I know a man
I have never met,
yet his voice has walked with me
through hungry days
and restless nights.
When he appears on a screen,
I stop.
Not because he is famous,
but because truth
does not knock twice.
What he speaks is not polished—
it spills,
it burns,
it builds.
From the sound of his words
I learned how to stand
as a Black man
with an unbowed spine.
If I had money,
if I carried the keys
that open high doors,
I would have asked for his time,
sat across from him,
and traded thoughts
on a higher ground.
But my pockets are light,
heavy only with dreams.
So I meet him
through pixels,
through borrowed networks,
through voices that travel
where my body cannot.
Still, I pray.
Not for wealth,
not for fame—
but for time.
That the Creator
keeps his breath warm,
his voice sharp,
until the day
my path crosses his.
And when it does,
I will not ask for wisdom—
he has already given it.
I will simply extend my hand
and say nothing.
Because some debts
are paid
in silence.
— Themba T Twala III
Joshua Maponga
Joshua Maponga is a man I admire and respect deeply.
When I see him on television or across social media, I pause. I listen. I pay attention. Because what comes out of his mouth is not noise—it is medicine. His words have shaped me, strengthened me, and helped build the man I am today.
What he speaks feels raw, like something pulled from deep within. Some may call it anger, but to me it is truth spoken without fear. It has taught me to think, to stand firm, to understand myself as a Black man in a world that often tries to silence us.
If I had capital, if I had the so-called “roots of evil” that open doors, I would have reached out to him long ago. I would have asked for his thoughts. I would have sat across from him, man to man, and spoken about life, struggle, and purpose at a higher table.
But my pockets are empty. Like many Black men, my wealth is not in money but in observation, patience, and hope. For now, I only meet him through screens—through media platforms where his voice still reaches me.
So I pray. I pray that the Creator spares his life. I pray that one day I will stand before him, not as a beggar of wisdom, but as a man shaped by it. And when that day comes, I will simply shake his hand.
That will be enough.
— Themba T Twala III
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