Was not was

Heaving the lethargy that is Gaborone, Botswana off to one side so as to escape is a task with no handles to make the getaway easier. Heave I did, escape I did, and get there I did. Was I not wounded the very same hour I arrived there, Jozi to be exact. A very heavy over sized bag took me out, what was in it...? Baby clothes.

Intro over/ Turds Day

Fast forward>>> /Shatty Day


A chance at seeing doe in action at the launch and Jumble Rumble 7 was one of the main motivators for the quick dash. Miss Yang Zhao partner in Doe Tees (fashioners of killer life style accompaniments) was in Jozi town to do a launch of her new tees from Doe. Mommy! The shiznit was hot from what I could get from an impromptu street fashion show right out the boot of the Morule Mini. Seeing people hustling for their dreams gets your legs twitching wanting to join in the game as well... actually a rather good inspiration, like find someone doing something that inspires you and get moving on your own thing. Who Doe know gone know.



















Faster forward>>>> /Some Day
My girls, the lounge, the music and my god the fauna. Capitol on a Someday is apparently quite the open secret. Relaxed door policies; DJ To The Xa and friends on the decks; Old Kwaito Legends looking much healthier since they must be getting longer nights in bed, ie their hustle is going strong on auto pilot; Notorious types that are infamous for once providing comic relief at a Naughty By Nature concert; hip kats and kittens as seen on Vuzu; a Black Ron Jeremy look alike, incidentally called JR, and lenses for Mahala Magazine amongst other things; Also met an equal opportunities pisser offer, Montle, who is incidentally the head poison pener at Mahala Magazine (love his ink style); and would you believe it, Miss Bling Thing her bloody self... that finished me casue I was sitting back to back with her the whole time she was there. I have been quietly hunting down that bling to get a blingterview. I think its better to interview now rather then later when she is blingiquitous and somehow pop-relevant.

Aside from the hustling, reunions, dissing, fashion forwardness and dots connecting that leads to ends connecting (networking to the unimaginative) the flood of information in one four hour evening was worth its weight in future opportunities. Ranging from collabos, to releases, to distribution, to endorsements, to inspiration, to threats of grievous body harm, to cross boarder liaisons... you know, the list was just endless. Makes you wonder what Gabs is getting so wrong when the same potential is available locally and has even more reason to be all up in that. Right now is the time, pity Botswana youth seem to prefer the final whistle as the signal to start getting their collective shit in gear.

The revolution has been Twitterlised

Another sad day at work ended on a rather exciting note. Blackness (for lack of a shittier description) was being dissected on Twitter and viciously one might add. On one side you had Americans (presumably, mainly African Americans) on the other end you had South Africans (Xhosas, Zulus, Tswanas, Swatis, Sothos, Shangans, Anglophiles, Pedis... the list is long and multi colour) Incidentally some international racists with an indiscriminate hateration policy took it upon themselves to put in cheap shots... they don't need encouraging do they?

So the issue was a Twitter Trend (or #TT) that was labeled "things darkies say." In South Africa darkie really doesn't offend as a term, heck there is even a fashion label by Themba Mngomezulu. I never once heard Themba talk about historical imbalances when referring to his label, Darkie. In America on the other hand the term was compared to the "N" word (Nigger if you like your truth straight up) All manner of absurdities went down, and suddenly as Khaya Dlanga so rightly pointed out, "Some folk r going 2 b surprised 2 find that South Africa has enough computers 2 set a trending topic. #thingsdarkiessay" Frankly home truths were outted by the innocent #TT...

One; that South Africa appears to have gone further than America in forgiving and (almost) forgetting the racial issues. Yo, like how long can you bare a grudge...? Come on!

Two; South Africa has some serias pulling power globally, where an inside joke can reach across the Atlantic and poke a community in the eye. "#thingsdarkiessay room divider, colgate for any tooth paste, robots for traffic lights, sta soft for fabric softener, checkers for a plastic bag etc..."

Three; that peeps need to be more open. There was too much getting mad from jump without first exploring the context. "@WendyShow omg have you seen the TT #thingsdarkiessay i think that is racist. i think u should put this topic on ur show." Smacks of trying to start a (day time talk show) mob to go get some "justice".

