After loss, betrayal and motherhood, Rethabile Khumalo finds clarity in grief and rediscovers the voice she once knew — and the future she now wants to build.
There is a version of Rethabile Khumalo the public remembers — the young woman whose powerful voice introduced her to the country, whose songs became the soundtrack to celebrations, whose star seemed destined to keep rising. But the woman who sits across from me today feels different. Not because success has changed her, but because life has.
As we speak, her two-year-old son drifts in and out of the conversation. One moment Rethabile is reflecting on life, loss and legacy; the next she is gently redirecting him from a guitar, a pot in the kitchen or whatever has captured his curiosity. The soundtrack of our interview is laughter, tiny interruptions and the joyful noise of a life still unfolding.
Perhaps that is the perfect picture of who Rethabile is today: an artist, a businesswoman, but above all, a mother.
It is a role she stepped into more fully after losing the woman who had been everything to her.
“Losing my mom was, and still is, the toughest thing I have ever experienced,” she says.
For Rethabile, Winnie Khumalo was never just a mother. She was a safe place, a sounding board and a constant source of encouragement. The kind of person whose presence touched every corner of her life.
“My mother was my mom and father all in one,” she says. “She was my closest confidant.”
The loss left a void that words struggle to capture. Yet, in the midst of grief, it also forced Rethabile to confront who she was becoming.
In many ways, she finds herself standing at the intersection of two worlds — mourning the woman who shaped her while simultaneously discovering who she is without her. It is a painful process, but one that has brought a new sense of clarity.
That clarity has extended to her music.
Rather than chasing expectations or trying to fit into a particular mould, Rethabile has found herself returning to what feels most authentic. She has been reconnecting with the Afro-rooted sound that first made her fall in love with music — a sound that takes her back to the young girl who walked the halls of the National School of the Arts with a guitar in her hands and dreams stretching far beyond the classroom.
Her latest album, Kwelizayo, is both a love letter and a farewell. It honours the woman whose influence remains woven through every part of her life while marking the beginning of a chapter defined by healing, honesty and self-discovery.
Perhaps that is why the project feels so personal. After years of experimenting with different sounds and navigating the expectations that often accompany public success, Rethabile is no longer interested in being anything other than herself.
“I have seen how staying true to oneself has its benefits,” she says. “With whatever time I have on this earth, I want to dedicate it to being true to myself and doing every single thing I’ve always wanted to do.”
The grief of losing Ma’Winnza (as she fondly refers to her mom) has not disappeared with time or this reinvention. Instead, Rethabile reveals how that grief shows up in unexpected moments. Their relationship was rooted in the ordinary things that often become the most precious memories after someone is gone.
Cooking was one of Rethabile’s love languages. She would prepare her mother’s favourite meals, they would shop together, wore matching outfits and shared matching hairstyles. Every Sunday morning, Winnie woke up to fresh flowers because she loved them. “We were best friends in the truest sense. Nothing was off limits for us.”
It is perhaps why her absence feels so profound. But even as she speaks about loss, there is a sense that Winnie remains present in the life Rethabile is building.
She hears her mother’s lessons in the way she raises her son. She sees them in the decisions she makes as a businesswoman. She carries them into every room she enters.
A few months before losing her her mother, Rethabile experienced betrayal at the hands of someone she trusted deeply. She was poisoned. That experience forced her to reconsider the people she allowed into her life and taught her the value of protecting her peace.
Now that shift reflects a broader change in how she approaches life. Loss has a way of stripping away the unnecessary. It sharpens perspective. It forces clarity.
For Rethabile, that clarity arrived through motherhood. “Having my son saved me,” she says quietly. “I always say that if my son wasn’t here, I would have followed my mom because of how painful and debilitating her passing was.”
The honesty of the statement lingers. Life carries much more meaning, more intent and newfound focus.
“I want to live more intentionally in this new phase of my life. I want to achieve so much so I can craft my own legacy. My journey has been an interesting one — from trying out on Idols to releasing my own music, I’ve worked so hard, and now I just want to double up on those efforts.”
The vision is bigger than career success.
It is about legacy.
It is about impact.
It is about making the most of the time she has.
Her son did not erase the grief. He simply gave her a reason to keep moving through it.
Today, she speaks about him with the same warmth and admiration she reserves for her mother. She hopes to surpass the standard Winnie set, although she laughs at how impossible that sometimes feels.
“My mother was phenomenal. I can’t even fault her,” she says.
Still, she wants her son to know he can dream freely. She wants him to flourish in whatever gifts he discovers, while remaining grounded in the importance of education and discipline.
After all, as she puts it, we always know how much money we have in our accounts, but we never know how much time we have left.
Perhaps that is why she speaks so passionately about the future. Beyond music, she is growing RK Foods, exploring ways to teach young people through the arts and searching for opportunities to make a meaningful difference in the lives of children.
The vision is bigger than career success.
It is about legacy.
It is about impact.
It is about making the most of the time she has.
And maybe that is the greatest gift grief has given her.
Not happiness. Not healing. Not closure.
But clarity.
The clarity to recognise what matters. The courage to choose herself. The determination to build a life that honours both the mother who raised her and the son who depends on her.
Rethabile Khumalo is not reinventing herself.
She is returning to herself.
And in that return, she is discovering the strongest version of who she has always been.