Inside the Dome, African tales are revived and retold anew.
Wits launches its annual Digital Dome Festival to retell African oral stories through Virtual Reality, dome animation and projections.
Fourth-year digital arts and animation students showcased their film projects.
The Dome takes African stories to the world while creating employment opportunities for students.
“You are already in the future. Others will arrive,” said Professor René Smith, Head of the Wits School of Arts, during the opening of the Digital Dome Festival, pointing to the transformative power of immersive media.
Wits University hosted its Digital Dome Festival between August 21 and 22, 2026 in collaboration with the Wits School of Arts (Digital Arts Division), the Naval Hill Planetarium, the University of the Free State, and cultural institutions including Electric South and the French Institute of South Africa (IFAS).
This year’s theme, Stories Spoken, Stories Seen, was inspired by diverse African oral storytelling traditions passed down through generations. African folktales were retold through immersive digital technologies like dome animations, VR experiences and projections. The theme and festival demonstrate that “Africa can shape the future of immersive media,” said Professor Lynn Morris, Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Research and Innovation at Wits.
Student screenings formed a central part of the programme.
An animated statue of Nelson Mandela from the Wall-E film. Photo by: Naledi Maraisane
The Nanabolele projection stood out. The two-minute film, based on a Sesotho mythological interpretation, follows Princess Thakane, blessed by her grandmother to hunt the Nanabolele — a water-dwelling, dragon-like creature that glows in the dark and travels hidden inside clouds or red smoke. She seeks its glowing hide to make gifts for her brothers returning from initiation.
“We wanted a story that could speak to a large amount of people. We started looking at African mythology and folktales,” said Tlhalefo Boshielo, a fourth-year Digital Arts student in animation and projection mapping. The Nanabolele VR experience placed viewers inside a non-physical world, bringing imagination to life through immersive technology.
On what inspired this year’s theme, Sasha Wessels, Digital Arts lecturer and organiser, said that in high school she was not allowed to learn about African languages or traditions, which felt like a robbery. “I left high school angry. I feel unknowledgeable about the country that I live in.”
Projects can be rented to other global domes for profit, creating employment opportunities for students. For this reason, Wessels does not allow students to use Artificial Intelligence (AI). “The issue with AI is that the moment you implement it, you can’t sell it.” However, she acknowledges AI as a useful tool in an industry long gatekept by the West.
Through immersive technologies, students are archiving, professionalising and making African oral traditions, history and storytelling exportable.
FEATURED IMAGE: Students experiencing VR technology for the first time. Photo by: Naledi Maraisane
GALA Queer Archive asks what does it mean to be queer and rooted in African traditions?
GALA Queer Archive held a powerful event to reclaim queer African identity.
The gathering highlighted how strict patriarchal norms, and traditional expectations often silence African queer voices.
Speakers emphasized that queerness has always existed in African societies.
In recognition of Africa Month, the GALA (The Gay and Lesbian Archives) Queer Archive celebrated the International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17 at Breezeblock Café in Brixton, Johannesburg — to re-assert queer African identity and challenge cultural exclusion at Breezeblock Café in Brixton, Johannesburg.
The GALA Queer Archive is an organization located at Wits University that preserves and promotes the history, culture, and experiences of LGBTQIA+ individuals in South Africa through archival collections.
During Africa Month, celebrated annually throughout May (with May 25 as the official date of commemoration in South Africa), the world marked IDAHOBIT as an opportunity for people across the continent to break down barriers.
IDAHOBIT raises awareness about the violence, discrimination, and prejudice faced by queer people worldwide.
Local Setswana handwritten on pink wall translating to: In my neighbourhood, being gay is a gender. Being gay is not being a boy or girl. It’s just being gay. Photo: Lukholo Mazibuko
This year’s commemoration focused on unpacking the painful disconnection between queerness and cultural identities in African LGBTQIA+ individuals.
The event discussed how culture shapes the way people live and connect. Traditions like family rituals, community events and ceremonies are meant to bring people together. But for queer individuals, these cultural spaces often do the opposite.
Researcher Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga (left) reacting positively to panelist Desire Marea (right). Photo: Lukholo Mazibuko
Strict patriarchal rules dominate these traditions. They decide who belongs and who does not based on dress, behaviour and gender roles. As a result, queer voices are often ignored or silenced.
Dr Athinangamso Nkopo, host and moderator of the event, addressed this exclusion by telling Wits Vuvuzela that, “Those of us who are queer and African don’t understand how you can possibly mean that [we exist as] a contradiction.”
Panelist Albert Khoza challenged the myth of queerness as ‘un-African’ by emphasising that African communities had their own understanding of God long before the arrival of missionaries. Similarly, that queerness is not new; it has always existed within African societies.
“Maybe before it wasn’t called ‘queer’. Maybe before it was just a practice. It was looked down upon, but queerness is African. Africa is queer. It’s always been like that,” he said.
Panelist Albert Khoza. Photo : Lukholo Mazibuko
Keval Harie, the executive director of GALA Queer Archive, emphasized that queer individuals continually find unique ways to heal their human experiences and this day serves as another opportunity for such healing.
“We want to create a space where we bring our community together to share experiences in ways that allows us to heal and fight for another day.”
By aligning with Africa Month, this event insisted that queerness has always been part of the continent’s story. Through music, storytelling, traditional food, dress, and dialogue, attendees showcased how culture and queerness are not at odds but are deeply entangled.
