28/09/2025
HOW PILIKWE WAS FOUNDED: A ROYAL SECESSION AND THE ENDURING LEGACY OF UNITY THROUGH STRUGGLE
Seventy-five years ago, the heart of the Bangwato nation was shaken by one of the most dramatic political and cultural crises in the history of modern Botswana. The year was 1949, and in the royal capital of Serowe, the great kgota resounded with voices of anger, sorrow, and defiance as the morafe gathered to deliberate on a question that would split the nation: should Seretse Khama, the young heir apparent and future founding President of Botswana, be allowed to marry Ruth Williams, a white Englishwoman, against the will of his uncle and regent, Kgosi Tshekedi Khama?
The matter was not simply about love; it was about sovereignty, identity, and the survival of Bangwato authority under the watchful eyes of both colonial Britain and the Union of South Africa. At the center of the storm stood two giants of the royal house: Seretse Khama, heir by blood, and Tshekedi Khama, regent by appointment, protector of Bangwato interests during Seretse’s youth. Both men were bound by duty to the morafe, yet they held opposing visions. Tshekedi, fearing political disaster and cultural humiliation under apartheid’s gaze, resisted the marriage, while Seretse, affirming both personal choice and defiance of racial oppression, insisted on his right to wed Ruth.
The feud reached a breaking point in Serowe. The kgota that had long symbolized consensus now echoed division. Lines were drawn not only between uncle and nephew but across families, wards, and bloodlines of the Bangwato. For the first time in living memory, the unity of Serowe splintered. From this fracture emerged an exodus—one of the most consequential internal migrations in modern Batswana history.
Kgosi Tshekedi Khama, together with a core of loyalists, elders, and uncles, chose to depart Serowe. Among those who walked with him were Gorewang Kgamane and his son Rasebolai, Gasebalwe Seretse, Rakoosha Seropola, and Badirwang Sekgoma—the last surviving son of the great Kgosi Sekgoma I. They were joined by forty-five headmen, men of stature and wisdom often referred to as the “cream of Bangwato society.” This was not a departure of the weak or the voiceless; it was a migration led by pillars of tradition, men who carried with them both the memory of Khama III’s leadership and the fire of Tshekedi’s regency.
Their destination was Kweneng, the land of the Bakwena under Kgosi Sechele’s descendants, where refuge could be sought. Yet the journey was more than physical—it was spiritual. The departure carried echoes of the ancient Batswana migrations of centuries past, when clans left homelands to found new settlements under the blessing of ancestors and the guidance of dingaka. Oral accounts recall that prayers were offered, rituals conducted, and ancestral approval sought to sanctify the difficult road ahead. For in leaving Serowe, Tshekedi and his companions were not merely seeking safety; they were laying the foundation of a new chapter for Bangwato identity.
In 1952, after years of displacement, the exiles laid down permanent roots. They founded Pilikwe, a village that would forever stand as a living monument to resistance, resilience, and continuity. Pilikwe was not an accident of geography—it was a deliberate creation, carved out of sacrifice and held together by the authority of men who refused to be silenced. Under Tshekedi’s hand, Pilikwe became a sanctuary for the Bangwato who chose principle over convenience, a reminder that leadership carries with it not only the right to rule but the burden of conscience.
Militarily, the split did not involve pitched battles with spears or guns, yet it carried the weight of civil war in another form: the battle for legitimacy. Tshekedi’s followers were seasoned leaders of regiments, men trained under the discipline of traditional mephato. Their absence from Serowe weakened the cohesion of Bangwato military organization, redistributing strategic strength across regions. This dispersal of regimental leadership reshaped Bangwato political geography, creating Pilikwe as a parallel seat of authority, even if diminished in scale.
The impact of this founding was profound. Pilikwe stood as a symbol of the high cost of the Seretse-Tshekedi feud, but also as a testament to the unbroken dignity of the Bangwato house. It demonstrated that even when divided, the descendants of Khama III retained the ability to adapt, to plant new roots, and to preserve their structures of governance. For the wider Batswana nation, the Pilikwe story became a cautionary tale: that the fractures of leadership, if not carefully healed, can scatter a people; yet from scattering can also arise renewal.
In the decades that followed, Pilikwe maintained its identity as the “child of exile,” deeply tied to the memory of Tshekedi’s stand. Oral traditions there still recount the names of those who walked away from Serowe, and the younger generations trace their heritage back to that fateful kgota debate of 1949. Spiritual memory and ancestral veneration continue to bind the village to the larger Bangwato body, ensuring that the sacrifices of Tshekedi and his companions are not forgotten.
Today, when we speak of Pilikwe, we speak not of a mere settlement but of a royal declaration carved into the land. It is a place where history breathes, where sovereignty was contested not against foreign invaders but within the heart of a great morafe. It is proof that Batswana history is not only about external conquest but also about the inner struggles of leadership, principle, and the destiny of nations.
Thus, Pilikwe remains—seventy-five years after its founding—not only a village but a shrine to the resilience of Bangwato identity, to the dignity of Kgosi Tshekedi Khama, and to the enduring lesson that unity, even when broken, can be reborn in new soil.
