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’ve just been holding my new son, Maximilian, as he struggled to settle. Apparently, as newborns, all they want is to be held by us. It’s the early hours here, London is still asleep, but my mind is not. All I can think about is the kind of father I will be. To be honest, it’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since I was a teenager. Will I live up to the vows I made back then? Will I always be there? Will I find it difficult to tell my son that I love him—regularly? What can I teach him when I’m only learning myself?
Will I have time to take him to the barber? Will I pick him up from school, even if it means rearranging meetings? I always said I would. Will I make it to his games, or will I prioritise work? Will I call him, ask him for advice one day? Can I give him what I deem to be “the best”? Will his dad be his hero? Will I know his friends by name? Will he be proud of me? Will I pass on the faith of my grandmothers, Promise Angel Mpanza and Julia Ramashala? Will I protect and provide?
It’s amazing how quickly that instinct has kicked in, but it feels different this time. When I became a husband, I felt the weight of protecting and providing in a specific way—focused on partnership, building a life together. But fatherhood is another level entirely. It’s primal, raw, and deeply humbling. I feel it in every decision, in every sleepless hour. So many questions, so little time—they say the days are long, but the years are short. I feel it already. Maxi is 6 weeks old, and I don’t want him to grow.
The only reflections I have are that of my own journey, my own wrestles. I’ve always struggled to understand the feelings of exclusion I carried growing up. I didn’t speak the language. Those old wounds resurface sometimes, triggered by rejection—by not being included—when I’ve made it my life’s work to include others. I’m working on it, though. It’s a wound that has become a scar. It rarely stings, but I see it from time to time. I always felt like I was looking in, never looking out. Still, I felt the love, even if it was nuanced, even if it was in my own way. I learned my lessons, took from it what I needed.
Now, here I am. It’s my turn.
“Go ahead, then, Tebza. Show us how it’s done,” or so I keep hearing in my head.
Have a read of "The book I wish my parents had read" - it will help you understand yourself, and to let go of your own expectations so you're less likely to pass them on. I found it to be a very helpful book.
I'm excited for you. Good people make good people, and you're one of the best I've had the pleasure to know in my time on this blue dot. There will be testing times ahead, of that you can have no doubt, but you'll pass through each one. Do it in your own time, do it with patience, do it together. Don't just lean on each other, reach out further and bring others into your fold, and then treasure those small, secret moments all the more.