GONE TOO SOON
It took me more than 24 hours to finally accept that Barbara was gone. Only on Monday night did I start to browse through facebook after I had abandoned it some minutes after seeing confirmation of her death on Sunday evening. The first time I learnt of her passing was through a text message from a colleague, asking me if it was true Barbara had crossed over. That text message from Neo left me frozen. For what felt like an eternity, I stared at my phone, numb and scared, unable to process the words. Barbara? Gone? It couldn’t be.
Just two days earlier, I had seen her share something of a momentary reel on Facebook, and it struck me that she had been unusually quiet. I had even vowed to call or text her that day, to ask why she had been so off the radar. But life, as it often does, got in the way, and I never made that call. Now, the guilt of that missed opportunity weighs heavily on my heart.
Barbara was one of those rare souls who could light up a room with her presence. Her Facebook posts were a delightful mix of humour, nostalgia, and raw honesty. Whether she was reminiscing about her childhood, sharing her frustrations, or hilariously chronicling the adventures of that “mystery guy” or the adorable GD6; or even that relic of a lorry she always complained about... and even her signature advice to her ‘Bangani’ to ‘Find You A Man....,’ Barbs had a way of making us laugh, think, and feel deeply. She was unapologetically herself, and that’s what made her so special.
I first got acquainted to Barbara in the whirlwind of the famed Mascom Top 8 football tournament in its formative days, where she and her then boss Tebogo LebotseSebego made the event not just a spectacle but a cultural phenomenon. Ooh, the Girls had a knack for making things fashionable, for turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. Barbs and I got to relate so well professionally, myself the Sports Editor for The Midweek Sun and Botswana Guardian at the time, and she a Public Relations Officer always tailing Tebogo at Mascom sports events, although at volleyball she always took centre stage - more than Tebby. I guess we all know why Tebby was more into football then. But beyond her professional brilliance, Barbara somehow became not just a friend and a sister to me, but a confidante who could dive into the deepest conversations without warning . We didn’t talk every day – in fact we were the kind of friends who would not talk for months, but when we did, it was as if no time had passed. She was “Barbs” to me, and I was “Babes” to her - a bond that transcended the usual boundaries of friendship and professional relationship.
I remember one particularly long call we had, where she shared her frustrations in relation to her professional environment – a professional betrayal I must call it out. Her heart was sore, she was bleeding sadness and it pained me to hear and feel her anguish as she poured it all out – regretting the what-could-have-beens that never were because of holding out to what in my books amounted to a legitimate expectation. I recall how I did my best to act Counsellor, reminding her of the ever so present silver lining in any dark cloud, just to help her see the brighter side. And true to her resilient spirit, she chose to focus on what she did best - shining, even in the face of adversity. Besides, I reminded her, she needed not entertain unnecessary distractions to her schooling journey. We could go that deep about our professional lives, including the little business ventures she tried and would ‘force’ me to do her marketing!
Among our other impromptu conversations that were just as deep, we spoke about her battle with an ailment she had come to be acquainted with, how it had altered some aspects of her lifestyle, and how she had come to accept it with grace and faith. Her approach to this blot in her life inspired a lot in me – made me realize that I was just being a cry baby with issues that I felt were weighing up on me. She was a fighter, but she was also deeply human, and that is what made her so relatable.
As I sit here writing about Barbs, I think of her laughter, her wit, her unwavering positivity, the energy, the karaoke sessions – she was terrible behind the mike, yet we would cheer her on nonetheless! She was the kind of person who could turn a dour conversation into a memorable one with just a few words. She was bubbly, vivacious, and full of life. But she was also deeply compassionate, someone who cared about the people around her and made them feel seen and valued. She would say: 'Babes, that’s a brilliant idea,' whenever I ran a few PR concepts past her. Perhaps it was her way of making me feel great about myself as it was in her nature to make people feel so – or indeed she meant it, as she was the type to slap one with brutal honesty. She and I actually had conceived a brilliant concept that we were yet to conclude, intended to set off a collaboration that would be beneficial to both Mascom and The Midweek Sun. Life kept happening along the way, with impediments we both believed would at some point be swept aside for the project to take off.
When I finally gathered the strength to seek confirmation of her reported death following Neo’s dreadful text message of that Sunday afternoon, I sobered from my ten-minute numbness to think of where I could find reliable information. The first place I went to for verification but without the courage of a call or text message, was her bosom buddy Mercy Thebe’s social media platforms. I came back with nothing hinting at Barbara’s departure. It gave me hope that nothing of the sort had happened. Mercy would have given a sign, I thought to myself. I then visited my Facebook inbox and WhatsApp for chats with Barbs just to check her “Last Seen.” At the top in the Messenger app, it showed she was last active 20 hours earlier. Again I hoped for the best - yet I was nervous. After all that winding, I went back to that text from Neo to ask: ‘Which Barbara?’
