The summer heat hangs thick over Akasia as I sit at Wonder Park Mall, sipping rooibos tea. Before me, a young woman photographs her gourmet burger for Instagram—angling, filtering, staging. Across the food court, a man in a sharp suit scrolls through his phone, jaw tightening as he watches a colleague’s promotion video. Neither knows the other exists. Yet both are trapped in the same invisible cage: the cell of comparison. Last week, I visited my friend Thabo in Soshanguve. His neighbor, a spaza shop owner, just bought a new double-cab bakkie. Thabo spent the entire evening calculating payment plans, measuring his life against a man drowning in debt—a man who confessed to me later that he lies awake at 2 AM, unable to sleep from the pressure of monthly instalments. "The grass is greener where you water it," my grandmother used to say. But we’ve forgotten how to water our own lawns. Instead, we stare over the fence, calculating, coveting, corroding. 🧠I. Define Your Terms: Th...
The Fire of the Flesh Scripture: "He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city." (Proverbs 16:32) A Personal Confession from Akasia Let me tell you about last Tuesday. There I was, standing in the queue at the Soshanguve Crossing taxi rank after a long day of writing. The sun was punishing—that dry Pretoria heat that makes asphalt shimmer like a false promise. I had just watched a man push past fifteen people, including an elderly gogo carrying a bag of mealie meal, to claim a taxi that wasn't his. The fire rose in my chest. You know the fire—that sudden, volcanic heat that travels from your stomach to your throat, demanding release. My mouth opened. Words formed like arrows on a bowstring. And then I heard the Spirit whisper: "Harold, the fire you are about to release will burn you first." I closed my mouth. Swallowed the fury. Watched the man disappear into the taxi, oblivious to how close he had come...