Complimentary version: Life journey of Brendon Naicker - under a mango tree

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Published by Sower Media, a Private Limited Company
Registered in England and Wales
(Company Number: 07216486)
20 High Street, Cardiff, CF10 1PT, United Kingdom
www.sowermedia.com
Publication ©Sower Media
Text ©Coral Pearl Consulting
Attributed Author: Carla Day
Managing Editor: Yan Shan Chen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recorded or otherwise, without the prior
written permission of the copyright owners.
ISBN: 978-0-9932128-1-9
Any resemblance to persons living or dead should be
plainly apparent to them and those who know them,
especially if the author has been kind enough to have
provided their real names. All events described herein
actually happened, though on occasion the author has
taken certain, very small, liberties with chronology,
because that was her right.

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Contents
INTRODUCTION......................................................... 4
CHAPTER ONE – THE EARLY YEARS – SITTING UNDER A
MANGO TREE............................................................ 6
CHAPTER TWO – EMPTYING THE WASTEPAPER BASKET
............................................................................... 20
CHAPTER THREE – HOME SWEET HOME................... 36
CHAPTER FOUR – GROWING PAINS.......................... 54
CHAPTER FIVE – FINDING GOD & LEAVING HOME .... 75
CHAPTER SIX – THE ACADEMIC ................................ 91
CHAPTER SEVEN – FAMILY AND WHAT’S IMPORTANT!
............................................................................... 99
CHAPTER EIGHT – AND WHAT’S NEXT ON THE
AGENDA?.............................................................. 105

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Introduction
Brendon was born in Durban, South Africa on 13
July 1980 to Indian parents, whose roots originate
from the 1860 settlers. He was raised during the
lingering whispers of over three decades’ worth of
racial and political chaos as apartheid was nearing
its long overdue expiry date.
Although he was from a hard-working and business-
minded family, life continued to challenge him as he
battled a lack-lustre early education that was
plagued with hatred and bullying and tarnished with
humiliation. But after a pivotal moment at the
sensitive age of thirteen, after his parents’ divorce
and realising that feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t
cut it, he endeavoured to conquer the world and
discovered ambition.

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One slow yet methodical step at a time, he met life
with a hungry ferocity, as he continued to climb
pertinent obstacles and racist barriers. Brendon was
all the time set on building a foundation, a platform
that would propel him to success. One emotional
brick at a time, layer after layer of education and
religion, a wall of probability, cemented by life’s
often cruel lessons. Every turn on his journey
brought seasoned characters and new
opportunities. Once upon a time, he was lost. But
after cheating on a high school exam paper and
realising he had to get serious, he was shamed into
learning with a newfound enthusiasm. This saw him
excel, not only in the academic arena but also in
entrepreneurism.
***

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Chapter One – The Early Years – Sitting
under a Mango Tree
When asked to describe himself as a child, he
answers without hesitation: “Sad!” Brendon recalls
his first day at school at just five years old. With no
real appetite or interest, he walked the two miles to
school carrying the promise of being picked up by
his mum at three o’clock. She didn’t show, so he
walked another two miles on his return journey to
her shop after school, passing the residential Indian
suburb, through a highly populated taxi rank, and
via the busy main roads of the shopping district of
Port Shepstone, to where she worked as a
seamstress. A sign of things to come? He mostly
made his way to and from school alone, leaving him
open to bullies, until - he says, “thankfully” - they
built a school close by in his neighbourhood. This
temporarily alleviated the problem.

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If Brendon wasn’t up with the larks and dressed by
6.30 a.m., his mum would go to work and leave him
to make his own way, which was most days. And on
the days he did make it up in time, he was dropped
at school a good hour and a half before school
started. Left to wander, he would run around, trying
to tire himself out, getting all hot and sweaty before
class commenced, or stand in the scorching sun
watching his skin redden, or in the bitter cold during
harsh winters, hopping from foot to foot as he
watched his breath unfurl into grey skies.
The night before school, after completing the many
chores his mum had cut out for him, he would
polish his shoes with gusto and prepare his clothes,
all nice and pristine, for the mad morning rush.
Once awake, for breakfast he would eat whatever
was available, often just bread and butter and a few
slurps of tea, sometimes nothing at all. After school,
when he arrived home, eternally ravenous with a
growling belly, he would eat practically anything in
sight, often inventing his own sickly creations, like

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caramelised bread cooked in the microwave or
whatever was at hand. Every day, he would then go
on to prepare the ingredients for his mum, so she
could cook her various curry dishes. He would wash
the rice and chop whatever else was needed for
that night’s creation, another curry, a dish he tends
to steer away from now – especially tripe curry.
Not seeing school as important, he often fell back
asleep. Knowing he would have a long walk ahead,
he would use the morning sun’s rays as his guide to
when he should wake up. He would wait for the
sunlight to hit a certain spot in the window frame to
know it was time to get up and ready, if he were to
make it in time. It took years of turning up late or
even after school had finished for him to learn how
to get himself there punctually. With his parents
working long hours and being busy when they got
in, it left him without guidance, for both homework
and just how to get on in school. Brendon started to
fail and feel extremely inadequate and low. Having
friends at school from influential and wealthy

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families put him at a disadvantage. There were no
family holidays to Florida to talk about, as did most
of his friends, and no riches to talk of either, just
strict, hard-working folk, who provided yet had no
real time to dedicate to their children.
As a small child, Brendon was socially awkward,
terribly shy and an underachiever, both at school
and within his community. Feeling unaccepted and
with low self-esteem, Brendon found great difficulty
making friends, so he started to do other things, like
steal. If he wanted something and saw it, knowing
he couldn’t afford it, he would do his level best to
take it anyway, despite knowing he would receive a
gargantuan beating if he got caught, in fact, despite
anything at all. He would get what he wanted,
temporarily filling the void of unfairness.
This was a very important early lesson for him. The
experience taught him that his inadequacy and his
reeling from the embarrassment of not having what
his friends had, made him do the unthinkable and

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take what didn’t belong to him. He learned by these
acts that only by working hard and by accomplishing
a sense of achievement, would you get to enjoy the
things you truly deserve. It took a long time for this
realisation to set in as a young boy, but when it did,
it became so ingrained that it is something Brendon
doesn’t tolerate from others. In his own words, he
demands respect!
And “no” was a word Brendon didn’t like at all as a
child. He did, however, after several years of painful
and tedious lectures, learn to accept that this was a
word to which he had to succumb on occasion, but
it was with a heavy heart and great reluctance and
was confused by his parents and peers with bloody-
minded stubbornness.
Most school mornings would see him
inappropriately dressed, sometimes in a smart suit
with white-laced shoes, which didn’t do much for
his popularity, and clutching a pack-up of just fresh
figs picked from neighbouring trees for his lunch.

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Waved off by the resident maid and with his
unwelcome yet very best friend ‘Blackie’ the fox
terrier in tow, he would idle his way to school,
sauntering, to a place he saw as terrifying, on so
many levels.
Despite Brendon’s attempts at shooing his
companion away, tethering him to the fence or
even locking him in a shed, Blackie would always
somehow manage to escape and follow him to
school, again causing great ridicule from his peers.
Brendon describes the dog as his best friend, yet he
once threw Blackie down a couple of steps in
temper, fuelled with embarrassment and
humiliation of his dog’s annoying loyalty and
desperation to be with him wherever he went. He
says this with a smile and just a hint of regret.
Brendon and his mum, dad and younger brother
rented a double-garage space in a single-storey,
gated bungalow in Albersville, Port Shepstone, from
a prominent suburban couple. This was converted

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into makeshift home while they saved to build their
own house on a nearby adjacent plot. The garage
was divided by plasterboard partition walls, a
cramped living area with a suitable kitchenette and
bedrooms, an adequate outside toilet with only cold
running water and an outside yard where they
would wash their clothes.
He remembers the maid dashing across from the
house with hot water boiled on the stove in a pail so
he could wash himself. The outside bathroom had a
bucket filled with boiled water and a container to
wash with and a bench seat on which to sit.
Undeterred by living in a small space and being run
by his mum with military precision, he describes this
as a happy place, with a forest for a backdrop and
the sound of monkey chatter as his music.
All of the houses in the neighbourhood were
painted in stark white, and lines of clean washing
scented the azure skies in the tropical warm breeze.
Banana trees rustled, avocado trees flourished,

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mango groves thrived and rich vegetation
surrounded the houses. The Zulu community
hummed away in the background, keeping things
running smoothly. Kids played outside on the
streets barefoot and carefree, clicking marbles and
smacking sticks. They would scurry through
adjacent forests, enjoying the delights of juicy, ripe
mangoes and succulent avocados that grew in such
abundance. This was an area where the soil was
fertile and rich, a naturally enhanced and extremely
lush village. Often his hours of innocent play would
be accompanied by his far-too-loyal dog rather than
actual friends.
Being somewhat of a loner, feeling more
comfortable watching the local boys play than
joining in with them, and being afraid of actual
interaction with them, he mostly played with the
local Zulu community’s kids instead. These were the
children of gardeners or maids, with whom the
financial divide didn’t seem so important, and a
sense of freedom and acceptance cloaked him in a

