Locked Out!

Locked Out

Is it possible to be locked out of your own territory? Is it possible to be locked out of your own house?

Well I am afraid, yes. It happens when one misplaces keys. And then a small boy has to sneak in through a bathroom window to get the keys from the kitchen counter. It’s a scary experience. It once happened a couple of months back, where I locked in my keys with a mind that I will return with hubby. Only to be locked out.

Sure enough it does not only happen on physical houses but on virtual homes as well. I have been locked out of my blog for weeks now, after having lost my email address logins. I could not recover the blog’s password because every time reset it get sent to the email address I cannot access. I had to prove first to WordPress that I am indeed Ondiswa Nkosi the owner of ondiswankosi.com. It was a process and I must say that I was terrified of losing my blog after such hard work and money.

Anyway I am back now, and yes it is good to be back. There are a few changes I will perform on the blog, just to revive it and give it a new look and feel. Therefore I will completely redesign it, with lively colors since well we are approaching spring. So the timing could never be better.

I will add new pages and new categories to suite the direction that I now want the blog to take. I want to grow it and to offer useful information to its readers. I have created a new group on facebook called Mzantsi Authors Publishers and Performers just to bring everyone under one roof.

Accordingly my blog will be now focusing on writing and publishing to assist authors with their projects. It is sort of taking after me…BEING AN AUTHOR AFTER ALL. I will work closely with South African publishing and producing houses to milk information and pass it on to fellow writers so that we can all have our work out there.

Brace yourself ( I have), a new journey has started.


Let’s do this!



My First Day At Work

My First Day At Work

On Sunday evening the second of July 2006, I started to feel nervous. I actually asked myself over and over if it was real. Sometimes I thought that the whole new big job thing was a lie. Like maybe when I arrive at this new big company, they would turn me back and say, they made a terrible mistake. Anyway before I slept that Sunday, I made sure that the clothing for the next big day were neatly situated. I asked Deli to polish my winter boots. I then prayed and slept. The clock rang at 4am and without hesitation as usual, I jumped up and out of bed. I turned everything on, and then returned to bed. When the water boiled I made a cup of tea, because I suddenly didn’t feel like oats anymore. So I settled for tea and traditionally baked bread as loved by us maXhosa.

As I sat down to eat, I noticed that my little-girl was awake. She didn’t utter a word, and neither did I. After tea I poured bath water into the washing basin. Then I bent towards Mbali, who was then five, and asked if she was okay. It was going to be a strenuous day for her as well at the new crèche.

She said she was hungry. The thought of warming milk and mixing corn flakes tired me. She was still going to eat properly later anyway so I figured that I must just cut bread for her, so I did. I started bathing as she sat there munching lazily on bread.

I remembered that the kettle was on for tooth brushing, when Mbali ordered me to pour her a cup of tea once the water boils – to help with the bread I suppose. Again the thought of mixing tea tired me, and again I came up with a fix. I poured her a cup of milk instead, and she gladly accepted. Then I continued with my bath.

At 05:30 I locked and tucked the key in my bag, unconsciously. I escorted Mbali to Delis’ room where I just opened the door and pushed her in. I ran out of there like lighting to catch a taxi. I saw a taxi approaching then I thanked my God for the grace. Immediately after that short prayer, the taxi u-turned before reaching me and I realized that it was leaving. The thought of being late soaked my nerves and I screamed running towards it “ndicela undimisele” (please stop it for me) to the guy climbing in. They fortunately waited for me.

As we arrived at duduza rank my next taxi to Jozi was just leaving. So I had to wait for another one, which filled up quickly thank God again. By 06:45 I was in Jozi. I asked the driver to show me the Noord taxi-rank and he gladly did. I pushed my way to the rank in an ever-busy Jozi. I asked about 2 taxis the whereabouts of taxis to Midrand. I was showed no 05.

Badness! The line was 2km long. I joined the queue interceding that God must make a way for me to arrive early. I asked for supernatural help because it was clearly impossible for me to make it. I waited, and waited, and waited, and now began to feel nervous again. Imagining my first day at work – turning to my late day at work. One taxi arrived and I thought of sitting on the tv (the hot space behind the driver). But then I thought I will go to the next one. It arrived and I sprinted to the driver’s window and asked him to squeeze me in. He said I must talk to the queue marshal. I went to him (probably a Pedi or Nigerian couldn’t tell a difference on the language at that time). He probably didn’t understand my Xhosa accent either hence he just nodded to whatever I was saying about tv. I flew inside the taxi and sat on one bum facing the commuters.  This took place at about 07:30 since I had arrived at 06:45. The next time I checked time again it was 08:10. I called Renitha the HR lady and told her that I was running late she said no problem.

