The 20 y/o girl I used to be.

If I could find you now, where would you be? In the sterile, chilled air of the oncology ward, listening to the steady drip-drip-drip of the poison that is also your salvation? Or are you in a university library, your head swimming with formulas and theories, a beanie pulled low over the hair that is no longer there, trying to convince the world and yourself that you are just like any other student?

I see you. I see you with a clarity that time has carved into my bones. I am writing to you from a decade in your future. Ten years. You, who was told to get your affairs in order, who was handed a hospice referral like a life sentence. You would not believe that we are still here.

But first, I need to tell you that I miss you. I know how strange that sounds. You are right here, in my memories, in the very blood that still courses through my veins. But I miss your specific kind of fire. I miss the way you set your jaw when the doctor said the word “cancer.” I miss the sheer, terrifying ambition that made you get out of a hospital bed, dizzy from chemo, and walk onto campus. You saw that degree as a golden ticket, the only way out of the poverty that haunted our childhood. It was more than a degree… It was a promise to ourselves, our family, a shield, a future. And when the diagnosis came, it felt like that promise was being ripped from your hands. You couldn’t accept that. So you entered a tug-of-war with death itself, with a blurry, uncertain future as the prize.

You were so beautiful in your defiance. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic beauty. It was a quiet, stubborn one. The beauty of showing up. The beauty of your stubborn faith.

Do you remember the physical cost? The weight loss that made your clothes hang like ghosts on your frame? The neuropathy in your fingers and feet that made typing an essay feel like climbing a mountain? The physical disability that left you mourning for what was once there? The exhaustion that was more than just tiredness… it was a lead blanket on your soul, a gravity seven times stronger than anyone else’s. You didn’t care. Or rather, you cared, but you refused to let it be the boss of you. Day after day, with the veins filled with the red devil’s poison, you hopped to class with your crutches – every step you took screamed I am here for a purpose – and a purpose you fulfilled.

All you wanted was to live your life as if you weren’t dying. As if you weren’t, at nineteen, being handed pamphlets on palliative care. You went to class with a port attached to your body. You studied between bursts of nausea and chest pains. You laughed with friends, your laughter sometimes a thin veil over a bedrock of fear. You were a masterpiece of courage, and you didn’t even know it. You thought you were just surviving – after all, you had no choice (so you thought).

I need you to know something. That fight you were in? You won.

You got your degree. You finished it in record time, a fact that still astounds me to date. You defied every grim statistic, every whispered prognosis. You lived to see the other side of that “blurry future.” The woman I am today is built on the foundation you laid with your pain, your courage, your sheer, bloody-minded will.

We have come so far. We have achieved so much. We have loved, we have traveled, we have built a life. There are so many blessings, moments of joy so sharp and sweet they still make you weep. I list them in my head sometimes, like counting jewels… Waking up without pain. A cup of coffee that tastes good. The sun on my face. The degree, framed on the wall. These are the victories you made possible.

And yet. This is the hard part to write. This is the part where I have to be as honest with you as you were with yourself in that hospital room. I am tired, my love. I am so, so exhausted.

The battle didn’t end when the scans came back clear. It just changed shape and location. Now, it’s a different kind of war. It’s the war of aftermath. The war of “what now?” The war of chronic pain that has overstayed its welcome, of hormones that rage like a storm inside me, medications with side effects that feel like a new disease. It’s the endless parade of hospital visits… not for crisis, but for maintenance. For monitoring. It’s the isolation that comes from living in a body that has been to war while your peers’ bodies have been on vacation.

Some days, the lead blanket of exhaustion you wore temporarily has become my permanent state. I tell myself, “Think positively… You’re alive…” But my body doesn’t listen. The pain doesn’t listen. The negative energy is a bubble I can’t pop, and it’s not easy to escape. Some mornings, the greatest achievement is the Herculean effort it takes to move my limbs from the bed to the floor.

I look for you in these moments. I search for that nineteen-year-old who fought death for a chance to sit in a lecture hall. I long for her strength. I feel like I’ve lost her, that the years have sanded her down into this weary, overwhelmed woman. I never thought, after all this time, that the battle would feel so familiar – like moving in circles.

