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Published by Sower Media, a Private Limited Company Registered in England and Wales (Company Number: 07216486)

20 High Street, Cardiff, CF10 1PT, United Kingdom www.sowermedia.com

Publication ©Sower Media Text ©Coral Pearl Consulting Attributed Author: Carla Day Managing Editor: Yan Shan Chen All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owners.

ISBN: 978-0-9932128-1-9 Any resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names. All events described herein actually happened, though on occasion the author has taken certain, very small, liberties with chronology, because that was her right.

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Contents

INTRODUCTION ......................................................... 4

CHAPTER ONE – THE EARLY YEARS – SITTING UNDER A MANGO TREE ............................................................ 6

CHAPTER TWO – EMPTYING THE WASTEPAPER BASKET ............................................................................... 20

CHAPTER THREE – HOME SWEET HOME ................... 36

CHAPTER FOUR – GROWING PAINS .......................... 54

CHAPTER FIVE – FINDING GOD & LEAVING HOME .... 75

CHAPTER SIX – THE ACADEMIC ................................ 91

CHAPTER SEVEN – FAMILY AND WHAT’S IMPORTANT! ............................................................................... 99

CHAPTER EIGHT – AND WHAT’S NEXT ON THE AGENDA? .............................................................. 105

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Introduction

Brendon was born in Durban, South Africa on 13

July 1980 to Indian parents, whose roots originate

from the 1860 settlers. He was raised during the

lingering whispers of over three decades’ worth of

racial and political chaos as apartheid was nearing

its long overdue expiry date.

Although he was from a hard-working and business-

minded family, life continued to challenge him as he

battled a lack-lustre early education that was

plagued with hatred and bullying and tarnished with

humiliation. But after a pivotal moment at the

sensitive age of thirteen, after his parents’ divorce

and realising that feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t

cut it, he endeavoured to conquer the world and

discovered ambition.

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One slow yet methodical step at a time, he met life

with a hungry ferocity, as he continued to climb

pertinent obstacles and racist barriers. Brendon was

all the time set on building a foundation, a platform

that would propel him to success. One emotional

brick at a time, layer after layer of education and

religion, a wall of probability, cemented by life’s

often cruel lessons. Every turn on his journey

brought seasoned characters and new

opportunities. Once upon a time, he was lost. But

after cheating on a high school exam paper and

realising he had to get serious, he was shamed into

learning with a newfound enthusiasm. This saw him

excel, not only in the academic arena but also in

entrepreneurism.

***

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting

under a Mango Tree

When asked to describe himself as a child, he

answers without hesitation: “Sad!” Brendon recalls

his first day at school at just five years old. With no

real appetite or interest, he walked the two miles to

school carrying the promise of being picked up by

his mum at three o’clock. She didn’t show, so he

walked another two miles on his return journey to

her shop after school, passing the residential Indian

suburb, through a highly populated taxi rank, and

via the busy main roads of the shopping district of

Port Shepstone, to where she worked as a

seamstress. A sign of things to come? He mostly

made his way to and from school alone, leaving him

open to bullies, until - he says, “thankfully” - they

built a school close by in his neighbourhood. This

temporarily alleviated the problem.

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If Brendon wasn’t up with the larks and dressed by

6.30 a.m., his mum would go to work and leave him

to make his own way, which was most days. And on

the days he did make it up in time, he was dropped

at school a good hour and a half before school

started. Left to wander, he would run around, trying

to tire himself out, getting all hot and sweaty before

class commenced, or stand in the scorching sun

watching his skin redden, or in the bitter cold during

harsh winters, hopping from foot to foot as he

watched his breath unfurl into grey skies.

The night before school, after completing the many

chores his mum had cut out for him, he would

polish his shoes with gusto and prepare his clothes,

all nice and pristine, for the mad morning rush.

Once awake, for breakfast he would eat whatever

was available, often just bread and butter and a few

slurps of tea, sometimes nothing at all. After school,

when he arrived home, eternally ravenous with a

growling belly, he would eat practically anything in

sight, often inventing his own sickly creations, like

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting under a Mango Tree

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caramelised bread cooked in the microwave or

whatever was at hand. Every day, he would then go

on to prepare the ingredients for his mum, so she

could cook her various curry dishes. He would wash

the rice and chop whatever else was needed for

that night’s creation, another curry, a dish he tends

to steer away from now – especially tripe curry.

Not seeing school as important, he often fell back

asleep. Knowing he would have a long walk ahead,

he would use the morning sun’s rays as his guide to

when he should wake up. He would wait for the

sunlight to hit a certain spot in the window frame to

know it was time to get up and ready, if he were to

make it in time. It took years of turning up late or

even after school had finished for him to learn how

to get himself there punctually. With his parents

working long hours and being busy when they got

in, it left him without guidance, for both homework

and just how to get on in school. Brendon started to

fail and feel extremely inadequate and low. Having

friends at school from influential and wealthy

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families put him at a disadvantage. There were no

family holidays to Florida to talk about, as did most

of his friends, and no riches to talk of either, just

strict, hard-working folk, who provided yet had no

real time to dedicate to their children.

As a small child, Brendon was socially awkward,

terribly shy and an underachiever, both at school

and within his community. Feeling unaccepted and

with low self-esteem, Brendon found great difficulty

making friends, so he started to do other things, like

steal. If he wanted something and saw it, knowing

he couldn’t afford it, he would do his level best to

take it anyway, despite knowing he would receive a

gargantuan beating if he got caught, in fact, despite

anything at all. He would get what he wanted,

temporarily filling the void of unfairness.

This was a very important early lesson for him. The

experience taught him that his inadequacy and his

reeling from the embarrassment of not having what

his friends had, made him do the unthinkable and

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting under a Mango Tree

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take what didn’t belong to him. He learned by these

acts that only by working hard and by accomplishing

a sense of achievement, would you get to enjoy the

things you truly deserve. It took a long time for this

realisation to set in as a young boy, but when it did,

it became so ingrained that it is something Brendon

doesn’t tolerate from others. In his own words, he

demands respect!

And “no” was a word Brendon didn’t like at all as a

child. He did, however, after several years of painful

and tedious lectures, learn to accept that this was a

word to which he had to succumb on occasion, but

it was with a heavy heart and great reluctance and

was confused by his parents and peers with bloody-

minded stubbornness.

Most school mornings would see him

inappropriately dressed, sometimes in a smart suit

with white-laced shoes, which didn’t do much for

his popularity, and clutching a pack-up of just fresh

figs picked from neighbouring trees for his lunch.

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Waved off by the resident maid and with his

unwelcome yet very best friend ‘Blackie’ the fox

terrier in tow, he would idle his way to school,

sauntering, to a place he saw as terrifying, on so

many levels.

Despite Brendon’s attempts at shooing his

companion away, tethering him to the fence or

even locking him in a shed, Blackie would always

somehow manage to escape and follow him to

school, again causing great ridicule from his peers.

Brendon describes the dog as his best friend, yet he

once threw Blackie down a couple of steps in

temper, fuelled with embarrassment and

humiliation of his dog’s annoying loyalty and

desperation to be with him wherever he went. He

says this with a smile and just a hint of regret.

Brendon and his mum, dad and younger brother

rented a double-garage space in a single-storey,

gated bungalow in Albersville, Port Shepstone, from

a prominent suburban couple. This was converted

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting under a Mango Tree

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into makeshift home while they saved to build their

own house on a nearby adjacent plot. The garage

was divided by plasterboard partition walls, a

cramped living area with a suitable kitchenette and

bedrooms, an adequate outside toilet with only cold

running water and an outside yard where they

would wash their clothes.

He remembers the maid dashing across from the

house with hot water boiled on the stove in a pail so

he could wash himself. The outside bathroom had a

bucket filled with boiled water and a container to

wash with and a bench seat on which to sit.

Undeterred by living in a small space and being run

by his mum with military precision, he describes this

as a happy place, with a forest for a backdrop and

the sound of monkey chatter as his music.

All of the houses in the neighbourhood were

painted in stark white, and lines of clean washing

scented the azure skies in the tropical warm breeze.

Banana trees rustled, avocado trees flourished,

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mango groves thrived and rich vegetation

surrounded the houses. The Zulu community

hummed away in the background, keeping things

running smoothly. Kids played outside on the

streets barefoot and carefree, clicking marbles and

smacking sticks. They would scurry through

adjacent forests, enjoying the delights of juicy, ripe

mangoes and succulent avocados that grew in such

abundance. This was an area where the soil was

fertile and rich, a naturally enhanced and extremely

lush village. Often his hours of innocent play would

be accompanied by his far-too-loyal dog rather than

actual friends.

Being somewhat of a loner, feeling more

comfortable watching the local boys play than

joining in with them, and being afraid of actual

interaction with them, he mostly played with the

local Zulu community’s kids instead. These were the

children of gardeners or maids, with whom the

financial divide didn’t seem so important, and a

sense of freedom and acceptance cloaked him in a

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting under a Mango Tree

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natural, more comfortable, rural setting. Brendon

says these years and impressions were very

significant to the ways he now looks at people and

possessions and gave him his love and strong sense

of community.

A warm place that made more sense to him, a

simple community who looked out for each other.

No social ranking or jealousy, all equal and calm. His

first curiously towards religion began here too. He

started to ask his mum at a young age about

religion and God and was never quite satisfied with

her answers. A chatterbox with unsatisfied curiosity

made for an annoying boy, who wouldn’t give in, or

indeed shut up. He forced his mum to leave him

with a priest for a couple of hours to answer

questions she couldn’t or wouldn’t.

The Zulu community in Port Shepstone played an

integral part in his early years. Once, his parents

had taken him to Zulu witch doctor - a Sangoma.

Basically, they carried out a traditional ritual for

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protection; against what, he was never quite sure,

but it was a harrowing experience nonetheless. He

recalls receiving small incisions and cuts with a

dubious-looking knife to his cheeks, legs, forehead

and other parts. Afterwards powder was inserted

into the cuts - for what reason he doesn’t recall.

However, despite this somewhat painful ritual and

other subsequent rituals, he became fond of the

Zulu ways and the close-knit community, seemingly

more comforting than his own Hindu religion.

