August 2025 was such a beautiful month! Far too short. Here are some highlights with no trending audio.
Best bits: The Great African Society by Hlumelo Biko
Unfortunately, I read this about ten years too late 
Published in 2013, it was an analysis of SA at a very particular time.
Infuriatingly, many of the issues that plagued the country then continue to do so today, at alarming and probably irreparable rates now. I enjoyed his careful and considered analysis which incorporates history, social, psychological and economic nuances to dissect a nation that could have (at that point) become a ‘great society’.
The author also provides quite realistic and achievable solutions, some of which have come to bear and others which are still much needed. Would be interested in the author’s current reading of the state of affairs because 📉
Home Movie 3: Father’s Day, reading for fun and seeing pretty things at Decorex 2025
Sunday Scribble #5: What the vlog?
I’m old enough to remember the very early iterations of vlogs which were exclusively on YouTube or natively uploaded to blog sites. These vlogs (videoblogs) were usually either shot strictly on a tripod (or atop a makeshift stand) in someone’s bedroom or a chaotic bunch of selfie-style clips shot in various locations, at random times, culminating in a video montage. The immediacy, editing perfection and commercial imperative of modern vlogs, entirely absent from their narrative. When they first became popular in the 2010s, I only went to YouTube to watch TedTalks, interviews, music videos, stand-up comedy and covers of my favourite songs. The allure of watching other ordinary, unknown people’s lives, escaped me. Now, that’s the entire foundation and popularity behind them.
Blogs at the time were places for online connection through documentation, commentary and engagement that went beyond what was possible in limited social media posts. Personal publishing online was still in its infancy and therefore novel to those of us dipping our toes into this ocean of possibility (now simply, content, yuck).
Five main blogging motivations were identified in Nardi et al. [2004]: documenting one’s life; providing commentary and opinions; working out emotional issues; thinking by writing; and promoting conversation and community. Blogs have become an increasingly important way of learning about news and opinions not found in mainstream media, and blogging has become a popular social activity for establishing and maintaining online communities.
In Gao, Wen & Tian, Yonghong & Huang, Tiejun & Yang, Qiang. (2010). Vlogging: A survey of videoblogging technology on the web.. ACM Comput. Surv… 42.
So naturally, one would assume that vlogs would be the visual extension or interpretation of the above motivations and uses. While there weren’t set formulas on how to vlog technically and structurally, vlogs in the 2010s were efforts at brief glimpses into personal events, how-to do ABC or short clips from concerts, performances, in class etc. They were shaky and oft grainy testaments to the mundanity of being a high school or university student, or candid travelogues shot in another country on a handycam or small digital camera. To my memory, unlike video essays, vlogs were (and are) used for personal documentation more than outright analysis or commentary.
In the present, vlogs flood our timelines day in and out, and have been reduced to overly produced ‘get ready with me’ or ‘come with me to the grocery store’ slop that has no soul or capacity to engage with human life as it is. What I mean by this, is not that these aren’t activities that people are genuinely engaged on a daily basis, but the performance of them by creators whose lifestyles are monetised can reduce our very existence to one of imbibing the consumerist loop of buy, use, buy, use as natural, desirable and aspirational. The slow voiceovers, perfectly timed After Effects text and product placements – a sales pitch which makes products of people’s very lives. I suppose, like almost everything else, its a result of living in a capitalistic hellscape. Perfectly curated, nothing placates and numbs audiences in search of constant entertainment, no matter its substance.
Obviously, the above examples are limited and do not speak to the entire scope of diversification within the genre; for instance, there are professionals like chefs, athletes, teachers and more whose insights into their daily routines are eye-opening and illuminating. Their vlogs often are about ‘thinking out loud’ and opening up conversation with their audiences, more than they are a representation of living within the confines of certain aesthetics. Further, vlogs do not account for the countless video essays, explainers and straight-up rants that some people post as their online counter-mainstream outlet.
I often think about how for many, a first time viewing of The Truman Show (1998) would not in fact present as the psychological thriller it is, but as an unappreciated opportunity on his part (limitless camera angles, lighting and cooperative supporting cast members for the ‘main character’, come on, Truman). People’s ‘real’ lives are content, their misfortune and joy alike consumable and open for monetisation. But unlike Truman, they are both the creator and star of their own shows, willingly.
