The following is a transcript of the proceedings at the launch of Mpho Nchabeleng‘s “The Lion of the North: Peter Nchabeleng, his family and the national liberation struggle” on 29 May 2025.
Indeed Pretoria Got Roaring!
What. A. Night. The book, recently published by Brandhill Africa, shook Pretoria with passion, purpose, and pure power! Coming hot on the heels of the trailblazing launches in Polokwane and Mamelodi, this exclusive gathering was nothing short of electrifying.
With Groovin Nchabeleng as the director of the programme and Sibusiso Mabaso of VW revving up the welcome as our host, the evening kicked off in style.
Former South Africa’s Consul-General to Shanghai, Lassy Chiwayo, brought warmth and dignity as he spoke on behalf of the Nchabeleng family, while media maven and health ministry wordsmith Sello Lediga lit up the room with a dynamic author conversation.
As the publisher, Saul Molobi reflected on the importance of telling our stories, our way — and in stepped Morudu Phetla with heartfelt thanks that wrapped the formalities with a bow.
The mic drop? None other than liberation stalwart Tokyo Sexwale, who gave a soul-stirring keynote address that took us back to the trenches — from MK military training to his underground work with Peter Nchabeleng, and the infamous Pretoria 12 trial. His message was loud and clear: “Don’t obsess over how he died. Celebrate what he lived and fought for – a united, free, and economically just South Africa.”
The room was buzzing with the who’s who — powerhouses from government, business, civil society, and diplomacy. We were honoured to have Deputy Minister Cassel Mathale and H.E. Ayşegül Kandaş, former Turkish Ambassador, among our esteemed guests.
If the spirit of “The Lion of the North” was ever meant to roar again, it did in this event — right in the heart of Pretoria.
Here follows the slightly edited transcript of the proceedings:
Groovin Nchabeleng, Programme Director: Honouring “The Lion of the North” — Peter Nchabeleng
Ladies and gentlemen, friends, comrades, and esteemed guests,
Before we invite our next speaker to the podium, allow me to briefly reflect on the remarkable life and legacy of a towering figure in our liberation struggle – Peter Nchabeleng, affectionately and rightfully known as “The Lion of the North.”
This title was not bestowed lightly. It was earned through unwavering leadership, fearless activism, and unshakable commitment to justice – particularly in the northern Transvaal, now known as Limpopo. Born in 1928 in our ancestral village of Sekhukhune, Nchabeleng was deeply involved from an early age in the liberation movement, long before it had even fully taken shape in the national consciousness.
He played a significant role in the resistance campaigns of the 1950s. In 1958, he led organising efforts in the region and became one of the key recruits and leaders of uMkhonto we Sizwe, the armed wing of the ANC. His activities as a section commander in Pretoria, and his role in mobilising communities, made him a target of the apartheid authorities.
His activism led to numerous imprisonments, including a prolonged period in solitary confinement and ultimately, eight years on Robben Island. Upon his release, he was banished to his hometown, but even this could not extinguish his revolutionary spirit. From exile, he continued to support and organise underground ANC activities with quiet determination and unmatched courage.
In 1983, he became the inaugural Chairperson of the United Democratic Front (UDF) in the northern Transvaal. His leadership helped solidify the region’s role in the broader liberation movement. His home became a command centre – indeed, a political sanctuary – where the youth, community members, and organisations gathered to resist apartheid.
Tragically, on the 11th of April 1986, Peter Nchabeleng died in police custody after being severely beaten. His death sparked widespread protest and a wave of boycotts across the country. It ignited the flames of defiance that further galvanised the liberation movement.
The Lion of the North is more than a title. It is a legacy. It symbolises courage, resilience, and principled leadership in the face of brutal oppression. It reflects the soul of a man whose roar for justice still echoes through the valleys of Sekhukhune and the hearts of all freedom-loving people across South Africa.
This legacy lives on in his family – most notably in his son, who bears his name and now tells his story in the biography The Lion of the North: Peter Nchabeleng, His Family and the National Liberation Struggle in South Africa.
In our communities, to be called “Tau” or “The Lion” is not simply a nickname. It’s a declaration. It means you are expected to lead, to protect, to endure, and to inspire. When times were tough, our elders would say, “Ke Tau – You are a lion. Soldier on.” And that is exactly the spirit Peter Nchabeleng instilled in all of us.
And so today, as we honour his name, let us remember the attributes the lion symbolises: fearlessness, strength, resilience – and above all, leadership.
On that note, it is my honour to now call upon Lassy to give a few words of welcome on behalf of the Nchabeleng family. Thank you.
Welcome Remarks by Sibusiso Mabaso – Dealer Principal, VW & JAC Menlyn
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,
My name is Sibusiso Mabaso, and I have the privilege of serving as the Dealer Principal for both VW and JAC Menlyn. On behalf of our entire team, I am truly delighted to welcome you to our dealership this evening.
It is both an honour and a source of great pride for us to host the official launch of The Lion of the North, authored by Mr. Mpho Nchabeleng. This is not just a book — it is a powerful and timely contribution to the collective memory and identity of our nation. It is a story of courage, conviction, and visionary leadership — a timeless message that resonates deeply with our current moment.