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natural, more comfortable, rural setting. Brendon
says these years and impressions were very
significant to the ways he now looks at people and
possessions and gave him his love and strong sense
of community.
A warm place that made more sense to him, a
simple community who looked out for each other.
No social ranking or jealousy, all equal and calm. His
first curiously towards religion began here too. He
started to ask his mum at a young age about
religion and God and was never quite satisfied with
her answers. A chatterbox with unsatisfied curiosity
made for an annoying boy, who wouldn’t give in, or
indeed shut up. He forced his mum to leave him
with a priest for a couple of hours to answer
questions she couldn’t or wouldn’t.
The Zulu community in Port Shepstone played an
integral part in his early years. Once, his parents
had taken him to Zulu witch doctor - a Sangoma.
Basically, they carried out a traditional ritual for

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protection; against what, he was never quite sure,
but it was a harrowing experience nonetheless. He
recalls receiving small incisions and cuts with a
dubious-looking knife to his cheeks, legs, forehead
and other parts. Afterwards powder was inserted
into the cuts - for what reason he doesn’t recall.
However, despite this somewhat painful ritual and
other subsequent rituals, he became fond of the
Zulu ways and the close-knit community, seemingly
more comforting than his own Hindu religion.
After exploring the Hindu gods, he quickly decided
that because he was scared to death of the
frightening, animated god statues and ugly and
terrifying relics and pictures his aunt kept, this
particular religion wasn’t for him. Being influenced
by friends growing up, he explored many religions,
and he was once motivated by a pretty young girl
on whom he had a major crush. This romantic
endeavour saw him dabble in Islam for a short time,
even managing to complete the all-important
Ramadan fast. He pursued Islam until such time he

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realised he wasn’t really getting anywhere with the
pretty girl, so he quit and moved on to Christianity.
On his way to school as a boy, he would try new
routes, hoping to get lost, so he took as long as
possible to get there, often meeting strange
characters. He was in no particular hurry and took a
leisurely walk that would get him to school when it
did, which cunningly, was most often far too late.
He described himself as not interested in what this
humiliating place called school had to offer, a place
where he felt unimportant, worthless and
inadequate. It was a horrible, nightmarish place
where he was regularly chastised and beaten by
students and teachers alike. This changed his
perception of the world around him and opened his
eyes to a new terrifying place - one that would take
him years to figure out and put a strategy in place
for.
From this period in his life grew something quite
extraordinary, after too many years of being a shy

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boy who wouldn’t tell his parents about his ridicule
from the teacher’s unnecessary put-downs or the
neighbourhood’s extremely cruel kids. Kids that
held him down and poured petrol down his throat,
and performed other absurdly cruel acts on his
small frame. Ironically, he wouldn’t tell his parents
for fear of further beatings.
You see, after all this suppression, a humanitarian
was evolving: a person determined to be unscathed
by his past, not allowing it to shadow him but to
shape him instead, to teach him that good people
don’t deserve to suffer. His past was giving him a
voice for the future, a voice that would speak up in
the face of adversity, not afraid to raise a hand and
hush those too ridiculous for comprehension.
Until the age of ten, Brendon saw school as
absolute torture. He was never chosen to do tasks,
important confidence-building tasks, such as closing
the windows or marking the register. He was never
given this opportunity by his teachers, no matter

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how many times his small arms stretched into the
sky, his fingertip desperate to reach higher than the
other kids.
Until one day, quite unexpectedly, he was finally
chosen to empty the wastepaper baskets. That day
was pure gold, and he carried out this task as if his
life depended on it. He was efficient and thorough
and quite simply the happiest wastepaper-basket-
emptier on the planet - pride was restored. Even
just a tiny bit was important enough to use as a
base, a rare glimpse of confidence.
Alas, only the richer and seemingly more eager kids
got picked for the more important tasks. He was
never given the trust or responsibility for those. His
growing resentment and a steady uprising of
rebellion, accompanied by the teacher’s complete
and utter lack of interest in him, provoked a need
for change. He was never looked upon as an equal,
which made him fight from within. Determination
crept in and settled in the very depths of him.

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Brendon felt these early years were a lesson, a huge
and a massively important time.
Unbeknownst to him, a budding politician would
emerge from these early years of injustice ready to
take on the world!
***

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Chapter Two – Emptying the
Wastepaper Basket
A menial task? A simple job that anyone could do?
To empty the wastepaper bins and make sure they
were clean, fragrant and emptied regularly, a job fit
for a seven-year-old boy at school? This was not
how Brendon saw it. Oh no. He saw a blazing
opportunity to show himself as a responsible
human being, an eager boy who was worthy of
being chosen. That slight glimmer of hope, for a
fragile Indian boy with big eyes and gangly limbs,
given by a single teacher’s choice, had made a very
young boy beam with delight. The trust and
responsibility given, no matter how small, to him
was the most important thing in the world to be
given a chance. It was his first recollection of this
enlightening feeling. It was sunshine brought to a
kid that sat under a shadow, a beacon of light along

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a very dark road. The teacher most probably had no
idea what he had just done, but Brendon would
never forget his first little job. However, no matter
the effort, it still didn't win the respect of the
teachers or fellow pupils. But a lesson was learned
nonetheless: never turn down an opportunity.
He had been a boy who sat at the back, messed
around and didn’t take things at all seriously,
knowing he wasn’t himself taken seriously, as he
had neither the right background or enthusiasm.
But now he would have a reason to smile. Brendon
recalls that Port Shepstone Primary School was a
state school, but a school privately funded by
prominent local businessmen whose children
thereby received respect and favour. It was also
predominantly an Indian-populated school.
Education in this community was paramount, and
this was a way to guarantee the local kids would get
the best possible chance in life. Wealthy Asian
businessmen gave in order to keep the school
running and make sure their kids were educated to

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the best standard possible.
This red-brick building with an asbestos roof,
manicured grounds and a swimming pool made for
an impressive place - for the affluent, which
Brendon was not! The school carried a perpetual
smell of plasticine and crayons through its long
corridors and classrooms, and, for Brendon, the
unremitting stink of fear. He sat at a small wooden
desk, permanently afraid of being asked a question,
to which he knew he would get the answer wrong
and ultimately be picked on, punished or made fun
of. At the back of the classroom, he felt mildly safe,
but at playtime, when the others would gather into
groups and go off, he would put himself at a safe
distance from torment and bullies. Brendon would
walk to fields where he could be alone with his
fruitful imagination and sometimes his clever but
annoying dog. He preferred his own company,
never quite confident enough to feel happy
conversing with other boys. He saw himself as not
the right calibre for their company. Self-esteem

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issues stopped him from even trying.
Learning was always a visual thing for him. He was a
very bright boy but not in the usual academic sense,
which was how the school was run, with a tight and
strict schedule allowing only for the curriculum’s
train-track learning. Brendon was creative and
needed visual aids to grasp the notions and ideas
being read and told to him. However, the school
didn’t allow for this individualism and idealistic style
of learning, and consequently Brendon lagged
behind, pretending to get it. He read books with
great difficulty, a problem that the school never
picked up on, due to Brendon’s deceptive and
convincing blagging techniques. He would take
home books and read them over and over at his
own slow pace until every word sank in and he
could memorise the entire book. He started with
fairy tale books, always with a downtrodden main
character, a pattern emerged that saw him relate to
The Ugly Duckling, Cinderella and other such titles.
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desperately trying to keep up in his own time,
exhausting his mind but ever-determined to get
there his own way.
Brendon became increasingly bored at school and
messed around as the years passed by, realising
that the teachers weren’t going to actually give him
the attention he needed. He decided he would be
the class clown and be disruptive to try at least to
gain some popularity that way. He became known,
but for all the wrong reasons. All this would end in a
beating first from the teacher, then from his angry
mum and finally, the beating of all beatings from a
disappointed father. But still Brendon was relentless
in his cheeky attitude, and he also began to lie to
avoid the beatings and somewhat confuse his
parents.
He became so good that he even started to believe
his own lies. Mostly these were to exaggerate a
truth to make himself more popular or to gain
something the truth wouldn't buy. It was a clever

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way of getting what he wanted or creating the
belief that he had indeed done his homework and
the dog had actually eaten it, etc. He also had a
nagging doubt in his mind whether he really wanted
to lie at all. He never really felt at ease with it. It was
more a convenient way to deal with situations he
hadn’t been prepared for at school and in social
situations. But this would change and be another
crucial lesson: to tell the truth at all costs.
His principal at primary school, Mr Samuels, was a
formidably stern man, an upright, military-looking
man with the posture of an iron rod and no hair
whatsoever; he was a stickler for rules. He had a
mole on his upper cheek to focus on when he was
talking - it seemed for Brendon’s personal
amusement. Always immaculately dressed and
demanding the same of his pupils, he would line up
all 1000+ students and check that shoes were
polished, nails scrubbed, hair in place, lice absent
and uniforms crisp. Anything out of order would
send single-file students straight to the principal’s