But here is what I am learning, from my vantage point ten years ahead of you. Your strength didn’t vanish. It transformed. Your fight then was external, against a visible enemy… a malignant tumor, a disease. It was a sprint of sheer will. My fight now is more internal. It’s a marathon against the echoes of that war. It’s the management of the fallout. And my dear, a marathon requires a different kind of endurance. It requires pacing. It requires knowing that it’s okay to walk sometimes. To know that it is okay to take one step at a time. To rest when need be.

You fought to build a life. Now, I am learning how to live in it – as I am now, now as what I thought I would be now.

When you chose education over surrender, you weren’t just being stubborn. You were making a statement: “My life is mine.” You were claiming your identity back from the disease. I need to do that again, now. I need to find small, daily ways to claim my life from the pain, the fatigue, the overwhelm, the treatments, the recurrences… all of it.

Maybe it’s not about finding your old strength, but about recognizing that the strength I have now is just as valid. The strength to rest without guilt. The strength to say, “I am not okay today,” and to mean it. The strength to mourn… for the beautiful, ambitious 19-year-old you were, and for the woman we thought we would become. It’s okay to mourn them. It’s necessary. They are beautiful ghosts, and we must honor them before we can fully embrace the woman we have become.

You were a warrior in the bright light of crisis. I am a gardener in the quiet, slow dawn of survival, tending to the scarred but fertile soil you left me.

So, thank you. Thank you for fighting so hard for this future, even when it felt hopeless. Thank you for every class you attended, every page you turned, every tear you swallowed. You did it. You gave us a life. I won’t promise you that it will all be easy from here. That would be a lie. But I can promise you this… it is definitely worth it. The joy is worth the pain. The peace is worth the struggle. And the love is worth the loss.

You taught me that the will to live is not just about the heart beating in your chest, but about the soul firing in your eyes. You taught me that life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain, even if the dance is slow and painful.

When I can’t get out of bed, I will try to remember the feel of a textbook in your hands. When the pain is overwhelming, I will remember the fire in your belly that burned hotter than any fever. I will draw a line from your courage then to my perseverance now.

We are the same person, you and I. The same relentless and stubborn spirit in different seasons of the same storm. You are not a stranger I’ve lost. You are the seed from which I grew. I am still here because you refused to give up. And I, in your honor, will refuse to give in.

With all my love, and all the strength you lent me,
Your Older Self

Story written by: Mutshidzi

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Imagine this… a wide, clear blue African sky above you with the horizon that disappears behind the green hills and mountains, in a village filled with old, interesting stories passed down through generations. This is where I come from. My roots are fixed deep in the red most fertile soil that helped me grow. There, time moved with the wind and the Sun, not the clock. Our elders talked in wise sayings and idioms, teaching us about life from their perspective… the only one they knew. Respect runs within our blood, it’s part of who we are. And at night, the stars shine so bright, that they feel close enough to touch. For 18 years my village was my world.

For years, I introduced myself with an apology. I thought my worth was tied to my struggles… the poverty that shadowed my childhood, the doubts that whispered I would never be more than where I came from. I wore my hardships like a name tag as if they were the only thing worth saying about me.

But life has a way of teaching you lessons when you least expect it. I remember one evening, as I sat by the fire with my mother, she told me an old Venda folktale about a baobab tree. “The baobab”, she said “stands tall not because it encounters no storms, but because its roots go deep. The wind may bend it, but it never breaks”  She looked at me, her eyes full of quiet knowing. “You, my child, are like that tree”

Something shifted inside me that night. I began to see my life differently. Yes, I came from a village where opportunities were scarce, where dreams often withered before they could bloom. But I also came from a place of immense beauty, where kindness and respect were a currency, where laughter was medicine, and where the land itself seemed to whisper, You belong here.