From left to right: GALA coordinating team Keval Harie, Dr Athinangamso Nkopo and Kgomotso Kgasi playing Azanian games with an attendee in green sweater. Photo: Lukholo Mazibuko Event DJ, Buntu the Ghetto, jamming to beats.
FEATURED IMAGE: Banner of assorted pride flags hanging from GALA Queer Archive emblazed gazebo. Photo: Lukholo Mazibuko
Lesotho’s frozen Maluti Mountains is home to Club Maluti – a rustic, analogue sanctuary where generations of Witsies have found lifelong bonds and adventure on its slopes.
Founded in 1968, Club Maluti remains the cradle of African snow sports.
A nearly 60-year partnership with Wits Snow Ski Club turns the remote mountain cabin into an iconic student rite of passage.
The hand-built, member-run lodge offers an analogue escape where phone screens give way to fireside traditions.
Up at 3,200 metres in the Maluti Mountains, where sub-zero air bites your cheeks and river gorges freeze into solid glass, sits a rustic timber lodge. Its living heartbeat the generations of snow-seekers that visit during the colder months. Tucked away in Lesotho, ten minutes down the pass from Afriski, Club Maluti (Club M) is a place where city stress dies on the switchbacks and generations of Witsies have found a second home.
Stepping through the timber door of Club Maluti after the 5-hour drive up from Johannesburg, the first thing that hits is not the cold; it is the immediate warmth of woodsmoke, room-wide laughter, and decades of lived history. Shedding my heavy winter coat as the sound of music hums through the room, I realise I haven’t just entered a cabin; I’ve stepped into a living time capsule and close-knit community.
How a crazy idea built a legacy
Sitting near the fireplace listening to older members share stories over cold beers, the roots of the place come into sharp focus. The story began in the mid-1960s with Syd Chaplin, who ran pony treks in the region before establishing Oxbow Lodge near the Malibamat’so River. Looking to draw winter crowds to the frozen highlands, Chaplin connected with Phillip Lloyde, a ski enthusiast, alongside Joburg-based friends Brian de la Harpe and Stan Flemming.
The four friends saw the snowy Maluti peaks as an ideal and natural playground for winter sports. Driven by a shared love for skiing and working through official channels, they secured permission from King Moshoeshoe II of Lesotho. They signed a 100-year lease on the land, under the strict condition that no one could profit from the club, before officially forming Club Maluti. What followed in 1967 was endless weekend work parties where members hauled timber up unpaved tracks; they completed the original A-frame in April 1968.
When their initial slope proved too sunny, local mine manager Keith Whitelock pointed them ten kilometres east to the Mahlasela Bowl, a cold, shaded natural amphitheatre. It proved to be the finest natural slope in Lesotho, establishing the cradle of African snow sports. Throughout the 1970s and 80s, South African families crossed the border to escape city life, skiing, ice-skating on frozen gorges, and dancing on lodge tables late into the night.
Original A-frame building during winter. Photo by: Daniella Ripamonti
When campus met the mountain
Walking through the cabin, I quickly notice how deeply Wits University is woven into the floorboards. In 1984, Wits student Ivan van Eck saw a newspaper photo of someone ice-skating in Lesotho. Entranced, van Eck drove up to investigate, fell in love with the place, and founded the Wits Snow Ski Club (WSSC) to bring campus along.
Van Eck eventually took over ski rentals and set up makeshift rope tows at the club in 1991. However, his push to create commercial ski packages directly violated the King’s non-profit mandate, famously leading to his deportation by Lesotho border officials in 1992 for operating a business without a hotel licence.
Meanwhile, through the late 1980s and 90s, Club M member Ernesto Casserino conducted feasibility and environmental studies with the Lesotho government. His work laid the groundwork for fellow members Graham Joyce, Oliver Schwankhart, and Peter Pyper to partner with Wessel Bosman and open Afriski resort in 2000.
Through changing resort developments and shifting border regulations over the decades, the bond between WSSC and Club M remained untouched, creating a bridge between varsity life and the peaks of Lesotho. Former Club M Chairman Mehow Granicki explained that this pipeline is what makes the club unique: “If you get involved with Wits Ski Club, you’re always welcome to continue [as a full member] at Club Maluti after you finish your studies. Your varsity mates become your winter mates.”
Archive newspaper article from 1984 that made Evan van Eck go to Lesotho and later establish the Wits Snow Ski Club.
The shift to boardsand living walls
Standing in front of photo archives from the 80s and 90s, I watched the club’s visual story unfold on its lounge walls. The black-and-white photos of the 70s, the bright clothes of the 80s, and the rise of snowboarding on the continent in the 90s.
“The students are a great litmus test,” Granicki noted. “They come like every generation with their music, quirks, and ideologies. The club absorbs, welcomes, and adapts. We had electro, now it’s drum & bass. We charged camera batteries, now cell phones, but it’s still the same sound system, and it’s still the same generator.”
When snowboarding exploded internationally in the late 80s, students brought back overseas VHS tapes, cut a window into an A-frame wall, mounted a monitor, and looped snowboard videos. Student energy brought freeride trick culture, vibrant gear, and fresh music to the slopes.
Today, almost every member snowboards. The communal shed is packed with shared boards and boots, keeping snow sports accessible for students. Down at Afriski, supportive members help newcomers set up their gear and carve their first turns.
