Since 1996, laws have been adopted to champion the rights of transgendered people. These rights made way for author and transgender activist Landa Mabenge to start his transition journey. This is his inspiring story.

By Pam Magwaza

In 1974 a law recognising transgender rights was passed. Surprisingly, although the government of the time was discriminatory when it came to race, gender, sexual orientation and class, they allowed white South Africans to undergo a “sex change” if they didn’t identify with their birth sex. According to by B Camminga’s article on The Colonial Conundrum of Transsexuality in South Africa, the passing of this law was rooted in homophobia as sex change at the time was largely used by the state as a curative for homosexuality.

She explains that “sex change surgery was offered by the apartheid state since at least the 1960s as an acceptable means of reinstating heterosexual desire by realigning sex with gender”. This of course excluded black, Indian and coloured transgendered people. In 1996 South Africa's post-apartheid Constitution was the first in the world to outlaw discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender. This gave rights to transgendered people of all races to go through gender confirmation surgery if they choose. The Alteration of Sex Description and Sex Status Act, 2003 (Act No 49 of 2003) was introduced. This law allows a person to change, under certain conditions, their sex recorded in the population registry. Those conditions include: people who have undergone surgical or medical sex reassignment, people whose sexual characteristics have evolved naturally, and intersex people. These rights made way for author and transgender activist Landa Mabenge to start his transition journey. This is his inspiring story.

As a young child, he’d known the way he looked on the outside didn’t match how he felt inside. He didn’t like the dresses with lace frills that he was made to wear and longed to play with toy soldiers and trucks instead of dolls. When puberty hit, his changing body felt even more foreign. “I had all these features I didn’t identify with,” he says. It took Landa years to find the body he was truly born to be in. Born and raised as a girl, he started the lengthy and intricate process of transitioning in 2009. Now the 37-year-old activist is the first known transgender man in South Africa to get a medical aid to fund his gender-affirming procedures. He tells his triumphant story in the book Becoming Him, A Trans Memoir of Triumph. His journey certainly hasn’t been a smooth ride: his childhood was marred by abandonment and abuse. At one point Landa tried to commit suicide for fear of facing his “cruel” parents, Nokuzola and Victor, whom he calls “The Mother” and “The Father” in his book. When he was two days old his mother gave Landa to her sister, Nomha Vuyelwa Danana, to care for. At the time Nokuzola was living in an outside room with Victor in Gqeberha and told Nomha she could have the child to keep and raise as her own. Landa was raised by Nomha, whom he lovingly calls Ma, and his maternal grandparents in Ncambedlana, Mthatha, until he was 11. When his grandfather fell ill, Nokuzola returned to take Landa to live with her and Victor in Gqeberha in the home they shared with the couple’s two younger children, and his older brother Tando, who had also been raised in Mthatha as one of many children under the care of their maternal grandparents. Landa found living with his new family a nightmare. His parents were prone to violent outbursts and in his book he recalls how his father broke Tando’s jaw. Fearing for his life, he says he kept his secret to himself. “We never spoke about my sexuality. The Mother said she’d kill her child if he was gay.”

When he was 12 his parents beat and kicked him until he soiled himself after he tried to run away from home. “When I asked [my grandmother] why they – my family – did nothing to help me she said The Mother had threatened legal action if they ever interfered in family relations or with her marriage to The Father, one that never saw any formalities in terms of the traditional rites of lobola.” The man sitting in front of us is a far cry from the tortured teen he describes in his biography. He’d always wanted to document his story but admits his initial reason was to take revenge on his parents, who have both since died. “I wanted to expose them because I hadn’t healed, I hadn’t dealt with my darkness,” he tells YOU. “As I’ve grown older I’ve developed in terms of who I am and my gender identity. I’ve decided to tell my story from a place of healing.”

Landa, a motivational speaker who lives in Cape Town, met publisher Melinda Ferguson at a book launch in May 2017 and reached out to her shortly after, asking for her help with writing his memoir. In mid-December he put pen to paper. He was anxious about sharing such intimate details of his life. “You’re putting your life out there for people to pick apart,” he says – but it was important for him to tell his tale.

The response has been overwhelming, he says. “I’ve had people either inbox me to ask for help or to thank me for telling my story. People both older and younger than I am, from different races, religions and walks of life.”

Landa’s book sheds light on his transition process – he started hormone therapy after his parents’ death in 2009 – and details exactly what it entails, including having check-ups every six months to ensure the dosage is correct. “When you go on hormone treatment you are susceptible to a lot of things like cardiac failure and high blood pressure,” he explains. Then there are the medical bills. Four years after Landa – who was working for Discovery at the time – had started hormone therapy, his transition stalled due to a lack of funds. To undergo all the surgeries required would cost close to R500 000 – an expense Landa’s medical aid refused to cover. With the help of a friend, Landa withdrew from Discovery and applied again through Bankmed CareCross as a spouse dependant. In June 2014, a little over a year after he started the process, his surgeries were finally approved with them. His first procedure was a double mastectomy that took surgeons at the UCT Private Academic Hospital just under six hours to complete. “I’d had the conversation about transitioning with my grandmother before the surgery,” he recalls. “I expected her to cut me off. But she was so accepting, just like the rest of my maternal family.” With each passing day Landa began to feel confident in his new body and while his gogo accepted him, he’d never reconciled with his parents, both of whom died of diabetes. He still undergoes hormone replacement therapy, at his own cost, and Landa says he’s made peace with his past.

