R520-million partnership between Universities South Africa and Services SETA intended to be a lifeline for the missing middle has been met with administrative silence as Wits University leaves students in the dark.
Wits University received R20 million of a R520 million national bursary allocation.
Both USAf and the university financial aid have declined to clarify how the funds will be distributed.
Eligible self-funded students lack information on how to access the aid despite the high-profile announcement.
A partnership between Universities South Africa (USAf) and Services SETA launched an ambitious R520 million bursary fund on 30 April 2026 aimed at funding 5 200 students up to R100 000 a year for three years, but details of how Wits students can access the institution’s allocated R20 million remain unavailable with university authorities refusing to divulge any information.
The R520 million was distributed equally across 26 public universities in South Africa, with each institution receiving R20 million to support up to 200 beneficiaries.
An infographic illustrating the USAf and Servies SETA partnership. Graphic by: Rearabilwe Tsebela
In a press statement, USAf stated that the bursary fund is open to first-time applicants who are South African citizens enrolled at a public university, with funding capped at R100 000 per year. USAf CEO Dr Phethiwe Matutu, linked the fund to the missing middle gap students whose household income exceeds the R350 000 NSFAS threshold, but who still face financial pressure. However, the missing middle at Wits University are finding that information is strictly private.
“I have a concern that we are singling out specific funding”, stated Amanda Kort, a representative of the Wits financial aid office. “This is an internal administrative process, and I do not believe that we should provide the information nor the interview.”
This wall of silence is mirrored at the national level. Gcina Nhleko, USAf manager for corporate communications and media inquiries, deferred responsibility to the campus. “We do not allocate funds to students as USAf, but universities do,” Nhleko said. “We have been requested to follow the university protocols, please liaise with your financial aid bureau.”
Ntsako Mngomezulu, a bachelor of science student majoring in geology and applied geology, who is a self-funded missing middle student, has not found any information on where to apply for the R100 000 bursary. She noted that while the funding would “unburden her the cap does not adjust to inflation in Johannesburg.”
Lethabo Leputu, a bachelor of arts in film and television student, echoes the information gap. “It is my first time hearing about this,” she said when asked about the bursary. Leputu is partially funded by the National Film and Video Foundation which covers her tuition, but she must still find money for accommodation: placing her squarely in the missing middle. While acknowledging the R100 000 would not cover everything, she sees real value in what it could cover. “I would really appreciate my residence fees being covered. That would alleviate the stress and anxiety that comes with seeing your fee statement,” she said.
The lack of transparency raises questions about accountability, especially as Services SETA acting CEO Sibusio Dhladla noted the organisation is currently under administration due to “governance failures.”
Services SETA had not responded to requests for comment by the time of publication. For now, the R20 million earmarked for Wits remains a ghost in the system, leaving the students it was meant to support without a clear path to access the promised relief.
FEATURED IMAGE: Wits students protest against fee increase in 2016. Gap funding came as a solution from government to help students whose household income is less than R600 000. Photo: Wits Vuvuzela/File
Every Wednesday at any Roco Mama’s near you, students are signing waivers, sweating through ten burning wings and calling it a good time. But this is not really about the food.
Every Wednesday, something unusual happens at Roco Mama’s branches across the country. Students pull up in groups, sign a legal waiver and willingly eat ten of the hottest wings on the menu in under 10 minutes for a chance to win a cap and a free meal worth R200. Most of them lose. Almost none of them regret it.
The challenge has quietly become a student ritual, Witsies are showing up in numbers. Waiter Jimmy Khumalo stated that “Yona iWits iya si supporta” which translates to Wits really supports us.
The rules are simple. Ten hot wings, a side of fries and a 500ml sprite. Finish everything in ten minutes and the meal is on the house. Tap out and you are R200 lighter. Before any of that, you sign a waiver. Rosebank branch manager Giovanni Bernicchi is straightforward about why “We won’t be liable for anything that happens to the person, that is why we have a contract in place, which remains valid for up to one year” he stated.
What draws students in? Bernicchi says it is a combination. “Students are coming for both the content and the experience. Because it only happens once a year, they want see how it is and experience something that is hot” he added.
But spend any time watching a table attempt the challenge, and one thing becomes immediately clear. Nobody is doing this alone, even when they came alone. Strangers lean across tables offering advice. Friends count down together. Someone who already tapped out becomes the loudest cheerleader for the person still going.
