Around 02:00 on 28 September in the village of Nyathi, Ngobozana, in Lusikisiki, Eastern Cape, relatives assembled in two houses. The family members present, mainly women, settled late into their bedrooms after a long evening of preparing food and drink. In the morning, they would travel to another village, taking everything with them, to participate in a cleansing ceremony to mark the anniversary of deceased family members, a mother and daughter, who had been murdered a year earlier.

That ceremony did not take place.

That night, 18 more people were murdered and five injured when three assailants used automatic rifles and pistols to undertake a killing spree. Fifteen of the 18 victims were women. There was no return fire; the families were not armed. The attack was out of the blue – unexpected. The intention was to kill, not maim; the fatal wounds were mostly head wounds. Why? The reason has been difficult to ascertain. News reporters have found it challenging to get a straightforward story. Is this a family feud? Were these revenge killings?

Police detained the first suspect on 3 October, and three more were taken in for questioning on 6 October. Remaining relatives of the Sinqina clan declined a government offer of a mass funeral but accepted a memorial service on Sunday, 6 October. The family spokesperson, Monwabisi Sinqina, explained that families must hold private funerals in different burial sites and adhere to traditional rituals.

More than 30 relatives arrived to attend the October memorial service. Those few who emerged are still living after the shooting spree. David King, the uncle of the deceased Ruth King, who was to turn 21 later this year, spoke with the media. His sister-in-law, mother to Ruth, was gunned down in the adjoining bedroom. She could hear her daughter screaming for her: “Mummy, Mummy”.

He told Newzroom Afrika reporters: “We are not okay. The mother is even worse. I’m sleeping over at my brother’s place. I hear her crying. I hear her praying. It’s like she’s talking to God. She’s got questions”.

He confirmed that social workers had come to conduct counselling sessions. By the end of this weekend, two weeks after the shooting, the funerals will have taken place. Eleven in one burial site, four in another, and one in yet another.

Their bodies were collected from the mortuary. The customary practice of the deceased spending their last night at home before being taken to the burial site was not followed. It is believed that when a person has died in such a violent manner, to have their remains in the house overnight before the ceremony will bring more misfortune in the future. Fear and trauma prevail.

The burials will be the final farewell, but what happens next? The survivors are likely to suffer post-traumatic stress disorder (PSTD), anxiety and depression. If they do not receive support, they may suffer for years to come.

I write this as the daughter of a mother who was 11 years old when the Second World War broke out and 21 when she finally left a refugee camp. She jumped at certain noises. When I was a teenager, someone gave me a small typewriter. As I sat in my bedroom typing our French verb declensions that I wanted to memorise, my mother burst through my bedroom door, grabbed the typewriter, and threw it against the wall with all the force she could muster. She wanted to break it. Tears streamed down her face. She was screaming. Later, she explained that the rat-tat-tat-tat sound of the typewriter reminded her of wartime, of hearing machine gun fire, and it was a trigger that drove her crazy. Doctors, in those days, did not deeply understand PSTD. Hers was not diagnosed and treated.

In the Lusikisiki community, people’s grief is witnessed, an essential component of healing. Substantial material contributions by the Premier’s office and funeral companies have eased the financial burden.

What will be more difficult in the longer term is psycho-social support. Talk therapy could support survivors. Health professionals have documented the positive experience of patient support groups in war-torn African countries. But not everyone finds it easy to talk. Art therapy could be an alternative.

In 1985, I saw children in a primary school in Mozambique painting the day after the army ammunition exploded in Malhazine, 10 kilometres from Maputo’s city centre. The children had seen flaming tracer bullets against the night sky, and flames shot up hundreds of feet. Fifty people died, and hundreds were injured. Children chose black as their primary paint colour.

Years later, when my husband was dying of cancer, my doctor felt I was not giving voice to my feelings, and she sent me to an art therapist. That worked. It loosened my tongue, and I found my words.

Research shows that stress, tension, and trauma are embodied physically, not only psychologically. Some techniques used by trained practitioners involve tapping on specific points of your body while focusing on the emotion or issue that you want to release. It goes by different names but is often called the Emotional Freedom Technique. If you are wary of your body being tapped, you might be pleased to know that you remain fully dressed in the process, and the focus is on your face and hands. There is yet another technique, Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing (EMDR).

Reiki therapy is similarly a hands-off therapy wherein hands are placed in proximity to your head or body, connecting to energy flows and using their hands to realign that energy for balance and healing. I guess I was sceptical until I received a Reiki voucher as a gift after my husband died. I lay on my tummy, and my body responded to the hands passing above my back – which never touched me. Tears flowed freely. The emotional release felt powerful.

Lusikisiki, a populated rural area in the Eastern Cape, may not have the cultural disposition towards these therapies nor the access you would find in our cities.

It will be incumbent on the provincial health department to think carefully about how to support Lusikisiki in the coming months.

If psychological healing does not take place, the damage suffered by the community will continue into the next generation. There is a societal responsibility to assist. Dr Lucy Hone, grief specialist, writes: “Do not lose what you have to what you have lost.”

It has been a tough week. Mapi and I felt subdued. It is not possible to live in a bubble, impervious to the Lusikisiki killing spree on the home front and the escalating events, mobile device explosions, missile attacks and counterattacks in the Middle East. This past Wednesday, 2 October, was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year celebration.