“I’m much further along the path to forgiveness than I was, but it’s a work in progress,” he says. He’s come a long way from the child who grew up feeling different and neglected and says he wouldn’t be the man he is without the support of Yonga Jizana, his girlfriend of three years. “She’s known about my journey because she’s been a part of my life even before we were in a relationship,” Landa says. “She’s extremely supportive. She’d encourage me on days I didn’t want to write.” The pair have known each other for a decade and both are from Mthatha. He laughs when we ask if he’ll walk down the aisle or have kids one day. Marriage is a remote possibility, Landa says, but it’s a definite no to children. “I want five dogs, though!” For now he’s enjoying the feedback on his book and the newfound freedom of finally being able to live life on his own terms.

Our post-apartheid constitution protects the rights of the LGBTQIA+ community. It’s because of these rights that this same-sex couple from Joburg can love each other freely.

By Siyabuswa Tsweu

You cannot be seen in public with the person you love. You cannot marry them or have children with them. From 1948 to 1994, this was the law under South Africa's ruling National Party. Homosexuality was a crime punishable by up to seven years in prison. This law was also used to outlaw black gay community events and political activists.

Since colonisation, Christianity played a large role in shaping what was deemed moral in South African society. Opposition against the LGBTQIA+ community was largely based on religious teachings about sexual purity, and with the introduction of the burgeoning Afrikaner nationalist movement in the 1900s, the Dutch Reformed Church’s Calvinistic tenets became a major cornerstone of apartheid and nationalist Afrikaner ideology. This led to the introduction of the Immorality Act of 1957. It restricted “unnatural/immoral sexual acts” – a euphemism for sexual act associated with homosexuality or non-reproductive intercourse.

In the 1980s, the creation of the Gay and Lesbian Organisation of the Witwatersrand (GLOW) provided marginalised groups a platform to express their needs, provide each other support and create a unified front to battle homophobia as well as the apartheid regime. These groups fought for LGBTQIA+ rights for all, regardless of race, gender or class.
In 1996, South Africa's post-apartheid constitution was the first in the world to outlaw discrimination based on sexual orientation, and South Africa was the fifth country in the world to legalise same-sex marriage.
These rights made it possible for Johannesburg-based couple Lukhanyo Kwenene and Brilliant Jafta to love each other freely and raise their two beautiful sons together. This is their amazing story:

Engaged couple Lukhanyo and Brilliant have been together for a year, and they’re hoping for a fairy-tale wedding in December. “We are very fortunate that we live in our country,” says Lukhanyo. Brilliant (42) couldn’t take part in this interview due to their children’s school commitments. “We have friends from other parts of Africa, and they cannot be themselves fully. Our friends in Zimbabwe say while it is okay to be gay, it is considered a crime if you are caught doing things that lovers do, like kissing or having sex. Here, we can access the same services as everybody else in the country, and that is comforting.”
The couple is raising two boys, aged 12 and 16. The eldest is Lukhanyo’s nephew, who they legally adopted, and the younger tween is Brilliant’s youngest child, who has been adopted by Lukhanyo.
“My fiancé was married to a woman. He was in the closet for many years,” explains Lukhanyo. “He eventually came out and that was the end of the marriage. Even though he knew in his heart that he was attracted to men, societal pressures led to him getting married. We met years after his divorce.” Brilliant has two children from his previous marriage. His mother looks after his eldest child, who is now 17.
Lukhanyo (26) says people are curious about their lifestyle, but no one really says anything. Occasionally, neighbourhood children ask them about it, and they are more than happy to answer and educate them. “Recently a kid was here to play with our son, and he asked where his mother was, and why there was no woman in the house. I explained that we are his parents, and that we love each other and him very much. The child understood.”

He says while they have equal rights, homophobic pockets of society still exist. “Thankfully, no one has said anything to our faces, but on social media we have received backlash for raising boys when we are gay men. People said all sorts of things on Twitter when I posted Valentine’s pictures of our family. The worst one was someone who said that we are raising boys so that we can sleep with them too. That was the most hurtful thing ever,” he says.

Despite backlash from his community, this drag queen is living his truth

Homosexuality was a crime during apartheid. Now, the constitution protects the rights of the LGBTQIA+ community. Sadly, many still face discrimination from their family or communities. Here Nathi Dlamini recounts what it’s like to live as a gay man who dresses in drag.

During apartheid, members of the LGBTQI+ community were heavily prosecuted. From 1948 to 1994, the ruling National Party outlawed homosexuality; it was seen as a crime that was punishable by up to seven years in prison. This law was used to harass and outlaw South African gay community events and political activists, and it forced many to keep their true gender identities hidden.
In 1996, South Africa became the first country in the world to give constitutional protection to LGBTQIA+ people. According to section 9(3) in the Bill of Rights of the South African Constitution, no one may “unfairly discriminate directly or indirectly against anyone on one or more grounds, including race, gender, sex, pregnancy, marital status, ethnic or social origin, colour, sexual orientation, age, disability, religion, conscience, belief, culture, language and birth”.
This right gives Nathi Dlamini the freedom to express his sexuality and dress in drag. Yet even though he enjoys constitution protection, he is often judged and criticised by his community. This is his story:
As a little boy, he loved dressing up as a girl. He was into modelling, and makeup was his favourite thing to play with.
But it was not until he grew up that he began to understand his sexuality and find his identity.
Now, all Nathi wants is for people to let him live his truth and stop questioning the choices he’s made.
“I was born gay,” he explains. “I grew up like this. And when I got older, I started to understand better as to where I fell. I am not a transgender man – I am a drag queen.”
However, being comfortable with who he is and how he lives his life has come at a cost. The 32-year-old drag queen from Daveyton has become an outcast in his community, and he constantly lives in fear of his life.
“What I have survived might kill you,” he says. “I have been called all kinds of names – some say it is witchcraft and others call me demonic.
“I have received death threats. I will be out somewhere and overhear people talking among themselves, ‘mangingahlangana nalento ebusuku ngizoyibulala’ – if I were to meet this thing in the middle of the night, I would kill it.
“I hear those threats – that is my life, and I am always scared and afraid I could die at any time.”
Nathi recounts how he must mentally prepare himself when he leaves his home.
“There is a big mirror at my place,” he says. “Every day when I have to go out, I look at myself in that mirror and am like, ‘Nathi, now it is time for you to face the world.’
“I can’t lock myself in. I have a life and I need to live it. I constantly reaffirm myself that I am beautiful, and I will never ever apologise to anyone for being gay.”
Nathi, who is the third born of six brothers, says his siblings have been his biggest supporters since the passing of their mother when they were just kids. His father, however, wants nothing to do with him.
“Me and my brothers are very close. They don’t have any issues with my sexuality and just treat me as one of them. As for my dad, he disowned me because he couldn’t understand that I am gay – he didn’t like that.”
The drag queen also has one very good friend, a neighbour who seems to be the only person who is not against him in the community. She has stood by him through it all.
“Mmatole has been the one person I can talk to, and she has protected me against the community,” he says.
They met each other years ago at a party, and Mmatole’s first instinct was to look after him.
“We were at a groove when we first met. There were people that wanted to stab me, and she was trying to protect me before she even knew me.”

