Cricket Star to Addiction Counselor: Tshepo's Journey

The children at Ikageng Itireleng Aids Ministry in Orlando West know Tshepo Tlapu by his laugh and his games. The 37-year-old educator fills classrooms with "Icebreakers," creating moments where learning feels like play and students correct him about missing apostrophes.

But seven years ago, Tlapu was sleeping in pipes on a dumpsite, surrounded by rats and sewage. He was a walking skeleton, one step from death.

At 18, Tlapu had been an elite cricket prospect with a gift for bowling. A future of international travel and fame stretched before him. Then customs officials in Australia found drugs in his kit bag during a tour, and he was sent home immediately.

The pain of losing everything pushed him deeper into addiction. What started as dagga in Grade 10 became crack cocaine, then heroin. He stole from family, lost weight, and eventually ended up homeless.

One morning in 2019, something shifted. Filthy and desperate, he found his way to Ikageng, where founder Carol Dyantyi helped get him into a rehab center in Randfontein.

Why This Inspires

Tlapu returned to Ikageng as a volunteer, attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings and discovering his purpose working with young people. He trained in HIV testing, became a substance abuse coach, and started speaking openly about his journey.

He remembers one girl whose parents died in a shootout when she was just one year old. HIV positive and raised by her grandmother, she became one of his mentees. Now 20, she's finished school and dreams of becoming a flight attendant.

"She's one of my inspirations," Tlapu says. "She came from a struggle and now she is standing tall."

Not every story ends in triumph. Two brilliant students he mentored, both awarded university bursaries, disappeared without a trace. Those losses shake him, but he's learned he can't save everyone.

Today, Tlapu focuses on completing matric while continuing to mentor children. He believes change begins young, meeting kids where they are through programs inside schools.

Throughout our conversation, a small presence sits beside him: his daughter Lesedi, nearly four years old. Her name means "light," and when he talks about the day she was born, he reaches over to rub her shoulder, words failing to capture the emotion.