After exploring the Hindu gods, he quickly decided

that because he was scared to death of the

frightening, animated god statues and ugly and

terrifying relics and pictures his aunt kept, this

particular religion wasn’t for him. Being influenced

by friends growing up, he explored many religions,

and he was once motivated by a pretty young girl

on whom he had a major crush. This romantic

endeavour saw him dabble in Islam for a short time,

even managing to complete the all-important

Ramadan fast. He pursued Islam until such time he

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting under a Mango Tree

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realised he wasn’t really getting anywhere with the

pretty girl, so he quit and moved on to Christianity.

On his way to school as a boy, he would try new

routes, hoping to get lost, so he took as long as

possible to get there, often meeting strange

characters. He was in no particular hurry and took a

leisurely walk that would get him to school when it

did, which cunningly, was most often far too late.

He described himself as not interested in what this

humiliating place called school had to offer, a place

where he felt unimportant, worthless and

inadequate. It was a horrible, nightmarish place

where he was regularly chastised and beaten by

students and teachers alike. This changed his

perception of the world around him and opened his

eyes to a new terrifying place - one that would take

him years to figure out and put a strategy in place

for.

From this period in his life grew something quite

extraordinary, after too many years of being a shy

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boy who wouldn’t tell his parents about his ridicule

from the teacher’s unnecessary put-downs or the

neighbourhood’s extremely cruel kids. Kids that

held him down and poured petrol down his throat,

and performed other absurdly cruel acts on his

small frame. Ironically, he wouldn’t tell his parents

for fear of further beatings.

You see, after all this suppression, a humanitarian

was evolving: a person determined to be unscathed

by his past, not allowing it to shadow him but to

shape him instead, to teach him that good people

don’t deserve to suffer. His past was giving him a

voice for the future, a voice that would speak up in

the face of adversity, not afraid to raise a hand and

hush those too ridiculous for comprehension.

Until the age of ten, Brendon saw school as

absolute torture. He was never chosen to do tasks,

important confidence-building tasks, such as closing

the windows or marking the register. He was never

given this opportunity by his teachers, no matter

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how many times his small arms stretched into the

sky, his fingertip desperate to reach higher than the

other kids.

Until one day, quite unexpectedly, he was finally

chosen to empty the wastepaper baskets. That day

was pure gold, and he carried out this task as if his

life depended on it. He was efficient and thorough

and quite simply the happiest wastepaper-basket-

emptier on the planet - pride was restored. Even

just a tiny bit was important enough to use as a

base, a rare glimpse of confidence.

Alas, only the richer and seemingly more eager kids

got picked for the more important tasks. He was

never given the trust or responsibility for those. His

growing resentment and a steady uprising of

rebellion, accompanied by the teacher’s complete

and utter lack of interest in him, provoked a need

for change. He was never looked upon as an equal,

which made him fight from within. Determination

crept in and settled in the very depths of him.

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Brendon felt these early years were a lesson, a huge

and a massively important time.

Unbeknownst to him, a budding politician would

emerge from these early years of injustice ready to

take on the world!

***

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Chapter Two – Emptying the

Wastepaper Basket

A menial task? A simple job that anyone could do?

To empty the wastepaper bins and make sure they

were clean, fragrant and emptied regularly, a job fit

for a seven-year-old boy at school? This was not

how Brendon saw it. Oh no. He saw a blazing

opportunity to show himself as a responsible

human being, an eager boy who was worthy of

being chosen. That slight glimmer of hope, for a

fragile Indian boy with big eyes and gangly limbs,

given by a single teacher’s choice, had made a very

young boy beam with delight. The trust and

responsibility given, no matter how small, to him

was the most important thing in the world to be

given a chance. It was his first recollection of this

enlightening feeling. It was sunshine brought to a

kid that sat under a shadow, a beacon of light along

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a very dark road. The teacher most probably had no

idea what he had just done, but Brendon would

never forget his first little job. However, no matter

the effort, it still didn't win the respect of the

teachers or fellow pupils. But a lesson was learned

nonetheless: never turn down an opportunity.

He had been a boy who sat at the back, messed

around and didn’t take things at all seriously,

knowing he wasn’t himself taken seriously, as he

had neither the right background or enthusiasm.

But now he would have a reason to smile. Brendon

recalls that Port Shepstone Primary School was a

state school, but a school privately funded by

prominent local businessmen whose children

thereby received respect and favour. It was also

predominantly an Indian-populated school.

Education in this community was paramount, and

this was a way to guarantee the local kids would get

the best possible chance in life. Wealthy Asian

businessmen gave in order to keep the school

running and make sure their kids were educated to

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the best standard possible.

This red-brick building with an asbestos roof,

manicured grounds and a swimming pool made for

an impressive place - for the affluent, which

Brendon was not! The school carried a perpetual

smell of plasticine and crayons through its long

corridors and classrooms, and, for Brendon, the

unremitting stink of fear. He sat at a small wooden

desk, permanently afraid of being asked a question,

to which he knew he would get the answer wrong

and ultimately be picked on, punished or made fun

of. At the back of the classroom, he felt mildly safe,

but at playtime, when the others would gather into

groups and go off, he would put himself at a safe

distance from torment and bullies. Brendon would

walk to fields where he could be alone with his

fruitful imagination and sometimes his clever but

annoying dog. He preferred his own company,

never quite confident enough to feel happy

conversing with other boys. He saw himself as not

the right calibre for their company. Self-esteem

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issues stopped him from even trying.

Learning was always a visual thing for him. He was a

very bright boy but not in the usual academic sense,

which was how the school was run, with a tight and

strict schedule allowing only for the curriculum’s

train-track learning. Brendon was creative and

needed visual aids to grasp the notions and ideas

being read and told to him. However, the school

didn’t allow for this individualism and idealistic style

of learning, and consequently Brendon lagged

behind, pretending to get it. He read books with

great difficulty, a problem that the school never

picked up on, due to Brendon’s deceptive and

convincing blagging techniques. He would take

home books and read them over and over at his

own slow pace until every word sank in and he

could memorise the entire book. He started with

fairy tale books, always with a downtrodden main

character, a pattern emerged that saw him relate to

The Ugly Duckling, Cinderella and other such titles.

Although he didn’t realise it at the time, he was

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desperately trying to keep up in his own time,

exhausting his mind but ever-determined to get

there his own way.

Brendon became increasingly bored at school and

messed around as the years passed by, realising

that the teachers weren’t going to actually give him

the attention he needed. He decided he would be

the class clown and be disruptive to try at least to

gain some popularity that way. He became known,

but for all the wrong reasons. All this would end in a

beating first from the teacher, then from his angry

mum and finally, the beating of all beatings from a

disappointed father. But still Brendon was relentless

in his cheeky attitude, and he also began to lie to

avoid the beatings and somewhat confuse his

parents.

He became so good that he even started to believe

his own lies. Mostly these were to exaggerate a

truth to make himself more popular or to gain

something the truth wouldn't buy. It was a clever

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way of getting what he wanted or creating the

belief that he had indeed done his homework and

the dog had actually eaten it, etc. He also had a

nagging doubt in his mind whether he really wanted

to lie at all. He never really felt at ease with it. It was

more a convenient way to deal with situations he

hadn’t been prepared for at school and in social

situations. But this would change and be another

crucial lesson: to tell the truth at all costs.

His principal at primary school, Mr Samuels, was a

formidably stern man, an upright, military-looking

man with the posture of an iron rod and no hair

whatsoever; he was a stickler for rules. He had a

mole on his upper cheek to focus on when he was

talking - it seemed for Brendon’s personal

amusement. Always immaculately dressed and

demanding the same of his pupils, he would line up

all 1000+ students and check that shoes were

polished, nails scrubbed, hair in place, lice absent

and uniforms crisp. Anything out of order would

send single-file students straight to the principal’s

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office for the cane or a slap or whichever

punishment befit the crime. He was austere, feared

and a frequent cane-giver. Brendon would often

jump the wall in order to not have to pass his

window and escape stares from his office, avoiding

any detection and staying as small as a mouse, for

fear he would be called into his office for

something, as he so often was if spotted.

Self-admittedly, Brendon blagged his way through

the early years, cheating, lying and trying with the

only way he knew how to survive and gain some

kind of credibility. With no guidance either at home

or in school, he severely lacked any direction and,

by ten years old, was heading completely the wrong

way. But his ways carried an undercurrent. It never

quite sat right with him, the silly Brendon. All he

ever wanted was to be taken seriously and given a

chance to empty the wastepaper baskets once

more and to be seen. He was building to a

crescendo that would eventually see him implode

and wake him up to the point of no return. A kick-

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up-the-ass moment that would propel him to where

he had always wanted to be: on top.

At home, Brendon was not the quiet, shy boy but a

noteworthy chatterbox, hungry for answers on

practically everything. Unfortunately, this eager

attitude was dismissed as annoying and overlooked,

especially by parents who were exhausted after a

long day’s work and still needed to look after the

home and prepare a meal, which they always ate

together as a family. Regretfully there was no one

at home to answer all of his questions, or the

answers would stop after the first few. Brendon was

determined to find answers in books and had a

curiosity about life and all its treasures. That could

only mean his mind wasn't stimulated at school,

and this young boy was going to get the answers

from wherever he could. He met every obstacle

with yet another question, which started to ignite

interest from those who could see great potential in

a fighter not willing to be beaten - a boy with guts

and tenacity. Eventually the questions would pay

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off, but not until another shameful lesson was to

come.

Thirteen was the pivotal point at which Brendon’s

last lie would catch up with him, a time when his

motive for cheating was just the last straw. He sat

at the exam table and cheated. The all-important

exam that was taken so very seriously became yet

another joke for Brendon; the deception and lies

could no longer cover up the fact that he was

academically inadequate and a fake. He learned the

hard way that this time was the end of an era. The

humiliation alone was crucifying, and the wrath of

both the school and his parents was the wake-up

call Brendon desperately needed.

He was publicly shamed and had to beg another

school to take him on. This was when Brendon's life

changed, a light-bulb moment that would move him

towards the future he had always longed for. He

suddenly realised that the only person that could

actually help him was himself, Brendon Naicker:

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AKA slacker, joker, liar and cheat. The only way to

gain the success he wanted so badly was to climb

every step and never stop reaching until he got to

the top.

