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LIVE BY DESIGN | Facing loss: How do we choose to respond to bad news?

I have witnessed different ways people (husbands, mothers, friends, clients) handle the bad news that they have a terminal illness. Their responses varied significantly and made a noticeable difference in how this news affected the lives of those close to them. None of us can genuinely predict ahead of time how we might respond in a situation. We can speculate. We can prepare – or not. I’d advocate for spending some time thinking about the possibility. Overcoming the taboos associated with discussing death is worthwhile.

Research shows that people who have contemplated their death and set out their preferences in writing do better (psychologically and financially) in the last year of their life. Of course, these positive consequences also ameliorate the emotional pain and suffering being experienced by those close to them. I was 37 years old when my husband, Joe, told me his bad news. He had received a diagnosis that he had the cancer, multiple myeloma. The average life expectancy at that time for this diagnosis, more than three decades ago, was two years. As things turned out, he lived three and a half years.

My husband’s first response to his bad news was to protect his privacy. He was a politician and did not want the information about his condition to be publicly known. He was engaged in the settlement negotiation for our new democratic South Africa and future focused.

His complete future focus included stopping his sessions with his biographer. He curtailed investing precious time and energy in looking back and reflecting on events from years gone by.

My younger self was supportive, unchallenging, and unquestioning. Joe was the central character, the person dying, with the right to choose how to shape his remaining time. My approach had consequences. It meant that we arrived at the final week of his life only to discover that he was about to die intestate!

Years later, I read Chasing Daylight. It was written in 2005 by fifty-three-year-old Eugene O’Kelly, CEO of KPMG, a prominent American firm. He responded so differently from what I had experienced with my husband. He begins his book with, “I was blessed. I was told I had three months to live.” He stopped work immediately.

A snapshot of a page from Eugene O Kelly’s Chasing Daylight. (Photo: Supplied, Helena Dolny)


Eugene O Kellys’s Chasing Daylight. (Photo: Supplied, Helena Dolny)

His brain cancer diagnosis forced him to think, “With whom did he want to spend his remaining time, doing what? He cried. He prayed. He sat in church. His elder daughter flew to New York to join their blended family. He tried three days of chemo and then quit when he assessed how awful the side effects made him feel. Released from any medical appointments, he was truly free to design his time.

Always a high achiever, he, in his own words, “was motivated to succeed at death – that is, to try to be constructive about it.” He made a list: finance, relationships, simplify, live in the moment, transition to next state, plan funeral.

What stayed with me most from reading O’Kelly’s memoir was the time and attention he chose to give to “unwinding relationships.” He drew a series of concentric circles. The innermost circle was his wife and children, followed by immediate family members and lifetime friends. The fourth circle was close business associates. The fifth, most outer circle was people who had enhanced his life, people with whom he had shared a passion or experience.

He started with the outer circle. It is a fascinating choice and beautifully described as well as stressful. He acknowledges that he miscalculated the time required – he spent three weeks on the fifth circle. His health is deteriorating as he works his way inwards towards his most beloved.

Years later, I published my book Before Forever After. I had also retrained and was working as an executive and leadership coach. A person contacted me and requested a rapport session to discuss her needs and to ascertain if we might be a good fit to work together.

Her predicament was recurring breast cancer and a limited but indeterminate timeline. Her question was, “How am I best going to live my remaining time?” which turned out to be three years. I learned a lot from our sessions. It was such a co-creative engagement. I would even venture to say we had fun.

How do we share this learning? What if I, or you, the reader, were to get bad news about ourselves or a nearest and dearest? How might we set about designing how we would choose to live that final chapter of our lives? How might those choices best support both ourselves and those we love?

The death rate is a hundred per cent – only the expiry date is not specified. However, when people get bad news about a terminal prognosis, there have always been those who have responded exceptionally well to treatment and been afforded “extra time”, so to speak.

I am going to imagine that it is me who has received the bad news. Over the next months, I am going to share what I hope I would have the energy, presence of mind and emotional resilience to put in place as my way forward.

I will write from the perspective of acceptance, and then, of course, if the universe were to favour me with “extra time,” I’d graciously accept this as a bonus! I do not think I’ll be jinxed by embracing this in-depth approach. I hope to influence more people to let go of the taboo about talking about dying. Our world and our relationships will benefit if we can normalise these conversations.

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LIVE BY DESIGN | The silent witness: How communities can make a difference in abuse cases

Dr Celiwe Dada is a South African medical doctor and mother of three who has recently gained significant attention on social media, particularly TikTok, due to her candid storytelling about her personal life. She has shared her experiences of surviving an abusive marriage, focusing on the emotional and financial toll it took on her.

Have you ever moved to a neighbourhood, town, city or country and lost the community you were part of? How did you build a new network? Have you ever been witness to someone’s distress, for example, the wailing of a neighbour or a woman being beaten, and you have held your peace, too scared to intervene?

That was me as a younger, less confident woman. This is why networks are so important. There’s a story from Nicaragua of a group of women coming together to beat up the man in their neighbourhood who beat his wife. The beating stopped.

This subject of community and its importance is on my mind because a series of unsettling conversations have emerged from South Africa that compel us to question the fabric of our communities. Dr Celiwe Dada, a doctor who endured years in an abusive relationship, Nonkanyiso ‘LaConco’ Conco, a teenage girlfriend and mother of one of former president Jacob Zuma’s children and reality star, is now revealing the complexities of her life.