When I first met Mr. Nchabeleng at the gym, I was struck by more than just his physical discipline. There was a quiet intensity about him — a clear focus, a strong sense of purpose, and a powerful vision rooted in something greater than himself. As I came to learn about the journey behind this book, I was moved and inspired. I knew immediately that this was a story worth championing, and a milestone worth celebrating with our wider community.
At VW and JAC Menlyn, we pride ourselves not only on moving vehicles, but on moving people — emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. We are committed to creating platforms that support stories, voices, and values that elevate our society. Opening our doors this evening is part of that commitment — to foster dialogue, celebrate excellence, and amplify messages that matter.
Tonight, we are here to honour more than just a book — we are here to honour a legacy. A voice. A journey. One that speaks to the heart of leadership, resilience, and the enduring spirit of African greatness.
Thank you for joining us. May you enjoy the evening, engage with the message, and leave here feeling as inspired as we have been in supporting this remarkable moment.
Let us celebrate “The Lion of the North” together.
Thank you.
Lassy Chiwayo: The Fire We Inherited – Remembering Peter Nchabeleng
Thank you, Groovin.
Quite a few people have approached me, asking what makes me qualified to speak on behalf of the family. As my comrade, brother, and cousin COVID has already mentioned, probably more than half of the audience here today might be Nchabelengs — and I am indeed a member of the Nchabeleng family.
I was raised by a grandmother who taught me something I want to share before I proceed. In 1905, a woman named Magdalene Matutu Malome — affectionately known as Mamaila — was born. She gave birth to Hannah Mamaila wa Ntau, who was my mother. She was married to Albert Nchabeleng, the younger brother of Peter Nchabeleng. That makes me a Nchabeleng.
Many people, including Comrade Tokyo, may have always known me as Chiwayo — but here’s the interesting part: the very person who raised him like a son was the same person who handed us over to him. We were arrested around the same time Peter Nchabeleng was killed in detention. When we got to Robben Island, he was the first to receive us. I was leading a group of about eight or eleven comrades — I was the youngest — and he tried to discourage us from embarking on a hunger strike I had initiated that same day.
When we arrived, we found him eating what was called amakhowe — something like artificial mushrooms. We protested and said: “No, we burned these in the prisons we came from”. For us, aligning with the ANC meant rejecting that kind of treatment. We had to recognise the leadership already imprisoned.
As he was about to leave, maybe without knowing the effect of his words, I went back to the group I had incited and said: “Leadership is not only in prison. There were women fighting in the streets. We were leaders to our parents and communities too”. We continued, but we were called to order and we suspended the strike.
Comrade Tokyo, welcome. And thank you to everyone here.
My grandmother taught us that there are three very important things in the hierarchy of life.
The first is that which you cannot see. She said human beings, by their nature, cannot penetrate the unknown. And perhaps we’ll only see it at the end of our life’s journey. The thing about the unseen is that you may become aware that you’re about to leave this world, but you won’t be able to return and describe it to those still living.
The second is memory. She said that while we may think things like rocks are lifeless, they too have memory. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t expand or contract when exposed to heat or cold. Memory connects the past to the present.
The third is identity — a name. Everything that exists has an identity. The name Nchabeleng, which we speak of today, is one such name. And it’s through memory that we are brought here — to remember, to honour, to pass it forward.
Memory helps us remember where we come from, where we are, and where we are going. Without it, we are lost. It helps us understand the present and illuminates the path to the future.
We are here because we refuse to let the memory of this giant — Ramogolo (uncle/my father’s elder brother) Nchabeleng — fade away. And that’s one of the big challenges we face.
In my previous life, I was head of mission during my last posting in China. Many ambassadors based in Pretoria would ask: “Who are all these people who made it possible for South Africa to be free?” And there lies the problem.
There’s been — and I say this respectfully, Comrade Tokyo, who was close to Madiba — a Mandela-isation of the struggle. It’s as if only one name brought us freedom. That’s why occasions like this are so important: they allow us to restore the names of many others who made critical contributions.
People like Ephraim Mogale, Peter Mokaba, and others were instrumental in the 1976 uprisings and recruiting youth into the ranks of the armed struggle.
As a family, we’ve also hosted a gathering — the first of its kind — that brought together about 400 members of the “Young Lions” generation. Many of them were touched by the leadership of Peter Nchabeleng. People like Saul Molobi, who is here today, helped raise us.
Comrade Mpho, welcome — and thank you all for this very important initiative. This isn’t the end. It’s just one of a series of launches. At the next one, the family will make concrete announcements about future plans — including a documentary, which is already being captured by the livestream and cameras present today.
We want to uncover and share more about the heroism and contributions of Peter Nchabeleng and the broader family. For instance, Aus Pinky — who passed away — was a mayor in Sekhukhune. Her leadership shows that the legacy of this family is ongoing.