With problems at the Naicker residence and a

looming divorce clouding his judgement, he decided

enough was enough. He not only started another

school with the vigour and the enthusiasm of a

lioness protecting her cubs, but he also began

street hawking, taking his mother’s unwanted

clothes from her wardrobe and selling them from a

straw mat on the floor. He made a profit and later

began to trade fruit, which he had on contingency

plan from a local fruitier who saw how well he was

doing. As he grew, he took on other staff on a

commission basis. He steadily became known as the

hard-working lad, not only doing well himself but

also providing opportunities for other budding

entrepreneurs. This is where his flair for business

grew, and his passion for fast growth and

strategizing took hold.

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All this time, his parallel learning was gaining him

academic success. He was learning to read and

striding to the very top, becoming an A student.

Slowly but surely, he was leaving his past behind.

His hunger and curiosity were winning the fight, and

his achievements were recognised by those reading

the local papers and seeing success-story articles

crop up about Brendon Naicker.

As his home life crumbled and his mum and dad

separated, the hurt spurred him on even further. He

recalls living alone with his mother after the

heartbreak of a bitter divorce that saw Brendon

stand up in court against his own father. He was

becoming a capable young man, gaining respect

from all around his local community. He remembers

how melancholy he was as his brother left to live

with his dad, and he and his mum slept on a friend’s

floor, wondering where they were going to go and

what was going to happen to them. Change was all

around him in palpable sadness. He recalls later

being seventeen, sitting under the yellow glow of a

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car park streetlight in the early hours of the

morning, revising his homework, waiting whilst his

mother was gambling inside. This was how

determined he was to satisfy his hunger. Knowing

whenever she finished and whatever her mood was

depending on if she won, he would still have an

hour’s drive home and still have to get up for school

in the morning. Resilience was building a strong and

feisty character and a force to be reckoned with.

One thing was for certain: no matter how much he

would have to fight to get on, he would. No voices

would hush him. Defiance would mould him, and

courage was his accomplice.

He was daring, risk-taking and focused. He not only

had himself to look after but his mum too, until she

became involved with another man. This man

turned out to be a terrible influence, a man who

gave Brendon lessons in how to brutally attack his

own father. Brendon had become distant and didn't

see his father after the divorce, and his mind was

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poisoned against him. By his own admission, he

became angry at his father because he was told to

be.

This was most probably a mixture of his mum’s

bitterness, for whatever private reasons she had,

and his own anger at not seeing his father. Brendon

secretly missed his father dearly, and the

unexpected arrival of a new boyfriend, in the form

of a white Afrikaner man, a racist male chauvinist

who, for a boy struggling with confused teenage

issues, was just what Brendon needed to see him

through his weight-lifting years. Although this man

was a Boer and racist Afrikaner who subscribed to

the values of the right-wing Nationalist Party, this

man, who carried a comb in his socks and a 9-

millimetre pistol in his briefcase, was just a bit

thuggish and maybe a bit brutish, Brendon took to

him. The Boer was a man's man who fixed things

and taught Brendon how to drive cars in fields. He

was a rugged man who thought instinctively but

incorrectly that Brendon hated his father. He gave

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Brendon lessons in how to savagely attack his

father, should he wish or need to.

An impressionable young Brendon saw all of this as

macho and that it was possibly good to have

someone of this ilk on his teenage side. Besides

being a fixer of domestic appliances and a teeny bit

of a white-lie teller, the man was also a typical,

cheesy car salesman. He paid Brendon to do jobs

around the house, jobs he didn’t want to do

himself, further sparking his need for money. This

man seemed to be more comfortable in shorts, in

any weather, even the biting cold. He was

aggressive but reasonably sociable, a sort of decent

man with a chauvinistic attitude but a big heart. The

comic and tragic irony of a white chauvinist in an

all-Indian community, at a time when whites usually

observed these communities from afar, was just

that: funny. Whites mostly refrained from any type

of engagement, yet here he was, a white man at

social gatherings, often sitting just away from a

suspicious crowd, puffing on a cigarette.

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Nonetheless, he was there. Even though Brendon

knew it was all a bit farcical, there was something

he admired in the man. Maybe it was just the fact

he was a man's man in what Brendon describes, at

that time, as a mostly female zone. He left after

only a few years; he wasn’t missed but was fondly

remembered.

Brendon became acutely aware of his surroundings,

growing up quickly but recognising those with him

on the journey and helping those he could on their

way too. Brendon was climbing and quenching his

thirst as he harvested knowledge and involved

himself in a number of charities and groups, all

fighting for the cause of the underprivileged. The

word “fair” was starting to resound within. He was

seeing that people listened to him. The voice that

had germinated as a child had developed into a

confident and articulate voice, and was beginning to

make waves. He was elected Junior Mayor for his

town and was recognised by the local government

for his entrepreneurial and leadership skills and for

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aiding other young people in business and helping

the local economy. This is something still very close

to his heart today. By seventeen, he was starting to

feel satisfied and happy in his own skin.

Coming from humble yet respectable beginnings

seemed to stoke a fire in his belly, which grew until

it could no longer be contained. Another lesson:

everything you have in your life, every moment,

day, year, experience and person, all make you who

you are today. Every second of your life shapes you.

The regrets Brendon harboured as a child and the

embarrassment he had ultimately progressed into

huge gratitude for these humble beginnings, a

platform to begin his fight, his very first stage on

which to perform. And perform he did.

***

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Chapter Three – Home Sweet Home

At just one-year-old, Brendon was brought to Port

Shepstone, 180 kilometres south of Durban, the

home of the Umzimkulu River, which in Zulu means

“The great home of all rivers.” He was born on 13

July 1980 in Durban and was brought here by his

mum and dad, drawn from a place that pulsed with

life to a more tranquil setting. Both of his parents

were previously married, and both had a brood of

children by previous partners. His father met his

mum as a passenger in her taxi. She was a

trailblazer, the first woman in the area to do such a

brave and independent thing. After falling madly in

love and having a lengthy affair, producing a much-

loved baby, Brendon, they decided to run away with

very little money and no real plan - just grand love

and intentions of happily-ever-after. When they

arrived, they settled in to a local graveyard,

practically penniless, for a few nights, whilst looking

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for a place to rent and for jobs. At this time,

apartheid still had a firm grip, and ethnicities were

divided into communities: the whites, the Indians,

the Asian communities and the blacks. Things were

tough and a little scary.

They had left behind their other children, seizing an

opportunity for new beginnings, children who

would later be drip-fed into Brendon’s life and

would torment him alone and not his younger

brother, who had lighter skin, for ruining their lives.

They singled him out as their preferred target,

bullied, teased, mocked and humiliated him.

Soon after the move, the family found a double

garage converted into a suitable living space, a basic

area which provided all the necessary facilities to

live comfortably, including an outside lavatory and a

bucket to shower with. It was a pretty place.

Chickens ran through the courtyard, and the maid

from the main house would often be seen washing

the clothes in the communal outside area. Many of

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the neighbouring houses were run by the Zulu tribal

men and women who acted as gardeners who

tended the landlord’s pretty flower-filled gardens,

and maids who kept the houses immaculate. This

domestic force knitted the heart of the community

together. It was a warm and welcoming community

that embraced them all. Brendon says that his

fondest memories as a child were times spent with

the maid or the gardener’s son. He could be himself

around them and relax in their company with no

pretence or guarded behaviour. A time emptying

the wastebasket at school bled into his home life,

and he was happy.

They made this place their family home, a garage, in

a white-painted bungalow secured with wrought

iron gates, owned by a prominent couple looking

for extra income. It was a pleasant house with

pleasant views, but it wasn’t their own, something

his parents strove for. They were working hard,

saving to build their own property. However,

Brendon has sentimental memories of a cherished

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time at this house, a carefree period when he was

young and unaffected and had his parents’

undivided attention, before his younger brother

came along, before life got too busy and he took a

back seat out of the limelight.

The house was in a respectable suburban setting,

surrounded by similar properties. Brendon recalls

grey, black-faced monkeys playing and chattering in

nearby banana trees, munching on the pale yellow

fruit. They were a comical sight that induced

curiosity and giggles rather than fear. It was a

beautiful area, perhaps an ideal setting for children

to grow up in, and yet it wasn’t their own, a thought

that kept his parents working harder and harder to

reach their goal of a new home.

He recalls in this humble house, once, in the

innocent, halcyon days, when he was playing

outside where mango groves created shaded areas

to sit and an abundance of avocados covered lush,

green, stocky trees and only a few miles away,

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mature, citrus-coloured sugar cane fields flanked

long, winding roads. Once while out playing, he

found a nest with chicks in it. He was so obsessed

that he took one out and took it home to show his

father. His father explained to him that this was

cruel and that this little chick depended on its

parents to survive and that the world worked in a

certain way that we couldn't and shouldn’t interfere

with. This particular memory sticks in Brendon’s

mind, along with the tender moment of hearing his

father say he loved him when Brendon was curled

in his lap, all secure and safe as a toddler.

At nights, the young children would catch glow

worms, like fireflies with a luminous green residue

that glowed from within as they swarmed in their

thousands. The kids would run and catch them in

jars and wipe the residue on their clothing, so they

too glowed. And they would dance around like

small, luminous, splattered kids in an imaginary

disco.

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In summer, the air on this coastline was humid; a

warm breeze swept in, and the tropical climate

could be stifling. Crickets clicked and hummed

through the long evenings, and the sounds of home,

which only an innocent child can truly hear, were

comforting. Brendon explained that although these

sounds never disappeared, as he got older and his

mind became swamped with the worries and

stresses of everyday life - remembering to do his

homework, the fear of having forgotten a chore or

the ever-growing dread of going to school the next

day - these chaotic thoughts somehow drowned out

the beautiful melodies of nature. Somehow, he

forgot to listen to it all.

His earliest memories at his first home seem to be

fused with happy times. He got his first bike at six

years old, his only bike that he would ride until it

was practically just a metal frame scraping and

sparking the concrete, until he was fifteen and able

to buy his own, which he eventually sold to buy his

mum a present for her birthday. These memories

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he describes as precious, as things were about to

change. A new time was approaching: a new

brother, a school, a new house and four female

additions to the family.

When the hell of school began, this seemed to

coincide with huge life changes that saw him retract

from a confident little boy to a child with low self-

esteem who would often be found alone with his

own imagination for company.

The new house, which he eventually moved to, was

not far away from the garage but on a hilltop, a

three-bedroom bungalow with stunning views and

only four neighbours. One of these had a tendency

to knock down a retaining wall, and subsequently,

Blackie would often take a bite out of the

neighbour’s chickens. This seemed to be a regular

occurrence and somewhat aggravate them, and yet

it continued, in a vicious circle. As a result, the

relationship between the two houses wasn’t at all

smooth. This house was built with blood, sweat and

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tears and was a place that spelled pride in big neon

lights: a real home with grounds of its own, a “keep

up with the Joneses” kind of house. It would

multiply its rooms over the years as additions

arrived.

