We Need New Dreams!

 

Khangwelo Matodzi CA(SA), 2025

I have just turned 31 and it got me thinking...I need new dreams!

I realised that I have more than what I could have ever asked for. Not that I ask for much. 

I come from absolutely nothing. I was raised by an illiterate mother with six children. We all used to stay in a one-roomed mud house. Naturally, my biggest dream would be to build my family a decent house and to provide for them. There are those who say they grew up poor but did not know that they were poor. I knew I was poor. It is impossible not to know you are poor when you never wear a proper school uniform, when you never go on school trips, when you never have pocket money, when you never pay school fees. The list is endless.

Despite all these, I loved school and that was my saving grace. The classroom was the one place I felt I was equal to or even better than others. I do not know if I loved school because I was good at it or I became good at it because I loved it. What I know is that I loved it and I was good at it. But being good at something does necessarily not mean you could make a living out of it. I grew up with people who were very good in football but it did not mean they would go on to play for my beloved Orlando Pirates, Kaizer Chiefs or any of the professional football clubs. So although I was good at school, I did not dream big.

My mother worked at my primary school for a number of years, cooking for us as part of the feeding scheme staff. That meant that every one of my teachers knew her and would report me to her if I was doing well or misbehaving. That served as a motivation for me to do well. I knew that hearing my academic achievements was a source of much pride and joy for her. There is nothing I loved more than making her proud.

When the volunteers from some American universities came to our primary school to teach us in 2008 when I was doing grade 7, I had already established myself as a top academic performer in my class. It did not take them too long to realise that there was something special about me. My early primary school teachers like Mrs. Khameli had already affirmed me but there was something about the confidence that these volunteers had in me after knowing me for just a little while. They even felt compelled to come to my place to tell my mother about my potential. I still vividly remember that conversation, with our late principal Mr. Tshivhengwa serving as an interpreter. That is when I started believing that I could make something out of this education thing. 

L-R: Jennifer, Khangwelo and Alex, 2008

Their biggest fear was that my potential would be wasted they do not do something about it. They had told the project director, Tshifhiwa Tshivhengwa, about me and also promised to raise funds for my education when they go back to America. That did not work out and it caused a great disappointment to me and my family. I felt stupid for having had high hopes. Tshifhiwa still assisted with building us a house at home and would also pay for my flights and allowance when I later went to university.

I then went to Ndaedzo Secondary School, which is in another village next to my home Manamani. Having hoped to have gone to a 'better' school in town, I did not enjoy my first years at Ndaedzo. Over time, Ndaedzo grew on me. The competition was healthy, especially with the now Dr. Adivhaho Netshindande (MBChB, UKZN). I managed to pass my matric with six distinctions, which showed how good a school Ndaedzo was. 

My choice of accounting was inspired by one of my sisters, Phumudzo, who had also done 'Commerce' at Ndaedzo. I come after Phumudzo, so she is the sibling I have always been closest to (I did not say favourite hahaha). The 10-year-old me would sit me with her doing her homework and would wish to be able to fill those ledger and journal classwork books they used for high school accounting then. It seemed so cool and my mind was made up then that I would choose accounting when I reach grade 10. I could not have known what a chartered accountant (CA) was at the time and when I heard about CA, I did not quite like it. The idea of choosing a career merely because it pays well did not sit well with me. I would tell people that I am doing accounting because I loved it, not because of money (in fact, what money? hahaha). 

Because I was still not comfortable with the idea of being a CA, I registered for the Bcom accounting with law degree when I went to the University of Cape Town (UCT). I only switched to the infamous CA Stream in my second year, after learning that I would have to complete an LLB before I could specialise in Commercial Law. That did not sit well with me and that is when I went back to my first love, pure accounting. I did fairly well in accounting and graduated both my undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in record time.

Khangwelo being capped by Dr. Max Price, 2018

The UCT experience was not all rosy and I have written about it in length  here. Going to UCT remains the bravest decision I have ever made. Coming from where I come from, I had no business thinking I could be admitted there, let alone graduate from there. At least UCT should have given me the permission to dream. Or maybe UCT was the dream, because since then I have not dreamed much.

Khangwelo, UCT's Upper Campus, 2025

Recently, I revisited the UCT campus and part of the reason was to rediscover that boy that dared to dream. I have not done too bad since UCT. But I have not done too well either. I have trained at a Big Four audit firm (the so-called articles). I have worked for an international audit consultancy company. I have worked for a good insurance company. I have extended the house at home. I am quite financially stable. On the other hand, I have struggled with the final SAICA board, the APC, and that delayed my career progression post-articles. As a result, I am behind my peers career-wise. I also feel I sell myself short in some respects. 

Khangwelo and his mother, 2014

Immediately after UCT, in January 2018, I lost my beloved mother. A part of me died that morning. I am still to sit and think about the impact that her passing and the timing of it had on me. One thing is for sure, it killed my drive. It killed my ambition. It felt pointless to dream after that. I remember wanting to quit my articles in mid-2018. She passed away after I had just finished university but before I could start working. It just felt unfair that the one person who had been by my side, the one I worked so hard to make proud, could not be there to enjoy the fruits of her labour (no pun intended). Like Moses of old, she could not make it to the Promised Land. I know I made her proud. She would want me to dream. She would want me to live. Extending the house would have brought so much joy to her. She would also have been proud that I support my siblings. 

I have fought to keep my head above water. I think I have done well for myself. There is room for more. If anything, my life story shows that it is possible to achieve exceedingly abundantly above all that I ask or think. Armed with that, I should dream and dream big. There is still so much to look forward to about career, education, love, cars, houses, travel and many more.

I need new dreams!