There is a camaraderie that heat seems to manufacture, there is a shared suffering in it that makes strangers feel closer, more quickly than most situations would. On the Wednesday I visited, three separate groups of student friends were there to take on the challenge. Though different in race and background, they had the same energy. The restaurant for those few minutes felt less like a dining space, and more like a locker room before a big sports game.
A group of friends bow their heads and join hands in prayer over plates of spicy hot wings and fries at RocoMamas. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
This sense of solidarity may also explain a quieter phenomenon at these tables: the placebo effect. In this context, the placebo effect refers to the way a person’s belief that they can get through the heat, reinforced by the encouragement of those around them, makes the experience more bearable that it would be alone. The pain does not disappear, but the brain works with the body rather than against it. When a stranger tells you, “you have got this” and your friends suffering right alongside you, community becomes the painkiller.
Oratilwe Mabizela, who completed the challenge, speaks to exactly this. “I love challenging myself and I hate quitting’’, he said. Mabizela grew up eating spicy food and wanted to test his limits and set out to become the first person to complete the challenge at the Loftus Park branch. On whether he would do it again? He replied “Oh no! The challenge itself is not that bad, the aftermath is, when the food has to go out”, he said.
Tshidi Thabethe did not complete the challenge however does not frame it as a loss. “I paid for the experience more than the food. It was fun, intense and definitely something different”, she said. Thabethe came after seeing the buzz online, curious to find out if the challenge lived up to the hype. It did. Her TikTok video of the attempt has since reached 1.1 million views turning one Wednesday into viral content long after the heat has worn off.
Students are willing to risk R200 not for the food and not just for the content but for a story they get to tell together. Win or lose, they walk away with something no meal alone could offer: the memory of having gone through something hard, with other people and coming out the other side laughing.
The edge Witsies try and conquer is not always academic. Sometimes it is sitting across the table from a friend suffering through the same fire and realising you are not alone. Ten wings. 10 minutes. Community.
The challenge is available every Wednesday at Roco Mama’s, so wherever you are in the city, there is a table and a waiver waiting to be signed.
FEATURED IMAGE:The outdoor seating area of RocoMamas Rosebank, featuring wooden picnic-style benches and warm lighting under a modern black frame. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
We used to protect our most intimate moments: grief, prayer and quiet joy within the four walls of our homes. Now, we trade them for likes. As the line between experiencing and performing life vanishes, we must ask: If everything is for sale online, does anything remain sacred?
A camera is always ready, lingering in the background to record even the smallest moments. In the age of the non-stop vlog, the boundaries of human experience are dissolving. Social media has not just given us a platform, it has turned our very existence into a product. We are no longer living our lives: we are curating them for an invisible audience that does not actually care.
William Shakespeare once wrote that “all the world’s a stage”, suggesting that we are all merely players acting out our roles. Centuries later. Sociologist Ervin Goffman expanded on this, arguing that in our social interactions, we are constantly “performing” to manage how others see us. Goffman believed we had a “front stage” for the public and a “backstage” where we could finally be ourselves. However, the digital age has effectively abolished the backstage.
Look at your feed. You will see funerals livestreamed, hospital beds used as backdrops and personal breakdowns filmed through a beauty filter. We see random acts of kindness where the camera is clearly set up before the help is even offered. In these moments, the experience itself becomes secondary. The grief is not about loss: it is about engagement. Kindness is not about the person in need: it is about the creator’s brand.
Even the sanctuary is no longer safe. Instead of lifting both hands to praise the Lord, many are now holding up a phone to take content. We see congregants capturing the choir or the sermon for their stories instead of being present in the moment. This raises a chilling question: Are we still experiencing life, or are just performing it? How is one supposed to be fully immersed in worship when they are preoccupied with the right camera angle?
A packed auditorium during a contemporary church service, featuring integrated live-streaming and digital displays. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
This shift is fueled by a hungry algorithm.
Research from the University of Malta in 2025 found that the “TraumaTok” trend encourages young people to turn their private grief into public confessional narratives. This specific trend is exactly what is destroying the sacred and private nature of our lives. When we see life through a lens, we stop being participants and start being directors. We wait for the right lighting before we cry: we pause the conversation to ensure the aesthetic is correct.
This is the death of the sacred. Something is sacred precisely because is it not for public consumption. Its value lies in its privacy, the fact that it belongs only to the people in the room.
Critics will argue that social media connects us and in some ways it does. But there is a massive difference between connection and performance.