I am not born Jewish, but my husband is, and I play my part in supporting him when it is our turn to host one of the religious festivals. Rosh Hashana is usually delightful to host.

Whereas Pesach is complex, with a lengthy ceremony and a series of symbolic dishes with restrictions on ingredients, Rosh Hashana is supposed to be joyous and light. Slices of apples served with honey served to savour the sweetness of life, pomegranates to celebrate fertility and love. The traditional plaited challah bread is substituted by a round raisin loaf representing the circle of life, the continuity of seasons, or God’s infinite love – with no beginning and no end.

I usually play joyous, upbeat music when cooking for this cheerful occasion. But this past Wednesday, when choosing music to suit my mood, I chose Leonard Cohen, whose song Hallelujah is perhaps his most widely known.

I have been drawn to Cohen’s engagement with religion and spirituality. Raised Jewish, he also spent several years in a Buddhist monastery.

“I’m a practising Jew, and I always was, but I still felt myself a practising monk. We’re complex creatures unless you’re dealing with orthodox people on either side who wouldn’t be tolerant. But my orthodoxy is this other thing where you can hold various positions.”

I didn’t play Cohen’s romantic songs; I played what some of my nearest and dearest consider to be the dirges. The words Nevermind, written decades ago, and You Want it Darker spun round and round in my head. In 1973, on Yom Kippur Day, Egypt and Syria attacked Israel.

Cohen travelled to the Sinai desert and sang to soldiers.

Nevermind is written after this.

“I could not kill

The way you kill

I could not hate

I tried, I failed.

There’s truth that lives

And truth that dies.

I don’t know which

So never mind”

You Want it Darker is from Cohen’s last album, written in his eighties, dying of cancer and facing his impending death.

“If you are the dealer, I’m out of the game.

If you are the healer, it means I’m broken and lame.

If thine is the glory, then mine must be the shame

You want it darker

We kill the flame…

A million candles burning for the help that never came

Hineni, Hineni

I’m ready, my Lord.”

Killing the flame is understood by many Cohen aficionados to be a possible reference to the evil that humans undertake in the name of religion. The rabbi at Beit Emanuel said, “When the October 7th attacks happened, I was filled with horror. When the attacks on Gaza began, I was filled with despair.”

If they so wished, we had asked our guests to bring a reading of their choice to Rosh Hashana. I did not want to read something Pollyanna-ish, a pretence of sweetness and light. I chose some of the lines from You Want it Darker and gave context for my choice. There were two other readings.

One guest chose French philosopher, author, dramatist, and activist Albert Camus, “My dear, in the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love. In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile. In the midst of chaos, I found there was within me an invincible calm. I realised, through it all, that…

In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something more substantial – something better, pushing right back.”

I understand the sentiment, the invincibility of love, of a smile, of calm, of summer – but I’m not in that space. My corner is too dark. I share my sorrow that these words can’t yet reach me.

Another guest empathised and shared that she had found herself similarly sad and subdued she came across these few words from the Talmud, the compilation of ancient Jewish teachings.

“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief.

Do justly NOW

Love mercy NOW

Walk humbly NOW.

You are not obligated to complete the work.

But neither are you free to abandon it.”

There lies the rub. What can we do, however small, in our world of influence which can make a difference? We have choices about how we interact with our family, community, and workplace. Mapi and I are committed to encouraging courageous conversations and inviting people to talk at their edges.

I admire American leadership author Margaret Wheatley, who wrote in her book, Turning to One Another: Simple Conversation to Restore Hope to the Future, “I hope we can reclaim conversation as our route back to each other and as the path forward to a hopeful future. It only requires imagination, courage, and faith. These are qualities possessed by everyone. Now is the time to exercise them to their fullest.”

On Friday, I had the opportunity to speak at Tourquing with Giants, a leadership breakfast summit.

My presentation aimed to encourage leaders to pause, reflect, and hopefully inspire a shift in how they lead and live.

Here is the abbreviated version.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Mapi Mhlangu, and I want to start with a few questions:

– How many of us here today are guaranteed a day called tomorrow?

– How many of you know of a loved one, a relative, a colleague, or even a staffer who met an untimely death?

– And how many of you have contemplated what will happen to your work goals, your loved ones, or your unfinished engagements should you not make it back home tonight?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, statistics are on our side. There is a high likelihood we will make it home this evening, but let’s face it—there are no guarantees in life. As someone who has worked in the fast-paced world of journalism and media—as the editor-in-chief of Newzroom Afrika, and formerly, as the managing director and editor-in-chief of eNCA, I’ve witnessed firsthand the relentless hustle and bustle that can consume our days.

I founded an organisation called Love Legacy Dignity with my long-time business partner, Helena Dolny, because we believe that to live by design and finish strong requires intention.

Today, I am here to offer what I now know, having learnt the hard way through putting my life in danger as I worked long hours, unwell, with little regard for my health. It is mostly when there’s danger that you may lose something that you have been taking for granted that you get a wake-up call to cherish that something more carefully. In my case, it was my life. I woke up to the question posed by poet Mary Oliver: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

It is just ONE life – but as noted by Confucius, “Your second life begins when you realise you only have one.”

Living with purpose can help focus on exactly how you would like to cherish your one wild and precious life. And as Mary Oliver so poignantly noted: “It’s okay to be uncertain.”

The urgency of reflection

Time is ticking, even as we sit here. The minutes, hours, days, months, and years of your one wild and precious life are passing us by.

