Chris de Vries talks to Thsiamo Peu (27), a postgraduate student at the University of the Free State (UFS) and student of the Seminary of the Dutch Reformed Church in the Free State. 

 

Introduction

In 2000 Tracy Chapman wrote a magnificent song: “Telling stories”. The music video leads you through a bunch of ‘first-impression-judgements’ and then, with a second take, shows you how wrong your assumptions were. (Check it out here).

There’s a science fiction in the space between
you and me.
A fabrication of a grand scheme
where I am the scary monster.
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
in my spaceship I am laughing.
In your remembrance of your bad dream
there’s no one but you standing.

One scene: Three young boys get onto a bus. ‘FUTURE GANG LEADERS’ is what you are thinking. And then, after they sit down, one of the boys opens his jacket – and nestled inside is a kitten – vulnerably dependant on these three.

Gangster becomes carer.

It is when you look a second time that the first light of truth shines through. The origin of the word “respect” literally means “to look again”. Because it is when you live closer and look deeper that you really start to see.

Kerkbode (KB) meets Tshiamo Peu.

The darkness (Part 1)

Thsiamo Peu (27) is a postgraduate student at the University of the Free State (UFS). His first degree is in Investment Banking.

After graduating with his bachelors, he started to study theology (2025). He is, on top of attempting a new study field, a student of the Seminary of the Dutch Reformed Church in the Free State. He professed his faith through the local DRC Student Ministry (Kopanong) and felt called to become a dominee in the NG Kerk. Yes – do that second re-look/re-spect thing.

On the hot summer’s day of 10 February 2025, in between the theology faculty opening and work (he runs his own business), I grab a coke with Tshiamo (TP), and he tells me his story:

KB: Tell me about your background and family context that reveals something of who you are.

TP: “I was born in Mpumalanga. Raised by two parents. When I was born, my mother was not working, and my father was a waiter. We moved around with him wherever he got employment. We stayed in Polokwane, Nelspruit, Hammanskraal and even Mamelodi. But our village, where my parents grew up and where we always went back to, is Pankop. I lived there up until grade 10.”

And it is here, in Pankop, that I hear Tshiamo deeper. I re-spect. His crazy life story unravels with a flurry of quick succession statements. I can see that he would be able to vividly relive them in retelling, but he keeps it staccato – So that the emotion just touches his eyes. I suspect that, if he lets this retelling sink deeper down into the vicinity of his heart, he might lose his foothold on the doorstep of self-control.

The flurry:

“My dad passed away when I was in grade 3. He died of diabetes. They had to remove some of his toes.”

Death.

“When he passed on, he and my mom had already split up. There were a lot of reasons for this.”

Unofficial divorce.

“Then my mom passed away when I was in grade 8.”

Emotion in his eyes.

“The passing that affected me the most was my mom.”

Death again.

I’m thinking – In what world should a child choose between which parent’s passing affected him/her the most?

For a moment he grapples with this. He realises that the trauma of losing his father, created a deep-seated fear of losing his mother as well.

“To lose my mother, that messed me up.”

He grabs the reigns of his feelings and skilfully forces his story back to facts.

Next series of happenings:

“My parents’ splitting came as a result of physical abuse. My dad used to beat up my mom, and my mom stayed. Her reason, apparently, was us. It never made sense to me. The time she drew the line, I remember it so well. We were sleeping, and my father came back from work. It was in the AM’s. They started yelling at each other. We live in a very small house, so we could hear the altercations. Next thing we started hearing bangs on the wall. On this night (I suspect it was because of the severity of the beating) we all got up and went to the room. We stood at the door. They were fighting on the other side of the bed. My dad was drunk, and he just continued hitting my mom. He stopped somewhere and left. We phoned my dad’s friend, the one who had a car, and he took her to the clinic. I think her ribs were broken. She could not move properly the next morning. The next day, she sat us down and told us that we were moving. But we had to wait. It had to be when my dad was at work.”

Physical abuse.