I entered the office park and asked for Commercial Park and people directed me except for one lady who said she had no idea. I later saw her in HR – bekanamanga…nxaa (liar).

One security guy escorted me to reception and I asked for Renitha. Her line was busy, so I changed to Nick. He said he was coming so I sat down. Ntombi, my cousin called and I spoke to her excitedly. Fifteen minutes passed without Nick showing up. I started to panic so I called Renitha who assured me that he was on his way.

I didn’t know that Nick was the boss or the guy who interviewed me. Finally Renitha fetched me around 08:45, and escorted me upstairs to the 3rd floor. She was taking me to Nick’s office. As we entered the open plan office it was quiet. All eyes were on me, I felt nervous and an outcast in this professional place. I was fresh from college although I had been a working student at the college this was different. A lady by the name of Jean offered to show me around, which she did for less than three minutes, and then she dumped me with Sihle. The first line that Jean said was that I arrived during month-end so they won’t have time for me. I wondered why they arranged for me to resume during this so called month-end time in the first place. That was the last I saw of Jean on that morning or Nick.

Sihle welcomed me and I asked for the ladies. After that she showed me a bit of the job, which I didn’t understand. However she said it will be better if I saw someone doing it. She did an access card for me and I stayed at her desk. Sitting there and feeling helpless was boring for me as a result even her job bored me. Later a guy called pastor came around and offered to show me around and introduce me to everyone in the department of about fifty people. I jumped to the opportunity. It later proved a tedious exercise as I had to tag behind him grinning to everyone. The names were the hardest part as others sounded foreign others barbaric and still others shocking. Anyway I nodded as I pretended to be taking those names in. When the exercise was over it was thankfully time for lunch. We went and bought from their expensive canteen, however the food was not bad. After lunch I was back to my spot of boredom. I told Sihle that I can’t take it anymore, I’m bored and the job is not interesting, what else could I do. She was kind of put off and suggested I call Jean. That I did and Jean was not impressed. She was like…’well if you are bored with that job then you will be bored for the rest of your nine months contract.’ Okay, I had to swallow hard as I released that I was hired for one of the dumbest jobs in the world. Being a creative person it was hard for me to be hired to only vlookup excel spreadsheets for the whole day.

But I stayed and worked and learned…anyway they were paying me for it.

My advice, if you are a talented/creative person in some way…study towards your creativity from the beginning so that you do not find yourself seating behind a desk and blocking your creative juices while you are trying to balance debits and credits.

Left Behind

I recently changed jobs leaving a big company for a much smaller company. Before I joined the new company I used to drive to work. It was always a tiring journey because of the distance and the traffic I had to endure every day. It was costly too because petrol for two hours on the road is no child’s play. Before I bought a car I used taxis – the worst nightmare.  The queue on the ranks used to be so long that one would queue for more than two hours. That was definitely not working for me. Although car maintenance was more expensive than queuing it was still the best choice.

When I joined the new company I was determined not to drive as the traffic was worse this side of town. I embarked on a mission to find convenient and affordable transport (not willing to sacrifice another R2500.00 on petrol as previously). After asking around I was informed about train services that had free shuttles. Apparently I could catch the train in the morning at 06:30am from Germiston to Johannesburg. Then from JHB to Rosebank I would then connect with a free shuttle. In the afternoon the same shuttle would collect me from my workplace and drop me at JHB to catch a 17:10 train. And do you know how much I would spend? It would only be R485.00 per month. I found it hard to believe such low fares for such good services. Apparently the train is very fast and user friendly. Everyone sit nicely and there are coffee/tea attendants plus a newspaper, you know a first class like environment. I jumped to the opportunity of saving money and being pampered daily. Then my travelling was sorted, I was happy.