Four; Twitter has no balls... no sorry that's wrong. What this point should be is that Twitter is lost at sea, every day people are finding out new and culture shocking things about 140 characters. So Twitter should bite the bullet hard sometimes and let things resolve themselves. The reaction from Twitter was to over ride public opinion and remove the #TT in the midst of a lively (and for the most part, healthy) debate "#thingsdarkiessay @Twitter You must neeeever! bring the ball back right now!"

Five; South Africans got together (once again) to voice their collective displeasure and twittoyied with #southafricansarepissed

Six; South African socialite Khanyi Mbau appears to have an intelligent sense of humor.

Seven; Its not that serias after all, but we all taught each other a thing or two. Check this, and this, don't forget this.

I wonder whats next...

My Favorite Bitch

There are these weird little things that just lurk out there on the internet waiting impatiently in the noise to grab you by the attention. One of these total honeys is Popbitch. Yeah man, a whole load of tasteless jokes, anecdotes, next level trash journalism of the finest order. Why? You might ask, look at it this way... this is my Generations, my Heat Mag, my Drum Mag, and most definitely my Sunday World. Its good to slum it every now and again, if not to relax your morals a bit, then maybe to question your standards a bit.

Go on click around... my next post might not be so relaxing.

Now when is Khanyi Mbau's blingsite going online...? At this time 2967 sad souls have already visited the lander site... or 4 very desperate mofo's and one serious social observer (errr that would be me, just in case you were wondering.)

So like I was saying the next thing I blog might not be so indulgent.

If only life was really that simple

Because I take photos like mad. I also don't really have a rhyme or reason for the madness. The mood just takes me... and when I resist I often find myself wondering "What if?"

This is one pic I didn't really need prompting to take. It is one of those pictures where you can say, this is where it all started... if it is a picture that will gain that sort of relevance in later life.

Motheo and Zingisa are really only aware of each other becasue their parents know each other. How that relationship came into being is not documented as well as Motheo and Zingisa's whole thing will be.

Once while leaving some fancy ass art gallery in Trafalgar Square, London when I was 19 and basically living away from home for the first time, I was stopped by a researcher from the gallery who wanted to know what I thought about the whole experience. Finally she asked me what I would like to have seen in the exhibition. Instantly I knew what it was. The work of the artists when they were much, much younger, before they became apprentices or art students. In my mind I saw some squiggles on a wall somewhere and a very tenuous link with the frankly mind altering works of art in that fancy gallery. She gaped a bit and also thought it was a good idea. We left it at that and have never been back to that place since.

So I shot a random picture of two babies. Its very isolated in that it purposely focused on the bambinos, there is no real sense of space, time or occasion in the composition. Their interaction can be read in millions of ways... but I still live in the hope that I caught something special here. Wouldn't it be grand to present something like this to a newly married couple, pointing out that this was them at the very beginning...

If only life was really that simple.

Oh how they grow up so fast

Clicking along avoiding anything remotely work related, I was made aware of Marie Sjoberg's website... All I could think of was quiet little Marie. One of the sweetest dark haired little girls ever. Introspective little thing. Rather shy (then) and frankly a bit of a dreamer... really just like many other 14 year old girls. The very first and ultimately last poem I ever wrote in Swedish ended up in her hands. I never did find out what she did with it. Anyway I graduated from the school we both attended in the same year as her older sister who was a friend of mine. I moved up and down Europe and moved back to Botswana and South Africa and never though about many things, places and people again, Marie included.

Today Marie is a fully fledged photographer... I feel old! Anyway...

Looking over Marie's website I see a lot of that very same Marie from back in the day when I see her photos. Her pics are very thoughtful, introspective, and well, for a change I can see her point of view, since back then she was rather quiet and our conversations were pretty short.

X missed the spot

Voting in Botswana is so anti-climactic. You are met with chaos once you approach the whole voting area. No branding was visible outside my voting station. It was only the large presence of haphazardly parked cars, one with its slights still on, that hinted that voting could be taking place at the school where my polling station was located.

Once in the school grounds, did you see the two posters with an arrow whispering, “Polling station…” The presence of a line informed me where the actual door way was. After waiting for three hours in a line, where I was probably the 50^th person, I finally was able to see pieces of paper printed out from a colour copier, with party logos presented in a square and names hand written on the papers… as to what I was looking at it could be anyone’s guess. The hint came when I saw a former parliamentarian’s name on one of the printouts. Ah-ha! So one column of papers was the MP selection and the other then, must be the councillor’s selection, it had to be since we do not elect the country’s president by direct vote, and really names like Abbot or Nunu are not really presidential… not for me anyway.