And here’s another example from history: how many of you know that one of the first African converts to Christianity came from the Nchabeleng family? This lineage contributed to the early Lutheran church and, through it, to the development of education in South Africa — from mission schools to teacher colleges to universities.
These are the stories we hope to tell.
Thank you so much.
Welcome.
Q&A: Writing a Life of Struggle and Legacy
An intimate dialogue between author Mpho Nchabeleng and political commentator Sello Lediga at the launch of the biography, “The Lion of the North: Peter Nchabeleng, His Family and the National Liberation Struggle in South Africa”
Sello Lediga:
Let me begin with a question that’s on everyone’s mind: What inspired or motivated you to write this book?
Mpho Nchabeleng:
Thank you, Comrade Lediga. Before I respond, allow me to acknowledge those in attendance: my wife and children, who supported me through the long process of writing this book. My heartfelt gratitude also goes to Comrade Tokyo Sexwale and his wife for gracing us with their presence; Cassel Mathale, our Deputy Minister of Police; Imitiaz Fazel, the Inspector General of Intelligence, who is my former boss; and former colleagues from both the Office of the Inspector General and those in the Civil Service – I am sure Mr Ramabulana will be happy with that description. I’m also honoured to be joined by the Director-General of the Limpopo Provincial Government in the Premier’s Office, and of course, Imitiaz Cajee – who was instrumental in pushing me to write this book. He mentored me and even featured me as a speaker at the Apartheid Museum after publishing his own book.
Now, to answer your question directly: my inspiration comes from a deeply personal place. Peter Nchabeleng was not only a struggle icon, but he was also my father and my mentor. I grew up helping him draft letters and political documents. Writing was a responsibility the family entrusted to me early on.
But the actual push to write came much later. I realised there was limited information about my father, even online. His name was missing in a list of commemorations for liberation heroes – that really struck me. I realised I could no longer wait for someone else to write about him or our family. It was our story, and I had to tell it. This is part of a broader trend: those who lived the experience, the eyewitnesses, are now documenting history from within.
Writing it was not easy. Work and studies delayed me, and the research was intense. But I saw it as an honour and a duty – and in the end, I managed to complete it.
Sello Lediga:
Indeed, it reads as more than just a biography. It’s deeply personal, and at times, painful. We learn, for instance, that your family members couldn’t even attend your father’s funeral. Can you share how emotionally taxing the writing process was for you?
Mpho Nchabeleng:
Writing this book was a journey of mixed emotions – laughter, tears, and moments where I had to step away from the manuscript to gather myself. I kept most of it to myself, even from my family. They knew I was writing, but not the emotional toll it took.
One particularly painful discovery was a court record from the 1960s. My father was on trial, and the lawyer pleaded for bail, citing his pregnant wife. That unborn child was me. Reading that was overwhelming – I had to stop and take a breath.
Then there was the loss of our family home in Atteridgeville after my father was sent to Robben Island. My mother was left homeless with children to care for. She wrote a heartbreaking letter to my father: “I am in the street. I have no house.” That letter, and many others, revealed her own quiet suffering. In December 1966, she suffered a mental breakdown and was institutionalised for three years. When she was released in 1969, she wrote again to my father to say, “I am healed. Our children are well. I am back.”
Our family faced poverty, banishment, and constant police harassment. Yet, amid all of that, we found strength and purpose. My siblings and I were active in the struggle from a young age. My brother Luthuli – named after Chief Albert Luthuli – eventually went into exile and became one of MK’s best soldiers. We each had roles. Even the police became so familiar, we joked about their constant raids.
Sello Lediga:
That’s incredibly powerful. You’ve written a book about family, but it’s also about the liberation struggle. How did you strike the balance between personal storytelling and political history?
Mpho Nchabeleng:
Our personal lives were inseparable from the struggle. The two were one and the same. Every day in our household revolved around political activity. My father was heavily involved in underground operations – even while under surveillance. He gave each of us tasks. I helped him write. Elleck was the runner. Maurice was the technical brain. Our home was not just a family home – it was an operations base.
Writing this book meant capturing that reality: how one family became a microcosm of the broader liberation movement. I wanted to reflect how ordinary people – our mothers, fathers, children – lived the struggle not only as political activists but as human beings facing love, pain, hope, and loss.
Sello Lediga:
Looking back now with hindsight, is there anything you feel you left out, or perhaps should have expanded on?
Mpho Nchabeleng:
Yes, hindsight always reveals gaps. While the book centres on Peter Nchabeleng and our family, I feel I could have expanded on the Sekhukhune Youth Organisation (SAYO). It’s currently just a chapter, but it deserves more. That youth movement played a crucial role in mobilising our region during the 1980s.
There are other comrades, not just in our family, who made extraordinary sacrifices. This book was meant to honour one legacy, but I now believe it should form part of a broader literary project. I’m already thinking about a second book – one that focuses on the uprisings in Sekhukhuneland and other forgotten chapters of our people’s history.
Sello Lediga:
That excites me – and I’m sure many in this room too. You’ve reminded us of a profound truth: our history must be written by us. So many of us, even when we have the stories, don’t believe we can write them. But you’ve done it. That alone is inspirational.