Reflecting on the fragility of life is not just an exercise in sombre thoughts; it’s a wake-up call. Think about your own life. When was the last time you truly reflected on what matters most to you?

I urge you to take a moment right now to think about your priorities. What are most important roles in your life. As you ponder on all the roles, my request is to prioritise self-care. No one else can do this for you. If you want to anticipate a long life, then self-care is non-negotiable.

Yes, we hear the stories of people who smoked a lot, drank a lot and never exercised and lived to almost a hundred.

Love yourself to be able to truly love others. Are you getting enough sleep, eating healthily, and exercising? Are you pouring your energy into the things that truly matter? Or are you getting lost in the daily grind? Reflection is not merely a passive activity; it is an active choice to assess, ponder, and realign yourself with your true goals, values, and relationships.

This is where living by design begins.

Ask yourself: What kind of legacy do you want to leave behind?

The power of decision

Once you have reflected, the next step is decision-making. It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of tasks and responsibilities, but decisions dictate the trajectory of our lives. Each small decision we make—what we prioritise, how we engage with others, how we spend our time—cumulatively shapes our future.

Ask yourself hard questions:

– Are you making decisions that align with your legacy?

– Are the choices you make at work contributing to a fulfilling career, or are you simply checking off boxes?

Your decisions should reflect the outcome of your reflections. Take charge of your life and steer it in the direction you have decided is your heart’s desire.

Taking action

After reflection and decision-making come action. What steps will you take today to live by design?

1. What do you want to accomplish?

2. What is your plan

3. Take those steps, no matter how small they may seem. Remember, it is the accumulation of tiny actions that leads to significant results.

4. Accountability can drive you forward.

The sense of urgency

As I conclude, I want to emphasise a sense of urgency. Raise your hand if you know that life is unpredictable. Now, keep your hand raised if you know someone whose life changed in an instant due to an unforeseen event.

We all have dreams, aspirations, and relationships—yet we often take them for granted.

There is no time to waste. The time is now to reflect, decide, and act. Living by design is about making the most of every single moment. It is about ensuring that you create a life that aligns with your values and goals, leaving behind a legacy that resonates.

So I ask you again: What if you don’t make it back home tonight? Will you be proud of what you left behind? Or will you wish you had acted sooner?

Thank you for your time. Let us make today count. Sekunjalo.

Recently, a friend of mine shared a legal document with me that he described as an effort to “correct the wrongs” of his late father. In what he believed was a wise decision, his father had made him the sole beneficiary in his will, leaving the family home, savings, and all material possessions solely to him.

As the months passed following his father’s death, my friend – a loyal yet bewildered son – found himself grappling with more questions than answers. What was his father thinking? Their orderly mother is still very much alive, along with three other siblings. At first, he accused his father of insensitivity. What message was his father sending to the rest of the family?

I tried to console my friend by pointing out that at least his father had the foresight to create a will. And that he must also recognise that drafting a will is often a tedious and emotional exercise, which may have led his father to take what he thought was the easiest route: leaving everything to the son he believed would do right by everyone.

Six months ago, my friend finally managed to transfer everything into his mother’s name, who is also ailing. This raised another question, though: Have they drafted a better will for her? This was his answer.

“Yes, we have been updating HER will every year since Papa left us. Every September, we take the time to revisit it because we have learned that this month is especially focused on legacy. We realised that we could have saved a significant amount – specifically, R300 000 – if my father had signed the draft of the will he had prepared. The unsigned version was more inclusive, considering I have other siblings. Thankfully, my siblings are supportive, and we all prioritise taking care of Mama. Given Mama’s age, we anticipate that she may pass before us; however, we have also considered other eventualities. The bottom line is that we are committed to preventing the headaches we experienced when Papa died in 2020.”

Therein lies a critical lesson in estate planning that many families face but few openly discuss.

Wills are much more than legal documents; they are deeply emotional artifacts that reflect the relationships and values of those who create them. They can symbolise love, support, and the hope for harmony among loved ones long after one has passed away. However, when not handled sensitively, they can also sow discord and resentment.

In South Africa, where family ties are often deeply cherished, the impact of a poorly constructed will can reverberate through generations. My friend’s scenario is not unique. Many families face rifts and unresolved emotions due to perceived injustices in estate distributions. The emotional fallout is as significant as the financial implications. Such situations can lead to estranged siblings and divided families, ultimately diminishing the legacy a person intended to leave behind.

The underlying assumption in many wills is that the appointed beneficiaries understand the rationale behind the decisions made. Yet, when families are left in the dark or feel undervalued, misunderstandings can arise. For instance, while my friend’s father may have thought he was acting in his son’s best interest, he overlooked the emotional dynamics at play within their family structure.

As uncomfortable as it may seem, parents must engage in difficult conversations with their children about wills and inheritance. Transparency is key. It is important to discuss intentions openly. If your intentions are clear, potential disputes may be mitigated. If children know why decisions were made, they are less likely to feel neglected or slighted.

Create the opportunity for difficult questions to be discussed. Here are a couple for opening:

What legacy do you wish to leave? It is essential for parents to articulate their values and hopes for their children clearly. What do they want their inheritance to represent? A sense of unity, independence, or responsibility? And if may be that the legacy includes distribution to non-biological beneficiaries.

How will each child be affected?

Children have different relationships with their parents and siblings. A will should consider these dynamics and aim to promote family harmony rather than division.