Thanks to Mmatole and his brothers, Nathi has mustered the courage to find himself and live the way he wants – even in the face of intolerance, prejudice and fear.

The Muvhango actress popularly known as
Vho-Masindi practised her basic human right to speak and practise her culture and language when she completed her PhD in TshiVenda.

By Alutho Mbendeni

One of your hard-won basic human rights is the right to speak and practise your language and culture. This right, especially when it comes to education, is one that sparked one of the most tragic protests and subsequent massacres in South African history – the 1976 Soweto Uprising.

On the morning of 16 June 1976, students from many Sowetan schools began to protest in the streets of Soweto in response to the language oppression resulting from the introduction of Afrikaans as the medium of instruction in local schools. The language of instruction until then had been English and this new policy would exclude many pupils from getting educated in a language they understood. Many students resisted and died that day for the right to learn in the language of their choice.

Back then, South Africa had only two official languages, English and Afrikaans. Today we have 11 official languages and enjoy the right, individually and collectively, to choose a language or languages for communication, in private and publicly.
Although English remains the more widely used language of education and, generally, native African languages are used more at home, actress Regina Nesengani decided she would exercise her language rights by writing her entire thesis in her home language: TshiVenda.

Regina is a woman of many talents: she's on TV daily playing Chief Azwindini's mother on Muvhango and has also been working hard on a personal goal – getting  her PhD. Popularly known as Vho-Masindi, the actress has completed her doctorate with the University of South Africa (Unisa). The actress did her thesis in TshiVenda, focusing on the women abuse expressed in dialogue from dramas written by male writers. She argued that because most drama books are written by men, women are often portrayed in a very negative light and hardly painted as intelligent creatures who can think and make decisions for themselves. She says she chose to do her thesis in TshiVenda because she wanted to emphasise to people that it’s an official language in South Africa and to exercise her right to be educated in the language of her choice.

The former teacher who was born in Tshianzwane village, Limpopo, started teaching in 1975 after completing her primary teacher’s course at Tshisimani Training College. The 65-year-old has 12 grandchildren and completed her master’s degree while working as a primary school teacher. She’s also a radio drama actor and has worked in the acting industry for more than 30 years. Masindi on Muvhango was her first television role and she stayed on while the show went through multiple changes over the years.
After listening to an interview on SAFM with an elderly woman who’d just graduated with a PhD, Regina says she was motivated to pursue her doctorate as age was nothing more than a number.

"I was very inspired by this lady. I said if she can do it, so can I. I had a master’s degree there was nothing stopping me from pursuing a PhD.” She also highlighted that because of the prevalence of gender-based violence (GBV), she decided to focus her thesis on how women were portrayed not only in society but also in books and television.
"I realised that women weren’t happy in their homes. I was also touched by many stories of women who were abused by their partners. I was shocked that this was happening in 2020 with all the awareness and education on GBV."

After completing her master’s Regina started doing more research on GBV and found  disturbing truths about the topic going far back in history.

Regina says she hopes her study will add to the body of literature and knowledge on GBV issues.

The overt racist policies of pre-1994 South Africa created an unequal education system. School was compulsory for whites up to the age of 16 and up to 15 for Indians and coloureds, but for black learners the compulsory school-going age was only 13 (and little was done to prevent earlier
school exits).

The Bantu Education Act was introduced in 1953, and its major purpose was to enforce racially separated educational facilities. It led to the defunding and eventual shutdown of missionary schools, which before the act provided non-white children with education that was almost equal to that of white learners.
The act prevented black learners from receiving a quality education. Schools for black learners had overcrowded classrooms, and the teachers at these schools were often underqualified. The aim of the act was to maintain a black working class and keep black learners from higher education facilities. Today, all citizens have the right to education. Graduate Emmanuel Gasa used this right to obtain his law degree at the age of 74. This is his story:

Standing tall and proud in a dapper grey suit, Emmanuel looked completely at home in the courtroom as he was formally admitted as an attorney of the high court.
In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d be forgiven for thinking the recently qualified Emmanuel was a veteran lawyer – but that’s mainly because at age 74 the Atteridgeville resident is about 50 years older than most newly admitted legal eagles. At an age when most of his peers would be happy to leave their working days behind them and rest on their laurels, Emmanuel has taken the plunge and embarked on a brand-new career, proving that you’re never too old to learn. “I was determined to complete this degree. I was not going to let things like my age get in the way,” he says.

