'ATI belonged to the people'
Sharon Mathala | Tuesday September 9, 2025 14:59
About 2,000 mourners attended the burial in person, whilst an estimated 21,000 more watched via livestream. The funeral proceedings began in the early hours of the morning, at exactly 5:08am on Saturday, and stretched over 10 hours. Every moment of it seemed to mirror ATI’s life, unpredictable, unforgettable, and captured the magnitude of a life lived boldly, chaotically, and unapologetically.
Yet, even in death, controversy followed him. On Friday morning, just hours before the planned service, news broke that the funeral might not proceed at all. An urgent court application had been lodged by ATI’s biological father, Annel Bayani, who claimed he had been sidelined from his son’s funeral rites.
At this point, ATI’s body was already in Palapye, waiting to be transported to Lerala. Bayani made four demands before the funeral could go ahead. Chief amongst them was recognition in the obituary as ATI’s father, and the right for his side of the family to speak about the late artist’s life. For a brief, tense moment, it appeared the send-off of one of Botswana’s most influential entertainers could be thrown into disarray.
But after heated meetings and negotiations, the families reached a fragile consensus. The funeral would continue. By that evening, Lerala, a normally quiet and dusty village, was transformed. Cars lined its narrow roads as if a music festival was about to begin. It was a homecoming for a king, and the people had come to pay tribute.
Indeed, ATI had long ceased to belong solely to his family. He was the people’s star. His famous tagline, “It’s not about me, it’s not you, it’s all about the people,” rang truer in death than ever before.
When his body arrived in Lerala on Friday evening, mourners had already flocked to the village, but that was just a preview of what was to come. By 4am on Saturday, buses and combis from across the country had rolled into the village, carrying fans who had styled themselves in his image, teardrop tattoos, earrings, and ripped shirts. They came to see their idol one last time.
The sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm the small village. At one point, chaos broke out as fans demanded to see ATI’s body, chanting his name outside the family home. A near-stampede left police officers scrambling to restore order. With Acting President Ndaba Gaolathe scheduled to attend, the Office of the President’s security detail grew uneasy. The situation teetered on the brink of being uncontrollable.
Eventually, after an hour-long standoff, calm was restored. The family relented, bringing ATI’s body outside for public viewing. A line so long it snaked through the family yard led to viewing times being extended by more than an hour. It was a rare, almost royal moment; an artist being presented to the people who had adored him in life and who refused to let him go quietly in death.
As tributes flowed, a more intimate portrait of ATI emerged. Speakers described him as hyperactive even in childhood, bursting with energy that often startled his family. To his aunts and uncles, he was not the enigmatic star Batswana saw, but simply “Attie”.
From a young age, he dreamt of stardom. His relatives recalled how his ambition sometimes shocked them, but over time, they accepted that he was destined for greatness. Yet, at home, he remained grounded, a boy who loved both his parents, who enjoyed cooking, and who refused to eat microwaved food. He was fascinated by energies, by the stars, by life’s mysteries.
They remembered him as soft at heart, someone who embraced people without judgement of status or wealth. To many, he was not just a musician but a patriot who loved Botswana deeply and used his art to reflect its soul.
By 3pm, the funeral procession reached the gravesite. As ATI’s sleek black Soviet casket was lowered into the ground, fans broke into chant: “Re tsile go betsa, go betsa go utwala”. ATI’s send-off was nothing short of regal. It was the farewell of a king who had reigned not from a throne, but from a stage.
Like the wording on the banners, his story, like his music, will live on.