At the time, I was managing a small but committed team of reporters charged with covering the pulse of northern Botswana, its politics, people, and pressing issues. The job required long hours, sharp instincts, and above all, a deep sense of commitment to the craft of journalism. It was through a close friend and colleague, Oarabile Mosikare, that I first heard Lebogang’s name. Oarabile and I had spent years in the trenches of journalism together, we reported side by side, shared dreams, and at one point worshipped together on Sundays at the Methodist Church. He was like a brother to me. But, strangely, despite our closeness, I had never met his actual brother, Lebogang. One day, in passing conversation, Oarabile mentioned that Lebogang was a trained journalist but unemployed. Without hesitation, I asked him to send his brother to my office. I still remember the day Lebogang walked in. He was wearing a red T-shirt, brown pants, a little unkempt, the way someone might look after months of waiting for a break that never came.
He looked like life had been hard on him, but he carried himself with quiet dignity. He was soft-spoken and polite, with an air of humility. I did no conduct a formal interview. We simply had a conversation, about journalism, politics, and life in Francistown. I made a decision then and there; we would hire him on a freelance basis. His only task was to write stories. I was curious to see what he could do. His first assignment was political, naturally he had an intense interest in politics, which was evident from the start. I do not remember much about the details of that first piece, but I remember how it read. Lebogang’s writing was fluid and elegant. He had a gift for clarity, structure, and tone. For someone who had never published professionally before, he showed maturity. The story needed some editing, as most first drafts do, but the raw talent was unmistakable. He wrote with intention, with care, and with an eye for detail. He was also bold, sometimes fiercely so. Lebogang was not afraid to confront sources, and he often did so head-on in his reporting. His style could be fearless and, at times, confrontational. That was part of his strength, but it was also a point of contention between us on more than one occasion. We did not always agree, especially when I felt that tone or framing might be too sharp or too direct, but I respected his courage and his refusal to be intimidated.
