A bit of context for this special story.

We are the sum of the experiences that shape our life story. And however definitive we think the emotions we have attached to them are, they are not. Emotions are temporary companions that keep us warm in needed times and then move on when we are ready to let go. Especially when we can look back at our path with tenderness, grace, and acceptance, emotions transform into teachers that illuminate our path. This, in turn, shifts the way we relate to our life story and, ultimately, to ourselves.

It’s been a great privilege to help people rewrite their life story (what I call sacred story, because I believe we are sacred beings and so is our story), and observe their self-transformation. It is as if their heart and eyes open, and they can finally see the beauty, the strength, and the lessons of their journey so far. It is therapeutic.

I’ve been doing this for years in my little cocoon. And this is the first time I have ever published one publicly. (To you, my brother from another land, thank you for your tremendous courage and trust!)

My hope always is that, even as far removed as this story might be from your own reality, you will see bits of yourself in it. Because it’s our inner world — the intimate and vulnerable parts of our experiences — that bind us. That’s what makes us more alike than unalike.

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Heshima’s story

His name is Heshima. A sensitive observer of the world. One who cares deeply. He fights to make the wrongs right by bringing them into the light, with tools he masters best: words and images. He writes and produces documentaries on human rights, stories of unforgotten people. People directly affected by the corrupt ways of institutions, corporations and authorities. He intimately knows the pertains of their suffering; they are him, and he is them. And more than a profession, this has been a calling he has exercised, long before he called himself a journalist. Ultimately, he wants for everyone, especially people on the margins of society, to feel like they belong in the world. And what he wants for others, he wants for himself too. This has been the pursuit of his life, ever since he could think for himself, to escape the dehumanisation, the insignificance that comes with poverty and live a dignified life.

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In this lifetime, his still-unfolding story began in the early 90’s, at the Government Hospital in Mbabane, the capital city of Eswatini. He grew up deep in a rural area near the border with South Africa, with his three siblings and parents, in a household where poverty was the dominant factor. One that affected most, if not all, aspects of their lives, triggering self-worthlessness, shame, self-hatred, and ultimately making room for abuse, emotional and physical.

The leading cause was his father’s unemployment – nothing extraordinary in their living area, where job opportunities were scarce. As a response, his father would turn into a destructive beast, lashing out his frustration on his children and especially on his wife. No drugs or anything of this kind, the depth of his despair was enough to bring him and everyone around him to chaos. For weeks and sometimes months, he disappeared, returning home only to leave again soon after.

His father was a man broken by a world that didn’t care for his dreams and ambitions. A man raised by his grandmother, and who by fifteen was already working, earning a living and building his house without any education.

On his good days, he was a caring father and husband, a beautiful person to be around—a storyteller who mastered the art of oratory. And because good expression was essential to him, he was intentional about teaching it to his children. Just as he did with farming, which he loved and was gifted at. For a while, Heshima’s father had even transformed part of their land into a flamboyant garden full of vegetables of all kinds. He was leading the way, working hard on it daily and eventually making it a family garden where every member contributed. Creating this thing that people visited, loved, and praised did wonders for his father’s confidence. Things improved significantly, bits of cash began flowing in, and the family’s mood rose. But the garden could never have been enough to provide for all their needs. Which is why, in parallel with his work in the garden, Heshima’s father continued to search for a steady job. And, while away following a lead that, in the end, like all the others, only got him so far, the garden fell apart.

With every defeat, his father felt as if life were happening against him. He felt unseen and useless. And he fought the unhealthy way, turning against himself and his family, and becoming promiscuous with other women with whom he had other children.

Heshima’s father was a man who wore his struggles as if they were his identity.

And that’s how poverty became the hated character of Heshima’s upbringing. In his mind, poverty was the main responsible for the misery and suffering of his family. The enemy he wanted to defeat. So, of his childhood, what he remembers first and foremost is the desperation and disenfranchisement.

Because joy exists, even alongside the most challenging circumstances, there were good times too, during Heshima’s childhood. Christmas was one of them. The extended family, especially from Heshima’s mother, would come together. The house would be fully packed – sometimes with 10 people sleeping in the living room -, filled with so much laughter, teasing and fun. With the sun hot and abundant, they delighted in togetherness, swimming for long hours in the beautiful clean rivers in their rural area. They were sons and daughters of the land, people with no financial power, but on those occasions, they bought new clothes, dressed up, cooked the most delicious food, with meat and even sweets. For those brief moments, they became kings and queens, and they belonged to the world. Those times were a renewed hope for life. Blessed and welcomed respite from the ever-present misery.

Hardship experienced together, in their case, only strengthened the bonds between Heshima and his siblings. The love between them was cultivated, reinforced and nourished by their mother. Despite the physical and emotional abuse she suffered from their father, the loneliness and hustle that came with raising her four children alone, without her husband’s support, there was never a doubt that she was devoted to Heshima and his siblings. Despite the utter desperation of it all, she still came home, loving and caring for her children. They were her whole world, and she dedicated her life to them. She worked various jobs at times (selling vegetables, cleaning offices and homes, watching after other people’s kids) so she could put food on the table and pay for Heshima and his siblings’ school fees.