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office for the cane or a slap or whichever
punishment befit the crime. He was austere, feared
and a frequent cane-giver. Brendon would often
jump the wall in order to not have to pass his
window and escape stares from his office, avoiding
any detection and staying as small as a mouse, for
fear he would be called into his office for
something, as he so often was if spotted.
Self-admittedly, Brendon blagged his way through
the early years, cheating, lying and trying with the
only way he knew how to survive and gain some
kind of credibility. With no guidance either at home
or in school, he severely lacked any direction and,
by ten years old, was heading completely the wrong
way. But his ways carried an undercurrent. It never
quite sat right with him, the silly Brendon. All he
ever wanted was to be taken seriously and given a
chance to empty the wastepaper baskets once
more and to be seen. He was building to a
crescendo that would eventually see him implode
and wake him up to the point of no return. A kick-

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up-the-ass moment that would propel him to where
he had always wanted to be: on top.
At home, Brendon was not the quiet, shy boy but a
noteworthy chatterbox, hungry for answers on
practically everything. Unfortunately, this eager
attitude was dismissed as annoying and overlooked,
especially by parents who were exhausted after a
long day’s work and still needed to look after the
home and prepare a meal, which they always ate
together as a family. Regretfully there was no one
at home to answer all of his questions, or the
answers would stop after the first few. Brendon was
determined to find answers in books and had a
curiosity about life and all its treasures. That could
only mean his mind wasn't stimulated at school,
and this young boy was going to get the answers
from wherever he could. He met every obstacle
with yet another question, which started to ignite
interest from those who could see great potential in
a fighter not willing to be beaten - a boy with guts
and tenacity. Eventually the questions would pay

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off, but not until another shameful lesson was to
come.
Thirteen was the pivotal point at which Brendon’s
last lie would catch up with him, a time when his
motive for cheating was just the last straw. He sat
at the exam table and cheated. The all-important
exam that was taken so very seriously became yet
another joke for Brendon; the deception and lies
could no longer cover up the fact that he was
academically inadequate and a fake. He learned the
hard way that this time was the end of an era. The
humiliation alone was crucifying, and the wrath of
both the school and his parents was the wake-up
call Brendon desperately needed.
He was publicly shamed and had to beg another
school to take him on. This was when Brendon's life
changed, a light-bulb moment that would move him
towards the future he had always longed for. He
suddenly realised that the only person that could
actually help him was himself, Brendon Naicker:

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AKA slacker, joker, liar and cheat. The only way to
gain the success he wanted so badly was to climb
every step and never stop reaching until he got to
the top.
With problems at the Naicker residence and a
looming divorce clouding his judgement, he decided
enough was enough. He not only started another
school with the vigour and the enthusiasm of a
lioness protecting her cubs, but he also began
street hawking, taking his mother’s unwanted
clothes from her wardrobe and selling them from a
straw mat on the floor. He made a profit and later
began to trade fruit, which he had on contingency
plan from a local fruitier who saw how well he was
doing. As he grew, he took on other staff on a
commission basis. He steadily became known as the
hard-working lad, not only doing well himself but
also providing opportunities for other budding
entrepreneurs. This is where his flair for business
grew, and his passion for fast growth and
strategizing took hold.

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All this time, his parallel learning was gaining him
academic success. He was learning to read and
striding to the very top, becoming an A student.
Slowly but surely, he was leaving his past behind.
His hunger and curiosity were winning the fight, and
his achievements were recognised by those reading
the local papers and seeing success-story articles
crop up about Brendon Naicker.
As his home life crumbled and his mum and dad
separated, the hurt spurred him on even further. He
recalls living alone with his mother after the
heartbreak of a bitter divorce that saw Brendon
stand up in court against his own father. He was
becoming a capable young man, gaining respect
from all around his local community. He remembers
how melancholy he was as his brother left to live
with his dad, and he and his mum slept on a friend’s
floor, wondering where they were going to go and
what was going to happen to them. Change was all
around him in palpable sadness. He recalls later
being seventeen, sitting under the yellow glow of a

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car park streetlight in the early hours of the
morning, revising his homework, waiting whilst his
mother was gambling inside. This was how
determined he was to satisfy his hunger. Knowing
whenever she finished and whatever her mood was
depending on if she won, he would still have an
hour’s drive home and still have to get up for school
in the morning. Resilience was building a strong and
feisty character and a force to be reckoned with.
One thing was for certain: no matter how much he
would have to fight to get on, he would. No voices
would hush him. Defiance would mould him, and
courage was his accomplice.
He was daring, risk-taking and focused. He not only
had himself to look after but his mum too, until she
became involved with another man. This man
turned out to be a terrible influence, a man who
gave Brendon lessons in how to brutally attack his
own father. Brendon had become distant and didn't
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poisoned against him. By his own admission, he
became angry at his father because he was told to
be.
This was most probably a mixture of his mum’s
bitterness, for whatever private reasons she had,
and his own anger at not seeing his father. Brendon
secretly missed his father dearly, and the
unexpected arrival of a new boyfriend, in the form
of a white Afrikaner man, a racist male chauvinist
who, for a boy struggling with confused teenage
issues, was just what Brendon needed to see him
through his weight-lifting years. Although this man
was a Boer and racist Afrikaner who subscribed to
the values of the right-wing Nationalist Party, this
man, who carried a comb in his socks and a 9-
millimetre pistol in his briefcase, was just a bit
thuggish and maybe a bit brutish, Brendon took to
him. The Boer was a man's man who fixed things
and taught Brendon how to drive cars in fields. He
was a rugged man who thought instinctively but
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Brendon lessons in how to savagely attack his
father, should he wish or need to.
An impressionable young Brendon saw all of this as
macho and that it was possibly good to have
someone of this ilk on his teenage side. Besides
being a fixer of domestic appliances and a teeny bit
of a white-lie teller, the man was also a typical,
cheesy car salesman. He paid Brendon to do jobs
around the house, jobs he didn’t want to do
himself, further sparking his need for money. This
man seemed to be more comfortable in shorts, in
any weather, even the biting cold. He was
aggressive but reasonably sociable, a sort of decent
man with a chauvinistic attitude but a big heart. The
comic and tragic irony of a white chauvinist in an
all-Indian community, at a time when whites usually
observed these communities from afar, was just
that: funny. Whites mostly refrained from any type
of engagement, yet here he was, a white man at
social gatherings, often sitting just away from a
suspicious crowd, puffing on a cigarette.

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Nonetheless, he was there. Even though Brendon
knew it was all a bit farcical, there was something
he admired in the man. Maybe it was just the fact
he was a man's man in what Brendon describes, at
that time, as a mostly female zone. He left after
only a few years; he wasn’t missed but was fondly
remembered.
Brendon became acutely aware of his surroundings,
growing up quickly but recognising those with him
on the journey and helping those he could on their
way too. Brendon was climbing and quenching his
thirst as he harvested knowledge and involved
himself in a number of charities and groups, all
fighting for the cause of the underprivileged. The
word “fair” was starting to resound within. He was
seeing that people listened to him. The voice that
had germinated as a child had developed into a
confident and articulate voice, and was beginning to
make waves. He was elected Junior Mayor for his
town and was recognised by the local government
for his entrepreneurial and leadership skills and for

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aiding other young people in business and helping
the local economy. This is something still very close
to his heart today. By seventeen, he was starting to
feel satisfied and happy in his own skin.
Coming from humble yet respectable beginnings
seemed to stoke a fire in his belly, which grew until
it could no longer be contained. Another lesson:
everything you have in your life, every moment,
day, year, experience and person, all make you who
you are today. Every second of your life shapes you.
The regrets Brendon harboured as a child and the
embarrassment he had ultimately progressed into
huge gratitude for these humble beginnings, a
platform to begin his fight, his very first stage on
which to perform. And perform he did.
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Chapter Three – Home Sweet Home
At just one-year-old, Brendon was brought to Port
Shepstone, 180 kilometres south of Durban, the
home of the Umzimkulu River, which in Zulu means
“The great home of all rivers.” He was born on 13
July 1980 in Durban and was brought here by his
mum and dad, drawn from a place that pulsed with
life to a more tranquil setting. Both of his parents
were previously married, and both had a brood of
children by previous partners. His father met his
mum as a passenger in her taxi. She was a
trailblazer, the first woman in the area to do such a
brave and independent thing. After falling madly in
love and having a lengthy affair, producing a much-
loved baby, Brendon, they decided to run away with
very little money and no real plan - just grand love
and intentions of happily-ever-after. When they
arrived, they settled in to a local graveyard,
practically penniless, for a few nights, whilst looking

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for a place to rent and for jobs. At this time,
apartheid still had a firm grip, and ethnicities were
divided into communities: the whites, the Indians,
the Asian communities and the blacks. Things were
tough and a little scary.
They had left behind their other children, seizing an
opportunity for new beginnings, children who
would later be drip-fed into Brendon’s life and
would torment him alone and not his younger
brother, who had lighter skin, for ruining their lives.
They singled him out as their preferred target,
bullied, teased, mocked and humiliated him.
Soon after the move, the family found a double
garage converted into a suitable living space, a basic
area which provided all the necessary facilities to
live comfortably, including an outside lavatory and a
bucket to shower with. It was a pretty place.
Chickens ran through the courtyard, and the maid
from the main house would often be seen washing
the clothes in the communal outside area. Many of

