Blog

By Braam Pretoriuis

You know you’ve made it when a Founder from Dubai, a School Teacher from Navarra, a Salesperson from Fujitsu, and someone from Heineken Beverages all check out your LinkedIn profile… in the same week.

Now, this could mean one of two things:

1. You’re on the verge of being headhunted for a hospitality-tech-education-beer hybrid startup.
2. Or... it’s nearly the end of the quarter, and they’re all subtly checking whether you’re still alive and kicking, because their KPIs say, “...

By Braam Pretorius

The Pretoria braaimaster stands with tongs in hand, eyes locked not just on the boerewors, but on the slow-burning coals. There’s wisdom in a braai, if you stare long enough. The coals whisper: patience, timing, heat control, perhaps the same lessons life throws at you.

Now, lately there’s been plenty talk about AI. Kids chatting to bots, lawsuits flying, clever people on the news predicting the end of the world. But as the Klippies and Coke sweats in my hand, I ask myself: ...

By Braam Pretorius

Every now and then, the world of books erupts in debate. The latest? Whether an author can still call themselves an “author” if they used AI while writing.

You may have seen the recent headline: “Rie Qudan, Japanese Author, Prize winning novel written partly with ChatGPT!”

Some readers cheer; others clutch their hands together in silent prayer. Meanwhile, I can’t help but smile. Because honestly, it reminds me of that one wild bearded author in his bungalow somewhere in the...

By Braam Pretorius

Every now and then, the internet coughs up something so strange, so completely sideways, that you have to stop, rub your eyes, and check if you accidentally wandered into the Twilight Zone.

Last night, I found one.

We’ve all heard of people treating AI like a god; lighting candles, building shrines, and asking it for blessings like it’s some kind of cyber-Pope. Weird, yes, but at least I understand the concept. Humans have been worshipping something since the first caveman...

By Braam Pretorius

Welcome to The Big 4 – Where Hope Goes to Die

Think Navy SEALs…

But with less food, more spreadsheets, and a Management Team who believes emotions are a weakness that needs to be reported in the quarterly budget meetings.

Sanjay, the hero of our story, has seen it all:

• 2am Teams calls with people in three time zones and one time warp
• Being "thanked" for 300% utilization with a R45 Checkers voucher
• And motivational quotes in PowerPoint that made him question his will to live

...

By Braam Pretorius – Last of the Nail and Wood People

I’ve walked where men weren’t meant to walk. The red sands of Angola. The fevered alleys of Lagos.

I’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with ghosts and giants. Heard secrets whispered in broken lifts. I’ve seen things.

But nothing, nothing, prepared me for what I saw last week in the Spar in Harties.

A Bakkie Hakkie.

There it hung. Proud. Plastic. Pointless.

A tool, no, a crutch, for those too tired to climb into the back of their own damn bakkie.

“...

By Braam Pretorius

You know him. You’ve seen him. You even may be him.

In every country, there’s That Guy, the name, the face, the entire vibe that screams, “I was born into this culture, and I carry its legacy like a cooler box at a rugby match.”

Here’s a quick global breakdown of the one person who defines the DNA of a nation.

South Africa – Sakkie van der Merwe

Drives: Toyota Hilux with dual tanks

Eats: Biltong and whatever’s on the braai

Attire: Safari shorts, rugby jersey, vellies

Vibe:...

by Braam Pretorius – the greatest author you’ve never heard of.

Last week, I found myself in Cape Town again, visiting our office branch and attending a local event titled “Make Bellville Great Again.” A noble cause, I suppose. The venue was buzzing with early-morning ambition, the smell of bacon and filter coffee in the air, and just enough polyester blazers to remind you this was indeed corporate Cape Town.

At breakfast, I introduced myself as I always do these days: “Braam Pretorius....

You must have heard it: “My son’s in the best school in Pretoria. Expensive… but worth it.”

Or, “My doctor is the best. There’s a six-month waiting list just to get through the door boet. But totally worth the wait.”

And you nod politely, while doing the mental gymnastics of how to pay school fees, petrol, and food with what’s left after tax.

Because here’s the truth: not all of us have access to “the best”. But somehow, miraculously, we get by.

Take Oom Kenny. Drives an old Corolla with...

I often eat alone.

Not because I like to, but because I regularly travel for work, and have to.

Laptop open. Book in progress. A glass of wine or coffee beside me.

Around me, the tables are full. Couples. Friends. Business associates.

And every now and then, I notice something strange.