As a gentle reminder to myself, I started writing my thoughts, feelings, affirmations, and experiences in a journal… not to escape my story, or silence my voice, but to claim it. At first, my words were shaky and uncertain. But with every page, I grew stronger and became better and better. I wrote about the scent of rain on dry soil, the way my mother sang while cooking early in the morning, and the stubborn hope that clung to my bones even on the hardest days. Slowly, I realized that my voice mattered. Not despite my past, but because of it.

There was a moment… one I’ll never forget when I stood at a crossroads (before I knew what the word crossroads even meant). An opportunity came – an acceptance letter to study in the coastal city approximately 1600 km away from home, far from everything I ever knew. Fear and doubt nearly paralyzed me. What if I fail? What if they see a village girl and nothing more? And what if I am not good enough for that new world? But then I heard my mother’s voice: “The baobab does not fear the wind. It holds on to the hope of a better future.”

So, there I was, 19 years young, bravely journeying to the Southern coastal city by myself. I embarked on a journey that has forever changed my life. One that has made me a better person today. It wasn’t easy. There were days I felt like an outsider, days I questioned whether I deserved to be there over and over again. But I carried my roots with me… in my heart, in my words, in the quiet strength my family had planted in me. And that made all the difference. Today, when I speak, when I write, I do it for the little girl I once was – the one who thought her circumstances defined her. I do it for anyone who has ever felt too small, too unseen, too bound by where they come from.

Because here’s the truth… Your roots are your power. The struggles, the joys, the love, the losses, they don’t limit who you are. They prepare you. They give you a story no one else can tell. So let me reintroduce myself, not as someone who overcame her past, but as someone who honors it.

I am a Survivor, a Fighter. I am the voice of a village that taught me true strength. I am the dreams my ancestors whispered into the hollering wind. I am the product of my mother’s fasting prayers. I am proof that where you start does not decide where you finish. And if a girl from the poorest South African village outskirts can rise, so can you. Because the world isn’t waiting for you to be perfect. It’s waiting for you to be “brave”. It is time to reintroduce yourself.

Written By Mutshidzi Kwinda
Born and raised: in South Africa ����, Limpopo, Venda Tribe, Ubva Ha-Makhuvha

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“I began my journey as a dreamer—curious, passionate, and deeply rooted in the desire to uplift others. Even as a child, I was known for always advising my siblings, often misunderstood as being “too forward”. But my intentions were always anchored in love, wisdom beyond my years, and an innate drive to see people grow.

My love for self-development and speaking was ignited early on, shaped by the powerful words of Les Brown, whose quotes I devoured as a young reader. Yet, like many transformative journeys, mine wasn’t without obstacles. One defining moment in junior school was when I froze in front of the entire assembly while delivering a presentation. That moment of fear and vulnerability could have silenced me, but it became a turning point. Today, I face that memory with resilience, using it as fuel to become the confident speaker and motivator I continuously evolve into. I know I am more than my past traumas and fears. I am becoming the best version of myself daily.

My voice has found a home on Life On The Other Side of My Perspective, a podcast I host where I invite industry experts, speakers, and coaches to share stories that inspire personal and professional transformation. I am also a poet and writer whose journey was nurtured by teachers who believed in my talent early on. Their encouragement propelled me to pursue creative writing not just as a passion but as a tool for healing, first for myself and now for others.

Today, I am a Creative Writer for Instinctively Beyond Magazine and the proud author of Poetry From Within, published by Poetry Planet Publishing House. I am a dedicated writer, podcaster, poet, researcher, wellness, and transformational coach who uses her creative and professional platforms to contribute to personal and communal development. This collection earned me the Best Poet Award at the 5th OPHIR Awards for Writers 2025 in the Philippines. My journey as a creative writer and speaker continues to unfold with purpose.
Beyond writing and podcasting, I am deeply committed to community empowerment. I currently serve as the G100 Club Botswana Country Chair – Youth Engagement Wing, using my platform to engage and inspire the next generation of leaders.