These stories serve as poignant reminders of the role community plays—or fails to play—in the lives of people facing dire circumstances. Alongside popular reality dramas like Uthando neS’thembu, these narratives shed light on the intense personal struggles within relationships and the critical silence from family and community members who might have intervened.

When browsing social media comments about Dr Dada, some criticise her by suggesting that her doctorate has not protected her from abuse, overlooking the fact that she was only 18 when she fell in love with a man who would become her abuser. Similarly, in discussions about LaConco, we often see comments like “uyaphapha” directed to her for being forward when referring to her relationship with a man over 60, a president at the time.

While it is essential for people to take responsibility for their actions, these reactions also highlight a broader societal issue.

Rather than solely blaming these women, we must examine the systemic factors and cultural narratives that contribute to their situation. At the core of these stories lies a troubling theme: the absence of communal support and intervention during times of crisis. Dr Dada’s experience with abuse, which left her both financially and emotionally scarred, raises vital questions about the vigilance and engagement of those closest to her.

Similarly, LaConco’s experiences highlight the need for community awareness and accountability. Why are family, friends, and neighbours often silent witnesses to the suffering of their loved ones? Does this silent complicity stem from an ingrained individualistic approach to life, where personal autonomy and privacy are prioritised over communal responsibility and engagement?

The rise of individualism, particularly in contemporary society, has profound implications for the health of our communities. In many cases, it fosters an environment where people feel disconnected from one another, reluctant to intervene in the lives of others out of fear or belief that it is not their place to do so. This mentality can lead to a dangerous bystander effect, where people look away even when they know something is wrong.

The narratives we see on social media and television vividly illustrate this; we are left questioning why the friends and family of participants do not step in to provide support or assistance when they clearly need it. The lack of intervention suggests troubling normalcy in isolating individual struggles rather than embracing the collective responsibility of being part of a community.

Community matters because it fosters connection, belonging, and mutual support. When people come together, they create a collective awareness that amplifies voices that might otherwise remain unheard. The importance of solidarity cannot be overstated; it is through our bonds with one another that we find the strength to face challenges, hold each other accountable, and cultivate resilience.

Communities prioritising collective well-being empower their members to speak up against abuse or exploitation. They create safe spaces where people can share their struggles without fear of judgment or isolation, establishing a culture of care essential to personal and collective healing.

However, the growing trend toward individualism poses significant challenges. In a world increasingly obsessed with self-sufficiency and personal achievement, we may lose sight of the interdependencies that define our existence. The individualistic mindset often leads to a lack of understanding regarding our influence over one another’s lives. It breeds apathy towards the struggles of our fellow community members, creating an atmosphere where problems like domestic abuse or financial exploitation can flourish unchallenged. This shift away from collectivism inevitably undermines the very foundation of community, eroding the connections that should bind us together in times of need.

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LIVE BY DESIGN | Navigating obesity with compassion: A personal journey and family reflection

Obesity’s impact extends beyond the individual, affecting families and communities alike. This week’s Live By Design column delves into the challenges of discussing weight with kindness and understanding, highlighting the need for supportive dialogue and lifestyle changes. Through personal stories and reflections, it underscores the importance of empathy and open communication in addressing this complex issue.

The question for this week is: How do you approach the topic of obesity with kindness and understanding? Making a change will require decisions about lifestyle changes.

As long as I can remember, my life has been intertwined with the realities of obesity. Growing up surrounded by people of various sizes, I became acutely aware of the spectrum of body weight and its impact on daily life.

I have seen people who, despite being classified as overweight, lead incredibly agile lives, moving gracefully through their day. Conversely, I have also witnessed the struggles of those whose bodies are burdened by excess weight, rendering them almost immobile and reliant on others for the simplest tasks. For many years, I found myself on the heavier side of that spectrum.

At my heaviest, I tipped the scales at over 155 kilograms. I carried my weight well; however, the truth is that even when we think we are managing our size, we can be silently battling a multitude of challenges beneath the surface.

I tried various weight loss programmes, medications, and exercise regimens – all in vain – before ultimately deciding to undergo gastric bypass surgery after a health scare. My experience is not unique, and perhaps this is why my heart aches when I consider the burden of obesity.

Recently, I faced the harsh reality of this struggle when I lost a family member. While I will not delve into the specifics of that sorrowful day, I will share that the logistics surrounding the burial revealed the sometimes insurmountable challenges posed by obesity.

AVBOB, one of the country’s oldest burial companies, informed us that they had never encountered such difficulties preparing for this farewell. The special coffin was 1.3 m in height and 1.2 m in length, requiring a TLB to be moved around. It struck me then that obesity is not just a personal battle; it can affect families and communities in profound ways.

Conversations about obesity are often approached with sensitivity in my immediate family, as we are generally overweight. There is awareness that these engagements can be deeply sensitive, laden with societal stigma and personal insecurities.

For many people, being overweight is not merely a reflection of lifestyle choices but can stem from a complex interplay of genetics, emotional trauma, socio-economic factors, and even psychological conditions.

However, last week brought a different perspective as we confronted the grim reality that our situation should not be taken lightly. Some of us did not participate in burial activities; we watched mourners like hawks, ensuring no one was taking pictures or videos. We simply did not want to trend!

This experience taught us that there is a significant price to pay for our obesity. We have now embarked on a journey of reflection, not only examining our lifestyle choices but also considering their socio-economic impacts. Yes, some are considering a gastric bypass, while those who are diabetic are investigating using Ozempic!

This family happening has prompted this week’s questions:

  • How do you approach the topic of obesity with kindness and understanding?
  • How do you tell a loved one, “I’m worried about you?”