‘Gotlop,’ she responded immediately. I had known she was talking about Barbara Gotlop, yet I somehow did not want to believe she was talking about Barbara Gotlop. I responded by telling her of my ignorance on the matter and that it was strange I had thought of talking to her two days earlier. The first real confirmation of Barbara’s death came when an old facebook post of hers popped up from nowhere and when I opened it, I saw ‘crying emojis’ from one Oaitse Sejakgomo on the comments section. More of such emojis followed. And then there was a message elsewhere that read: Ao Barbara bathong! It was at this moment that I knew. She was gone. Barbs was gone and I had not checked on her for some time. I questioned the kind of friend I was to her. When two more messages landed on my inbox to also ask if news of her passing was true, it hit me even more that I had failed Barbs as a friend – for here were people who thought I was the go-to person to ask about her, yet I was clueless.
For me, Mercy was that go-to person. It dawned on me then, that it was only last March Barbara had paid a hearty tribute to another of Mercy’s closest buddies - the father of her child, Mapetla, who also left this world in March. I felt for my sister and wondered how she might have been feeling. Mercy is such a vibe. Such a wonderful person. Selfless and loving. I felt she deserved better than to have a month so merciless on her. And I know she loved Barbara dearly - and that the feeling was mutual. It then made sense to me why I wouldn’t have gotten any confirmation of Barbara’s death from her on Facebook that Sunday. It was way too early. They were way too close for her to have had the strength to do a facebook post so soon after. Of course she would later post something on Monday.
As I remember Barbara, I want to also say sorry Mercy. Your friendship with Barbs was a testament to her compassion and loving spirit. You two shared a bond that was truly special. I can only imagine the depth of your grief, and I want to say again to you: I’m sorry, my sister. We will find solace in the memories we hold of Barbara, in the love she gave so freely, and in the light she brought into our lives. Surely Barbara’s passing has left a void that cannot be filled, and I feel for her son. But as I reflect on the little I know of her, I am reminded of the beauty she brought into the world. She was a force of nature, a woman who lived fully and loved deeply. I was humbled by the belief she had in me to assist her whenever in need; and the trust she had in me to even confide in me about her pains and her joys. And though I may carry the guilt of not checking on her more often in the latter stages of her life, I know that Barbara would want us to celebrate her life, to remember her with smiles rather than tears. So cheers to you, Barbs: Thank you for the laughter, the wisdom, the memories. Thank you for being the kind of friend who made the world a better place just by being in it. You may be gone, but your light will never fade. Rest in peace, my dear friend. Until we meet again.
Just two days earlier, I had seen her share something of a momentary reel on Facebook, and it struck me that she had been unusually quiet. I had even vowed to call or text her that day, to ask why she had been so off the radar. But life, as it often does, got in the way, and I never made that call. Now, the guilt of that missed opportunity weighs heavily on my heart.
Barbara was one of those rare souls who could light up a room with her presence. Her Facebook posts were a delightful mix of humour, nostalgia, and raw honesty. Whether she was reminiscing about her childhood, sharing her frustrations, or hilariously chronicling the adventures of that “mystery guy” or the adorable GD6; or even that relic of a lorry she always complained about... and even her signature advice to her ‘Bangani’ to ‘Find You A Man....,’ Barbs had a way of making us laugh, think, and feel deeply. She was unapologetically herself, and that’s what made her so special.
I first got acquainted to Barbara in the whirlwind of the famed Mascom Top 8 football tournament in its formative days, where she and her then boss Tebogo LebotseSebego made the event not just a spectacle but a cultural phenomenon. Ooh, the Girls had a knack for making things fashionable, for turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. Barbs and I got to relate so well professionally, myself the Sports Editor for The Midweek Sun and Botswana Guardian at the time, and she a Public Relations Officer always tailing Tebogo at Mascom sports events, although at volleyball she always took centre stage - more than Tebby. I guess we all know why Tebby was more into football then. But beyond her professional brilliance, Barbara somehow became not just a friend and a sister to me, but a confidante who could dive into the deepest conversations without warning . We didn’t talk every day – in fact we were the kind of friends who would not talk for months, but when we did, it was as if no time had passed. She was “Barbs” to me, and I was “Babes” to her - a bond that transcended the usual boundaries of friendship and professional relationship.
I remember one particularly long call we had, where she shared her frustrations in relation to her professional environment – a professional betrayal I must call it out. Her heart was sore, she was bleeding sadness and it pained me to hear and feel her anguish as she poured it all out – regretting the what-could-have-beens that never were because of holding out to what in my books amounted to a legitimate expectation. I recall how I did my best to act Counsellor, reminding her of the ever so present silver lining in any dark cloud, just to help her see the brighter side. And true to her resilient spirit, she chose to focus on what she did best - shining, even in the face of adversity. Besides, I reminded her, she needed not entertain unnecessary distractions to her schooling journey. We could go that deep about our professional lives, including the little business ventures she tried and would ‘force’ me to do her marketing!