LIFELONG LEARNER
The soft-spoken father of six and grandfather of 15 has held many jobs over the years, including working as a hospital clerk, but he’s never neglected his education. The law degree he completed in 2015 was his third degree – he’d already completed a BA in 1982, a BCom in 1991 and earned his higher certificate in education in 1998.
In 2002, Emmanuel found himself unemployed after working as a senior administrator for the Health Professions Council of South Africa. He then found a job teaching an adult basic education class at Holy Trinity High School in Atteridgeville. He had expected to be teaching commerce, but was instead asked to teach legal subjects, including criminal law. Up until this point he’d never considered studying law himself, much less becoming an attorney, but he fell in love with the subjects and remained a teacher until he retired in 2011. All the while he continued burning the midnight oil to study.

BACK TO SCHOOL
Seduced by the law, he decided to head back to university. “I realised I could understand the work. I had not wanted to be a lawyer but suddenly it seemed like an option for me, even though I initially thought it was a farfetched idea because of my age.” He enrolled at Unisa in 2004. He was always the oldest kid in class, a fact which sometimes had him wondering if he was doing the right thing, but he resolved to never quit. “When I was in law school I was in classes with people as young as my grandchildren, which was something that bothered me, but I ended up achieving what I wanted.” It took him a long time to complete his studies – 11 years – but he eventually finished in 2015.
“Studying while you are working is hard. I did not always have time for my books,” he says, explaining why it took so many years. He also had to learn Latin, as there was a lot of it in his textbooks, “so I had to work extra hard to grasp everything that I needed”.
In the final year of his studies he was invited to address a law indaba where he told all the assembled students “not to wait until they were my age before finishing their qualifications”. “I realize people are inspired by my story, thinking it’s a story of perseverance, but it’s not something I would recommend. No one should be studying at this age,” he chuckles.

A DAY OF CELEBRATION
Emmanuel’s graduation was one of the most exciting days of his life, he tells us. His late wife, Gloria, and their children attended and “it was a wonderful day! Our relatives even arranged a party at home.”
The family had much to celebrate in 2015 because his youngest child – Nomasoni, who was 26 at the time, also graduated with her master’s degree in science. “It was an exciting year for our family,” Emmanuel says. Gloria, his wife of 41 years, passed away in 2017, and Emmanuel is grateful she was alive for his graduation.

BIG PRIDE FOR THE FAMILY
Having completed his degree, he went on to do his articles at a law firm as a candidate attorney, which presented a fresh and unexpected new round of challenges. “Because of my age, I was getting too much respect, which was getting in the way of my learning,” he says.
While other candidate attorneys were assigned menial tasks like running around town taking documents to courts, “out of respect for my age, they were not letting me do things like that. The younger candidate attorneys got to do that which meant that they were learning about the actual workings of the courts.”
But as time went by, he was allowed to do it. One of his sons, mechanical engineer Khulani, says he’s very proud of his father. “What baba has achieved is an inspiration.” Their dad’s achievement will always be a reminder that the Gasa family can achieve anything, says his other son, Thubalethu.
“Our kids will know that his gifts run in their blood and if they put in the required effort, they can achieve anything.” Mandla Makhanya, the principal and vice-chancellor of Unisa, said they were also very proud of Emmanuel. “We at Unisa take immense pride in the achievements of our graduates, particularly the likes of Emmanuel Gasa.”

LOOKING FORWARD TO WORK
Despite his newfound fame in legal circles, he’s not yet found himself a job. “The other thing worth noting is that I can never be a judge because I’m past the retirement age of judges,” he adds.
Emmanuel would like to open his own law firm someday. “When I was doing my articles, the firm did mostly civil work, but I can do criminal work as well. I’m looking forward to representing my clients.” In between looking for work, he’s taking a well-deserved break.

Your right to education – EC man writes maths book to help learners

According to the constitution, everyone has the right to an education. Unfortunately, inequalities in education created by the apartheid regime remain. This numbers boffin hopes to address these inequalities with his maths textbook.

With the introduction of the Bantu Education Act in 1953, many people of colour, especially black South Africans, were excluded from a quality education. Schools attended by black learners had too few teachers (for example, the teacher-pupil ratio was 1:53). Inequalities also applied to school funding, buildings, equipment, facilities, books and stationery, as well as results measured in terms of the proportions and levels of certificates awarded.

This resulted in an education system where white schools benefitted the most, while schools attended by people of colour, especially black schools, got the short end of the stick. In 1996, the new constitution enshrined the right to education for all. Section 29 in the Bill of Rights in the Constitution of South Africa states that “everyone has the right— (a) to a basic education, including adult basic education; and (b) to further education, which the state, through reasonable measures, must make progressively available and accessible”.
Despite this, inequalities remain as many schools don’t have the necessary funds or resources to offer their leaners a quality education. Maths boffin Awonke Nqayiya (24) wants to do something about this, which is why he wrote a maths textbook to aid learners.

This is his story.

Numbers - they are his bread and butter. 
It doesn't matter if it's equations or statistics, he loves them all. So, when he saw that matriculants were struggling to grasp some of the concepts in their paper 2 exams, he decided to do something about it.
Awonke, from Centane in the Eastern Cape, studied Applied Mathematics and Mathematical Statistics at Nelson Mandela University and graduated his honours cum laude.
He saw the need to simplify mathematics for Grade 12 learners and he decided to write an entire textbook aimed at empowering the learners.
Awonke wrote the study guide in simple English to assist leaners who do not use English as their primary language of communication.
He says the examples are common, relevant and relatable. The solutions and methods are excellently explained. The complexities are simplified.