The rituals that build a family
Experiencing the lodge firsthand reveals how much care keeps it running. Completely member-run, the property features the main A-frame lounge, the timber B-frame bunkhouse, and the Park Home sleeping quarters kept warm by anthracite stoves.
Every couch and timber beam represents collective effort. As Granicki reflected: “Each building had an era, a crew, a mission.” From wrap-around seating to the wood-fired hot tub steaming under sub-zero skies, everything was hand-built during voluntary off-season work parties. At the heart of daily life are Basotho hosts Maskok and Ntja Sepatla. Living on site, Maskok lights the fires before dawn while Ntja maintains the generator and water systems.
Access remains strictly word-of-mouth through member referrals. Every trip kicks off with Friday night introductions around the fire, where guests share their names, trip count, and a claim to fame before receiving a mandatory weekend nickname.
“That drive and weekend in the mountains bonds you in such a healthy way,” Granicki explained. “By maintaining rituals, we maintain culture across generations.”
Jason Roberts DJing in A-Frame. Photo by: Daniella Ripamonti
The soul of Club M
For Vishaylin Mahadeo, who joined WSSC in 2011, the lodge became his anchor: “It’s home to me; it’s my family, my safe space. When going through a difficult time, my first thought is, ‘let’s go to the mountain.’ I have snowboarded everywhere in the world, and this mountain is still so special to me. My university experience was created through Ski Club; I even extended my degree just because I loved it so much!”
Granicki, who first visited as a matric student, feels that same pull: “Club M is home to misfits, geniuses, daredevils, and lost souls [who are] funny, beautiful, and live for the moment… My favourite personal memory is meeting my wife up there. Our adventure began from loving winter and the outdoors.”
In a world driven by screens, Club M remains fiercely analogue.
“It represents freedom, exploration, and self-discovery. You’re in the middle of two mountains, under stars, in a cabin when it’s snowing. My hope is that it remains a time capsule that forces you to be more of yourself, having fun, being human. Here’s to the snow!”
Archive newspaper from 1978 showing members broom balling on the iced river.
FEATURED IMAGE: Photo of Club M members at Afriski. Photo by: Daniella Ripamonti
Members of Uthingo Lwamankosazana (Rainbow of Maidens) – the Wits society for young maidens – are preparing for Umkhosi Womhlanga, the annual Zulu reed dance ceremony honouring the king and celebrating maidenhood, while encouraging young women to embrace their cultural identities and traditions.
Uthingo Lwamankosazana aseWits prepares members for Umkhosi Womhlanga.
Students from different cultures celebrate their heritage together.
Members say young people are losing touch with tradition.
For some Wits students, preparing for Umkhosi Womhlanga, the annual Zulu reed dance ceremony set to take place September 5-6 2026, is about more than getting ready for a cultural ceremony: it is a chance to reconnect with traditions they fear young people are losing.
Uthingo Lwamankosazana is a society for maidens at Wits that brings together young women from different cultural backgrounds under the slogan ‘Maidens united in diversity.’ Second-year BCom Accounting student and chairperson Luthando Mdletshe said the society is not exclusively Zulu, and that women from any tribe are welcome to join. “We’re not just a Zulu maiden’s group,” she said.
For second-year BA Film and Television student Bulumko Ntluzo, who is Xhosa, being part of Uthingo has encouraged her to take pride in her own culture and traditions.
An image of Uthingo Lwamankosazana at Umkhehlo. Photo: Sanele Sithole
Umkhosi Womhlanga, held annually during the first or second week of spring every year, is a cultural festival in South Africa where tens of thousands of young women gather to celebrate womanhood and cultural identity. Members of Uthingo lwamankosazana pushed back on a common misconception that women who attend Umkhosi Womhlanga do so to be selected as wives.
Final-year BSc Astronomy and Astrophysics student Tania Nyanda said this, and other stereotypes have contributed to young people becoming disconnected from traditional practices. She said members attend the ceremony to pay their respects to the royal family and take part in prayer. Mdletshe described it instead as a celebration of ubuntombi (maidenhood), and a chance for maidens from different provinces to learn from one another.
Uthingo Lwamankosazana members have been preparing for the ceremony through a ‘Siyaya eMhlangeni’ camp and amahubo, which are traditional song practices held on campus. Second-year Bachelor of Education Student Nosipho Makhalima said the camp prepares members by advising them on how to conduct themselves and reminding them of the significance of Umkhosi Womhlanga.
Beyond ceremony preparation, the society doubles as a support network for young women in their 20s, navigating university life away from home. Makhalima described it as a safe and educational space where members discuss issues around relationships, sexuality, and abstinence in line with the traditional values promoted by the society and at its centre is a sense of sisterhood.
Ntluzo said young women often become disconnected from their traditions once they arrive at university, driven by peer pressure and fear of appearing “too traditional.” She added that social media has also shifted young people’s attitudes towards culture.
As Uthingo Lwamankosazana members prepare for this year’s ceremony, Uthingo Lwamankosazana continues to give Wits students a space to engage with culture, support one another and hold on to tradition while navigating university life.
FEATURED IMAGE: An image of member of Uthingo Lwamankosazane by Sanele Sithole
‘Ha o sa tsebe mo o tswang teng, o kekebe watseba mo o yang teng’ is a popular proverb amongst Basotho which means ‘if you do not know where you come from, you will not know where you are going.’
