By Bra Peter
A missed opportunity, out of cowardice, is a terrible tormentor of the soul. That’s why I stood up. That’s why I spoke. That’s why I couldn’t sleep unless I showed up fully.
At the book launch of Lefatshe ke la Badimo, I wasn’t just a guest — I was moving between roles. A preacher of the digital gospel. A student of Setswana literature. A walking contradiction: shy but fearless, silent until activated.
I met DJ Lemonka. I told him I loved his recent podcast with Thabiso Tsotetsi. We spoke. Then he introduced me to Tuelo Gabonewe — a Setswana author I’ve long needed in my digital world. I told them about BraPeter.ai and my obsession with self-publishing. About how the future doesn’t need show budgets. We can rap in our gym clothes. Preach from our rooms. Perform for subscribers across the world with nothing but tech and intention.
They listened. Some were fascinated. Others still processing.
Later, when Tuelo called me “Bra Peter” and handed me the mic, something took over. I don’t remember exactly what I said. But I remember owning the moment. I remember calling out the lies. I remember telling Neo Matsunyane that no one is coming. That technology is here, and budgets aren’t. I remember saying, “Batho ba masepala ke magodu.” And sitting down to a soft applause.
Then I spoke to Ike Khumalo. My energy was fading by then. I tried to sermonize about rest. About how Black people need to sleep. Or use motekwane to find stillness. I don’t know how it landed. But I had to say it.
Even at the end, when I saw a Facebook friend in a photo — someone who was in the same room — and we didn’t recognize each other in person, I laughed at the irony. On stage, I was Bra Peter. I wasn’t scanning for old friends. I was locked into task mode. Focused. Maybe even narcissistic. But that’s how I survive public space.
It was a busy night. A meaningful one.
And no, there was no media. No major coverage.
But we were there. We witnessed. We spoke.
We showed up.