It is such a sensitive matter. Beyond the physical challenges, many people face mental health issues linked to their weight, including anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem.Food is comforting and seductive, and it is so easy for extra calories to cause weight creep. When I have spoken to people who have succeeded in losing weight and keeping it off without pills or a gastric bypass, it has been a lifestyle decision. It means a change in the grocery shopping list, a change to create time for walking, running, cycling, or swimming.

Importantly, another challenge is the possible increase in budget as fruit and vegetables are generally more expensive than delicious sugary carbs. Some exercise choices require us to sign up for a gym if it’s affordable. I know that when living with others, their buy-in to your lifestyle change intention makes a significant difference.

As someone who navigated these waters, I can attest to the overwhelming feelings of isolation and despair that can accompany obesity. It becomes vital for friends and family members to offer compassion and understanding, ensuring that struggling people feel supported rather than shamed and motivated.

But we owe those close to us a conversation about these weighty issues.

We need to name and discuss the consequences of a possibly foreshortened life, guardianship for minors, and so on.

The burden of obesity is heavy – not just for the people who carry that weight but for their families and friends as well.

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LIVE BY DESIGN | The complex costs of grief: Managing emotional and practical demands in bereavement

This is the column that almost did not happen. Sometimes, it is as though there’s too much happening in life, and there’s no headspace for writing. This week, that is what happened for both Mapi and me, where we both found ourselves overwhelmed by the very things we write about each week in Live By Design.

Eight of us sit in a circle, sifting through drawers of photographs. We are relatives gathered together because my much beloved Tante Inge has died. There is a groan from her 33-year-old grandchild. He wants to look at photos on Inge’s phone. He cannot open it. It needs her fingerprint. That’s not going to happen. We cremated her earlier in the day. “Oh my goodness,” exclaims Inge’s daughter, “What will happen when I die? My phone has facial recognition.”

Access to her fingerprints is not the first hiccup we have faced since 80-year-old Inge passed unexpectedly in the early hours of Monday morning. She’d had a good weekend, a Saturday of shopping and getting her hair styled. Amid our sadness at her passing, we were delighted when her children, my cousins, told us that her TV tray from Sunday showed she’d rounded off her evening (and unknowingly her last meal) with champagne and dark chocolate.

Later on Monday, the practicalities arising from her sudden death kicked in. Access to ready cash – that is the most immediate challenge. My cousin had spontaneously phoned the bank, “My mother just died,” she said, “what is there that we need to do?” Mistake. That one call unlocked the entire process to freeze ALL accounts.

My cousin choked when she realised what she had done. She had her Mum’s bank account PIN and credit card, as she regularly did her mother’s grocery shopping. She tried, unsuccessfully, to charm the bank clerk, “Can’t you just forget that this call ever took place?”

On Wednesday, we spent yet another whole day organising things for the funeral and the after tears. We went to the print shop – hours had gone into selecting eight portrait photos, one for every decade, for her funeral card.

We went to the flower shop. Everything needs attention to detail – exactly how many stems of the white flowers will be required to cover the top of the coffin? The after tears food? Inge’s children decide it should be one of her favourite meals – Bavarian bratwurst sausage and poppy seed cake. The butchery and the bakery were the next shops we visited to place the order. How many sausages? How many people might come? There are no exact figures – only guesstimates.

We end this day exhausted, physically and emotionally. My aunt’s preferred pastor, a lovely woman with presence and depth, is away and only available next week to officiate the funeral. We are being careful to be kind to each other. Our relatives slept in every room, including the home office and the lounge.

It is Mapi’s turn to write the column this week, so at least it is not on my to-do list. I can relax—or at least that is what I thought.

All day Thursday, I sneak peeks at my phone. Curious. What’s Mapi writing about this week? Sometimes, we share ideas and sometimes suggest additions or restructuring of paragraphs. What consistently happens is that we sign off on each other’s draft, indicating we are comfortable with what has been written.

Thursday after lunch. Sneak peek at my mobile. Nothing.

Exchange of messages.

Me: Just came back from undertakers.

Mapi: Just came back from two-day strategy session. Will write this afternoon.

Late afternoon. Cousins sitting together looking at photographs.

Sneak peek at mobile. Nothing from Mapi.

Thursday evening. The message comes in that makes me realise that Mapi has her own tsunami that she’s handling. A relative has died. Overweight. A special coffin is needed. Mapi has no headspace to write.

When I find myself awake at dawn on Friday, I decide to grab the quiet time and write about why it has been difficult this week.

This leads me to a bigger question I am grappling with. How do people manage to fulfil work obligations at a time of bereavement? And if you do succeed in accomplishing all the practical activities, at what cost? Do you put your emotions on ice to connect with later when the rituals and gatherings are over?

If you review human resource policies for bereavement, the paid leave days are minimal. In South Africa, employees who have been employed for at least four months are typically entitled to 3 days of paid bereavement in one annual leave cycle. This leave falls under the category of “family responsibility leave,” which can be used in the event of the death of an immediate family member like a spouse, parent, child, or sibling. This leave is usually considered part of the standard employment contract and can be verified with proof of death.

Three days of paid leave for a spouse, a parent, or a child! In my family experience and culture, I’ve needed at least a couple of weeks off work. And that was only to deal with the practicalities.

When my father died, I got on a plane and spent two weeks supporting my mother. I was the chauffeur, the communications officer, the programme coordinator, and the liaison with the police after a burglary. I returned home two weeks later. Only then, finally free of logistical busyness, could I sit uninterrupted with my sadness.

