I once lived in Pietermaritzburg. I arrived there tired, tired of Johannesburg, tired of the noise, the urgency, the performance of becoming. I had no plan whatsoever, only a quiet need to breathe again. It remains the best decision of my life.
What I found was not spectacle. It was sincerity. An arts scene that did not reach for polish or permission. People making do with what they had and somehow creating everything they needed.
A poetry session at a local tavern where words were exchanged like currency. A rap battle unfolding outside the library, verses bouncing off concrete and passing bodies. A makeshift pop-up thrift store squeezed next to a gogo selling vegetables at the market; art and survival sharing the same pavement. I fell in love instantly, not with the idea of the place but with its honesty.
It was there that I met poet and radio presenter Ndumiso Zondi. At the time, I didn’t know how much his work would settle into me.
I had the privilege of watching many of his pieces performed live and what struck me was how familiar they felt. He wrote about places, spaces and people he encountered every day.
People I recognised because of where I come from, because of what shaped me. These were not distant characters or romanticised figures. They were our neighbours, our relatives, ourselves.
Zondi may not know this but together with a small group of friends, we returned to those people and places through his work. We revisited them differently. With tenderness. With attention.
He gave us the space to appreciate again what we had learned to overlook. It had everything to do with movement. With leaving, with returning, with seeing from a different angle. Distance, I learned, can be an act of care.
Often, he spoke fondly of the people who raised him, challenged him, carried him. Through the books he read and loved. I listened. I was intrigued. I felt something opening. I knew I wanted others to experience this same quiet magic: the recognition, the remembering, the permission to look again at the ordinary and find it sacred.
So I asked Zondi to compile a list of must-reads for the year. Not as an academic exercise, not as a trend but as an invitation. An invitation to reflect. To see the people and spaces we know, the ones we forgot and even the ones we tried to escape from.
These books are mirrors. They do not flatter. They reveal. And sometimes, that is the most generous thing art can do.
Confiscated Identity
Confiscated Identity is Luleka Mhlanzi’s debut poetry collection, exploring themes of identity, self-love and empowerment. The anthology is divided into three sections: “The Yang,” “My Eyes Are Starting To See Me,” and “The Yin,” reflecting on politics, love, relationships, gender roles, and race. Mhlanzi’s poetry chronicles her personal journey, confronting societal beauty standards and internalized self-doubt. Through her work, Mhlanzi aims to inspire confidence, promoting self-acceptance and challenging societal norms. The collection has received critical acclaim in the country and abroad.
I’m A Different Mess Than I was Yesterday
In a country planning to raise the legal drinking age, Msizi E Nkosi’s book helps us remember that a smart man learns from his mistakes and a wise man learns from the mistakes of others. Gone but not forgotten, Nkosi left us with a confessional memoir. In his book, he opens up about his wild sex life, drugs and alcohol. After several blackouts and no signs of a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Msizi dusts himself from the dirty floor to become a successful TV and radio producer, having worked on 3 Talk with Noeleen, Take 5, UKhozi fm and Zola 7. The biography can change a willing heart.
The Violence Gestures Of Life
Regret comes too late – the irony of “Qalakabusha” youth reformatory. Gift is 14 when he becomes an inmate at Qalakabushu prison. Bad decisions shape the future of this young man, a fast-paced read of 176 pages. The book is by Thshifhiwa Given Mukwevho, a brilliant poet, journalist and author, who makes you feel like you are also on the receiving end of the harsh iron fist from the caretakers in the supposed place of rehabilitation. It is a story of hope and life lessons that teaches one not to be afraid of starting over.
This is a reminder that when you start afresh, you are not starting from scratch but from experience.