Creating a will is not just about deciding who gets what; it is about how families can communicate and navigate their emotions.

Here are some recommendations:

Seek professional guidance: Attorneys specialising in estate planning can offer insights into creating equitable structures. They can also mediate family discussions and help navigate difficult conversations.

Consider alternative options: Trusts or joint ownership can offer alternatives that distribute assets in ways that honour family ties while managing emotions.

Engage in family dialogue: Create opportunities to discuss family values and future plans. Encourage honesty without judgement.

My friend’s journey is a reminder of the emotional weight that accompanies the creation of a will. When I think about other stories of hurt over inheritance that I have listened to, the element of the surprise of the unknown becoming known is like chilli salt on the wound. And there is the puzzle, why do so many people keep their wills a secret?

It’s true that life and circumstances changes. There are marriages, divorces, births, deaths, and career shifts to consider. In fact, it is important to update wills – we have found people who’ve done the LoveLegacyDignity programme suddenly realise that policy beneficiaries need updating. And a will written when your children were minors may bear little resemblance to one that you might choose to write 20 years later.

And that is your prerogative, to redraft and update. But tell us, why the secrecy? What causes the hesitancy that prevents open discussion? We suffer when loved ones die – but more so when important conversations have not happened.

My colleague Mapi invited Bhekisisa Mncube to write a follow up to the column he wrote earlier this year, giving the backstory and the post-burial trauma the family has suffered.

“Some deaths aren’t worth any tears,” wrote Bhekisisa when announcing his father’s passing.

Yes, over 20 years ago, I did indeed perform a burial ritual for my father as part of therapy for major depressive disorder. I literally dug a hole in our house in Durban and ‘buried’ him. I didn’t cry when he finally shuffled off the mortal coil. My father was a nasty piece of work. Several weeks have gone by and what was already bad has become worse.

“I was right not to grieve for my late father,” writes Bhekisisa and describes the salt that has now rubbed into the existing wounds.

He adds:

“To my dismay, I learned a month after his death that he had bequeathed the only piece of land belonging to the family (my late mother’s land) to a distant cousin.

“I received a call from the Induna of Newland village in Ulundi about my cousin’s claim to the land. As the remaining heir, I was informed of my father’s decision to gift the only piece of land my mother had cultivated for the community. Numb, it took me three weeks to call back and ‘agree’ to release it. In both death and life, my father had rejected me.”

Bhekisisa chronicles the psychological wounds his father inflicted on him:

I must have been five years old when I first encountered my father’s toxic behaviour. We were helping him fix the fence. One mid-morning, my mother brought a tray of breakfast. Before she could kneel to set it down, my father exploded, shouting that she was useless and only good for making food. He berated her for bringing food while he was busy. He said worse things, but his usual mantra was: “You all go to the toilet because of me.” Watching my mother, my sole provider, being humiliated in front of her children was unbearable. That day, I realised my father was a monster.

When I turned seven, he refused to let me go to school. My mother tried in vain to convince him, and finally told me I had to do it myself. So, I confronted him and announced that I was going to school. He was shocked and mumbled, “I hear you.” The next day, I went to school. But, oh boy, I wasn’t ready for the fallout. When he came home from work and asked where I was, my mother said I was at school. He blew his top, accusing her of disrespect and reporting her to his elder brother. A family meeting was convened, and my mother narrowly avoided the severe censure of being sent back to her family, instructed to return with her elders and a goat as part of an apology for being deemed a bad wife.

Fast forward to January 1993: I was excited to inform him about my plans for tertiary studies. I had already secured a bursary but still needed financial support. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he would not help because he didn’t have “endless pots of money” and was preparing to take a new wife instead. He suggested I join the former KwaZulu Police, fully aware that I was a freedom fighter. I left the village with my mother’s help.

In early 1994, he told the family he would no longer pay school fees for any of us (seven children), saying: “Now that iXhosa lenu, Nelson Mandela, is out of prison and you’re all excited, let’s see if your Mandela will pay your school fees.”

He left and never paid for anyone.

He missed all our graduation ceremonies. For me, that was the turning point in our non-existent relationship. I decided enough was enough. However, after I started working, I suffered a mental breakdown and ended up in a psychiatric hospital. A psychologist was assigned to me, and her first question was: “Tell me about your relationship with your father.” I couldn’t believe it. I was seeing this woman for the first time, yet she immediately knew the source of my breakdown. I didn’t cry—I wailed for the entire session. I exhausted my tears for my father that day.

Since his passing, we confirmed our earlier suspicions that he had been sharing his “two-pot” pensions—his old-age pension and work-related government pension—with my nephew, thus contributing very little to the family. My nephew is the only one with an iPhone at home, and subscription to premium DStv. My mother’s pension and my contributions kept our household afloat.

Two months later, we discovered he died intestate, with an investment we never knew about. The paperwork sits untouched. I have no time for a man who disrespected my mother—my “first love”—starved us, hurled obscenities, and, to top it all, fathered four children out of wedlock across Zululand. Honestly, not all deaths deserve mourning. My father’s death isn’t worth my tears, and I want nothing to do with his money.

 

It is not possible to read Bhekisisa’s account without feeling his pain. Will the pain ever feel less sharp? My mind went to the Book of Forgiving, written by Archbishop Tutu and his daughter Mpho.