Wits Basotho Students Association (BASA) hosts a Kobo parade to showcase cultural pride.
Basotho students address the misconceptions surrounding the Basotho culture.
BASA aims to educate the Wits community about their traditions and customs.
For Basotho youth, this proverb serves as a reminder that staying true to one’s roots and honouring the places and people who shaped them will guide their future endeavours. It is a compass that points toward their future. On July 20, 2026, Wits University Basotho Students Association members gathered outside the Matrix, dressed in colourful traditional blankets for the BASA Kobo parade, an event celebrating Basotho identity and pride.
While the mountainous country of Lesotho is home to many Basotho, some also hail from parts of South Africa. “Most people need to realise that our ancestors or our lineage may lead back to Lesotho because of our forefathers, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that we are all from Lesotho,” explained Kgoboso Mofokeng, a third-year Bachelor of Education student, originally from Matatiele in the Eastern Cape.
King Moshoeshoe the First was the foundational monarch of the Basotho Kingdom. Through his leadership and peacekeeping, he united the scattered Basotho clans, which existed independently before his reign. During the 1800s, when South African tribes such as Zulu, Xhosa, and Ndebele were experiencing a chain reaction (survival of the fittest) during the Shaka wars, some people fled to Lesotho, where Moshoeshoe welcomed them. Despite his efforts to unite different nations, misconceptions about Basotho still exist.
“The biggest misconception is that we’re all ‘zama zamas,’ or ‘illegal miners,’” said Michael Mokolokolo, BASA media officer. This stereotype is often fuelled by Afrophobia, sparking hostility from South African communities against illegal mining. It is also linked to Famo, a music genre whose associated groups are seen by some as violent, gang-like organisations. As a result, people hear the music and jump to conclusions.
For BASA, the parade was not only aimed at showcasing the beauty of Basotho blankets, but an invitation and a call to celebrate diversity.
Sesotho blankets are made on large looms where yarn as thick as sheep’s wool is tightly-spun, sun-dried, then heat-pressed, allowing intricate patterns to take shape. The weight of these blankets is enough to protect their wearer from the cold, but they remain soft to the touch. The detailing is where the meaning lies; every pattern, colour, and border tells a story. “Our blankets are deeply symbolic; they represent identity, status and history”, Michael said.
The Seanamarenablanket patterns are a combination of the honeycomb and poone corncob, which symbolise wealth, kingship, and prestige. It is often mistaken for a graduation gown. This mix-up comes from a popular song lyric: ‘Ntate nthekele Seanamarena kobo ya thuto’ which translates to ‘Father, buy me a Seanamarena for completing my studies’. The original lyrics are ‘Ntate nthekele Seanamarena kobo ya bohadi’ — a bride asking her father to buy her this prestigious blanket as part of her bridal wealth, making it a wedding song instead of a graduation one. As Kgoboso explains: “They need to understand that Seanamarena means to ‘swear by the kings.’ It’s not a graduation gown.”
Sesotho blankets are earned; they are gifted during milestones and life-changing ceremonies in a person’s life. Basotho believe that with them comes responsibility and ancestral protection.
BASA’s goal is to keep people educated about Basotho and their customs and encourage diversity; “The message is to appreciate the beauty of diverse cultures within our country and the world at large,” Michael said. They also aim to support young Basotho students in finding their footing within the university; “Meeting up with them regularly has had a huge impact on me; it keeps me grounded and reminds me of who I am as a Mosotho, even in a big, diverse city like Johannesburg,” Michael added.
The Basotho culture is rich in storytelling, customs, traditions, attire and music. BASA and the Basotho campus community walked from East to West campus to showcase the beauty of their blankets to the wider Wits community while they sang traditional songs accompanied by traditional dances. “We also want people to understand that we are one. That’s why we welcomed non-Basotho to join the parade, because culture is not about division; it’s about unity and sharing,” Michael explained.
For BASA, this day was about celebrating who they are as Basotho, and so they chose the first day of semester two to remind themselves of who they are and where they come from. “If other tribes can celebrate themselves proudly, why shouldn’t we?,” asked Michael. “Our language, our blankets, our music – it’s all something to be proud of. We should wear our identity with confidence.”
A group of BASA men posing for the camera, adorned in their various blankets. Photo by: Naledi MaraisaneBASA Chairperson, Boikarabelo Mtshiswa, wearing his Basotho blanket. Photo by: Naledi MaraisaneTwo BASA members showing off their Seanamarena blankets in different patterns. Photo by: Naledi MaraisaneBASA ladies breaking into a song while the men decide whether or not to join in. Photo by: Naledi MaraisaneBASA committee members. Photo by: Naledi Maraisane
FEATURED IMAGE: BASA members gathered, deciding on their next song. Photo by: Naledi Maraisane
Wits University reclaims African narratives through the South African premiere of Kancícà at the Digital Dome, proving 8K innovation is a powerful tool for cultural memory and heritage.
The Wits Anglo American Digital Dome is pivoting from its traditional scientific roots to become a hub for African mythology and storytelling.
Kancícà utilises high-end gaming engines and 360-degree 8K animation, positioning Wits at the global forefront of immersive digital production.
The project serves as a “portal” for students to explore the future of work, AI, and African leadership within the global digital ecosystem.