As I anticipate further bereavements in my circle, I realise the importance of two things. Firstly, the ultimate act of kindness to your loved ones is to be as prepared as possible in terms of the practicalities of dying. Minimise their stress over decision-making, passwords, or access to money. Second, after the practicalities are over, many of us will need time to connect more privately and tenderly with our feelings.

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LIVE BY DESIGN | The good death debate: Retirement homes vs. family care

Our choices about how, where, and with whom to spend our elderliness are not always straightforward—economics and relationships impact decision-making.

My friend Fifi is trying to identify a carer for her mum, who lives in a rural village. If she were to want to bring her mom to live with her in Johannesburg, currently, there are just too many challenges to navigate. As a single mom without a great support system, she already juggles complex logistics.

My mom would have been over the moon to move in with me. I never tried that option, so I cannot say what toll it may have taken on my then-recent marriage, but I anticipated severe strain. I had accepted my mother’s request to never live in a retirement home. My solution (my brothers were AWOL) was to find accommodation for my mom in the same apartment building.

I sympathised with my mother’s prejudice towards retirement homes. I have heard these comments in my circle: “I’ve stopped taking nice clothes for my mother to the retirement home. The next time I visit her, they’ve been shrunk in the wash or gone missing.” OR “When my mother died, I realised just how much of her jewellery had gone missing.”

Another acquaintance who moved into a retirement village with her frail husband, who wanted to support for the situation she found herself in, said how hard it was to read the regular death announcements on the notice board.

So Mapi surprised me when we had the time to chat for long hours on holiday. She is saving, she said, so that she can spend her elderliness in a retirement village. She explained that her bottom line is that she does not want to depend on family members for support.

I respect that she has a lot of experience within her own family about how problematic it can be for the younger generation to support an elderly relative financially, emotionally, and health-wise. People with full-time jobs do not have time to transport parents, aunts, and uncles and sit with them in long queues at a clinic. Or they make time, at a cost to themselves and even their performance at work.

I have discovered that, at their best, retirement villages can be fabulous for all concerned. I visited a friend who’s just moved into a bungalow in a high-end village. She is surrounded by her carefully chosen mementoes of a long life. I know her adult children are relieved that she is no longer living alone – especially when they no longer live in the same city. She commented cheerfully, “I have come here to die. I’ve told my children that I want to die here, in my own bed.”

I am not sure whether that last wish will come true. And there might be a better option for all concerned. This is a story recently shared with me.

“We are three siblings, and none of us are living full-time in Johannesburg any longer or are able to have my mother live with us. My mother agreed the family home would be sold, and together with my siblings, we chose a retirement home.

During Covid, many of us put our affairs in order. For my mother, this included completing her Do Not Resuscitate document (DNR).

I was in Cape Town when I got the call that my mother had had a stroke. I got on the first flight I could. When I arrived, my siblings and aunt were with my mother. There was an ambulance parked at reception.

The head nurse asked to speak with me. Your mother’s condition is serious. She has a Do Not Resuscitate order in place. We have the ambulance at the ready to take her to hospital, but we want to know if you want the DNR to prevail?

I responded that I needed to speak alone with my aunt and asked that she be called to join us. My aunt, sad and stoic, said, “It’s bad.” She supported that the DNR should prevail. The ambulance would not be needed. My siblings were angry. They treated me as though I was the witch from hell.

The family took turns entering and out of the retirement home’s high-care nursing room. Management asked to speak with me. “Your mother isn’t going quickly. We have a designated bungalow. If you like, we could move your mother there, and you’ve got two bedrooms available for sleeping over.” It was a godsend to have this space.

And it was true; my mother was taking her time. Death, to us, did not seem imminent. To my lay eyes, there was no sign of deterioration. On the third day, the nurse, taking most responsibility for my mother’s treatment, making sure she was comfortable and free from pain, asked if I would come with her for a walk on the grounds. I went.

“I want you to be ready. You realise that today may be the day.” I looked at her with surprise. “Your mother’s hands and feet are cold. She is wearing socks,” she continued. If you roll down her socks, you’ll notice that her skin is purplish.”

My mother died that day. As a family, we were all ready. It was beautiful. I will be forever grateful for the nursing and the psychological support we received.

This story has challenged some of my assumptions. I assume I would prefer to die at home and find it hard to make the transition to living in a retirement village. I have not considered the support such quality nursing care can offer a family. I am questioning my assumptions, and I am looking at my finances. What might be affordable?

More to come!

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LIVE BY DESIGN | The dark allure of the Zanzou videos – what are the ethical questions?

Horror movies are the most watched and most profitable genre. What allures us to watch disturbing movies? At least they are fiction, and in choosing to watch them, we think we are not harming anyone else.

But what about when horrific videos circulate on social media that depict real life with real people? How do we, as people, as media professionals, and as society at large, choose to engage? How do we live our lives with a design that includes an ethical framework that guides our choices?

I was faced with such a situation in the newsroom this week. Two people came to my office on Monday to inform me that there was content they wanted to share – potentially newsworthy but of a graphic nature. It sounded like something horrible. Their preamble was lengthy. Eventually, I agreed to watch.

Despite their attempts to forewarn me, I was ill-prepared for the material they shared. The videos depicted five young men being assaulted at a Pretoria nightclub, allegedly by bouncers. The reason? A dispute over the bill. I failed to watch all the way through – fifteen seconds on each was enough.
To distribute or not? Following what due process? We needed to gather facts and inform the authorities about the videos. We needed to protect ourselves from accusations of sharing pornographic material.

