To all my non-medical friends, I think I need to clear this for the sake of our friendship.
1. I am still cool, seriously I am.
2. I know I have been ignoring you and accusing studying or sleeping for it.
3. I still know how to have fun, even though these days it involves spending a few rands and cents.
Anyway back to my point, I wanted to explain why end of block (EOB) is such a big thing in my life and by extension to your life now.
A block is a period, usually 4-6 weeks, we we learn about a certain topic,eg Pathology, it a period that involves going through everything there is to know about the pathologies of the body, other than that it can involve going through coffee and cigarettes like a pedophile going through a child underwear drawer.
Now this is probably important for our future engagement, please pay more attention, when we finish a block, we have to write a test on that particular topic we were doing in those 6 weeks. You literally go through the whole textbook,yes the WHOLE textbook.
To do well in your EOB you must also master every past paper they ever asked in the last decade. You must also have consumed more that a tank of black coffee.
Yesterday I wrote my first EOB in med school, I nailed it. But thats besides the point. My point is:
1. After writing EOB, the first 22 hours I want to sleep
2. I want to eat real warm food
3. I want to do the things that remind me I am still a real human, like walking to beach, going to the township
4. Doing those whole night prayers
I hope this explains why I have been acting funny the past 8 months. I now declare my schedule open to having fun, but only until Monday. Monday I am starting a new block in Pharmacology (Pharms), Yes that means I will be learning every drug ever invented by men and gods.
I told this kid he should stay away, I am too much of a mess to deal with a human being, especially a cute boy who says he likes me. I don`t even think I like boys for that matter. Honestly I never had to deal with person who says they love me. Love is a strange concept to unravel, It never makes sense, I hate things that do n`t make sense. I am very mathematical in my approach in life, sometimes I think I am too logical I miss out on important things in life.
Why did I even come back to this town? I truly hate home, I think I have leaved too much on my own and for far too long, as such I can not relate to my won family, I love them with a strange kind of love, even though I never told them, but I think they sort of know. I do n`t really know much about my family, I know we sort of share this house and my fathers money, but that`s basically it, that all I know about them.
My dad still believes the South African educational system is not to advance the black child, He says the apartheid government changed the good old British Education that came with the missionaries together with Christianity into Bantu Education. My father spent some time in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe during his days with the MK. He came back to South Africa at the dawn of democracy, with my mother to serve government officials. My mom is a simple farmer girl from Zimbabwe, she is simple in the true meaning of the word. Her family were tobacco farmers, who were later killed by the Mugabe `s land expropriation regime.
I can`t tell you jerk about my sister and brother, I just know they are my siblings. As soon as my front milk tooth fell off I was sent back to Harare to start my alimentary education, who does that? who sends a mixed race child to a foreign racist, anti-white land? My father always says it was for my own good, but that`s rubbish, I think he was too shameful of having to raise a bipolar schizophrenic child. I still hate my mom for not having stopped him, I hate her submissiveness to everything my father says, it hurts me.
I can swear they are glad I will be moving to Cape Town to study medicine. These people really hate my presence in this family. They forced me to study medicine so I can be as far as I can from them and for as long as possible.
I can`t catch feeling now, I can barely bare with the madness of my own mind and now imagine having to learn to love a homo sapien?
I do not usually blog on politics, but then again we do not usually have the kind of messy and exciting political scenes both regionally and globally as we do today. Whether we talk Zille, Zuma, Zimbambwe or Ztrump. History has shown us the enormous significance politics has on people`s lives around the world.
However, this is not simply a political blog in many respects I see it as a marketing or ethical exploration of political marketing. And indeed politics has much to do with marketing.
If we view politics as a market where promises and manifestos are sold in exchange of profits, is it not about time for politics to be a regulated market?, I wear not only the hats of a concerned citizen but also that of an objective outside observer.