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the neighbouring houses were run by the Zulu tribal
men and women who acted as gardeners who
tended the landlord’s pretty flower-filled gardens,
and maids who kept the houses immaculate. This
domestic force knitted the heart of the community
together. It was a warm and welcoming community
that embraced them all. Brendon says that his
fondest memories as a child were times spent with
the maid or the gardener’s son. He could be himself
around them and relax in their company with no
pretence or guarded behaviour. A time emptying
the wastebasket at school bled into his home life,
and he was happy.
They made this place their family home, a garage, in
a white-painted bungalow secured with wrought
iron gates, owned by a prominent couple looking
for extra income. It was a pleasant house with
pleasant views, but it wasn’t their own, something
his parents strove for. They were working hard,
saving to build their own property. However,
Brendon has sentimental memories of a cherished

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time at this house, a carefree period when he was
young and unaffected and had his parents’
undivided attention, before his younger brother
came along, before life got too busy and he took a
back seat out of the limelight.
The house was in a respectable suburban setting,
surrounded by similar properties. Brendon recalls
grey, black-faced monkeys playing and chattering in
nearby banana trees, munching on the pale yellow
fruit. They were a comical sight that induced
curiosity and giggles rather than fear. It was a
beautiful area, perhaps an ideal setting for children
to grow up in, and yet it wasn’t their own, a thought
that kept his parents working harder and harder to
reach their goal of a new home.
He recalls in this humble house, once, in the
innocent, halcyon days, when he was playing
outside where mango groves created shaded areas
to sit and an abundance of avocados covered lush,
green, stocky trees and only a few miles away,

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mature, citrus-coloured sugar cane fields flanked
long, winding roads. Once while out playing, he
found a nest with chicks in it. He was so obsessed
that he took one out and took it home to show his
father. His father explained to him that this was
cruel and that this little chick depended on its
parents to survive and that the world worked in a
certain way that we couldn't and shouldn’t interfere
with. This particular memory sticks in Brendon’s
mind, along with the tender moment of hearing his
father say he loved him when Brendon was curled
in his lap, all secure and safe as a toddler.
At nights, the young children would catch glow
worms, like fireflies with a luminous green residue
that glowed from within as they swarmed in their
thousands. The kids would run and catch them in
jars and wipe the residue on their clothing, so they
too glowed. And they would dance around like
small, luminous, splattered kids in an imaginary
disco.

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In summer, the air on this coastline was humid; a
warm breeze swept in, and the tropical climate
could be stifling. Crickets clicked and hummed
through the long evenings, and the sounds of home,
which only an innocent child can truly hear, were
comforting. Brendon explained that although these
sounds never disappeared, as he got older and his
mind became swamped with the worries and
stresses of everyday life - remembering to do his
homework, the fear of having forgotten a chore or
the ever-growing dread of going to school the next
day - these chaotic thoughts somehow drowned out
the beautiful melodies of nature. Somehow, he
forgot to listen to it all.
His earliest memories at his first home seem to be
fused with happy times. He got his first bike at six
years old, his only bike that he would ride until it
was practically just a metal frame scraping and
sparking the concrete, until he was fifteen and able
to buy his own, which he eventually sold to buy his
mum a present for her birthday. These memories

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he describes as precious, as things were about to
change. A new time was approaching: a new
brother, a school, a new house and four female
additions to the family.
When the hell of school began, this seemed to
coincide with huge life changes that saw him retract
from a confident little boy to a child with low self-
esteem who would often be found alone with his
own imagination for company.
The new house, which he eventually moved to, was
not far away from the garage but on a hilltop, a
three-bedroom bungalow with stunning views and
only four neighbours. One of these had a tendency
to knock down a retaining wall, and subsequently,
Blackie would often take a bite out of the
neighbour’s chickens. This seemed to be a regular
occurrence and somewhat aggravate them, and yet
it continued, in a vicious circle. As a result, the
relationship between the two houses wasn’t at all
smooth. This house was built with blood, sweat and

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tears and was a place that spelled pride in big neon
lights: a real home with grounds of its own, a “keep
up with the Joneses” kind of house. It would
multiply its rooms over the years as additions
arrived.
The business that Brendon’s dad managed was
growing, and he was working harder and harder.
Yet every spare moment was spent at home
maintaining and titivating his project. He always
dressed impeccably and always had a crisp
handkerchief in his pocket, a man who even on his
days off would wear a neatly pressed shirt with his
shorts and sandals to walk into the village. He was a
well-respected and proud man.
So, it seemed on the surface that they were wealthy
and happy. The house was immaculate, with rose
gardens, rolling lawns with pea-green grass and
manicured land; it was the talk of the
neighbourhood. The appearance was just beautiful;
however, the reality was somewhat different. His

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mum was extremity strict, and there were rigid
rules in place to run the house efficiently. A
somewhat military-run house with no time for
leisure was not a place for a boy with such an
inquisitive and a creative mind, who needed
nurturing, but Brendon and his brother did as they
were told. Brendon suppressed himself sometimes
to the point of becoming almost vacant, out of both
boredom and being so restricted. It also made him
naughty!
Chores took over the weekend. They weren’t
allowed to eat anything without asking. It was a
very controlled environment, not at all relaxed, but
more a show home that took rigorous hours of
labour to maintain. When possible, Brendon
explained how he and his younger brother would
get into a great deal of mischief, rebelling against
the rules, forgetting to be stern and just being
naughty kids. Once his brother convinced him to cut
his hair like B.A. Baracus, and just as Brendon was
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brother’s little head, his mother came home and
went into a furious rage. A beating with a belt
commenced, first from mum, who didn’t see the
funny side, and then from Dad, who was mirroring
his wife’s anger. Brendon laughs at the memory.
Often the chores would continue until way after
midnight, and the children’s participation wasn't an
exception.
She was a strict mother, a provider, a teacher and
matriarch, making sure the family was immaculate,
tidy and well-groomed, and that they had food on
the table. They had to eat this food as a family.
Maybe these strict rules were as much for her own
pride, or perhaps the area expected this of a
woman at that time? The pressure of keeping up
appearances doesn’t leave a lot of time for
affection, in the sense that there were no hugs or
comforting words.
However, despite the military and slightly austere
picture Brendon has of his mother, he fully respects

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and admires her strength, and he values the
manners. These are now things he teaches his own
children, but he also makes sure they get his
attention, and that there is plenty of time for play
and fun in equal measure. He has learned from his
past that affection, time and parental guidance go
hand-in-hand to raise a well-rounded human being.
This period in his mum’s life sparks a memory,
making him think back to the root of his own beliefs
about the female sex and relationships.
Girls and Secrets...
Brendon was brought up in a very conservative
culture, where kissing scenes on TV only provoked
uncomfortable coughs and most family members to
depart the room, as if some awful degrading spirit
had invaded their TV space. At no point did they sit
together and watch anything that contained either
kissing or light petting. It wasn’t permitted by his
parents to witness such intimacy, and the TV was

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scheduled according to what was suitable for the
children.
If anything, this stirred a natural curiosity. He was
left to figure things out for himself, and in doing so,
it started a secret that kept him with a zipped
mouth for three years. He recalls having feelings
and infatuations for wholesome girls, hand-holding
and nice smiles, a polite courting, kissing, being
taboo and not even considered. Once he watched a
film that slipped through the net. He saw kissing
and decided to plant a peck on the cheek of a
neighbour’s daughter. After confiding to his cousin
that he had in fact dared to kiss a girl, she
demanded ransom for over three years,
manipulating him and threatening to tell his parents
if he didn’t pay her bribes. After bending to her
rules for such a long time, he reached a point where
keeping the secret was more painful than dealing
with the consequences, and he could no longer be
bothered.

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His outlook towards the female gender, the fairer
sex, remains unchanged. The church ways also were
to play a part in this pure way of thinking. It taught
him that if interest was shown in a particular girl, he
should seek the permission of her parents before
getting an actual date. This, paired with the
traditions of his family values, produced a very
respectable young man. He still regards woman
with the utmost respect, an old-fashioned and
gentlemanly view that takes us to an era in which
better morals were in place and women were
treated like delicate flowers. Another lesson learned
was, don't keep secrets, it's just not worth it!
Family visitors came and went, mostly Indian; some
he knew, others he didn’t. The dining room in the
new house he remembers as spectacular. His mum
acquired a taste for French Renaissance-style
furniture and figurines of that luxurious 15th-17th
century era. Brendon recalls dark mahogany wood
that was polished until it shone like glass and an
exquisite chaise longue that was placed for effect.

