#PenSlaved Minds

Just like the sun that rises above the waters and it’s reflection giving life to the sea, hope to fish that calls it home and faith to the world. So does my pen. I was destined to a pen wrapped around my fingers, to write till it’s out of ink. The same pen that it’s stories inspires, motivates, counsel, destroy, unite, build, dismantle, shouts, whispers and sings it’s the same pen that drains off my energy and use it to fight the enemy.

This is LadyPenslave. My aim is to bring life to the world of writing. Enjoy.




I’ve also done it! Guilty as charged. But to think of it now, will going around calling men #TRASH put an end to this violence? The obvious answer, No! Instead we’re just pushing most of them to the edge. Raging war. Slowly building up anger anger and hatred to the innocent ones, while those we are referring to as #Trash shows no remorse or whatsoever.

While we’re busy #Trashing them, more females are dying out there.

Bantu bakithi, se kwanele manje. 

Kana se tshwarwa ke ntswa pedi gase thata!

It’s time we all united as both Men and women to fight this demon living amongst us, destroying us, ripping our hearts, stealing our joy and happiness, darkening our future, killing our nation not only women but also men. 

Who knowns that her child was going to be a son; a great man of honour and dignity, a leader. A protector, our president. 

Or a daughter; a phenomenal woman whose beauty was going to be the peace of the world. Her smile to give hope. Our president

Stop killing your land’s future.

Stop breaking hearts.

I know that it hurts you too, now turn the wheel. Instead of bringing tears of sorrow bring those of joy and tell me how it felt like

Domestic violence is affecting us all, now let’s leave finger pointing to the primary school kids and face reality.

#Penslaved minds. what’s normal?

I wanted to be normal. I wanted to live a life that everybody’s considers as not odd. For a very long time in my life, especially during my teen days, fitting in was all about me. Like every kid I wanted a place to belong. I wanted to be accepted. 

Well! That was until I sat down with myself and began an intra interrogation. I wanted to know what NORMAL meant for me before everyone else. And surprisingly, I shouldn’t have gone through so much pain and trouble only because I wanted to belong and fit in a certain group of people. You know why? Because NORMAL is different to all of us. Therefore it made me realize that I don’t have to live a certain lifestyle or so things I’m not comfortable with because I don’t feel normal enough. Being myself is normal. 

Behind the desk, with a pen on my hand is my normal


Claire was just about to knock out from work when suddenly a message beebed on her phone. At first she ignored the beep and continued with packing her stuff, when it beeped for the second time she realized that it could be an urgent message, perhaps from her colleague Brandon. She then left her laptop opened on top of the desk ask went to fetch her phone witch was on top of Brandon’s desk. As she approached it, the third message clocked. 

“Who could that possibly be?”

She wondered, taking her phone and opening the message. Instantly, Claire threw the phone on the floor. Shaking in her boots with fear and shock, she ran back to her desk to finish up packing and hurry home. Just as she was about to close her laptop an email alerted from an unknown server. With her hands trembling she opened it and saw a link which read. “No police. No trouble. No one dies, you know what to do.”

 The 24 years old’s world was beginning to turn into a small, dark eerie hole that held her worst nightmares. The fear and trouble spider had already began building a web in her head. Worries hang in the room for a while as she paced from left to the right inside the office, trying to figure out who could the mysterious threatener be. 

“Who are you? What do you want? How did you get in flat? Where do you get my numbers? What did you do to my mom? 

Answer me, dammit!!!!?

Frustration got the better off the poor Claire as she sent countless number of questions to the anonymous sender, yet none of these messages went through. On the righten side of her desk, was a small cabinet. She fleet to it, roughly slide opened  the cabinet and reached for a Glenfiddich box of whisky and fixed herself a dry shot. She went for the second round, the third, forth and before she knew it she was lying on the guest couch next to her desk with the bottle on her hand, wasted.

Claire was a very responsible young, vibrant and hardworking journalist. She always put her work fist. Although she had had too much to drink that night, she knew better than to drive in that state, therefore she called Brandon to pick her up….

To be continued…….