Growing up, I always knew my father—Mzuvumile Sydwell Pheza—but our relationship was far from the "normal" father-daughter bond. He wasn’t present in my life in the way I longed for, and as a child, I could never understand why. I knew where he was, and I’d see him occasionally, but he lived with his two other daughters while I stayed with my mother.
That distance created a sense of resentment in me. Why couldn’t he be with me? Why was he a father to others and not fully to me? It’s only now, with the wisdom life has given me, that I’ve started to understand why things had to be this way.
My father had four children in total: my older sister, me, another daughter, and our youngest sibling—my brother. We all had different mothers, which spoke to his charm and perhaps his inability to settle down in his younger days. My dad was undeniably good-looking, intelligent, and hardworking. He was, in many ways, larger than life. But as a little girl watching from the sidelines, all I could see was his absence. I resented it, though deep down, I never stopped hoping for a chance to truly know him.
That chance came when I was 25. My life had taken a dark turn after I endured the trauma of being gang-raped while living in Johannesburg. In my pain, my father reached out to me and said he wanted to perform Imbeleko, a traditional ceremony that introduces a child to their ancestors. I agreed, not fully understanding how much this ritual would mark a turning point in our lives.
Around the same time, something extraordinary happened—my parents reunited. They got married, and to my surprise and slight confusion, they were madly in love. At first, I didn’t know how to feel about it. After all, this man who had been absent for so much of my life was now back, and not just for me but for my mother too. Yet, as I watched them together—happy and unbothered by anyone’s opinions—I decided to embrace it. It was an opportunity to get to know my father and to build the relationship I had always wanted.
What followed were some of the most special moments of my life. My father and I became inseparable. He had this way of making me feel like I was the center of his world. His friends would often say, “Oh, so this is Zintle, your favorite child.” I heard it so often that I started to believe it—and, honestly, I think it was true.
My dad and I were so alike. We both had no filter, always speaking our minds, and we shared the same quick wit and humor. He was respected by everyone in our village, not just for his wisdom but for his kindness and integrity. He was a traditional Xhosa man who carried himself with dignity, but he also had a playful, charming side. I’d laugh seeing glimpses of the “ladies’ man” he used to be, however he and my mom were on their own path and completely in love. They were inseparable, and it was beautiful to witness.
Two years ago, I uncovered something that completely changed my perspective on my father’s absence during my childhood. I discovered I was born with a powerful spiritual gift. This revelation came after his untimely death from a stroke, and as I began to explore this gift, so many things started to make sense. My parents’ separation wasn’t just about them—it was about protecting me.
My father’s family carried deep spiritual burdens, and their presence in my life during my formative years might have exposed me to dangers I wasn’t ready to face. It breaks my heart to realize this now, but I also feel immense gratitude for the sacrifices they made to keep me safe.
When my father had his stroke, I was there with him during the last 11 days of his life. I took care of him in a way that I believe every daughter should care for their father. It was an experience that bonded us even further, but it also prepared me for the spiritual journey I was about to embark on.
His passing unraveled truths about my ancestral lineage, our village, and the spiritual battles that have shaped my family. These revelations inspired me to write a book—a deeply personal account of my father’s life, his death, and the hidden spiritual world that I’ve come to understand.
The book also delves into chained ancestors, awakened spirits, and the battle against the witches of ukuthwala. It’s a topic many won’t understand, and I’ll admit, two years ago, I wouldn’t have believed it myself. But my gift has opened my eyes to truths I can no longer ignore. I hope through this book, I can open the world's eyes to what many believe to be superstition. What I have come to label as spiritual violence.
I miss my father every day. His absence has left a hole in my heart that no one can fill. Yet, I feel his presence in the spiritual realm, guiding me and strengthening me as I navigate this journey. I wish we had more time together in this world, but I know our bond transcends it.
I hope to honor him by sharing our story with the world. To anyone who reads this, I want you to know: even in the face of pain and loss, there is love, there is connection, and there is purpose.
My father’s legacy lives on, not just in me but in everything I strive to achieve.
I love you, Dad. Always.