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His mum oozed style and made sure that everything
had a place to be returned to after use.
Another bugbear of his mum’s was taking without
asking, which would have severe consequences. But
in that lavish room, he sat with his family, and they
talked about the day, work and school, and spent
time together. It was a time he treasured until his
aunt passed away and her four daughters came to
live with them, pushing him further and further into
the background. There were queues for the
bathroom and too much girl talk, and it was never
quiet; his craving for attention went unnoticed.
These days, Brendon is a lover of food and likes to
explore cuisines from all over the world, fine dining
from a myriad of vibrant cultures. But he also makes
sure he gets what he pays for and has no qualms in
saying if he isn't happy, with either the food or the
service, another fairness-related issue, perhaps
picked up from his mum - maybe after many years
of eating his mum’s wonderful but predictable

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perpetual curry dishes? The family often would
purchase an entire sheep or lamb, which the local
butcher would chop into portions to be frozen, and
they would consume the entire creature
throughout the month, every single part.
Also Brendon recalls the chicken chase, for special
occasions only - live-curry - something for
celebrations. Once the chicken was caught after a
comical chase, he or his dad would wring its neck
for that night’s luxury supper. He has fond
memories of great fresh-meat curries, dishes that
were always served with rice, his rice! This was a
chore Brendon says became a tedious ritual: as a
youngster, he had to wash the rice before his mum
got home from work, and then as he got older, he
was also responsible for cooking the rice too. Along
with other innumerable chores, helping out would
often take him up to bedtime, when he would
sleepily mop the floors as his last task.
Fashion-wise, Brendon says he didn’t have a

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particular style, more an eclectic, unique and
random whatever-was-nearest-to-him-in-the-
morning style. However, his mum had designer
clothes and shoes in the wardrobe for certain
occasions, which he very rarely wore. Brendon
didn’t regard fashion as important; he wasn’t a
smoker and never dabbled in drink either. He had a
somewhat conservative attitude to morality and
kept himself squeaky clean. He had a greater
interest in the more fundamental issues in life, and
was a deep thinker with a regard for morality and a
huge respect for anyone who had time to devote to
others. Another lesson: give your time freely to
those who really deserve it.
After his parents’ divorce and after a period of living
with his mum’s friends, he moved to his third home.
This house was close to the beach, a place where
the sand resembled soft brown sugar and waves
crashed in layer upon layer of white lace onto the
vast caramel shoreline, a soothing sound that could
be heard from the house. It was a bittersweet

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home, where salt could be tasted in the air, and
gulls cried as they wheeled through powder-blue
skies.
He recalls it was a lush and charming area but sadly
tainted with segregation, and whispers of white
supremacy lingered like a bad smell. Only once the
veil of apartheid was lifted some years later did he
get a glimpse of her magnificent and outstanding
natural beauty. Brendon only really recalled going
the beach at the New Year, when big Indian
celebrations were aloft. Of course, he could go
there any time he wanted, nobody said not to; only
the stares and hushed whispers would make him,
and any other person of colour, feel most
unwelcome. So he didn’t bother with it.
Now he had become a young man, working hard,
selling and learning simultaneously, money
becoming more and more important and the
fascination of business strategies taking him to a
new plateau.

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***

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Chapter Four – Growing Pains
1993 – Brendon was now at the tender age of
thirteen and at the age of new beginnings, with his
parents’ bitter divorce in the background, yet still
playing a major part in his newfound enthusiasm for
life and all it had to offer him. He had defended his
mother and stood up against his dad in court, in
order for her to obtain maintenance. It was a
horrible day during which his mum’s lawyer guided
him, and he stood defiantly, face to face with his
father. It was something that haunts him, especially
the words that he used, “You call yourself a so-
called father,” as he looked into his father’s
unwavering and watery eyes. This sentence still
seems to sit uncomfortably with him. To disrespect
your parents was completely taboo, something you
just didn’t do. He saw hurt in his father’s eyes as he
spoke the words, but knew his father understood
that these emotionless words that Brendon used

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were out of the reflected bitterness from his mum’s
anger and his own painful, confused and sad
innocence.
Defying his dad’s authority seemed to create a
certain freedom and give him courage as an
independent, at a strange and confusing time. But it
also gave him the strength to fight. Brendon
became busy, studying as if his life depended on it,
as if he knew that this was his chance to shine and it
was not to be taken lightly. All of that anger from
the recent changes seemed to ignite something
within. A new school was his new stage, with new
bigger and older children with different, better
agendas; some black children attended, something
completely foreign to him. In this exciting era, he
knew he couldn’t afford to mess up; it was a
completely blank canvas.
Here, sport offered him a new dimension to his
ever-growing earnestness. Brendon was now
playing soccer for the school, gathering momentum

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and collecting friends - albeit with self-doubt still
clinging to his soul. It was a daunting time of new
challenges and opportunities that saw him join in
tennis, cricket and javelin and discus. By fourteen,
he began representing others as a shiny new
member of his first student council. He started to
believe he could do it, slowly gaining confidence.
His hunger for more was insatiable. He found he
would rather be outdoors or with his head in a
book, or being a spokesperson, than playing Mario
on his Nintendo, for which he had no enthusiasm.
Once, while he was attending Marburg Primary
School, he recalls, he was taken back to his days of
soul-emptying rejection at every corner. Whilst
playing soccer for the school and seemingly doing
quite well, he was asked to take the penalty kick
which would determine the result, the deciding and
all-important kick, the should-be victorious end to a
very close game. Brendon had figured out exactly
how to position himself. He knew instinctively that
he could do it from this position. However, the

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coach had other ideas and told him where to stand.
Not wanting to disobey and continuing with his
theory that to be disrespectful, as he would have at
the old school, wouldn’t do him any favours, he did
as he was asked and kicked from an uncomfortable
stance. He missed, by a lot. Afterwards, he was
shunned by the entire team, memories flooding in
of those tragic stomach-knotting years, which
stopped him from ever wanting to play again. But it
taught him to go with his own instinct and not
please someone else’s ego.
He began to find friends and joined the local gym,
winning competitions for bodybuilding. He started
taking control of his mind and body, almost
overcompensating for the preceding painful years,
trying to make a stance for others to know, just with
a look, that he was not to be messed with. He also
found his own bold fashion sense and started
noticing the girls at a local church he attended – in
particular one young girl whose brother was helping
him craft his handwriting.

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He started to relish the delights of church and in
particular the family of these two siblings and their
welcoming Christian family. They lived in a house
that was harmonious and kind and offered peace, a
place where there were no arguments or raised
voices. His life was gaining purpose, filling up, and
he breathed it all in - everything. He started to
spend so much time with this family with its calm
values and soft tones and at the church, where he
felt more and more valued, that his mum would use
it as a punishment, saying that he couldn’t go there
if he didn’t do his chores.
His mum became increasingly protective, suddenly
realising that she was losing her grip on her son.
Brendon says that this family was crucial to him; for
the first time he saw how a functional family ran in
normal, everyday life without the stresses he had
lived and experienced. He became extremely fond
of his best friend’s sister, who was a decent, pretty
and reserved girl. However, it was an unrequited
love, and he was glad, as he came to realise that

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this was a better deal, a sister-like figure who saw
him as brother. They became his adopted family,
and he became somewhat emotionally dependent
on them, acutely aware of the paramount
importance of a safety net.
A pattern emerges throughout his life. It seems
imperative to have a network, a family offering love
and support, even if that family are not blood
relatives. He needed to surround himself with
friendship, trying to fill his past of loneliness, fear of
rejection and broken relationships. It was almost as
if he wanted to give friendship as much as receive
it, perhaps hoping he could bring confidence and
hope to someone who has none.
Church became more and more enjoyable and vital
at this age. He was given responsibilities and roles
that moulded him, and he saw the members as
family too, something that was broken at home and
was so secure and safe here. He had found a warm

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place with great role models and a light shining
toward a new path and social outlet.
At fifteen, he embarked upon a new path, a
business boy, organizing a straw mat on the floor of
a busy street, selling his mum’s clothes. A street
hawker in a busy and vibrant town, he quickly
progressed to selling hair products given by a local
businessman who saw his potential and offered to
let him have the goods for a small deposit. Finding
that his skills and profits were growing, Brendon
realised he needed help and employed the services
of a local thief - Bongani, his first worker, who did
very well. Brendon then progressed to selling
vegetables, which didn’t produce much profit and
was too much work, so he decided TVs and radios
were the way forward. He invested and soon
realised that this was a very lucrative business. He
started to wear smarter clothes and smart shirts
and change his image to portray himself as a
businessman. He didn’t always feel conformable
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betraying his past and hiding his true identity. His
wages slowly overtook his mum’s, and he began to
see a brighter future, but he was starting to let his
schoolwork slide, just enough to cause a flicker of
worry.
He kept up with his church activities, staying part of
the cell groups, engaging in social events and
keeping grounded. He joined the choir and
attended Bible and prayer meetings, whenever he
could. He came to the point where he was asked to
write the papers for the church exams. He didn’t
feel particularly religious at that time but was more
interested in social engagements. Yet the religion
itself was beginning to take hold of him, and he
started to repent and ask for forgiveness for
misdemeanours in his past life. He also stopped
swearing - which he did like a trooper early on - and
he started to respect the world around him.
However, outside of the church, his direction in
business confronted his conscience. His life ran in
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As he was going through the ranks of church, he
began to get the feeling God was watching over him
and that lying, cheating and cursing were bad,
disrespectful things. The church taught him how to
like himself and be a decent human being, a better
person. He began to keep journals, keeping tags on
his direction and writing goals he wished to achieve.
His life was fast-forwarding away from his murky,
sad past to a good and wholesome future, both
financially and emotionally successful. He was
growing.
Bazely Street was a buzzing and vibrant part of
town, the hub of commerce, filled with the noise of
business. A street filled with traditionally dressed
Mamas selling tomatoes, a rainbow of home-grown
produce and the familiar hum of traffic surrounded
Brendon's successful TV stall, the first of its kind
that dared to sell on the street. Traders sold a
variety of colourful wares and smaller-scale
produce, but Brendon stood proudly on the corner
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Riotous noise was all around, and hordes of people
marching in all directions, an array of brightly
coloured costumes, all in search of a bargain. In this
vivacious place, he was the first hawker to sell high-
value items on such a large scale. Bazely Street
being a great area for opportunists, Brendon was
constantly on the lookout for pickpockets who were
hiding among the crowds and thieves who would
prowl like silent and clever predators. He concluded
that the best way to beat this problem was to take
on the problem. He befriended the thieves and
pickpockets and employed them to watch over his
stalls, an ingenious way to insure self-protection.
His business grew to ten stalls, and he employed
staff on a commission basis; they thrived until by
sixteen he was suited, booted and feeling fabulous.
He started to realise that not only was he very good
at business, but that he could possibly take it to
whatever level he required. But the nagging
question - did he really want it? - sat at the back of
his mind like a beguiling demon. Did education

