Former president Thabo Mbeki once said: “The days pass, each year giving birth to its successor. What has passed becomes the past as time erodes the memory of what was living experience.”

The passage of time which coincides with the erosion of memory makes those who once enlightened our lives fade further into the horizon after every sunset. The noble responsibility of those who are left behind becomes that of defying this natural occurrence. In an ordinary sense, defying nature would be going anti-clockwise, but the remarkable deeds of Prof Lungile Pepeta gravitate in the hearts of many through the test of time.

Every generation that walks the surface of the earth is blessed with its own doyens. It is not the first nor the last time the world will produce a medical doctor or a dean of health sciences, but what set Prof Pepeta apart was his unmatched love for humanity that propelled those who could not fly to soar to the sky. His recent work in the building of the 10th medical school in South Africa is testament to the great characteristics that he embodied.

On 15 February 2002, long before Prof Pepeta knew he would spearhead what had never been accomplished before on the banks of the Gqebera River, Dr Kader Asmal, then minister of education, announced the restructuring of the higher education sector. Among other recommendations, the policy was a call for the reduction of higher education institutions from 36 to 21, mainly through the merger of former black and white universities and technikons. The formation of the Nelson Mandela University Medical School in a desolate township called Missionvale (the former Vista campus) was significant because the merger, as with the structure of the South African economy, continued to reflect the colonial patterns of the past.

More than 15 years after the merger, “black only” campuses still mirrored the divisions of the old, in comparison to former white campuses (ie NMU’s south campus). Any other person who was not a developmentalist would have easily advocated for the leafy Port Elizabeth suburb of Summerstrand to be the site of the new medical school, but Prof Pepeta knew that building the medical school in Missionvale would not only equalise the dynamics between campuses, but would respond directly to the health challenges faced by communities in the less-privileged parts of Port Elizabeth.

He may not be able to cut the ribbon and go on to hood the first medicine graduate at Nelson Mandela University, but to triumph over forgetting, his name must be immortalised by naming the medical school after him. In African culture, you name a child according to what you want him to achieve in life, and thus the logic of naming the medical school after him would be aspiring to the highest possible standards in the land.

It has been nothing but a privilege to be able to share auditoriums and boardrooms with this gentle giant of our people. There are very few people I have met in my life whose aura inspired confidence telepathically. The psyche of a black child gets elevated instantly by seeing a professional who looks and speaks like you, occupying one of the top offices of the university. It does not only give you the feeling that nothing is impossible, but it offers you an option to talk to someone who understands your background in the rough city of Port Elizabeth.

The Nelson Mandela University community and the country have suffered one of their greatest ever losses. If there were any words that could heal the sombre hearts of the nation, they should be those of our poet laureate, SEK Mqhayi, written over a century ago in the poem, Ukutshona kuka Mendi – The Sinking of the Mendi:

“Thuthuzelekani ngoko, zinkedama! Thuthuzelekani ngoko, bafazana! Kuf’omnye kade mini kwakhiw’ omnye” (Be consoled, all you orphans!

Be consoled, all you young widows! Somebody has to die, so that something can be built).

I personally extend my deepest condolences to the Pepeta family, the Nelson Mandela University community, and the country at large. A giant baobab tree has fallen! DM