The business that Brendon’s dad managed was

growing, and he was working harder and harder.

Yet every spare moment was spent at home

maintaining and titivating his project. He always

dressed impeccably and always had a crisp

handkerchief in his pocket, a man who even on his

days off would wear a neatly pressed shirt with his

shorts and sandals to walk into the village. He was a

well-respected and proud man.

So, it seemed on the surface that they were wealthy

and happy. The house was immaculate, with rose

gardens, rolling lawns with pea-green grass and

manicured land; it was the talk of the

neighbourhood. The appearance was just beautiful;

however, the reality was somewhat different. His

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mum was extremity strict, and there were rigid

rules in place to run the house efficiently. A

somewhat military-run house with no time for

leisure was not a place for a boy with such an

inquisitive and a creative mind, who needed

nurturing, but Brendon and his brother did as they

were told. Brendon suppressed himself sometimes

to the point of becoming almost vacant, out of both

boredom and being so restricted. It also made him

naughty!

Chores took over the weekend. They weren’t

allowed to eat anything without asking. It was a

very controlled environment, not at all relaxed, but

more a show home that took rigorous hours of

labour to maintain. When possible, Brendon

explained how he and his younger brother would

get into a great deal of mischief, rebelling against

the rules, forgetting to be stern and just being

naughty kids. Once his brother convinced him to cut

his hair like B.A. Baracus, and just as Brendon was

happily shearing a line down the centre of his

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brother’s little head, his mother came home and

went into a furious rage. A beating with a belt

commenced, first from mum, who didn’t see the

funny side, and then from Dad, who was mirroring

his wife’s anger. Brendon laughs at the memory.

Often the chores would continue until way after

midnight, and the children’s participation wasn't an

exception.

She was a strict mother, a provider, a teacher and

matriarch, making sure the family was immaculate,

tidy and well-groomed, and that they had food on

the table. They had to eat this food as a family.

Maybe these strict rules were as much for her own

pride, or perhaps the area expected this of a

woman at that time? The pressure of keeping up

appearances doesn’t leave a lot of time for

affection, in the sense that there were no hugs or

comforting words.

However, despite the military and slightly austere

picture Brendon has of his mother, he fully respects

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and admires her strength, and he values the

manners. These are now things he teaches his own

children, but he also makes sure they get his

attention, and that there is plenty of time for play

and fun in equal measure. He has learned from his

past that affection, time and parental guidance go

hand-in-hand to raise a well-rounded human being.

This period in his mum’s life sparks a memory,

making him think back to the root of his own beliefs

about the female sex and relationships.

Girls and Secrets...

Brendon was brought up in a very conservative

culture, where kissing scenes on TV only provoked

uncomfortable coughs and most family members to

depart the room, as if some awful degrading spirit

had invaded their TV space. At no point did they sit

together and watch anything that contained either

kissing or light petting. It wasn’t permitted by his

parents to witness such intimacy, and the TV was

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scheduled according to what was suitable for the

children.

If anything, this stirred a natural curiosity. He was

left to figure things out for himself, and in doing so,

it started a secret that kept him with a zipped

mouth for three years. He recalls having feelings

and infatuations for wholesome girls, hand-holding

and nice smiles, a polite courting, kissing, being

taboo and not even considered. Once he watched a

film that slipped through the net. He saw kissing

and decided to plant a peck on the cheek of a

neighbour’s daughter. After confiding to his cousin

that he had in fact dared to kiss a girl, she

demanded ransom for over three years,

manipulating him and threatening to tell his parents

if he didn’t pay her bribes. After bending to her

rules for such a long time, he reached a point where

keeping the secret was more painful than dealing

with the consequences, and he could no longer be

bothered.

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His outlook towards the female gender, the fairer

sex, remains unchanged. The church ways also were

to play a part in this pure way of thinking. It taught

him that if interest was shown in a particular girl, he

should seek the permission of her parents before

getting an actual date. This, paired with the

traditions of his family values, produced a very

respectable young man. He still regards woman

with the utmost respect, an old-fashioned and

gentlemanly view that takes us to an era in which

better morals were in place and women were

treated like delicate flowers. Another lesson learned

was, don't keep secrets, it's just not worth it!

Family visitors came and went, mostly Indian; some

he knew, others he didn’t. The dining room in the

new house he remembers as spectacular. His mum

acquired a taste for French Renaissance-style

furniture and figurines of that luxurious 15th-17th

century era. Brendon recalls dark mahogany wood

that was polished until it shone like glass and an

exquisite chaise longue that was placed for effect.

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His mum oozed style and made sure that everything

had a place to be returned to after use.

Another bugbear of his mum’s was taking without

asking, which would have severe consequences. But

in that lavish room, he sat with his family, and they

talked about the day, work and school, and spent

time together. It was a time he treasured until his

aunt passed away and her four daughters came to

live with them, pushing him further and further into

the background. There were queues for the

bathroom and too much girl talk, and it was never

quiet; his craving for attention went unnoticed.

These days, Brendon is a lover of food and likes to

explore cuisines from all over the world, fine dining

from a myriad of vibrant cultures. But he also makes

sure he gets what he pays for and has no qualms in

saying if he isn't happy, with either the food or the

service, another fairness-related issue, perhaps

picked up from his mum - maybe after many years

of eating his mum’s wonderful but predictable

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perpetual curry dishes? The family often would

purchase an entire sheep or lamb, which the local

butcher would chop into portions to be frozen, and

they would consume the entire creature

throughout the month, every single part.

Also Brendon recalls the chicken chase, for special

occasions only - live-curry - something for

celebrations. Once the chicken was caught after a

comical chase, he or his dad would wring its neck

for that night’s luxury supper. He has fond

memories of great fresh-meat curries, dishes that

were always served with rice, his rice! This was a

chore Brendon says became a tedious ritual: as a

youngster, he had to wash the rice before his mum

got home from work, and then as he got older, he

was also responsible for cooking the rice too. Along

with other innumerable chores, helping out would

often take him up to bedtime, when he would

sleepily mop the floors as his last task.

Fashion-wise, Brendon says he didn’t have a

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particular style, more an eclectic, unique and

random whatever-was-nearest-to-him-in-the-

morning style. However, his mum had designer

clothes and shoes in the wardrobe for certain

occasions, which he very rarely wore. Brendon

didn’t regard fashion as important; he wasn’t a

smoker and never dabbled in drink either. He had a

somewhat conservative attitude to morality and

kept himself squeaky clean. He had a greater

interest in the more fundamental issues in life, and

was a deep thinker with a regard for morality and a

huge respect for anyone who had time to devote to

others. Another lesson: give your time freely to

those who really deserve it.

After his parents’ divorce and after a period of living

with his mum’s friends, he moved to his third home.

This house was close to the beach, a place where

the sand resembled soft brown sugar and waves

crashed in layer upon layer of white lace onto the

vast caramel shoreline, a soothing sound that could

be heard from the house. It was a bittersweet

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home, where salt could be tasted in the air, and

gulls cried as they wheeled through powder-blue

skies.

He recalls it was a lush and charming area but sadly

tainted with segregation, and whispers of white

supremacy lingered like a bad smell. Only once the

veil of apartheid was lifted some years later did he

get a glimpse of her magnificent and outstanding

natural beauty. Brendon only really recalled going

the beach at the New Year, when big Indian

celebrations were aloft. Of course, he could go

there any time he wanted, nobody said not to; only

the stares and hushed whispers would make him,

and any other person of colour, feel most

unwelcome. So he didn’t bother with it.

Now he had become a young man, working hard,

selling and learning simultaneously, money

becoming more and more important and the

fascination of business strategies taking him to a

new plateau.

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***

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Chapter Four – Growing Pains

1993 – Brendon was now at the tender age of

thirteen and at the age of new beginnings, with his

parents’ bitter divorce in the background, yet still

playing a major part in his newfound enthusiasm for

life and all it had to offer him. He had defended his

mother and stood up against his dad in court, in

order for her to obtain maintenance. It was a

horrible day during which his mum’s lawyer guided

him, and he stood defiantly, face to face with his

father. It was something that haunts him, especially

the words that he used, “You call yourself a so-

called father,” as he looked into his father’s

unwavering and watery eyes. This sentence still

seems to sit uncomfortably with him. To disrespect

your parents was completely taboo, something you

just didn’t do. He saw hurt in his father’s eyes as he

spoke the words, but knew his father understood

that these emotionless words that Brendon used

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were out of the reflected bitterness from his mum’s

anger and his own painful, confused and sad

innocence.

Defying his dad’s authority seemed to create a

certain freedom and give him courage as an

independent, at a strange and confusing time. But it

also gave him the strength to fight. Brendon

became busy, studying as if his life depended on it,

as if he knew that this was his chance to shine and it

was not to be taken lightly. All of that anger from

the recent changes seemed to ignite something

within. A new school was his new stage, with new

bigger and older children with different, better

agendas; some black children attended, something

completely foreign to him. In this exciting era, he

knew he couldn’t afford to mess up; it was a

completely blank canvas.

Here, sport offered him a new dimension to his

ever-growing earnestness. Brendon was now

playing soccer for the school, gathering momentum

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and collecting friends - albeit with self-doubt still

clinging to his soul. It was a daunting time of new

challenges and opportunities that saw him join in

tennis, cricket and javelin and discus. By fourteen,

he began representing others as a shiny new

member of his first student council. He started to

believe he could do it, slowly gaining confidence.

His hunger for more was insatiable. He found he

would rather be outdoors or with his head in a

book, or being a spokesperson, than playing Mario

on his Nintendo, for which he had no enthusiasm.

Once, while he was attending Marburg Primary

School, he recalls, he was taken back to his days of

soul-emptying rejection at every corner. Whilst

playing soccer for the school and seemingly doing

quite well, he was asked to take the penalty kick

which would determine the result, the deciding and

all-important kick, the should-be victorious end to a

very close game. Brendon had figured out exactly

how to position himself. He knew instinctively that

he could do it from this position. However, the

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coach had other ideas and told him where to stand.