The train and the shuttles were nice and all that. We had a whatsapp group administered by the train manager to update us about any urgent information. One afternoon as we were in shuttle to the station a message beeps alerting us of about twenty minutes delay. I figured that the train will be late so I decided to start at CNA just to browse through interesting titles and to also buy a chocolate. After about ten minutes of walking around I decided to go to the station and wait there with other commuters. As I descended the stairs I only saw less than five people there. That platform is usually packed with the commuters I travel with. I wondered if I was at the wrong platform or what because it was sincerely not possible to be that empty. I double checked the platform number is was indeed 13 & 14. What has happened? Was I left behind? But how because they said the train would be twenty minutes late and I was ten minutes early. I hurried down to ask the few people there. They confirmed that it left at exactly 17:10 as usual. But it was late, or supposed to be, I protested. They simply shrugged and said it’s gone. ‘Oh my goodness’, I signed as I sank down. What was I going to do now. It was almost 17:30. I thought of going to the normal trains but was again deterred by the thought of safety and hygiene. The normal trains are normally overloaded and are also a residency to thieves. I was not going there. The second option was the taxi rank but It was about 30 to 45 minutes walk from where I was. How was I going to manage such a long walk on heels. That thought froze me as I knew that I was in a mess. Having to catwalk in the ever busy Johannesburg.


Nevertheless I had no choice so I ambled up the stairs, across the building and in no time I was in town. So as I looked around I was not sure which side of the station I was in. The only side I am familiar with is by KFC which I didn’t see anywhere. So in this other side I was not quite sure which path to take. I just moved forward using the passage that tens of people were using due to construction that was going on. After the passage I passed the hawkers lining on either sides. There was now a main street with some taxis parked. I decided to jump and continue forward. The fear of being lost and wasting time and energy slowly gripped me. I had to ask someone for the noord’s whereabouts. I looked closely and innocently for a trustworthy somebody as I also didn’t want to endanger my life and  my bag. I also didn’t want anyone noticing that I was lost therefore an easy victim. So I walked along some lady and carefully asked for directions. She pointed me back to the street I have jumped. I needed to go back to it and turn right. That route was going to take me straight to the rank. I tiredly turned back and started walking up or down (as one never knows) Plein street. The journey was long and tiring as my shoes were killing me. I tried so much to walk normally but I could not. I walked with my knees bent sorrowfully. It was visible to everybody that the lady had a heel problem. People’s reactions were different, some were laughing, some sympathised and some offered to carry me up. I could now see the rank in a distance. I wished I could just take my shoes off but then again that would be too desperate. I also wished that I could buy cheap sandals from the street vendors but I didn’t have any money with me except the last R20.00 that would be my taxi fare. I stopped at some corner just to give myself a break. The whole experience was so dramatic and traumatic. As I arrived at the rank I joined the queue and then took my shoes off. I couldn’t take it anymore. The taxi arrived and I climbed up bare-footed, I didn’t care who says what. As I dropped off I walked up to my house with what my God gave me and with heels on my hands as you can see the picture.


That was the end of the Left Behind trauma. It turned out the train manager meant that the delay would occur after leaving JHB not before. I was left behind for nothing, I had failed to understand the message.

Till next time…

Will She Ever Return?

In the early days I thought it was a mistake. I thought it was all a bad dream. That I will wake up and laugh it out as I share it with her. Then as reality sank in I realised that it was not a joke nor was it a dream. I was wide awake, I was there. I was looking around and she was not there. I didn’t see her anywhere and I looked everywhere. They say she is dead! However I wonder if that is possible. I mean is it possible for such a bad thing to happen to such a good person? Such an evil thing to befall my aunt, my mother a good woman?


My aunt is dead. This death thing kind of happens to other people. Now they say it has happened to me? My aunt is dead. I saw them coming in numbers to comfort us. I saw the church coming and singing and reading the Word. These people say we must accept. I saw her close friends coming as well. They also say she is dead. But I always smile when I see them because I see her in them. And also because as they come she might just appear behind them. But she never appears. And they (her friends) also say she is dead.

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The Office Guy

It’s the morning buzz at the office with everyone munching away on fat cakes and all. We are walking tiredly from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for me and hot water for Tumi, because she is in some kind of a diet. I often feel sorry for her tummy, because it is severely victimized by all the bitter stuff she takes. The other day, I spotted vinegar on her desk for drinking purposes. Just imagine!

Anyway, back to our walk into our open plan office which means there are hardly any secrets. Everything you say or do is for the world to see. I am a witness of that trauma: there was a certain day, in which I was informing my friend telephonically about this huge secret, but fortunately not evil, only to be asked about it the next morning by Thuli. I was so distraught. And then the other day as I was telling Petra about some great achievement of which I expected her to jump. Guess what? She just said she already knew. I wondered how, because I never shared the news with her. She continued and confessed eavesdropping my telephonic conversation the other day. How nice!

