Online Reporter
Have you ever found yourself in what feels like a physical, emotional, or spiritual rut, the kind of rut where simply staying afloat takes everything you’ve got?
For many, “staying afloat” might mean getting through the day, managing responsibilities such as school, work, or family, while feeling like you’re running on empty. If this resonates, you’re not alone.
In previous columns, I’ve discussed topics such as responsibility, mental health, the psychology of the African home, and the future of traditional medicine when supported by well-placed policymakers. These are weighty matters, but today, I want to delve into something equally significant: the role of the “village” in shaping our mental health, self-esteem, and overall confidence.
I firmly believe that family and community are the primary agents of socialisation for every individual. Families, through their interactions, expose us to their friends and broader communities. Over time, these friends, acquaintances, and colleagues become extensions of our own families — pseudo-aunts, uncles, or cousins — woven into the fabric of our lives.
When I was born, my parents were both university students. In our culture, this meant my maternal grandparents assumed the responsibility of raising me until my parents were independent. My grandparents lived in Mthatha in the Eastern Cape. My uncle Langa was younger than my mother and they were both university students in Cape Town.
During school holidays, Langa and his friends (Ian and Mandisi) would return home, filling the house with youthful energy and, at times, chaos.
Langa’s friends were like extended family. They were a tight-knit group, sharing laughter, late nights, and even my grandmother’s car — often without her permission! While their antics were undoubtedly stressful for my grandparents, they’ve become the stuff of fond memories. One of Langa’s friends, Ian, called me recently after many years of silence. His call was unexpected but heartwarming.
Ian showered me with affirmations, expressing pride in the person I’ve become. He admitted he hadn’t been as present in our lives as he would have liked after Langa’s passing but took full accountability for that. His honesty was deeply moving. Affirming him back, I spoke about the immense loss we all felt when Langa passed nearly 20 years ago and how, as a family, we have struggled to fully recover.
In our chat, he shared his memories of me as a little girl. Apparently, I would walk into their room after a night out, lift their eyelids, and ask, “Uvukile?” (Are you awake?) before running off. My grandmother’s scoldings about valuing life had clearly made an impression on me, and in my childlike way, I was checking to make sure they were still alive.
This trip down memory lane reminded me of how close-knit our “village” was. Langa’s friends weren’t just his community; they became ours. They showed up for us in ways that mattered — especially during the difficult times after his passing. Their presence was a testament to the bonds we build in life and how those bonds often extend beyond their original purpose.
Ian’s call was more than a trip down memory lane; it was a reminder of the power of community and accountability. He took responsibility for the distance that had grown between us and made the effort to reconnect. In the same spirit, we are called to maintain and repair the relationships that matter in our lives.
This is what it means to be part of a village. It’s about accountability, responsibility, and showing up — even when it’s hard. It’s about feeding into the lives of others as they once fed into ours, ensuring that no one is truly alone in this journey called life.
So, as you reflect on your village, ask yourself: How are you showing up for others? How are you keeping the promises you’ve made to those who matter? Let’s continue to be accountable to one another and to the communities that shape us. Together, we can create the spaces of love and support that we all need to thrive.
— Sowetan.