True connection happens in the unrecorded silence between two people. When we broadcast those silences, we strip them of their power. When everything becomes content, nothing feels special anymore. We are feeding a hungry algorithm with the bits of our souls that should have been kept for ourselves.
It is time to draw a hard line in the digital sand. Not every moment needs a caption. Not every heartbreak needs a story update. Not every sunset needs a filter. Some things should remain unseen, not because they lack value, but because they hold too much of it to ever be liked. In reclaiming our privacy, we might just rediscover the quiet, unrecorded beauty of being alive.
FEATURED IMAGE: A professional camera rig stands ready on a sidewalk in Braamfontein. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
What began as a study group is now a campus staple with 200+ orders. Built on brotherhood and faith, Panache is redefining luxury for the Wits community.
On any given day at Wits University, students cross the Library Lawns wearing hoodies and streetwear that stand out in the crowd. Among the sea of fast fashion, certain pieces carry a specific look that has become a staple of the Braamfontein and Wits community aesthetic. This presence belongs to Panache.
But long before it became a growing local brand, it started with something far simpler: friendship. For students Tshepang Rafutho, third-year accounting science, Kevin Radebe, BComHons in insurance and risk management, Thokozani Matyolo, honours in economic science and Tshiamo Ntlemo, third-year accounting science, Panache was never the original plan.
Their story began in lecture halls and shared study groups, where mutual friends brought them together. What started as an academic collaboration evolved into a friendship rooted in shared interests, ambitions and goals.
The brotherhood remains the brand’s anchor. While many student startups buckle under the pressure of balancing business and academics, the four credit their stability to a shared faith.
Rafutho explains, “At the core of it all, Christ has become the foundation of our friendship. That’s our anchor, the rock on which we stand.” It shapes how we move, how we treat each other and how we handle both challenges and success”. This stability allows them to hold each other accountable and push for growth without the work ever feeling personal.
The idea for Panache grew out of a gap they observed in student life. Matyolo said, “There was not much that reflected accessible luxury for students. We felt like students were not given the opportunity to experience quality and an elevated style that still felt accessible”.
Their first release, the “Princess Diana” hoodie defined the brand’s aesthetic. The design features a high contrast black and white portrait of the late Princess in a tiara, set against heavy black fabric with a minimalist ‘P’ embroidered on the sleeve. The turning point arrived when the founders realised the brand was resonating beyond their own social circles, the order list began to feature names they did not recognise. “I would say it was when people not close to us, people who did not have any obligation to support us were buying the hoodies despite not being familiar with the brand” said Matyolo.
Picture of a black Panache hoodie featuring a graphic print of Princess Diana, laid out on a white garden table. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
We officially decided to go for it when we saw the genuine excitement around our very first drop. Before we had even officially positioned Panache as a brand, people were already treating it like one,” said Rafutho. Since its inception in May 2024, Panache has fulfilled over 200 orders, expanding its reach well beyond its initial circle of supporters. For the founders, seeing students wearing their pieces is the ultimate validation. As Ntlemo puts it, “Like ba believe’a mo rena!” (They believe in us).
“The support is a constant reminder to stay consistent and intentional, because every garment worn carries the Panache name and reflects what the brand stands for” said Ntlemo”
However, the vision for Panache stretches far beyond campus. The team is already building Friends of Panache, a creative ecosystem where ideas, can be brought to life through projects and collaboration. “Our goal is to become the bridge for young creatives who have the talent but lack access to opportunities that allow them to build strong portfolios,” said Radebe.
For instance, a student photographer can transition from taking casual photos to leading a professional clothing photoshoot using Panache apparel, while a model can use Panache’s garments to build solid work needed to reach “bigger stages” like mainstream magazines.
For Rafutho, Radebe, Matyolo and Ntlemo, the message to their peers is clear, you don’t have to wait until you have made it with intention. Whether through a garment or a creative collaboration, Panache is about owning your journey in real time.
FEATURED IMAGE:Picture of the four founders of Panache leaning in against a bright sky, capturing the spirit of collaboration and brotherhood behind the brand. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
Since her announcement as the Democratic Alliance’s mayoral candidate for Johannesburg, Helen Zille has dominated national headlines. In this bonus episode of We Should Be Writing podcast, hosts Lulah Mapiye and Bonolo Mokonoto dissect a media meet-and-greet with the mayoral hopeful. From her extensive political résumé to her controversial public utterance, we examine why the Democratic Alliance has chosen Hellen Zille as their candidate for the 2027 local mayoral elections. Additionally, […]
