Moses Moreroa Professional Profile

Moses Moreroa

MOSES MASHWAHLA MOREROA is a professional, multitoned speaker. A public relations practitioner endorsed by the Public Relations Institute of Southern Africa (PRISA), Moses’ mission and passion are to transport change and borne hope to various sectors of society.

He specialises in social media marketing and campaigning, and strategic planning. With seven years’ experience working around corporate communication strategy management and brand positioning, he uses the experience to set and influence trends in corporate, government, and the larger community as a coach, mentor, facilitator, and speaker. Over the years, he has been engaged in team-building and leadership development programmes.

He is also an editor of note with footprints in professional editing for corporate, books, academic papers, integrated reports and social media campaigns.

He has trained hundreds of people in business, media and communication, and brand management.

For the last twelve years, he has been preaching the Good News, encouraging people to overcome their adversities and reach their full potential.

A Highway Africa and Unicaf scholar, Moses has interests in social media and communication for corporate and ad hoc pilot projects. He is an MBA candidate at the University of South Wales in the UK.

Related article about Moses

An educator, he currently plies his trades as a communicator at the University of Limpopo where he obtained Media and Communication, and PGCE degrees. He also holds a Certificate in Creative Writing, with distinction, from the UK Writers’ College as well as International Computer Driving License, Diploma in Business Management, and certificates in photography, radio and television production, graphic design, strategic management, public-private partnership and leadership.

He was bred in a humble village called Segwashi, Ga-Mamabolo in Limpopo.

Story of my Career, Life

Moses Moreroa

FJP does wonders, really. Some students come into the programme, quiet, reserved and closed in a shell, afraid of their first exposure to the real journalism world. University of Limpopo's Moses Moreroa was one such student, or so it seemed. On Sunday the 3rd of April, when the group arrived in Grahamstown for the commencement of their FJP year, Moses was 'a man of few words', always limiting his engagement with the group to a few answers and an occasional smile. This Moses however, was a deception!

The real Slim-Moses has stood up! He has blossomed to the 2011 group's superstar in the making. I mean, this guy has been featured in most of the videos, either as the 'voice-over', the abusive father, or the lover, and so the list goes on! Hey, and he almost got the rule of thirds perfect in his video. 

So, we have a Moses of all trades- in all things journalistic and theatrical alike!

This article was first published in 2011 here.

When I try to remember, it was in December

Moses Moreroa : Author, Social Media Specialist,
Language Editor and Transformational Speaker

When I try to remember, it was in December when the sun boldly gave birth to lovely yet burning rays. An eventful day it was.

Albeit struggling to see as far as I wanted to, I saw people flocking to some place I did not know. Like swallow birds yet careless, they moved in the same direction, pushing against one another.

Making an extremely frustrating noise, struggling to run as fast as they wanted, through a thoroughfare around a shopping complex built of ancient stones, they decided to barge into Hill Street, bringing a motorway to a complete halt.

Motorists were amazed as people passed through a red traffic light which blinked heavily, signalling “Danger! Danger! Danger! Danger!” But that fell in the eyes of furious young and old folk who tangled through the street.

When I looked up the buildings, a saw a very tall building, which looked so sacred. It was written “The Anglican Cathedral of St Michael and St George.”

As it was my first time in Grahamstown, I could not just watch while everybody hurried in the same direction. I followed them. There were hundreds of people in front of me.

As I ran, I took two rides at a time - one was to go where everybody else was going and another journey was mental, wondering why the rest of the town was wandering.

To my surprise, we ran past the church.  I was like an athlete approaching the finishing line, I accelerated and pushed through the people because passing the church clearly showed that we were running away from something dangerous.

At least being vertically challenged worked to my advantage. It was easy to sneak in and out of their armpits and curves and tall legs.

The running did not show any sign of coming to a stop. I wanted to give up. The idea that we were either running away from something dangerous kept me going.

