@reportinglivesa: Who is correct? #reportinglivesa #notsorrypodcast

Reporting Live SA
Reporting Live SA
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Region: ZA
Sunday 23 August 2026 11:30:00 GMT
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yicramsey
YIC :
Ka chelete yaka? Vele call me stingy, tingy, ingy? Ngy, gy, y
2026-08-23 13:19:15
303
monthle0897
Nonthle :
Mara when will the topic be about ladies spending on their guys.
2026-08-23 12:28:20
269
blackwallstreet13
PrideAugustIX :
Still criticising men and their preferences😒🙄
2026-08-23 11:40:22
616
khosa.musa
Irvin Kay🇿🇦 :
Responsible man. Don’t listen to them. At the end of the day your woman is taken cared for.
2026-08-23 11:39:29
97
lethuzulu72
lethu :
A stingy man is a good man, a true man of god.
2026-08-23 12:13:59
74
samkelosimelane4
samkelosimelane4 :
Don’t fold gents let them label you as stingy or whatever but at the end angeke sizwe ngabo nge mali yethu 🤣🤣🤣🤣
2026-08-23 13:50:47
21
gnxusername
G🇿🇦 :
It’s his money 🤣
2026-08-23 12:38:41
94
tumo.dsr
D$R :
Btw guys, being stingy is not a bad thing
2026-08-23 13:55:59
30
ubayethe
Ngonyama :
you guys are paying subscription fees for what exactly?
2026-08-23 14:37:57
11
cazz_socool
Cazz :
“It’s my money”😂
2026-08-23 12:30:13
15
sfarzo_rtee
Sfarzo Rtee :
Eh. Ya no jika. 😭
2026-08-23 20:12:21
29
dorathee.explora_
dior.a :
2026-08-23 17:45:55
5
nawabpindanimwale
Nawab Pindani Mwale :
nigga chose the wrong battle 😭💔
2026-08-23 11:44:09
56
ramu79476
Ramu :
When she’s trying to separate your presence and your resources. 🤞🏽 she doesn’t like you. 🎯
2026-08-23 14:46:13
7
strumentall
Strumentall🌹 :
Gents claim the title it's good 💯
2026-08-23 12:26:37
5
klenkiemajor
Mr Major :
Saying men is stingy doesn't hurt, we used to the word
2026-08-23 13:13:34
6
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🦋 - Lorraine 🧸 - Meisha ÷÷÷÷ The rain hadn't let up for three days when Meisha first saw her, kneeling on the cracked cement floor of Bahay Pag-asa, teaching six children how to fold paper boats out of old newspaper.
🦋 - Lorraine 🧸 - Meisha ÷÷÷÷ The rain hadn't let up for three days when Meisha first saw her, kneeling on the cracked cement floor of Bahay Pag-asa, teaching six children how to fold paper boats out of old newspaper. "You there, stop making a mess!" The woman's voice cut through the noise like a struck bell. She turned toward the door and found a girl standing there, drenched, hugging two boxes of donated books like they might shatter. "Sorry," Meisha said, awkward under the weight of being looked at. "Sister Fe said I could leave these here." The woman wiped her hands on her worn skirt. "You're the mayor's daughter." It wasn't a question. It rarely was, when it came to her father's name. "Just Meisha," she said quietly. "I didn't ask for the last name." Something in the way she said it made the woman pause. Most rich kids who came to volunteer wanted a photo op; maybe a caption, or a line for a college application. This one looked like she wanted to disappear into the wallpaper. "I'm Lorraine. Help me move these books. Maybe you'll learn something." That was how it started. Not with fireworks. It was with wet cardboard boxes, and a woman who didn't care whose daughter she was. - They became friends before anything else. Meisha kept coming back to Bahay Pag-asa every weekend. First with donations, then without them, just herself, in old clothes and teaching children to read. "Why do you keep coming back?" Lorraine asked one afternoon, watching Meisha braid a little girl's hair while another child slept against her shoulder. "Because here, nobody wants anything from me," Meisha said. "At home, everyone wants something. My father wants me smiling next to him for the cameras. My mother wants me married to somebody useful. Here—" she shrugged. "Here I just get to be a person who reads bedtime stories badly." "You don't read badly." "I do the voices wrong. Every villain sounds the same." Lorraine almost smiled. Almost. "You're not what I expected," she admitted, sitting beside her on the low bench, the plastic chair legs uneven on the tile. "What did you expect?" "Someone who'd get bored after a month. Someone who'd complain about the heat, the smell, the noise. Someone like—" she stopped herself. "Like my father." "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to." They sat in silence a while, the children's laughter distant and warm, rain drumming on the tin roof outside. "My father's a drunk," Lorraine said suddenly, staring at her hands. She didn't know why she said it. Maybe because Meisha had been so honest about her own family's ugliness that it felt unfair to keep hers hidden. "His hardware business failed two years ago. Since then he just… drinks. I teach grade four in the morning, tutor in the afternoon, and on weekends I come here because if I stop moving I think I'll fall apart." "I'm sorry." "Don't be. It's not your fault the world works this way." Lorraine looked at her then, really looked. "Your father built half his career stealing money meant for people like the kids in this room. And you're here, folding paper boats with them. Doesn't that feel strange to you?" "Every single day," Meisha said. "I hate what I come from. I hate that my school fees, my clothes, this car that drives me here… all of it is stolen from people I'm trying to help. I don't know how to fix that. I just know I can't do nothing." Lorraine studied her for a long moment, something shifting behind her tired eyes. "Okay," she said finally. "Okay." It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't even trust yet. But it was a door left open. [Continuation below ⬇️] #lenamiu #lenaschuett #miunatsha #thaigl #lenamiuau

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