At the same time, I had the editorial responsibility to consider these young men and how they would experience the public response to the content once it was aired. I thought of their state of mind, their parents, and their friends.

Their traumatic experience had become a social media spectacle. What will happen to them after this horrific incident? How do we show news without creating more harm?
These troubling videos, characterised by their explicit nature and the abhorrent acts being committed against these people, sparked outrage and disgust across social media platforms. What makes this situation even more infuriating is the blatant disregard for the victims’ identities.

In a world where personal privacy should be prioritised, allowing such images to circulate without any effort to protect identities raises ethical questions. It forces us to confront a disturbing societal trend: an inclination to share and watch human suffering without consideration for those involved.

We live in an age where sensationalism often overshadows empathy. The young men in the video are not mere subjects for our entertainment or shock value; they are victims of violence.
The very act of sharing these videos raises ethical dilemmas about consent and agency. How were we to ensure that our coverage would not further exploit these young men’s suffering?
Our news organisation decided to do the story. We tried to frame a conversation that extended beyond the immediate horror of the violence depicted. We wanted to provoke a reflection on the systems that allow such brutality to occur, the societal norms that condone or reinforce it, and the platforms that amplify these acts without regard for the humanity of those involved.
I’m still grappling with the implications of these videos. How do we transform our collective horror into a catalyst for change, ensuring that the stories of these young men are met with an unwavering commitment to justice and support?

Much like how we slow down to gawk at the wreckage of a car accident, these videos lure us in with a morbid curiosity that often strips away our decency. We may tell ourselves we are merely spectators, but in reality, we become complicit in a culture that thrives on the torment of others.

Each view, each share, transports the suffering of the victims into the public domain, transforming their agony into entertainment. We must look inward and ask ourselves: how can we actively protect ourselves from exposure to such graphic material and foster a culture that discourages its circulation? Firstly, we must establish boundaries regarding the types of content we consume and share online. Engaging in open discussions with loved ones about the implications of sharing such videos is crucial. By collectively deciding to refrain from sharing this content, we send a unified message that victimisation in any form is unacceptable.

Secondly, we can support organisations that advocate for the dignity and privacy of victims, ensuring they have a platform to voice their concerns without being subjected to further humiliation. Reflecting on the devastating consequences of such acts of violence brings us to the issue of shame. These young men have already endured severe trauma at the hands of their aggressors, and now, with the proliferation of these videos, they face a second victimisation—the loss of their dignity and privacy.

Sharing these videos communicates a sense of indifference toward their plight, reducing complex human beings to mere spectacles of suffering. The psychological impact of such shame can be catastrophic, leading to long-term emotional scars as they grapple with their identity in the wake of being publicly exposed. Thirdly, it is therefore vital to initiate conversations with our loved ones about the ramifications of sharing violent content. We must emphasise the importance of empathy, urging each other to consider the victims’ humanity behind the screen. Discussions can focus on how sharing such content can perpetuate a cycle of violence and desensitisation, undermining our collective responsibility to protect those who are vulnerable.

Let us shift the narrative from voyeurism to compassion, encouraging one another to support victims and seek justice rather than indulging in sensationalism. We must remain steadfast in our commitment to protecting the dignity of those affected by such tragedies.

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LIVE BY DESIGN | Two South Africans unpack democracy and privilege in Vietnam

As planned months ago, Mapi and I set off on the last of my 70th year’s travel adventures – Vietnam. Her partner and child carer stepped up to make this possible so the reunion on Valentine’s Day would be extra special.

We began our travels so light-heartedly. We welcomed this short break after an exceptionally intense January. What then led to our final evening spent in sober discussion about democracy, privilege, race, class, political passivity, and our growing anxiety?

Let us begin with the positives.

We had fun as two women and felt safe as travellers. Although male hands pawed me in throngs in Egypt and India, Vietnam was crowded and courteous. We were very aware of the optics of us as a travelling twosome. Mapi was always the only Black African in the dining room or cocktail lounge. We both have the privilege of economic class, but Mapi’s presence accentuated our global inheritance of race disparities.

There were some eye-openers.

Firstly, the vast scale of employment that tourism services generate: the sheer numbers of tailoring shops, dozens of small massage parlours, coffee shops, curios and cooking classes, walking tours and so on. Jobs, jobs, and more jobs.

Secondly, there was access to Wi-Fi on a scale neither of us had experienced before. Imagine being told, “The Wi-Fi password is 12345678.” That happened over and over again. An abundance mindset. Connectivity to support economic activity.

Thirdly, buying power. With our rands, we were still able to indulge in affordable retail therapy: ceramics, made-to-measure couture – even shoes. We welcomed foot massages after long hours of walking. And the breathtaking beauty of World Heritage Halong Bay is wondrous.

Fourthly, Vietnamese news often covers corruption cases – as does South African news. However, in Vietnam last year, 1 646 individuals were prosecuted. The government reports a 91.06% Crime Report Resolution rate.

Recent prosecutions include the former minister of health (18-year prison sentence), the former minister of science and technology, and a provincial party secretary – all for their involvement in bribery and pocketing money during the Covid-19 epidemic.

Are there downsides?

Vietnam is a one-party Communist state. The Human Rights Measurement Index (HRMI) of “safety from the state” gives it a 4.6 rating out of 10. This includes arbitrary arrest, torture, and ill-treatment. Civil and political rights receive only a 2.3 rating. The “very bad” scores include assembly and association, as well as opinion and expression.

