Key Points
- Tsongaking is one of the most influential community-run accounts on X.
- It was founded by Mbazima Thomason in response to his mother's personal loss.
- The platform has helped reunite families, recover stolen vehicles, and raise national awareness.
Today, Tsongaking stands as a beacon on X (formerly Twitter), a widely followed account trusted by thousands for its rapid updates on missing persons, stolen vehicle alerts, and urgent community calls. Its impact is undeniable, but its roots lie in personal grief.
In the rural heartlands of Limpopo, a mother raised her family while carrying the ache of never having known her own father. He had disappeared when she was a toddler, leaving behind a silence that echoed through her life and into that of her son, Mbazima Thomason. That absence, unresolved and unspoken, planted something in him: not just a longing, but a mission.
“I grew up watching my mother live with that mystery,” he recalls. “It wasn’t just her pain; it became mine too. And that’s where Tsongaking truly began.”
Though it started as a space to market his graphic design, sound engineering, and social media services, Tsongaking quickly became something else, something deeper. Families began to reach out. One post turned into many. Thomason didn’t just share; he amplified. And people listened.
With visibility comes responsibility and risk. Tsongaking walks a careful line between urgency and verification. Thomason explains his approach with honest clarity: “Most posts come from families directly, or I find them through reputable Facebook pages and official sources like police websites. While I don’t verify every post unless it feels suspicious, my main goal is to amplify, make sure the story reaches as many eyes as possible.”
He continued, “It’s a high-wire act. Tsongaking isn’t a newsroom, nor does it operate under the rigid structures of traditional institutions. It’s a digital streetlamp, meant to illuminate the lost and alert the living. In a system where police protocols can delay public alerts, and media coverage often overlooks the underrepresented, speed becomes essential.”
Crafted by community, driven by purpose
Thomason’s grounding in community media goes back to 2008, when he joined Eldos FM. He later experimented with digital broadcasting, building his own online radio via YouTube. Combined with his training in sound engineering and years supporting small businesses, he built a unique voice, one that blends urgency with empathy, and instinct with discipline. That voice would soon carry the weight of others’ stories.
“There are nights I carry these cases into my sleep,” he admits. “Especially when children go missing. I’ve had moments of burnout, moments I know I should’ve waited to verify. But my heart takes over. There’s no manual for this kind of work.”
Running the platform comes with tangible costs, both emotional and financial. There are no donors, no team, no structured backing. He buys the data, makes the calls, and handles legal consultations himself. Public scrutiny is relentless. He’s been accused of exploiting tragedy, of violating protocols. He’s received legal threats for posting sensitive information. But he remains committed to immediacy and visibility.
“I don’t wait 48 hours like official agencies,” he says. “Because sometimes, a few hours are all you have before a person disappears forever. And when they’re found, I don’t delete the pictures. I just update it; this gives hope for people when they visit to see who was missing and has been found.”
Stories that haunt, stories that heal
Some cases cling to him. One stands out, the disappearance of a child in Vosloorus. The child had been missing since 2011. “I worked closely with a family contact. We were on the phone almost hourly for two straight days. I mobilised contacts, aligned the right people; it became personal,” he recalls. “That story is with me always. It reminded me that hope needs urgency.”
Others include swift turnarounds, like a case involving a stolen vehicle. Acting quickly, Thomason alerted the right networks, issued a public callout, and within hours, the car was recovered.
He doesn’t claim to have prevented crime, but he knows that Tsongaking’s presence has made criminals nervous and communities vigilant.
The power and burden of visibility
With visibility comes risk. Some posts go viral and land him in hot water. One such case involved a missing police officer in hiding. The fallout was immediate; backlash, threats, and pressure to remove the post.
Another time, he posted an unblurred image of a deceased child. The criticism was swift and, in retrospect, deserved. “I did it because I wanted the child to be seen. To be remembered. But I understand now; it was painful for many to witness. I take lessons like that seriously.”
Law enforcement agencies often contact him, asking him to remove or delay posts. While he consults them, when necessary, he draws a line. “My methods don’t always match theirs. I’m not here to tick bureaucratic boxes. I’m here to get eyes on a story, fast.” And the eyes are watching.
A future rooted in principle
The platform’s reach has ballooned. It is now one of the most recognisable and widely engaged accounts on X for community alerts in South Africa. But the vision doesn’t stop at social media.
“I’m seriously considering formalising it; a nonprofit for vulnerable groups, a dedicated app, maybe a hotline,” he says. “Something structured but still powered by heart.”
Not everyone celebrates his growth. Some have tried to buy the Tsongaking account. Others have questioned his motives. But his response is unwavering: “This platform is not for sale. People have offered money. I’ve declined every time. Because this work is not about me; it’s about families looking for closure. It’s about dignity. It’s about the voices that big media ignores.”
He adds, “Many of the stories you see making headlines; some of them started on my page. A recent case involving a South African woman who died in the USA? I helped bring attention to it. Her family reached out, and suddenly Newsroom Afrika, the government, and others got involved.”
That’s what Tsongaking does. It shifts the spotlight to those the world would otherwise overlook.
To the one who’s missing, and the ones who won’t stop looking
To others thinking of building similar platforms, Thomason offers this: “Do it from the heart. Don’t expect thanks or support. You’ll be alone sometimes. You’ll carry pain you didn’t ask for. But you’ll also bring people back together, and that makes everything worth it.”
To his followers, he says: “Thank you. Every comment, every share matters. Don’t scroll past. That missing person might be someone’s child. Someone’s parent. You could be the reason they make it home.”
And when asked if there’s anything else he’d like people to know, he becomes still for a moment, then says: “Yes, this platform may have started with me, but it belongs to all of us. It is a community tool, built on trust. We need to protect it. People have tried to buy it. I’ve refused. Because I believe some things are bigger than money. Tsongaking is about love. Loss. And the possibility of return.”
Then he adds, more quietly: “In a way, I think I’m still looking for my grandfather. Still trying to give my mother the answer she never got. Maybe I always will.”
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