Their point of view is that if we can’t forgive then we remain a prisoner trapped in our pain. They make the distinction between the deed and the perpetrator. They propose the “four-fold way” as the route to forgiveness:

(1) Telling the story

(2) Naming the hurt

(3) Granting forgiveness

(4) The choice between renewing or releasing the relationship

My concern reading Bhekisisa’s story is about the long-term consequences of the hurt endured. My understanding of the connection between mind and body is that if we harbour resentment, it is like poison, and we are the ones who are likely to fall ill.

Archbishop Tutu and Mpho Tutu understood that readiness to forgive may have a long timeline. Their Prayer Before the Prayer includes these words:

…I am not yet ready. Grant me the will to want to forgive. Grant it to me not yet but soon.

– Bhekisisa Mncube won the national 2024 Standard Bank Sikuvile Journalism Award for columns/editorials, having previously won the same category at the regional level in the 2020 Vodacom Journalist of the Year Awards.

“These days are long but years are short.” – Gretchen Rubin

 

This week, I experienced a lightbulb moment. Despite the familiar chaos of Johannesburg traffic that greets me every morning and night, I realised I am generally in a happy space. As the hours merge into a stop-and-go routine, frustration can easily build. But the moment I step into the office, all my troubles fade away. I find myself surrounded by a group of individuals who are not solely driven by personal ambitions but who genuinely believe in the potential and promise of our country.

I, like many South Africans, juggle worries about financial stability, relationships, safety, and the weight of daily life challenges. These concerns are real and deserve attention; acknowledging them is crucial for our growth. However, amid these worries, I also recognise the importance of my happy spaces—those moments and environments that uplift my spirit and remind me of the joy life can offer.

In the book The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin explores the concept happiness and how we can actively cultivate it in our lives.

“These days are long but years are short,” says Rubin, and as Ngunis like to say: “Angifuni ukungasho I’m happy (I do not want to say I’m happy).”

 

The reality of life’s challenges

It’s easy to get caught up in the negative. With headlines often dominated by stories of hardship, violence, and despair, it feels almost inappropriate to speak of happiness.

I hesitated to write this piece, fearful that it might come across as tone-deaf amid the struggles that so many face. Yet, I discovered that recognising our happy moments does not diminish the reality of others’ suffering. Instead, it serves as a reminder that even in difficult times, joy can coexist with pain.

When we acknowledge our happy spaces, we create a counterbalance to life’s stressors. It isn’t about ignoring struggles. Rather, it’s about finding a foothold of contentment from which we can navigate our challenges more effectively. This acknowledgment can serve as a lifeline, allowing us to recharge emotionally and mentally.

 

The value of happy spaces

Happy spaces are not just physical locations. They encompass experiences, relationships, and feelings that bring us joy. They can be found in the laughter shared with friends, the warmth of family gatherings, or the solace of nature.

For me, entering the office transforms my mindset. It’s a place where collaboration thrives, ideas flourish, and camaraderie is palpable. Each day, I’m reminded that I am part of a community striving for collective success, rather than a solitary pursuit.

When we work alongside people who resonate with our vision—a vision for a better future—our spirits are lifted. Every interaction becomes a reminder that while individual challenges may persist, we are not alone in our journey.

 

The ripple effect of happiness

But what happens if we collectively acknowledge these moments of happiness? When we talk about our happy spaces, we inspire others to reflect on their own sources of joy. Sharing these experiences can cultivate a culture of gratitude and appreciation, encouraging more individuals to seek out and cherish their happy moments, regardless of the circumstances surrounding them.

 

ALSO READ | LIVE BY DESIGN | What questions come up for you about end-of-life situations?

 

Instead of becoming consumed by problems, we learn to appreciate the beauty in our lives. Gratitude has a powerful ripple effect; when we express it, we not only boost our moods but also influence those around us.

In a city bustling with energy and activity, such as Johannesburg, it’s easy to overlook the pockets of happiness embedded within our daily lives. But if we practise mindfulness, we can train ourselves to seek out and appreciate these moments. Whether indulging in a delicious meal, enjoying a beautiful sunset, or engaging in a heartwarming conversation, these simple joys can be powerful.

Embracing contentment does not imply complacency; rather, it signifies acceptance of our current state while remaining open to growth and improvement.

What questions come up for you about end-of-life situation? I am sharing two of the questions that landed in my inbox in the last week.

Question One: What do I need to do to ensure that my chosen, not-biologically related, representative will be recognised to liaise with the hospital in the event of my death?

The person in question resides in Johannesburg, has a solid friendship circle, and does not have a single living relative in South Africa. Recently the person had serious health scare which could have resulted in sudden death if it were not for the routine check-up that revealed the imminent problem.

What if the outcome had been different and they were now the body in a morgue with “next-of-kin” sisters and granddaughters far away either elderly or with few resources – possibly unable to travel?

The legal advice I received was that the person should update their will and insert the name of the trusted friend in the will as the designated person authorised to request release of the body for the funeral.

This, of course, requires that the designated person needs to be easily contactable – perhaps create a small card with the information and put it together with your ID in your purse or wallet.

Question Two: On the LoveLegacyDignity website you have an Advance Directive and a form to nominate a Health Care proxy. These documents do not have official legal standing, what can I do to try to make sure that my voice is heard and respected?

One day, still in my lifetime, I hope this question will be redundant.

In several other countries, the Advance Directive (some refer to it as a Living Will) is legally recognised and the medical profession adheres to the patient’s wishes one hundred percent (probably due to the fear of being sued if they were to deviate from the wishes expressed).