As we crossed to the next street, I only saw signs of no entry drawn on a cracked tarred road. My fear of the unknown got the better of me. I wanted to know the name of the street in case I get lost. Now being vertically challenged became a challenge. I could not see what was on the sides.

Out of the blue, the crowd started shouting with excitement. You could have heard my sigh of relief. At that time I did not feel my heartbeat. My chest was burning. A heartburn, perhaps, because it all happened after I had lunch.

There was a loud sound as the noise from the people cooled down. It was either a saxophone or a guitar, or maybe a keyboard if not a flat old-style drum. Okay, I admit, I got confused.

Maybe it was a train signalling danger because normally a cracked tar road is found next to a train track. At least, that’s what I saw happening to most of the tarred road in the Limpopo Province.

The crowd completely came to a stop, with a sudden silence. But I was still far, deep in the crowd.

I pushed heavily through the crowd.

I pushed hastily.

I pushed even keenly as I heard music playing.

I could not push further as the horde started moving slowly, dancing to a soft, heart-warming beat. When I looked around, to my surprise, there were only shoes in front of me. Some had boots on, others sandals and sneakers. As I lifted my chin, there was a fat, thick leg in front of me. I realised that while pushing forward, I must have hit a very fat man’s thigh as he was dancing.

The best option was to stand up and join the dance floor.

An hour later, people were tired while some had enough of the music. I managed to push through to the front.

Like someone who just saw the sun and moon kissing, my eyes got fixed at his smile. He was a charismatic, joyful black man who sang with passion.

His voice was soft and tender. He was a short man with a lovely haircut, sort of an s-curl.

From all of his songs, he praised God. The first song thanked God for his life. I don’t remember the second and third songs. The fourth one, which was the closing act, talked about how Jesus restored the vision of a man born blind.

As I paid attention, I overheard people next to me talking. One said: “He is such a gospel great. A soulful singer!”

The other said: “I wish he could see how people appreciate his talent, quite impressive.”

Since he bragged about his good-looking hairstyle and his wife’s traditional dress, I quickly erased the idea that he was blind. I wondered why the ladies said if only he could see.

As they started packing their band, a young, active boy who looked like the singer, especially the nose, came with a walking cane and gave the man.

While looking around, I saw the band’s contact details and saved them on my phone.

It was about 19h38 when I left for the hostel. Everyone along the way seemed to be a thug. Most of them had sneakers and hats on.

I stayed at Rhodes University as a visiting scholar from the University of Limpopo.

Luckily, I arrived safely. As a journalism student, I was supposed to write a feature article.

First thing in the morning, I contacted the man for an interview. His name was Elethu, meaning “The world is ours” in English.

I wrote about his childhood. How he endured pain as a child born blind. Everyone teased him at school and around the village. He had to leave school.

I wrote about how he met his wife who was also blind, who took care of their two sons, who did their laundry, how he learned to play keyboard and so on.

That was my first article ever. 

That was the beginning of my writing career. 

What is missing during SONA - Youth Development

Moses Moreroa: Speaker, Educator, Social Media Creative, and Public Relations Practitioner.

Not so long ago, I read a thought-provoking column by a young South African who is a commonwealth scholar, studying towards a doctorate in the United Kingdom. Metjie Makgoba in his latest column said institutions of higher learning provide avenues for students to acquire social, cultural and symbolic capitals that set the tone for their professional and economic development.

I could not agree more with his view of tertiary education.

As we already have the knowledge, young people, especially those previously classified as disadvantaged, now have access to basic education. And high enrolment rates at basic education level can only suggest one thing – increase in applications for space at tertiary institutions. Although the quality of education is still a thorny issue.

The proportion of young people that attend tertiary, especially playing the race card, is too small to realise the much-sought-after equality and, therefore, cannot redress social imbalances if not tackled head-on.

It is more than tormenting to see the economy growing at a snail’s pace. It is even disheartening that young people are forced to take the back seat when it comes to the economy. Shockingly, South Africa’s labour market participation rate for young people is down at a mere 26%, less than half the equivalent participation in the United States, according to STANLIB.

