Ezibeleni, 2026
Screenprint, Edition 1 of 4
72,5 cm x 51 cm
Artist’s Statement
In February 2005, we moved into the home my mother built for my brother and me in Komani Ezibeleni Township Zone III. Where I come from, identity is the biggest flex; confidence and pride come as part of the package. Despite the dark tales told about the area, she raised us alone. The stories of Amabhere, humans who turn into animals at night, had us kids rushing home before sunset, locking doors, and behaving without question. Parenting became effortless because a single reminder of those creatures would keep us in line. But for a family with only a mother, the fear cut deeper. The rumours seemed to target us specifically, so we built a wall of protection against the scary human creatures lurking after dark.
That wall became a story we started ourselves: our mother has a gun. From a child’s whisper to a full-blown reputation, we made ourselves untouchable. We were protected by a woman who would burn the earth for her babies. It kept petty fights and schoolyard mistakes from escalating; no one dared threaten or hurt us. Our Mama was forever feared, never disrespected, and always served pure respect. We called her a gangster whenever the rumour surfaced, and we never exposed where she kept it. To this day, we never told her the truth; the beating we would have gotten is unforgettable. But we always felt safe around her. She carried a shield we never saw but always felt fearless, motherly, and proud.
That is the woman I adapted my identity from: boldly strong, independently standing out, holding her ground without ever mixing into her surroundings. A woman who fears no one when her babies are threatened. And what better way to capture her solidarity than by mimicking her intimidating look, standing in front of a BMW 316 E21 like a cultured Gusheshe, a Black Label in hand, refusing a chair in favour of sitting on a case of Black Label itself. The brown background is the dusty streets of where I come from. That is my mother. That is my art.
