Good Things · 11 days ago
David Sejobe greeted people at the gates of a Johannesburg office building for nearly a decade, and in doing so, became a kind of moral infrastructure-the kind of quiet, steady presence that holds together the texture of a day before it even begins. When he passed, South Africans responded with a flood of money and memory, raising over R100,000 in 24 hours for a man who once cycled hours daily to honor his late father and manage his own fragile health. "David was a familiar and cherished presence to so many of us," colleagues wrote, and in that word *familiar* lives the paradox: he was known without being famous, essential without being noticed until he was gone. The generosity now flowing toward his family is less charity than repayment-a collective acknowledgment that someone who makes strangers feel seen is performing a kind of labor the world rarely names but desperately needs. His life asks an uncomfortable question: how many people quietly hold up our days, and how often do we wait until absence to finally bear witness?