Rola Gathering

Rola Gathering Lay it down. A gathering for reflection and acknowledgement. Botswana — July 2026.

27/08/2026

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ROLA I The Canvas That We Created TogetherThere are moments in the life of an idea when it stops belonging to the person...
21/08/2026

ROLA I The Canvas That We Created Together

There are moments in the life of an idea when it stops belonging to the person who imagined it.

This was one of those moments.

At the first ROLA gathering, The Art Lab gave us the invitation to play, to colour, to create, to return to the parts of ourselves that had been quiet for a while.

But there was one canvas still waiting.

The final canvas.
The ROLA canvas.
And somehow, it became more than a piece of art.
It became a record of our becoming.

So we gathered around it.
All hands on deck.
Different hands.
Different stories.
Different colours.
Different lives.
And yet, together, we began to make one thing.

Someone added a colour.
Another added a mark.
Another found a space.
Someone else filled it.
There was no single artist.
No single author.
No one person could claim the finished work.
Because this one belonged to all of us.

That is what made it so significant.
ROLA was never meant to be a story about one person carrying something and inviting others to watch.
It was always about what happens when we come together and decide that what we carry does not have to be carried alone.
And so the final canvas became a physical expression of that belief.

Every colour held a mood.
Every mark held a moment.
Every hand left evidence that it had been there.
The canvas became our collective fingerprint.

A little imperfect.
A little wild.
Beautiful precisely because no one tried to make it perfect.

And then we placed our hands together.
One on top of another.
No titles.
No hierarchy.
No audience.

Just hands.

Human hands.
Hands that had built companies.
Raised children.
Created art.
Led teams.
Held families.
Survived difficult seasons.

Hands that;
Loved.
Lost.
Carried.
Held.
Released.
And now, hands that were creating together.

Because this is what ROLA is.

Not the chair.
Not the fire.
Not the food.
Not the beautiful setting.
Not even the programme we carefully designed.

It is the togetherness.

The willingness to arrive as you are.
To put something of yourself onto the canvas.
To make room for someone else’s colour.
To trust that the final picture can be richer because we did not all paint the same way.

And looking at it now,
I know
We all know…

We ROLA’d.

ROLA I The BowAt the end of the fire ritual and the release circle, we bowed.Not in defeat.But in acknowledgement.We bow...
13/08/2026

ROLA I The Bow

At the end of the fire ritual and the release circle, we bowed.
Not in defeat.
But in acknowledgement.
We bowed to breathe.
To exhale.
To sigh — together.

We honoured the emotions that had surfaced.
The pain we had finally allowed ourselves to name.
The journeys that had brought us there.

And then, we honoured the road ahead.
The steps that would be clearer because we had dared to stop and look back.
We held one another in a strong, close circle.
No one stood apart.
We leaned in.
We breathed together.
We held.
And somehow, in that circle, there was strength in the softness.

The golden August sun was beginning its journey towards the horizon, wrapping us in that beautiful, fleeting light that makes everything feel suspended for a moment.

We stood there — held by one another, held by the earth, held by the moment.

There was nothing left to perform.
Nothing left to explain.
We had brought our weights to the fire.
We had watched them burn.
We had cried.
We had breathed.
We had hugged.
And now we simply stood together.

Present.
Lighter.
Still becoming.

We ROLA’d.

And together,
we held each other.

ROLA I And Then, We HuggedIntentionally.Deliberately.Purposefully.Not the polite embrace we give in passing.Not the quic...
11/08/2026

ROLA I And Then, We Hugged

Intentionally.
Deliberately.
Purposefully.
Not the polite embrace we give in passing.
Not the quick hug that says hello or goodbye.
But the kind of embrace that asks you to stay for a moment.

To breathe.
To soften.
To be held.

After the silent release, we carried our weights to the flames.
Things we had carried for too long.
Things we had never said aloud.
Things that had taken up space in our hearts, our minds and our bodies.
One by one, we surrendered them to the fire.
And watched them burn.

Then came the tears.
Effortless.
Unannounced.
Unashamed.
There was no need to explain them.

We simply held space for one another.
A gentle touch.
A knowing look.
A hand on a shoulder.
A quiet affirmation whispered to oneself — and sometimes to another.

You are enough.
You can let this go.
You are allowed to rest.
You do not have to carry everything.

There was something profoundly human about that little moment.
Our own quiet Exco of the heart.
No titles.
No hierarchy.
No performance.

Just men and women — people — standing together after laying their burdens down.

And then, we hugged.
Purposefully.
Tightly.
Warmly.
As though, for those few seconds, all the scattered pieces of us could come back together.
As though the embrace itself could say what words could not:

I see you.
I feel you.
I am here.
You are not alone.
You are held.