A miserable feeling as every nation depends on its youth for growth and development.

There is no one who accounts for the sluggish role played by youth agencies. All we hear about is how the National Development Plan (NDP) aims to create about 11 million more jobs 2030.

We hear about how the NDP plans to reduce the appalling unemployment rate to 6% by 2030. Indeed, all we hear is a journey we are forever about to take - long walk to freedom. There has been too little progress since the adoption of the NDP.

President Jacob Zuma and his cabinet have, by this far, advanced obliviousness and negligence of the youth. During the previous State of the Nation Address (Sona), the president brilliantly dodged to explain the high rate of unemployment among youth. He only acknowledged it with no solution.

The answer is straightforward. There is little care about the future of this country. Neglecting the developmental needs of the youth translates to turning a blind eye on the future.

It is time to put our youth at the centre of the State of the Nation Address.

So far, the NDP is doing well as a PR document than a solution to our increasing problems. It is just a lip service. The document was archived way before it could be distributed.

Achieving full employment, decent work and sustainable livelihoods are the only weapons we can use to advance our society and its youth. To create more jobs means encouraging young people to start businesses. And to start more businesses is to create an enabling environment for these youngsters to cut their teeth in the business world.

When President Zuma created the small business ministry in 2014, we though 90% of the youth jobs were going to be created. But it remained a lip service and broken promise.

The economy lazily grew, seeing unemployment reaching its highest level in 13 years, increasing from 25.5% to 27.1%.

All these could be possible if government agencies, such as the Small Enterprise Development Agency (Seda) and the National Youth Development Agency (NYDA) among many others, did not exist as impractical, unworkable structures that keep on discouraging our youth.

I am very sad to witness the numbers of companies, opened by young people, close before their first anniversary.

I am unhappy about the large number of small enterprises that close due to non-compliance with the Companies and Intellectual Property Commission (CIPC). We are equally depressed by the growing number of graduates who lose hope of a better future on a daily basis. These young people end up settling for mediocre and every job opportunity that is thrown at them even if it is not sustainable.

We saw Seda rejecting to listen to thousands of business ideas. When asked for reasons, they are either understaffed or said to be only helping medium enterprises that have been running for years with at least ten or more workers. This is just a stunt to claim to have created more jobs.

NYDA equally executes the hopes of young people who are just starting businesses by only designing logos and letterheads for them. These youngsters need mentorship, advice, the right connections and funding more than a logo and letterhead.

State of the Nation Address, on Thursday, should address real developmental issues, and the address will be beside the point if it does not intensely talk about youth development. There is just no any other promising route to development than the youth way.

The government needs to make sure that everyone has the opportunity to improve the quality of their life and pursue their dreams always.

This starts with refusing to sit for a nation address that doesn’t address the needs of youth development.

With the SONA, we must listen to listen to a report that talks about how development finance institutions such as the Industrial Development Corporation (IDC) or Development Bank of Southern Africa and others have provided finance for small businesses in infrastructure and in many other high contributing sectors of the economy, such as agriculture and technology.

Since the government has failed its youth, young thought the private sector would. It is unfortunate that these private sectors buy out the small businesses. This is how the private sector sustains its monopoly, eliminating potential competition.

The youth should refuse to spend hours listening to a nation address that does not give them the figures of young businessmen and businesswomen who were trained by government agencies and have fruitfully exploited our rich minerals to make a living for themselves and thousands of other youth who are marginalised.

We cannot applaud the Expanded Public Works Programme (EPWP) because it creates short-term contract works. What an ordeal our youth have to grow through. They are introduced to an independent life where they are forced to settle for a shameful wage of less than R80 a day. While we thought it was better than nothing, these EPWP workers later lose their jobs as contracts end.

When we try to check, picking up litter, waving red flags on roads and controlling a stop and go is what the government of today calls job opportunities for thousands of youth.