For those who haven’t read it yet: this is not just a story about the past – it’s a deeply personal and painfully beautiful reflection of a family that lived through apartheid with courage, resilience, and dignity. You’ll be poorer for not reading it.
Before we close, please share your final thoughts with us.
Mpho Nchabeleng:
Thank you, Comrade Sello – and thank you all for listening.
I hope this book inspires you. I believe in the power of storytelling to uplift and empower. We must read each other’s stories, support each other’s writing journeys. Earlier today, someone from Transnet told me he wrote a book – I immediately said I want to read it! And as he bought mine, we discussed ideas for future projects.
That’s the spirit I want to cultivate: a community of writers, thinkers, and doers. Let’s write our own histories – let’s tell our own truths.
Thank you.
Tokyo Sexwale: Let Me Tell You About What Peter Nchabeleng Lived For
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you for inviting me to this very important occasion. I came tonight for a few reasons. First, because Deputy Minister of Police, Cassel Mathale, is here – so we’re covered legally! Nobody’s getting arrested, so relax.
But more than anything, I came because tonight matters. It’s not just a book launch. It’s a moment of memory. A moment of legacy. A moment of resistance. This is a literary evening. And in Africa, literature is political. It is personal. It is historical. It is necessary.
Writing truth is resistance. Chronicling our stories is power. If we don’t tell our stories, we will be forgotten.
Let’s be honest, blackness is still being questioned in this world. Our identity is vulnerable, especially when we forget who we are. We must speak from this continent. From our experience. From our truth.
I must admit, I almost didn’t want to come – not because I didn’t care, but because I feared it might turn into yet another funeral-like remembrance. We live in an age where it has become common, almost expected, to speak about people only in funeral tones – “he was a leader, he was a thinker, he struggled” – until these words lose their meaning. We must move beyond hollow tributes. We must speak of what he lived for.
Yes, tonight is not about how he died. It’s about what he lived for.
Tonight is also a night of remembrance for African intellectual giants. Yesterday, we lost one of the greatest literary minds of our continent, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. A Kenyan titan. A writer who chose to write in his indigenous Gikuyu language, even after achieving global acclaim in English. He wrote “Weep Not, Child”, “The River Between”, “A Grain of Wheat”, and so many more. His work captured our dignity, our struggles, our dreams.
But how many of our children know Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o? Mention Shakespeare, and everyone nods. Mention Ngũgĩ – and even some of our academics hesitate. That’s a tragedy. Because we have adopted the White House, while forgetting the Black House. And in doing so, we have started to lose ourselves.
I also want to honour another African voice – one who wrote “Diary from the South Africa Prison”. He, like many of us, went through the harsh realities of apartheid’s underground. That’s Dr Tshenuwani Farisani. That title of his book alone tells you the depth of his experience. We read that book because many of us – like Chavez, like Saul, like myself – lived through similar circumstances: the trauma of war, the bitterness of exile, the pain of imprisonment. His words are testimony.
Let us not forget another Saul – a biblical one – who changed his name to Paul after being transformed. A man who once persecuted others but became a prisoner of Christ. While in jail, Paul wrote Galatians, Ephesians, Romans, Corinthians. In Ephesians 6:2 he reminds us: “Honour thy father and mother so that your days may be long.” Tonight, we honour not just an author, but our entire ancestral lineage.
We learned a lot from Japan. There’s a story about a samurai. After a battle, the emperor asked, “How did you survive?” He said, “Let me tell you what I lived for.”
That’s what we must do. We must say: this is what he lived for.
Books are written not just for knowledge, but for legacy, for memory, for truth. They carry our philosophies, our ideologies. Karl Marx once said, “Philosophers have only interpreted the world. The point, however, is to change it.”
So, let’s talk about activism.
We can write, we can idealise, we can reflect – but we must also act. We must change our environments. We must change ourselves. Our problem is not just an African problem – it is a European problem.
For 500 years, Europe came to our shores, looking for resources. They came here. And our first great task was to defend our land. The wars of dispossession were fought. And still, we say: The land is ours.
This is not a slogan – it is a truth. It is painful, but necessary. Because unless we write our own stories, others will write them for us – and distort them.
We stand in solidarity with Palestine. We understand genocide. We live the scars of colonisation and erasure. Don’t victimise the victims.
After 1912, we tried a new way – the ANC was formed. But after 1948, we were forced into another war. Our fathers were part of that decision. They chose to fight. Now, in the age of Parliament, we must ask: Where is the land? Where are our resources? Where is our dignity?
The jury is out. We have not yet won that battle.
If we don’t stand up, we leave nothing. We lose our legacy. We become slaves in our own country.
You must tell your story. From generation to generation. Don’t let them bury your name. Don’t let them erase your presence.
This book you hold – it’s not just a book. It’s a message. A declaration. And it must survive. In this digital age, where information travels at the speed of light, we must ensure our truths are not erased by misinformation and fake news.
