teaching power

Been thinking a lot about how teachers in Botswana are given less respect. The topic upsets me so much that people do not acknowledge the importance of a profession which taught him how to write, read and communicate.
I believe that Teachers should be regarded as equally important or even more than any other profession. Hence them qualifying to teach should be given high standards not described as a career which one goes into just to be paid a salary. Without them, there wouldn’t have been invention of other professions because they came about from teaching. They should be rewarded for the immense positive impact they impart to society. They should be treated with respect even facilities which groom teachers must be maintained and developed. I’m thinking this today that the next generations of teachers must not take teaching as a hobbie, but a habit which grows from the respect that beams from being a teacher. Not matter which level of education they might be working at.

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gifted hands_BEN CARSON(MD) with Cecil Murphey

This autobiography changed my life! Not cause in on a black person but because its on life. I read it that way. Been reading it this past week and it connected with me on a deeper level of understanding myself better, where I came from and where I am going. I may not have the same experiences as Ben Carson but thus far, the book gave me hope and belief that I can do anything I want at anytime at anyplace. The references highlighted in it, education, way of life, faith has unearthed some of the feelings that I felt I had buried. I recommend it for a motivational, inspirational, faithful and hopeful reverence. Up next would be. Think Big. I found Ben Carson!

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send me an angel

Help me remember love
In its innocent form from above
Which proves of feelings unknown
And memories put together: grown.
Like a child, not knowing
The difference
Of the experience reference.

Help me remember love
In its forever forgiving
Always giving, never receiving
Unless it is coming back.
So that I do not lack
The color of truth
And I can pull through
Help me, I pray…

hand, lamp

hand, lamp

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death birthes life

We are born, we live, we die. Simple. That is the beginning, middle and ending of us. But it can become complex. Sometimes we skip the middle. Get caught up in ‘what ifs’ and ‘why nots’ and knot ourselves into thread of regret and or ignorance. Or we are never born at all and so people wonder about what could happened with us.

When we are born, we become known by people. They become our lovers and foes and related to us or our colleagues, we form relationships and find ourselves already in relationships. We don’t choose our lives, they choose us.

But when we die, do we not come back? Have you ever wondered why a lot of people resemble people from long ago? How we remember people and places we have never seen? How some situations are familiar? I do, I have been and more now, lately I have been, courtesy of Cloud Atlas. It has made me realize my thoughts are not all ‘crazy’. Given that some people have the same beliefs as I do.

I believe we don’t really die. We just rest till another era, another century and re-live again. Though our bodies are buried, they are once again, born. Different name, race, country, etc. Hence, I find it hard for me to cry at funerals. To me, its not sad rather inspiring that the dead get ready to be born in another world. So, in turn, I become hopeful and live each moment granted to me as best as I can. And await my other life.

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i have seen

I have seen love
And it was not through sight
The moment gave me flight
And I could reach above
Cause death is the only limit
Yet, I see through these blinded eyes.

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