The interior of the Anglo American Digital Dome. Photo: Supplied
While the Johannesburg Planetarium officially completed its R90-million transformation into the Wits Anglo American Digital Dome in November 2024, a recent premiere suggests the facility is entering a new era of cultural significance.
On 8 May, the Dome hosted the South African premiere of Kancícà, an immersive experience that moves beyond traditional astronomy to signal a turning point for how the continent tells its own stories. The launch positions Wits as a leading hub for cutting-edge digital experiences rather than a mere consumer of Western technology.
Dr Moumita Aich, instrumental in the Dome’s research integration, notes that 8K full-dome technology allows for a “shared emotional experience,” emphasising that this technology creates new forms of public engagement while preserving heritage.
“The scale and detail make African histories and traditions feel alive and immediate,” says Aich. “In this way, the Dome becomes more than a scientific space: it becomes a place for cultural memory and reimagining African narratives through immersive storytelling.”
Festival director Alby Michaels explains that Kancícà focuses on creating work “by Africans, for Africans, and especially through an African lens”. The production uniquely utilised Unreal Engine, a high-end gaming engine, to render 2D and 3D animation for the full-dome experience. “It opens up the doors for more experimentation… so that we can become the leaders in our own narratives,” Michaels says.
For Wits students, Michaels sees the Dome as a laboratory for the “future of work”. “I’m hoping an engagement like this will open a little door, even a portal, for imagining the future in a better way for all of us,” he told Wits Vuvuzela.
Audience members from outside of Wits, Constant Volschenk and Bongiwe Ndulula, highlight the immersive nature of the dome, which relies on a 35-degree viewing angle in reclining seats. “The main scenes are in front of you, and the surrounding is the background of the scene,” says Volschenk. Ndulula was particularly moved by a spiritual scene involving a boat in a storm, noting that the 360-degree view offers a vital shift in perspective.
Following its premiere, the programme is now open to the public at the Wits Anglo American Digital Dome from 25 April to August 2026. As Aich suggests, if you have not yet watched this wonderful show, it is a necessary gateway into the future of African digital heritage.
FEATURED IMAGE: Exterior picture of the Anglo American Digital Dome. Photo: Daniella Ripamonti
When Wits met La Réunion on stage, language fell away and music took over. Voices Without Borders brought French precision and African warmth together for one unforgettable night at the Atrium.
Picture of Wits choir warming up for the event. Photo by: Reatlehile Mashamba
The Faculty of Humanities and the Wits Choir welcomed Choeur du Petit Conservatoire de I’Est for a joint concert titled Voices Without Borders on May 08 at the Wits Artiruim.
The performance was set to start at 18:30 with guests arriving an hour earlier, filling the air with excitement and anticipation. From the moment the first note rang, the contrast between both choirs was evident, and that was the essence of the evening: a cultural exchange with no borders.
Led by director Fanny Prie, the French choir set the stage with precision and harmony of classical French repertoire. Based in Saint-Andre, La Reunion, the 45-strong youth ensemble is known back home for their “Bus de Noel” tour across schools and hospitals. Their sound was clean, controlled and disciplined, with pure evidence of what years of training sound like in every phrase they sang.
Yet, the performance didn’t feel cold; it brought warmth to a country far from home. “We are a population and a mix; that’s what our choir represents. It’s difficult because African choirs sing in their languages, but it has been a lesson for us and the exchange helps us exchange the French repertoire.” said Prie. The Artiruim fell silent after the last note, then broke into applause, as language barriers disappeared through music. On the other side, Menzi Gumede and Sasha Xola Dladla-Nkosi shaped the Wits Choir for the evening. It was nerve wracking for them going in not knowing what the audience’s turnout would be, but there was clear excitement from both conductors.
They pushed the choir into rhythm and created a beautiful harmony, listening for how it could blend well with the French choir’s precision. For Dladla-Nkosi, that was the point of the night. “Shared harmony is the ability to do things with people who have not been exposed to the choir setting. Harmony in itself blows people who are not involved in choirs away.” said Dladla-Nkosi.
The electric feeling from both conductors came through in the passionate voices of the choir. The choir blended well mixing raw talent to make beautiful melodies. When the Wits choir missed a note and had to restart, the moment wasn’t met with embarrassment by performers and the audience. It was instead met with a shared understanding that they were striving for perfection.
The idea of “shared harmony” stopped being just an idea and became what was happening in real time. It wasn’t about which choir was better; it was about what happens when two different traditions and age groups meet with the intent to learn from each other and deliver the best performance.
“The cultural exchange is something I’m looking forward to because they are an elderly choir. I’m just really excited to be here. I think music is a universal language and them coming from France and us from South Africa and us coming together for the love of music encapsulate what shared harmony means” said Kea Maphila, an alto singer for Wits choir.
When both choirs came together on stage, it was nothing but beautiful. The precision and energy from both choirs completed the entire evening. In that moment the differences in language, style and training did not matter; what remained was a shared sound that felt bigger than each choir. Reunionese choral music blends French choral discipline with Maloya rhythms, a Créole style from African, Malagasy and Indian heritage on the island’s sugar plantations. South Arican choral music blends Western hymns with indigenous African traditions in the Amakwaya style, becoming an identity and community tool. It showed that music does not need perfect translation to connect people, it needs two groups willing to listen and meet in the middle.