My work spans storytelling, poetry, and holistic wellness, reflecting a commitment to meaningful engagement with individuals and communities.
My poetry was featured in international anthologies, and I collaborate with local artists to merge literary and visual arts. My upcoming booklet includes recent poems and selected works from my anthology contributions, complemented by commissioned digital artworks from local artists. I regularly perform at Travelodge Poetry Nights, held on the last Thursday of each month, using these opportunities to expand my craft through recitation. My recent feature in Tlhakakgolo Literary Journal and Poetry Journal (Nigeria) marks a growing presence within Botswana’s literary scene and a focus on local and international collaborations.

This work led to my nomination for the Founder of the Year Africa Awards 2024 in the Social Founder of the Year and Healthpreneur of the Year categories. I have been awarded Global 2024 under Healthpreneur of the Year. With more nominations surfacing, Social Founder Of The Year, Most Promising Founder of The Year, and Founder of The Year, under Founder of The Year Awards-Southern Africa 2025.

My recent nomination is for Best Young Poetry and Book Writer under the Youth In Business Awards in Tanzania. I have also been nominated for Leading Women in Africa and listed among the Top 30 Africa’s Leading Women 2025 by Crest Africa. On February 28th, 2025, I was honored with an introduction as a Botswana Country Chair for the G100 Club Wing under Youth Enterprise, Empowerment, and Leadership.

My journey is a testament to progress in motion—proof that greatness is not a destination but a continuous unfolding. Today, I stand not only as a voice of purpose but as a symbol of what is possible when we embrace who we are and pursue what we are meant to become.

I am greatness in progress—and we, as a global community, are rising together for greater impact.”

Written by: Ophadile

Instagram

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Larona Tlhobogang is a gifted poet who uses her words to impart wisdom, healing, and inspiration to those who read her work. With a deep love for books and learning, Larona is an avid seeker of knowledge, constantly looking to gain new insights and perspectives from others.

As a passionate advocate for mental health, Larona recognizes the importance of emotional and psychological well-being. Her commitment to this cause has led her to pursue a career in nursing, where she can provide holistic care and support to individuals in need.

Larona’s dedication to her craft and her community is matched only by her devotion to her family. As a mother living in Gaborone, Botswana, she strives to balance her personal and professional life while nurturing her loved ones.

Through her poetry, Larona aims to share her own experiences, hopes, and fears, in the hopes of connecting with others and fostering a sense of community and understanding. Her words are proof of the transformative power of art and the human spirit.

Instagram: Lalla Tlhobogang

Facebook: Larona Tlhobogang

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When I was 19, I received a life-altering diagnosis. The doctors called it soft tissue sarcoma. The tumour spanned from my pelvis to my knee, entangling itself with every soft tissue it could reach, including the sciatic nerve. The treatment plan was aggressive and unrelenting: radiation, surgery, chemotherapy, followed by more surgery and radiation. Each phase brought its own set of challenges. Still, the surgery was particularly harrowing – especially because the tumour was inseparable from the sciatic nerve, which led to a complex and painful removal process that left me with a lasting disability and severe chronic pain.

The chronic pain I endure, still to date, is a constant reminder of my battle. It radiates from my lower back, leading down to my leg and foot, making every step an insurmountable ordeal. Some days, the pain is a little ache; on others, it feels like a relentless, burning fire that nothing can extinguish. The simplest tasks can become gruelling efforts at any given moment. Walking, standing, even sitting for extended periods is excruciating.

Living with chronic pain and disability has taken a significant psychological toll on me. There are days when everything is conspiring against me, making life seem impossibly hard. The constant discomfort and the limitations imposed by my condition often lead to feelings of frustration and despair. Most of us can agree that it is challenging to maintain a positive outlook when pain is your constant companion. Nonetheless, I’ve learnt to find strength in the small wins and moments of relief.

Over the years, I’ve developed various coping mechanisms to manage my pain and maintain some facade of a normal life. Physical and occupational therapy has become a staple in my routine, helping to alleviate some of the discomfort and improve my mobility – one step at a time. Also, on days when I can barely leave the room, I try mindfulness, prayer and journaling to help manage the mental strain that accompanies the pain. While these strategies don’t completely take away, they provide me with tools to cope and continue moving forward with a little bit of ease.