Sunday Scribble #4: Solo dolo
Waiting for others can be a self-imposed prison sentence.
A much younger version of me once wrote that she did not want to get used to being alone on her tumblr blog.
I came across the frank plea in a recent archival exercise to transcribe text posts from that blog onto record cards (trying to have less of myself scattered across the internet, lol). Unfortunately, 24-year-old Pheladi, that’s exactly what we have had to do. Not just get used to it, but get good at it, really good at it.
At the time, it would be fair to describe my loneliness as nothing more than a dull ache, felt in short, sharp pangs months, sometimes years apart. The intensity of that ache has only grown over the years, its length and breadth sometimes overwhelming and suffocating its host. I have had to get used to being alone out of necessity, out of only having myself to lean on when needed. I deliberately don’t want to say ‘not out of choice’, because I recognise that much of my aloneness is a choice. A choice rooted in a mixture of avoidance, inflexibility, insecurity, poor communication skills, extreme self-love, some bad luck and obstinacy in the face of obvious misalignment (amongst other things).
As a yearner™, year after year of being companionless was initially a terrifying and alienating reality to step into. For context, I used to be the kind of person who left the house thinking ‘today might be the day I bump into the love the love of my life’ – legit, exhausting stuff. And the person who would happily ‘wait’ when some half-hearted lover had more urgent matters to see to than I. And the person who would save experiences and films to watch with this fictional other. But thankfully, somewhere along the way (maybe when my frontal lobe was fully developed), I realised that my life was happening anyway and that I should probably take part in it regardless of who was along for the ride. The realisation came about a year or two after that initial tumblr post, when I was living in a new city and, by virtue of not having my usual support structure of friends and family, had to learn to truly enjoy my own company.
I started with a small but important ritual on Sunday afternoons, a solo breakfast or brunch date with a book or the Sunday papers in tow as my only companions at the table. I recall the tinge of embarrassment that first crawled up my throat when I asked for a table for one. Heightened by the occasional look of pity offered by the waitstaff helping me that day. But those slow Sunday afternoons catalysed the courage needed to then go on solo theatre dates, to music shows, and even solo trips in the years that followed.
Following my own whims, without much consultation, is one of my greatest freedoms. One I do not take for granted because I can only imagine how many women before me, in my bloodline alone, never had the luxury of choice. The ability or space at any given moment to truly make decisions that served their greatest good or curiosity. I come from a long line of women who have always had to consider themselves last, to wait, and to serve at the behest of others. That I don’t have to do that at all is a privilege I carry with pride. I can book the thing, eat whatever my stomach calls to, buy whatever catches my wandering eye, go to the curated experience and chat to strangers, and come back to relative peace.
Like previous posts have alluded to, being in my 30s has allowed me to shed certain identities and ‘single’ is one of them. It’s not something I overexplain anymore, or something I care to dissect at length when I interact with the people I love. It’s a fact, sure, but not one that speaks to who I am as a person or what my life looks like. I still deeply yearn for companionship, but it no longer defines how I move or feel about myself.
Sunday Scribble #3: The sun is the girl she thinks she is
Who knew vitamin D could change your whole life?
It’s Winter in South Africa, and this one has been working hard to let us know just how cold it can get. It has been a wet and windy one, which we are not accustomed to up in Gauteng. Our Winters are usually a formality at best, a tick box exercise thrust upon us by the ticking of time and not necessarily by freezing temperatures. We are used to sunny mornings and afternoons, followed by occasionally chilly evenings, which necessitate light coats and jackets. Not this time. It is the end of July, and this post finds me bundled, gloved and beanied up while sitting indoors as we weather a weekend filled with rain and hail. Even though she (the sun) has been elusive this particular weekend, she has been the highlight of my life the past few weeks.
I have been experimenting with slow(er) mornings for a while now, but something clicked in July which made the whole attempt worthwhile. Up to that point, my version of slow only meant not exposing my brain and eyeballs to the digital scream that emanates from my phone screen first thing in the morning. No checking of notifications or scrolling until I had at the very least visited the bathroom, brushed my teeth, done my self-cav affirmations in the mirror and downed the chronic medication that keeps me normal. On most days, I am able to avoid looking at my phone until I reach campus and sit down to power on my PC. By which time I would have also stopped for a coffee along the way. Usually, enough time I told myself, to engage in human-ing before exposing my nervous system to the horrors of the day that lie in wait once I give the notifications centre the space to spread itself thick, overrunning the hour or two of calm maintained by my ignorance.