“Over the past years that I have spent in the institution of higher learning, I have been involved in several educational programmes that seek to support high school learners in their studies. In these programmes, I mainly focused on delivering effective mathematics lessons to Grade 11 and 12 learners. In this journey, I identified the struggles that learners have in Mathematics and I formulated several reasons that collectively result in those struggles. These reasons included the lack of basics and the less simplified complexities in Mathematics. I then wrote my study guide titled ‘Mathematics with Nqayiya’,” he says.

“I began writing ‘Mathematics with Nqayiya’ in 2017 and finished the very first draft on the 25th of September in 2018. I then began the first phase of proofreading, editing, and improving the study guide, and finished in 2019. At the end of the first phase, I was happy with the quality of the content in the guide, however, I had to include a few people that I trusted with mathematical content. Fortunately, they agreed to proofread different chapters. I also distributed the pdf version of the study guide to some of my learners for use so that I could assess the effectiveness of the content in it. This was the second phase of improving the study guide.”

He was inspired to write the text because he saw the difficulty in learners transitioning from Grade 11 to Grade 12. He wants to develop the learner's understanding from basic content to more advanced work as well as to well simplify the complexities of Mathematics in paper 2.

Awonke says the feedback and comments he received became instrumental and valuable in shaping the standard of the guide to what it is now.
“Earlier this year I finalised the second phase and I was beyond just happy with the standard of ‘Mathematics with Nqayiya’. To ensure the relevance of its content, the CAPS guidelines and the previous question papers set by the Department of Basic Education were of great use,” he shares.
He distributes the copies on request and couriers them across the country, but he wants to see his textbooks as part of the reading material at schools one day.
“At the moment I distribute the study guides to the people that place orders. These are mainly parents and learners. I courier the study guides to those that are far from me. I also visit some schools with the copies and the interested learners buy. My hope is that the schools can buy the study guides on behalf of their learners or the Department of Basic Education can distribute the study guides as one of the teaching and learning materials they distribute to schools.”
The 24-year-old has been receiving great support from his community.

South Africa doesn’t have one religion everyone must subscribe to, and citizens are free to belong to the faith of their choosing and worship as they see fit. Christianity is the dominant religion in South Africa. This can be traced back to the arrival of the first Christian missionaries in the Cape in 1737. They brought the faith with them and converted many to it. Pre-1994, some Christian churches, like the Dutch Reformed Church, (DRC) used Christian theology to justify apartheid (although many Christian churches opposed segregation). With its three million Christian members, the DRC was seen as the "official religion" of the ruling apartheid party, the National Party.

By Pam Magwaza

With the introduction of our Constitution, all South Africans enjoy the right to choose their religion and practice it as they see fit. It accords both culture and religion equal recognition and protection. According to section 15 of the Bill of Rights in the Constitution of South Africa, everyone “has the right to freedom of conscience, religion, thought, belief and opinion”. And section 9 states that no one may be unfairly discriminating against on one or more grounds, including, among others, “religion, conscience, belief, [and] culture”. This means that today you have the right to consult a sangoma via a videocall or listen to an outdoor sermon by a priestess. Or you can join a church where members are encouraged to knock back a drink or two. The Gabola Church does exactly this. We spoke to its leader, Bishop Tsietsi Makiti, to find out more about his church:

It’s a sunny Sunday morning when we head to church in Lakeside, Johannesburg. We’ve gotten lost, but before long we’re guided by the sounds of gospel music to a brick structure with a zinc roof. We’re not quite sure if we’re at the right place. A wooden board nailed to the side of the building tells us we’re at Chicken’s Place Tavern, but the familiar worship song Igama leNkosi Malibongwe (Praise God’s name) assures us we’ve arrived. At this controversial church drinks flow freely on one condition – the booze must be blessed by the church’s leader, Bishop Makiti. A pool table doubling as a pulpit is the centrepiece of the crowded room. It’s lined with drinks, from expensive brands of blended whisky to beer, and a few Bibles. Newspaper cuttings of recent articles on the church cascade over the edges like a tablecloth. Not too far from the booze-bedecked pulpit stands the contentious church’s leader.

He’s surrounded by about 60 jubilant magabolas (Gabola Church members). They part as he steps forward to start the service. Sporting black vestments with embroidered gold crosses and an impressive cleric’s hat, Bishop Makiti speaks in a bellowing voice. It’s not the duty of the church to ask money from its members, he impresses on the congregants. “Church fees must fall,” he preaches. “The church should be able to raise its own money. Churches can’t go on with the practice of demanding offerings at gunpoint. #churchfeesmustfall, #churchfeesmustfall!”
His remarks elicit applause from the mostly male congregation. The men take big swigs of liquor while listening attentively to today’s service, which has been extended to three hours to allow for the baptism of new members. Yet unlike traditional churches, there’s no holy water; rather holy spirits. “I will baptise you in the liquor of your choice,” says Bishop Makiti, sprinkling alcohol on one of the congregants.

“As much as you are the tavern owner, you are a pastor who’ll take care of the sheep. When you stock the tavern, you should bless the liquor, so the alcohol doesn’t make us do unseemly things,” he continues. The blessing of booze has baffled many critics, but one of the church’s founders, Nigel Lehasa, explains that they started the church to accommodate people seen as misfits by conventional churches. “Bishop Makiti’s love and care for drunks prompted him to open Gabola Church,” he says.
The church is aptly named – “gabola” means drinking in Setswana. It was started by Bishop Makiti, producer and owner of record company Makrombo Records, Michael Motsepe, and Nigel, CEO of Kasi Music TV. With a 6 000-strong membership, the church relies on sponsorships instead of tithes to keep afloat and currently has branches in Ironside, Orange Farm and Sebokeng in Gauteng and Bloemfontein.

