The Book of ProVerb. Tebogo Thekisho
for every challenge we faced. As a believer, her Christian background was a strong force in how she shaped her existence, and it was also how she raised her children.
As I got older, our relationship became more challenging. I was growing into the person I am today and becoming more of an individual. I started thinking for myself, and I had a lot of ideas on how I wanted to live my life, which she didn’t always agree with. When I was about twenty- one, I wanted to get my own place, but Si didn’t think I was ready. My first car was a Toyota Tazz, but a few years after I got it I wanted to upgrade to a Corolla – their latest sedans had just been released and I loved them. Si wasn’t having any of it, because she thought a Corolla was too grown up for me. She drove all the way from Mafikeng to my home in Johannesburg to discuss this with me, and we eventually reached a compromise. She convinced me to go for the Toyota RunX instead, as it looked spunkier.
When my girlfriend Onalerona Moreo fell pregnant, I wanted to marry her after our baby was born, but my mom didn’t approve. She wanted us to get married before the baby came. This caused so much friction between us that she didn’t attend my wedding, even though it took place before the birth, as she had insisted. I had really wanted her there.
Years later she came round and embraced my marriage, but held on to her opinions about how and when she would have liked the events in my life to have happened. We had periods where we wouldn’t talk to each other, and during my divorce we drifted further apart because she wasn’t happy with how things were transpiring. She was also based in North West at the time and because our schedules were not always aligned, we’d only see each other about twice a year, although occasionally we’d all meet up in Kimberley at my grandmother’s house. At one point I had a lot of gigs in Kimberley, as I was raised there, but even then I mostly saw only my grandmother.
In the end, my mom and I made up, thanks to an article in one of the Sunday papers. The first relationship I’d had after my divorce had just ended, and she’d read about this in the news. She called to me say, ‘Hey wena, what’s this I hear?’
It was awesome to hear from her after two years of radio silence, and she might just have needed a convenient reason to reconnect. ‘Are you now dating again?’ she asked. ‘Does she know you have kids?’ It made me chuckle.
From then on we were really close and spoke every weekend. My proudest moment came in December 2017, when I invited her and my extended family over for Christmas. Before that, my mother didn’t really understand what was happening in my career, although she’d been supportive throughout. She’d seen me on TV and read articles about me, but she’d never quite comprehended how much my career had advanced. She used to look at me in a certain way, as this kid for whom she’d had high hopes. Even though I turned out okay, my achievements never quite reached the level she had set for me in her mind. But that December, as we caught up, she got a better sense of what I did for a living, and where and how I lived. From then on, she looked at me differently.
Unfortunately, as fate would have it, it was the last time I would see her alive. She passed away the following April, a week after my birthday. I got very emotional when I told this story on stage a few years ago.
As a man raised by strong, opinionated matriarchs who played a huge role in my life, I see women as leading forces in society. Men may have built the world, but it’s run by women. A man’s job is to look after the nuts and bolts of life, but the machine is steered by the better gender. My daughter is headstrong, and that’s not my doing. I swear it’s almost a default setting in her, which I encourage.
My mother had planned to retire in 2018, as her health was beginning to decline. She didn’t share much about what was wrong with her, but I knew she was having issues with her thyroid and suffered from arthritis. I knew about the thyroid problem because she used it as an excuse for the weight she’d gained. Whenever we spent time together, I’d suggest that we go for a walk, but she’d always respond along the lines of, ‘You know my thyroid, that’s why ke le mokima so (I’m so fat).’
Si had a great sense of humour and could have us in stitches in seconds. She was usually the centre of attention in a gathering and had a story to tell about everybody. She would stand up, mimic a character’s voice and say, ‘Mang mang na etsa so (This is what that person was doing).’ I laugh just thinking about it.
An important lesson I learnt from her passing is that we get so caught up in thinking of our demise that we stop living. For a long time Si had wanted to go on a holiday cruise, and to buy her dream car – a Mercedes-Benz. She often told us how much she wanted to drive that car, but never got to. She didn’t go on the cruise either.
I’ve learnt to live my life to the full. I get that we should plan and save for the future, and put money away for our children and our retirement and all that. But we must also live life and do the things we want to do, the things that keep us excited.
My mother always had her ducks in a row, though, which is one of the things I really respected about her. Closer to her death, I sensed that she knew she didn’t have much time left, because she would text me and my little sister, Tumelo, to tell us which assets she owned and how she was going to delay buying the car because she felt her health was failing.
I didn’t want to have those unsettling conversations with her; who wants to contemplate the worst? I still have the last message she sent me saved on my phone; I will never erase it. In the end, I believed she was at peace and had accepted that she was going to leave us. By communicating with us, she gave us peace as well. My biggest joy is that my mom passed away when we were in a really, really good place, and she was proud of me. I know she loves me from all the way up there.
One thing I know for sure is that life is going to happen, and if you spend your time feeling anything but happy, you are squandering that period of your time here on earth. Think of all the times you have been sad, miserable or unhappy. If you add that up, it equals the amount of time you’ve wasted in your life. Bear in mind, too, that getting up to mischief, making bad decisions and being irresponsible are all part of living a life. I am not just talking about the so-called pretty parts. All of it is a part of your experience as a human. Remember, you stop living when you spend your time being unhappy and holding onto things that no longer serve you. It’s true what they say: there is more power in the present, so be here, in this moment, because you will never get it back.
I inherited my folks’ big personalities. They could effortlessly command an audience in a crowd or lecture room. My mother joked about this, saying, ‘Tebo man, wa bona ha o le mo TV (you see when you are on TV), you know you got that from me,’ and I believed her.
Si spent her final days being cared for by her mother in Kimberley, her health deteriorating rapidly. Mami kept me informed of her condition and called me around the clock to keep me updated. Sometimes Si was able to speak, and we would chat for a bit.
On 19 April 2018, Mami called me in the evening and said, ‘Just so you know, your mother has collapsed. The paramedics are here with her, but I want you to know that I don’t think it’s going to go well.’ I started mentally preparing to go home to Kimberley. Mami called again shortly afterwards: ‘Tebo, your mother has passed away. They couldn’t revive her.’
In that moment I felt calm and clear. I knew that I had to be strong for my little sister Tumelo, my kids, my grandmother and the rest of our family. As Si’s eldest child I had to be their pillar of strength, and I understood this immediately. I also had to notify my dad. My grandmother had called Tumelo, who was in Cape Town and got to Kimberley sooner than me. I had to cancel a couple of appointments and only arrived a few days later.
I was comforted by friends and family in Johannesburg who came over to my house to offer their condolences. As the first-born child, it fell on me to arrange the funeral, which I did jointly with my little sister. I really marvel at God’s timing, because all of this happened when we were in a sound financial position and able to give our mother the most dignified send-off. Mami often sang our praises for it, saying that we buried our mother with respect and dignity. Mami also shared a powerful story with us, telling us that on the night of Si’s passing, she had asked for a Bible, which Mami had handed to her. She took her final breath a couple of hours later, knowing