Decree 147, issued in December 2024, expands government power to regulate online content. Patricia Gossman, an associate director of the Asian division of Human Rights Watch, sees the decree as strengthening government’s capacity to “crack down on civil society”.

Vietnam has the death penalty, which is exercised for crimes such as murder, corruption, and drug trafficking. At the end of 2022, more than 1 200 people were in prison under the sentence of death.

Phew. Whatever our South African shortfalls, our hard-won democracy will be deeply appreciated.

With abundant Wi-Fi, it was easy for us to keep abreast of world news. What most caught our attention was US President Donal Trump, his executive orders, and Elon Musk’s actions. I get a stomach churn when I read US news.

Transgender.

Gaza.

Federal employee cuts.

The cut of US ties to the World Health Organisation.

The withdrawal from Paris talks on climate change.

Then, closer to home, what will be the unfolding impact of White House views on land restitution as the means of acquiring “ethnic minority” Afrikaners’ agricultural property without compensation? The US’s potential to leverage political change by cutting aid and revoking trade agreements is concerning.

Mapi reflected on how Musk’s depth of influence reminds her of the Gupta days. State capture to the extent that as an unelected “special government employee”, Musk holds the executive position as head of the Department of Government Efficiency. Musk led the offer to buy ChatGPT’s parent company this week for nearly $100 million.

I am fearful of evolving consequences. My parents were teenagers during the rise of fascism in the 1930s. Their lives were irrevocably shaped by fascism as an “ultranationalist, authoritarian political philosophy”. (Holocaust Encyclopaedia).

Our fellow travellers on the boat cruise all came from countries (Germany, Italy, and the US) that experienced a rightward electoral shift in 2024. Alternatives for Germany won a state election. Brothers of Italy gained 29% of the votes.

Yet, in terms of political discourse, we were surrounded by silence. As the sun dipped below the horizon, signalling cocktail hour, chit-chat remained at the level of travel anecdotes, family matters, and health concerns.

We exchanged puzzled glances every night, wondering why no one ever mentioned current events. Was it a lack of interest? Or perhaps a conscious decision to remain detached from the unsettling realities of our times? Or that once you have voted, you leave politicians to get on with their jobs? Or is political discussion off-limits while on holiday?

It is true that we did not broach political subjects – we went with the flow.

For Mapi, whose day job is as the TV newsroom director, the juxtaposition of joy and discomfort became palpable as the news turmoil escalated, particularly with Trump’s targeted sanctions against South Africa. Here she was, miles away from home, watching political chaos unfold in real-time, surrounded by chit-chat on mundane topics.

A crucial lesson began to emerge: sometimes, taking a break is essential for our mental well-being and, subsequently, our ability to engage effectively with the world around us.

But engage we must.

Our travels left us treasuring our democracy.

We recognised our privilege. And that with that privilege comes the responsibility to protect what we have for those who come after us. That is legacy work. There is a Tanzanian saying, “We do not inherit the earth. We borrow it from our children.”

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LIVE BY DESIGN | Balancing power and empathy: Trump-inspired leadership insights

There are countless jokes about the so-called “breadwinners” in our families—the aunties and uncles who hold the keys to the cooler fridge during family events or those commanding figures whose presence looms large in our lives. We often whisper about their exercise of power, aware that voicing our dissent too loudly could lead to dire consequences.

Enter Donald Trump, the president of the United States, who fuels controversy. This past week, he has been soliciting other leaders to kiss his ring while showing the finger to others. He and his executive team have given orders, apparently without consultation, to close down USAID programmes and exit the World Health Organisation. Palestinians, he proclaimed, should live in neighbouring states, not Gaza. The “wrecking ball” are the words I am hearing, that describe Trump’s leadership style.

Suddenly, we find ourselves with a vivid name to associate with some of our breadwinners or even our bosses. Trump’s unique blend of bravado and divisiveness evokes both admiration and disdain, prompting us to question the nature of authority and leadership within our own circles. What can we learn from his approach, and how does it reflect on the figures we encounter daily, those enigmatic leaders shaping our families and workplaces?

As journalists, political analysts, and everyday citizens dissect his approach, they raise essential questions about what it means to be a leader in today’s multifaceted environment. Are you the “Trump” in your family, workplace, or even place of worship?

Take a moment to reflect on your “cabinet”—does it genuinely align with what is best for your family or organisation, or does it primarily serve your interests and those of a select few? It is worth considering whether what you believe is best truly benefits the whole or merely caters to your favourites.

Are you aware that you might not be treating your staff, family, or congregation equitably? What happens when you prioritise one segment of society over others? This imbalance can lead to a ripple effect of discontent, undermining unity and collaboration.

Trump’s leadership is characterised by its unconventional nature—marked by a mix of bravado, directness, and a penchant for breaking norms. Supporters often admired his decisiveness and ability to articulate a vision that resonated with many Americans who felt overlooked by traditional politicians.

Detractors criticised his lack of empathy, reliance on social media as his primary communication tool, and a tendency for divisive rhetoric. As we consider the attributes that define a good leader, Trump’s polarising presence has prompted many to evaluate their own styles in the context of family, work, and community.

Leadership in Family and Community

How do you lead in your family? Are you a pillar of support, or do you often find yourself at odds with your loved ones? Leading a family requires a unique blend of authority and compassion. It involves setting boundaries while fostering an environment where everyone feels heard. Reflecting on Trump’s approach, which often included bold proclamations and unwavering self-confidence, can provoke thoughts about how assertiveness might play a role in your family dynamics. Similarly, consider your role at work.

