A moment of hope
Temba Bavuma gets his moment of hope
South Africa pulled as a team to win the mace at the WTC final, but three of their squad stood tall: Aiden Markram, Kagiso Rabada, and Temba Bavuma. Aiden means bringer of fire, Kagiso translates to peace, and Temba is hope. Let’s talk about the third one.
Temba Bavuma's world changed in 2014. The moment was witnessed by only two people, Bavuma and Geoffrey Toyana. The Lions coach was the second person Bavuma had shared his big news with.
The batter received a call from national selector, Andrew Hudson, as he drove into the Wanderers precinct for training. It was to inform him that he had been selected for the Test squad to face the West Indies. Bavuma called his mother immediately after the call and then went off to find his coach.
Toyana was never a bowler, but he met the news with an economy of both words and action. He could have wept. He could have slumped to his seat with relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He could also have let out a scream in exultation. Toyana did none of the above; he embraced Bavuma in a long, tight hug that conveyed all three emotions.
Toyana was a second-generation black cricketer. His father, Gus, played when there was nothing beyond club cricket for players of colour. Toyana was a talented batter who was the first black batter to be among the top 20 batters in domestic cricket. He was also one of the players of colour to step into what had been considered by some as a space reserved for white cricketers.
It wasn’t an easy journey. Now, Toyana was the first black coach in the top flight, and he had played a small role in ushering the first black batter to international cricket. Toyana’s generation walked so that Bavuma’s generation could run.
Bavuma didn’t need a translator; he understood the message. In 2022, he shared that the one thing he would have loved ‘was to be seen as just another cricket player, just a young guy who simply had a passion for the game.’ That is how he carried himself for the first 24 years of his life.
And now, for the first time in his career, he looked at himself as a black cricketer and not just a cricketer. He acknowledged and accepted that he carried the hope of many.
Temba Bavuma learned cricket from his uncles, who played for Langa Cricket Club. Langa had a vibrant cricket culture. The township was also home to Thami Tsolekile, Nono Pongolo, Siya Simetu, and Malusi Siboto. He put the lessons he learnt to the test on Karachi and the MCG. Not the city, but playing strip.
Cricket-mad youngsters converged at a four-way street not far from the Bavuma household. To the right was a poorly done, uneven tarmac that got the ball to bounce in unexpected directions. That was Karachi.
The Melbourne Cricket Club (MCG) sat opposite to it. The MCG was the fast-bowlers’ paradise, where quicks were helped on their way by a downhill slope. The older boys loved to compete on that strip, and one moved into that space aware that the quicker boys would not shy away from sending what Chris Gayle called perfume balls, deliveries that passed so close to your nose that you smelled the leather. Here, it was survival of the best.
When he stepped onto the MCG 'turf', Bavuma expected no favours and he received none. Being the youngest and smallest didn't help; back-of-a-length deliveries were bouncers for him, and length balls seemed targeted at his chest. He dealt with problems no one else could help him with, because no one was that short.
His lack of height helped him develop a superpower: quick running between the wickets. He is so light on his feet that he converts singles into twos at the blink of an eye.
The chinks in Bavuma’s technique were ironed out at SACS, a posh private school in Cape Town. Scouts identified his talent and potential early. He was 10 when they transplanted him to the institution. The move was a culture shock; however, his identity as a cricketer helped with his integration into the system and his ability to make friends.
His years at SACS prepared him for his move to St David’s Marist Inanda, another private school nestled in Sandton, years later. The confidence, discipline, resilience, and other character traits he learned at both schools were directed at helping him become the best cricketer he could be, not for him to set an example or serve as a poster child of his race.
If there was a point he had to prove, he became a ventriloquist and let his bat speak on his behalf. That is the mindset he adopted when he made his first-class debut at 18. He carried that for the next six years. Then things changed. People who had never followed domestic cricket and were unfamiliar with his game questioned his selection.
Bavuma signalled his intentions when he catapulted into the top 20 highest run-getters’ list when he was 21, then he strung back-to-back seasons as one of the highest scorers at 22 and 23. But his abilities were overlooked, and he was reduced to a token. However, his hope for a better tomorrow was stronger than the hate directed at him.
AB de Villiers shared three words with Bavuma when he joined De Villiers at the crease on debut: slow it down. Bavuma's maiden first-class outing was a 12-minute whirlwind; it ended in the blink of an eye. If he could slow things down, including the ball, he was in business.
Whether De Villiers meant the second meaning or not, that an international career can also be a roller coaster and one has to slow things down to enjoy the journey, we will never know. Either way, it was great advice. Bavuma soaked in every second of his journey.
In 2016, Bavuma was eight innings into his international career, with a single half-century to his name, and he needed to make a good account of himself or be eased out of the side. However, the overarching significance of the century was not lost on him.
This moment, his unbeaten 102 against England, was bigger than him. It was the first century by a black batter, after 19 five-wicket hauls by black bowlers, 17 years after Makhaya Ntini’s debut. His innings were for the millions of South Africans who were willing him on to make history.
“When I walk on the field, it's not just me walking on the field. I understand the significance. It's about being a role model and an inspiration to kids, especially black African kids,” Bavuma shared after the match.
Slowing things down helped him develop an unblinkered perspective. Bavuma did not just represent a single demographic. He is many things to many people: a figure of hope to others and an object of derision to some. When he walked out to bat, it was for aspiring black kids, for his team, and for his nation.
On Friday, 13 June 2025, Bavuma asked Aiden Markram to slow things down for him. Like during his meeting with Geoffrey Toyana, no words were needed, but Bavuma and Markram understood each other. Bavuma suffered a hamstring injury two overs before tea, and he hobbled to the break, where a decision had to be made about his participation in the match.
Markram and Bavuma made their partnership, constructed on three legs, work. By the end of the third day, the pair had added 143 runs to the total, and South Africa was firmly in the contest. When he was eventually dismissed 66 from 134, Markram and Bavuma had compiled a 147-run match-winning partnership. Without it, things could have gone pear-shaped.
“We've gone through the heartache, we've gone through the disappointment, and seen it with past players who've come before us. The sun is on us at the moment, and that responsibility, we've been carrying it, and hopefully this is one of many,” Bavuma shared after the final.
In 2022, Bavuma shared with Melinda Farrell that the one thing he would have loved was ‘to be seen as just another cricket player, just a young guy who simply had a passion for the game.’ He still hopes for that, but, in between festivities, he shared a bigger hope that he holds.
“I think for us as a country, here's an opportunity for us to... as divided as we are at times, to forget all of that, rejoice in this moment and just be one,” Bavuma said.
Heartwarming post, a perfect tribute to temba bavuma