Similarly, in many other countries, the person you designate to speak for you if/when you are unable to speak for yourself is the recognised authority that the medical profession will defer to – and it is important to note that this chosen person does not need to be next-of-kin.

Currently, hospitals operate on autopilot guidelines, such as “only immediate family may see the patient”. They want only immediate family to be the point of communication with the medical staff.

This is a serious problem for people, whose chosen way of living, has resulted in having extraordinarily strong ties to non-family members.

You might remember during the Covid-19 pandemic that Advocate Thuli Madonsela, former Public Protector, currently the Chair in Social Justice at Stellenbosch University raised the importance of the issue of recognition of non-family relationships. Initially, regulations proposed funerals only be attended by “close family members”. It took advocacy for people to accept that the state should not prescribe attendance according to biological, legal, or family status.

Both Mapi and I have named Health Care Proxies to advocate for us who are not our next of kin. For Mapi it is a good friend who is also close to her family, whom she trusts to communicate with everyone and who will have the calmness and courage to say, in the given circumstances, “Yes, it is okay to turn off the life support machine.” For myself, I do not want my beloved husband to be in this predicament. I have a very dear friend, with a medical background, who has the perspective, sufficient emotional distance, calmness, firmness, and courage to act for me. I am grateful for her acceptance of this responsibility.

And what’s to happen if an emergency arises? My GP has a copy of my Advance Directive and the form nominating my Health Care Proxy. At home I have a file ready to be taken to the hospital with me should that occasion arise.

But I know that the likelihood of my wishes being respected depends on the chance of which medical staff happen to be on duty. Will there be a doctor who believes it is their right to have the final word on treatment of patients under their care or will there be a doctor who respects patient’s rights to make their own decisions, including the right to refuse treatment?

A human rights lawyers has suggested that LoveLegacyDignity needs to consider expanding its advocacy role. Currently, Mapi and I write this column for News24 and our LLD subscribers. We also accept any invitation to speak on radio, TV, or any group of individuals. We run a bi-annual online course, Live By Design Finish Strong. It is our soul work. Three other paid-for part-timers support us.

What might more advocacy look like in terms of resources and time? It is suggested that Mapi and I search for lawyers prepared to be pro bono counsel who will advocate for legislative changes to secure these patient rights.

However, the wheels of legislative change always turn extremely slowly – it is a long game. In the shorter term, what is the possibility of an interim solution that could be pursued? What might our about-to be advocacy group achieve if it were to approach the state hospitals and private hospitals and request they engage on this issue?

This is seriously thought-provoking. It requires an activist mindset. Any volunteers or suggestions from our readers? Please write to info@lovelegacydignty.com

Meanwhile, our answer to the question about what can be done to ensure your voice will be heard is not very comforting. Current practice is out of sync with the spirit of our Constitution.

This needs to change.

Our flight approaches Johannesburg. The clear sunny winter sky becomes hazy, and then as we circle ready to land at OR Tambo I see the city through its dusky veil of smoke. Winter is always worse than summer. Our city has a kind of industrial metallic smell. When I’ve been away to the bush or the sea, my nose wrinkles as I drive closer. Still, my heart is happy. This is home.

I’ve been traveling for eight weeks, working virtually, part-time along the way. Discussions with colleagues and keeping in touch with family and friends has meant making dozens of WhatsApp video calls. It has been really noticeable how often I’ve been told of people being quite ill, mostly colds and flu, sometimes bronchitis or pneumonia – even taking a whole week off work to recover – not just down for a day or two. I ventured to suggest that perhaps the air quality might exacerbate the winter propensity for illness?

I grew up in a coal mining town. We used coal for cooking and heating water. As children when we blew our noses, our hankies were always blackened with the coal dust wed inhaled.

Thirty years ago, I drove weekly from Johannesburg though Ogies to a rural community nearby. I would notice women and children scratching through the waste coal slag for what we used to call “tailings” – the small bits of coal. Using these for cooking would save on paraffin costs. But in the small homes of townships and informal settlements, the inhalation of fumes is concentrated.

My friend Gonda, completing her Master’s degree in community health, researched the occurrence of respiratory issues in children living in these highveld mining towns. The long-term consequences of emissions are serious: pulmonary disease, lung cancer, pneumonia, eye cataracts, strokes, ischaemic heart disease.

I wondered what the current data is on Johannesburg’s air quality – is it improving? Would living at the sea would be a healthier life choice for longevity. I looked up the Air Quality Index, AQI. The results surprised me. In descending order, from worst to best the South African figures are:

AQI 158 Cape Town

AQI 156 Johannesburg

AQI   57 George

AQI   42  Port Elizabeth

AQI   29 Middelburg

AQI  25  Camps Bay

AQI   25 Mbombela

 

eSikhaleni, popularly known as eSikhawini comes in as the place to live with the cleanest air.

Most of us live where we work. We don’t have the choice to move to KwaZulu-Natal, the Lowveld or Camps Bay. So what more could be done about improving air quality? Clean energy is obvious but we could do more about vehicle emissions.

My eight weeks of travel included a week in central London. In terms of traffic noises it was very different from previous visits years ago. It was remarkably quieter. As I waited to cross a street, the passing buses, taxis and cars purred. They were almost all electric vehicles.

