Across the rolling plains, dry veld and scattered villages of South Africa’s rural provinces, women hold families and communities together with quiet strength. They nurture children, tend livestock, manage small farms, and navigate complex social and economic pressures, all too often with little support. Their emotional resilience is formidable, but not limitless. Depression, anxiety, and trauma are widespread, yet the mental health services required to address these challenges are practically non-existent in the places where they are needed most. Recognising this dire gap, the Mvula Trust, in partnership with several grassroots health organisations, has launched a groundbreaking initiative,  a mental-health hotline designed specifically for rural women. The Rural Women’s Mental-Health…

In South Africa, as in many parts of the world, there are stories that quietly circle through hospital corridors, taxi ranks, and family WhatsApp groups. Stories of people who were declared dead, officially, clinically, with paperwork in hand, only to return. It isn’t the stuff of Hollywood scripts. It doesn’t come with lightning bolts or mystic explanations. But it happens often enough, quietly enough, that it forms part of a shared national folklore. Doctors call it Lazarus syndrome. Morgue attendants call it something else, sometimes with a shrug, sometimes with quiet respect. The basic rhythm is the same,  someone stops breathing, their pulse disappears, efforts to revive them fail, and…

It’s a crisp evening in Cape Town, and more than a million viewers around the world are chuckling along to a story that feels intimately South African. Meet the Khumalos, Netflix’s latest local comedy, dropped on April 11 and rapidly climbed into must-watch territory. On screen, Grace Khumalo, played with zesty flair by Khanyi Mbau, welcomes a high school rival next door. What ensues is a perfect storm of suburban style wars, teenage heartaches, family drama and generous doses of humour, a show that reflects South African life with warmth, sass and just the right amount of spit. For directors like Jayan Moodley, who brought us the original Meet the Kandasamys…

It was supposed to be loud. That was the point. Flashing cameras, celebrity entrances, fists wrapped in tape and tension, hype DJs spinning voiceovers into the ether while the ring stood gleaming under warehouse lights. That’s what everyone imagined when Abdul Khoza signed on for “Fists of Fame”, a boxing match that had little to do with boxing and everything to do with attention. Opposite him was Chad Da Don, rapper, provocateur, occasionally serious contender. The kind of billing that turns parking lots into movie scenes. The kind of event that sells ego as entertainment. Except the bell never rang. The announcement was quiet. Too quiet, if you asked the…

There’s a certain stillness that settles over a South African yard on a Sunday afternoon. The kind of stillness that isn’t quiet, but full, filled with the hum of gossip, the scrape of a spoon on a dessert bowl, and the occasional sound of someone dragging a plastic chair into a patch of shade that wasn’t there five minutes ago. These chairs aren’t curated. They don’t match. Some are cracked, some are stained, some lean just slightly to one side like they’ve also had a long week. But they are as constant as the smell of boerewors on the braai or the echo of children being told not to play…

You don’t really plan to take an unofficial taxi. It just sort of happens. Maybe your usual minibus didn’t show up. Maybe you’re late. Maybe there’s a man leaning out of the driver’s window, index finger stabbing the air toward the direction you’re going, and the offer sounds quick, cheap, and exactly what your tired body needs. So you climb in. Passenger number two, or three, or maybe you’re the last one to make the car feel full but not quite overcrowded. A sedan designed for five now carries seven. One more human shrugging off the rules because the rhythm of the country demands flexibility. The unofficial taxi system in…

When an 88-year-old Ndebele artist collaborates with one of the world’s leading car manufacturers on a colour-changing electric vehicle, you know the rules of luxury are being rewritten. And when that artist is none other than Dr. Esther Mahlangu, South Africa’s most iconic living painter, the fusion isn’t just stylish, it’s seismic. Earlier this year, BMW unveiled its new i5 Flow “Nostokana”, a futuristic electric car wrapped in programmable e‑ink panels that pulse with colour and pattern. But the real star of this show wasn’t the battery tech or German precision engineering. It was the unmistakable hand of Mahlangu: bold lines, geometric symmetry, and the vibrant palette of Ndebele heritage.…

In the bustling of Cape Town this winter, an inspiring initiative is quietly revolutionising how young South Africans engage with the future of technology. A new AI-focused Winter School Bootcamp is opening its doors to high school learners from under-resourced communities across the Western Cape, offering more than just a holiday distraction. Instead, it promises a life-changing immersion into the world of artificial intelligence, coding, and future-focused career paths. As technology rapidly reshapes the fabric of modern life, it is often the case that rural and township communities are left trailing in its wake. Access to high-speed internet, digital devices, and quality STEM education is patchy at best, and the…

It starts with a message. Not a handwritten letter scented with longing, but a DM sent at 2, 03 a.m. Maybe it’s “Hey” or “u up?” or a fire emoji dropped into a story. In 2025, this is how risk begins, not in candlelight, but in screenlight. Romance and gambling have always shared a bloodline. Both hinge on luck. Both make promises they can’t always keep. And both, when they go wrong, can leave you worse than broke. But lately, something’s shifted. In a world powered by dating apps, side hustles, and fast payouts, love is no longer the slow burn. It’s a wager. Swipe right, bet big, hope for…

It usually starts late, midnight or later, when most of the city’s lights have dulled and the main roads quiet down. Somewhere on the outskirts of Johannesburg or tucked between Cape Town’s industrial estates, engines pulse low in the dark. There are no official flags, no grandstands, no sponsor banners. Just men and women leaning against old BMWs and Golfs, headlights forming a crooked circle, the night air thick with fuel and quiet anticipation. This is South Africa’s underground racing scene, a world where speed, sound, and smoke aren’t about sport or spectacle. They’re about release. For the uninitiated, it might seem chaotic. Cars revving loud enough to rattle windows,…