Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
– From “Death Be Not Proud” by John Donne
I could quote only a few lines from the poem that I read in high school. I guess I am reminded of it because I just recently lost two people close to me. First my friend Dumisani who I knew well and highly admired, was murdered, and my Aunt Julia, who was ill for a long time. I had always believed she would outlive everyone in my family even though she was the eldest. It all feels like a nightmare.
A few months ago, an uncle passed away due to colon cancer. Death has been swamping me lately and it just made me realise that we are all visitors here on earth, and soon enough we will all go into the never, never land. Never to be seen or heard from again.
Dumisani who I called D was a quiet and decent fellow who I had always felt comfortable being around. He had a serious face and rarely laughed, but when he did it was a joy to see. We hadn’t seen each other for a while since I moved out of the province, but I had always asked a mutual friend about him, and she always kept me updated that he was doing well. He had moved closer to work and even bought a new car, a BMW.
It wasn’t until last month, when I saw his picture as a missing person circulating on social media, that I became concerned. It was more like a bad feeling. I think something in me knew immediately that the chances of finding him alive were next to nothing, as no adult went missing without evidence of foul play involved today, but I prayed that it wasn’t so with him.
Sadly, a couple of days later, he was found in his car, which was burned with him inside and abandoned at some township far away from his place and his hometown, where he was visiting the day, he went missing. There’s a lot of speculation regarding his death and whenever I think of it, I have difficulty understanding how and why this happened to him. I choke at that contemplation, and I believe it is best to think of how he lived rather than how he died.
Mamogolo – Aunt Julia was my mother’s elder sister, the first-born child to my grandparents. My first memory of her is that she was hired at a bakery after she got divorced from her first husband and then took in her siblings to work there with her. I believe that’s where my aunts and my mother learned how to bake. When I lived with my grandma from age six to ten, she visited my grandmother’s house in December. She always brought a lot of baked goodies for us to enjoy. The Christmas cake that I remember tasting comes to mind because of the hardened icing and the dates in the rich biscuit-like cake. I tasted this going to my first swimming lesson at the river with my cousin Indira, Aunt Julia’s third child. Tira was like a sister to me. I was probably six or seven years old at the time. Tira brought the cake with to the river, where I took my first dip in the flowing water and nearly drowned in shallow water. I think my love for swimming was born that day.
Anyhow, Mamogolo Julia, the eldest sister to eleven or twelve children, is now gone. That number has of course reduced during the years with some of the aunts and uncles passing. I am still currently processing hers, though.
In losing these people I realised how limited our time is while we think we have all the time in the world. It started last year with a friend’s sister, who died mysteriously on Christmas Day. Therefore, her death was the first lesson. She lived her life to the fullest; that’s what I gathered from everyone closest to her. I had a notion a long time ago reading Harold Robbins’ books, where the hero always dies one way or another. It always comforted me if they died and left their partner pregnant or if they had children. We know how the world holds legacies with children, but this lady had no kids. Everyone talked about how she lived – like when she wanted a vacation, she would go. When she wanted to go clubbing, she would do it.
She had her eyebrows permanently shaped. She went to a beauty salon to have her eyebrows arched naturally so that she didn’t have to shape or tweeze them herself whenever she did her make up. She lived her life as she wanted. She had a house and decorated it as she wanted – lavishly. She was given a car at work to go anywhere she wanted, which probably meant she had reached a certain level in her company for her to be given a car. She worked at a big international company. The fact that she had plans for the 26th ofDecember but passed away a few hours before made me realise that it doesn’t matter whether you leave any legacies behind, but only that you lived your life well and fully.
In this year of loss, I have started living my life more in the moment. I have let go of things and people, and stopped going to places that aren’t contributing to my growth or happiness. I became more focused on what is important to me. I had two main goals I wanted to achieve this year: 1. To have permanent job. 2. To do work-related courses to develop different skillsets for work. I could say I achieved both by the first quarter of the year, although the skill development thing is still ongoing. I just want to live every moment without regret. I also don’t want to force myself to do things I don’t want to do anymore. I want to indulge if I want to – spontaneously go somewhere or anywhere if I feel like it. I might live long (who knows), but I have stopped thinking I should save a ton of money for rainy days while it rains every day sometimes.
Sharon Mogoaneng is from Benoni on the East Rand, Gauteng. She currently lives in the small suburban area of Pullens Hope in Mpumalanga, where she works as a lamproom assistant at a local coal mine.
She holds a National Diploma in Management Assistant from EWC (Ekurhuleni West College) and a certificate in Business Administration specialising in Human Resources Management from PC Training & Business College.
Sharon has been writing since the age of 14, aspiring to be like her favourite writers – Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Harold Robbins. She published her first short story with POWA in 2017 and her second in 2019 while in the writers’ programme with the Jakes Gerwel Foundation. She subsequently published short stories on FunDza and Paulet House Stories. Sharon continues to write as her goal is to one day be a published novelist.