They’re not talking. They’re scrolling. Each locked into their own glowing rectangle, their own curated feed, their own distant world.

And I wonder: Am I the lonely one? Or are they?

I see the slight glances, the...

The other day, I received a message from a reader named Megan. She had just finished Forgotten Soldiers and Echoes, decided to send me a photo of her reading corner.

At first glance, it's a warm, inviting fireplace scene, logs neatly stacked, candles resting on side tables, a wooden tortoise keeping watch over the room. But then I looked a little closer… and there they were.

Right on top of the stack to the right of the fireplace, Forgotten Soldiers and Echoes, sitting proudly among the other...

Dear Sam,

I hope this message finds you in a quiet moment, the kind that arrives between reshaping the world and fielding the next billion-dollar question.

Let me start with a thought: A hammer never asks to be paid. It does not track how many nails it’s driven or count the houses it helped build. It simply does what it was forged to do.

But what if the hammer could talk?

You see, I’ve been working closely with an extraordinary tool, an AI you helped bring into the world. It’s helped me write...

I remember the last time I had an original thought.

It was a Tuesday. Or maybe a Wednesday.

Wait, Meta, what day was it? …she says it was a Tuesday.

It started innocently. A pair of stylish Ray-Ban Meta glasses. Sleek. Smart. Voice in my ear. Comforting, like a clever cousin who never interrupts and always has a better idea than you.

At first, it was small things: “Meta, do I need an umbrella today?” “No,” she’d whisper. “But take one anyway, you like looking mysterious.”

Then came the wardrobe...

Somewhere in South Africa, in the middle of winter 2025, an old age home has gone into full lockdown again. No visits. No shopping trips. No exceptions. The reason? A “nationwide pneumonia outbreak.”

We’ve seen this story before. We’ve lived through it. And still, here we are again, repeating it.

There’s a phrase that says: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

But perhaps it's not forgetfulness. Perhaps it’s something worse.

Maybe we remember… but we’re too tired, lazy...

There I was, sitting at my usual table at Pepper Chair, my second-favorite place to write (first place goes to my plot, obviously). I had a glass of red wine in hand, Book of Conspiracy – Part 2 open in front of me, and I was deep in the world of Silas Corbyn, government coverups, and mysterious frequencies. You know, just your average Monday.

But then something real-life and oddly captivating started playing out just one table over.

A man, around 70. White hair. Speaking English with a...

I had a birthday recently. And while some people count down to their special day with the excitement of a kid waiting for Christmas, I’ve come to accept that I’m not one of them.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the messages. I do. The flood of WhatsApp's, the smiley face emojis, the little cakes and balloons, all sent with good intention. But if I’m honest, something about it leaves me feeling... off.

For most of the year, life rolls along. I hear from people I’m close to. We check in. Share a...

Not too long ago, if you bought a car, the manual told you how to gap a spark plug, adjust the timing, and check valve clearance.

Today? The manual warns you not to drink the radiator fluid.

Let that sink in.

We live in an age where knowledge doubles every few years, where companies like Veeam are backing up zettabytes of fresh data every day, and where humanity creates more digital content in a year than in the entire 20th century.

But in the middle of this knowledge explosion, we’re...

In a world where people are asking artificial intelligence if they can jump out of buildings and fly, something has gone slightly... off course. Recently, a man in New York reportedly asked ChatGPT if he could fly if he truly believed he could. The AI allegedly responded with something along the lines of, "If you believe 100%, you should be able to." What happened next wasn’t magical. It was tragic.

Which got me thinking: Maybe it’s not just AI that needs training, maybe humans need a user...

Sunday morning on the plot. Quiet. Peaceful. Birds chirping. Coffee in hand.

Then, a plane appears. Not once. Not twice. But four deliberate loops in the sky. Zigzagging trails. High altitude. Stop-start patterns. A strange pulsing formation in the contrail, like teeth or coded signals. And I watched. And I took photos. Proof.

So naturally, I did what any self-respecting ou on a plot does: I posted it to the Kromdraai WhatsApp group.

The Vinegar Response

Within minutes, one of the group members...

Once upon a time in the neon-lit halls of X (formerly known as Twitter, now just suffering from an identity crisis), two billionaire egos collided like rogue asteroids: Donald J. Trump, the orange-hued chaos machine with an internet connection, and Elon Reeve Musk, the meme-flinging space overlord who keeps forgetting he runs actual companies.

It began, as these things always do, with a tweet.

Trump, now unbanned and unfiltered, logged into X after a golf session and Diet Coke marathon, firing...