On the other hand, as a pharmacist, my personal experience with chronic pain has profoundly influenced my professional life. I have a deeper empathy for my patients, particularly those dealing with chronic conditions. My first-hand knowledge of pain management has made me a better healthcare provider, as I can offer not only medical advice but also emotional support and understanding from my experience. However, there are days when balancing my own health needs with the demands of my profession feels emotionally overwhelming due to the trauma imposed.

Despite the numerous challenges, my journey has been one of courage, strength and hope. I’ve discovered an inner fortitude I never knew I had. Each day, I strive to find purpose and meaning, whether it’s through helping my patients, advocating for better pain management, or simply finding joy in small, everyday moments. My experiences have taught me the importance of tenacity and the value of support from friends, family, and colleagues.

Living with chronic neuropathic and cancer pain is an ongoing battle, one that requires constant adaptation and strong faith. At 28, I continue to go through the complexities of my condition, drawing on the strength I’ve gained over the years. I don’t know where this journey leads, but I remain steadfast in faith, knowing that I am never alone, even in the darkest moments, even when it hurts the most. I will keep holding on to God.

Written by Mutshidzi Kwinda

The post My Journey with Chronic Pain appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

My name is Zwelihle Banks Nsiiwa. I used to work as a house helper and am now an author of educational children’s books available in 7 languages. After my sister passed away, I became the guardian of her two kids, aged 5 and 9, and had to work hard to support them. I am grateful for the support I received from others during those difficult times.

Despite the challenges, I managed to save a small amount of money each month and eventually enrolled in college. I earned certificates in Public Relations, followed by a diploma and advanced studies in Public Relations, Marketing, and Advertising. Later, I received a scholarship to pursue a degree in Broadcasting & Journalism, and then another scholarship to pursue my Master’s degree.

Alongside my studies, I started writing and publishing books, which I later translated into seven languages. It’s been a journey of tears, faith, prayer, pain, joy, hard work, and grace. I have experienced the hand of God, and I truly believe that anyone can receive a miracle from God.

Recently, I was honoured to be named among the 100 African Fashion and Arts Personalities of 2024 and was also appointed as the Botswana ‘Country Manager’ For The Iconic Brand Africa.

I truly believe that everything happened by the grace of God. I want to encourage anyone who comes across my story to have faith in God’s perfect timing and to persistently work toward their goals. One day, you too, will be able to share your own story of triumph. Don’t lose hope.

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Betty Kakoma, a nominee for the esteemed SDG1 Advocate of the Year award, is a young journalist and humanitarian advocate. She currently serves as a presenter at Radio Christian Voice, where she tirelessly works towards building strong communities. 

Her proactive involvement in initiatives advocating for sustainable development goals has been particularly focused on combatting poverty within communities in Zambia and worldwide. Betty has established collaborative partnerships with numerous organisations, including 2410 Media Network on Child Rights and Development, Advocacy for Child Justice, Zambian Voice, the Global Youth Network, Courageous Youth Team, and Heavenly World Peace Restoration of Light. 

Betty’s impact goes beyond the local level, as she has participated in national dialogues and outreach programs at both local and international levels. Her tireless efforts have been vital in not only conceptualizing but also executing programs and projects aimed at eradicating poverty and fostering sustainable development.

In her role as a youth mentor, Betty has positively impacted over 100 young individuals, furthering her commitment to community development. She has been actively engaged in activities such as national election sensitization and monitoring, policy dialogue meetings, community outreach, and research reporting programs. Her dedication to advocating for sustainable development goals, governance, and peace journalism has resulted in tangible policy changes and the establishment of robust global networks.

Betty’s passion and dedication to effecting meaningful change crosses borders, and she continues to be a fervent advocate for the sustainability and development of vulnerable communities.

To support Betty, please use the details on the poster above to vote for her.