The man whose book we launch today – he’s not just a writer. He’s a child of the struggle. I met him as a boy – nine years old – when his father was hiding weapons in their home: Soviet, Cuban, Chinese-made weapons. Weapons for uMkhonto we Sizwe. That’s how far back his story goes. Their family home was a safehouse. His father worked with Joe Slovo, Moses Mabhida, and others. The unit he supported was known as the Detachment of the Lepelle Unit – camouflaged, armed, ready.
He grew up under this cloud of secrecy, of resistance. That’s why, when MK was formed in 1961, it wasn’t formed by accident. It was formed by people like him – like his father – who gave up comfort, gave up safety, and took up arms. I was there. I know. There were families that bore the cost. They organised everything: the meetings, the weapons, the hiding places. These were the original revolutionaries.
Paul – yes, that Paul – was fierce. He never suffered fools. He was straight. No sugar-coating. He was also a deeply educated man. And as someone trained in both strategy and philosophy, I tell you: his mind was sharper than most. He didn’t like public speaking, but his writing – his writing was complete.
You know, I lived in the Soviet Union. I trained in Ukraine. I’ve seen what war does. I understand what it means to fight with words when bullets have already flown. And I say to you: literature is a form of warfare. We fight with ink. We archive memory with paper. And if we don’t tell our stories, others will write them for us – and distort them.
Look at Palestine today. Our comrades there are being erased. Entire peoples wiped from memory. And we? We have been through genocide, too. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The Khoisan? Almost erased. The people of this land? Slaughtered and scattered. We know what genocide looks like because we have survived it.
So let me say this loudly: The land is ours. This what Advocate Tembeka Ngcukaitobi says too.
Yes, we can share with those who came later. But don’t get it twisted – the land is ours. This is not a slogan. It’s not rhetoric. It is a statement of truth. If we don’t say it, someone else will write a different history.
The author’s father was part of the early resistance. The book, “The Peace and the Revolt”, chronicles that. You see, if we don’t write, others will write on our behalf – and they will lie. We must pass our stories from mouth to mouth, generation to generation. That’s heritage. That’s resistance.
This book is a call to memory. A cry against forgetting. And it comes at a time when our leadership has failed our people. Our youth unemployment is at over 40%. We have turned our backs on our people in exchange for materialism. And yet, we wonder why the house is burning.
But there’s still hope.
Our birthright is to have social prosperity, national sovereignty, and self-determination. To have borders we respect, to govern ourselves, and to shape our own futures.
We live in the information age. A time when books must now compete with tweets, reels, fake news, disinformation campaigns, and social media influencers who know nothing of truth. That’s why your book must fight to survive in a world that moves at the speed of light.
All the books ever written now fit into the cloud, into your phone. This book must enter that space and hold its ground. We are in a war of narratives – and unless we keep our truths alive, we will be erased.
Let me say this finally: he may not be a great orator, but the author is a magnificent writer. His word is complete. His message is sharp. And that is why we must carry this book from hill to hill, from river to river, from city to city, from generation to generation.
This is not just a book. It is a weapon of memory. A tool of resistance. A gift to the future.
So, I end as I began.
Congratulations to the author. Congratulations to the family. And thank you – for choosing to remember.
Because in the end, the most important thing we can say is this:
Let me tell you what he lived for.
He lived for the land. He lived for truth. He lived for us.
So, we say: congratulations. Congratulations for capturing this truth. Congratulations for sharing your truth. For reminding us of what really matters.
Because if we don’t protect our stories, we will be remembered for nothing.
Let us repeat: The land is ours. We can share, yes – but we must never forget whose land it is.
So, I end by saying again: Congratulations.
Let this book live.
Let the truth live.
Let the resistance continue.
Saul Molobi: Why We Publish – Telling Africa’s Story Through Our Own Voices
Program Director, I stand on the protocols so ably established.
Let me begin by standing on the established protocol in the house and acknowledging with reverence the late Chief of State Protocol, Amb Billy Modise, who believed deeply in the principles of diplomatic protocol and etiquette.
We are gathered here today for a deeply significant occasion. Before I begin, I would like to take a moment to add my voice in honouring the late literary giant, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o and Dr Dean Tshenuwani Simon Farisani, and by also adding the third author, Morobe Morojele, who passed away last week and will be buried this coming Saturday in Lesotho. He was a towering figure in African literature and a source of immense inspiration.
May I request, Programme Director, that we observe 30 seconds of silence in their memory.
[Pause for a moment of silence]
Thank you.
Now, I might have sounded overly serious there—I scared myself a bit. But I promise I won’t be too political this evening. I come to you from the perspective of someone in the commercial space—trying to answer a very simple but important question: Why do we publish?
Well, let’s begin with a historical reflection. At the turn of the first century, Pliny the Elder wrote the phrase “Ex Africa semper aliquid novi” (Out of Africa, always something new”. This ancient recognition of Africa’s contribution to world knowledge predates the horrors that were to follow.
Fast forward to 1884–1885 and we arrive at the Berlin Conference – infamously remembered as the “Scramble for Africa.” That’s when Africa was dissected and divided into 55 territories, which are today the member states of the African Union. This was the genesis of colonialism.
