Pardon my enthusiasm but It just occured to me that I have foolishly went on about my so-called World without even introducing myself. The audacity of me! Is that even correct English- "audacity of me"?
There I go again going off the rails instead of behaving like a well-brought up girl in the now corruption-riddled province of the Eastern Cape. Sinikiwe is the name given to me by my Xhosa parents and coincidentally, the name means "we are given". Not that I know what they were given, but me, I intend to give.
I want to give my god-given talent of writing to...well I don't know to whom but we'll figure that one out as soon as I get filthy rich by marrying the son of Nicky Oppenheimer, Patrice Motsepe and all those obscenely wealthy sons of Africa. Come now, don't call me a gold digger. I know these are your innermost thoughts too. In my defense, it is highly unlikely that I would be soliciting so brazenly had I not been alerted by the lovely cynics of the media that Mr. Mostepe is donating half his fortune to the needy. Absolute lie, if you ask me. Oops, you didn't ask me, did you?
Enough about them and back to me. So, here I was doing what I do best-immersing myself into one of John Grisham's novels when it suddenly occured to me: my thumbsucked scheme to marry rich and still be a journalist will not go down well with the Gupta's (one of my potential nuptial targets). They will want me to work for the New Age and askies comrade, NO can do. The Daily Sun, now that's more my thing. Call it filth-mongering, gossip-ridden excuse of journalism but those stories of snakes raping virgins or the dead coming back to life to haunt their oppressors get my attention. Hope I haven't lost points with you in that regard.
Give me a John Grisham, Sidney Sheldon, or a Chinua Achebe novel and I will shut up the whole day until I'm done reading it. Actually, all forms of literature coupled with a glass of wine make the world seem a better place, that is Sni's World atleast. So when one of the De Beers sons finally succumb to my charming personality, you, yes you my reader will get a diamond encrusted wedding invitation. And no. Stop calling me a gold digger. Personally Invested Entrepreneurship is the word I prefer.
So long. Future Mrs. Trump Jnr. Nice ring to it, huh?
There I go again going off the rails instead of behaving like a well-brought up girl in the now corruption-riddled province of the Eastern Cape. Sinikiwe is the name given to me by my Xhosa parents and coincidentally, the name means "we are given". Not that I know what they were given, but me, I intend to give.
I want to give my god-given talent of writing to...well I don't know to whom but we'll figure that one out as soon as I get filthy rich by marrying the son of Nicky Oppenheimer, Patrice Motsepe and all those obscenely wealthy sons of Africa. Come now, don't call me a gold digger. I know these are your innermost thoughts too. In my defense, it is highly unlikely that I would be soliciting so brazenly had I not been alerted by the lovely cynics of the media that Mr. Mostepe is donating half his fortune to the needy. Absolute lie, if you ask me. Oops, you didn't ask me, did you?
Enough about them and back to me. So, here I was doing what I do best-immersing myself into one of John Grisham's novels when it suddenly occured to me: my thumbsucked scheme to marry rich and still be a journalist will not go down well with the Gupta's (one of my potential nuptial targets). They will want me to work for the New Age and askies comrade, NO can do. The Daily Sun, now that's more my thing. Call it filth-mongering, gossip-ridden excuse of journalism but those stories of snakes raping virgins or the dead coming back to life to haunt their oppressors get my attention. Hope I haven't lost points with you in that regard.
Give me a John Grisham, Sidney Sheldon, or a Chinua Achebe novel and I will shut up the whole day until I'm done reading it. Actually, all forms of literature coupled with a glass of wine make the world seem a better place, that is Sni's World atleast. So when one of the De Beers sons finally succumb to my charming personality, you, yes you my reader will get a diamond encrusted wedding invitation. And no. Stop calling me a gold digger. Personally Invested Entrepreneurship is the word I prefer.
So long. Future Mrs. Trump Jnr. Nice ring to it, huh?
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