I wept before I wrote this. And then I wept again.
Because sometimes, even the strongest hearts can’t hold the weight of certain griefs. The kind of grief that follows not only the death of a good man, but the murder of a great one. The kind of grief that doesn’t just feel personal—it feels national. Political. Spiritual. Unjust.
Baba Petros “KP” Sithole is no more.
And though I never met him in person, his passing has broken something deep inside me. It took days for the shock to loosen its grip on my chest. Days before I could face the blank page. Because how do you write about a man who gave so much—only to be taken from us in a storm of bullets? How do you honour a life that ended in violence, when all he ever embodied was peace?
He did not deserve this. Not Baba Sithole. Not Jobe. Not Mondisa. Not Malatshana.
He had attended a meeting in Katlehong—there to do what he had done for decades: serve. Not to provoke. Not to campaign. Not to grandstand. He came to listen, to lead, to give his people the dignity of being heard. And instead, he was met with gunfire. He was murdered. A servant of the people, gunned down while doing the work he so deeply believed in.
He was not just a Member of Parliament. He was a seasoned politician, a man of integrity and unmatched humility. From his earliest days in local government to his role as Deputy Chief Whip in the National Assembly, Baba Sithole never let the power go to his head. If anything, the more power he was entrusted with, the more softly he walked. He led with grace, served with compassion, and moved with a discipline that many admired and few could match.
In a world where politics has become noisy and self-serving, Baba KP was different. He was too great. He didn’t need slogans to prove his worth. His life was his legacy. His actions were his politics. And now, his murder is our tragedy to carry.
As a proud member of the Inkatha Freedom Party, this loss is not only political—it is personal. We have lost one of our most faithful sons. A leader whose name was synonymous with service, whose discipline held the line in moments of chaos. And now, he walks with the ancestors.
Jobe. Mondisa. Malatshana. We call your names with tears in our eyes. We send you forth not just as a fallen comrade, but as a great ancestor of the IFP, whose memory will guide us as we continue to build this movement with integrity.
As we look ahead to the 2026 Local Government Elections, we say: may we produce leaders like you, Baba. May your name rise in our rallies, your values echo in our policies, and your legacy live in every corner of this country. We will not let the light you carried go dim.
To the youth of South Africa, let us say this: this is the kind of leader we must become. A leader not drunk on power, but anchored in purpose. A leader not driven by ego, but by empathy. A leader who shows up not to be seen, but to serve.
To your family, your colleagues, your comrades—we are with you in mourning. Siyavelana nani ntozakuthi. May the heavens receive you gently, Baba Sithole. May the soil of your homeland embrace you with honour.
Rest in power, Baba Petros “KP” Sithole.
Rest, Jobe. Rest, Mondisa. Rest, Malatshana.
We will continue the fight.
We will make you proud.