Ok, as I was still caressing my coffee down the passage, I felt Tumi’s elbow nudging my ribs so strongly that my heart almost stopped and my coffee, if I never defended it, would have stained the mat – poor cleaners. The next thing Tumi was whispering rather loudly, inquiring me if I had noticed how cute the new guy in the office was. And I asked, ‘what guy?’ She almost fainted in amazement due to my ignorance, or is it lack of good taste? According to her it is hard not to notice this guy.

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My Seed Prayers Are Investments


The best time to plant seed prayers is when it is well with you in life. Yes when you are not facing any crisis, sleeping soundly. This is the time you should plant seed prayers. You should not relax just because you are not currently facing major problems, but you should invest in prayers. Pray for yourself and your family, for the church and even for the country. Pray to God while there is no crisis pushing you and cry out to him day and night. Of course this does not mean you should not pray during tribulations. Actually your previous seed prayers will kick in and boost your prayer during crisis.

Nobody invests when the currency is weak and they live hand-mouth. We all invest when we have plenty because we know that it will not always be milk and honey. Days of drought might strike when we least expect it and then our investments will save us until the economy picks up.

The same applies in the spiritual realm. The good times of our lives are the best times to invest in prayer for unforeseen circumstances. Have you noticed how easy it is to fall on the trap of doubt and worry during a crisis? Now obviously in this state you do not have strength but if you invested you will say one word ‘Abba’ and your spirit will be strengthened. It is alerted and given power to carry on just a few more steps.

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My Beautiful Little Girl

From the moment I saw you for the first time,

I knew you were mine.

When I held your tiny body for the first time,

My heart skipped.

When I heard your innocent cry for the first time,

I knew it was over.

I forgot all the pain

No…I actually appreciated the pain

For it brought me my little girl

For it took away my misery

My beautiful little girl

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My Friend Lost A Part Of Her

It was one Tuesday morning around 6am. My husband was taking me to the train station to connect to Johannesburg. As I passed my friends house I saw her outside with a doek on her head. Wondering why she was not dressed for work I immediately remembered that she was on month’s leave for the whole of February. I envied that part but was also grateful that I am not in her shoes when she works during the December holidays. I never understand how those people cope with having to go to work between the 27th and the 31st of December. Fortunately for her now she was at home for the whole month.

We continued on our way with the morning rush as we were fighting to make it on time for the train. Because missing it is the worst thing that could ever happen. As I sat on the passenger’s seat with my seat-belt fastened observing and indicating as my husband drove my phone beeped. I checked it mindlessly only to be struck by the worst message of the morning. It reads, ‘my sister is late, she is gone’. I froze as I uttered, ‘WHAT?’. My intestines went cold and tears voluntarily welled up and streamed down. My husband enquired about the matter, I could not talk I just showed him the sms. He was shocked.

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Healing The Child In You


Is it not funny how vividly you can recall your childhood memories? Yes those laughable moments sometimes find you and bring a smile on your face. The stories your grandmother told you; the dress that your mother bought you; and even the games that you played with your father. Sometimes during the pressures of adult life you wish that you can escape back to childhood and relive it all. Those were wonderful days.

However unfortunately you do not only hold good memories about your past. There are also gruesome memories that you desperately wish to forget about. The bad circumstances that happened in your childhood that left a hidden scar in your heart. You never tried to deal with those scars instead you covered them up. That is a dangerous practice because no matter how much you try to cover up your past hurts they always show up in your emotions and behaviours and ruin your character. Therefore examine yourself: is there any past issue that could be making you to be short-tempered, envious or rude…deal with it. This exercise will change your present life around for your good.

Till next time…

Ondiswa-Who Am I?

I was born in 1983 at the plains of Eastern Cape as the first daughter of my mother. I grew up under the tender care of my aunt at Lugelweni location. Sadly she passed on a few years ago. I schooled my primary and secondary days there. I grew up as an introvert.

However I enjoy wild life and the bushes…they remind me of home. I am now settled in Gauteng.

I started forming ideas on my head around the age of ten but I started writing at the age of 16. My first drama was performed at Bizana High School for heritage day celebration. I then wrote my first drama book during the December holidays of my metric year. And I was pregnant.

I studied Accounting (after metric) against my will as I wanted to study journalism. 15 years later as I am writing this I am sitting behind a desk (not my thing). However I am proud to tell you that I am a published author with 3 book and still going strong. I am aiming to publish online at least 15 titles by December 2015. It is possible.

I am married with kids…and all that.

This is the beginning an exciting journey  for me, let’s travel it together.

Till next time.