Are you a leader who inspires collaboration, or do you adopt a more top-down approach reminiscent of Trump’s own style? His business background undoubtedly shaped his leadership approach, often prioritising results over process. In the workplace, this might manifest as focusing on deliverables and outcomes rather than nurturing team dynamics.

Ask yourself: How do you keep your team engaged? Do you celebrate their achievements? As a leader, are you making space for diverse opinions or pushing your agenda without adequate input? Keeping Yourself in Check A critical element of effective leadership is self-awareness—understanding how your actions impact others. In the wake of Trump’s leadership, many have questioned their ability to remain self-reflective. Do you seek feedback from those around you? Do you have mechanisms to ensure your leadership does not become self-serving? Setting up regular check-ins—be it with trusted colleagues or family members—can help maintain accountability and provide you with a clearer picture of your impact. Reflecting on one’s leadership style also means recognising areas for growth. Are you willing to adjust your approach based on constructive criticism?

Leaders like Trump often present a facade of certainty, but true strength lies in adaptability and vulnerability. Embracing change and being open to learning can enhance your efficacy as a leader across all domains of your life.

Admiring Trump’s Leadership Qualities

For those who find admiration in Trump’s leadership style, it is important to clarify what specific traits resonate with you. Is it his unapologetic demeanour, his ability to command attention, or perhaps his focus on results? Recognising these qualities can help you identify aspects of your own leadership that you might want to embody while remaining mindful of the potential pitfalls associated with an unyielding approach.

There is a fine line between commendable confidence and detrimental arrogance. Defining where you draw this line is crucial for developing a balanced leadership style. It is easy to be drawn in by the allure of decisiveness and charisma, but maintaining humility and openness is essential for gaining lasting respect and trust. Closer to home, South Africa’s response to Trump’s controversial stances has brought president Cyril Ramaphosa’s leadership into the spotlight. Do we prefer to fight fire with fire, or is there value in a more measured approach?

Ramaphosa’s leadership during challenging times has been rooted in diplomacy and consensus-building, contrasting sharply with Trump’s often confrontational stance. In evaluating national leadership, consider how you reconcile your own actions with the challenges present in your community. Are you quick to react, or do you strive for understanding and resolution? Fire with fire may yield immediate satisfaction but can often deepen divisions. In contrast, promoting dialogue and cooperation may lead to more sustainable outcomes. Ultimately, the legacy of Trump’s leadership invites us all to engage deeply with who we want to be as leaders.

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LIVE BY DESIGN | In case of Emergency – Let’s get practical

How often do we see the signs “In Case of Emergency.”

They are in the corridors in the workplace near the fire extinguishers.

There is a notice in every lift we step into.

There are the signs in the aeroplane indicating the seats with the emergency exits.

But what about carrying “in case of emergency” information on our person?

Last week, I was the single driver on a six-hour journey returning to Johannesburg. I had three pit stops planned: leg stretches and coffee breaks. As usual, driving the N4 highway means travelling alongside haulage trucks, many carrying timber.

I drove up a hill, slowing down to approach my first stop, an orchid nursery with delicious coffee. I noticed a fast-approaching vehicle in the overtaking lane – an articulated haulage truck zipping along without a load. Simultaneously, I spotted a large log in the road ahead of the truck. I watched aghast as the truck’s front left tyre clipped the edge of the log. Like playing tiddlywinks, the log flipped up high and flew through the air towards me.

Pfaff. A loud bang. Tiny shards of glass hit my face. The passenger side of my windscreen was shattered. I watched the truck continue on its way, apparently oblivious to the accident it had just caused. Lucky for me, while the car took the impact, I was able to keep steady on the road.

A bit shaken, I stopped for an hour. It was a day when I did not need to hurry. I took some Rescue Remedy. The orchid stall staff were immensely kind. They had a roll of wide, clear tape and did a great job placing strips over the windscreen, inside and out, and over the damaged area. I was able to continue my journey.

At my next stop, I called the insurance company (the details are on a post-it in the glove compartment). I gave my policy number, and I received an e-mail with the claim number details when I arrived in Johannesburg.

For a few days, I walked around with gratitude, feeling the angels were on my side. Our building handyman looked at my vehicle and said, “God has his ways. It was not your time.”

Sitting at my desk on Monday morning, I thought again about what had happened. I had had the insurance company contact numbers – in case of a hijack, in case of a crash. But what about at-the-ready contact details of my beloved nearest and dearest? If I had not been so lucky, if I had crashed badly, if I had been unconscious in my vehicle, how would emergency services have known who to contact?

And what about if things were so bad that I had been rushed to the nearest ICU – how were they to know that I have a Do Not Resuscitate order, an Advance Directive, and a named Health care proxy to make decisions on my behalf?

Helena Dolny’s wallet. (Photo: Supplied/ Helena Dolny)

I immediately created a stiff wallet card – with the words “Emergency Contacts” highlighted. I wrote down five names and five mobile numbers: my husband, my elder daughter, my younger daughter, my health care proxy, and my GP – he has a copy of my Do Not Resuscitate order on file.

I am going to do one more thing. I am going to copy what a doctor friend of mine living in London has done. When you enter his house and pass the entrance hall table, you notice an A4 envelope with his name and “In case of Emergency” written in exceptionally large bold letters. This envelope contains his Living Will.

