His demeanour is quiet and contemplative, as if trying to retrieve something from memory and time. As a photographer, his practice is reflective of this intention to precisely articulate and reveal.

“I’m really interested in narrative, that’s my main focus. What made me want to be an artist is that, as a child in Botswana, we were told stories and a lot of it was oral history. I want to tell these narratives through pictures.”

Our conversation lands on his earlier project, Fly Machine/Mogaka, about a fighter jet pilot who passed away in a tragic, mysterious accident. “That was the first time I realised that there are so many stories that go on in Botswana that people don’t know about. That we also don’t reflect on. There’s a phrase, “Batswana ba lebala ka pele” which means “Batswana forget quickly”.

“Before the accident happened, I was starting to ponder death more. I had been through a few near-death experiences. So I was fascinated by death, and how we think about it in Botswana. At this time, I was also thinking about my role as an artist, and what kind of artist I want to be?”

On 27 April  2018, a fighter jet rehearsing for a celebration parade the following day, had a malfunction and was told by the control tower to eject out of the plane. However, the pilot knew if he did this then the plane would likely crash into the populous urban area he was flying over. He decided to divert the plane to a nearby empty golf course. The news shook the nation, and the pilot became a hero in Botswana. 

Thero is Motswana - born and raised, one side of his family is from South Africa, how they found themselves in Botswana is a story about jazz, but we’ll get to that. He grew up visiting family in different places around Gauteng and North West, but Gaborone was home. In 2018, he was a third year student at Michaelis in Cape Town majoring in photography, he found himself where most young artists find themselves at some point, lost and questioning what their contribution is going to be.

 “I found two artists, Lebohang Kganye and Chris Ofili. Lebohang, who was using dioramas in her photographic work. And Ofili’s painting, “No Woman No Cry” which shows a mother mourning the loss of her teenage son, who was unjustly killed in a racially motivated attack.” Seeing these artists speak on themes of death, reflecting on personal lived experiences and what was happening in the world, opened a new path in Thero’s perspective and practice.

Thero then looked inward at his own life and how memory, loss and heroism played itself out within his family history. “My maternal grandfather left South Africa in 1958, seeking a better life like many others during Apartheid. He first went up to Malawi, but decided to come back down and found himself in Botswana. A year later, my grandmother joined him and my family has been here ever since.” Makepe’s grandfather worked as a town clerk in Francistown and Gaborone, and as a hobbyist jazz musician.

Through image-making, Thero began to blend staged portraiture, archival imagery and re-enactments, to weave together his lineage’s history of musicality and activism.

Delving into the oral archive of his family, he discovered the different threads that make up this collective identity. The life that his grandparents built in Botswana, and the family that stayed behind in South Africa. We Didn’t Choose to Be Born Here, became a personal story that simultaneously contextualised the greater socio-political fabric of Botswana. So much of our identity is defined by where we are from, Makepe is looking at how exile and independence / migration and music / life and death have shaped his maternal family’s lasting kindredship.

A point of interest is this collaborative nature of his work, his family members being the participants in this non-linear narrative about remembering. “My mother told me this story about a South African Defense Force raid in June 1985. The defence force came into Botswana looking for exiles and those aiding the Apartheid struggle. At around 2AM in the morning, she could hear the SADF tanks nearby. She went into her parents' bedroom, fearful and confused. My grandfather embraced my mom, ensuring her everything was going to be okay. Hearing this, I thought to myself - that’s a photograph.” Using his cousin and uncle, who resembles his grandfather, he recreated this scene. In the body of work, family members portray each other and re-enactment emotive experiences in their history. 

Although his grandfather’s uncle was Zephaniah Mothopeng, teacher/activist and president of the Pan African Congress of Azania (PAC), Thero didn’t grow up being exposed to radical activism, and admittedly lived somewhat of a privileged life that sheltered him from particular experiences, until he went to university. He tells us of his experience as a student in UCT during 2016, the second year of the historic #FeesMustFall movement, that saw thousands of students in South Africa protest for free education. “I remembered being in an elevator with a prominent student activist, who was part of PASMA, the student faction of the PAC. He was wearing a t-shirt that had my great grand-uncle’s face on it. I wanted to tell him, ‘that’s my relative, that’s my great grand-uncle!’ but I knew if I did he would ask me to speak at a gathering.”

Thero reveals how he was still navigating the movement as a Motswana who was in South Africa with a student visa, and his parents, concerned for his safety, had warned him against getting involved. “I didn’t say anything to him. I’m sure he could feel the tension, we both got out of the elevator and went our separate ways. For the first time in my life, I felt this intense sense of guilt. Later on, it made me realise that I want to say something.”

Through his photography, Makepe is unpacking these experiences and defining how he’d like to contribute to the contemporary dialogue about identity, freedom and belonging. How he’s going to expand and explore these lived and inherited experiences, is still defining itself through daily practice.