Then in 1899, Joseph Conrad wrote Heart of Darkness, reinforcing colonial narratives that labeled Africa the “dark continent” – a stark contrast to Pliny’s more appreciative framing. But Africans did not remain silent.
In 1906, Pixley ka Isaka Seme, at his graduation, gave a powerful speech titled The Regeneration of Africa. He was responding to the racialised views of Africa that had taken hold in the West. Even before him, in the early 1900s, W.E.B. Du Bois convened the first Pan-African Conference in London. He later came to South Africa and became the first Black person admitted as an advocate at the Cape Town Bar.
In 1963, on the 24th of May, Kwame Nkrumah gathered African leaders in Addis Ababa to lay the foundations of continental unity. The next day, the Organisation of African Unity (OAU) was launched, and in 2002 it was rebranded as the African Union. The vision was clear: a unified Africa with shared goals – common markets, possibly one currency – and a shared destiny.
I had a conversation recently with Comrade Tokyo Sexwale who pointed out that while the United States of America was formed in 1776 and the Union of South Africa in 1910, the OAU was only born in 1963. Yet despite this late start, its mission has remained ambitious and necessary.
By 1980, African heads of state recognised the need for a formal structure to push forward this dream. That led to the birth of the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) – a framework now operational. It has taken 40 years to establish Africa’s common market. For comparison, it took Europe 72 years to form the European Union.
We are fortunate as South Africans that the first Secretary-General of the AfCFTA is one of our own Wamkele Mene. And that its Secretariat is headquartered in Ghana – a fitting tribute to Kwame Nkrumah and the Pan-African dream he championed.
So, why are we publishing? Because we must tell our own stories. Africa has been narrated through foreign lenses for far too long. Just take a glance at the dominant broadcasters on the continent: CNN, BBC, CNBCA France 24, Al Jazeera – only a handful, like Africa 24 is African-owned and led.
When I left instead publishing in 2000, I did so out of frustration. But 20 years later, I returned. I participated in a study by the Mapungubwe Institute for Strategic Reflection on the politics of publishing in South Africa. What shocked me was that the very same issues I confronted in 2000 were still unresolved.
The knowledge production value chain remains dominated by non-African entities. When we talk about the ownership of knowledge production in South Africa – and across Africa – the people benefiting the most are not the authors, musicians, or creators. It’s the book publishers and distributors who rake in the lion’s share. Authors, for instance, typically receive only 7% in royalties. That means if a book sells for R100, the author earns just R7.
Exclusive Books takes 45%, Bargain Books 40%, and Takealot also takes 40%. And it doesn’t end there – if Grooving orders a copy, I must courier it to either Cape Town or Midrand for R110. Let’s do the maths quickly: if you sell a book for R500, the author gets R35. Exclusive Books walks away with R225, and the rest goes to the publishing company. This is precisely why South Africa doesn’t have full-time writers – especially when combined with our low culture of buying books. And yes, I’m talking about us in this very room.
Another challenge is what I call “aliteracy.” While other countries battle illiteracy, in South Africa, we deal with a third phenomenon: people who can read but choose not to. Fortunately, our children are showing signs of change. There’s a growing, potentially sustainable market here. When we talk about continental integration, we’re speaking of a market of 1.4 billion consumers. The AU’s 55 member states collectively represent a GDP of 1.4 trillion US dollars. Africa has the world’s highest percentage of youth – and that is our demographic dividend. But we must leverage it. And the only way we can do that is by nurturing a culture of reading among our people.
Now, the term independent, as used to describe our publishing model, is ideologically significant. It embeds empowerment at its core. Under our model, an author doesn’t just earn 7% in royalties—they can also buy a stake in their own output and earn dividends as shareholders. That’s what sets us apart from mainstream publishers. That’s why our authors are active in promoting their own work: they know they will benefit from its success.
That’s why we publish. That’s why we distribute only 25% of print run through mainstream retailers. And that’s why we will continue to ensure inclusivity in everything we do.
We also don’t compromise on quality. There’s a common misconception that “independent” means “low standard.” That’s not the case with us. Let me tell you a story. One of our published authors, Sello Lediga, was my senior at Turfloop in the 1980s. When you registered for English 1, you were part of a class of over 1,000 students. By the time you got to English 3, fewer than 10 remained – and he was among those elite few. His book “Dodging the Civil War Bullet” is over there on the shelf. When I did the preliminary edit on his manuscript, he said, “Saul, I’m your senior. You can’t edit me!” I replied, “Let me just show you what I can do with two chapters.” Eventually, through our rigorous editorial engagement, he saw the value and appreciated the process.
Now, let me speak to our continental ambition. Africa holds a population of 1.4 billion people. A combined GDP of 1.4 trillion US dollars. That’s a vast consumer base. The AfCFTA brings 55 countries together in one continental bloc, and this is what we are preparing our children to inherit. A future where stories from Africa are told by Africans, for Africans, and the world.
