Volume 65 December 2026-January 2026 : Feature

It is 2013 and at the helm of Kutlwano magazine, I am leading a vibrant team of young, daring journalists eager to push the boundaries of storytelling. On our desks lies a decision that is testing our nerve. Should Atasaone Molemogi, better known as A.T.I, grace the cover of Botswana’s longest-running family magazine? The newsroom is buzzing, filled with the kind of energy only a controversial subject can provoke.

The year before (2012), Kutlwano had published a remarkable feature on the young rapper titled I wat to break free. Penned by former News Editor, Mothusi Soloko, a writer with a gothic flair for human-interest stories, the piece peeled back the layers of a troubled but talented artist who wanted to break free from his troubled life. 

Soloko’s words still ring: “A.T.I’s gothic tendencies have everyone asking questions - whether he is part of a satanic coven or simply a young man struggling to establish his identity.” Conversely, A.T.I himself was firm, his defiance almost prophetic; “I am not in any way associated with the devil. I want to be different, and music is one stage where I seek peace with myself.” 

To us in the newsroom, it was clear. His black teardrop was not a mark of dark forces but of creativity, restlessness and self-expression. Outside our walls, though, society was less forgiving.

Fast forward to 2013, A.T.I is back in our pages. Our colleague, Baleseng Batlotleng, has produced another feature, bigger, deeper, more compelling - headlined When misperception strikes the right chord. In it, the infamous black teardrop takes centre stage. 

Asked why he wears it, A.T.I responds with candour: “This black tear I have whenever I perform was inspired by the fact that I wanted to be ‘entertainment’. I wanted to be memorable. Our industry offers many opportunities to bring something new into it. I looked in the mirror and felt too bare and simple, and I came up with this idea.” 

Pressed on accusations of “gothic tendencies,” he leans into the ambiguity: “I have never denied or concurred with what people think of me. The misperception about me has worked for me. The thing that prolongs an artiste’s life is mystery. My music portrays me as a superhuman and I simply would like to bask in that uncertainty.”

Here was an artist who understood the power of image, mystery and myth. To us, he was not just a controversial rapper. He was the embodiment of a restless generation. 

His story, we believed, deserved the cover. And so, the arguments begin. On one side, the young reporters, fired up, convinced that A.T.I’s face on the cover would signal that Kutlwano is ready to embrace the new Botswana. 

On the other, cautious voices, an editor mindful of the magazine’s long-standing billing as “a family magazine,” steeped in tradition and national pride. Can we risk placing ATI’s face, marked by the infamous teardrop, on the cover? Can we alienate a Christian-dominated readership that might see him as too dark, too misunderstood, too much? The clock ticks. The printer’s deadline looms. 

Yet the arguments go in circles. We weigh artistic daring against institutional caution, generational shift against public backlash. Finally, the decision lands and caution prevails. A.T.I’s story is published but tucked away on pages 22 to 25. His face is relegated to a small circular teaser on the cover. The prime space goes instead to Radio Botswana journalist, Goitseone Moatlhodi, wholesome, familiar, safe.

At the time, we console ourselves with the thought that we have avoided scandal. Yet deep down, there was a nagging sense that something larger had been missed. 

A chance to acknowledge, through the magazine’s most visible symbol, that Botswana’s cultural landscape was shifting. 

In hindsight, we were ahead of our time. We saw in A.T.I as a force that could not be dismissed, even though we lacked the courage to proclaim it on the cover.

That truth became undeniable on September 2, 2025. At A.T.I’s memorial service at the UB Campus Indoor Sports Centre, the nation bore witness to what we in the newsroom once sensed. The arena swelled to near capacity. 

Multitudes filled the stands-fans young and old, government ministers and even President Advocate Duma Boko. Some mourners wore the teardrop in eyeliner, a silent tribute to a man once misunderstood. 

The air rang with his signature songs- Khiring khiring Khorong Khorong, Setimamolelo, Polao ya Motho. Every chorus was echoed by the crowd, turning the memorial into both mourning and celebration. The black teardrop, once feared, had become an emblem of individuality, defiance and cultural pride.

Looking around the arena, the contrast with our newsroom debates of 2013 was stark. What we feared would alienate a family readership had, in fact, galvanized an entire generation. What we thought too risky for the cover had become too powerful to ignore. 

A.T.I’s story is no longer just about music. It is about perception, identity 

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