Another hour finally saw me participate in my constitutional right, felt like a constitutional inconvenience really. There are reasons why it took 50 people four hours to cast their vote, god knows how long it took all those that came after me. Voting should be simpler and quicker, however the rot was not just at the polling stations it started way before the voting public even lined up before 5AM to cast their vote.

Botswana made a huge investment in population records management infrastructure a long time ago (in Botswana years, we are a “young” country after all) The major short coming about that idea was that it was short sighted. The national identity card (the Omang – the name means “Who are you?”) is stored on an electronic data base, which should mean anyone’s details can be referenced from anywhere in the country from any laptop with internet access. Meaning when you approach your polling station you should be able to just walk up; then the voting officials input your name into the computer; which would then cross reference with the voter’s roll instantly and then you would be ready to vote for who you want to vote for; wherever in the country you may be… sounds like the future doesn’t it, well it isn’t, it is a past in global terms, a past that has yet to be lived by Botswana.

Guess what the present is like at the polling station. You are met by three to five sets of people that you would directly interact with. The first person is there to take your voter registration card and Omang card, yell the numbers therein across the room to someone with a huge print out in front of them (not even a laptop with a searchable database even if it isn’t connected to the internet…) The second person rifles through this print out to look for your name and other details then yells back the corresponding name. The first person then yells the Omang number for the second person to check if it is correct. You then sit down with a third person for them to tell you what you are supposed to do (ie, take the piece of paper that they hand you to a dingy little construct and use an over sized marker to place an X next to the party symbol of your choice – literally that basic) What you have to keep in mind is that the first paper is for your parliamentarian candidate. You then throw that into one ballot box. You go to a fourth person to get another identical piece of paper, this time to select your councillor, you hide behind another skinny triangular construct from before most of us were born, place the x next to the party symbol you prefer and back to you go to a second ballot box.

It would be nice to blame the government… but that’s too easy. How about the building blocks of the government, the civil servants? It would be grossly unfair to just say the government, when the entity is comprised of thousands of minds, some sharper then others while others are utterly dull and blunt, in all senses of the adjectives. However after taking time out to attend workshops by relevant authorities, it turns out that there is a very well developed sense of trying to keep jobs, heightened by the recent global economic woes in more recent times. Technology simplifies many things and can make other job descriptions redundant. Perfect, this will mean that people that are contributing will stay in jobs to produce, and it will mean it will be incumbent on the dullards to sharpen their skills if they want to remain in useful positions.

Back to the sad line of affairs at the polls… by 9:30 AM it wasn’t a great place to be, I know because on my way out of the polling station I was roasting in the morning sun, glad to have been one of the first fifty to show up and get the ordeal over and done with. Imagine that, happy to have voted and been done with it not because I renewed my guy’s mandate in active politics, but because I wouldn’t have to experience the ineffective mess that we are thankfully only subjected to once every five years.

But lets so blame government, it is always easier. To quote Professor Marcia Lausen, the director of Chicago’s UIC School of Art and Design… She has published a book called Design for Democracy, and has been a consultant for reforming the USA’s electoral system. Lausen says, “If a government can not produce materials with clarity and professionalism then they simply can not be trusted.” Put that in your thinking cap and ruminate. And it makes it scary to think why is the electoral system so tedious, even if you had the time to ask an election official what was the reasoning behind the current practices… you would most probably end up at this phrase, “ke tsamaiso ya teng…” a cop out that translates to, that’s just the way it is.

Yawwwwwwwn!

So it appears I have been asleep/awake. You know eyes widely shut. Damn! Triple damn. But I knew that, it was one way to cope. Something to keep the waking nightmares manageable. So I woke up. It was refreshing, always a good thing to do from time to time, waking up. This hot little thing by Aakash Nihalani just said to me... welcome back, missed you, where have you been, was it good where you were? Well, nothings changed, do get back into the swing of things. Bless.

Its good to be awake again. So first order of business internet at home... hello blogs, hello killer music, hello global friends. Next step inspiring the seed, so off to Jozi we go with the 17 month year old son to see the things and people that make me tick. Next step, work to be free, and this has too many connotations to list, but that's it.

Hi.. miss me? Not any more I won't be too far away.

