I grew up in Duduza, Nigel, Johannesburg, and when I was six years old my mother left me in the care of my father to pursue full-time studies at the University of Fort Hare. She was a teacher, but she wanted more for herself, for me, and for my siblings still to come. At the time, I didn’t understand. We sometimes spoke once a week and saw each other twice a year.  

My father, a man without a university degree, stepped into the everyday work of raising a child. He cooked, cleaned, combed my hair, made sure I got to school and never made me feel as though anything was missing. It was simply love in motion. He gave my mother the freedom to grow and gave me the stability to feel safe.  

I also spent time with my grandmother, who worked as a live-in domestic worker for a family in Dunkeld, Johannesburg. Visiting her felt like entering another world. Their suburb was peaceful and orderly, so different from the township where poverty and violence were never far. Her small back room was a refuge. She would feed me, pray over me and listen without rushing. I followed her around like a puppy as she did her duties. I could read, play with puzzles and visit the nearby park with swings and slides —luxuries I didn’t have at home. In her small, loving acts, I found hope I didn’t know I needed. 

Though my grandmother never finished school, she understood something profound: education could be a gateway to freedom. She worked her whole life in someone else’s home so my mother and her siblings could one day build their own in dignity and possibility.
 
I have a large extended family. I was lucky to grow up within walking distance of many aunts who showered my cousins and me with love. You could never tell whose child was whose. We were loved equally and fully.  

Women’s Month often celebrates extraordinary women, and rightly so. But the women who shaped me were extraordinary in their everyday choices. A mother who left to study. A father who stayed to parent. A grandmother who held the line between survival and surrender. Aunts who loved abundantly. None of them made headlines, but are the headline of my life. 

As women, we are expected to do it all. Build careers, raise families, care for communities. And we do this often without the extended family support our mothers had. We are celebrated for our strength but not always supported in our struggle. The truth is that even strong women need rest. Even caregivers need someone to lean on. 

We must stop pretending that raising children and holding families together is women’s work alone. My father didn’t think so. He taught me that love has no gender and care has no hierarchy. I’m blessed with a husband who supports my career and shares the load of parenting.  

Today, as a working woman with caring responsibilities, I know how hard it is to hold it all. I’ve also learned that looking after ourselves is not a luxury, but a necessity. Our well-being matters. 
 
We need systems that support us, flexible work, affordable, quality childcare and recognition of care work as valuable labour. And we need each other. I am deeply grateful for the wise women who guide and support me and the carers who help raise my children. I couldn't do this without my village. 

This Women’s Month, I honour my mother’s courage to go, my father’s love to stay, my grandmother’s belief in our future, and the unwavering support of my aunts, friends and husband. I wish my grandmother could see me now as a Deputy Dean at the University of Cape Town. She never lived to see me become a doctor. 

I honour the village that raised me — not perfectly, but with deep love. May we be that kind of village, for our children, for each other, and for ourselves. 

Happy Women’s Month!