In the household Heshima’s mother grew up in, her maternal grandmother was the authority figure, raising her and her cousins. It was a simple life centred on nature, with values such as discipline, humility, and a strong sense of responsibility – the guiding principles. Her mother (Heshima’s grandmother) was present, although absent. She worked in a mining town, kilometres away and sent money over and visited as often as she could. And of her father, Heshima’s mother knew only his name. Nothing else. And so she had grown up, aware of the disappointment men were capable of and that none would come to the rescue, especially during the hardship. She knew grit and perseverance were part of life.

The suffering of his mother affected Heshima deeply. It was not enough to be a witness to the bad things happening; he wanted to fight them with the tools at his disposal. And so, when he could no longer bear the injustice of his mother waking up every day for months and months to clean offices at the municipal council without being paid, he wrote an anonymous letter to the local newspaper. The letter was published, just as it was written, anonymously and all. And within a few months, his mother not only got paid her due, she also received a permanent contract. This was a direct impact of his active fight. He was just a teenager at the time. He felt pride but chose not to reveal, even to his family, that he was the author of the letter. And to this day, he has not revealed it. His satisfaction was in having done the story and drawn attention to the abuse. There was no need to bring the light on him.

School was always the respite he relied on most because he loved to learn and understanding came easily to him. He was a high achiever and a book lover. Books were the best outlets for his daydreaming. In them, he discovered new worlds and possibilities, and for a brief moment, became a part of them. And the more he learned, dreamed and achieved, the more he was beloved by his teachers and classmates. This gave him the confidence that he could escape poverty.

The specifics were unclear, but he had a plan on how to make it happen. The first step, moving to South Africa to complete the last two years of high school, was made possible by the support of many kind-hearted people, including his mother, who helped cover his food and accommodation needs. The second step, at the University of Cape Town, where he chose to study Political Science, was more complicated and much more expensive, though he was given a custom fee because of his good grades. And so, he spent almost every evening looking for and applying for scholarships, sending emails to public figures and institutions who spoke about development. From the thousands of emails sent, he received a few positive answers that kept him advancing in his studies. Until his luck ran out in the fourth year. This forced him to end his studies and return home.

What was the reasoning behind his choice to study Political Science, really? He can’t remember exactly. Maybe it was the voices of his high school teachers encouraging him in that direction. Or the fact that, coming from powerlessness, his mind chose that path, thinking it would empower him. And it didn’t matter if he truly enjoyed those studies. It didn’t matter that he realised pretty quickly that much of what Political Science entails was just business. None of it matters because the plan had never been about enjoyment or alignment with his soul’s calling. The plan was to acquire knowledge, excel at it, and earn an honourable degree from a respectable university.

And so, not fulfilling that step, which was essential to his escape from poverty, stung deeply. He experienced it like a failure and turned it into shame.

Heshima returned home full of knowledge and dreams but without a degree. His world was falling apart. He had to bury his pain to continue to live. Eventually, he got two successive jobs at media monitoring companies in Cape Town. They were mechanical. They were low-paid. They were worse than bad. And for each of these opportunities, he could not stay there for longer than a year. His dream job came during the COVID pandemic. It was his first job as a journalist, and it was for a South African not-for-profit social justice media organisation, whose mission and way of working aligned with Heshima’s. He did exactly what he always dreamed of doing, travelling and writing stories that matter in a dignified way. But a couple of years into it, the media organisation filed for bankruptcy and shut down. Since then, he has worked as a freelance journalist, writing for renowned media in Africa and Europe, navigating the uncertainty of living paycheck to paycheck, never knowing when the next one would come.

The inconsistency and volatility of his career path, along with his multiple periods of unemployment, have led him to understand his father more deeply. His father’s circumstances were different; unlike Heshima, he was married with kids. And for that, his father’s load was heavier. But their temperaments are similar, although for a long time, Heshima thought himself better than his father. He thought he had more control over his emotions, especially his anger. But time and time again, when faced with no job opportunities, Heshima found himself growing more bitter. When faced with rejection, he became someone else, not a good one. He lashed out, maybe differently than his father did, but still, he lashed out. His way was to sink into negativity, seeing suffering more and more and talking about it more and more, all the time. And so, he had let go of his judgment of his father, for he now sees him as a human being who had the childhood he had, which was a difficult one.

Who he wants to be – his career path – has always been clear; now he tries to pay attention and act in accordance. He wants to travel to different corners of southern Africa and share stories that matter from a perspective that is understanding, compassionate, and honest. That’s his way of breaking the cycle of suffering on the continent of his ancestors. That’s his way to true liberation and freedom. And he is learning that becoming who he wants to be for the world requires him to be it for himself, too.

He is currently building a media company where he will share the stories he writes and produces. Fundraising is required, just as many other things he will need to learn and figure out to make it work. But that’s where he is heading. And his mother’s life will be the first documentary to be produced under his company. Together, they will revisit places of her childhood and find answers to the most significant missing element of her story: her father. Through that search, the documentary will address key factors, such as colonialism, which persists to this day, that have affected his mother’s life.

His beloved mother, she continues to be one essential light that illuminates his career path.

He feels at home when he belongs. And it is easier to feel so in the rural places in Eswatini where he was raised. He is learning to belong in his body, his mind, his dreams, and everywhere his path takes him. His fighting spirit, he knows, he has inherited it from his ancestors – kind, loving people – who did their best and lived a dignified life. He takes that gift seriously. And he wants to use it seriously.