Not wanting to disobey and continuing with his

theory that to be disrespectful, as he would have at

the old school, wouldn’t do him any favours, he did

as he was asked and kicked from an uncomfortable

stance. He missed, by a lot. Afterwards, he was

shunned by the entire team, memories flooding in

of those tragic stomach-knotting years, which

stopped him from ever wanting to play again. But it

taught him to go with his own instinct and not

please someone else’s ego.

He began to find friends and joined the local gym,

winning competitions for bodybuilding. He started

taking control of his mind and body, almost

overcompensating for the preceding painful years,

trying to make a stance for others to know, just with

a look, that he was not to be messed with. He also

found his own bold fashion sense and started

noticing the girls at a local church he attended – in

particular one young girl whose brother was helping

him craft his handwriting.

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He started to relish the delights of church and in

particular the family of these two siblings and their

welcoming Christian family. They lived in a house

that was harmonious and kind and offered peace, a

place where there were no arguments or raised

voices. His life was gaining purpose, filling up, and

he breathed it all in - everything. He started to

spend so much time with this family with its calm

values and soft tones and at the church, where he

felt more and more valued, that his mum would use

it as a punishment, saying that he couldn’t go there

if he didn’t do his chores.

His mum became increasingly protective, suddenly

realising that she was losing her grip on her son.

Brendon says that this family was crucial to him; for

the first time he saw how a functional family ran in

normal, everyday life without the stresses he had

lived and experienced. He became extremely fond

of his best friend’s sister, who was a decent, pretty

and reserved girl. However, it was an unrequited

love, and he was glad, as he came to realise that

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this was a better deal, a sister-like figure who saw

him as brother. They became his adopted family,

and he became somewhat emotionally dependent

on them, acutely aware of the paramount

importance of a safety net.

A pattern emerges throughout his life. It seems

imperative to have a network, a family offering love

and support, even if that family are not blood

relatives. He needed to surround himself with

friendship, trying to fill his past of loneliness, fear of

rejection and broken relationships. It was almost as

if he wanted to give friendship as much as receive

it, perhaps hoping he could bring confidence and

hope to someone who has none.

Church became more and more enjoyable and vital

at this age. He was given responsibilities and roles

that moulded him, and he saw the members as

family too, something that was broken at home and

was so secure and safe here. He had found a warm

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place with great role models and a light shining

toward a new path and social outlet.

At fifteen, he embarked upon a new path, a

business boy, organizing a straw mat on the floor of

a busy street, selling his mum’s clothes. A street

hawker in a busy and vibrant town, he quickly

progressed to selling hair products given by a local

businessman who saw his potential and offered to

let him have the goods for a small deposit. Finding

that his skills and profits were growing, Brendon

realised he needed help and employed the services

of a local thief - Bongani, his first worker, who did

very well. Brendon then progressed to selling

vegetables, which didn’t produce much profit and

was too much work, so he decided TVs and radios

were the way forward. He invested and soon

realised that this was a very lucrative business. He

started to wear smarter clothes and smart shirts

and change his image to portray himself as a

businessman. He didn’t always feel conformable

with this image, as he felt he was somewhat

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betraying his past and hiding his true identity. His

wages slowly overtook his mum’s, and he began to

see a brighter future, but he was starting to let his

schoolwork slide, just enough to cause a flicker of

worry.

He kept up with his church activities, staying part of

the cell groups, engaging in social events and

keeping grounded. He joined the choir and

attended Bible and prayer meetings, whenever he

could. He came to the point where he was asked to

write the papers for the church exams. He didn’t

feel particularly religious at that time but was more

interested in social engagements. Yet the religion

itself was beginning to take hold of him, and he

started to repent and ask for forgiveness for

misdemeanours in his past life. He also stopped

swearing - which he did like a trooper early on - and

he started to respect the world around him.

However, outside of the church, his direction in

business confronted his conscience. His life ran in

parallel contrast but was heading toward a merger.

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As he was going through the ranks of church, he

began to get the feeling God was watching over him

and that lying, cheating and cursing were bad,

disrespectful things. The church taught him how to

like himself and be a decent human being, a better

person. He began to keep journals, keeping tags on

his direction and writing goals he wished to achieve.

His life was fast-forwarding away from his murky,

sad past to a good and wholesome future, both

financially and emotionally successful. He was

growing.

Bazely Street was a buzzing and vibrant part of

town, the hub of commerce, filled with the noise of

business. A street filled with traditionally dressed

Mamas selling tomatoes, a rainbow of home-grown

produce and the familiar hum of traffic surrounded

Brendon's successful TV stall, the first of its kind

that dared to sell on the street. Traders sold a

variety of colourful wares and smaller-scale

produce, but Brendon stood proudly on the corner

as chaotic traffic whizzed by.

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Riotous noise was all around, and hordes of people

marching in all directions, an array of brightly

coloured costumes, all in search of a bargain. In this

vivacious place, he was the first hawker to sell high-

value items on such a large scale. Bazely Street

being a great area for opportunists, Brendon was

constantly on the lookout for pickpockets who were

hiding among the crowds and thieves who would

prowl like silent and clever predators. He concluded

that the best way to beat this problem was to take

on the problem. He befriended the thieves and

pickpockets and employed them to watch over his

stalls, an ingenious way to insure self-protection.

His business grew to ten stalls, and he employed

staff on a commission basis; they thrived until by

sixteen he was suited, booted and feeling fabulous.

He started to realise that not only was he very good

at business, but that he could possibly take it to

whatever level he required. But the nagging

question - did he really want it? - sat at the back of

his mind like a beguiling demon. Did education

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warrant his full attention? He was starting to

become extremely popular, overstretching himself,

being asked to represent the school or his various

associations at all kinds of social occasions.

Dignitaries were asking for his company at charity

events, and certain affluent people requested his

attendance at marriages. A real socialite, he’d

become too busy and tired to discipline and divide

his time. Conferences, parliamentarians and other

high society sorts wanted to know this young man

who was popping up in both the local and national

papers. This period in time swallowed his attention

and distracted him further from his education.

Although his writing was quite brilliant, and he

could read as well as anyone and he had achieved

an above-average level, his focus was no longer

there. The pull was luring him into the bright lights,

and his financial situation was flourishing as a

budding entrepreneur.

His sixteenth birthday saw him treating his friends,

buying groceries for his mum and contributing to

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the house. And he started saving from work, the

church and other sources too. He managed to save

3000 rand, which was absurd money for a sixteen-

year-old. A bank manager for Nedbank saw that

with his business acumen, he could be an asset to

the bank and allowed him to open a small business

account. He remembers the feeling of his first

plastic debit card and the new-paper smell of his

check book that exuberated opportunity. It was

another chance given to him by a stranger. He also

bought a ticket to the UK and used 20 rand to invest

in his first shares in a company called 'Old Mutual’.

This purchase kick-started a need to track the

financial markets and trends and keep ahead of

business news. His direction was veering towards

making money and becoming a sharp young man

with not only a clear vision but a slightly greed-led

desire.

At the end of Brendon's sixteenth year, after being

estranged from his dad for some time, his father

passed away, and he began to realise just how

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significant an influence his father was when

Brendon had been little. The loss was so great that

he had no idea where or how to grieve, so he did

what he knew best and buried it so deep that it

wasn't even visible to those who were close to him.

The fact he was crumbling from an inside that

seemed fathomless and carrying a pain that he

didn’t know where to direct, wasn’t obvious to

anyone but him.

It wasn’t until much later that he made peace and

said goodbye in his own unique way. His

stepbrother, a handsome and generous boy and

biological son to his dad and his new partner, came

to him. They sat as two strangers and seemed to

comfort one another with words of kindness over a

man with whom they both shared blood, and

Brendon learned that despite all of the years

without contact, he was still remembered with

affection and loved unconditionally. This was a

release, information that he needed to hear and

store away for his own private grieving.

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At seventeen, he brought his first mobile phone,

which was subsequently stolen, and a sailing boat

which he used to escape to the silence of a

picturesque river and majestic mist-covered

mountains. He would lay back in his wooden boat

on perfectly still waters, a dream-like place where

the only sound was the slight ripple as a curious fish

would surface or the wings of a bird in flight. He

could observe nature and be at one with himself

and the world and contemplate his life so far. The

world was becoming increasingly and frustratingly

busy.

This time on the brink of being an adult, still only

seventeen, yet already having lived so much and

making his stamp, he began a new journey, one that

would see him leap into learning.

After being embarrassed to return to his former

school for cheating on the exam paper, he found a

place that would accept him. With a tail stuck firmly

between his legs, he started again, with only one

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year to learn what would usually take three. So to

say he put himself under pressure is an

understatement. G48 was the exam. It was made up

of six subjects: a mixture of geography, biology,

mathematics, accounting, English and Afrikaans.

Brendon began to study with frantic note-writing

and hours and hours of study taking him into the

early hours. He wasn’t going to fail again, and no

matter how many hours it would take, he would

knuckle down and get on with it. He had surprised

his new teachers with his ability to pick up these

new subjects with such speed and accuracy and

once again started to impress.

He recalls at that particular time he was still very

resentful of his previous school because the

principal had personally asked the mayor to

withdraw Brendon’s application for junior mayor,

seeing him as being morally inadequate after being

caught allegedly cheating. Somewhat bitter, and

with a personal vendetta brewing, he decided to get

his sweet revenge by calling up the school and

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saying that there was a volleyball match against his

new school. Of course there wasn’t; he just wanted

a chance to beat them fair and square at a sport

that was very popular at the time. His team won by

a country mile, and he took great satisfaction in

knowing he had managed this. Of course, it was

later found out by his current school that he had

managed to do this without any permission or going

through the proper channels, when the head of his

previous school called to congratulate them on

their recent victory. But as they won, Brendon really

didn’t care and luckily wasn’t reprimanded either.

When the principal enquired as to why he did it, he

replied, 'for the glory of Marburg Secondary School.'

He also started a Christian union at this stage, in a

predominantly Hindu school, with a meagre four

members. Within weeks, it was overflowing with

over 120 members and found him looking for a

larger hall to hold them, as it was bursting at the

seams. He also started a teenagers-against-drug-

abuse club, an environment group and other

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various organisations, to challenge his mind and to

give him an all-important stage. It was becoming

evident to everyone that he was very clever at

reaching out and touching people with the spoken

word and his charisma, gaining respect and trust, an

addiction of his, to be heard and most importantly

believed.