Perhaps that is what happens when we ROLA together.

We do not simply put our burdens down.
We become witnesses to one another’s release.
And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can offer another human being is not advice.

Not a solution.
Not another strategy.
Just our arms.
Our presence.
Our warmth.
A place to land.

So we hugged.

And for a moment,
the pieces came together.

We ROLA’d.

09/08/2026

🫂🫂🫂

🤎

ROLA I And Then, We ColouredAnd then, we paused to colour.Not to make art.Not to make something beautiful.But to find so...
09/08/2026

ROLA I And Then, We Coloured

And then, we paused to colour.
Not to make art.
Not to make something beautiful.
But to find something within ourselves that perhaps had been waiting to be found.

The Art Lab invited us back to a place many of us had not visited in years — our inner child.
The curious one.
The playful one.
The one who once picked up a crayon without wondering whether the picture was good enough.

For a while, the grown-up world became quiet.
We moved around the table.
We gestured.
We smiled.
We worked in silence;
Albeit one of ho could not sit still and in silence😂
And slowly, colour began to speak.

A stroke of red.
A wash of yellow.
A little green - some olive ones too😂
Blue.
Pink.
Purple.

One colour at a time and sometimes a cocktail🫣

We travelled through memories, imagination and parts of ourselves we had perhaps left unattended for too long.

There were those deep in thought.
Those smiling at their own discoveries.
Those completely absorbed in the simple pleasure of making something with their hands.
And there were those whose eyes quietly filled with tears.
No explanation required.
No words demanded.

Just colour.
Just breath.
Just the gentle permission to feel whatever arrived.

The Art Lab had given us a canvas.

But what unfolded on those canvases was far more than painting.
It was remembering.
Remembering the child.
Remembering the dreamer.
Remembering the maker.
Remembering the joy.
Remembering the part of ourselves that existed before responsibility became so loud.

And perhaps that is what creativity gives us when we allow it to:
A way back to ourselves.
One brushstroke.
One colour.
One breath at a time.
We did not set out to create masterpieces.
Yet, somehow, we did.
Not because every canvas was perfect.
But because every one of them carried something true.

And as we coloured, we released.
Quietly.
Tenderly.
Without ceremony.
Until the weight we had carried into that space began to feel a little lighter.

We came to ROLA carrying stories.

For a little while,
we let colour carry them for us.

We ROLA’d.

ROLA I We Broke BreadEvery ROLA gathering begins with something beautifully simple.We eat.Not hurriedly.Not between sess...
06/08/2026

ROLA I We Broke Bread

Every ROLA gathering begins with something beautifully simple.

We eat.
Not hurriedly.
Not between sessions.
Not because it is on the programme.
But because nourishment is one of the first languages of love.

So we gathered around a table beneath the acacias.
We hydrated.
We slowed our pace.
And we allowed the day to unfold, one gentle course at a time.

Our first taste was a warm cocktail of home-grown samp and beans soup, delicately infused with fresh coriander and parsley from the garden.

Comforting.
Familiar.
Rooted.
It tasted like home.

Fresh fruit followed, harvested to awaken the palate and gently prepare us for the day ahead.
Nothing extravagant.
Only honest food.
Food that invited us to arrive.

And then came tea.
Not just tea.
A bottomless medley of Kenyan infusions.
Cup after cup.
Conversation after conversation.
Silence after silence.
There was never any need to ask,

“Would you like another?”

The kettle simply stayed on.

Because some conversations deserve another cup.
Some tears deserve another cup.
Some laughter deserves another cup.

At ROLA, hospitality is never measured by abundance.

It is measured by attention.
By remembering that sometimes the greatest gift we can offer another person is to say,

“Stay a little longer.”

So we did.
We sat.
We ate.
We drank.
We lingered.

And somewhere between a warm bowl of samp and beans soup and another fragrant cup of tea, strangers slowly became companions.

Not because we shared a meal.
But because we shared a table.

And that, is ROLA.

A Gathering for What We Carry.

We, Rola’d.

05/08/2026

ROLA I When the Artist Became the Art,
The Pause

There is something profoundly beautiful about watching an artist with nothing to create.

No audience.
No stage.
No performance.
No one waiting for the next masterpiece.

Just Loretta Keabetswe Mekgwe.

The artist.
The author.
The actress.
The founder of The Art Lab.

A woman who has spent so much of her life creating spaces where others can be seen.

And yet, at ROLA, she chose something different.
She chose to disappear.
Not from people.
But from expectation.
Tucked quietly beneath the acacias, she found a chair hidden among the thorns.

No script.
No brush.
No microphone.
No applause.
Just the warmth of an August sun.

