Online Reporter
Vusumuzi Dube, Deputy Radar Editor
When Mkhululi Sibanda was promoted from being the Chronicle News Editor to the Sunday News Assistant Editor, I was still a junior reporter.
Having been trained under the Sunday News title, I had never worked with him but had heard of his reputation for running a tough newsroom. Naturally, I was somewhat apprehensive, I feared that this “tough” person was going to be my boss.
The man I had heard so much about was coming to become my direct supervisor, and I wondered whether I would be able to meet his expectations. I expected a hard taskmaster, someone impossible to please and intimidating to work under.
However, I soon realised that his “toughness” was simply him being a dedicated journalism mentor. Under him, I grew as a journalist, he was not just my boss but also my brother.
Behind the stern editor was a patient teacher.
Behind the demanding newsroom leader was a man who genuinely wanted those around him to succeed.
Under his guidance, I grew not only as a journalist but also as a person. He did not simply edit stories, he shaped journalists. He pushed us to think deeper, ask better questions, and look beyond the obvious angle. He challenged us to improve because he saw potential in us even when we did not always see it ourselves.
Over time, he became far more than my boss.
He became my mentor.
He became my older brother.
Mkhululi was what many in journalism would call a moving library. There was hardly a subject he could not discuss with authority and insight. Politics, sport, economics, culture, history, agriculture, mining, his knowledge seemed endless. There was no topic he would shy away from and no conversation from which one could not learn something valuable.
His office door was always open for advice, guidance or simply a discussion about an idea.
Many times, one would walk into his office with what seemed like a simple story idea, unsure whether it was even worth pursuing. Yet after spending a few minutes talking to him, he would ask a few questions, suggest a different angle, connect the dots that others had missed and suddenly that ordinary idea would become something extraordinary.
He had a rare gift for seeing stories where others saw routine events.
More importantly, he had the gift of helping young journalists discover their own abilities.
His impact cannot be measured merely by the stories he edited or the headlines he approved, but by the many journalists he mentored, encouraged and inspired throughout his career. His fingerprints remain on countless bylines and in countless newsrooms through the people he helped shape.
Our conversations often drifted from headlines and deadlines to debates about tactics, players and results. We were united by our love for Highlanders Football Club, a team we followed with equal measures of pride, hope and frustration. Some of our longest discussions centred on Bosso, reminiscing about the glory years, debating what needed to change and worrying about the direction the club seemed to be taking.
Like many devoted supporters, we shared the sadness of watching the trajectory of the team we loved so dearly. Yet despite the disappointments, our loyalty never wavered, and those conversations became some of the moments I will treasure the most. They reminded me that behind the accomplished editor and respected journalist was a man who loved deeply, cared passionately and remained connected to the things that mattered to ordinary people.
Today, I find myself struggling to accept that he is gone.
There is an emptiness that words struggle to capture.
The newsroom will not sound the same without his voice, his guidance, his humour and his wisdom. Journalism has lost one of its finest custodians, and many of us have lost someone we looked up to for direction and encouragement.
I could go on and on about the lessons, the conversations and the moments that defined my journey under his mentorship.
For now, all I can say is that I am gutted.
Thank you, Mkays, for believing in us, for pushing us, for teaching us and for leaving us better than you found us.
Your stories may have ended, but your legacy will continue to be written through the many journalists whose lives and careers you touched.
Rest well, mentor, colleague, brother and friend.
Bunjiwe Mkwananzi