My Obama is Dead

"We grasp for brand personalities that reflect our ideals. And while they are alive the risk of being let down by our idols holds us back, but after their death, we are free to define them as we would like to remember them according to our own preferences and values." Carl Peyron

So Obama got a Nobel... the effect was toxic. The dude is good, really good, despite the conspiracy theorists, you don't just become the president of the USA you work hard for that shit. We all saw just how tough the going got and our guy came through, with several million American votes and several billion global hopes and dreams backing him plus no one shot him. Great, brilliant, bring on the new world order... Yeah actually there was a moment... Obama seemed to make an error at his inauguration therefore making us all see him as human not the Second Coming. But anyway as it turned out Obama was on point, the other guy fucked it up for him.

So we all got over the euphoria and sat back to see what he was actually going to do, as opposed to what he had promised to do. The infamous 100 days in office came and left, the ratings were more positive than bad. Our dude talked to everybody, they appeared to listen to him. That health care thing is taking a while to get working, but so are a thousand and one other things, he is still tall and manly and all things super hero. His wife gets assimilated into fashion, social stuff, and just any old news headlines without even trying. The kids are probably being scrutinised to heck and back. The Portuguese Water Dog First Pet put that breed back on the map. I mean who knew that there was a pet that caused fewer allergies, not even that freaky hairless cat has ever been touted as nonallergic in some way.

Many dudes know how a premature ejaculation is still pleasant somehow but not as nice as a nice orgasm later down the line. This Nobel is the premature to end all prematures, yeah its still cool that Obama got the recognition, but it would have meant more not just to him, but to all the hopes and dreams had the award come at a later stage. I wanted a dude that was opening doors for many like him and many, many more completely unlike him but equally inspired and inspiring. By that I mean I would appreciate that sort of Award going to someone who came after Obama, and not necessarily a generation even 3 years or 5 years that's all. That young buck is still going to exceed what Obama has achieved, we will still applaud it, but man... from the first Kenyan to be US President, to first person to win a Peace Nobel for being... I don't even know what. It is as if this is the highest peak a Kenyan can reach, President of the United States... Spare me. That's too far of a stretch for me. As if Obama will achieve so much that his achievements can never be matched by another person... another African person.

No one really knows yet how the Obama piece fits into history and the grander scheme of things. Now that he was handed that award already, I can't watch the Obama show anymore, my Obama is dead, over powered by a Peace Nobel. Talk about stealing a man's thunder... hopefully Obama's lightning will still strike, twice even... just because.

And now for the silver lining... according to Peyron's words, I am free to be a better Obama than my Obama. Like I can finally view him as a man who just happened to want to be US President and also racked up a Nobel. Refreshing. It was a good death for my Obama. Now lets focus on Monsieur Polk's future death, may it be equally stellar.

This is Soweto

First off, apologies etc... get over it, more brilliance up ahead. Soweto Hotel. Shut your mouth! You have no idea. A brilliant concept, set in what at first seems to be somehow the wrong location... except Soweto is what the South Africans call the Location... and like with real estate location is everything. Look out any window of the hotel and all you will see is Location,literally. You might call Soweto the most famous servants' quarters (if you are candid) /or the beating heart of the revolution (if you are romantic) /you can call it apartheid's failed experiment or policy (if you get all didactic) but dude, Soweto has a long, long history which encompasses many view points, after all it is home to a diverse range of millions of South Africans.

All that is irrelevant when you walk through the doors of this hotel. Don't worry the sense of where you are will come back to hit you when you least expect it, and then that is when you might just appreciate the sheer brilliance of situating a four star (yes four,**** Four!) establishment in Soweto's heart, Kliptown, the oldest part of Soweto. In the doors you go and you find a simple, and dare I say it, elegant foyer. Front desk to your left, friendly and attentive staff (a trainee, Dolly, in my case) Keep venturing forward instead of turning right to the elevators and you pass a small lounge, small business center (free internet... FREE!) and a small bar (Rusty's Cocktail Bar), and finally Jazz Maniacs, the restaurant. Just like life in Soweto, the hotel is simple, and in a very literal sense, straight forward.