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warrant his full attention? He was starting to
become extremely popular, overstretching himself,
being asked to represent the school or his various
associations at all kinds of social occasions.
Dignitaries were asking for his company at charity
events, and certain affluent people requested his
attendance at marriages. A real socialite, he’d
become too busy and tired to discipline and divide
his time. Conferences, parliamentarians and other
high society sorts wanted to know this young man
who was popping up in both the local and national
papers. This period in time swallowed his attention
and distracted him further from his education.
Although his writing was quite brilliant, and he
could read as well as anyone and he had achieved
an above-average level, his focus was no longer
there. The pull was luring him into the bright lights,
and his financial situation was flourishing as a
budding entrepreneur.
His sixteenth birthday saw him treating his friends,
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the house. And he started saving from work, the
church and other sources too. He managed to save
3000 rand, which was absurd money for a sixteen-
year-old. A bank manager for Nedbank saw that
with his business acumen, he could be an asset to
the bank and allowed him to open a small business
account. He remembers the feeling of his first
plastic debit card and the new-paper smell of his
check book that exuberated opportunity. It was
another chance given to him by a stranger. He also
bought a ticket to the UK and used 20 rand to invest
in his first shares in a company called 'Old Mutual’.
This purchase kick-started a need to track the
financial markets and trends and keep ahead of
business news. His direction was veering towards
making money and becoming a sharp young man
with not only a clear vision but a slightly greed-led
desire.
At the end of Brendon's sixteenth year, after being
estranged from his dad for some time, his father
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significant an influence his father was when
Brendon had been little. The loss was so great that
he had no idea where or how to grieve, so he did
what he knew best and buried it so deep that it
wasn't even visible to those who were close to him.
The fact he was crumbling from an inside that
seemed fathomless and carrying a pain that he
didn’t know where to direct, wasn’t obvious to
anyone but him.
It wasn’t until much later that he made peace and
said goodbye in his own unique way. His
stepbrother, a handsome and generous boy and
biological son to his dad and his new partner, came
to him. They sat as two strangers and seemed to
comfort one another with words of kindness over a
man with whom they both shared blood, and
Brendon learned that despite all of the years
without contact, he was still remembered with
affection and loved unconditionally. This was a
release, information that he needed to hear and
store away for his own private grieving.

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At seventeen, he brought his first mobile phone,
which was subsequently stolen, and a sailing boat
which he used to escape to the silence of a
picturesque river and majestic mist-covered
mountains. He would lay back in his wooden boat
on perfectly still waters, a dream-like place where
the only sound was the slight ripple as a curious fish
would surface or the wings of a bird in flight. He
could observe nature and be at one with himself
and the world and contemplate his life so far. The
world was becoming increasingly and frustratingly
busy.
This time on the brink of being an adult, still only
seventeen, yet already having lived so much and
making his stamp, he began a new journey, one that
would see him leap into learning.
After being embarrassed to return to his former
school for cheating on the exam paper, he found a
place that would accept him. With a tail stuck firmly
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year to learn what would usually take three. So to
say he put himself under pressure is an
understatement. G48 was the exam. It was made up
of six subjects: a mixture of geography, biology,
mathematics, accounting, English and Afrikaans.
Brendon began to study with frantic note-writing
and hours and hours of study taking him into the
early hours. He wasn’t going to fail again, and no
matter how many hours it would take, he would
knuckle down and get on with it. He had surprised
his new teachers with his ability to pick up these
new subjects with such speed and accuracy and
once again started to impress.
He recalls at that particular time he was still very
resentful of his previous school because the
principal had personally asked the mayor to
withdraw Brendon’s application for junior mayor,
seeing him as being morally inadequate after being
caught allegedly cheating. Somewhat bitter, and
with a personal vendetta brewing, he decided to get
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saying that there was a volleyball match against his
new school. Of course there wasn’t; he just wanted
a chance to beat them fair and square at a sport
that was very popular at the time. His team won by
a country mile, and he took great satisfaction in
knowing he had managed this. Of course, it was
later found out by his current school that he had
managed to do this without any permission or going
through the proper channels, when the head of his
previous school called to congratulate them on
their recent victory. But as they won, Brendon really
didn’t care and luckily wasn’t reprimanded either.
When the principal enquired as to why he did it, he
replied, 'for the glory of Marburg Secondary School.'
He also started a Christian union at this stage, in a
predominantly Hindu school, with a meagre four
members. Within weeks, it was overflowing with
over 120 members and found him looking for a
larger hall to hold them, as it was bursting at the
seams. He also started a teenagers-against-drug-
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various organisations, to challenge his mind and to
give him an all-important stage. It was becoming
evident to everyone that he was very clever at
reaching out and touching people with the spoken
word and his charisma, gaining respect and trust, an
addiction of his, to be heard and most importantly
believed.
As the chairperson of so many societies and clubs,
now a very popular face around the school and
within the community, he was a complete contrast
to the shy boy who sat at the back of the class. He
caused uproar in some areas, causing trouble, only
now for good causes, organising rallies and standing
up where needed. Now at almost eighteen,
confident and with his studies firmly under his belt,
he gave a national TV interview about children’s
rights issues. He also fought for the cause for
displaced families and victims of the awful and
tragic 1994 elections, which saw over 10,000
refugees seeking homes. He was at last a shining
success. He took toys to local hospitals; you name

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it, he was defending it. His heartstrings were pulled
from all sides. He also gained his driving licence,
giving him even more independence, and he made
acquaintances in all the right places.
He was, in a nutshell, overstretching himself and
enjoying it too, but he began again to seek God’s
direction, wanting to serve him. He once more
involved himself heavily in the church, serving God
in any way he could, cleaning floors, anything to
give. He felt a persistent need to be close to a God
who is always with him, no matter what part of his
life he is living. And the next part was the
preparation for the UK.
This part of Brendon’s life saw these headlines in
the papers, all with a picture of him and mentioning
Brendon, if not in the title, in the first line of the
article:
Sheppie's Brendon chosen selected for National
Children’s Summit.

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Brendon was one of nine representatives chosen
from 110 pupils who met in Durban last weekend
for the Provincial Children's Summit at The National
Summit.
 Local pupils attend Youth Councils
Convention
 The 'Skippers' plan volleyball tourney
 Bright new look for litter bins
 SCIP launches journalism in schools
 Brendon aims to be Sheppie’s No 1 - aged 16
 Brendon Naicker elected Sheppie’s Junior
Mayor 1997/1998
 Junior Mayor reaches out to youth –
Brendon elected Junior Mayor at aged 16
 Marburg’s Brendon floods CAPEX with ideas
 SCIP brings joy to homeless
 Junior councillors bring cheer to hospital
children

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The Economic Times became his Bible for a while,
and he started to educate himself. He was also
being hardened, becoming tough. He got a harsh
dose of reality at about this time, on the street
when he was selling fireworks at almost 500
percent profit. A disabled man approached him and
purchased the goods, then returned after ten
minutes, requesting his money back, as another
seller further down the street was selling the same
item at fraction of the price. He quite rightly kicked
up a fuss, saying that he was being ripped off.
Brendon remembers having a brief, stubborn,
“business is business” attitude, seeing not the
human side of this ugly encounter but only his
financial gain, a moment he wishes he could
change. But it was also a moment that turned his
thoughts once more to the church. This was a
lesson that made him really dig deep and think that
he wasn’t resting on his laurels, but rather
trampling on them. He struggled later to justify his
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wanted to be. The world kept on throwing
situations at him that would keep his conscience
biting at him and point him to God.
***

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Chapter Five – Finding God & Leaving
Home
After experiencing financial gain on the bustling
streets of Port Shepstone and venturing into the
world of business, which is still a temptation today,
lurking in the back of his brain, waiting to tempt him
back, Brendon had enough of the greed that started
to creep into his mind and the type of person it was
making him. It was pulling him away from his love of
the church and everything it stood for, making a
mockery of the decency and propriety that warm
and nurturing sanctuary had to offer: looking out
for your fellow men and giving something of
yourself, for nothing in return, except a feeling of
gratitude that you are able to give selflessly, for
someone else’s comfort. He was torn between
financial success - which of course he needed to be
able to survive in such a world - and success in the

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eyes of God. He had yet to strike the perfect
balance.
His journey took him next to the UK, against his
mum's wishes and not entirely sure why he was
going. He knew that he needed to explore
opportunities and see some of the democratic
delights the UK had to offer. Scared and excited, he
knew he had to leave in search of God.
At his departure, his unshakable belief all these
years of not being quite good enough or never
really fitting in were crushed, as to see him off at
the airport were some fifty faces, all filled with love
and sadness at his leaving. They were people from
all areas of his life: family, church members, friends,
even those who once taunted and teased. His past
stared him right in the face, and it hit him that in
fact he wasn’t alone, and he was not only liked but
very much loved too.
At that moment, he had a wobble of uncertainty -
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bit his lip and went on with it. Tears brimming, he
strode through the gates. He remembers turning to
see his mum, who was anguished with a tear-
streaked face and a look in her eyes that pleaded
with him not to leave. This sight reduced him to
uncontrollable tears as he approached the gates
with only £130 to enter the UK with and a two-year
work permit. He recalls being so distraught at the
sadness of seeing everyone, that he left all of his
papers and money on the seat as he ran for the
gate to board the plane. Luckily they were still
there, and he managed to get on the plane with no
actual destination in mind, just a brave young man,
searching for something new. He sat next to a girl
on the plane, a Scottish girl who flirted with him
practically all the way and showed great interest.
However, he refused to believe a white girl would
be at all interested in him, a man of a different
culture, and even after she fell asleep on his
shoulder, he didn’t recognise the signs. His country
and apartheid had left their mark.