Picture of Wits choir practising while French choir watches them. Photo by: Reatlehile Mashamba
FEATURED IMAGE: Picture of Wits choir warming up for the event. Photo by: Reatlehile Mashamba
South Africa celebrates Easter as a public holiday so why are Yom Kippur, Eid or Diwali just another day at work?
South Africa has 12 public holidays under the Public Holidays Act (No 36 of 1994). The Act recognises Easter and Christmas but does not recognise significant holy days of other major religions practiced in South Africa. Although South Africa’s constitution protects the right to religious observations, the public holiday calendar leans more towards Christianity. For a country with one of the most inclusive constitutions in the world, this appears to be a misnomer in our imagination of what our nation is and should be.
According to the DITSONG: National Museum of Cultural History , the arrival of Jan van Riebeeck marked the start of the South African colonial era and the introduction of Christianity to the region. As noted by Ancestors Research South Africa , the foundation of Christianity shaped the country’s public holiday calendar through the various colonies, as each colony observed Christian holidays before the South African Union in 1910.
Graphic showing how South Africa’s official public holidays include Christian holy days while excluding other faiths. Graphic by: Reatlehile Mashamba
Easter celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ after his sacrifice. This comes after 40 days of Lent for some Christians who use this time to reflect and fast. Easter Sunday (usually in March or April) is the biggest holy day preceded by the public holiday Good Friday and followed by Easter Monday, another public holiday.
Yom Kippur, the holiest Jewish day, known as “Day of Atonement,” is a 25 hour fast and five prayer services observance asking for forgiveness from God and people (usually in September or October). During this period, work is forbidden leading to many South African Jews taking an annual leave or a personal day off as South Africa does not consider Yom Kippur a public holiday. Eid al-Fitr (usually in April or May) an Islamic holiday that marks the end of Ramadan and celebrated with morning prayers, feasts, family gatherings and charity confirmed by the Jamiatul Ulama and not as a South African public holiday. Diwali (usually in October or November) known as “Festival of Lights” and falls on a Sunday symbolising light over darkness and good over evil. It is observed with lighting diyas, rangoli designs, exchanging sweets and prayers to goddess Lakshmi.
The Public Holidays Act does not reflect the country’s diverse religious culture. It reflects the assumption that there is only one dominant religion, Christianity, with holidays being built around that one religion while other religions must make amends to miss work. Considering South Africa’s multiculturalism, the religious calendar should include elements of each religion’s holy days allowing everyone to celebrate and understand their true meaning.
Academic, Benedict Anderson, defines a nation as an imagined community. What if in that imagination other religious holy days were made public holidays? The country would get the chance to stop and allow Jews to fast, Muslims to pray and Hindus to light up lamps while everyone else celebrates it as a long holiday.
The argument is not whether Easter should be or not be a public holiday. It is whether other religions deserve the same recognition given to Christianity. In a country as diverse as South Africa with 12 official languages and a constitution that protects religious freedom, the public holiday calendar should reflect this diversity.
With no change to the calendar, Jewish students will continue to ask for leave during test and exam season, Muslim families will continue to celebrate Eid after a long day at work, Hindu homes will continue to light up diyas at night and Easter will remain the same, a religious holiday for everyone but a holy day for Christians.
FEATURED IMAGE: Graphic titled “How South Africa’s calendar became Christian”. Graphic showing how South Africa’s official public holidays include Christian holy days while excluding other faiths. . Graphic by Reatlehile Mashamba
What does it mean for queer individuals to see themselves on screen, and who decides how their stories are told?
Queer visibility is rising, but control of stories remains a challenge.
Panellists argue that outsider narratives still reduce queer lives to stereotypes and trauma.
The queer is encouraged to tell their own stories, and for audiences to engage more critically with queer content.
At a panel hosted during the Human Rights Festival on March 28, filmmakers, writers, and journalists argued that while queer visibility in South African media has improved, control over those narratives remains contested.
The discussion was organised by documentary filmmaker and narrative justice activist Bev Palesa Ditsie. It brought together creatives, including scriptwriter and director Oratile Mogoje, journalist Matuba Mahlatjie, film writer and activist Mondi Motadi, and reality TV director Olwethu Mlotshwa.
While queer characters appear on screen, panellists stressed that visibility does not equal representation. The panellists emphasized that stories are still often shaped by people outside the community, resulting in portrayals that lean on trauma, stereotypes, or side characters rather than full, complex lives.
“Visibility also comes with vulnerability,” said Mahlatjie. “If it’s not done thoughtfully, then we are vulnerable as queer people.”
These portrayals, the panel argued, do more than misinform audiences as they also shape how queer people see themselves. Narratives that frame queerness as tragic or marginal can discourage self-expression, particularly for those still navigating their identities.
But the issue is not only about creators. Audiences’ response to queer characters determines which stories survive.
Mogoje pointed to a cycle where authentic queer stories struggle to gain traction because they are not always embraced by mainstream viewers. “The biggest culprit is the audience,” he said, sharing that rejection at this level can limit what gets funded and produced.
For queer creatives, this lack of control is deeply felt. “We are not in charge of our own stories,” said Mlotshwa, highlighting the resistance that often meets narratives that challenge dominant or heteronormative perspectives.
Despite these challenges, the panel pointed to emerging alternatives. Platforms such as YouTube help queer storytellers bypass traditional gatekeepers, creating space for more nuanced and self-defined narratives.