Now... at first seasoned travelers may think, "...but why Soweto Hotel, that name is a tad obvious seeing as it is smack dab in Soweto." But simplicity triumphs every time in many situations. That very same simplicity belies the real genius of the place, innocuous names like Rusty's, Jazz Maniacs all have a historical weight behind them. Rusty is an international enough name, and you may know someone called Rusty, or of a place called Rusty's... when you inquire why Rusty's Cocktail Bar is so named, you will find out that it is the name of a certain Lionel "Rusty" Bernstein (a white man and yes very, very Jewish) Claim to fame...? Two words; Freedom Charter. Still scratching you head...? Ask about Jazz Maniacs and you will be told that it was a well known group of jazz musicians from the 50's. The restaurant that carries their name even sports a small stage where local jazz artists sometimes preform at the restaurant. It starts to dawn on one that you are steeped in history here, not just about human right abuses but many more richer stories, all relating to South Africa somehow but from the perspective of Soweto, where you would currently be staying.

Beautiful photos, predominantly black and white, line the walls in the public areas. However you will immediately notice that there isn't a single image of students being brutalised, not even the image of the most famous child martyr of South Africa's freedom struggle, Hector Peterson. This is a place to relax and celebrate the hard won victories of many, many people, some of which you can very well toast as they smile down at you from their framed photographs. Photographs of men and women doing normal things, except it might be Walter Sisulu, Abigale Kubeka or Dorothy Masuka.Whatever you can't learn from the highly knowledgeable staff about Soweto's history, don't be shy to google away at one of the two computers providing free internet... better yet go for a walk or a bicycle tour, you are right on the scene of a historic gathering of people who convened to draft the Congress of the People (no... not them) in 1955.

The Freedom Square itself looks like something you would see in Europe. So austere, concrete and honest in design and purpose. Staring at the top, where there are a series of pillars, you would be met with beautiful straight lines, bordering great expanses of space to accommodate local business and informal retailers. There is an art gallery, executive suites and a space that can be use for social gatherings of any kind, from weddings to seminars or even concerts. However looking on past where the concrete square stops, you see a plethora of tiny houses that are an undeniable and comforting indicator that you are not in Europe but Soweto, actually. Just in case you need further reminding of the significance of the area, go into the conical brick structure half way down the Square and take in the words etched in series of wedges arranged around an eternal flame that are the very foundation of the movement that brought a significant percentage of South Africa from bondage into freedom. Heady stuff... do return to the hotel just across the square.

Lets go up stairs to one of the 46 deluxe rooms, the two suites (Chief Albert Luthuli and O.R. Thambo suites) will have to wait for a wedding or something. A room with or without a balcony is a thoroughly contemporary South African affair, with interiors that again reflect where you are, Mzanzi Africa. You may have a picture over your bed featuring Nelson Mandela, younger, fatter and still smiling while standing with a group of people outside what might be a courthouse. Look at the people in the photograph, white women and an Indian man in the background, it's South Africa, the rainbow nation, even back then in the bad old days. All the mod cons are there, universal electrical sockets galore for all things electrical, internet access, shower, bath, safe, direct dialing phone, room service, and satellite television. Check out Soweto TV and marvel at, frankly, the most random set of TV programs anywhere, but they all mostly are about life in Soweto. Its the small touches that suddenly awaken you to just how unique a culture Soweto has, the little blanket at the foot of your bed. It is one you would notice at many a church service or funeral, wrapped around the shoulders of old women. The cushions emblazoned with 'MAIZE 70KG" a reference to the staple diet of many Africans, corn. The cereal crop was sometimes distributed in hessian bags much rougher then these clever little cushions.

Enough gushing from me, this is one stop you have to make, even if it isn't to immerse yourself in local history... Many affluent Sowetans who have moved else where but still come back home have the option of enjoying their old hood with the creature comforts of their new hood. The seemingly unlikely placement of such a multipurpose architectural marvel in exactly the right place makes even the name Soweto Hotel suddenly ring with added significance. Soweto is where South Africa is from (in a manner of speaking) and it is also where South Africa is going... however, above all, it works! If you are planning to enjoy the 2010 soccer fest anywhere where in South Africa, make it Soweto. I would... even though I don't give a toss about soccer.

Fashionably Late, like it’s about time!

Life is beautiful, as confirmed by the garments, the atmosphere and the setting of the Arise African Fashion Week. Been a while since an event this exciting has been hosted in Jozi, exciting in the sense that Africa was getting repped big time and not just for South Africans. We know Jozi is always exciting, bless.

