Some women walk into your life quietly — not with loud fanfare, but with the kind of presence that shifts the ground beneath you.
They sit at the right tables, speak the right words, open the right doors, and before you even realize it, your life is changing in real-time. Ma’am Colleen Lowe Morna is that woman for me.
She is not just a founder, not just a special advisor at Gender Links, and not just one of the most respected advocates for women’s rights in South Africa and across the globe — she is one of the pillars of my journey, and I write this blog with the deepest gratitude and love in my spirit.
When The Great People of South Africa was just a fragile dream — new, unknown, unpolished, and birthed in the middle of a global pandemic — Ma’am Colleen was one of the women who sat at that decision-making table.
That table, alongside Women’s Voice and Leadership South Africa and Global Affairs Canada, where they chose to believe in a small organization with no prior grant management experience. She believed in us when we didn’t have a long resume, only a burning purpose.
That decision didn’t just fund a project. It helped birth a legacy. Ma’am Colleen saw something in us, in me, that I was only beginning to understand myself. And then, as if one act of belief wasn’t enough, she did it again. She was part of the team that selected me to become a Women of the South Speak Out (WOSSO) Fellow.
That fellowship didn’t just teach me; it transformed me. It gave me a voice I didn’t know I had. It became a mirror showing me the leader I was becoming.
The truth is, I didn’t even want to blog. I was deep in grief, writing a book about my father’s painful death, overwhelmed by everything life had thrown at me. I didn’t want distractions. But Ma’am Colleen encouraged us — no, she gently insisted — that we blog.
And because of that encouragement, blogging became my safe space, my emotional release, my clarity, and my creativity all at once. It became a sacred ritual. It became my voice, and my voice became my power. Through blogging, I unlocked doors I never even knew existed. I began to shine. I began to heal.
As I walk this journey — as a woman in civil society, as a political activist, as a dreamer who knows that one day I will stand and give my first speech as the first woman president of South Africa — I carry Ma’am Colleen with me. In every room I enter, I carry her faith in me. I carry the weight of her belief.
On that day, when I speak into the nation’s heart, she will be seated in mine. Because she saw me before the world did.
Ma’am Colleen is more than a mentor. She is my unofficial mother. My spiritual sister. My guide. My refuge. She is one of those rare souls God and my ancestors handpicked for my path.
I woke up today thinking about her, overwhelmed by everything she’s done not just for me, but for women across this country and the world. And I don’t want to wait to say it — I want to give her her flowers now, while she can still smell them.
I want to honour her while she can still feel it. I want to thank her while I still can.
Ma’am Colleen, I pray God and our ancestors continue to protect you, keep you, and carry you with the same grace and love you’ve poured into others.
I pray they bless you with a long life, so that when that day comes — when history changes and South Africa welcomes its first woman president — you will be there, standing proud, smiling, knowing you helped write that chapter.
I love you. I honour you. I thank you. I will never stop thanking you.
You are one of the greatest blessings of my journey, and I am so grateful that our paths aligned in this lifetime.
Camagu Mama.
