It was 2:03am, Tuesday 28th July for me in Hong Kong, 8:03pm on the 27th of July in South Africa. I should have seen that message from my friend Blake but I was fast asleep. I got up in the morning thinking it would be yet another routine day beginning with devotion, then studying before going on to check my phone while making breakfast. My days normally begin that way lately. I normally watch an episode of Family Guy afterwards, before heading back into the books or creating some music. Im studying for a Professional certificate in Music Supervision with Berklee College of Music, a dream come true for me really. Well, Tuesday morning wasn’t going to be normal. 

As though I knew, I dived into Instagram after a bit of studying. Noticing I had some new direct messages I tap on there and saw a text from a friend back home. It read “Bro, Moss has left us.” I immediately dropped the phone and paced around my small apartment repeating to myself, “no, no, no, no, no”. After a minute or so I went right back into my phone and went through messages and posts from mutual friends- social media is powerful these days I have to admit. I went on Facebook and scrolled through his timeline. It was still fresh with birthday wishes from friends and a post from Moses saying “Thank you all for sending your Birthday wishes. May God richly Bless you. My day supper Awesome and All thanks to my beautiful wife and the cabinet for making it extra special. The new year tastes good already. Thank Lord, Thank you Jesus”. He had just turned 39. 2 days before that, Moss had just posted a memory from his 2010 wedding. “Nangoku, Hambi sweswi, le lehonu, na namhlanje, Tot vandag, Till today, you remain the BEST by far my baby. It didn't seem it would be this great, when we 1st met 18years ago but our 11th year of our wedding anniversary confirms how perfect you've always been for me. Thank you for making my birthdays always memorable my paragon”. So this could only mean that the news had just come in and not many people knew about this… I started panting, hoping that he must’ve been fighting for his light on a hospital bed and would come back to us and these news would become quite the joke. No not quite. 

I started looking for confirmation… and that became my Tuesday. It must have been 11am in Hong Kong, 5am in SA when I posted, “Please tell me this is not true” on Facebook. Not long after, a mutual friend responded with a sad face emoji. I quickly messaged her directly and asked to call her. Moss and I performed in Jasper Ministries Group together back in 2010-2013. We had adopted our beloved Luthando Matanga as the band manager then. This call I was about to make was to him and his wife. I’m certain they were sitting in bed in that moment in as much shock. Phone rang and they answered… I broke down… Mam’ Matanga said “it’s true Mshana… I’m sorry young man but it’s true…” they both let me cry for a bit and then we went on to talk about him (Moss) and what could have happened. I won’t share the details here. It is not my place. 

This cycle occurred all through the day as I remembered Moss and the moments we shared. I remembered the people we met along the way and I picked up the phone and cried with all of them all through the day. I texted some and called others. Pastor Sipho Kaleni, who was lowkey our band director and public relations guy between 2010 and 2013 responded to my text saying, “I’m so sorry Shanas, I thought of you when I heard the news…” 

I sound like I’m making the passing of Moss, more about me. Death does this to us all. Those who die, leave us to feel the pain. But how I received this news and how I tried to cope with it, cannot compare to what my friends back home, his lovely wife and the kids must be dealing with right now. Nowhere close. As much as he was a good friend, brother and uncle to me, he meant the world to many others too, perhaps even first. If you go to his Facebook account and scroll through the posts on his wall, you will see for yourself. We celebrate him now, as we did while he lived. 