As an observer I see a world that is heavily regulated. You cannot sell pharmaceuticals, electrical goods, electronics, children’s goods, food (& tobacco of course!), cars and automobiles, insurance, banking and other financial services, houses to buy or rent, and others, without meeting specific safety and other regulations. And the entire marketplace is covered by regulations on advertising and unfair trade descriptions.
Similarly, the directors of companies are liable for the acts of those companies when they affect safety and human well-being or the economic welfare of the organisation.
There is no equivalent governance and regulation over political advertising. Normally the counter urgument is Section 16, well lets deal with the bogeyman of freedom of speech out of the way. Freedom of speech is not the issue: it applies as much to the marketing of any of these markets as it does to politics. Freedom of speech is the right to an opinion, a point of view, and to express it. It does not give you the right to deceive. But in politics we have all got used to deception as business as usual.
Of course, the institutional rivalry of politics means that the different parties contest and challenge claims. The problem is that this is an unsatisfactory solution. Committed followers of party X do not pay much attention when the members of party Y tell them that party X is telling them porkies. If they read the wrong paper they may even not see it. This is basic social psychology. And some are clearly better rhetoricians than others.
Politicians, and journalists, can make claims and promises that turn out to be untrue. Should not only get egg thrown in their faces, but what they say must meet legally reinforced standards of evidence if they state something risky as fact or deliberately overlook evidence to the contrary of their position.
We have plenty of experience of dealing with uncertainty in claims. Financial markets are always making predictions and they know that they have to emphasise that uncertainty. Pharmaceutical companies also market their drugs with both medical claims and information about possible side effects and risks. What would have happened if the politicians, on both sides of the fance, would be required to be careful in presenting evidence, and the limits of reliability on that evidence, rather than being given a free hand to offer opinionated aspirational claims and promises?
Some might say that it will make politics too complicated. I would say that we are making extraordinarily important decisions in ways that are way too simplistic.
Some will say that people already do not believe politicians. There is much cynicism, but we should be careful to differentiate between cynicism about the other party’s point of view and scepticism about your own party’s claims. The latter is very important for good democracy.
A lot of the times when we travel through the region we always get caught up in snapping pictures and acting touristy. My recent trip showed me that one is never a tourist at home, as such my engagements with Zimbabwe shifted from posing and pouting for a camera into drawing insight about the social fabric that stitches Zimbabwe.
I did not know what it means to be in a country that is bankrupt until the ATMs spewed out air instead of dollars. My trip brought into surface a lot of unknowns and uncertainties about the future of the region. I did not only get know and hear about the struggles of the people of Zimbabwe but I experienced it, with them.
I was there when the government of Zimbabwe was taxing its people for buying mayonnaise and cremora in SA.
I was there when the Beitbridge boarder erupted into chaos as police inflicted pain on its people.
I was there in those cheap Japanies cars,listening to them thelling us this policies are for our our own good.
I was there when the youth of Epworth brought the economy into a stand still.
I was in Westridge mall when shops refused to generate anymore revenue for a system that did not serve them, but creepled them.
I was there with the old women who told me they did not want their hard earned savings turned into meaningless government bonds notes because they wanna see Cape Town.
I was there in Roadport sleeping on the floor with Malawians and Zambians, for the first time our region slept with one blanket.
I was in the botanical gardens as the military was being pumped into the city to maintain thins as they were.
Because I share in your lived experiences I am never a tourist in Afrika, I AM A SON.
One of my beautiful cherished moments with late father, was listening to Mantovanni (Annunzio Paolo Mantovanni) from an old grammmaphone record late at night when everyone was sleeping. We would make ourselves a huge teapot with milk, play ‘Mantavanni and His Orchestra’ on a very low volume. We used to keep the house lit up by the brightness of a paraffin lamp and a good aroma of a steaming teapot. We would sit in our sofa for hours until I fall asleep and he would carry me to my bed. As a young man, there is still a lot I do not know about a lot of things, but my dad left me a fairly good blueprint on fatherhood.