I got a call on a Sunday afternoon. It was a friend of mine who has been living with depression and suicidal ideation. In the call all he said was "Dude, I am not fine. I am losing it".
He didn't need to say more. I told him I am coming over and the first thing we are doing is checking in his firearm at the police station and then we can sit and talk. He lives about 1h30mins away and when I arrived he had already handled the firearm part. I won't say where he lives because that 1h30m will show that I was avoiding a funeral more than I was avoiding speeding tickets.
His wife was not around for the weekend so it was me, him and his kids. We left them watching TV and went to sit by a corner. We talked. About everything besides the call he made earlier.
Not because I wasn't curious but because after living with depression too I know that I don't always want a questionnaire. Or explain triggers that don't make sense. Or explain that sometimes I don't even understand why I feel that way I do. In fact, he was going through some of the best few months of his life when he made that call. New house, business going well... To the outside world he didn't "qualify" for depression.
The elephant in the room was there but we were laughing. I think the elephant was laughing too.
Months later he made a facebook post about that moment and we could joke about it now. Publicly. Not knowing that the simple act of sitting in that corner talking about shit was exactly why he called.
Too often when a low point in depression hits, we feel like we are talking to people we have to qualify our state to. People who mean well. But I don't know why I want my world to end. And even if I do, it is not always this great big thing that most people would think "Okay, it makes sense why you feel this way".
The other reason for this is that depression, like any illness, wants to live. It will do whatever it can to survive. Depression lies to you and tells you that you're a burden, that nobody actually cares and that reaching out will only make things worse. It's not avoidance. It's the illness doing exactly what it's designed to do. Live. Make you isolated.
And he actually is right about being a burden because he still hasn't reimbursed me for my petrol. Umuntu feeling suicidal nge mampara week knowing he lives in another province 😭 Ngiyayifuna imali yam ye Petrol na ma Tollgate 😭😭😭
Meet Thatiso Dube from Mamelodi — the mind behind GALXBOY.
In 2008, while still in high school, he started selling T-shirts to classmates and people in the streets.
His first store opened in 2014, closed in 2017, and many thought the brand was finished. Instead, he went back, studied retail, rebuilt the business — and came back stronger.
Today GALXBOY is one of South Africa’s biggest streetwear brands:
🔥 14+ stores nationwide
🏢 HQ & warehouse operations
👥 170+ employees
🏆 Entrepreneur of the Year & Job Creator Award winner
🚗 A fleet of company vehicles
From a school hustle in Mamelodi to Sandton City shelves.
GALXBOY stores:
📍 Sandton City | Mall of Africa | Rosebank | East Rand Mall
📍 V&A Wharf | Pavilion | Menlyn Park | Co. Space
📍 i’langa Mall | Highveld Mall | Rustenburg Mall
📍 Mall of the North | Boardwalk Mall | Mimosa Mall | Diamond Pavilion
Lesson: Sometimes the comeback is bigger than the setback. 🇿🇦🔥
When Tyla said she is not Black but Coloured, she was not speaking into the American conversation about race at all. She was speaking in the language of her own country, shaped by its own history. Yet her words detonated in America as though they had been aimed there. This is what happens when a nation has spent a century convincing the world that its definitions are the only ones that matter.
America’s greatest export has never been war. It has never been democracy. It has never been freedom. America’s greatest export is the dream of itself.
It is not that the films are inherently better. It is not that the music contains some mystical note absent elsewhere. What America has, and what it has always had, is money, reach, and a machinery built to make its image the centre of the world.
This was not accidental. It was policy. It was the soft arm of empire. To project yourself outward until your face is the first one people recognise in the mirror.
And so the American way of life became the default. Other cultures were filed into two neat drawers: savage if they challenged the story, exotic if they could be sold back to you.
If you are Black, your first cinematic self was likely African American, the rapper, the sitcom character, the hero of a Spike Lee joint. If you are white in Europe or Australia, it was the white faces of American sitcoms and stadium tours. Whoever you were, your first image of yourself came with an American accent.
Over time, Americans began to believe the story they had written. When you grow up in the country that built itself into the cultural Mecca, it is easy to think you are the best simply because you are on top. You forget, or never know, that the game was fixed long before you played it.
But the monopoly is breaking. Nigeria’s Nollywood now speaks across oceans. South Korean dramas leap borders. India’s Bollywood never needed permission to fill theatres. Spanish thrillers keep strangers awake at night. Slumdog Millionaire, Squid Game, Money Heist, Shōgun — all aimed partly at the American market because that is where the money is, but no longer about America.
And here is the thing. Black Americans, who fought to be seen in their own country, became the global face of Blackness. That is a remarkable achievement. It was also made possible by the same system that excluded everyone else. Now Africans, Caribbeans, and Afro-Latins tell their own stories without making room for American centrality, and the absence is noticed.
We grew up watching you. You did not grow up watching us. And now the internet has levelled the ground just enough for others to speak without hesitation. Tyla’s words land differently because the world no longer accepts America as the only arbiter of meaning.
America’s greatest export was never its art. It was the power to decide which art, and which identities, the world would see. That power is no longer yours alone. There is both justice and loss in that.
Community Service Reporting is Tammy Jane Fray. The judges say the winning story dealt with the inequalities in South Africa’s health system. It reported on the shocking conditions in the maternity ward at Frere Hospital in East London, due to understaffing. @StandardBankZA
I cannot believe I am just now seeing this! @YangaSobetwa, u did that!!! “If This Isn’t Love” will always have a special place in my heart, and it was a joy hearing u sing it! 💜 I’m a fan!!!!
WE’RE BACK!!! After nearly 20 years, the Wayans brothers are finally going to give the fans what they’ve been asking for… a return to the SCARY MOVIE franchise! We’re looking forward to having fun on the big screen again.