BONA, derived from the Zulu greeting to a multitude of people, 'Sanibona' - directly translated as 'we see you' - forms the premise of this publication, by Tebo Mpanza
I never thought I’d still be here 20 years later. To be honest, I’m not sure what anyone thinks or plans when they emigrate — especially at 15. All I knew was that I couldn’t hack life at Northwood Boys anymore. That year had been tough.
It was January 2004. I was getting ready to return to Hilton College for Form 2 after the holidays when my mother, with a hesitance I still remember, told me to put on something smart. “We’re going to meet the headmaster at Northwood,” she said. I was confused, I didn’t understand. Our parents never explained themselves to us — we were just the kids. They still don’t, and we still are. It was their word, nothing else (authoritative parenting style in action - I’m learning about these).
Until then, I’d been at Hilton. A boy from Umlazi like me should never have been able to go there, but by the grace of God, I did. Hilton was 4,350 acres of bliss. It was tradition and opportunity all rolled into one. I couldn’t go back, though. With two other sons to consider, my dad had to make the call to pull me out — or so I assume.
Northwood was tough. The boarding establishment (BE) there didn’t have the same culture or camaraderie I’d known at Hilton. My cousin Njinga was there, so my parents assumed I’d be fine. The older boys in the BE let us know exactly where we stood, through their flexing of privileges and dorm raids — the transition was rough. Northwood wasn’t the school it is today. Today, the world knows about Northwood — it’s on all of our explore pages. So, when I told my mother I was ready to join her in England, I think she was surprised.
30th of December, 2004, 20 years ago today I landed in Sheffield, the land of breadcakes and butties. Talk about a culture shock. I couldn’t understand nowt they said, and they spoke English. Lunch was called dinner, dinner was called tea, people kept telling me to gi-ore, everyone was called ‘Love,’ and everything was reyt good. I’d visited Mom a couple of times, but living there was another story. I spent a month getting the tram to Cineworld to watch movies on my own because I had an Unlimited card, waiting to get into a school. Then there was the social experiment that was Abbeydale Grange School. Or at least that’s what it felt like looking back. Let’s just say — I wished I was back at Northwood.
As far as making friends went, naturally, I was soon “initiated” into the black crew — not before being screened by Michael, the leader of the group. Caribbeans didn’t take kindly to Africans in that context back then, so I had my work cut out for me. I was a kid from South Africa with a difficult name to pronounce, an accent no one had heard before. So many stories I may tell one day, but life in Sheffield went on.
Twenty years on from those early days in England, I look back and see how much this place has shaped me. I healed here. I processed here. I forgave here. I met the Lord for myself here. I forged deep friendships here. I became a husband here, a father. I dreamt big dreams here and saw the world from here.
But it wasn’t easy. It didn’t feel like home for a long time. There were years of wondering if I’d made the right decision. Yet, it’s in that discomfort that I grew. I became someone I couldn’t have imagined back then.
Maybe that’s what I’m reflecting on most today — that growth doesn’t happen in comfort. For me, it’s always happened when I’ve been uprooted, forced to adapt, stretched in ways I didn’t think I could be. And 2024 has been the biggest stretch of my life so far. I wonder what the next 20 years will teach me.