05/04/2026
I was on stage when former Vice President of Botswana, Slumber Tsogwane, came in, and I knew at once that this was one of those moments a man stores away carefully, like a letter he means to read again in old age.
He entered without fuss, which is often the surest sign of real stature. He had on a well-cut grey suit, a striped tie laid neatly upon a white shirt, and the kind of composure I lack adjectives to describe. Some men wear power like borrowed robes, stiffly and with too much awareness of themselves. He wore his lightly. He looked like a man who had long since made peace with responsibility and had no need to advertise it.
The programme was already in motion. I invited Dr. Norman Paul Desire for the invocation. Dr. Celestin Ngirabakunzi gave the opening remarks. Then my duty led me to welcome Hon. Tsogwane as chief guest. Until then, I had had a moment with the other speakers, but not with him. So I watched him with that quiet attention one gives to a man one has heard of, but not yet measured at close range.
He rose to speak, and almost at once the room settled into him.
He was soft-spoken, but there was nothing faint about him. His words came with order, his humour with ease, and his reflections with the kind of maturity that does not strain to sound wise. He spoke as one accustomed to thought, and, better still, as one accustomed to people. That combination is rarer than many imagine. I have always said that when a well has deep water, it does not quarrel with the bucket. So it was with him. There was depth in him, and the room felt it.
As he spoke, I found myself both listening and reflecting. Here was a man who had served Botswana at the highest levels, a man seasoned by years in Parliament and later in the vice presidency, yet what struck me most was his humanity. He sounded natural. He sounded like a man who had not lost himself inside public life.
When he finished, the conference moved on, as conferences do, with one speaker following another and the machinery of programme pressing forward. Yet in my own mind one thought remained. I wanted, at some point, to greet him properly, to exchange a word, perhaps even to build the beginning of a connection. There were, however, many others who wanted the same privilege. In such matters I have never been a pushing sort of man. I do not wrestle for proximity. I have seen too many people scramble for importance as though it were bread being thrown into a crowd.
So I waited.
I stood at a little distance and told myself that if the right moment came, it would come decently. There are times in life when one must let a thing ripen rather than pluck it green. I was still in that mood when I felt a hand tap me lightly on the back.
I turned.
He was seated at his table, and it was he himself, Slumber Tsogwane, making a small gesture with his hand for me to come over.
I went at once, of course, though I hope with some appearance of calm. He received me warmly, looked at me in that open manner which generous men have, and said, โGreat man, great man,โ before handing me his card.
Now, a person may describe such a moment plainly enough, yet plain description does not always carry the true weight of feeling. I was touched. I was humbled. I was, in that instant, reminded that good work has a way of travelling ahead of its owner. A man may stand quietly in the room and still be found by the very thing he was too modest to chase.
That, indeed, is the lesson I drew from it, and it is one I repeat often, especially to the young. When work is placed in your hands, do it well. Do it thoroughly. Do it with honour. There is a kind of excellence that speaks before you do. There is a kind of diligence that introduces a man in places where his name has not yet been pronounced. I usually say that the path does not praise the traveller, but it remembers the feet that walked it faithfully.
People sometimes ask me what the secret is. They see the networks, the invitations, the travel, the speaking, the coaching, and they imagine there must be some hidden door through which I passed while others were looking elsewhere. There is no mystery grander than persistence. We started together, many of us. Some grew tired. Some abandoned the thing too early. I remained with it. I kept faith with the work. At a point when many of my peers chose the safer road, I turned toward the road that matched the size of the dream I carried. It was not the easier road. It was simply mine.
So yes, I left that encounter grateful, and more than grateful, strengthened. I believe something meaningful may yet come from that connection, particularly for the young people of Africa, for whom I carry a very serious burden. But even if nothing else had come of it, the lesson itself would have been enough.
For the world has a curious habit. It often appears not to notice. It keeps a straight face while you labour. It gives little sign while you pour yourself out. Then one day, without warning, it turns, calls you by name, and places a card in your hand.
So I say this again, and I say it as one who has seen a little of life. Keep going. Stay with the work. Remain faithful to your assignment. The door you are too shy to knock on may one day open from the inside.
ยฉ๏ธ Kelvin Nyamache
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Slumber Tsogwane