We can not only stand proudly on the international stage as a country that is rich with minerals whereas food security remains a challenge in South Africa. Until our youth exploit opportunities of making the most out of our wealth found in cowpeas, nuts, tomatoes, pine trees, commodities, and all that, we are a disaster-prone nation.

Job opportunities should be when the youth, from low levels of skills to the highest, can create their own employment opportunities from the treasures found in our country.

The curriculum, from basic education, should have entrepreneurship as a compulsory subject. This curriculum should extend to Technical and Vocational Education and Training (TVET) colleges. This can only mean one thing, the building of more TVET colleges to allow all students in.

After graduating, these young people will need to start their businesses. The government should fund them. If their ideas might not be good enough as the likes of Seda and NYDA claim, then they should be mentored until their business ideas are viable.

Starting their businesses means they will need land, hence, the issue of land reform should be a matter of insistence. It should be to grow our economy more than it is to score political points.

These restructurings would aid the country to reduce unemployment while strengthening food security and eradicating poverty, especially among the unskilled. However, they will only be introduced by visionary leaders who occupy strategic positions not because of being loyal to the struggle but having necessary qualifications to lead in certain portfolios.

Currently, we just see sleeping ministers and MECs who have been changed from one position to another, without mastering even one trade.

It is certain that the creation of millions of entry-level factory jobs is the most important reason for the success of every developing country that has raised millions of people out of poverty. Therefore, the government should come up with strategies earmarked for youth development in all respects.

Imagine a society in which even a child born into the most desperate poverty can become a brain surgeon, a concert pianist or a sports hero.

That is what we call equality for all.

Our youth would only be the centre of the State of the Nation Address if they are regarded as the future.

WHAT DIFFERENT COLOURS MEAN TO ME

Add colour to your everything

For me, every colour has a particular meaning. I associate colours with a certain place or event. Colours also dictate how I respond to situations. The same colour can have different meanings under different circumstances.

For instance, I wear the colour red on Mondays to say “Look! I am ambitious and have status.” I wear it to symbolise energy, on the day I can go to work with a free soul and less busy schedule. By Tuesday, work has piled up and my mood has changed, so I choose a different colour.

However, red also expresses danger, anger and sexual passion. Blood spills from the body when there is pain. Pain is normally a result of anger. But when I see a lady with red lips, the meaning changes altogether,and I feel happy and passionate.

Whenever I see pink, I think of a girl. When a baby is born and there is pink around, I conclude that it’s a girl, a soft and vulnerable being who always needs protection. The colour pink says ‘Be careful here. You might break something.’

Do you still remember how you learned about colouring from lower grades?

Gold is the colour of pride and status. You cannot associate yourself with gold if you are not successful. In competitions, gold medals are the first prize. Gold is a luxury that implies quality.

Black is all about danger and bad luck. Anything associated with darkness I see as unfriendly and unbearable. When I see someone wearing black, I wonder if everything is all right. Widowers wear black to express sorrow and heartache; thugs use it to hide their identity. Mostly, black reflects sadness. However, when rich people wear black, they demonstrate strength and wealth. Just think of a black car, the most expensive colour.

Colours can mean different things depending on circumstances and the individuals wearing them. I use colours to express a certain meaning at a certain point in time. People should not add a colour which does not correlate with their actual situation. It would be rather confusing, for instance, to have too much gold on you if you really are poor.

By moses.moreroa@live.com

BEAUTY WITH PURPOSE

Cover page of Beauty with purpose book, authored by      
Moses Moreroa

At first I thought it was an insipid window shopping that had ruined her Sunday mood as we were coming from the church. After admiring an evening dress she wanted for my birthday, I could tell it was not a shopping spree that has tailored her face with fatigue and frustration. She picked the dress up and rushed to a long queue, saying she’s done shopping. Normally she would enter every clothing store to make comparisons and all that ladies do at the mall.

It was 13:15 when she said it is not the dress that will make her the most beautiful lady at my birthday party. Before I could pay attention to her sudden and startling remarks, she abandoned the dress. She then walked out of the store.

