The Chronicles of Load-Shedding . Harold Mawela

The Unmaking That Remakes: Reflections on God's Refining Fire in the South African Crucible A Personal Encounter with the Furnace The relentless Pretoria sun beat down on my corrugated iron roof this morning, the metallic pings creating a rhythmic accompaniment to my Bible reading. In Akasia, we know heat—both the atmospheric kind that shimmers above the tarred roads and the spiritual kind that tests your mettle. Just last week, I watched a neighbour temper a new blade for his garden tool, heating the steel until it glowed, then plunging it into oil with a dramatic hiss. "To make it stronger," he explained, noting how the process aligned the metal's molecular structure, burning out impurities that would cause it to fracture under pressure. I thought of our nation—this beautiful, fractured, resilient South Africa—and I thought of my own journey. The furnace of affliction is no abstract theological concept here; we feel its heat in our daily lives, in the relentless cha...

Aerating the Compacted Soul: Breathing Again in a World That Presses Down The Cracked Earth of a Karoo Summer The red soil of Akasia is cracked and parched. I watch from my window as the earth splits into a mosaic of thirst, each fissure a silent plea for relief. We’ve had little rain this season. The ground has become so hard that when the occasional shower does come, the water simply runs off the surface, unable to penetrate. It reminds me of my own soul lately—compacted under the relentless weight of modern South African life. Just last week, I sat in a Pretoria traffic jam on the N1, the cacophony of minibus taxis and impatient hoots mirroring the internal noise in my spirit. My phone buzzed continuously—another load-shedding schedule, a news alert about political tensions, a message about church tensions over the very same issues dividing our nation. My mind was a tangled knot of worries about security, finances, and the lingering anxiety that perhaps this is all there is. I felt ...

The Unshakeable Foundation: Building Faith That Withstands South African Storms The Cracks Beneath Our Feet The stench first hit me on my morning run through Akasia. There, at the corner of Rachel de Beer Street, the familiar sewage overflow had worsened overnight—hazardous waters snaking through our community, a visible symptom of collapsed foundations . As I navigated the crumbling asphalt, my mind traveled back to another morning just weeks before, when my young son Maatla had joined me for his first attempt at this ritual. "Dad, my side hurts," he had gasped, just minutes into our journey. "I can't breathe properly." I slowed my pace, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Maatla, you're fighting your own body. Short, panicked breaths will never sustain you. Breathe with me—deep, measured, rhythmic. Let your body learn the pattern." Now, facing this literal infrastructure collapse, I saw the spiritual parallel with striking clarity: too many of us ar...

The Gardener’s Support: Finding Our Strength in the Body of Christ As I look out from my home in Akasia, the jacaranda trees are beginning to bloom, painting our streets in shades of purple. It’s a sight that always reminds me of the delicate balance in creation—beauty that is both strong and vulnerable, needing the right soil, the right rain, and the right support to flourish. In my own small garden, I’ve been tending to a young vine, and as I gently tied it to a sturdy stake this morning, the truth of Galatians 6:2 came alive before my eyes: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” We are that vine. We are not meant to grow alone. The Illusion of Self-Sufficiency In our South African context, we hear a dangerous mantra whispered from many corners: "Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps." It’s the myth of the rugged individual, the Clint Eastwood hero who rides into town, fixes problems alone, and rides off without a relationship. T...

The Master Potter’s Family A Story from Akasia The sun sets over the Magaliesberg, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, a daily masterpiece we in Akasia are privileged to behold. From my home in The Orchards, where the streets are lined with jacarandas and the air carries the scent of braai from a neighbour’s yard, I watch families return from the Wonder Park Shopping Centre, their cars weaving through the rhythm of our suburban life. Yet, beneath this tranquil surface, a profound loneliness persists. It’s a silence that echoes in spacious homes and a disconnection that thrives amidst digital crowds. It is into this modern solitude that the ancient, potent promise of Psalm 68:6 speaks with fresh force: “God sets the solitary in families”. This is not merely a nice sentiment; it is a divine declaration of intent. But to understand its power, we must see it not as a passive blessing but as the active work of a Master Potter. The Potter’s Hands: Intentionality, Not Accident Imag...

The Exile’s Longing: Finding Home in a Fractured Land “Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you say that in Jerusalem is the place where people ought to worship” (John 4:20). The morning sun casts a soft, golden light over Akasia, but it does little to soften the edges of the world. I sit on my porch, the familiar sounds of a Pretoria morning filling the air—the distant hum of traffic on the N1, the scent of rain on the dry earth. Yet, beneath this surface of daily life, a deeper current runs, a silent hum of a different frequency. It is the sound of a longing heart, a universal ache the Tswana people might call ‘legae’—a yearning for a home that is more than a place. This, I have come to understand, is the exile’s longing. It is the core melody of the human story, a tune played in every culture, every heart, and every page of Scripture . The Garden’s Echo: When We First Felt the Distance Imagine, if you will, the first home. Not a brick-and-mortar house in Akasia, but a garden....