Mzanzi’s local fashion hot shots got to create a pan African buzz along side other African fashion hot hits like Tiffany Amber out of Nigeria, Anna Getaneh’s African Mosaique out of Ethiopia, and the slightly political Sandra Muendane from Mozambique. It was the killerest thing going never mind the soccer madness happening at the same time. Unlike the soccer there were no live broadcasts, you definitely had to be there to experience the electricity especially at the hottest shows. Thula Sindi anyone, now featuring colour, Oooow! What about killer kat walk at Klûk CGDT, leopard print baby! And hell yeah, Carducci’s C² school blazer inspired youthful suits given a penny whistle work out by Kwela Tebza and the multi coloured mohawk dance sensation Show Stoppers.

Hot young things, cool young things, gay err… things, fishy things, faux pas old things, gallons of Glaceau’s Vitamin Water all made for one heck of an interesting week out in Jozi… except those cops that had to be bribed with the African pound not to do their jobs! That European dude who got relived of his forex in Rustenburg got off lightly only parting with 15 quid, try 200 big ones! So all you World Cup fanatics insert a minor premium in your budgets, call it protection… and keep it in foreign currency. The only positive thing was the very gentlemanly manner the entire muggery was handled with. It is reassuring that at least in Africa when authority mugs you, they have the good breeding to say please, thank you and good night.

Big up Boniswa @ Totalexposure, Simon (for the photos) AFI, This Day (and their glossy baby Arise mag) I think South Africans have forgiven…☺

Rise you African Mofos!

Quick one from the heart, no pretty pics etc... And so, Arise has come to Mzanzi in a big way. One look at this undertaking and that whole This Day fiasco of several years ago is dust. Africans Rise... dude Nigerians doing it in Mzanzi in a big way.. do Naijas know any other way? Nah! And as should every single African out there. Its a Fashion week on the surface, but (YOU this is Afirica and we love big buts!) The whole thing is about us, yes it is some dresses your grannies might curse you for, for showing too much, but its done by faces just like yours and mines. Yo don't discount any other faces that may look like they are from afar, African comes from a lot further than that.


Back to those Naijas, Fela said it "We are all Nigerians, we are all Africans." The man didn't talk shit he did shit. Arise is here doing shit, AFI is like the killerest thing to come guns blazing out of this fashion sunset brought on by an uncertain world, and these fashion soldiers ain't playin. If any of you doubt, like DOUBT! that Africa is being accorded, afforded and being rewarded for being herself... come see me I wil set you straight, real real quick.

Look out for more amazing shit http://www.fesman2009.com/en/news thats not all keep an eye out for some extra next level stuff like this http://emergeinnovationgroup.com/ISA2009.html hey don't you dare say you saw it first else where except right here in Africa, mofos.

PS, check out Simon Deiner http://www.sdr.co.za and make time to take a hit of this http://styleguidecapetown.blogspot.com

This is Africans doing Africa.

Gabs City Nights

Actually this is a montage, words of wisdom shall come to you.

Moon Bathing

The moon decided to put on a spectacular show. However, the moon is only living off reflected sun so we had to throw in some stars to counter balance the ice cold beauty. A long exposure and a flash to catch something nearer to home set the mood right. Hold tight, it gets better.
Yeah, wish you were here too...

Page 3

Had a minor disappointment today, no behind the scene pics of a rather nice page 3 shoot. But no biggie, it’s more a postponement to something rather killer that's on the horizon. So still coming soon... Grrrr!

However to keep you (and me) going, I give you Girlie! Yeah! I know! Name comes straight out of a fantasy of some sort... anyway she is going to be the first girl to take the often underrated page 3 pic to new levels. The evil, and rather stylish, genius behind it is the ever unflappable Miss Laing, Mpho for short. More on her now now.

More on Girlie? Yes please. Girlie is currently working towards her CIMA, she is also a student of the infamous MAP (Maru-a-pula if you are into tongue twisters) so she is certifiably fab, independent minded, educated, cultured and living la vida right now. Plus she is hot... even here as she is reporting the ATM that made a late night snack of her debit card.

Begging is a daily operation until I get the behind the scene shots of the shoot, which saw Girlie get made-up by a Philippino make-up artist, pics shot by a Nigerian photographer and hair styled by a Zimbabwean hair stylist. With a Motswana stylist heading up the team it was just the united states of style.

You see this space...?

...Keep watching.