It’s never easy to say goodbye. As I sit down to write this, my heart is heavy, and my mind is flooded with memories—some joyful, some bittersweet, all tangled up in the reality that my dear friend, Manzini, is no longer with us. For those who have followed my journey, you’ve seen glimpses of our friendship—on camera, behind the scenes, and in the laughter we shared. Today, I want to honor her memory, share our story, and open up about the pain of losing someone so close.

The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

Manzini and I met in a world where connections are sometimes fleeting, but from the start, our bond was different. We were more than collaborators—we were sisters. Our friendship blossomed both on and off the screen, growing into something deeper than I could have ever imagined. Even when life got busy and our filming schedules didn’t align, our connection only grew stronger.

After we paused making videos together, I thought perhaps our contact would fade. Instead, we found ourselves talking even more. No longer bound by work, we called, messaged, and checked in on each other simply because we cared. Our sisterhood became a lifeline, especially during the toughest moments.

A Friend Like No Other

Manzini was the kind of friend everyone wishes for—loyal, supportive, and always willing to go the extra mile. When my equipment was stolen, she was there. Not just with words, but with action. I remember telling her about my plans to buy new studio lights, saving up and budgeting every cent. She listened, cheered me on, and after we finished filming one day, she left—and then I saw a transfer of 16,000 rand in my account. “Go buy those lights,” she wrote. It wasn’t about the money; it was about the love, the belief in my dreams, and her unwavering support.

She was always inviting me to events, awards, and opportunities that aligned with my work—even when I hesitated. Manzini was larger than life, a true extrovert who thrived in the spotlight, while I preferred the quieter corners. But she always tried to pull me in, to make sure I didn’t miss out on anything that might help me grow.

The Last Few Weeks

The past few weeks were especially hard for me, and Manzini was there for me in every way. She called and messaged more than usual, checking in on my mental and emotional well-being. Just days before her passing, she sent me a message that now feels almost prophetic. “I love you,” she wrote. “That’s why you opened your hands for me deeply. I will never ever forget you in my whole life.” I replied, “I love you too,” not realizing how much those words would come to mean.

The Day Everything Changed

Thursday started as an ordinary day, but looking back, so many little things felt off. My designer brought me an outfit for my sister’s graduation, and for the first time ever, it didn’t fit. There was heavy traffic, unexpected arguments, and a sense of unease I couldn’t shake. Later that evening, I received a message on Instagram: “Hey, have you heard about Manzini?” I laughed at first, thinking she must be caught up in another wild story. But then came the words: “She’s no more.”

My heart pounded as I called her phone, hoping for her familiar voice. Instead, her husband answered. When he said, “She’s sleeping,” I felt a wave of relief—until he explained. “I’m sitting here with my wife’s body. She’s been gone for hours.” I dropped my phone, disbelief and denial warring inside me. I begged for the address, desperate to see her, to understand.

By the time I arrived, she had already been taken by the undertakers. Her mother-in-law and other family members were there, devastated. They recounted what happened, but I was numb, unable to process the reality. I needed to see her, to say goodbye.

The Final Goodbye

We drove to the forensic morgue in Springs, waiting for what felt like an eternity. When they finally brought her out, she was in a plastic bag on a tray. They unzipped it, and there she was—my friend, my sister, gone. The pain was indescribable, but I was grateful for the chance to see her one last time, to confirm to myself that it was real. Sometimes, seeing is believing, and I needed that closure.

Her family, in their grief, welcomed me. Her husband, though broken, understood how much she meant to me. For that, I will always be thankful.

Grieving in the Public Eye

The days that followed were a blur. My sister’s graduation was the next day, and I tried to keep the news from her so she could enjoy her hard-earned moment. I went through the motions, my eyes swollen from crying, my heart heavy with loss. Only after the ceremony did I tell her the truth.

When I finally shared the news online, I was met with a mix of support and cruelty. Some accused me of lying, others of profiting from tragedy. It hurt, but I know grief is personal, and everyone reacts differently. I just needed time—to process, to mourn, to remember.

A Legacy of Love

Manzini’s passing has left a void that can never be filled. She was more than a friend—she was family. She believed in me, pushed me to be better, and loved me without reservation. Her energy, her laughter, her generosity—these are the things I will carry with me always.

To Manzini: Thank you for loving me, for being there for me and my family, for sharing your light with the world. May your beautiful soul rest in peace. You touched so many lives, and your legacy will live on in all of us who were lucky enough to know you.

To everyone reading this: Hold your loved ones close. Say “I love you” often. Life is fragile, and the moments we share are precious.

Rest in peace, Manzini. You will never be forgotten.