30 years into democracy, queer people are no longer invisible on South African screens. But as the discussion made clear, the question is no longer just about being seen; it is about being fairly represented and being in control.
The answer, panellists suggested, lies in shifting power where audiences question the stories that they consume, queer creatives are supported, and space is created for communities to tell their own stories, on their own terms.
FEATURED IMAGE: A photo of panellists engaging in a discussion on queer representation in film, hosted by House of Ditsie. Photo: Bev Ditsie/Supplied
Joburg is a world-class city in the way that it reconciles global modernity with deeply rooted indigenous spirituality, a dichotomy for professionals in corporate South Africa.
Joburg displays its status as a world-class African city through its diversity and multiculturalism.
Company policies are shifting to accommodate employees that need leave to undergo initiation.
Corporate spaces embracing employees who are professionals and African spiritual healers.
Joburg is a city often judged by its robust GDP, financial technology adoption and its relentless, dynamic pace. However, what also defines the city of Joburg’s status as a world-class African city is its profound and often overlooked multiculturalism and diversity – one of these being how the corporate environment is opening itself up for the integration of modern careers with ancestral practices. This is where corporate employees are able to embrace their dual identities of being both professionals in the workplace, and called healers at the same time.
Beaded necklaces that form part of a healer and corporate professional’s dress-code. Photo by Zanele S. Maduma
These are often the most visible signs of a profound duality, often resting around the subtle yet powerful fusion of corporate and astral uniforms. For many practitioners, traditional beads, bangles and even sacred ancestral cloths are not abandoned, they are carefully woven into the daily attire of the office, creating a new and authentic form of African corporate dress.
This deliberate visibility reached a world stage when Amanda Gcabashe, an accomplished executive with a background in accounting and auditing, delivered her TedTalk presentation at the TEDxJohannesburg stage, in Johannesburg. Gcabashe is an African Traditional Medicine Practitioner (isangoma/inyanga) and, as Chair at the South African Bureau of Standards (SABS), is responsible for developing concepts and managing and implementing projects aimed at industrial development of the African Traditional Medicine (ATM) sector in South Africa.
For her TedTalk, Gcabashe was not dressed in a conventional power suit as often seen in such a global forum. Appearing from the shadows of backstage, Gcabashe walked on stage barefoot, but with a commanding and authoritative energy. She carried ithusi (a wooden staff) which she gently placed on a chair. The wooden staff (ithusi) is sometimes wrapped around with colourful beads. In a spiritual context, it is used for protection and believed to possess certain powers. Fully adorned in her African traditional healer’s attire, Gcabeshe used her visibility to embed ancestral wisdom directly into the modern conversation about her journey of this “parallel universe” as she calls it. Her presence affirmed that in Johannesburg, the traditional and the corporate are not just compatible but that they are a source of professional authority worth recognition and respect.
Sharp contrasts and conflicts
The tension between being a corporate professional and a traditional healer arise in the dismantling of the life that practitioners have built and are then forced to rebuild on two foundations. The integration of ancestral practices with modern careers, shows that traditions and ambition can coexist, sparking challenges to and questions about how success is defined or redefined.
Mkhulu Mahlal’entabeni, whose birthname is Keabetswe Kaka, is an initiated spiritual healer who is also a broadcast media technology engineer in one of the largest media companies in South Africa. He shares the journey of his spiritual awakening with both dismay and acceptance.
Kaka began his journey of ukuthwasa (initiation) after he had graduated from university and entered into the work space – which he left for a time, only for him to come back at a later stage. He remembers the early days of his awakening to his calling as having begun with dreams about snakes and, at times, seeing his grandmother who had passed on. He completed his initiation after 18 months of training and describes his journey as anything but easy.
“I am proud of my dual identity. Am I embracing it? Is it easy to handle and manage? Not at all. That is one thing I can definitely say I struggle with when it comes to my dual identity, this dichotomy”, says Kaka. “Everything you’ve ever known and ever understood, you now have to question”, he adds.
The initial attempt to reconcile these two demanding worlds is often defined by an exhausting, almost schizophrenic level of code-switching. Added to this is mastering the art of living in Johannesburg, navigating its fast pace and lack of natural environment which typically forms an integral part of a healer’s life and journey. It is an act of extreme mental and emotional endurance.
Info Box
When traditional healers (some, not all) burp, it symbolises the presence of the spirit or their ancestors. It can happen at any time, regardless of location or time. It is one of the signs that the ancestors are omnipresent and work to convey messages through traditional healers and other gifted people.
Zanele Zwane (36), whose ancestral name is Gogo Manziniwasentabeni (meaning one who heals through prayer and the use of water) is a practicing healer and a film and television professional. She fans herself with an ancestral cloth wrapped around her shoulders, and punctuates the conversation with soft burps [see info box above]. In the film and television industry, Zwane meets her difficulty of this duality with a sense of acceptance. “My understanding is that your ancestors never push you to a point where you literally cannot do both your professional and healing work,” she adds.
An awakening amid a scene on a shoot
Johannesburg’s global standing is predicated on its resilience and its complex cultural layering. The city’s inherent dynamism has created space for synthesis. This is a critical distinction as it shows not just tolerance but a sophisticated and working model of layered identity and diversity.