The Winter Break at work means I get to stop teaching for a bit, and usually I use it to travel, but this year I chose to sit still. To plan nothing, go nowhere and be moved only by the whims that popped up instinctively from one hour to the next. The added layer which proved to be a gamechanger, included a 10-minute meditation and sunning for hours, after my usual morning routine. And I am not exaggerating when I say hours, I averaged a minimum of two to four hours in the sun every day I practised this routine. Some days the sun was warm enough to necessitate a wardrobe change into shorts and lighter tops, which I did happily, returning to the same spot to absorb even more natural vitamin D. It’s probably prudent at this point to raise the fact that I do have a vitamin D deficiency. I have been medicating the issue for almost eight years now, but that little purple pill I take once a week has nothing on the feel of taking UV rays straight into my skin.
The ritual of direct sunlight and grounding on the faded grass in between helped usher in a kind of rest and restoration I have never achieved but desperately needed. `It helped me sleep better, maintain a balanced mood, and truly feel at ease. Not as pretence or reassurance of being ‘okay’ but actually being so. I would even go as far as saying that the last few weeks felt like living in the beloved Bobby Hebb song below. Sadly, this routine has already been disrupted by going back to work. I will try to hold on to as much of it as is possible but the machine requires less groundedness to grease its wheels.
34 going on 65
My youth is firmly in the rearview mirror and a part of me is relieved.
Today is Youth Day in South Africa, a public holiday which commemorates the 1976 Soweto Uprising. The day is often marked by both loud and quiet acknowledgements of just how much freedom cost this country. My reflections this Youth Day were far less weighty, instead, I was struck by the fact that this would officially be the last one I would be able to celebrate as a “youth”. When the next one rolls around, I will be a real, full, card-carrying adult.
I will no longer be able to run for a leadership position in the ANC Youth League (dammit), forms will start grouping me with people who are 40+ (yikes), opportunities for the sprightly will consider my submissions with some disdain (“give the young ones a chance” or “make way” they’ll say) and to top it all off, my bone density is about to start an inevitable freefall which can only be quelled by lifting heavier weights.
But, there is a silver lining, this jumping of an invisible line into middle age also means I get to let go of so much. Past mistakes, past versions of myself, relationships and situations that have run their course. Turning 30 at the peak of the Covid-19 pandemic meant that I didn’t quite feel I had aged because time was so warped by lockdowns and isolation, which significantly shrunk our lives. I remember blowing out my candles in my childhood home with just my mother, brother and father – extremely thankful to be alive, but rueful of what I had imagined that the moment would be like. Not just thankful that at that point none of us had the virus at the time or had succumbed to it yet, but to truly be alive, that wasn’t something my 27, 28 and 29-year-old self even wanted. To want to be alive was new.
So, I guess growing older has brought with it the will to live, which I am thankful for. It has provided me with what now seems like unabashed joy since. The certainty in who I am and what I want out of life has been more than just a second breath. The practice of patience, presence and rest has helped me become and feel like a real person again. And to that, I thank and am eternally indebted to time.
“I have never regretted walking out of a movie, I have many times regretted not walking out of a movie. Not finishing things is one of the great joys of life.”
– Marie Phillips, on This American Life, 791: Math or Magic?
So much so that I am almost militant about how I spend it (bar for when procrastination pays its languid visits). If something sucks for even 30 minutes, I’ll dip – no seriously, what are we doing? Not to say that I’m not tolerant of difficult or uncomfortable situations, especially those that are necessary (work, a funeral, a workout etc), but now, when I stray closer towards the edge of betraying myself to sustain being in a moment, I will always choose myself. Sometimes that looks like physically leaving, sometimes it is saying nothing further and other times it is just closing my laptop. Enduring anything for the sake of others is exhausting; real winners quit. Do I believe fundamentally that human beings owe each other things, absolutely, it just needn’t be everything, all the time. I have this one precious life and where possible, I am guarding it with my life, because not doing so previously nearly cost me, me. Is it selfish, yes. Is it right, also, yes.
**First appeared on my Substack.
Sunday Scribble #2: Handycam living
Smile, you’re on candid camera!
