JOHANNESBURG — David never had a LinkedIn profile. He never gave a TED Talk. His daily commute didn’t involve a corner office or strategy meetings. Instead, he wore a reflector jacket, rode a bicycle, and waved at strangers.
Last week, he was killed while cycling. Within 48 hours, people who never knew his name raised R450,000 for his family — more than 20 times the original goal.
The donations weren’t just about generosity. They were about guilt.
The invisible influencer
In boardrooms across South Africa, executives discuss employee engagement and purpose-driven leadership. They hire consultants, commission surveys, and craft vision statements promising to “put people first.”
Meanwhile, David was conducting a masterclass in influence without authority.
“He reminded me that we are not our jobs,” wrote one mourner. “We are our callings. And sometimes superheroes wear reflector jackets, a wave, and the biggest smile.”
The post went viral. Thousands shared their encounters with David Sejobe — a wave here, a smile there. The collective realisation was uncomfortable: Someone had been making their world better, and they hadn’t noticed.
“Humans don’t remember transactions,” behavioural psychology has taught me, “We remember transformations. We recall how people made us feel.”
David made people feel seen.
Reflection 1: The Ubuntu debt
The R450,000 raised in David Sejobe’s honour represents what one commentator called “conscience money” — Ubuntu showing up late to a party David had been hosting alone for years.
Ubuntu, the South African philosophy of “I am because we are,” is often celebrated in corporate mission statements and political speeches. But David Sejobe’s story revealed a gap between philosophy and practice.
“We put Ubuntu on our walls but not in our habits,” says Thabo Mokoena, founder of the Musanda Foundation, which announced a homecoming event in David Sejobe’s honour. “David lived it every day, and we only saw it when he was gone.”
The fundraising surge wasn’t just generosity — it was collective atonement. People gave because they couldn’t give David what he deserved while he was alive: recognition.
The donations proved something profound: We collectively know what matters. We’re just not living like we do.
Reflection 2: The leadership paradox
David Sejobe’s influence challenges conventional thinking about leadership. He had no formal authority, no platform, no followers. Yet his impact was measurable in tears, tributes, and unprecedented financial support.
Research shows 70 percent of employee engagement stems from feeling valued, not from compensation. David wasn’t in anyone’s workplace, yet he made an entire community feel valued.
“The size of your platform doesn’t determine the depth of your impact,” notes leadership consultant Naledi Khumalo. “David proved that micro-moments compound into legacy.”
Every wave was a deposit. Every smile was an investment.
His son’s eulogy captured this: “You taught us to smile even when things are not going well. You taught us to remain humble. You taught us to love everyone, including those who do not love us.”
These weren’t principles from a bestselling book. They were daily practices from a man on a bicycle.
Reflection 3: The mirror effect
David’s death held up a mirror to South African society.
In it, people saw colleagues they walked past without greeting. The security guard whose name they don’t know. The cleaner they render invisible.
They saw every opportunity they had to offer a smile and chose efficiency instead.
“David’s story forces us to ask: Who else are we not seeing?” says an African Institute of Mind’s Mental Health community champion: “Whose humanity are we dismissing?”
The viral response suggests collective awareness of this blind spot. But awareness without action is just performative grief.
Reflection 4: The legacy test
The tragedy isn’t just that David Sejobe died. It’s that he never knew how much he mattered.
His family will receive R450,000 they never expected. Thousands will share stories of his kindness. His name will trend on social media. But David himself will never experience the recognition he earned.
This raises an uncomfortable question for everyone still alive: Are we waiting until someone’s funeral to tell them they matter?
The people wearing metaphorical reflector jackets in our lives — the ones making daily life livable through small acts of humanity — are still here. The question is whether we’ll wave back while they can still see us.
The calling
David Sejobe’s friend said he “reminded me that we are not our jobs. We are our callings.”
Perhaps David’s final calling is to remind the rest of us what really matters. Not the titles we hold or the platforms we build, but the micro-moments of humanity we create along the way.
The reflector jacket wasn’t just safety equipment. It was a metaphor. David Sejobe made himself visible to others while most of us remain invisible to the people around us.
He’s gone now. But the wave he started doesn’t have to stop with him.
Rest in Power, David. You will never be forgotten.
When applause travels faster than hunger