As a marketer, I look at Agenda 2063 – the Africa we want, as articulated by our leadership. But I also challenge us to consider the second leg of brand management, which is brand behaviour. How do we, as Africans, behave in ways that actualise this vision? Moreover, we must engage with the Africa they want – the perceptions others have of us. That’s brand image. We must manage both perception and reality if we are to build a credible continental identity.
Since 2020, we’ve published six books:
- Sound and Fury: Chronicles of Healing by Saul Molobi with the Foreword written by Kgalema Motlanthe, former president of South Africa
- Dodging the Civil War Bullet: Nelson Mandela and South Africa’s Transition from Apartheid to Democracy by Sello Lediga with the Foreword written by Kgalema Motlanthe, former president of South Africa
- De/constructing Brand Africa: A Practitioner’s Perspective by Saul Molobi with the Foreword by Wamkele Mene, Secretary-General of the AfCFTA
- Rhythms in Black and White: A Virtual Journey Through the World of Jazz by Siphiwe Mhlambi and Saul Molobi
- The Lion of the North: Peter Nchabeleng, his family and the national liberation struggle in South Africa by Mpho Nchabeleng with the Foreword written by Tokyo Sexwale, former premier of Gauteng Province
- Chocolate Kisses: Sweet Verses in the Dance of Romance by Saul Molobi
Upcoming launches before September include:
- De/constructing Brand Authenticity: Crafting an honest narrative on brand Africa’s global ascent” by Saul Molobi with the Foreword by Cuthbert Ncube, CEO of the African Tourism Board (ATB)
We’ve got two more books launching before September. One is a tribute to Professor Mokgokong, the first black Vice Chancellor of a medical university in South Africa, authored by the MEDUNSA Class of 1982. The second is by Dr Nimrod Mbele on corporate governance in South Africa. I’ve already spoken to several potential authors. Yes, you now have a publisher – you just need to bring us your manuscript.
Thank you.
Vote of Thanks – Book Launch of “The Lion of the North”
By Morudi Phetla, on behalf of the Nchabeleng Family
Thobela… Good evening, comrades, friends, and family.
It is my distinct honour – and indeed a deeply humbling responsibility – to deliver this Vote of Thanks this evening, on behalf of the Nchabeleng family.
Let me begin by thanking each and every one of you who made time to join us in this sacred moment. A moment not just of reflection, but of remembrance, recognition, and recommitment.
To all our speakers, guests, organisers, and supporters – re a leboga. Thank you for your wisdom, your words, and your unwavering commitment to honouring the legacy of Ntate Peter Nchabeleng, the lion of the North.
To Ntate Mpho Nchabeleng (my father-in-law), thank you for giving us this gift. This book is more than pages bound together. It is a weapon of memory. It is an offering to the future. It is a compass for the youth.
And to the youth – allow me to speak directly to you:
We are not here today just to look back. We are here to understand why we must never forget.
Because when we forget our history, we risk walking blindly into the future. When we ignore the sacrifices of our grandparents and parents, we lose the meaning behind the very freedoms we enjoy today.
“The Lion of the North” is not just a story about one man – it is the story of courage in the face of brutality. Of conviction in the face of fear. Of a dream carried on scarred shoulders – so that one day, we could stand here, free, dreaming bigger.
We are that day.
And the question is: what are we doing with the freedom that cost so much?
Let this book not just be read – let it be studied, debated, taught. Let it provoke thought and stir purpose. Let it plant a seed in every young South African that says: “I, too, can lead. I, too, can stand for something greater than myself.”
Because the struggle is not over. It has simply changed form. Today’s struggle is for economic justice. For dignity. For education. For ethical leadership. For unity.
And we need a new generation of lions. Of builders. Of thinkers. Of doers.
We need young people who understand that where we come from is not a burden – it’s a foundation. It’s a weapon. It’s power.
So, as we close today’s gathering, let us carry forward not just the memory of Peter Nchabeleng, but the mission. Let us leave here reminded that the baton has been passed – and it is now in our hands.
To the family, to the friends, to the fighters still in the trenches, and to the young lions still finding their voice – thank you. May you walk boldly, speak truthfully, and live purposefully.
Long live the spirit of Peter Nchabeleng.
Long live.
Amandla!
Ngawethu!
Audience Engagement: Questions and Reflections
Oupa Rachidi:
Good evening. My name is Oupa Rachidi and I want to clarify upfront that I’m not a gatecrasher – I registered to be here. I serve as Secretary in the office of the MEC for Agriculture and Rural Development.
My question has two parts. First: do you have plans to launch the book in the Sekhukhune region or Apel area? And second: do you believe such a launch holds significance? I ask this because I once encountered a discussion on the role of that region in the liberation struggle – particularly the Eight-Line – and I wonder how your work might contribute to reviving its historical relevance. Thank you.
Imtiaz Cajee:
Thank you. I’m Imtiaz Cajee, the nephew of Ahmed Timol, who was killed while in police detention.
I don’t have a question, just three important remarks.
