out to be the star item on my plate and I enjoyed it very much.






Clearly a popular weekend spot, it is the kind of place you can sit at for hours, chatting and eating at leisure.

Unfortunately, there was none of that for me as Premier League has kicked off. #YNWA

Service was excellent, great vibe and sitting outside was a treat. I would like to give the prawns a try next time, but I’d say the food we had was good (no complaints) but also not orgasmic.

There is a huge play area to keep the kids busy, and for those of us who have moved on from such, the play area is located at a suitable distance that you don’t hear them! 🤣


I wish you enough,