As the chairperson of so many societies and clubs,

now a very popular face around the school and

within the community, he was a complete contrast

to the shy boy who sat at the back of the class. He

caused uproar in some areas, causing trouble, only

now for good causes, organising rallies and standing

up where needed. Now at almost eighteen,

confident and with his studies firmly under his belt,

he gave a national TV interview about children’s

rights issues. He also fought for the cause for

displaced families and victims of the awful and

tragic 1994 elections, which saw over 10,000

refugees seeking homes. He was at last a shining

success. He took toys to local hospitals; you name

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it, he was defending it. His heartstrings were pulled

from all sides. He also gained his driving licence,

giving him even more independence, and he made

acquaintances in all the right places.

He was, in a nutshell, overstretching himself and

enjoying it too, but he began again to seek God’s

direction, wanting to serve him. He once more

involved himself heavily in the church, serving God

in any way he could, cleaning floors, anything to

give. He felt a persistent need to be close to a God

who is always with him, no matter what part of his

life he is living. And the next part was the

preparation for the UK.

This part of Brendon’s life saw these headlines in

the papers, all with a picture of him and mentioning

Brendon, if not in the title, in the first line of the

article:

Sheppie's Brendon chosen selected for National

Children’s Summit.

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Brendon was one of nine representatives chosen

from 110 pupils who met in Durban last weekend

for the Provincial Children's Summit at The National

Summit.

Local pupils attend Youth Councils Convention

The 'Skippers' plan volleyball tourney

Bright new look for litter bins

SCIP launches journalism in schools

Brendon aims to be Sheppie’s No 1 - aged 16

Brendon Naicker elected Sheppie’s Junior Mayor 1997/1998

Junior Mayor reaches out to youth – Brendon elected Junior Mayor at aged 16

Marburg’s Brendon floods CAPEX with ideas

SCIP brings joy to homeless

Junior councillors bring cheer to hospital children

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The Economic Times became his Bible for a while,

and he started to educate himself. He was also

being hardened, becoming tough. He got a harsh

dose of reality at about this time, on the street

when he was selling fireworks at almost 500

percent profit. A disabled man approached him and

purchased the goods, then returned after ten

minutes, requesting his money back, as another

seller further down the street was selling the same

item at fraction of the price. He quite rightly kicked

up a fuss, saying that he was being ripped off.

Brendon remembers having a brief, stubborn,

“business is business” attitude, seeing not the

human side of this ugly encounter but only his

financial gain, a moment he wishes he could

change. But it was also a moment that turned his

thoughts once more to the church. This was a

lesson that made him really dig deep and think that

he wasn’t resting on his laurels, but rather

trampling on them. He struggled later to justify his

actions and decided that this wasn’t a man he

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wanted to be. The world kept on throwing

situations at him that would keep his conscience

biting at him and point him to God.

***

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Chapter Five – Finding God & Leaving

Home

After experiencing financial gain on the bustling

streets of Port Shepstone and venturing into the

world of business, which is still a temptation today,

lurking in the back of his brain, waiting to tempt him

back, Brendon had enough of the greed that started

to creep into his mind and the type of person it was

making him. It was pulling him away from his love of

the church and everything it stood for, making a

mockery of the decency and propriety that warm

and nurturing sanctuary had to offer: looking out

for your fellow men and giving something of

yourself, for nothing in return, except a feeling of

gratitude that you are able to give selflessly, for

someone else’s comfort. He was torn between

financial success - which of course he needed to be

able to survive in such a world - and success in the

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eyes of God. He had yet to strike the perfect

balance.

His journey took him next to the UK, against his

mum's wishes and not entirely sure why he was

going. He knew that he needed to explore

opportunities and see some of the democratic

delights the UK had to offer. Scared and excited, he

knew he had to leave in search of God.

At his departure, his unshakable belief all these

years of not being quite good enough or never

really fitting in were crushed, as to see him off at

the airport were some fifty faces, all filled with love

and sadness at his leaving. They were people from

all areas of his life: family, church members, friends,

even those who once taunted and teased. His past

stared him right in the face, and it hit him that in

fact he wasn’t alone, and he was not only liked but

very much loved too.

At that moment, he had a wobble of uncertainty -

was this a mistake? But Brendon being Brendon, he

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bit his lip and went on with it. Tears brimming, he

strode through the gates. He remembers turning to

see his mum, who was anguished with a tear-

streaked face and a look in her eyes that pleaded

with him not to leave. This sight reduced him to

uncontrollable tears as he approached the gates

with only £130 to enter the UK with and a two-year

work permit. He recalls being so distraught at the

sadness of seeing everyone, that he left all of his

papers and money on the seat as he ran for the

gate to board the plane. Luckily they were still

there, and he managed to get on the plane with no

actual destination in mind, just a brave young man,

searching for something new. He sat next to a girl

on the plane, a Scottish girl who flirted with him

practically all the way and showed great interest.

However, he refused to believe a white girl would

be at all interested in him, a man of a different

culture, and even after she fell asleep on his

shoulder, he didn’t recognise the signs. His country

and apartheid had left their mark.

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After his arrival at London Heathrow, and after

immigration giving him the once-over, asking a

thousand questions about his plans, interrogating

him, scanning him and asking how much money he

had, he was allowed to go and step for the first time

onto UK soil.

This opportunity wouldn’t have happened if it

weren't for a wealthy and good-hearted

businessman, and possibly the richest man back in

his old neighbourhood. Brendon and his growing

confidence had taken him to knock on the door of

this person and asked if he might put 15,000 rand in

his bank account, to show the UK authorities that

he had enough money to enter the UK legally. As

Brendon's reputation had already reached this

man’s door, miraculously he agreed. Although the

money didn’t of course stay in Brendon’s bank, the

gesture and kindness never left Brendon’s mind.

He didn’t have any plans as to where to go and

followed the crowds down dirty steps to the tube-

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station, a dark, musty underground space with a

constant whistle of rank air being forced through

huge tunnels and corridors. Dark-grey walls and

smoky ceilings, new unsavoury smells and hundreds

of unfamiliar faces, billboards advertising products

he had never heard of. Suited businessmen and

women rushing to where? Buskers, tramps, punks, a

variety of unrecognisable human beings. The whole

picture painted strange, and he suddenly got so

homesick that he found the nearest toilet and

sobbed for three hours, until he knew he had to

devise a plan. He sat on the seats watching tube

after tube arrive with a cloud of dusty warm air and

open its doors, each brightly lit carriage carrying a

variety of different breeds of human.

He had never seen this multicultural diversity, like a

bag of mixed sweets, all shapes, colours and sizes.

He picked up a magazine and searched through it.

He came across an advert for potato pickers in

Lincolnshire. Having no idea of England’s

geography, he called the man and got the job. He

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travelled to Victoria coach station and then on to

Spalding. He sat on the coach next to a grubby man

who was smoking cannabis and generously offered

him some. So he very quickly and politely declined,

made his excuses and changed seats. He sat close to

the front where he persistently asked the other

passengers, like a child, if he was there yet? He

didn’t know it was actually a six-hour journey.

He arrived on 23 December 1998 in the dark and

freezing cold at a supermarket entrance, and stood

in the shadows for half an hour until his new boss

showed up in a battered, nondescript red car. The

man was unfriendly and also smoking and paid no

attention to Brendon’s coughing and spluttering. So

in all, Brendon's first impressions of the UK were

not the best.

After an exhausting journey and the emotional

torment of leaving behind those faces, he finally

reached his digs, an old Victorian house set out as a

dormitory with damp and musty crowded bunks.

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There were other South Africans and a host of

differing nationalities, who all worked at this

soulless potato factory in rural England. Brendon’s

job was to grade the potatoes, a thankless task that

saw him separate the green ones from the good

ones – in between crying - for up to twelve hours a

day. The driver of the red car took a percentage of

all of the money from all of the men.

The accommodation left a lot to be desired; it was

satisfactory but only just. He was racially abused in

this part of the world, where he didn’t understand

the accents but understood the cold stares and

unfriendly mutterings. At this place, he cried

throughout the day and longed for each phone call

just to hear the familiar tones and sound of his

mum or old friends. Nobody called him; it was left

to him to call home. And he did, every single day,

just to hear the familiar sounds of South Africa. He

was a devout Christian, and Christianity was his only

real friend at this time, in this cold, dark and

unwelcoming place. He longed for music, and he

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bought a CD player, for much more than it was

worth, just to hear the voice of Michael Smith, a

Christian artist. This, he says, fed his soul and got

him through the following month of long, lonely

days, until he had enough and left for new pastures.

His next adventure took him to London. He hitched

a ride from a friend, and he took his meagre £130

and found a hostel that cost him £60 a week. He

paid for two weeks, which left him with only ten

pounds and no job. Ever resourceful and not

intending to go hungry, he asked other residents

here if they would like him to cook the evening

meals, for which he took money and bought the

ingredients and cooked, ensuring he would eat too

and pocket a bit of the proceeds. Again he was

thrown into a dormitory-style room with six bunks,

a damp and mildew-smelling room with another set

of strangers. They were mostly South Africans and

New Zealanders, so at least the accents were

familiar. The kitchen was shared and filthy, as was

the bathroom. Brendon wasted no time in making

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friends, and within no time at all, there was a

community atmosphere building. Realising he

needed a network and craved friendship, he saw to

it that this place was going to be better.

He made a group of friends from all walks of life, by

taking an interest in them and they in him. Anna,

the hostel - Inchmont Hotel - manager, a happy

Filipino lady, started to notice that he was pulling

the residents together, cooking and striving to make

this a good environment for all. She asked if he

would like to make the beds in lieu of rent, to which

he agreed; this eventually saw him living rent-free.

Observing his consistently hard-working attitude

and pleasant manner, she gave him an opportunity,

asking if he would like to work the reception at

nights. There he would look after the guests

checking in, which he did with great enthusiasm.

Again never letting an opportunity be wasted, he

did his best and then some. Anna had him in her

sights. For her, he seemed to shine and have

something that was just a bit different to her other

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guests. Brendon started to enjoy his job and his

time here. He got closer to his new friends, learned

guitar from a Swedish man, talked to spiritual

characters, absorbed the cultural differences and

drank in the new experiences. Suddenly the UK

didn’t seem so frightening, more exciting and fresh

and an adventure.