The breeze moving gently through the branches.
And the rare luxury of having absolutely nowhere else to be.
I see an artist allowing herself to become the masterpiece.
Because creativity is not only born from making.
Sometimes, it is born from resting.

From laughing.
From breathing.
From remembering that before we create for the world…
we must first make space for ourselves.

Perhaps that is what this moment was.
Not an escape.
A homecoming.
A quiet return to the woman behind the work.
The one who laughs before she performs.
The one who dreams before she designs.
The one who simply sits beneath a Botswana sky and lets the day unfold without asking anything of her.

Thank you, Keabetswe.

For reminding us that even those who spend their lives creating beauty deserve moments where they don’t have to create anything at all.

Where they can simply…
be.

That, too, is Art.

That, too, is ROLA.

We,
Rola’d.

ROLA | The StillnessBefore we could gather with one another, we first had to gather ourselves.Nestled quietly beneath th...
04/08/2026

ROLA | The Stillness

Before we could gather with one another, we first had to gather ourselves.

Nestled quietly beneath the acacias and tucked among the thorn bushes were small sanctuaries waiting to be found.

An olive-green chair.
A simple side table.
A journal and a pen.

Nothing extravagant.

Only enough to say,
“This space is yours.”
One by one, we wandered away from the gathering.
Not to escape one another—
but to return to ourselves.
There, in silence, we paused.

Slowly.
Intentionally.
No conversations.
No expectations.
No interruptions.
Only the sound of birdsong.
The gentle whisper of the August breeze weaving through the trees.
The warmth of the winter sun reflecting softly on our faces, while its familiar chill reminded us to stay present.

August held us.
Tenderly.
Patiently.
Completely.
We sat still.
Listening only to our breathing.
Listening to the stories our hearts had carried for far too long.

Stories we had buried.
Stories we had survived.
Stories we had quietly continued to carry.
In those moments, our journals became more than paper.
They became witnesses.
A safe place to remember.

To revisit.
To rewrite.
To forgive.
To honour.
To begin again.

There was no rush to find answers.
Only permission to be.
Long enough to finally lay our burdens down.
Perhaps that is what stillness really is.
Not the absence of noise—
but the presence of ourselves.

Held by nature.
Held by grace.
Held by the quiet certainty that healing does not always arrive through conversation.

Sometimes…

it arrives through stillness.
And beneath those ancient acacias, surrounded by thorns yet embraced by peace, we discovered something profound:

Even in the places that have pricked us the most, there is still room to rest.
There is still room to breathe.
There is still room to heal.

We paused.
We listened.
We released.

We,

ROLA’d.

Rola
A gathering for what we carry.

ROLA | The GatheringIn the serenity of August, beneath the generous shade of an old acacia, we gathered.A gentle breeze ...
03/08/2026

ROLA | The Gathering

In the serenity of August, beneath the generous shade of an old acacia, we gathered.

A gentle breeze carried the first hint of winter across our faces. Hats on. Sunlight resting softly on our shoulders. We arrived quietly.

A cool Patchouli-scented towel welcomed us.

Then, unhurried, we found our places around a table dressed with fresh fruit, peace lilies on the verge of bloom, and the quiet promise that today would be different.

There was no rush.
No performance.
Only peace.
The kind that settles before words ever do.
We came with one hope:
To leave lighter than we arrived.

So we ROLA’d.

We talked.
We laughed.
Then, somewhere in the middle of it all, Sad tears found permission.
The conversation gave way to silence.
We painted.
We ate.
We cried.

One by one, in silence, we acknowledged the burdens we had carried for far too long—not to anyone else, but first to ourselves.

Because we were tired.
Tired of being sick and tired.
We wrote our burdens down.
Then we carried them to the fire.
To ashes, we committed them.

We declared death over the weight we had carried. And as the flames lifted them away, many more tears followed.

As ROLA unfolded, something within me began to soften.

Parts of my own broken soul no longer demanded to be carried. They quietly surrendered to the moment, becoming lighter with every breath, every embrace, every tear.

For the first time in a long time…
I simply felt held.
We were held.
I was held.
We held one another.
And we embraced—
not out of obligation,
but with intention.

In a way that allowed our souls,
our hearts,
and our eyes
to meet.

For a moment, there was nothing to fix.
Nothing to prove.
Nothing to carry alone.
Only the quiet assurance that healing does not always arrive with answers.
Sometimes, it arrives with presence.

That is ROLA.
The Gathering.
A gentle reminder that no one was ever meant to carry everything alone.

ROLA.

A Gathering for What We Carry.

We came carrying.
We left carrying less.

We,
Rola’d.

🌸

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