Among our other impromptu conversations that were just as deep, we spoke about her battle with an ailment she had come to be acquainted with, how it had altered some aspects of her lifestyle, and how she had come to accept it with grace and faith. Her approach to this blot in her life inspired a lot in me – made me realize that I was just being a cry baby with issues that I felt were weighing up on me. She was a fighter, but she was also deeply human, and that is what made her so relatable.
As I sit here writing about Barbs, I think of her laughter, her wit, her unwavering positivity, the energy, the karaoke sessions – she was terrible behind the mike, yet we would cheer her on nonetheless! She was the kind of person who could turn a dour conversation into a memorable one with just a few words. She was bubbly, vivacious, and full of life. But she was also deeply compassionate, someone who cared about the people around her and made them feel seen and valued. She would say: 'Babes, that’s a brilliant idea,' whenever I ran a few PR concepts past her. Perhaps it was her way of making me feel great about myself as it was in her nature to make people feel so – or indeed she meant it, as she was the type to slap one with brutal honesty. She and I actually had conceived a brilliant concept that we were yet to conclude, intended to set off a collaboration that would be beneficial to both Mascom and The Midweek Sun. Life kept happening along the way, with impediments we both believed would at some point be swept aside for the project to take off.
When I finally gathered the strength to seek confirmation of her reported death following Neo’s dreadful text message of that Sunday afternoon, I sobered from my ten-minute numbness to think of where I could find reliable information. The first place I went to for verification but without the courage of a call or text message, was her bosom buddy Mercy Thebe’s social media platforms. I came back with nothing hinting at Barbara’s departure. It gave me hope that nothing of the sort had happened. Mercy would have given a sign, I thought to myself. I then visited my Facebook inbox and WhatsApp for chats with Barbs just to check her “Last Seen.” At the top in the Messenger app, it showed she was last active 20 hours earlier. Again I hoped for the best - yet I was nervous. After all that winding, I went back to that text from Neo to ask: ‘Which Barbara?’
‘Gotlop,’ she responded immediately. I had known she was talking about Barbara Gotlop, yet I somehow did not want to believe she was talking about Barbara Gotlop. I responded by telling her of my ignorance on the matter and that it was strange I had thought of talking to her two days earlier. The first real confirmation of Barbara’s death came when an old facebook post of hers popped up from nowhere and when I opened it, I saw ‘crying emojis’ from one Oaitse Sejakgomo on the comments section. More of such emojis followed. And then there was a message elsewhere that read: Ao Barbara bathong! It was at this moment that I knew. She was gone. Barbs was gone and I had not checked on her for some time. I questioned the kind of friend I was to her. When two more messages landed on my inbox to also ask if news of her passing was true, it hit me even more that I had failed Barbs as a friend – for here were people who thought I was the go-to person to ask about her, yet I was clueless.
For me, Mercy was that go-to person. It dawned on me then, that it was only last March Barbara had paid a hearty tribute to another of Mercy’s closest buddies - the father of her child, Mapetla, who also left this world in March. I felt for my sister and wondered how she might have been feeling. Mercy is such a vibe. Such a wonderful person. Selfless and loving. I felt she deserved better than to have a month so merciless on her. And I know she loved Barbara dearly - and that the feeling was mutual. It then made sense to me why I wouldn’t have gotten any confirmation of Barbara’s death from her on Facebook that Sunday. It was way too early. They were way too close for her to have had the strength to do a facebook post so soon after. Of course she would later post something on Monday.
As I remember Barbara, I want to also say sorry Mercy. Your friendship with Barbs was a testament to her compassion and loving spirit. You two shared a bond that was truly special. I can only imagine the depth of your grief, and I want to say again to you: I’m sorry, my sister. We will find solace in the memories we hold of Barbara, in the love she gave so freely, and in the light she brought into our lives. Surely Barbara’s passing has left a void that cannot be filled, and I feel for her son. But as I reflect on the little I know of her, I am reminded of the beauty she brought into the world. She was a force of nature, a woman who lived fully and loved deeply. I was humbled by the belief she had in me to assist her whenever in need; and the trust she had in me to even confide in me about her pains and her joys. And though I may carry the guilt of not checking on her more often in the latter stages of her life, I know that Barbara would want us to celebrate her life, to remember her with smiles rather than tears. So cheers to you, Barbs: Thank you for the laughter, the wisdom, the memories. Thank you for being the kind of friend who made the world a better place just by being in it. You may be gone, but your light will never fade. Rest in peace, my dear friend. Until we meet again.