Nigel says the church is registered with the department of social development, at the urging of the Commission for the Promotion and Protection of the Rights of Cultural, Religious and Linguistic Communities (CLR). “Bishop TD Makiti is a qualified bishop with certificates,” Nigel says. “He’s a community leader, and he doesn’t want to see people suffer.” Bishop Makiti says he’s been practising as a pastor since 1993 but won’t reveal his denomination. He says he has a diploma in theology from a college in Braamfontein but won’t disclose the college’s name either. While the CRL urges churches to register as NPOs with the department of social development, it’s not illegal not to do so. Under South African law anyone can start a church.
But that doesn’t mean churches can flout the law. Last year, Bishop Makiti, his wife, Lydia, and five members of the church were arrested for contravening lockdown regulations when they held a service outside the bishop’s home in Evaton North, Johannesburg. Bottles of whisky, vodka and cooldrinks – as well as a bottle of hand sanitiser - were neatly arranged on a makeshift altar for the small gathering. At the time, alcohol and church gatherings were banned.

Pre-1994 many people of colour didn’t have access to fertility treatment. Today, our constitution makes it clear that all South Africans have the right to make decisions concerning reproduction, and they have security in and control of their bodies.

By Bonolo Sekudu

The country’s first egg donation was recorded in 1986 (the donor was a white woman), but not all South Africans had fair access to fertility treatment pre-1994. Many people of colour didn’t have access to specialists or hospitals who could help them with infertility issues, and black egg donors were relatively unheard of.

With the introduction of reproductive rights for all in the Constitution of South Africa, everyone has the right to bodily and psychological integrity. The Bill of Rights section 12(2), which deals with freedom and security of the person, states that everyone “has the right to bodily and psychological integrity, which includes the right (a) to make decisions concerning reproduction; (b) to security in and control over their body; and (c) not to be subjected to medical or scientific experiments without their informed consent”.
These rights have allowed 27-year-old Loppy Moagaesi Leepile to become an egg donor. She is helping infertile women become mothers, one egg at a time, and she’s been doing it for four years now. For her, donating eggs is her purpose, and it brings her a sense of fulfilment. “Knowing I'm making a difference in another woman’s life makes me happy,” Loppy explains.

How it all began
Loppy has done the process about 10 times now, but how she started was completely by chance. She crossed paths with a nurse who works at a fertility clinic and during their conversation she learnt about what the nurse did. The next minute, she found herself at a fertility clinic getting ready to be an egg donor.
“It is a lengthy process that includes tests, medication, injections and frequent check-ups to make sure my eggs are mature before they can be extracted,” she says.
“I didn’t know what to expect, especially on retrieval day when your eggs are taken out. They use a long instrument to retrieve the eggs. I am not operated on like people may think but it is considered a medical procedure,” she says.

Loppy is from Rustenburg in the North West. She was raised in a conservative family, so she had to tread carefully with all this information. She was 23 when she decided to be an egg donor in 2016. “I didn’t tell my mom at first because I thought she would be upset about it. I definitely did not tell my dad either because he is strict,” she says.
Not one to keep big secrets from her family, she eventually told them.
“I have cousins who said it means my children are out there but that shows that people don’t have the knowledge of how it works."

 How it works
The egg donation enables another woman to conceive as part of an assisted reproduction treatment or for biomedical research. It typically involves in vitro fertilisation (IVF) technology with the eggs being fertilised in a laboratory. Loppy has had to explain the process to several people who have made wrong assumptions.

“Marriages break and relationships end because of infertility. Sometimes you find that a man will even have a child outside his marriage because of this,” she adds. There are risks involved when undergoing the procedure, but Loppy says the doctors told her that the chances of anything going wrong and bad side-effects were minimal.
“My only concern was whether I would be able to have another child because at the time I started, I had a child who was two years old. Today, I have a seven-month-old baby,” she says proudly.
“It hurts that other women can’t conceive and there is nothing they can do about it. Science has made a way for them through this, and I am happy to be a part of it,” she says.
However, Loppy says she would not be able to be surrogate mother. When you’re a surrogate, you carry someone’s child for them. She prefers donating.
“For as long as they tell me that they need an egg, I will keep doing it,” she says. She talks about her story openly but of course there are confidential details that cannot be shared. One of these is never meeting those receiving the donation.
“One of the questions I get asked frequently is about compensation. I hate that question,” she tells us. "There is a certain amount given to donors as compensation. This amount is set by the fertility clinic and differs."
Loppy would not disclose how much she gets because she says there are people who come into this with unrealistic expectations.
“Now they will start comparing amounts. If you put money at the forefront, rather go look for a job or go hustle because this is not about that," she says.

“I am doing this wholeheartedly and God will bless me accordingly,” she adds.
To those interested in donating, she says they must not think about it as an easy option.

“The process comes with sacrifices and self-discipline. You have to abstain from alcohol for that period of time,” Loppy says. “This is because alcohol interferes with medication that will be given to you on the day of the procedure, and you will feel pain.

