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Dress rehearsing joy

It's not possible to constantly hone on the crisis; you have to have the love and you have to have the magic. That's also life.  Toni Morrison Ndikhule sisokola ekhaya. There! I said it. Which is to say I grew up dress rehearsing tragedy . Lately I've felt the need to write more about my childhood ( see previous post , "Everytime it rains"). In the past, writing and talking about my childhood felt like giving into poverty porn and exposure because of all the consequences of being poor. Even while ndikhule sisokola, it wasn't within a politicisation about siyi-working klas ekhaya because I remembered a time when we weren't poor. Or perhaps we didn't seem poor. There were always stories and pictures: mama as a teacher and Tata as a clerk. We moved to the burbs in 1994 and we were well on our way to being South Africa's emerging black middle class; except it wasn't emerging because there's a history of black middle classness which I have seen

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