Picture (from left): Jabu Mabuza, Simon Mtsuki, Mbongeni Mtsuki
One late summer morning in 2011 I was comfortably seated in the passenger seat, driving down the N4 from Pretoria to Witbank with my cousin Jabu. The dialogue was an intense discussion between a frustrated and disheartened young man (me) and this passionate and determined older fellow, whose monologue during that drive would have (one of the) greatest effects on me, both as a human being wondering this complicated journey of life and as a young entrepreneur.
Before the trip I had confided in Jabu, through a long e-mail, about the personal quandary I found myself in. I had just graduated from university with an accounting degree but during the years of my study I discovered that the accountant’s seat was not one I saw myself occupying for the remainder of every 8 hours of the rest of my life. This void was created by another passion that I stumbled upon in high school and nurtured in varsity: the love of speaking.
I personally felt that the 4 years spent at Wits had kept me from pursuing this gift, so when I finally liberated myself from the so-called shackles of the ‘EDGE’, I naively decided to dive into the deep end and try the professional speaking and writing thing out. But the deep was proving to be deeper than I thought. That decision was proving to be one of the most challenging, costliest, heart wrenching decisions of my life.
During that year I had made little over R5000 a month and was struggling to make ends meet, while my friends were raking in about R11000 +/- a month as first year trainees. I couldn’t afford to live in Johannesburg anymore and had to move back home, much to the parents dismay.
When I went to Jabu I was at the lowest point in my life. I further confided in him my personal and emotional troubles. My own mother was sick and tired of the cost of this ambition, she did not see the point of taking a child to university and then have him come back to chase fruitless dreams.
Sitting there in that passenger seat, therefore, was a Simon that was ready to surrender. The despair in my heart, coupled with the numbers in my bank account and the naysaying kin were all pointing me into that direction.
During this drive Mabuza and I were discussing this issue and during the majority of that drive, Jabu was responding to these troubles I was facing.
The following are excerpts of that discussion which I vividly remember, partly because it was loaded with so many heart-piercing truths and partly because, with his vulnerable honesty, his anecdotes, real-life observations and enthusiastic story-telling ability, Jabu brought the truth to life in a way that only he could:
"Mr. M (as he had previously christened me) I want you to know that you are not alone in this position that you are in, I personally have been in that position when I left my full-time job to start a business I was in the exact same position. In fact my situation was worse” that is how he introduced his response. He started to tell me stories of some of the sacrifices that he had made in order to pursue his dreams, the transparency with which he shared some of these stories both shocked and softened me, you cannot help but listen to a man who is being so open to you. I had never been privy to a man’s battles and sacrifices in such a manner. Such vulnerability is hardly ever expressed by men, and even if it is, it is shared by men of the same age in hidden and protected environments. But Mabuza wasn’t deterred by the 13-year age gap between us, he was going to teach me whatever it took.
He told me of one intimate story where during one of his first risky ventures, he bought into an Ecko and Zoo York franchise and things were not going well. And with a lack of assistance from the banks, a tough economic climate and a few unfortunate circumstances he had to cut his losses.
"But I didn't stop believing in the firm resolve that I would pursue my own vision," he maintained. Our conversation was taking place on the back of him recently starting his own, VJM Risk and Insurance Brokers a few months back and had scored a stable deal with the Billion Group. He was starting to find traction.
“Mr. M You are not alone, many people who dare to pursue the road less travelled have been in the same emotional and mental space that you are going through. But you cannot allow that discouragement to deter you.”
He dived into the importance of making short-term sacrifices for long-term benefits, repeatedly emphasizing the point that I "must be willing to get burnt" in order to benefit in the long-term. "Mr. M the dream that you have will never leave you and in order for you to achieve it, you must pay the costs. It's either you pay them now or pay later...BUT YOU MUST PAY THE COST. It's better for you to pay the cost now, without the responsibility of marriage, kids, a bond and other expenses because when those responsibilities come, the likelihood of you taking the risk is remote. And even if you do, the responsibilities you have will compound the burden."
About my parent's concern and insistence that I join the corporate world, Jabu was equally unrelenting. "Mr. M. yekela labomagogo abazi understandi lezinto" (Mr. M, don't be deterred by your mother's concern, she doesn't understand this path you are taking).
He assured me that sometimes people do not understand how important your vision is to you and they never value your path until you actually start gaining traction in your strides. He went on to plant an idea, “Abantu angeke bakunike irespect until bakubona sowukhuluma overseas or on TV" (People won't start respecting your dream until you start gaining traction, speaking on international conferences and on television). He was right; people rarely have an appreciation of someone's path until they see you making major progress.
That conversation is one of the most memorable inspirational sermons I have ever heard, it is probably no coincidence that it lasted the whole 1 hour trip from Pretoria to Johannesburg. Over the years the relationship, brotherhood and advice that Jabu gave me over the years added to this.