I never liked looking at this envelope when I was a house guest. It shouts at you as you arrive. But I am now more convinced than before that practicality should trump aesthetics.

I have one final thing to work through – my Purple File and our LoveLegacyDignity Checklist for Checking Out. Go to our website, www.lovelegacydignity; the Purple File is freely downloadable. It has been a couple of years since I last did it, and an update is needed.

Next week, Mapi and I are off on our “friendship adventure,” a long-planned trip to Vietnam. If something were to happen to the two of us, who would take over LoveLegacyDignity? Nomfundo, the baton will be yours to pick up. Yes, we have completed the submission of the NPO documentation.

What is one of the things I fear the most? Posthumous embarrassment. Yes, I know it is laughable, as I do not expect to be able to listen to the possible scathing comments. But don’t you agree, it would be so embarrassing to have been such a crusading advocate of Paperwork and affairs in order and then to be found to have fallen short of expectations?

I fear not showing up and not living according to what we at LoveLegacyDignity advocate. I feel an obligation to be exemplary and to practice what we preach. My affairs are in order, and my house is decluttered.

I hope you, too, will be convinced to act. Create a wallet card. Place your Advance Directive in a visible place. I also sincerely hope they will not be needed in the near future!

 

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LIVE BY DESIGN | Collective grieving: What draws us to watching coverage of funerals?

In these lines of poetry, “In Blackwater Woods,” Mary Oliver, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for poetry and Unitarian Universalist minister, captures the essence of collective mourning:

“Look, the trees are turning their bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfilment… you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it when the time comes to let it go, let it go.”

As a television news executive, I have learned that South Africans have an intrinsic connection with funerals. Our screens are often adorned with images of grieving families and weeping friends, creating a tapestry of collective sorrow that resonates deeply within our society.

A recent example is the funeral of Zanele Mbokazi, a beloved Ukhozi FM anchor and media personality, held last August. This event became one of the country’s most-watched television news moments. Whenever the news viewing figures shoot up, it is part of my job to work out why and to leverage any insights I gain into the team’s future news coverage.

What attracts people to follow and or stay with a story? What is the appeal, the inner need that it is being satisfied: curiosity about the life of celebs, captivated by the horror of a tragedy, or a need for entertaining distraction – to watch something which has nothing to do with the life we are each living.

I understand, close to home, the commitment of the sports aficionados hooked into the tension of who will win – I have friends who call themselves football widows. But watching the live funeral broadcast, the slow unfolding of the setting up, and the arrival of guests long before the service starts – what is the appeal?

I have sometimes wondered if these are moments of escapism, where the intricate layers of individual sorrow risk being overshadowed by the louder chorus of group emotions. Is this our way to sometimes avoid engaging with our own unattended grief?

This past weekend, our nation once again came together to mourn the loss of two well-known music artists, Winnie Khumalo and Victor “Doc Shebeleza” Bogopane. As tributes poured in from fans and fellow artists alike, one particular moment struck a chord with many – DJ Zinhle’s emotional speech during the memorial service. The video clips have garnered over one million views and comments on YouTube and TikTok.

Is this our collective need to mourn being demonstrated? Zinhle’s speech accessed a raw vulnerability that touched the hearts of many South Africans. Her sincere tribute reminded us of all of the profound connections we forge in life, connections that endure even beyond death. I think we find ourselves so drawn to these experiences of collective mourning because, in this complex dance between solidarity and personal healing, collective grieving serves as a balm for our wounds.

It may also serve to distract us from the deeper, often more solitary journey of processing personal loss. And perhaps it speaks to a deeper communal bond that exists in South Africa – a relationship marked by shared struggles, aspirations, and losses. In a nation rich with diversity and history, funerals become a canvas upon which we paint our collective identity. We share in the pain of loss for those we loved directly and the dreams and stories they represented in our communal narrative.

In this age of social media, the visibility of collective mourning has amplified. The moment a video clip of DJ Zinhle’s speech circulated online, it ignited a wave of empathy and reflection among South Africans. People took to various platforms to share their thoughts, express their condolences, and recount their own experiences of grief.

Funerals resonate with us fundamentally because they confront us with the realities of life and death. A friend of mine has commented that he was always puzzled by the depth of emotion he felt at funerals, even when he did not know that person very well.

My friend concluded that attending a funeral creates the time and occasion to reflect on our own mortality, our knowledge that one day we will be the person in the coffin. As we witness the outpouring of emotion from those who loved the deceased, we are reminded of our fragility and the imperative to cherish the moments we have. As witnesses, even if our presence is virtual, we are not alone in our sorrow; instead, we are part of a larger mosaic of humanity.

Our individual experience of grief becomes an intrinsic piece of a larger, significant narrative – a reminder of our shared mortality. Collective mourning has a therapeutic aspect. It involves a mutual understanding that allows for vulnerability – something often discouraged in our daily lives.

When DJ Zinhle spoke, her vulnerability became a catalyst for others to voice their feelings. The act of mourning together can be cathartic, offering comfort amid the chaos of grief. It allows us to articulate our pain, and in doing so, we may also find healing.

Mary Oliver’s poem touches on the connection that can emerge when people come together in shared sorrow, transforming their grief into a communal ritual. In a world that often feels fragmented and divided, collective mourning offers a reprieve – a reminder that we are not solitary beings navigating life’s complexities but interconnected souls sharing in each other’s joys and sorrows.

As we continue to witness the power of these shared moments, let us embrace the lessons they impart about empathy, vulnerability, and the healing capacity of community.

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