While Zwane and her production crew were shooting a scene in the bushes, African traditional props had to be used to recreate a real and natural-looking set – the crew brought in impepho, an African herb also known as sage, and a real goat’s head which had been purchased from a nearby butchery.
Bundles of impepho stack at Faraday market down town Joburg, fueling ancestral connections in a global city. Photo: Zanele S. Maduma
Once they put the goat’s head down, and lit up the impepho, that was it for Zwane. As the sacred smoke of impepho mingled with the sharp, metallic scent of blood from the goat’s severed head, a profound shift stirred within her. This potent scene, the goat’s head with its visceral residue and the smoke curling up in the air from the impepho creating a thick scent, translated into umgidi for her lineage. Umgidi a sacred observance performed for summoning the spirit of the elders to offer and share with one’s offering.
“That caused a ball of fire for me, because once you light up impepho, it summons the spirits” Zwane explains. “I fell down and the trance that takes over is as though you are out of your human body.”
Production had to pause. This resulted to extended shooting hours as the crew had to stop and check on her if she was ok, proceeding to give her time to recollect herself before continuing with production.
The complexity of the duality
Joburg has always been a space of high-density cultural exchange. The difference today is that this exchange is no longer confined to the townships or the informal sector, it has moved into the boardroom.
The traditional healer who is also an executive proves that African spirituality is not merely a relic to be studied, but a living knowledge system that is both relevant and powerful in navigating the pressures of the 21st century economy. The dual-identity individual is a highly sophisticated code-switcher.
This complexity is the key to African innovation. It signifies an intellectual and spiritual freedom that positions it as a genuine leader of Afro-modern thought. The quiet, almost subversive resilience of these dual-identity professionals provides the most compelling evidence for Johannesburg’s world-class status. They are the architects of a new authenticity, proving that a major global city can be powered by both algorithms and ancestry. The true architecture of Johannesburg is not its glass towers but its deep, layered character, revealed in the lives of those who sustain its dynamism through their authenticity.
Shifting company policies and the Traditional Health Professions Council
In South Africa, state-owned companies such as Transnet and local government structures like the City of Tshwane have implemented spiritual or initiation leave. This leave refers to extended absence by employees for the purpose of undergoing ukuthwasa. It falls under broader protections for cultural, religious, and traditional beliefs, as enshrined in Section 15 of the Constitution (freedom of religion, belief, and opinion) and the Employment Equity Act (EEA), which prohibits unfair discrimination based on culture or belief.
Signposts pointing to key Sandton landmarks guiding Joburg’s workers and visitors to Sandton’s heart, where healers navigate both boardrooms and their callings. Photo: Zanele S. Maduma
Merriam Leuuw, whose ancestral name is Mmamorena, a Masters student at Wits University, received support from her employer at the time when she was granted leave for those days that she went through her initiation.
“They were very accommodating, because the space I was in, in Free State, is more appreciative or understanding of people who are spiritually gifted”, says Leuuw, who was working for community radio station Motheo FM in the province at the time that she began her initiation.
In April 2025, the SABC reported that the City of Tshwane had adopted a policy granting its employees special leave for ukuthwasa. This move marked a shift toward recognising African spirituality in the workplace.
However, one of the primary challenges emerging in recognizing the needs for professionals with a spiritual calling is that ukuthwasa is an open-ended practice. This means that the initiation process is continuous and sometimes can extend over a longer period.
When Kaka went on his initiation journey, he did not want to disclose this at work as he did not want to complicate or ruin his job.
Kaka says, “I only opened up about me being in initiation when my job and initiation process was starting to conflict. I work in the technical space so we work shifts and odd hours at times. Instead of talking to HR, I went to my direct manager and explained what was going on with me. I never really got to involve HR, although my journey did impact my work performance and as we speak, I am going through work performance improvement,” adds Kaka. In a separate interview with the SABC, African Spiritual Advisor Siyabonga Mkhize of Umsamo Institute, noted that because of the open-endedness of the initiating process, perhaps companies need to draft policies that balance out the spiritual needs of the employees without compromising the operations of the employer. The Steel and Engineering Industries Federation of Southern Africa (SEIFSA), a federation representing employers in the metal and engineering industries in South Africa, points out, for example, many organisations are still grappling with finding working solutions pertaining to extended leave days for initiation.
Traditional Health Professions Council
In January 2008, the South African government gazetted The Traditional Health Practitioners Act, 2007, to recognise traditional health practitioners and to regulate, train and legitimize their issuing of sick notes upon registering as professional healers.
A post on X (formerly known as Twitter) sparked an engagement on the social media platform when a user displayed bewilderment at the fact that employees are now able to submit sick notes from their traditional healers. One user dropped a bombshell into this conversation, giving an account of how an employee was fired for submitting such a note – and had gone on to win their case before the Commission for Conciliation and Mediation and Arbitration (CCMA), proving its legal weight.
This online flurry mirrors Johannesburg’s own dance of duality, where corporate professionals and African traditional practitioners navigate a landscape that’s both perplexing and progressively inclusive. The city’s formal systems are bending to accommodate the African self. Such transitions and innovations further prove that Joburg is progressive in its multiculturalism, evidently putting it forward as a world-class African city, innovating amid its medley of challenges.
https://youtu.be/WoIRAqRYjdE
Featured Image: Skyscraper glass facade rise in Sandton, Joburg. Photo: Zanele S. Maduma
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