Facebook: Beatrice Kakoma

Instagram: beatricekakoma

YT:bettykakoma8910

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Poem:

I am a career woman yet I’m passionate about my possibilities

In a tightrope between career and passion 

I am worthy of a good future

I am worthy of success

I am worthy of making it in life

I know the importance and have lived the career steps, yet I’m passionate about my possibilities

I am a career woman but my passion over clouds the society’s expectations 

I am a career woman yet I’m passionate about my possibilities

In a tightrope between career and passion  

All the school lessons and society’s definition of success draws me to confusion

I know my passion

I understand what I’m passionate of

I get joy and fulfillment when following my passion

My passion is my solution to life

Many are touched through my passion as opposed to my career serving just my boss and ticking the box

The ring is so loud that I have to follow my passion

I am a career woman yet I’m passionate about my possibilities

In a tightrope between career and passion  

Destiny drawn through life trials

My focus is influenced by joy

Passion taking over and coming to success

Effortless activities yet many lives are touched

I am a career woman but my passion over clouds the society’s expectations.

I am a career woman, yet I am passionate about my possibilities

Poem by: Nonhlanhla Vilakazi

Socials: Tattooed_ corporate_ bae (Instagram)

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Meet Taonga Jeka from Malawi, a creative writer, Journalism in Development communication student and a spoken word artist aged 21. This is her story…

In March this year, around 4 pm, I was walking past Mtwalo apartment in Mzuzu City, Malawi, when a car approached me. Inside, I saw Indian ladies, and one of them leaned out of the window and complimented me in Chichewa, the local language, “Sis, you look beautiful; I like your outfit,” I smiled and gave her a thumbs up. As the car drove at a distance, she shouted, “Hey, you black, you stinking, go and change your clothes!.”

I felt furious and went back to the apartment, where I found a black security guard. I told him I wanted to meet the Indian lady who had insulted me, “This is my country, and I am a freeborn citizen. I shouldn’t be disrespected because of my skin colour.” The guard apologized on her behalf and claimed she had left and that she had always been like that. I warned him that I would report her for bullying and insults next time.

That same day, I wrote a poem entitled “Am Black.”

I am Black

I am black, but that doesn’t mean I am worthless.

It’s just the melanin shining on me.

I wear my skin with pride,

With courage and honour.

Thoughts and strength engulf us

As pure Africans,

My heritage, a treasure I will hold.

I learn through pain,

Despite the rain.

I have no umbrella,

But I have hope I will be there.

You may take away my smile,

Judge my looks,

But I am still the rising sun.

I will still dance to the beat of my drum,

For I am free.

You say I smell

Because I am black,

But I am blessed.

Through the same scent, I attract.

It’s who I am.

For I am not weak,

And my voice will never be silenced.

Honour and respect shall follow me

As I cherish my skin with pride.

I am proudly African.

I am proudly Black.

~ By @Scribbler Tao Jeka 

Two days later, my university mates, beautiful black ladies, returned from their outing, looking upset and angry. Their clothes were wet with dirty water. They told me that they had been passing by Mtwalo apartment when an Indian family’s car drove towards them, splashing stagnant rainwater on them despite having enough space to pass. They followed the car to the apartment and confronted the occupants, who they believed were racist like some other Indians in the area.

My question remains, ” Is it because we are black that we have to face this torture?.”

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My name is Tsholofelo Mahlangu, and I live in Poortjie. I grew up in Mabopane, Pretoria, and have many fond memories from my childhood there. I have been a teacher for 20 years, specializing in social and natural sciences. Throughout my career, I have had the opportunity to work with various communities in Tshwane, my hometown. I am passionate about developing literacy projects and implementing blended learning programs, such as coding and robotics, in the communities I work with.

I am also a member of 02 Green in Poortjie, a role that has allowed me to connect with people, initiate positive change, and pursue my aspirations. Though I initially perceived Poortjie as more of an informal settlement compared to Pretoria, I have grown to appreciate the community and have called it home for many years.

The transformation of Poortjie through the tree sector has captivated me. Witnessing the development and introduction of greenery and beauty to the community has been remarkable. While I have a heart for teaching and nurturing young minds, I find great purpose in engaging in community-based projects. I am grateful for the opportunities I have had to be part of meaningful change through projects like those supported by 02 Green.

My passion lies in being a force for positive change within the community and making a difference in the lives of the next generation.

My social handles: Tentswalote@gmail.com

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