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After his arrival at London Heathrow, and after
immigration giving him the once-over, asking a
thousand questions about his plans, interrogating
him, scanning him and asking how much money he
had, he was allowed to go and step for the first time
onto UK soil.
This opportunity wouldn’t have happened if it
weren't for a wealthy and good-hearted
businessman, and possibly the richest man back in
his old neighbourhood. Brendon and his growing
confidence had taken him to knock on the door of
this person and asked if he might put 15,000 rand in
his bank account, to show the UK authorities that
he had enough money to enter the UK legally. As
Brendon's reputation had already reached this
man’s door, miraculously he agreed. Although the
money didn’t of course stay in Brendon’s bank, the
gesture and kindness never left Brendon’s mind.
He didn’t have any plans as to where to go and
followed the crowds down dirty steps to the tube-

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station, a dark, musty underground space with a
constant whistle of rank air being forced through
huge tunnels and corridors. Dark-grey walls and
smoky ceilings, new unsavoury smells and hundreds
of unfamiliar faces, billboards advertising products
he had never heard of. Suited businessmen and
women rushing to where? Buskers, tramps, punks, a
variety of unrecognisable human beings. The whole
picture painted strange, and he suddenly got so
homesick that he found the nearest toilet and
sobbed for three hours, until he knew he had to
devise a plan. He sat on the seats watching tube
after tube arrive with a cloud of dusty warm air and
open its doors, each brightly lit carriage carrying a
variety of different breeds of human.
He had never seen this multicultural diversity, like a
bag of mixed sweets, all shapes, colours and sizes.
He picked up a magazine and searched through it.
He came across an advert for potato pickers in
Lincolnshire. Having no idea of England’s
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travelled to Victoria coach station and then on to
Spalding. He sat on the coach next to a grubby man
who was smoking cannabis and generously offered
him some. So he very quickly and politely declined,
made his excuses and changed seats. He sat close to
the front where he persistently asked the other
passengers, like a child, if he was there yet? He
didn’t know it was actually a six-hour journey.
He arrived on 23 December 1998 in the dark and
freezing cold at a supermarket entrance, and stood
in the shadows for half an hour until his new boss
showed up in a battered, nondescript red car. The
man was unfriendly and also smoking and paid no
attention to Brendon’s coughing and spluttering. So
in all, Brendon's first impressions of the UK were
not the best.
After an exhausting journey and the emotional
torment of leaving behind those faces, he finally
reached his digs, an old Victorian house set out as a
dormitory with damp and musty crowded bunks.

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There were other South Africans and a host of
differing nationalities, who all worked at this
soulless potato factory in rural England. Brendon’s
job was to grade the potatoes, a thankless task that
saw him separate the green ones from the good
ones – in between crying - for up to twelve hours a
day. The driver of the red car took a percentage of
all of the money from all of the men.
The accommodation left a lot to be desired; it was
satisfactory but only just. He was racially abused in
this part of the world, where he didn’t understand
the accents but understood the cold stares and
unfriendly mutterings. At this place, he cried
throughout the day and longed for each phone call
just to hear the familiar tones and sound of his
mum or old friends. Nobody called him; it was left
to him to call home. And he did, every single day,
just to hear the familiar sounds of South Africa. He
was a devout Christian, and Christianity was his only
real friend at this time, in this cold, dark and
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bought a CD player, for much more than it was
worth, just to hear the voice of Michael Smith, a
Christian artist. This, he says, fed his soul and got
him through the following month of long, lonely
days, until he had enough and left for new pastures.
His next adventure took him to London. He hitched
a ride from a friend, and he took his meagre £130
and found a hostel that cost him £60 a week. He
paid for two weeks, which left him with only ten
pounds and no job. Ever resourceful and not
intending to go hungry, he asked other residents
here if they would like him to cook the evening
meals, for which he took money and bought the
ingredients and cooked, ensuring he would eat too
and pocket a bit of the proceeds. Again he was
thrown into a dormitory-style room with six bunks,
a damp and mildew-smelling room with another set
of strangers. They were mostly South Africans and
New Zealanders, so at least the accents were
familiar. The kitchen was shared and filthy, as was
the bathroom. Brendon wasted no time in making

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friends, and within no time at all, there was a
community atmosphere building. Realising he
needed a network and craved friendship, he saw to
it that this place was going to be better.
He made a group of friends from all walks of life, by
taking an interest in them and they in him. Anna,
the hostel - Inchmont Hotel - manager, a happy
Filipino lady, started to notice that he was pulling
the residents together, cooking and striving to make
this a good environment for all. She asked if he
would like to make the beds in lieu of rent, to which
he agreed; this eventually saw him living rent-free.
Observing his consistently hard-working attitude
and pleasant manner, she gave him an opportunity,
asking if he would like to work the reception at
nights. There he would look after the guests
checking in, which he did with great enthusiasm.
Again never letting an opportunity be wasted, he
did his best and then some. Anna had him in her
sights. For her, he seemed to shine and have
something that was just a bit different to her other

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guests. Brendon started to enjoy his job and his
time here. He got closer to his new friends, learned
guitar from a Swedish man, talked to spiritual
characters, absorbed the cultural differences and
drank in the new experiences. Suddenly the UK
didn’t seem so frightening, more exciting and fresh
and an adventure.
He got involved with hippies, Reiki healers and an
assorted community where neither colour,
nationality, age or anything else mattered; he was
enjoying people and whatever stories they had to
offer. Anna, fascinated by his charisma, led him to a
new job. She had connections at the Ibis Hotel on
Lilly Road - at that time it was called the Paragon
Hotel. His interview with the Concierge Manager,
Noel, Brendon recalls as sort of a comedy sketch.
He was in a heavy winter overcoat in the height of
summer; not having much money, he didn’t have a
summer wardrobe to speak of, and he remembers
perspiring so badly he couldn't wait to get out,
somewhat rushing through the interview, yet taking

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care to make a good impression. However, he was
offered the job, with his first UK salary of £9,800,
just one thousand short of the minimum wage at
that time. Of course, as expected, he grabbed the
opportunity with both hands. He proceeded to
impress his employer here too, as a friendly porter
who was getting above-average tips, who was
happy to go the extra mile. He was soon also
running personal errands, doing a bit of gardening
for the owner and becoming a trusted friend too.
Here is where Brendon met his first wife, a white
French girl whom he met carrying her bags to her
room. Seeing that the pretty French girl had feelings
for him, he offered to cook for her; within two
weeks, they were serious and dating. There were
signs of things becoming more intimate, which for a
devout Christian boy proved a problem. If this
intimate encounter should happen, he would have
to marry her, so he did. Of course, this helped his
immigration situation too. They stayed almost-
happily married for thirteen years and produced

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four beautiful children; she was his friend,
comforter and a massively important part of his
years here, a support and confidant, his family.
They took a flat together, and soon after, as a
nineteen-year-old man, he began to see just what
kind of commitment a marriage took, a marriage he
had admittedly rushed into. She was seven years his
senior, as upon their first meeting they had both
lied about their age, her saying she was younger,
while he, trying to impress, said he was older. So
here they were, a French girl and a South African
boy, discovering one another and discovering that
their opinions differed after their vows were taken,
something most couples do before. The marriage
took place in secret from both of their families and
was perhaps more a friendship than anything else.
Now a married man, he again veered toward the
church, pulled into a place that was safe. Every
morning he would set off in pursuit of a new
church, and one sunny morning as God was shining

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on him, he walked to Westminster, all the way from
Earls Court, where he was drawn to a church that
was playing a song they used to play at his church
back home. It was 10:30. The church service was in
full swing; he knew instantly that this was the one.
It became his second home; the members
embraced him, particularly one good-hearted
couple who saw that he needed guidance, a
Chinese family whose matriarch was Sarah, a
woman he some time later referred to as his mum.
He was invited to her cell group and was introduced
to Catherine and Edward, whom later would
sponsor his education. These Christians had no idea
that Brendon and his new wife were living together.
He was so terrified it would look bad in the Christian
community that he decided to keep that part a
secret.
Catherine and Edward extended the hand of
friendship and opportunity. Once again, Brendon’s
glow of talent radiated out to this couple, who saw
a young man who they could help and guide. They