The Firstfruit Planter: Where Faith Meets Soil A Personal Awakening at the Royal Palace The dust of KwaZulu-Natal rose in gentle clouds beneath the rhythmic stomping of feet, the air thick with ancestral songs and the scent of earth. I stood among thousands at the Enyokeni Royal Palace during the Umkhosi Wokweshwama, the Zulu First Fruits Festival, watching as the king prepared to bless the harvest. No one in the community could taste the new crops until this sacred moment, when the king himself would sample the first yield. It was a defiant act of trust—a whole nation waiting, hungry, while they offered the very first portion back to the source of all blessing. In that moment, I saw the ancient words of Proverbs 3:9 come to life: "Honor the Lord with your wealth, with the firstfruits of all your crops." This wasn't merely an agricultural tradition; it was a lived theology. It struck me that the same principle that guided that Zulu ceremony—the same faith that trusted the...

The Unshaken Life: Building with the Carpenter's Level of Integrity The Tool We All Need Imagine, if you will, a carpenter named Thomas. I met him last Tuesday in Soshanguve, where the dust of the earth seems to rise to meet the relentless Pretoria sun. He was building a simple structure—a community kitchen for a local crèche. But what captivated me wasn't the building itself; it was the tool in his calloused hands. With rhythmic precision, he placed his carpenter's level on each beam, each plank, each frame. That simple tool—a straight bar of aluminum with its tiny glass tube and elusive bubble—became his measure of truth. It declared what was straight and what was crooked; what would endure and what would eventually collapse. In that moment, I saw more than a craftsman at work; I saw a theologian practicing applied righteousness, a man using a physical instrument to measure spiritual reality . My friends, that carpenter's level is precisely what our souls and our soci...

The Child’s Leap: Faith Beyond Reason’s Edge A Personal Prelude: The Swimming Pool Lesson The afternoon sun hung heavy over Akasia, that familiar Pretoria heat that makes the air shimmer above the tin roofs. I was teaching my youngest to swim in the community pool—that place where our neighborhood’s children splash alongside dreams and fears. She stood at the pool’s edge, tiny toes curling over the cool blue tile, her body trembling not from cold but from that primal terror of the deep unknown. "Jump, my child!" I called, my arms outstretched. "I will catch you!" Her eyes darted from my face to the watery abyss and back again. For a heart-wrenching moment, hesitation reigned. Then came the leap—not a calculated decision but a desperate flight into the certainty of her father’s embrace. As I lifted her laughing from the water, Scripture whispered in my spirit: "Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter ...

The Scribe’s Devotion: When Work Becomes Worship in the African Context From My Study Window in Akasia The golden Highveld sun rises over the Magaliesberg, casting long shadows across my Akasia neighborhood. From my study window, I watch the daily pilgrimage of humanity—street vendors arranging their wares, nurses heading to the local clinic, construction workers balancing on scaffolds, and students rushing to catch taxis. Each carries in their hands the raw materials of worship, though few recognize it. The divine truth is this: our work, whether wielding a pen or pushing a wheelbarrow, becomes sacred when offered to God. I recall old Mr. Khumalo, who once tended gardens in our suburb. His hands, gnarled and earth-stained, possessed a peculiar reverence when touching soil. He’d often say, “When I plant, I talk to the Creator about His creation.” To him, gardening was not mere labor—it was dialogue. This captures the essence of Colossians 3:23: “Whatever you do, work at it with all you...

From Worry to Worship: Unshackling the Anxious Heart in a Turbulent Land A Personal Encounter with Fear and Faith The relentless buzz of my smartphone startled me awake—another emergency alert from the power company. Load-shedding stage 6. In the predawn darkness of my Akasia home, I felt that familiar knot tighten in my stomach. My mind immediately began calculating: How would I meet my writing deadlines without electricity? Would the food spoil? Could I afford another solar inverter? The anxious thoughts multiplied like termites devouring the foundation of my peace. As I stepped onto my veranda that morning, the winter air crisp against my skin, I witnessed something that would unravel my spiraling anxiety. There in the sprawling marula tree beside my house, a mother cape sparrow was tirelessly gathering materials for a nest. She darted between branches, her tiny beak carrying twigs twice her size, weaving protection for her coming young. She didn't pause to fret about tomorrow...