Emotionally scarred Cwecwe’s mom in midst of spiritual combat

“Cry, My Beloved Nation,” to loosely quote Alan Paton. These words reverberate once again — not from the pages of a novel, but from the heart of a grieving country, crying out for justice for Cwecwe. 

JUSTICE FOR CWECWE. JUSTICE FOR CWECWE. JUSTICE FOR CWECWE!

This column often serves as a space for spiritual conversation — a place where activism, education and awareness intersect with the sacred. Whether we are speaking of land, ritual, reform or the soul of our people, spirituality is the through-line. And today, that spiritual thread is grief. 

At the centre of this moment is Cwecwe — a child. A child whose innocence was violated, not by strangers in the shadows, but by adults entrusted with her care. A child who had to be rescued not by systems designed to protect her, but by a mother whose alarm had to be sounded through social media before justice even began to stir. 

Let’s sit with that for a moment. Let’s sit with the fact that if her mother had not made noise, the violence against Cwecwe would likely have been buried — and those responsible, including the enablers, would still be moving freely among us, cloaked in silence and protected by institutional apathy. 

Cwecwe is not just a child. She is a symbol. A mirror. A wake-up call. Her story forces us to confront how institutions — schools, churches, initiation schools, even government entities — have, time and time again, chosen to respond to abuse with silence. With inaction. With complicity.

And perhaps even more haunting is the reality that those who dare to confront these truths are not spared. Cwecwe’s mother is not only a grieving parent — she is a whistle-blower. She has placed her own safety, comfort, and life at risk by choosing to speak up and disrupt a system that thrives on secrecy and suppression. She is a woman who has stood against the tide, demanding justice in the face of intimidation, silence and spiritual resistance. 

Recently, she was involved in a minor car accident. According to a report by the Daily Sun, she was thankfully unharmed. And while the accident may appear small on the surface, in the spiritual realm we know better. That moment solidifies that she is in the midst of spiritual warfare. Her fight is not only physical or legal — it is deeply spiritual. She is confronting the dark forces that often rise up against truth-tellers, especially women who dare to speak out. 

So, while we protest, while we cry out, while we demand justice — let us not forget to pray. Let us remember that there is strength in standing in spiritual solidarity. This is the time for all of us to continue in our outrage and action, but also to stand still in the sacred power of praying for our sister, Cwecwe’s mother, as she walks this treacherous path. 

Her story echoes others we cannot ignore — like the emotional toll and public disbelief following the not guilty verdict in the case of Pastor Omotoso, and the haunting silence that followed. The echoes of survivors — whose voices were dismissed in a court of law — continue to linger in our collective conscience.

In both cases, what sends the most chilling shivers through our communities is not just the acts of violence themselves, but how many people knew, and did nothing. 

How many whispered, “Let’s wait and see.” How many shrugged, “It’s complicated.” How many institutions said, “We’ll look into it” — and then turned away. 

This is where the spiritual meets the social. Where justice is not just a legal term, but a soul-deep demand. We must not only seek justice in the courts, but also in our communities, in our homes and within our consciences — for Cwecwe, for the victims who stood before Omotoso, and for every child, woman and vulnerable soul whose pain has been met with bureaucracy, disbelief, or betrayal. 

Cwecwe is our child. Cwecwe is our mirror. And her mother is our warrior. 

And so, we cry. And we rage. And we rise. And we pray. 

Because the beloved nation is crying. And we must respond. 

SowetanLIVE