I was half-naked, late for work and hopping around my bedroom looking for my shoe when Tebusika began diagnosing the entire workforce in Eswatini on the radio.
One trouser leg on, one sock missing and zero control over the morning. “Today, we’re discussing workplace mental health,” Tebusika announced. I stopped hopping. That was my mistake. Within minutes, callers turned the broadcast into a workplace autopsy; crushing living costs, ruthless workloads, bullying, sexual harassment, understaffing and managers who treat annual leave like a personal favour.
One caller said: You request leave and they look at you as if you’ve asked to borrow their personal car.”
I was late, but the programme had me. I drove towards work with the radio turned up.
Tebusika: Good morning, Eswatini! You’re tuned to The Morning Rush. I’m Tebusika and today we’re discussing workplace mental health with mental-health professional, Sanele.
Sanele: Thank you, Tebusika.
Tebusika: Line 1, you’re on air.
Caller 1: Tebusika, my company isn’t facing a mental health problem; we’re running a psychiatric ward without a licence! Let’s start with payday. Economists call it ‘economic pressure’. That’s far too polite. It’s organised daylight robbery, with a debit order as getaway driver. Your money enters the account, panics and leaves. Payday isn’t income, it’s a drive-thru window. Before you reach the car park, your money is gone to rent, transport, electricity, groceries and school fees. You don’t own your salary. You are merely the venue.
Tebusika: Sanele, clinical advice?
Sanele: Practise mindfulness when checking your balance. Accept the deficit.
Caller 1: Accept the deficit?! The bank shouldn’t send ‘Salary deposited’. It should say: “Our deepest condolences. Please remain near your phone.” Then you fight traffic, squeeze into a kombi where a stranger’s elbow enters your respiratory system and arrive emotionally late. Someone says: “We’re short-staffed today.” Today?! Vacancies here are old enough to vote! You don’t recruit staff, you redistribute workload. That’s not restructuring. That’s workplace inheritance. I looked down at the shoe on my foot. I still had no idea where its partner was.
Tebusika: Line 2, Nomathemba from Manzini.
Nomathemba: Morning, Tebusika. Hired as an accounts clerk, by lunchtime I’m helping procurement, by 3pm, HR, at 4:45pm, my manager smiles: “Can you assist with one quick thing?” There’s no such thing as a ‘quick thing’ in an office! It’s how one employee does three departments’ work while their salary stays employed in one. Management calls a meeting. Slide one: our doors are always open. So are police-station doors. That doesn’t mean you walk in and confess! They say, ‘Speak your mind’. That’s not an invitation. That’s an IQ test. The smartest person remembers an urgent family emergency at Mhlosheni. In a country this small, never burn a bridge, the manager you challenge today sits beside your uncle at a wedding tomorrow!
Tebusika: Sanele, what about senior management?
Nomathemba: Every office has that director who starts with: “When I joined in 1997…” He’s not an employee; he’s an archaeological find! You’ve been here since 1997? So has the photocopier. Neither of you should drive strategy! Correcting him feels like insulting an ancestor, triggering a three-hour lecture about loyalty. Sir! Your time has expired!
Tebusika: Line 3, Sipho from Matsapha.
Sipho: Let’s talk about bullying. Nobody calls it bullying. They say: “That’s just how the director is.” That single sentence has protected more terrible managers than any HR policy written! A boss shouts and sends threatening messages. Then somebody says: “He is intense.”
Tebusika: Intense is a chilli sauce!
Sipho: Exactly! That’s intimidation! People lower their footsteps when the boss enters.
Tebusika: That’s not respect. That’s prey behaviour.
Sipho: When sexual harassment is reported, HR develops the hearing capacity of a government helpline. The allegation enters a file cabinet and begins a long spiritual journey. The victim is told to think about reputation—usually a man in a corner office protected so long he thinks accountability is a brand of bottled water!
Sanele: Allegations must be investigated without protecting institutions at the victim’s expense.
Sipho: But management offers wellness sessions instead! An employee whispers: “I’m drowning,” and management responds: “Have you considered our mandatory resilience session?” Nothing cures burnout like a PowerPoint delivered by a consultant paid more to tell you to drink water than you earn staying hydrated!
Sanele: Workers simply need healthy boundaries.
Sipho: Doctor, we tried boundaries! Management called them insubordination. Leave on time and boundaries become a performance issue. Say you’re overwhelmed, you get resilience training! But let the office printer jam for 30 seconds—four executives gather like cardiac surgeons! “Don’t touch it! Call IT!” The printer gets emergency intervention. A human collapses and everyone becomes a motivational speaker: “Be strong. We are a family.” Nobody says ‘we are a family’ when the performance bonus is divided!
Tebusika: Sanele, final thoughts?
Sanele: Employees should practise gratitude, resilience and corporate alignment—
Tebusika: Hold on. Yes, director? … Right now? … Understood. Well, Eswatini, that’s all the time we have. My manager just signalled through the glass. He adjusted his glasses, closed his door and issued the four most dangerous words in corporate language: “Just a quick one.” There is never a quick one. As I parked, the programme ended and I switched off the radio. Callers had laid out the symptoms and Tebusika turned it into an identification parade. They were repeating the exact same issues; a calling exhaustion ambition, fear respect, staying late commitment and silence professionalism. I walked into the office, sat back at my desk and looked down at my feet. Black shoe on the left. Brown shoe on the right. Apparently, I had been recruited to the asylum without realising it.
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