I learnt that the mayor of London Sadiq Khan, concerned about the respiratory health of London’s inner-city children had pushed against petrol- and diesel-powered engines. Their carbon mono oxide diffuses across lung tissues into the blood stream making it difficult for the body’s cells to bind with oxygen. Lead in emissions is dangerous, with neurological and gastrointestinal effects. Non-electrical vehicles now pay a penalty to drive in London’s inner city. The vehicle switch has been phenomenal.

It is not just London. As I travelled through Germany the increasing presence of electric cars, the numbers of parking bays with charging sockets in parking garages is noteworthy. For some people the switch may have been due to what they consider to be a moral choice to be responsible in terms of environmental considerations. For other’s it is an economic choice – several countries have introduced tax incentives which are significant enough to be seductive.

In the meantime, I wonder how long it will take for our country to have a stronger public policy and tax incentives to support changes in industrial emissions and electric vehicle production and adoption. In the longer term, such change  would improve the Air Quality Index of South Africa’s industrial and residential areas and lower the incidence of the disease mentioned earlier. As a nation we’d save on medical treatments. What’s stopping us from accelerating this change?

All things considered, I’ve decided I’m going back to wearing a mask in social or travel situations when I’m in close proximity to others. I had already noticed that some people who are sneezing have taken to wearing masks as an act of social responsibility.

This week Botswana’s Letsile Tebogo won the Olympic gold medal for the mens’ 200m. USA hot favourite Noah Lyle congratulated Tebogo, touching him physically. Lyle later left the track in a wheelchair, and it was revealed he had tested positive for Covid two days earlier. Until then Lyle was being feted as a hero. Now social media is alive with comment – one X posting criticised Lyle as, “irresponsible and self-serving, putting others at risk.”
One medical practitioner told me that mask wearing stops the spread of infection – but only certain masks.

The USA’s Centre for Disease Control (CDC) advises that if masks are to protect wearers from inhaling germs – this type of protection comes if you wear better fitting masks – for example the N95 or KN95 respirators.

Living by design? I dislike wearing masks, but that’s preferable to becoming ill after inhaling germs that I could have avoided! And if indeed it is me that’s unwell, there’s a responsibility to protect others.

For several months, Helena Dolny and I have embarked on a journey of exploration and reflection, delving into what it truly means to live by design. Together, we have crafted pieces that examine the importance of intentional living in every aspect of our lives – from daily choices that shape our moments with loved ones to the critical medical decisions we face as we approach the end of life.

Through our own experiences, keen observations and the generous lessons shared by others who have navigated love, loss, grief and the profound realities of mortality, we aim to inspire a deeper understanding of how to live fully and authentically.

On the last Saturday afternoon of every month, we host Death Café – a safe place where people hang together for an hour and a half, and talk about life and death. Our members take turns to guide a session. Last week, we were invited to engage with a series of questions. The first was: Are you living by design or by default?

Our discussions had depth and challenge.

The dialogue turned into the exploration of our values, priorities and choices we make – or sadly often neglect to make – when it comes to shaping our lives. Our guide last Saturday was executive coach Sharon Jansen. She had prepared a series of deep, thought-provoking questions. Each question served as a mirror, reflecting our current life choices while challenging us to reconsider our paths.

The concept of living by design

At its core, living by design involves consciously crafting one’s life according to personal values, priorities and goals, rather than merely reacting to circumstances or societal expectations – essentially creating a life of intention instead of defaulting to the path laid out by others. As we asked ourselves what living by design means, it became clear that self-awareness plays a crucial role in this journey.

Identifying whether you’re operating by design or by default requires reflection. Ask yourself: Are you making choices that align with your values and passions, or are you going along with the flow because it’s easier?

By recognising where we might be living reactively – like following career paths that others deem “successful” or adhering to social norms – we can begin to shift our mindset towards intentionality.

Societal norms and expectations

Navigating societal norms is another significant challenge in the pursuit of a designed life. We examined how external pressures often dictate our decisions – from career choices to relationship dynamics. Society tends to impose standard benchmarks for success: Marriage, home ownership and career achievements. However, these milestones may not resonate personally for everyone.

To truly live by design, we must learn to question these expectations. How do they align with our values? Which of them reinforce our desired path, and which stifle our individuality? Sharon prompted us to think critically about how we could dismantle these pressures. This may involve seeking supportive communities that celebrate authenticity and setting boundaries with those who inadvertently impose expectations.

Happiness and fulfilment

One of the most striking realisations from our discussion was the profound impact that living by design has on our happiness and fulfilment. When we align our daily actions with our true selves, there’s an undeniable sense of joy that comes from creating a life that reflects who we are.

Conversely, living by default often leads to feelings of discontentment. We might find ourselves stuck in jobs that drain our energy, maintaining relationships that no longer serve us, or neglecting our passions due to fear or insecurity. Living by design is liberating; it invites us to pursue our interests and passions unapologetically, which enhances our overall wellbeing.

The necessity of sacrifice

However, this journey is not without its sacrifices. Sharon posed the essential question: What are you willing to give up to live a life by design? These sacrifices can range from relinquishing perceived security – a stable job or a familiar routine – to letting go of toxic relationships that deter us from our path.

The willingness to sacrifice is paramount. It signifies commitment to the life we seek to build. The depth of this commitment often dictates the strength of the choices we make. Nevertheless, it’s crucial to approach sacrifice mindfully, ensuring that the choices we make enrich our lives rather than diminish our wellbeing.