Right to property: Families celebrate successful reclaim

By Zama Chutshela

Land is more than a mere commodity. It’s an essential element for the realisation of many human rights. From 1960 to 1983, the apartheid government forcibly removed 3.5 million black South Africans in one of the largest mass removals of people in modern history. This left many black people (and people of colour in other areas) without land and ownership.
Today, Section 25 in the Bill of Rights in the Constitution of South Africa provides for the right of access to land and addresses equitable access to land and restitution of land. It also allows the descendants of people who were forced off their land to win it back. It states that “a person or community whose tenure of land is legally insecure as a result of past racially discriminatory laws or practices is entitled, to the extent provided by an Act of Parliament, either to tenure which is legally secure or to comparable redress. (7) A person or community dispossessed of property after 19 June 1913 as a result of past racially discriminatory laws or practices is entitled, to the extent provided by an Act of Parliament, either to restitution of that property or to equitable redress.”
In 2017, almost a century after their ancestors were forcibly removed from their land in Mchobololo near Richmond, eight families managed to reclaim it.
This is their story:
They never thought this day would come. But finally, they’ll be able to return to the land where their ancestors lived – land from which they were forcibly removed.
Nearly a century ago, Thomas Mndeni Dhlamini and many others had to sell their livestock and move elsewhere, going from prosperous landowners and providers to people with next to nothing. White settlers forced them to move from their farmland in the Ixopo District, in what is now Kwa-Zulu-Natal.
That was in 1935, even before the formal establishment of apartheid and the Group Areas Act of 1950, which saw millions of South Africans forced out of their homes – many into poverty. But Thomas’ descendants are now able to return to the land he once toiled on in Mchobololo near Richmond, with the formal handover of 849 hectares of land to eight families who were scattered across the province.
The families had the option to choose money or land. Many chose financial compensation – about R25 million for 114 households – and eight chose land, worth about R10,5 million. Nhlanhleni Dlamini (46) was elated to be given back the land.
“Our great-grandfathers had been the owners of this land. But that changed when the settlers came and forcefully removed them.” The dispossession of land affected them badly, and many ended up in poverty because they were forced to stop farming and to reduce their livestock. Eventually they were forced to relocate.
“We know this history because the information was passed down from generation to generation, and the family looked after documents such as their title deeds, which date back to 1910.” He becomes emotional.
“We’ve always known they’d wanted their land back and it was up to us to get it back. Now that we have achieved that goal our next step is to sustain the land.”
The office of the chief land claims commissioner did the formal handover in 2017 although the claim by 114 households had been approved in 2011 by the commission on restitution and land rights.
Zwelihle Mbhele (51) and his two siblings chose financial compensation. It wasn’t an easy decision, they say, but they needed the money more than the land.
“Our forefathers were forcefully removed from Chobololo to KwaMagoda, which is where I live with my siblings,” Zwelihle says.
“We’ve received the money and we’ll be sharing it amongst ourselves. We’ll use some of it to build a house for ourselves. We live in our parents’ old house at the moment.” Zwelihle’s brother, Bhekisisa Mbhele (56), would have preferred taking the land if it were a practical option.
“We would have loved to get our land back, but we needed the money more. I can say justice has been done.” Elliot Dlamini (65), who also received money, says he will be helping his brother pay lobola and build a house. “I will be sharing the money with my brother. He has no wife or house of his own,” Elliot says.
“I chose financial compensation so I could help him get a wife and build him a house.”
Nhlanhleni shows the title deed to Thomas Mndeni Dhlamini’s land. Dated 25 February 1935, it states “Thomas Mndeni Dhlamini is a native farmer under Chief Umfohlo, residing on the farm Umnyesa, Umkomaas Valley, in the district of Ixopo”.
Nhlanhleni says when the land was handed back to the families there was already a business on part of it, a wildlife sanctuary and eco-adventure holiday destination, which the previous owners agreed to sell to them.
Farmer and land recipient Zwelihle Dlamini (35) intends to use his portion of the land to expand his farm. “I’m already using it for agricultural purposes. I’m also proud to say that this has created job opportunities for the youth. My wish is to get more support from the government so that I can sustain my land.”
Sandile Dlamini (28), another land recipient, says this marks a new beginning for his family, and future generations.
“Here, in Mchobololo, the land is bigger than what we have right now and we what we have right now, and we can continue with farming and agriculture just like our forefathers did. This land marks new beginnings for us and the next generation.”
The ancestors always knew their descendants would return to the land, says Funizwe Dlamini. “That is why they named me Funizwe (seek the land) and my clansman Zwelihle (beautiful land),” he said.
Funizwe hopes the land-claim victory will encourage his nine children to take up farming, as “there are no jobs these days. There is no use studying to be a teacher or a nurse if you aren’t going to get work. Now that we have this farming land, they can study something in agriculture and come back home and work‚” he says.
Funizwe and Zwelihle say they would like government assistance to help them sustain the land and keep it productive. Bheki Mbili, the KwaZulu-Natal head of the land claims commission, says that although the commission is willing to help successful land claimants it was “everyone’s responsibility to make sure the land is sustained”.
Linda Page of the department of rural development and land reform explains that communities do get government support from programmes to help those who choose land over money.
“We don’t just give them the land and leave it there. We put land recipients on a post-settlement support program, and if a land recipient is interested in farming, we come in and provide the necessary support. “All they need to do is to tell us what they want to do with the land, and we support them until their businesses are viable.”

Abortion doctor on why he is pro-choice

The criminalisation of abortions under the apartheid regime put the lives of many women in danger. Post-1996, South African laws state that women have the right to terminate their pregnancy (within the first 12 weeks), and they should have access to reproductive health care services that allow for safe abortions.

Within the first 12 weeks of pregnancy, South African women have the right to terminate their pregnancy. This wasn’t always the case. Under apartheid, abortions were illegal except under circumstances where the woman’s life was in direct danger.

