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
London and I started dating when I used to travel down from Sheffield as a teenager to attend South African parties (because that’s how we stayed close to our roots as expats) with my boys Zimele, Lungisa, Prince, Marvin, and Bethwella—good times, gents, and boy, do I still smile to myself when I think of L’s antics and the songs we used to sing. I loved London then, and I love it now. It’s new, but in a lot of ways, it’s old. It’s new in the sense that it’s home now, for the first time, and it became home really quickly too, but it’s old in the sense that I know my way around, a bit. What made it home? The architecture, the drive, the ambition, the pace, and what’s possible in a city like this.
I had thought it would be the people. To a certain degree, yes—a lot of them are inspiring, impressive, kind, hospitable. For two weeks after my son Maximilian was born, strangers from our new church, people we hadn’t even met yet, cooked meals for us and brought them to our door. Friends dropped in, some sent Deliveroo vouchers, others paid for the coffee when we met up. But the truth is, what hurts is who hasn’t called. Who hasn’t said, ‘come round.’ ‘They have their own lives now,’ Michael said to me swiftly when we swung by. He has always known the right thing to say to lift one’s spirit. He’s not wrong. This feeling will be short-lived though, because I’m a big boy (or that’s what I tell myself, anyway). I don’t know what my hopes were, I don’t know what they’re dealing with, but I’m fascinated by how we can be so obsessed with what we don’t have, rather than being grateful for what we do have.
It took everything to get here—financially, emotionally, spiritually, physically—and it’s taking everything to stay. But I like that. I thrive in that. My old season began to feel too familiar, too comfortable—although some days, I think, “Is it better to be comfortable?” I have a son now. I need to be stable,” I tell myself. His mother and I are both building businesses, we’re new parents, getting our bearings in a new city, and we’re starting over in our 30s. It feels crazy, but I’m learning. I’m learning about reinvention, about ambition in a healthy sense, and about resilience. You need to be in certain places to learn certain lessons sometimes.
The Scarsdale Tavern, Kensington
London, I do love you. I love the conversations here; I can’t believe some of the jobs people have. At Dad’s group (that’s right, I catch up with other dads now), they talk about high-level things I have to make notes on and go home and think about—mostly wondering why I don’t know what they know. I love the pub culture—and I’m not a pub guy. I guess I am now. The options, for everything (and I’m mostly talking about coffee and food).
I do have some questions for you though, London: Will we ‘make it’ here? What does that even mean? How do I raise my son here? How do we hold onto our values when it feels like a race? Will you get cheaper? How has everyone in my neighbourhood done it—are they just better at this than we are? Do I belong here, or am I just renting my time? What am I even chasing? And if I catch it, will it have been worth it?
The Duke of Sussex (local) with Joey, Chiswick
The Hound with Keith, Chiswick
The Duke of Sussex with our parentals
