So here I am, weeping over someone I never knew...
What is THAT about?
Well, in part it is about how a voice on the radio becomes your friend. He comes into your home, bright and cheery, and gives you a connection to a world you would not otherwise enter. In Gugu Zulu's case, he commentated on all sorts of motor sport - for me, a link to childhood days when my dad and I used to watch Grand Prix together on TV.
Gugu Zulu was also a local boy "made good" - a rally champion and later TV commentator in whose success everyone somehow shared - we were glad that this man had done so well.
And he was simply a nice guy. His life should have been longer, reached more people; he should have been there to see his child grow up...
Part of the tears are anger too, at this loss of one life.
He died doing something he had planned for and was excited about: a climb up Kilimanjaro, in honour of Mandela, who was surely his hero, as he is many of ours.
Maybe, once we stop weeping, we can honour Gugu Zulu: by being kinder, laughing more, and going after our dreams.
His was a life well-lived.