He got involved with hippies, Reiki healers and an

assorted community where neither colour,

nationality, age or anything else mattered; he was

enjoying people and whatever stories they had to

offer. Anna, fascinated by his charisma, led him to a

new job. She had connections at the Ibis Hotel on

Lilly Road - at that time it was called the Paragon

Hotel. His interview with the Concierge Manager,

Noel, Brendon recalls as sort of a comedy sketch.

He was in a heavy winter overcoat in the height of

summer; not having much money, he didn’t have a

summer wardrobe to speak of, and he remembers

perspiring so badly he couldn't wait to get out,

somewhat rushing through the interview, yet taking

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care to make a good impression. However, he was

offered the job, with his first UK salary of £9,800,

just one thousand short of the minimum wage at

that time. Of course, as expected, he grabbed the

opportunity with both hands. He proceeded to

impress his employer here too, as a friendly porter

who was getting above-average tips, who was

happy to go the extra mile. He was soon also

running personal errands, doing a bit of gardening

for the owner and becoming a trusted friend too.

Here is where Brendon met his first wife, a white

French girl whom he met carrying her bags to her

room. Seeing that the pretty French girl had feelings

for him, he offered to cook for her; within two

weeks, they were serious and dating. There were

signs of things becoming more intimate, which for a

devout Christian boy proved a problem. If this

intimate encounter should happen, he would have

to marry her, so he did. Of course, this helped his

immigration situation too. They stayed almost-

happily married for thirteen years and produced

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four beautiful children; she was his friend,

comforter and a massively important part of his

years here, a support and confidant, his family.

They took a flat together, and soon after, as a

nineteen-year-old man, he began to see just what

kind of commitment a marriage took, a marriage he

had admittedly rushed into. She was seven years his

senior, as upon their first meeting they had both

lied about their age, her saying she was younger,

while he, trying to impress, said he was older. So

here they were, a French girl and a South African

boy, discovering one another and discovering that

their opinions differed after their vows were taken,

something most couples do before. The marriage

took place in secret from both of their families and

was perhaps more a friendship than anything else.

Now a married man, he again veered toward the

church, pulled into a place that was safe. Every

morning he would set off in pursuit of a new

church, and one sunny morning as God was shining

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on him, he walked to Westminster, all the way from

Earls Court, where he was drawn to a church that

was playing a song they used to play at his church

back home. It was 10:30. The church service was in

full swing; he knew instantly that this was the one.

It became his second home; the members

embraced him, particularly one good-hearted

couple who saw that he needed guidance, a

Chinese family whose matriarch was Sarah, a

woman he some time later referred to as his mum.

He was invited to her cell group and was introduced

to Catherine and Edward, whom later would

sponsor his education. These Christians had no idea

that Brendon and his new wife were living together.

He was so terrified it would look bad in the Christian

community that he decided to keep that part a

secret.

Catherine and Edward extended the hand of

friendship and opportunity. Once again, Brendon’s

glow of talent radiated out to this couple, who saw

a young man who they could help and guide. They

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owned a successful property company and had

good connections. They introduced him to the

general manager at the Metropolitan Hotel, where

he secured a place as Housekeeper Supervisor.

After a while and after observing his progress,

Catherine and Edward paid for him to go to Sri

Lanka on a missionary trip. Although grateful for the

opportunity, and after months of experiencing

amazing spiritual guidance and life-changing healing

and other such fantastical sights, being newly

married, he felt at that time, he wasn’t in the right

place. After a month’s holiday back home in South

Africa, he flew back to the UK where he was

welcomed for a second time by his Christian family.

The millennium year saw him excel at the hotel, and

he was once again closely observed by the owners,

who admired his unrelenting enthusiasm and were

drawn to him and kept on pushing him up through

the ranks until they believed he was ready. Then

they flew him, business class, to train staff at a

resort they bought on Parrot Cay Island, an

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exclusive Caribbean paradise. It was a tropical

heaven with white sandy beaches, colourful

cocktails and guests with big bank accounts. But

again, something was missing. Having to start again

and make yet another family was starting to feel

unappealing; he longed for the UK and his wife and

the church, so he returned and was transferred to

another part of the company, serviced apartments

in Canary Wharf, where he managed ten staff and

mingled with a selection of diverse people.

Coming from such a strictly divided country where

cultures and in some case races didn’t mix, it was

bemusing to see not only different cultures but

different sexualities too. All the things he was

taught were fundamentally wrong and had to

distance himself from, were all around him, at ease

with one another in a whole new world, one he

preferred. He let it teach him, change his

perceptions and open his mind to a more forgiving,

accepting society.

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***

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Chapter Six – The Academic

Working for the Emmanuel Evangelical Church and

throwing himself in head first, pulling twelve-hour

shifts and delighting in being able to serve God and

the community, he was starting to grow tired.

Whilst he was busy mentoring the youth groups and

individuals that needed support, he himself was

following a mentor within the church, a Malaysian

guide who became like a father figure. This mentor

taught Brendon how to lead within the church,

instilling confidence and giving kindness and

answers. Brendon was beginning to sacrifice his

own time and development to aid the kids and

show them how to be independent and to cope

with life skills, a thoroughly selfless and rewarding

experience. At the same time, he was starting to ask

questions.

Impressed with his progress, the church paid for

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him to study at Gloucester University, where he

earned a bachelor of arts. This gave him further

insight into this religion he was practising, and he

started to see slight discrepancies and things that

didn’t altogether tie in with what he had been

taught. So he sought out Oral Roberts University in

the US, seeking a more scrutinizing search. This was

a controversial place of study that would enable

him to take a deeper look into the religion he was

living and teaching. Not satisfied with only scraping

the surface, he wanted to know it all, right back

from the start, from all angles. It was the only way

to satisfy his mind - typical Brendon. Edward and

Catherine, the property gurus, generously offered

to fund the $60,000 fee for this degree. It was here,

while studying, that he met another big influence in

his life, a professor who would finally be able to

answer the many questions that Brendon had

racked up about this complex religion and life

beyond.

Brendon's interest was so intense that he fast-

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tracked to being an A student and received almost

100 percent on all of his exam papers. He was once

again becoming the focus of attention, pricking the

ears of the university leaders and staff. After

tracking his quick and enthusiastic progress, they

made him an offer to be the face of the university,

using him and his beaming smile to advertise the

university on billboards and in marketing literature.

In return, he gained a scholarship for further studies

at the University of Wales, where he would gain his

master's degree in theology, whilst still teaching his

bachelor of arts class. He was becoming an

academic, revelling in thought-provoking study,

basking in the sudden and welcome desire to learn.

A divine light had shone on him, or maybe his ever-

lurking curiosity and interminable thirst for life were

pushing him beyond his limits?

He studied so hard that his knowledge of theology

and religion far surpassed that of his peers, which

started to cause friction, and he started to ask

uncomfortable questions, which eventually cost him

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friends within the church and Christian community.

They believed in subjects that Brendon didn’t quite

believe in, now knowing the full and true history. He

started to write articles on such matters and even a

controversial book, Apostles, challenging one

particular movement. (Available on Amazon!)

He started a PhD at Christ Church University -

paired with Trinity Seminary in the US - which he

completed in just one year. This again caused

offence, as the university wanted him to pay for the

additional year. Of course Brendon saw this as

ludicrous; why pay for two years when you only

need one to get the job done? He exited out of the

PhD course, of course not agreeing to pay the

unjustifiable fees; and although he had completed a

PhD in philosophy, the university rewarded him

with a master's in theology.

After the debacle of the university and his falling

out with certain members of the church, and with

the accumulation of educational achievements as

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ammunition, he started to look for a new life. With

two children now in tow, he needed to breathe in a

new experience, provide for his growing family and

distance himself from the area. He moved to

Harlow, where he started applying for jobs as a

reverend. Shortly after, he found himself living in a

£600,000 house in the quintessential village of

Bolney Chapel in Haywards Heath, West Sussex,

with the Queen’s clerk as his neighbour. It was a

place with a high-flying community. He pastored a

church of about 25 people in this ridiculously

affluent area. For the first few weeks, things went

smoothly; he slid into position and was instantly

liked by a seemingly happy group of locals.

He taught what he knew and started to get a better

idea of the community and their conflicting beliefs.

Within a month, the church was divided into two,

and problems surfaced; it became clear that the

congregation had issues with one another as well as

the church. It was a Protestant church with differing

religious theories. He was also paid to teach at

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another local church – the Angelical Church – where

the congregation were a little less cantankerous.

The conflict of the congregation and the pettiness

became too much to take and made him question

his reason for being there in the first place. He

questioned why he wanted to be a minister at all

and was certain it wasn’t to referee an undecided

congregation. He resigned after eight short and

exhausting months.

After moving to and spending a year working in

Margate, he took on a lecturing position at the

South London Christian College. His class became so

popular that his income was boosted by the head,

and he also started an organisation called Lumière

Ministries. This was created to benefit the needy.

Going back to his roots and pulling out the inner

Brendon, he needed to do something worthy and

real, to reach inside his ten-year-old self and teach

and educate those who were in actual need.

Brendon wrote articles and papers for this purpose.

There he met a minister who invited him to go to

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Cardiff University and take a post-graduate job

where he taught a small group of seven pupils;

within four weeks, the group increased in number

by 43 to fifty eager students.

In 2012, after reaching the end of his religious road

and exploring and taking this journey to the very

end, after answering all of the questions and

teaching and living that altruistic lifestyle, he

decided that he should go back into business. His

ever-present love of the church was still a comfort,

but his view of it all had become a little tired and

jaded. So he reinvented himself and opened Sower

Estates in Cardiff. There he would mix his life skills,

religious beliefs and anthropological views to run an

excellent business. With Brendon's magic touch, the

business flourished, servicing the community and

receiving excellent reviews. He later split the

business up and sold it off, to turn his focus to the

next stage of his journey in South Africa.

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***

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Chapter Seven – Family and What’s

Important!

When asked to talk about his family, his eyes seem

to shine from within, and a broad smile sweeps

across his face. We have learned through every

eventful chapter of his life until now that a

collection of people surrounding him, a family, by

means of blood relation or other, are massively

important. Without that fundamental network, he

believes he wouldn't do so well. Without the

knowledge that such love and support is there to

cushion his falls, or listen to his talks, advise, or just

be there waiting in the wings, he wonders, would

he achieve as much? He wishes to leave a powerful

legacy, not only for those who are close to him, but

also for those he wishes to help in other areas, a

constituency of believers. And a family who support

him, his perfect combination.

