A Life of Laughter: A Tribute to Simon Mampana, “See” or “C Lebuka”

The interval between birth and death is brief, yet within it we can become sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, friends, classmates, and colleagues—and, through the lives we touch, shape a legacy. In his own interval, Simon Mampana—whom we knew affectionately as “See” or “C Lebuka”—became all these things and more. I first knew him as a classmate, the captain of our first softball team, and a school-break comedian of rare and unforgettable talent.

We met at Tsako Thabo High School. Few who passed through its grounds could deny that Simon was their friend. We all knew him well, yet his warmth reached far beyond any single circle. He could be the quiet shadow beside you or the generous tree beneath which everyone gathered—to rest, to laugh and, sometimes, to climb. However, as See entered your life, he left something of himself behind. His passing matters because the way he lived among us reveals who he was, not only to his schoolmates, but to the wider Mamelodi community.

As Simon wrote his life story between birth and death, we became part of its setting and texture. We witnessed the permanence he created within a temporary life—the classmates, friends, and companions who added salt and pepper to the joy with which he chose to live.

Among See's most enduring memories is his laughter. It came before the joke and swept everyone along. Before he even told the story—though he had stories and jokes in abundance—his own delight would put you in a laughing trance. You laughed because he laughed; then you laughed again because only See could make the ordinary feel so gloriously alive. Today, the silence that laughter left is painful. Yet its echo remains one of the gifts by which we will remember him. 

A soap opera once featured a character called Nakampe, and we eagerly waited for Simon’s retelling because he always seemed to have seen a special episode no one else had. His nickname, See Lebuka, grew from this gift: his playful creativity with anything angled even slightly away from the truth. He didn't merely tell a lie; he rearranged reality until it became funnier, richer, and unmistakably his own. We delighted in his mischievous relationship with the facts of every story he told. 

Even our teachers became part of Simon’s comic universe. He drew nicknames from their clothes, mannerisms, and even the subjects they taught. One teacher became “Hush Puppy” because of the shoes he wore, and Simon could persuade us that the man owned more than three identical pairs in the same colour. Others became characters from our setworks. It was never merely mockery; it was Simon’s way of observing the world closely and returning it to us brighter, lighter and more memorable.

See was, moreover, an immaculate dresser—a gentleman whose appearance seemed composed with the care of a poet choosing his finest words. Whether the occasion was grand or ordinary, his clothes sat upon him with quiet distinction: every shirt crisp, every trouser measured, every shoe carrying its proper shine. Yet nothing in his elegance was vain or affected. He wore refinement lightly, as though good taste were simply another form of courtesy offered to the world. Before his laughter announced him, his bearing had already spoken: here stood a man of self-respect, grace and unmistakable presence, dressed not merely in cloth, but in dignity.

That same gift followed him into business. For a time, he ran a pest-control company, but even there he could turn a necessary household service into an unforgettable performance. He would explain the pests' habits, why they had to be eliminated or controlled, and why his methods would leave your cats and dogs unharmed. Then, with the solemnity of an undertaker and the mischief of C Lebuka, he would promise every fallen pest a decent funeral and ask whether the household preferred cremation or burial. In See’s hands, pest control became a sombre yet necessary ritual of home care—practical, humane in its own comic way, and filled with the laughter that made even life’s least pleasant duties easier to bear.

Among See’s most remarkable gifts was his prowess on the softball field, first as a pitcher and later as an umpire. Yet it was not only his mastery of the game or his command of its rules that drew people to him. At after-tears gatherings across Mamelodi, people instinctively gathered around him, especially when he was in the company of Chesa Monyamane and the late Jerry Magasti—may his soul rest in peace. The true attraction was See’s laughter: generous, contagious and irrepressible. It could lift a grieving gathering, lighten the weight of loss and remind everyone, even in sorrow, of the stubborn joy of being alive.

See was a Mamelodi man; you could take him out of Mamelodi, but you could never take Mamelodi out of him. He was mjita wa ko di-Fourteen, close to Eastwood, formed by streets and surroundings that counted among their own greats such as Joe Lopez. O jele sphatlo sa ko Motimalenyora, o dletse ko diamontong ya ko Ouane Grounds. This was the township soil from which his humour, style and generous spirit grew. Le ne ele lehenke, ndokoman, klever ya ko motseng—a true gentleman, a brother and a clever son of the township, unmistakably and proudly of Mamelodi.

For See, the meaning of life was never something to be sought beyond happiness or the joy of those around him. He walked the same grounds that nurtured many of Mamelodi’s great minds, talents and contributors, and he belonged to one of Tsako Thabo High School’s inaugural matric cohorts. Mamelodi's history would be incomplete without his name. Even if some remember him only in a footnote, he deserves paragraphs. Any honest account of that history must pause and ask: En nou, wat van See Lebuka?

When one of our teachers—the person who had perhaps the most sustained contact with many of us—shared the news of Simon’s passing, I first responded with disbelief. I laughed because the announcement itself sounded like one of See’s elaborate inventions. The very idea that he had died felt like ke lebuka—the kind of implausible story only he might tell before breaking into laughter. But then Makwena, his golf companion, and Adolf Toto Maboko, his partner from the Lebuka generation, confirmed it. Slowly and painfully, the truth surfaced: the laughter we expected to follow the announcement would not come.

We do not imagine death while we are busy living, even though we know that every life unfolds within the interval between birth and death. Now we must face the sorrowful truth that Simon Mampana is no longer physically among us. Knowing life must end may teach us humility, but it does not soften the shock of losing someone who brought such abundant laughter into our midst.

Yet today we do more than mourn. We celebrate a classmate, a captain, a gifted sportsman, a storyteller and a friend who made school corridors, sports fields and ordinary gatherings feel larger than life. We celebrate the laughter he scattered so freely, the fellowship he created and the memories that death cannot erase. Farewell, Simon Mampana—our See, our C Lebuka. Your interval has closed, but your story continues wherever your name summons a smile through tears. May you rest in peace, and may your laughter echo forever in the heart of Mamelodi.

Robala ncah my bla, fare thee well.