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When I was a child growing up in the streets of Caluza, a small part of Edendale in Pietermaritzburg there were certain things we did that I didnโt fully understand at the time. One of those things was how we treated funeral processions. Whenever a motorcade carrying the deceased would pass by, all the kids playing outside would stop what they were doing. Weโd sit down right where we stood, or hold a few strands of our hair, unless you were already bald. For the longest time, I just followed along, not questioning it. It was simply what we did.
As I grew older, I came to realize the significance of that gesture. It wasnโt just some random tradition. It was a sign of respect, a silent way to acknowledge the pain and grief of those who had lost a loved one. In that brief moment, we were offering a piece of ourselves, a gesture of sympathy, even though we didnโt know the people in the cars, or the person who had passed away.
Looking back now, I see how these small acts were part of something bigger something that speaks to the heart of who we are as Africans, especially as South Africans. We were being taught Ubuntu. We were learning, even in our innocence, that we are all connected, that one personโs grief belongs to the community.
As an adult, I donโt sit down or hold strands of hair when a funeral procession passes. But the lesson has stayed with me. Now, when I see those motorcades, I feel a deep respect, an understanding of the weight of loss that they carry. And in that quiet moment, I remember the teachings of my childhood the importance of empathy, of standing with others in their time of need.
Because that is what Ubuntu is. It is recognizing the humanity in others, even in their pain. It is knowing that we are part of something bigger than ourselves. And it is a value that will forever guide how I move through life.
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