Tshiamo tells me how he and his siblings carried boxes, clothing, pots and pans in the middle of the night – His dad was working night shift. And they all went to stay with his grandmother on his mother’s side. Thrice that night, they had to walk the almost 3 km with their belongings. They had to keep the gates of his granny’s yard locked, and the next evening his father came crying, pledging his regret and sorrow through lock and chain. He came the day after that again. And again, and again. That became a rhythm for them. His father coming at evenings to eat with them or to bring them food.

His father tried to be there for the children by giving them lunch money for school. When Tshiamo speaks of his father, I hear his love for him. He passionately talks about how his father was the one that kept his side of the family together. He laughs out loud while he tells me about the one time he got a R100 to take to school. He bought himself and all three of his best friends sweets and quarter loafs for days!

Next bomb:

“In grade 3, I broke a girl’s arm. It was an honest mistake. She was this tough girl, beating my friends. She challenged me to a fight; we drew a ring on the ground and got right to it – I suppose I won.”

It goes without saying that such an incident in grade 3 sticks a large red “don’t mess with me” label onto your forehead. I can’t shake the feeling that this incident was the manifestation of generational abuse.

He relocated to his dad’s place after this, out of fear for his mother’s beating. Tshiamo tells me how his siblings got the worst of his mother’s anger. She was projecting her physical abuse onto them. It is a horrid tale, but he conveys it in such a way that I hear the sympathy for her.

“Mr Chris, I think my mother was traumatized … She would beat my siblings with anything she could find. She even choked us.”

This 9-year-old boy swam the river of survival, and it made him an angry adult in a kid’s body. Circumstances threw him into churning floodwater. Any child would most probably drown, yet he survived. His log of survival was his intellect.

How is it possible for God’s grace to sprout in this Pankop story? How do you find the candle of hope in this consuming darkness? Tracy Chapman writes:

Leave the pity and the blame
for the ones who do not speak.
You write the words to get respect and compassion
and for posterity.
You write the words and make believe
there is truth in the space between.

And that, my friends, is where we are going. Towards the light.

The light (Part 2)

 

This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. – 1 John 1:5

In her song, Tracy Chapman assumes an emptiness in between the stories that we tell and their reality.

She is right. But, as followers of Christ, we are not alone in this empty darkness. In the darkness is the Light.

It is in hindsight, in re-specting our past, that we also find the ability to see these tracings of divinity.

Here is the light that Tshiapo sees in his own story:

Mentors

Tshiamo tells me about the people God used in his life. It is striking how these light bearers just “showed up”:

It was his childhood friend Botlali that asked him to join her for church. He was in grade 9. At this service the worship team played a song that TP’s mother adored: “Let it rain” by Michael Farren. “This song moved me,” says Tshiamo. “I felt closer to my mother. I just wanted to learn how to play that song.”

Tshiamo afterwards connected with the worship leader, and he showed Tshiamo how to play “Let it rain”. He was quite a natural with the keyboard and soon joined the band.

Although this change started from grade 9, he was still an angry adult in a teenager’s body. He made it almost unbearable for his sister, who he was residing with. His oldest brother’s wife came to live with them to try to influence and help with the upbringing of Tshiamo. But soon after she started to inform his brother about Tshiamo’s behaviour, the family decided to send him to live with his brother in Joburg, Cosmo City.

The next light bearer was Tshiamo’s brother Meshack.

“I did not always like my brother, because I felt as if I didn’t belong. But he knew how to work with me. So, I came to love and appreciate him.”

He tells me how his brother would take him for a long walk after he crossed the line again and again in his new home in Cosmo City. He would buy him ice cream. Then they talked:

Meshack: “If you continue to be like this, you will be alone forever, because you are pushing away the people that love you.”

It was through this constant stream of caring and love, at times tough love, that Tshiamo was gradually transformed.

“My brother, he forced me to carry the consequences of all (my) actions. But he did it out of love.”

Light bearers. All around.

 

A medium

Music played an integral part in who Tshiamo is today. Another light bearer was Mr Sphiwo Ngoma. He was the specialized worship leader in T’s new church in Cosmo City.

