SHE wore colourful isiXhosa traditional attire during a Sunday afternoon mgidi ceremony celebrating her son’s graduation, but what should have been a joyous homecoming for young initiates descended into what authorities now call a criminal investigation.
Deputy Mayor Nokuzola “Noksi” Kolwapi allegedly brandished a silver handgun and fired multiple shots into the air as community members – including children – gathered in the streets of this Plettenberg Bay township. Cellphone footage captured the moment: youngsters instinctively covering their ears against the sharp crack of gunfire, adults scrambling for cover, and a public official appearing to celebrate with flagrant disregard for the law.
The December 21 incident comes at an explosive moment for South Africa. Just weeks earlier, Economic Freedom Fighters leader Julius Malema was convicted on October 1, 2025, for firing a gun at a rally in Mdantsane in 2018. He awaits sentencing. Now, another politician faces scrutiny for nearly identical conduct, intensifying public demands that law enforcement prove no one stands above the law.
Police spokesperson Chris Spies confirmed that Kwanokuthula police are investigating a case of pointing a firearm, with the investigation at an early stage and no arrests made yet. But for residents who witnessed the spectacle, that response feels inadequate.
“This wasn’t some private moment – this was in our streets, with our children present,” said one community member who declined to be named, fearing political backlash. “We saw a leader who should protect us instead terrorize us.”
The pressure on authorities is mounting from multiple fronts. The ANC in the Western Cape is demanding an investigation, with spokesperson Sifiso Mtsweni warning that discharging a firearm in public is a criminal offence and that Kolwapi’s actions could have placed people in danger. The party’s Victor Molosi region released a statement emphasising that “the ANC views any conduct involving the discharge of a firearm in a public or private setting with the utmost seriousness, particularly when it involves public representatives who are expected to uphold the law and act responsibly at all times.”
Notably, Bitou Mayor Jessica Kamkam and Speaker of Council Mavis Busakwe were reportedly also in attendance at the event, raising uncomfortable questions about whether other officials witnessed the alleged offence without intervening.
Kolwapi serves as a councillor for the Ikhwezi Political Movement (IPM), a smaller party in the coalition-governed municipality. Her party has yet to issue a substantive response to the incident, leaving a vacuum filled by public outrage.
On social media, South Africans have drawn direct parallels to the Malema case, questioning whether Kolwapi will face the same legal consequences or whether political connections will shield her. The comparison cuts deep: both incidents involved public officials, celebratory contexts, and apparent violations of the Firearms Control Act, which prohibits discharging weapons in built-up areas without lawful justification.
According to the Firearm Control Act 60 of 2000, Section 16(7), it is an offence to discharge a firearm in a built-up area or any public place without good reason to do so. Warrant Officer Christopher Spies indicated that additional charges, including discharging a firearm and reckless endangerment, are likely to be added as the investigation progresses.
For many South Africans, this incident crystallises broader frustrations with political accountability. The country has watched high-profile figures evade consequences for years, breeding cynicism about equal application of the law. Now, with cameras everywhere and social media amplifying public voices, citizens are refusing to let such moments pass quietly.
Children who attended the celebration – some to welcome back their peers from traditional initiation rites – instead received a traumatising lesson in adult recklessness. Parents in Kwanokuthula are left explaining to their children why someone entrusted with public leadership would create such danger.
As the investigation unfolds, pressure intensifies on the South African Police Service to demonstrate that a badge and title offer no immunity when lives are endangered. The viral video ensures this case cannot quietly disappear into bureaucratic delays. South Africans are watching, waiting to see if justice will be as swift for a deputy mayor as it was for Malema—or whether, once again, political power proves thicker than the law.
In a statement released after days of mounting criticism, Kolwapi mounted a defence that has only intensified public outrage. She denied wielding a firearm, claiming instead that she was firing a toy gun into the air. She characterised the backlash as a politically motivated attack, saying it was “unfortunate that the moment had been used by the ANC and bogus so-called local community leaders to score political points.”
The claim has been met with widespread incredulity. Forensic video analysis of the footage clearly shows what appears to be spent cartridge casings ejecting from the weapon after each discharge—a physical impossibility with toy guns, which typically use caps or produce only sound effects. The distinctive muzzle flash, recoil, and the instinctive reactions of children covering their ears all point to live ammunition being fired.
“She’s insulting our intelligence,” said one Kwanokuthula resident who witnessed the incident. “We saw the shells flying. We heard real gunshots, not cap gun pops. Does she think we’re fools?”
Legal experts say the toy gun defence is unlikely to withstand scrutiny. “If cartridges are visible in the video evidence, that’s ballistic evidence of live fire,” explained a Cape Town-based firearms attorney who declined to be named. “Claiming it was a toy gun in the face of such evidence could actually worsen her legal position by suggesting an attempt to mislead investigators.”
The political fallout from Kolwapi’s statement has been swift. Her attempt to blame the ANC and “bogus” community leaders has backfired spectacularly, with social media users pointing out that it was ordinary residents—not politicians—who filmed and shared the footage. The suggestion that legitimate safety concerns represent mere “political point-scoring” has particularly angered parents whose children were present.
“My child’s trauma is not a political game,” wrote one parent on social media. “Those were real bullets that could have killed someone. Her lies are almost worse than the shooting itself.”
Kolwapi’s political future now hangs in the balance. Her legal jeopardy appears clear despite her denials. But the broader question resonates beyond one person: In a democracy still finding its footing three decades into freedom, will those who govern finally be governed by the same laws they swore to uphold—and will they be held accountable not just for their actions, but for their attempts to deceive the public about those actions?