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owned a successful property company and had
good connections. They introduced him to the
general manager at the Metropolitan Hotel, where
he secured a place as Housekeeper Supervisor.
After a while and after observing his progress,
Catherine and Edward paid for him to go to Sri
Lanka on a missionary trip. Although grateful for the
opportunity, and after months of experiencing
amazing spiritual guidance and life-changing healing
and other such fantastical sights, being newly
married, he felt at that time, he wasn’t in the right
place. After a month’s holiday back home in South
Africa, he flew back to the UK where he was
welcomed for a second time by his Christian family.
The millennium year saw him excel at the hotel, and
he was once again closely observed by the owners,
who admired his unrelenting enthusiasm and were
drawn to him and kept on pushing him up through
the ranks until they believed he was ready. Then
they flew him, business class, to train staff at a
resort they bought on Parrot Cay Island, an

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exclusive Caribbean paradise. It was a tropical
heaven with white sandy beaches, colourful
cocktails and guests with big bank accounts. But
again, something was missing. Having to start again
and make yet another family was starting to feel
unappealing; he longed for the UK and his wife and
the church, so he returned and was transferred to
another part of the company, serviced apartments
in Canary Wharf, where he managed ten staff and
mingled with a selection of diverse people.
Coming from such a strictly divided country where
cultures and in some case races didn’t mix, it was
bemusing to see not only different cultures but
different sexualities too. All the things he was
taught were fundamentally wrong and had to
distance himself from, were all around him, at ease
with one another in a whole new world, one he
preferred. He let it teach him, change his
perceptions and open his mind to a more forgiving,
accepting society.

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Chapter Six – The Academic
Working for the Emmanuel Evangelical Church and
throwing himself in head first, pulling twelve-hour
shifts and delighting in being able to serve God and
the community, he was starting to grow tired.
Whilst he was busy mentoring the youth groups and
individuals that needed support, he himself was
following a mentor within the church, a Malaysian
guide who became like a father figure. This mentor
taught Brendon how to lead within the church,
instilling confidence and giving kindness and
answers. Brendon was beginning to sacrifice his
own time and development to aid the kids and
show them how to be independent and to cope
with life skills, a thoroughly selfless and rewarding
experience. At the same time, he was starting to ask
questions.
Impressed with his progress, the church paid for

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him to study at Gloucester University, where he
earned a bachelor of arts. This gave him further
insight into this religion he was practising, and he
started to see slight discrepancies and things that
didn’t altogether tie in with what he had been
taught. So he sought out Oral Roberts University in
the US, seeking a more scrutinizing search. This was
a controversial place of study that would enable
him to take a deeper look into the religion he was
living and teaching. Not satisfied with only scraping
the surface, he wanted to know it all, right back
from the start, from all angles. It was the only way
to satisfy his mind - typical Brendon. Edward and
Catherine, the property gurus, generously offered
to fund the $60,000 fee for this degree. It was here,
while studying, that he met another big influence in
his life, a professor who would finally be able to
answer the many questions that Brendon had
racked up about this complex religion and life
beyond.
Brendon's interest was so intense that he fast-

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tracked to being an A student and received almost
100 percent on all of his exam papers. He was once
again becoming the focus of attention, pricking the
ears of the university leaders and staff. After
tracking his quick and enthusiastic progress, they
made him an offer to be the face of the university,
using him and his beaming smile to advertise the
university on billboards and in marketing literature.
In return, he gained a scholarship for further studies
at the University of Wales, where he would gain his
master's degree in theology, whilst still teaching his
bachelor of arts class. He was becoming an
academic, revelling in thought-provoking study,
basking in the sudden and welcome desire to learn.
A divine light had shone on him, or maybe his ever-
lurking curiosity and interminable thirst for life were
pushing him beyond his limits?
He studied so hard that his knowledge of theology
and religion far surpassed that of his peers, which
started to cause friction, and he started to ask
uncomfortable questions, which eventually cost him

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friends within the church and Christian community.
They believed in subjects that Brendon didn’t quite
believe in, now knowing the full and true history. He
started to write articles on such matters and even a
controversial book, Apostles, challenging one
particular movement. (Available on Amazon!)
He started a PhD at Christ Church University -
paired with Trinity Seminary in the US - which he
completed in just one year. This again caused
offence, as the university wanted him to pay for the
additional year. Of course Brendon saw this as
ludicrous; why pay for two years when you only
need one to get the job done? He exited out of the
PhD course, of course not agreeing to pay the
unjustifiable fees; and although he had completed a
PhD in philosophy, the university rewarded him
with a master's in theology.
After the debacle of the university and his falling
out with certain members of the church, and with
the accumulation of educational achievements as

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ammunition, he started to look for a new life. With
two children now in tow, he needed to breathe in a
new experience, provide for his growing family and
distance himself from the area. He moved to
Harlow, where he started applying for jobs as a
reverend. Shortly after, he found himself living in a
£600,000 house in the quintessential village of
Bolney Chapel in Haywards Heath, West Sussex,
with the Queen’s clerk as his neighbour. It was a
place with a high-flying community. He pastored a
church of about 25 people in this ridiculously
affluent area. For the first few weeks, things went
smoothly; he slid into position and was instantly
liked by a seemingly happy group of locals.
He taught what he knew and started to get a better
idea of the community and their conflicting beliefs.
Within a month, the church was divided into two,
and problems surfaced; it became clear that the
congregation had issues with one another as well as
the church. It was a Protestant church with differing
religious theories. He was also paid to teach at

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another local church – the Angelical Church – where
the congregation were a little less cantankerous.
The conflict of the congregation and the pettiness
became too much to take and made him question
his reason for being there in the first place. He
questioned why he wanted to be a minister at all
and was certain it wasn’t to referee an undecided
congregation. He resigned after eight short and
exhausting months.
After moving to and spending a year working in
Margate, he took on a lecturing position at the
South London Christian College. His class became so
popular that his income was boosted by the head,
and he also started an organisation called Lumière
Ministries. This was created to benefit the needy.
Going back to his roots and pulling out the inner
Brendon, he needed to do something worthy and
real, to reach inside his ten-year-old self and teach
and educate those who were in actual need.
Brendon wrote articles and papers for this purpose.
There he met a minister who invited him to go to

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Cardiff University and take a post-graduate job
where he taught a small group of seven pupils;
within four weeks, the group increased in number
by 43 to fifty eager students.
In 2012, after reaching the end of his religious road
and exploring and taking this journey to the very
end, after answering all of the questions and
teaching and living that altruistic lifestyle, he
decided that he should go back into business. His
ever-present love of the church was still a comfort,
but his view of it all had become a little tired and
jaded. So he reinvented himself and opened Sower
Estates in Cardiff. There he would mix his life skills,
religious beliefs and anthropological views to run an
excellent business. With Brendon's magic touch, the
business flourished, servicing the community and
receiving excellent reviews. He later split the
business up and sold it off, to turn his focus to the
next stage of his journey in South Africa.

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Chapter Seven – Family and What’s
Important!
When asked to talk about his family, his eyes seem
to shine from within, and a broad smile sweeps
across his face. We have learned through every
eventful chapter of his life until now that a
collection of people surrounding him, a family, by
means of blood relation or other, are massively
important. Without that fundamental network, he
believes he wouldn't do so well. Without the
knowledge that such love and support is there to
cushion his falls, or listen to his talks, advise, or just
be there waiting in the wings, he wonders, would
he achieve as much? He wishes to leave a powerful
legacy, not only for those who are close to him, but
also for those he wishes to help in other areas, a
constituency of believers. And a family who support
him, his perfect combination.

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It's clear that the love for his four children - who all
have a mixture of beautiful French and English
melodic names - far surpasses any other. He
explained that he was challenged by each small
personality and how very different the needs of
each for both learning and affection were. Each has
a unique imprint that he says he is still observing
and learning. He takes on this task with great
pleasure, making sure he individually understands
each of his children as people, a complete, rounded
look at the thinking behind each mind, and
attention for each in equal measure. They are his
personal collection of miniature friends with huge
personalities. Brendon makes sure each day spent
with his children counts, allowing for play, fun and
learning, something much supported by his loving
wife Shan.
Brendon finds himself in a good home life situation.
He spends as much time as possible with his kids,
with the support of a loving wife, helpmate, best
friend and advisor, whose thinking runs parallel with

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his. An intellectual equal and an intriguing mind for
him to team up with, a travel companion and the
perfect support for his new focus, coming from an
educated and business background and equipped
with knowledge and acumen, Shan makes a brilliant
accessory for his endeavours, his perfect
combination. Shan understands his need for finding
purpose and complements this quest, having similar
goals herself and sharing a similar background. Shan
came into Brendon’s life quite by accident, again a
gift from the very generous church, a fate that was
no doubt meant to be. They had a meeting of
similar minds, past experiences and the creation of
an instant attraction. A mutual admiration grew
from within, and Brendon found a soulmate who
shared his pulse for life.
Brendon says that having children also taught him
how to feel for others and gave him a deeper sense
of emotional empathy in all areas of life. Being a
man with responsibilities for a family has given him
a more three-dimensional approach to his thinking

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