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It's clear that the love for his four children - who all

have a mixture of beautiful French and English

melodic names - far surpasses any other. He

explained that he was challenged by each small

personality and how very different the needs of

each for both learning and affection were. Each has

a unique imprint that he says he is still observing

and learning. He takes on this task with great

pleasure, making sure he individually understands

each of his children as people, a complete, rounded

look at the thinking behind each mind, and

attention for each in equal measure. They are his

personal collection of miniature friends with huge

personalities. Brendon makes sure each day spent

with his children counts, allowing for play, fun and

learning, something much supported by his loving

wife Shan.

Brendon finds himself in a good home life situation.

He spends as much time as possible with his kids,

with the support of a loving wife, helpmate, best

friend and advisor, whose thinking runs parallel with

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his. An intellectual equal and an intriguing mind for

him to team up with, a travel companion and the

perfect support for his new focus, coming from an

educated and business background and equipped

with knowledge and acumen, Shan makes a brilliant

accessory for his endeavours, his perfect

combination. Shan understands his need for finding

purpose and complements this quest, having similar

goals herself and sharing a similar background. Shan

came into Brendon’s life quite by accident, again a

gift from the very generous church, a fate that was

no doubt meant to be. They had a meeting of

similar minds, past experiences and the creation of

an instant attraction. A mutual admiration grew

from within, and Brendon found a soulmate who

shared his pulse for life.

Brendon says that having children also taught him

how to feel for others and gave him a deeper sense

of emotional empathy in all areas of life. Being a

man with responsibilities for a family has given him

a more three-dimensional approach to his thinking

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on how situations affect families as well as

individuals. He feels now is an extremely difficult

time during which children need around-the-clock

supervision. It is an unsafe world where more

complex guidance is a must. He prepares his

children for every eventuality, often asking himself

what skills they would need if he wasn’t around to

teach them. He has a one-on-one with each of

them, most days giving whatever tools he feels

necessary to equip them with independence.

His ability to travel to and from his homeland can

prove challenging, and being away from his children

for any length of time proves extremely difficult;

however, he also recognises that he must follow his

beliefs and always strive to make his home region a

better place for future generations. So he has to

make sacrifices, but never for too long and never

without a tinge of guilt. As with all parents, we have

to work and follow our dreams, go where we are

needed, and Brendon is needed in that place,

where he knows without a shadow of doubt that he

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can make a staggering difference.

He wants this place to be safe enough one day to

take his children and watch them play just as he did,

barefoot under a welcoming sun, carefree and not

afraid of anything. He wants a generation more

liberated and free to speak their minds without

intimidation or fear of being reprimanded, safe

streets, a better and more efficient economy, and a

looked-after home, where neighbours can sit out at

night and the streets are quiet and protected. He

wants a place where there is no suspicion of those

around you, a community where you are not afraid

for your loved ones and uncertain for their future

without opportunity. Brendon wants to create

opportunities, fuel the citizens with the ammunition

of education and life skills, offer a hand of wisdom

and encourage people to take it and walk with him

into a brighter, more human-focused and thriving

society. He is under no illusions and knows that this

is going to be the challenge of all challenges, but he

also knows this is the place that gave him life and

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the most precious of humble beginnings with all of

its seasons and tempers.

He wants to give something back to the place

where he watched monkeys chatter in the treetops,

sat under mango trees and contemplated life, and

ran through golden sugar cane fields. The place that

offered him simplicity and the heady scent of

Mozambique’s breezes and salty-tasting air. A place

where the division and partitioning of races made

him eternally hungry for answers and where his

heart was developed. A place that will always be

special, his home. South Africa.

***

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Chapter Eight – And What’s Next on the

Agenda?

The reason Brendon is based is in the UK, primarily,

is his children, to be close to them, understanding

that this time is both important and precious. He

also needs to ensure that he has roots here, to

captivate a UK audience and have a growing

business, but one he can leave in capable hands,

should he need to travel home to work on projects

there. He explains that although the UK does have

its own issues and complexities, its efficiency and

economy are not broken and therefore don't need

fixing or adjusting according to current affairs and

political fashions. South Africa, however, he assures

me, needs fixing and has fundamental flaws, so his

focus remains there.

Purpose – Brendon explains that he has a purpose

and duty to fulfil this need, an itching obligation to a

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country that needs him. His effectiveness, he

knows, is threaded through his veins, and he must

take his knowledge and weave it through the

troubled neighbourhoods of South Africa, changing

one life at a time. It troubles him to walk the streets

of his beautiful country with all of its vibrancy and

million downtrodden souls and to witness its

poverty loitering in the street, with no hope with

which to cling, blinded by a needless suffering. This

is something that saddens him to the core: to see

children, the same age as his own, with nothing, not

even food. Brendon can make a lot of money and

quickly, but he prefers to walk away at the point of

big decisions and business focus to do something

with a more generous moral value. His passion is in

helping others, and that's where he is most

comfortable and what he does best. With his

fountain of knowledge, he knows how to fund his

projects too.

Having four dependants, he knows he needs to

grow, develop and structure financially, but he is

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not greedy, just sufficient in his endeavours, and

makes sure they are looked after. But he also lends

his focus and idealism to bettering a region and

giving to those who don’t have either the tools or

enthusiasm to fight for themselves, both deflated

and crushed from years of terror. He wants to be a

voice for those people who are hushed or scared

into silence. He gives those who are in desperate

need of him a weapon for their use. This is what

makes him truly happy and gives him courage and

strength. And now is precisely the right time.

Sacrifices will be made and travel will be frequent,

but his heart will not let him fail.

All of life’s experiences, brushes with God, personal

achievements, events, charity work and education

up until now have been in preparation for this, for

his country. As for tomorrow, he doesn’t know his

exact plans, only that he will start at the beginning,

building a new community, and the choices he will

make will be pro-education and pro-decency. His

recent trip saw him at home for six weeks, where

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his project came to him, to seek him out and give

him purpose. He says that although it was agonising

being away from his kids, it was somehow cathartic.

It gave him a clarity that overtook his need for

anything else. He compares it to men who go away

to war, partly to fight for freedoms and so their

children can live in a better world. This is a choice

he makes too. Going into battle, he feels privileged

that he has the opportunity to serve his country. He

is forming an organisation that will help those in

need and help restore those most basic services,

ones we take for granted. He will campaign, fight

and shout from the bottom of his lungs to the top

of mountains, if need be, to be heard and make

waves.

He thanks the UK for showing him a system that

could be implemented in some ways to make a

better South Africa, a democratic system that just

seems to work. Of course it will be in a different

way, in a different world, but he is certain the

lessons learned here, will go a long way to help his

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direction in his beloved South Africa!

He doesn’t see himself as an achiever, just a

survivor. He believes his mum is proud and knows

his dearly departed dad would be too, but knows

that his achievements have been his own. If he had

relied upon or indeed followed the advice of those

around him back in South Africa, he wouldn’t have

achieved anything at all. He has gone against the

grain and followed both heart and instinct, all the

time guided by his faith. He explains he is weak

alone and needs people around him to succeed.

And without the help of those who have given time,

effort and encouragement here in the UK, he knows

it would not have been possible. He would like to

thank those who know who they are. He intends to

leave a lasting legacy and hopes to see an improved

South Africa, where he has managed to challenge

governments and reached the hearts of those who

need an advocate. He would be happy to change

just one life but hopes to change a nation. He sees

now as a new chapter; his life is just beginning.

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South Africa has become his focus with an astute

sense of belonging, accompanied with the support

and knowledge that has empowered him and

rounded him as a person. He has immense targets

set in his sights, and an incredible determination

that will see changes, big changes with a powerful

voice willing to step up, move stubborn minds and

open unwilling eyes. He intends to give the people

of South Africa a country they deserve; a whole,

new, freshly thought-out economy; and a system

that is both fair and unequivocally fixed. That is his

ultimate aim. A formidable man with a clear vision

in mind, he considers this the best possible legacy

he could leave for both his country and his children.

This he will do with an overwhelming sense of pride

in the name of change.

The people are what matter most, he insists, with a

sincere look, a face that I’m sure will be recognised

by the good people of South Africa, a kind yet

determined face. He is a man who will live in their

hearts as the person to do what others have failed

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to do, and make a difference. This person of depth

and courage is so passionate about his cause, it's as

if he was born for the job. A leader with empathy,

drive and an unrelenting strength. A voice anyone

would want by their side. Brendon has lived and

breathed his country both as a poor man and a

wealthy man; he has faced its challenges head on

and experienced all it has to argue about.

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I asked, what to Brendon is home? This was his

answer:

“When you step off of the plane in South Africa,

there is a certain smell and warmth that embraces

you, as if all of your ancestors and past are there to

greet you, and salt nips your tongue and sits on your

lips as if to say ‘welcome home’. The soil is

ludicrously rich, molten black and fertile, and lends

an earthy musk to humid air, a scent that cradles

you, as if sinking into the arms of a loving parent.

The plants and lush vegetation bring back

childhood, innocence and laughter and memories of

home, chasing chickens and catching glow worms

sweep in. The sound of a distant shoreline sees

seven-year-old feet running from the waves, to

avoid being caught by its hungry, lacy edges.

Hearing the guttural tones and sounds of the Zulu

language and song, barefoot children playing,

running carefree. The wonder and solace of sleeping

under a navy-blue sky with such an abundance of

diamond-like stars, you could almost reach out and

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take one. The cultures and history of this country,

the sacrifices, the whispers, the mistakes, the losses,

the scars and the hearts, all contribute to the

beautiful fragrance of South Africa, my home.”

To be continued.

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Political activist, author, property

consultant, minister, entrepreneur, leader

and human rights advocate.

A deep look into the fascinating and inspirational

story of Brendon Naicker’s life journey. Brendon’s

accolades and achievements throughout his

colourful life, which took him from his seaside home

in South Africa to a new democracy in the UK,

include human rights advocate, Reverend, political

activist, author and entrepreneur. A man who faced

mountainous challenges, consistent racism,

brutality and adversity. He was once told - by his

own teacher - that he would never amount to

anything. He became a man who left his country in

pursuit of success, to pick potatoes in Lincolnshire

and from there proceed to make his way into the

lives, hearts and minds of all he met. A determined

entrepreneur, born with the courage of a salmon

swimming upstream, against the tide, yet certain of

reaching his destination.