This forced many women, of all ages and races, to risk their lives as they sought dangerous backstreet abortions. The criminalisation of abortions also infringed on many basic human rights, reproductive rights, the right to dignity and the right to health. Many women, medical doctors and other abortionists fought for the legalisation of abortions as the restriction on it was putting women’s lives in danger.
The 1996 constitution doesn’t refer to abortion directly, but according to section 12(2)(a) of the Bill of Rights, everyone “has the right to bodily and psychological integrity, which includes the right… to make decisions concerning reproduction”. Section 27(1)(a) states that everyone “has the right to have access to… health care services, including reproductive health care”. There is also the 1996 Choice on Termination of Pregnancy Act, which allows women, regardless of age or marital status, access to abortion services within the first 12 weeks of pregnancy (and afterwards under special circumstances).
Dr Melusi Dhlamini – known as Abortionist on Twitter – is a trained abortion service provider and an activist for safe abortions. Here the 32-year-old obstetrician and gynaecologist explains why he is pro-choice. This is his story:
“I’m a trained abortion services provider and I oversee the day-to-day running of abortion services at our facility. I’m also an activist for safe abortions. I once treated a lady who tried to abort a pregnancy by drinking bleach, she became sick and ended up in hospital. She was seen by someone else at the hospital and was ready to be discharged. I happened to be responsible for acute gynaecological emergencies on the day she was meant to leave. I read her notes and immediately knew she had been trying to abort even though she hadn’t disclosed it.
I took her for a gynaecological scan. I had a chat with her. She told me she drank the bleach because she’d been told it would help terminate the pregnancy. Luckily, she was talking to me – the person responsible for abortions in the hospital – and I admitted her. She got her abortion that day.
Had we not met she would probably have gone to an illegal abortion provider. And we don’t know how that might have turned out for her. I see every abortion I do as a life saved from an illegal abortion.
I mostly perform second-trimester abortions and complicated cases, including women who got backstreet abortions that went wrong. My department is split into four units. As the doctor responsible for abortion services, I see all the patients who are admitted to the department.
Whenever we get a patient, I see her to ensure the correct information has been given, the right drugs and doses have been prescribed, the woman knows what to expect during her stay and how to plan for future pregnancies.
At any given time, each unit has a woman admitted for an abortion, so I see about five patients a week.
The reaction after an abortion varies, but a feeling of relief is the most common. Most of the women are from cultures that frown upon abortions. The women themselves may very well hold the same views. They require extensive counselling before the procedure to accept that there’s nothing wrong with getting an abortion. That it’s something necessary.
I sometimes come back after I’ve done my other work to see and counsel women before the medical part of the procedure starts. I sometimes end up leaving work late, which I honestly don’t mind but then my energy levels take a hit.
The law allows for conscientious objection (doctors can opt out of treating women requesting abortion services) but I believe a career in women’s health chose me. I’d initially wanted to specialise in internal medicine with the intention of being an ICU specialist.
But when I started practising in the department, I fell in love with the field.
I’ve ended up being the only person the department calls when someone’s admitted for an abortion.
I try to use every moment I can to educate people on abortions and make them realise it’s not just a health service – which a woman has a right to – but it is also a human right enshrined in our constitution.
If anyone thinks what I do is wrong, that has nothing to do with me because I know it is not wrong.
A lot of negative statements are hurled my way by colleagues, both medical and support staff. They’re usually disguised as banter by people I get along with in the workplace. I end up just brushing it off with a laugh.
Most of the time these cases go unreported because I can never tell when the intention is to insult. I also don’t let it get to me because I’m a doctor providing a health service. It’s my job.
Medicine isn’t easy to study nor is it to practise. The unfortunate and fortunate part of the job is that we work with people. A mistake can easily mean death.
Good outcomes leave you beaming with pride endlessly. A passion for people is a must-have before even considering the career."

We spoke to five women who have received abortions. Here they share their stories:

Khanya*
“Yes, I’ve had an abortion; it was a few weeks, maybe six weeks, ago.
I went to a private doctor and he gave me a few days to think about it after my first consultation. I went back with my mind still made up.
I was then given medication and was instructed on how to take it. The doctors were in touch throughout the whole process and would call me every morning to check up on me and to check if I’m not bleeding heavily. They made a somewhat difficult experience bearable.
I have not dealt with my emotions. The stigma around abortion doesn't allow us to express our feelings after the procedure. But I have made peace with it, and I’m not as guilt stricken as I was before. I was not ready [for a baby] but I’ve learnt to insist on using a condom.”

Zitha*
“I have two children and two months ago I had an abortion.
I'm a single parent, and I wasn’t ready to have a third child. It was the worst I’ve ever felt. The guilt I have to live with every day – the pain which I can feel every day – it keeps playing all over in my head every day.”

Jessica*
“I have had two abortions. The first was at home and the other was via a backstreet abortion service. I was eight weeks pregnant, and my cousin suggested I drink a mixture of methylated spirits, Stametta and vinegar.
I was 18, and I was sure I didn't want a child. The mixture worked. The pain I had to endure was like death, but two days later it was aborted. I recently had the second one. I bought pills from a guy and I bled out. I was a couple of weeks pregnant, and I didn't even need the hospital.”

Mary*
“On 29 May 2017 I had an abortion at a government hospital. I was given a pill to take home and drink the next morning. I did as I was instructed, and within two hours I started bleeding. Unfortunately, I had to travel from KZN to JHB for a meeting that same day.
The flow was a bit too much, but it was expected. I was also told to go back to the hospital after a week for a check-up, but I didn't go due to travelling.
Last October, I discovered that I’m pregnant again and went to another government hospital. It [the abortion] was done on 15 November. I got cleaned that same day and everything went back to normal.
Lately I’ve been having a heavy flow during my period. I've seen doctors and one told me I might have some difficulties having babies again. I've booked another appointment with a gynaecologist and will soon find out what's the real problem.”

*Pseudonyms have been used to protect the identity of the individuals.