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St Francis, Eastern cape/Garden route area, South Africa
Medically based beauty and health clinic providing free online confidential consultations conducted by certified doctors. As professional on the net as were are at our clinic. As efficient as I have ever been.

Monday 19 March 2012

Could life be more basic than this?


I'd like to think of us as superior beings, frontal lobed to suppress our basic limbic drives. Strategist in chief and in some instances mutantly brilliant that we can altruistically foresee that which may be detrimental to our community at large or at least individual subjects within. That possibly is rare as Mandela is arguably the last of such species. He is passed on and we have yet to find a substitute is the magnitude of the scarcity of the raw resources. 

Every now and then though, a social deviation in my job reduces me to an animal that I am, brainstem and no cortical inhibition at all. 
When an elderly woman brought 24 yrs old retarded epileptic and polio dependent to me for review, I mistakenly asked what happened to the two fathers of the children the retard bore at 14 and 16. One died of HIV she replied, which he unfortunately passed on to the retarded 16yrs old at the time. The other was still at large, 45yrs old and unemployed but every now and then bought a few groceries which was greatly appreciated by the mother. He is given him his surname after 9 yrs of rejection and that was positive too, she said. A kid needs to belong. 

Charging him with a statutory rape logical as it may seem to me, was out of question for this family. Not only was he redeemed in their eyes, he was supporting the family. That the amount ranged in the 100 to 150 rands a month rĂ©gion was not the issue at all. 
When did democracy become so cruel? Can justice be sacrificed under the hammer of the majority view? Could the retard be sacrificed if the aggressor promised to buy bread for the family? Could accepting the potential baby and giving him a surname erase the emotional hurt the retard suffers?

I don’t know my father and if anybody rose and told me I should be appreciative because he is given me my surname,  I would stand in that queue at home affairs for a week to become X in the footsteps of Malcolm without a wimp. 
I am an African and like the iconic speech of my intellectually isolated president of yesteryear, Thabo Mbeki, I do hope to smell perfume off the armpit off a Shangaan woman dismounting a motsheka (rear view enhancer) one day.
I will repeat I am an African blood and all, nobody needs to give me no surname to make me any more or less. Identity is divided us too far. All we need is being. 
I hope that with acceptance from my fellow justice sacrificing majority will stay African, irrespective of my non forgiving heart (somebody ought to think for the children) and non tolerant nose.

If biochemistry and physiology of beauty are the elements of every mix, then results are assured

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