Although the positive influence and formal mentorship came from Mr Sphiwo, it happened through the medium of music. God makes us with unique inclinations and appreciations. Tshiamo feels made for music. It was through this medium that he could give expression of his emotions. Music, bearing the light and resemblance of God, changed him.

Tshiamo eventually became worship leader of the band and asked the pastor (Ps Motsepe) to become his mentor.

The list of people showing up, providing support, massive financial contributions, prayers, love, continues and continues. I won’t bore you by writing about all of them. You get the point. God shows up in human form.

 

God’s hand

This crazy story (even after the childhood hardships) contains quite a few low points.

Tshiamo got accepted (one of 10) to study sound engineering at University of Cape Town. But investors withdrew funds because of Fees Must Fall. He was devastated. Yet, the light of God shone through, even through the cracks of this disappointment.

It was in this weird frustrating year that Tshiamo really made inroads into pursuing God: Through music and church (This is where Ps Motsepe and Mr Sphiwo became such big influencers in his life). His longing to make a change inspired him. He would walk the streets and pray for those whom God showed him.

In this difficult financial time, Progress (3rd brother) was working at a school library as a volunteer. Progress realised that he was good with children and started a small tutoring business. He included Tshiamo in this venture, and their business took off. I-Original tutoring company was born. This would grow to become Tshiamo’s steady stream of income. God provided. It was hard work. Moving out. Sleeping on a duvet at the back of their new training centre. But God showed them the light.

Tshiamo tells a passionate story of experiencing God while playing 1st keys at a church service. Something just happened. The Spirit moved him. Towards the light, and he fell in love with it. Nothing was the same after being touched by this Light.

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The beauty (Part 3) Meeting Mr Inquisitive

I met Tshiamo at the beginning of his second year. We had a Sunday evening service just after the last Covid lockdown was lifted. During the service, I shared something about my own life and weakness, to show that God works with and uses us all. After the service Tshiamo and Mokoni asked if I would mind dropping them off at their student house. While we drove there, Tshiamo started asking inquisitively:

“Mr Chris, why did you share that story of yourself?”

“In my previous church, the pastors never spoke about their own weaknesses.”

“How did you come to study theology, sir?”

“When did you start to have mixed services (between Afrikaans / English / White / Black)?”

This guy is not just asking because he wants to break the silence, I thought to myself. He asks because he wants to understand. He wants to discover and know. He is a unique guy!

Much to my surprise, our road together started with a lift. And T, he did not really get out of my car, or heart since then.

 

Do the hard things

Over numerous conversations, Tshiamo delved deeper into his own understanding. Dragging his own thoughts, and mine, out into the light, so that we can discover the Beauty together.

Tshiamo confronted himself with new perspectives on dating and intimacy. He almost lost his faith when things got too philosophical. Yet, he pushed through these chapters with remarkable resilience. I should not have been surprised. I mean, I know his story of being down and picking himself up.

He did the hard things that we usually shy away from. He confronted stuff in himself. He struggled with God and has been blessed. He drove to Joburg to sort out very difficult family situations. He sends his brother’s children some pocket money. He contributes monthly to one of his older siblings, so that he can get back on his feet. Very hard things to do, especially with no parents to support him financially.

He fabricated time to not only succeed in getting his degree, but to build his tutoring business. Tshiamo currently employs a few people. He made enough money to buy his first car. Do the hard things. That is a lesson I learnt from him.

Lightness of being

This is T’s story. And it is beautiful! It’s about being brave enough to dream. It’s about being willing to be moulded between God’s harsh and lovingly soft hands. It’s about moving out of the darkness of your past. It’s about being transformed in God’s light – about discovering God’s beauty in the here and now.

Let me put it like this:

Death. Abuse. Divorce. Relocation. Death. Aggressive anger. A few light bearers. God in human form. Disappointment. Family difficulties. Being willing to grow. Risking. Dreaming. Praying. Crying. Knocked down. Getting up. And being light enough to live and laugh in the face of all this.

God is telling stories. All we have to do is to love enough to truly listen, and re-spect. God and his extraordinary clay creations are all around. I hope you see them, and Him.

Rev Chris de Vries is minister of the student community in Bloemfontein.