Balancing design with life’s chaos

Life, however, is unpredictable and chaotic. One participant raised the concern of how to balance the desire for a designed life with the inevitability of setbacks and disruptions. The key lies in adaptability. Embracing the fluid nature of existence allows us to align our plans with current realities.

Failure plays an integral role in living by design. It teaches resilience and provides opportunities for growth. Instead of viewing setbacks as deterrents, we should see them as essential components of our journey, refining our approach and informing our next steps.

Avoiding over-planning

Yet, as we strive for a life lived by design, we must be wary of over-planning or rigidity. There’s a fine line between being intentional and becoming immobilised by the need for perfection. Flexibility is vital; it enables us to pivot when new opportunities arise or when life takes unexpected turns.

Reflecting on how to maintain this flexibility, we discussed the importance of setting in place loose plans instead of strict timelines, allowing for spontaneity and creativity. By embracing changes as part of the journey rather than obstacles, we can maintain a sense of adventure in our designed lives.

Personal values and reassessment

Personal values and priorities are the cornerstone of a life lived by design. They guide our choices and shape our identities. But how often do we reassess these values? This reflection is necessary as we evolve through different phases of life. What once brought us joy and fulfilment might no longer resonate as we grow.

So how would you answer the questions? What does it mean for you to live by design rather than by default? What do you identify as the approach you are currently taking?

Sunday, 28 July 2024, is South Africa’s day to celebrate grandparents – so I am informed by the SPAR Digital magazine that pops up in my email inbox. Grandparents’ Day: I did not know there was one. I am curious.

I discovered many countries have National Grandparents’ Day, but no international date exists. Mexico chose 28 August. Former American president Jimmy Carter introduced Grandparents’ Day in 1978, the first Sunday after the country’s Labour Day holiday, making this year’s commemoration fall on 8 September.

We have Mother’s Day and Father’s Day celebrations – what is distinctive about the role of grandparents in our lives? I did not have grandparents as an active presence in my life: my father’s parents died before I was born, and my mother’s parents lived in another country. We spent a holiday with them when I was nine years old. Soon after, my Oupa died, and I saw my Ouma twice more, decades apart, before she too died. I cannot say I had a relationship with any of my grandparents.

More frequent travel and the transformation of communication have reduced some of the challenges of long-distance and changed things for the next generation. My children saw their grandparents every other year, and telephonic contact eventually became audiovisual. We first used Skype and then WhatsApp video or FaceTime. Friends of mine whose daughter lives in the USA interact almost daily with their granddaughter.

As a child, you will never experience your parents as their grandchildren experience them. Some grandparents indeed take on a full parenting role – but for most grandparents, it is a very different relationship. Three generations rarely share the same house, and migration commonly means that the young family lives in a different city or even a different country.

While time spent together is irregular, I have observed relationships evolving between child and grandparent that are formative and deeply meaningful. When my mother died, I hosted an extended family gathering. In the invitation, I asked if everyone could choose one of their favourite stories about my mother that they were willing to share.

It was the stories that the grandchildren told that I savoured the most. They knew my mother in an entirely different way than her three children. They did not know her as the strict taskmaster who divided up the house and would not let you go out to play unless the chores were done, who insisted that my two brothers learn to cook and iron. She had famously run her fingers along the tops of the skirting boards to check that the dusting was done correctly.

My children and my brother’s children had activity time with my parents – enjoyable time gardening, sewing, baking and craft activities, and my mother passed down her love of jigsaw puzzles. Last week, I sat having lunch with my niece. She was wearing a newly made gingham checked dress. She noticed two loose threads that she had failed to knot and trim. “Ooops,” she said, “Granny would have picked up on that.”

Grandparents are often chauffeurs and aftercare providers who provide holiday daycare and pass on skills. This work can be physically demanding.

My husband and I have had the gift of five grandchildren being born in the last decade. I swear you do not need to do weight training for good arm muscles if picking up babies and toddlers is part of your life. You also need to be able to get down on the floor easily, especially in that period between sitting and walking. When they are finally bipeds, the ball games, scooters and bicycles begin.

I am currently ploughing my way through Outlive, the book written by Canadian author and physician Peter Attia. I use the word “ploughing” because it is long and hard going for a layperson. It provides technical information in considerable detail. Attia’s approach is that a long life needs quality of life to be truly enjoyable. He begins his book with a story of attending a friend’s mother’s funeral – the quality of life of her last ten years had been poor both physically and mentally.

He wonders what he will die of and discusses what he refers to as the four horsemen of death: cardiovascular disease, diabetes, cancer, and neuro-degenerative diseases. His advocacy is about how we take care of ourselves in the early decades of our lives as an investment in longevity and quality of life in our elderhood.

The Einstein quote, “Begin with the end in mind,” is uppermost in my mind and requires living by design. Until I read Attia’s Outlive, I had not quite realised how much it mattered to start young by investing in how you want to be when you are old: exercise, eating mindfully, sleep and meditation. Prevention is better than cure. Here we are again.

I guess the secret to motivation is that you need to want something enough to give you support to resist overindulging in delicious, unhealthy food. I can easily become a couch potato, especially in the winter months.

But I want my grandchildren to have stories to tell about me at whatever family gathering that might be held when I have died. It is legacy work for me and requires intentionality. I plan my time and finances to be able to travel. But I also need to be fit enough to do the fun stuff.

My question to you is: How do you imagine your elderliness? What investments are you making now to make that dream come true?