Like a lose-canon, I followed her, to my surprise; she was talking to the two handsome young men whom the society derided as totally lacking in ideas of making money. I rushed passed the robot while red, with jealousy straddling my confidence and trust. I wanted to know the reason of her talking to the disgusting derelicts.

The two men were eating a so seemed delicious crunchy salad with oats and honey. She asked: “Who bought you this Nature Valley food, surely they are not from a dustbin?” I knew Sheryl don’t like to be interrupted while talking. I stood there like a fall guy who is more like an outright bodyguard.

The guys continued to eat their crunchy ignoring my dearest lover. Her face turned pale and reddish pink and gave her a whisy-washy appearance. She wobbled her head, and a wisp of hair escaped from under the straw hat – which is against the law which says a woman should cover her hair, all of it, at all the times.

“I wish I could go back to modeling again. But since you condemned and frowned on Kim Kardashian’s revealing photo shoot, let me just give up,” she said, in a rough but forgiving voice, walking towards the car.

I knew something was wrong, whether the dress, my birthday, the street kids, my unpalatable remarks towards Kim, the high temperature or maybe she was pregnant. Many folks describe coloured people as egotistical and rude. For a minute I felt it, that is what made me not to ask what was wrong. We drove home.

“Moses, tell me that you are a smooth operator.” “What do you mean by a smooth operator,” I asked her as her question was not only weird but ambiguous and irrelevant. She replied: “Are you charming all the ladies like you are doing to me?” “Hehehe,” I giggled, pretending to understand the gist of the topic. She then said, “You criticize without understanding. You only seek to meet the desires of your heart,” she supposed with a calm but angry voice. Her sensational lower lip that she bit with the upper teeth enticed me into kissing her, but she refused, instructing me to drive even faster to catch a 2pm show on TV. As she was in her first year of actuarial sciences at the University of Cape Town, I knew the show was about something to do with her studies. I drove faster a she was rubbing her outer hand against my left thigh with a smile warming on her face. “Baby you are confusing me,” I said in a complaining voice.

“Baby your level of support was tremendous before we got engaged, but now you have put God first before me. I know you don’t like arguing about God but sometimes I feel like leaving you. You know my parents rejected me for dating you but I did not care. I decided to love you with a hope that you will protect me. I was wrong. You wanted to make me your doll. A toy you can control and dictate. But anyway its not like I have any choice.”

She sobbed and wept. “I remember the day you took me to the Mall of the North to watch the Invictus movie. We broke for dinner at Nando’s at the Savannah Mall, after we went to Masana Lodge and you scrapped my back telling me how much you love me. You promised me all the good things, some were impossible but I believed you. After the shower you kissed me all over the body, asking me to trust you…” She started to stammer, and looked out of the window. I took a deep breath as I went out of the car to open the gate.

My everything was shaking. My lips started trembling not knowing what to say. Thoughts dribbled my mind. I held the tears that wanted to join the Monare Rivers, remembering the idiom that says a man is like a sheep. I knew I was wading into waters. I knew she was telling me something although she started with the tales. I could see through her red eyes that the fire would spill at any time.

I went back to the car and drove into the yard. Before climbing down the new Amarok that I bought after selling the GTi 6, she looked at me and breathed in and out quickly. I thought it was a heart attack when I jumped from the driver’s seat to hold her but she pushed me away. “I’m fine, leave me alone. It does not help to ride in big cars and have everything that you want me to have. There is just one thing that I want myself. That is what I ask for, to be me.” “During that night after the movies, you asked to break my virginity, I gave it to you. I was afraid and young, but I compromised my fears and insecurities. Yes, you spending a lot of money for my education at UCT, but that again is your choice,” she wiped her tears and threw her face onto the bed.

With wary and wonder, I left the room. I went to the sitting room to watch Wrestling Survivor Series. Thirty minutes later, she walked in and starred at me while standing at the door. I could see that her anger was now above the ocean.