In a world now saturated with high-resolution visuals, which are often sharp but empty, visual imperfection has regained its allure for me. So a couple of months back, I went in search of a handycam, to complement the film camera bought for similar reasons.
A handycam isn’t quite as analogue as a film camera. Still, it is enough steps behind current video recording quality, for the look and feel to transport me back to the early 2000s at a minimum. And why would I want to go all the way back there? Well, I have always been a person obsessed with documentation, first with words in a diary as a child, then through scrapbooks and photo albums as a teen and then eventually through digital albums and videos on blogs and social media. Lately, that last method has been the least fulfilling of the lot. Thousands of photos and videos die in the graveyard of my phone’s camera roll if not posted/shared, and draft after draft lie dormant in my Notes app.
The slowness afforded to me by my new (old) toys allows me to be more selective in what I shoot, when, and why. I’m not thinking about captions or matching certain cuts to trending audio, I’m just freezing moments with my favourite people in a format that feels most intimate to me. Not so say I have stopped making reels and TikToks day to day, that brings a different kind of creative satisfaction, but it is fleeting and very ego-driven (I’m just a chronically online girl). Making these little home videos and waiting a few months in between printing rolls of film, has helped in my efforts to slow down the pace of my life as well. It has helped me tap into increased intentionality, presence and acceptance. Acceptance of the randomness of being and the tiny imperfections that tie us together.
Best bits: Maame
Sunday Scribble #1: Sonic slop
Slipping further and further from the light.
This week, I listened to an AI-generated voice recording masquerading as a completed university assignment. The initial task was for students to piece together a news bulletin for a radio show and record a voiceover for their script. At first, I thought maybe I had accidentally clicked something which started an automated reading of the student’s script. I paused. Went back to the beginning. Pressed play, and there it was again. A staccato mess, made up of ones and zeros, “reading” the script to me with all the flair of an instruction manual. I paused again. Surely not. Surely this student had not run their completed script through a programme that generates an AI voiceover. Surely. Why would a curious university student do that? No, why would a curious media student do that? What is the point of them being here if they don’t even want to hear the foibles in their voice, the rhythm of their own words, which should have been carefully constructed to fit into the three minute time limit? Then the take one, take two, take three and maybe take six of it all? “This is the end…” the line from Skyfall started to echo from a distant corner of my mind. Shit. This is it isn’t it? This is the new normal. Forget original thoughts, even original voice is on a slippery slope now.
“Where will we get our ideas?” – been haunted by this quote for months but I have been looking for three days and just can’t find the professor who posted this about a student of his responding to why they use AI to curate their assignments.
For some students, coming up with ideas and academic writing may be tough – and using AI may assist in getting an idea started or help refine a draft – that much or rather that kind of use seems somewhat justified to my mind. But subverting your actual voice, for whatever reason – not wanting to hear your own voice, not wanting to record your own voice or not being bothered to try – seems an incredible waste of an experience. One’s experience as a university student for one, particularly in a country where less than 10% of the total population even has access to a viable shot at higher education. Secondly, one’s experience as a creative (we all have the capacity and need for creativity/play), even more wasteful when your grades are embedded in playful and practical assignments that aim to nurture that trait, what could possibly push towards a machine-assisted “no thanks”? The chilling reality of it is that for many, critical thought and navigation are a chore to be avoided. While I recieve the point that people are overworked, overwhelmed and are just trying to get through ‘it’ as quickly and easily as possible, this seemingly convenient choice stands in the way of the kind of authentic grappling we all need for growth.
It brought back to mind a video clip I saw on Threads earlier that week, where the creator of an AI music prouction app was claiming that making original work takes up “too much time” and is “too hard” for the average joe to tap in to making music – “yes, it’s meant to be” was the welcome and resounding retort from people responding to the post. Their point being that the process of creation is meant to be developmental, it’s meant to be challenging and all the more rewarding when you ‘figure it out’, and the figuring out in this sense is a finding of oneself through that process. Creating anything worthy of reading, listening to or looking at requires this process. Perhaps what perturbs me most is that ultimately, I think the use of AI in the way mentioned above shows a level of disdain for what it means to be human. It considers the human brain as slow, unoriginal and ultimately not worthy of the effort/investment required to keep it vital through the exercise of reasoning, reading, failing and meaning making.
Write. Snap. Click. 