He loved driving. In the short while I sang with him in Jasper Ministries, I saw a lot more of the greater South Africa than I ever would have on my own. Actually, I remember when Moses and Bandile first came to my house to interview me for a part in the group. Jasper was and still is reputable. The members have changed around over the years but man, the sound grows as does the group. I vaguely remember the conversation that night, but know that it gave birth to an amazing group dynamic where I was the youngest in the group and I quickly got the nickname ‘Mshana’ which means, ‘youngin’. It actually started with the song “Uze”. Over the next couple of years I would receive wisdom from the older guys in the group and adopt a way of talking which has stuck with me since then. Sometimes I have to call myself out- this is not Jasper. Our jokes were hypothetical and intelligent, our phrases were biblical, our conversations filled with progressive, constructive opinion. Never would you catch us discussing someone else with ill intent. Moss would pick me up from my brother’s house and we would drive around together all day on Sabbath. Lunch together with his wife, sometimes dinner too, before we all pray and wrap up the day and head home. In the car, we sang, a lot. When his wife wasn’t there with us, Bandile and I would escort him. We would go through CD after CD of Emmanuel Ministries then No Limits then onto other Eastern and Central African accapella groups, picking out their beautiful nuances and learning new things to explore in our next rehearsal that following week. I enjoyed those drives. Funny thing is, he had driven for so long that he always knew where the traffic cops would be hiding or where the speed cams would be… so even though he sometimes drove at ridiculous speeds, we were guaranteed to get home safely with enough adrenaline rush to last a day or two. 

Moss met my girlfriend at the time, Yoliswa. He became more of a big brother and less of a distant uncle. He always cracked love jokes in a very spiritual way. A muslim would say his jokes were very ‘halal’. You knew what he was saying, though he wouldn’t say it. His relationship with his wife was so admirable and aspirational. he looked up to them. When things where pretty bad back home, they gave me a safety net. I hung out with Moss on Sundays and connected. He gave me both relationship and life advice. He is one of the reasons I am such an old soul and I love it. He made it look so cool. He and Ps Kaleni probably inspired the beginning of my Fedora journey. He dressed well and his charisma made you want to stick around for more. His wife sat right there, front row, cheering him on. Or maybe she was really just enjoying it as much as he was. 

It hurts saying goodbye. A part of us gone. Loss does that to us. It feels like the heart has been ripped apart. Memories that could have been th subject of laughter the next time I visit home, will only be remembered by one and not the other. Its like an umbilical chord has just been severed, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Death does this. I had grown attached to the idea of him being a part of my life in a certain way, both past and future- he would have seen me get married and I would have asked HOW DID YOU DO IT? I always asked him that whenever we had time together… now, I cannot. 

In good time, the pain will transform into something else, something more admirable than the darkness we now feel. In good time, the salvation that lies within this pain will unveil itself to us… but for now, it doesn’t help the mourner to be told ‘it will be alright, hush now’, or ‘hang in there, God sees your tears’, or worse yet ‘be strong my brother/sister’. Sometimes just being there is enough. Often time, just being there is all that’s needed. There’s a pain that comes with losing someone you care about and that pain is not the same as a heartbreak from a relationship. At least then there’s hope to fix things and heal. Death does more; ‘I’m sorry’ never said, ‘goodbye’ never spoken, hugs never given and more. You being to feel the pain from the thoughts of what could have been, years from now, when the pain is less, it will come in short spasms of ‘I wish he was here to see this’. The pain will come when you check your phone and remember the random phone calls. But the best way to thrive in pain, is to feel the pain itself, for what it is. Don’t tell the mourner not to cry. Crying is not a sign of weakness. Don’t tell the mourner that things will be fine… feel their pain for why things are not ok right now. Be in the painful moment. Allow it to unfold for what it is. Don’t hold back and try to be strong and ‘mature’. The day I heard of Moss’ passing, I didn’t hold back. Its been almost 6-7yrs since I last sang with him, but it feels like yesterday when we sang in Cape Town together. That day I felt the pain. I let it out. By the time I could see other people, I had very little weight on my shoulders. If you massaged me you wouldn’t feel any tension knots there. I let go. 

For now, we have to let go. It will hurt. We have to feel that hurt and allow it to unfold its darkness and grief, along with the goodness it has to offer. But for now, we must let go. we will see you again soon maestro. 

Rest in peace, Moses Ngobeni.