Firstly, I want to thank the author. This work is emotionally demanding, but it is necessary. As many have said: if we don’t tell our own stories, they will either be erased – or distorted.
Secondly, I want to emphasise the importance of reopening the inquest into Peter Nchabeleng’s death. The apartheid-era ruling must be challenged. It’s not just about justice — it’s about truth and historical integrity.
Thirdly, this is about conscientisation. We must use this book, and others like it, to awaken our collective consciousness – especially among the youth. Our freedom wasn’t gifted. It came at a cost. Heroes like Peter Nchabeleng remind us of that.
Aluta continua. Amandla!
Sithembile Masia:
I’m not asking a question – I’m expressing gratitude. I had the honour of proofreading this manuscript. As a reader, I’m very critical – if the tone doesn’t connect, I struggle to engage. But this book captured me. Completely.
I grew up in Soshanguve. Tear gas was part of daily life. I thought the struggle happened only in places like mine. Reading this book showed me that the fight for freedom was far more widespread – and that many unsung heroes made sacrifices we never heard about.
Thank you. I’m telling everyone I know about this book – and urging them to read it.
Thabang Moropa:
Good evening, everyone. I want to share a personal reflection rather than pose a question.
I grew up with the guest speaker – we affectionately called him “Japan” in our circle. Leaders like Dr. Vitale shaped us with principles of justice, and that foundation has stayed with me.
But something happened recently that gave me pause. My teenage son brought a white Afrikaans-speaking friend, Noah, home for the weekend. When he arrived, he greeted our helper – a Xitsonga woman – in fluent Xitsonga. They spoke comfortably all weekend.
I was stunned. My own son doesn’t speak the language. But Noah did.
It reminded me that we, as parents, may not be doing enough to pass on what our parents gave us. The struggle, the languages, the values.
Also, today’s children live in a digital world. My son tells me about smart rings now – not just watches or phones. The question is: how do we bring important works like this into their world?
How do we preserve memory in the age of TikTok and gaming? Thank you, Mpho, for reminding us of our duty – to history and to the future.
Makwena Modimola:
Thank you, Mpho Nchabeleng, for having the courage to write this book.
To respond to a previous question – Sekhukhuneland’s resistance didn’t begin in the 1960s. King Sekhukhune led armed revolts against British and Afrikaner colonial forces as far back as the 1860s and 70s. That heritage is critical.
Now, to you as the author: most writers have a core message they want to share. What did you learn about yourself, your people, and this country in the process of writing this book?
Oludare Olusan:
Good evening. I’m Oludare Olusan, founder of African Portal Radio.
First, congratulations to both the author and publisher, Mr. Saul Molobi, for this contribution to African storytelling.
My question is this: is the book available in any African languages? If not, is there a plan to translate it?
We must reduce our dependency on colonial languages. Our history must live in our languages. Let’s use isiZulu, Yoruba, Kiswahili, Xitsonga, and others to tell our stories. Thank you, and God bless you.
Responses from the Panel
Mpho Nchabeleng (Author):
Thank you all for the heartfelt reflections and questions.
To the question about launching the book in Apel and Sekhukhune – absolutely yes. That is home. Plans are already underway. We’re working with local structures to finalise the date. I expect it will be our biggest launch yet…
On what I’ve learned from writing this book:
I’ve learned that our constitutional democracy was never a gift. It was bought at a steep price. Men and women gave their lives.
The youth – especially those in leadership – must understand this. Only by knowing where we come from can we understand where we are, and where we must go.
This work also deepened my personal commitment to safeguarding our democracy. It must never be taken for granted, nor allowed to regress. That would be a betrayal of all those who fought for it.
On the reopening of the inquest:
Yes, we’ve been engaging the NPA. The original 1987 inquest pinned blame on nine riot squad members but failed to hold the Special Branch accountable – despite clear evidence that they orchestrated events behind the scenes.
We submitted written representations, and the Hawks have completed their investigation. The file has been handed over to the NPA. We’re now awaiting a decision. But make no mistake – we will not rest until the full truth is known, and justice is done.
Saul Molobi (Publisher):
We see ourselves as market disruptors. Like my fellow entrepreneur Masingita Masunga says – we’re underdogs.
Mainstream publishers expect to sell 3,000 copies in five years. We aim to sell that in under three – possibly even faster.
On translation: yes, we’re exploring indigenous language versions. But we’re also looking at exploiting subsidiary rights – including film adaptations, documentaries, and serialised publishing. We must expand the reach of African stories.
Groovin Nchabeleng (Programme Director):
Before we close – let me wear my marketing hat. We have 100 copies of the book on hand. Mpho will personally sign each one.
We’ve got payment machines available. You can buy multiple copies – for friends, for staff, for end-of-year gifts.
Let’s aim not to sell 3,000 copies in three years, but in three weeks. That’s how we honour this work – not just with applause, but with action.
After this, we’ll break for refreshments. And then The Peddler will deliver the vote of thanks on behalf of the family.
Thank you, all.
The following videos contain the 2-hour proceedings with part 1 covering the first hour and part 2 the rest:
Part 1
Part 2