The fire came at twilight, that fragile hour when the day’s labour loosens its grip and night’s hush settles over Lusikisiki.
Flames climbed the Botha Sigcau Building —orange tongues against the darkening sky, fierce and unrelenting.
For an entire day, the nation watched a landmark burn.
For us, the House of King Jongilizwe, it felt like watching a chapter of ourselves go up in smoke — history, governance, continuity glowing red, then ash.
Raised in 1976 and named for King Botha Manzolwandle Sigcau, Jongilizwe — ruler of Eastern Pondoland and then Transkei’s first state president, the building held records that bound policy to homelands: land allocations, personnel files and development plans.
Not paper alone, but proof that governance touched lives, that promises were kept and sometimes broken and that our path was being written down.
King Botha Manzolwandle Sigcau Jongilizwe’s legacy endures.
As a visionary leader, he initiated programmes that continued to thrive beyond his tenure, notably the Magwa Tea Plantation.
This endeavour generated sustainable employment opportunities and contributed to the development of the Magwa House Building, now known as the OR Tambo Building, in Mthatha — a testament to the lasting impact of his initiatives.
That steadiness lived on in his children — Princess Stella Sigcau, the homeland’s first female prime minister and later a minister in democratic SA, King Justice Mpondombini Sigcau (Thandizulu), who bore the crown into succession and Nkosi Ntsikayezwe Sigcau, who carried the fire into ANC activism when many traditional leaders held back.
Through them, the courage of their father threads forward, linking us to Faku, the warrior-king who gathered Pondoland into one strength.
Yet this fire fell in a time of other losses.
For years, the Qaukeni Traditional Council — seat of the AmaMpondo kingship — has seen its homestead stripped of income, privileges handed elsewhere and its matriarch, Her Majesty Queen Lombekiso MaSobhuza Sigcau, left at over 70 to bear indignity in silence.
We stood the morning after, before the blackened frame. Burnt, yes — bowed, no.
The structure still held against the wind, as we still hold amid assault.
The system that mobilises us swiftly when votes are sought, yet falters when we seek reciprocity, must now account for itself — not as convenience, but as necessity
Firefighters worked through the night; we name their courage with gratitude.
Now, we must account for fragments and reconstruct records.
But the deeper work is not about paper. It is about trust.
Justice, if it exists, will be in what rises next.
We therefore call for the recognition of a lineage that served liberation and governance when both were costly.
We also ask that the government, in consultation with our Royal Houses, start to map out clear actions to restore the Botha Sigcau Building.
The system that mobilises us swiftly when votes are sought, yet falters when we seek reciprocity, must now account for itself — not as convenience, but as necessity.
We also share the sentiment expressed by leaders such as General Bantu Holomisa: the Botha Sigcau Building was more than brick and mortar — it was an administrative beacon where nations and political parties gathered to shape the united SA we live in today.
At the same time, we acknowledge the human cost.
Public office bearers will be disrupted, and some will lose livelihoods as streamlining follows unforeseen expense. Their service deserves recognition, too.
The name Botha Sigcau endures. The building still stands.
Our children will inherit more than ash — they will inherit balance, memory and legitimacy.
That promise we make today, watching the sky at Qaukeni Great Place for hope instead of smoke. — Prince Leslie Sigcau, on behalf of the Royal Family of the Qaukeni Traditional Council, Mpondoland, Lusikisiki
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