I would sleep over his house during weekends and we would have these intense and analytical conversations that lasted into the a.m's. Over the course of that period until his death, I would make it a point to see him at least once a month. I remember my mother once complaining, “Why uthanda ukuvakasha kaJabu so? Ngelinye ilanga uPhumeza uzoku xosha emzini wakhe (Why do you like over-staying your welcome at Jabu’s house? One day Phumeza (his wife) will throw you out for visiting so much). Little did she know that he was the necessary agent provocateur to my rebellion and with every encounter he left me with that little extra drive needed to take the next step.
I would speak to him over the phone for at least once a week. And those conversations, too, would last for about an hour or more. Jabu probably holds the record for the person who I called the most and I am not sure, but I think he holds the record for the longest cellphone calls I received. His calls lasted so long that he would call me, the network would disturb and he would call me back and the battery would die and he would call me right back after battery was charged.
The main reason for the lengthy dialogues was the anecdotes, experiences and observations, he would insert in order to liven-up and drive his points. He would explain them in such graphic detail that he would sometimes veer off the original track of the conversation and he would need to re-steer his story back to the original point, which he always felt the need to complete. Anybody who knows Jabu Mabuza knows that the conversation is not over until Jabu Mabuza makes his point.
The conversations evolved, they ranged from our month to month life and business experiences and our lessons from them to politics and current affairs and family.
Even as business began to pick up and I began to find my feet, Mabuza (as I called him) would continue to give me vital advice about the importance of growth and the responsibilities therein: keeping a healthy cash-flow, maintaining relationships with current clients while pursuing new business and the power of social capital were some of the ones we engaged on recently.
It was 14:03 Thursday (22 January 2015) when I received the call of his passing. I was sitting at Guru Coffee Shop in Parktown North preparing for a meeting. My cousin Tony’s name appeared on the called I.D. I answered the phone with a burst of excitement, asking him “Zkhiphani” (township lingo for “what’s up”). Little did I know that the burst of excitement with which I answered the phone would suffer an icy bucket of shattering news. When I put the phone down everyone else in the coffee shop continued their lives as if it was a normal day. The lady in front of me was looking intensely at her laptop, the guys on my right were deep in a meeting and the waiter behind me were serving their coffee their like they usually do.
I remember being confused a bit, literally not knowing what’s going on, for a second or two my mind couldn’t fathom why everyone was carrying on as if nothing had happened. “How could they just continue? Don’t they know what just happened? Are these people that insensitive?” It took me another second to realize what had just happened, that I was the only for whom the clouds had gathered.
I called my mother to tell her the tragic news, she responded that she had found out an hour ago but didn’t know how she was going to tell me. I understood.
It took me another second to decide that I had to drive back to my hometown to Witbank, I packed my laptop and diary and notebook into my backpack, hurried to the car and closed the door. And as I paused to put the key into the ignition, I remembered that I had just spoken to him on Saturday, asking me where I was. I was at the Neighbourgoods Market in Braamfontein and couldn’t talk long, we agreed that we would make a date to see each other soon. When I thought of that last phone call a flurry of uninvited tears started rolling down my face.
Over the course of the week those uninvited tears would return so many times, sometimes when I was amongst his friends but more when I was alone in my room or driving.
On the Wednesday before his funeral the tears stopped rolling and now I am left with the agony of knowing that he will not come back, he will never call again and we will never have those intense long night conversations ever again.
I…We have lost a brother, a friend an advisor and mentor.
On the 15th of December 2014 at around 1am, I was out at one of those December parties with a friend of mine, Neo. My partying was interrupted by the thought of Jabu and I felt like I wanted to thank him for his love and support during the years. I pulled out my blackberry and started typing an e-mail, “Eh Mabuza maan
I've been thinking about you this morning, for some reason. I'm actually at a club partying and I just thought about you.
I was just thinking about back in those days when I was struggling and you would just give me this crisp and sobering advice. In the worst of times I would just think of that advice, and think, ‘Noh maan, I have to stick it out...this will make sense in the end’
I just wanted to thank you for that advice and the investment in time and energy, it meant so much man.
I also wanted to tell you, for what it's worth, that I believe in you as a man, as a mentor, an advisor, and businessman.
There is a reason why I need to call you every other week, your advice and wisdom is sobering and helps.
Anyway...I just had to let you know. Forwards ever backwards never Mabuza.”
Part of the reason I stopped being so emotional this week is because I know that I let him know how much he means to me. I also had to force myself to realize that I should stop weeping over the loss but instead thank God for the wonderful opportunity he gave me to be acquainted, to learn, to draw and be empowered by this wonderful human being.
Indeed he is gone, but I would be lying if I said he has not left me with an abundance of lessons and experiences that would last me a lifetime.
Death may have unexpectedly taken Jabu away from us, but Jabu is still fully alive in world of my mind.
Rest In Peace Mabuza, We will never forget you!!!
-Mr. M
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