She joined me on the sofa, took the remote and changed the channel from E.tv to SABC 3. “Have you ever watched beauty pageants,” she asked courteously.

“Baby let’s not fight again please, Kim is playing at the next room,” I said in a low voice showing surrender to a fight I never I thought I fought.

“Maybe we should change her name to something; it could be a name from your family. Again what you think is proper for you since Kim is disgusting, right?”

I did not know why she was so into my comments about Kardashian being immoral and nudist. “Have you ever watched beauty pageants…what don’t you understand about this question?”

I could not answer knowing that she asked if I charm ladies on Facebook like I do to her. I suspected that she is of an opinion that I may be cheating with a modeler since I sometimes help them with pictures at work. Immediately when a show on SABC 3 came back from commercials, I saw people modelling. I then realised she wanted us to watch it. I silently insulted myself for thinking the worst of her.

“I don’t recall watching beauty pageants with a passion; in most instances I was just doing my journalism work.”

“Alright! I guess you know the importance of parading. It is not just about beauty but a purpose,” she said whilst leaning on my shoulder and holding me tight. “This is the final episode of Miss World 2014. I know you don’t love Wrestling. Let’s watch this.” I agreed albeit I didn’t like pageants as well.

As we were watching, a commentator said: “Believe you me, I have noticed that neither their crying nor enthusiasm will make any of these contenders a winner today, but the beauty with a purpose that stimulated and herded the sense of charity in these models is what is important.”

Moses Moreroa, Speaker, Author and Communicator. 

After the commentator had spoken, Sheryl then looked into my eyes and said: “Many would label and delimit beauty pageants as being sexism. But truth is that we are showing wonderful creatures from the Potter’s hand. We model because of the drive to help the world accept the challenge it is faced with. Because of your church, you deny me to continue with modeling. You saw me from Nelson Mandela Comprehensive High, I was a winner Moses. I was the most beautiful girl on the day. You loved my curves, my boutique skin, my nails, my hair and all that you saw. You knew I was one of God’s creatures. You knew my sport was modelling.”

“Baby…”

Raising her pointing finger, she said: “Don’t baby me. If God did not want us to reveal our bodies, then why has He made us this way? Hmmmmm….” I don’t see anything wrong in Kim’s photo shoot.” She kept quiet as the top five finalists took it to the podium to sing a song.

South Africa included, the finalists collaborated to sing the ‘You Raise Me Up’ song which reminded me of my time as a mentor at the University of Limpopo. As I was busy listening to my inner self, I heard something very peculiar, creepy and indefinable, saying switch off the television. But I could not worsen things. The song hurt me as she sang along. I started to think of everything that happened since we went to the mall.

 “The reason you are this angry is because you want to continue modelling. But I never said no,” I responded with a blameless face.

“You posed me with so many Bible laws that clearly showed that you hated the way I dress and look. I changed the wardrobe and became your housewife, you even loved me more. Simply because I am was a humbled young girl before your priests and everyone.” She said but this time calm and collected.

“I decided not to buy that long dress because on your birthday I wanted to wear a skinny jean with heels and stomach out top. I could not even ask you to do my hair knowing that your church doesn’t allow women to leave their hair in public.”

My project at high school was about helping the street kids to get out and establish themselves. When I saw them at the mall, it reminded me that I am failing to do what I wanted, and what God would have appreciated. Although you think God favours men’s thoughts over the females’.”

“I want to continue with modelling!” She screamed throwing things around the living room. Held in London at an eminent world beauty pageant, the 22-year-old medical student at the University of the Free State Roslyn Straws beat 120 entrants to be crowned Miss World 2014.

Now I know what she wanted - beauty with purpose.

Given Mkhari, CEO at MSG Afrika Investment Holdings and Moses Moreroa after some studio work.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Once upon a time at Rhodes University, a young and vibrant lady had this to say about me. Click and open the link below to find out.

http://zajournalist.blogspot.com/2011/04/moses-of-all-trades.html