Petrol and diesel prices set to rise for 3rd straight month from 1 January:
The price of petrol and diesel is set to rise for the third consecutive month from Wednesday, driven by a higher cost of crude oil and a weaker rand, according to the department of mineral and petroleum resources.
From 1 January, 93-grade petrol will cost 19 cents more, while the price of 95-grade petrol will rise by 12 cents. The cost of diesel will increase by up to 10.50 cents a litre. The wholesale price of illuminating paraffin, which many poor households still use for cooking and lighting, will however decrease by 9.5 cents a litre.
South Africa’s fuel prices are adjusted every month, based on global prices and the rand exchange rate.
During the period under review, the average Brent crude oil price increased slightly from US$ 72.70 to $ 72.78. This was after the decision by OPEC+ — the coalition of oil-producing countries — not to increase production in December and continued oversupply by non-OPEC producers amid low economic growth globally.
“The average international product prices of petrol followed the increasing trend of crude oil while the prices of middle distillates decreased slightly because of higher inventories for the winter season in the northern hemisphere,” the mineral and petroleum resources department said in a statement.
“These factors led to higher contributions to the basic fuel prices of petrol and diesel … and lower contributions to illuminating paraffin.”
The rand depreciated on average against the US dollar, leading to higher contributions to the basic fuel prices of petrol, diesel and paraffin, the department added.
Lower fuel prices were a factor behind a sharp easing in inflation during 2024, paving the way for the South African Reserve Bank to cut interests on two occasions, by a cumulative 50 basis points.
Forecasting Africa’s 2025: Sound of change echoes Fela’s rebellion and Masekela’s vision:
As Africa closes the chapter on 2024, the year emerges as one of both resistance and collaboration.
It has been a year that could be described as the offspring of two powerful cultural anthems: Fela Kuti’s Kalakuta Show and Hugh Masekela’s Marketplace. A year teeming with youth-driven resistance, echoing the indomitable spirit of the Kalakuta Republic. A movement against state repression that has taken root in nations such as Kenya, Nigeria, Ghana, Zimbabwe, Senegal and, more recently, Mozambique — the second Arab Spring, perhaps.
Synchroniously, the year has been one where conflicts in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, South Sudan, Somalia, Ethiopia and the Sahel region have persisted, and in some cases, escalated. These crises cast a long shadow over the continent.
It has also been a year of collaboration and new horizons — much like the vibrant exchanges of Marketplace, where possibilities are limitless and partnerships flourish. The launch of the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) saw the economies of Nigeria and South Africa commencing trade, spearheading the charge toward intra-African trade. Transcending borders and potentially reshaping the continent’s economic architecture.
Meanwhile, Africa’s relationship with China flourished further, evidenced by the $ 50 billion pledge made by President Xi Jinping at the Forum on China-Africa Cooperation, reinforcing the notion that Africa remains “an all-weather friend” to China.
The year also witnessed a reshaping of alliances, with Brics expanding to welcome Egypt and Ethiopia, rendering three of Africa’s top four largest economies as part of the bloc. This move, marking a pivotal moment in Africa’s geopolitical presence, speaks to the continent’s growing weight in global matters.
These events are not exhaustive but a glimpse. They offer threads of reflection as we stand at the year’s edge. Yet, it is the horizon of 2025 that calls us forward.
The AU Commission elections are set for early February 2025. These elections will determine the top eight senior leadership positions in the commission, which serves as the AU’s secretariat, responsible for executing decisions, coordinating among member states and driving the continent’s key programmes.
The candidates for the post of chairperson include Kenya’s Raila Odinga, Somalia’s Fawzia Yusuf Haji Adam and Djibouti’s Mahamoud Ali Youssouf. This cohort is uninspiring. Not only are all the candidates male, but they also share a median age of 68, with Odinga, the favourite, turning 80 just before the election. In the youngest continent in the world, where about 75% of the population is under the age of 35, the incongruity of such choices is staggering.
How can the African Union continue to position itself as a progressive, forward-thinking body when its leadership is overwhelmingly dominated by the “old guard”? The rhetoric of “youth is Africa’s future” rings hollow when the AU’s highest offices remain occupied by figures whose relevance to the youth movement is increasingly questionable.
With 2025 on the horizon, a year with the potential to solidify Africa’s geopolitical gains and advance its developmental aspirations, the stakes could not be higher.
Consider South Africa’s assumption of the G20 presidency in December 2024 — a momentous responsibility that casts a spotlight on the continent. A position that will see South Africa host pivotal events, including the Financial Track in Cape Town and the summit in Johannesburg. These are not merely ceremonial gatherings; they are opportunities to fortify South Africa’s and the continents standing in global economic diplomacy, attract foreign direct investment and forge innovative collaborations.
Africa’s role in these dialogues extends beyond South Africa. The AU, as a G20 member, is involved. This moment demands a leadership capable of visionary coordination between the AU and its host. It requires a concerted effort to ensure that Africa’s collective voice — a voice representing its youth, the majority stakeholders in its future — resonates in these discussions.
Can we say with confidence that Africa is poised to seize this opportunity? The structures of leadership seem tethered to old paradigms, lacking the dynamism and foresight needed to convert potential into progress. Neither the AU Commission chairpersonship nor the G20 presidency are merely diplomatic accolades; they are a call for bold, strategic action. But where is the imagination to leverage this moment in service of the continent’s broader agenda?
This troubling situation seems destined to persist, especially as another potentially transformative gathering arises in Angola in 2025. The circumstances could scarcely be more precarious, set against a backdrop of economic retreat from the United States, as signalled by the Trump administration’s shifting stance on Africa, and the spectre of a trade war between the US and China. China, in contrast, continues to assert its influence, deepening diplomatic and economic ties across the continent. This complex and volatile landscape demands a level of leadership capable of navigating both the geopolitical shifts and Africa’s pressing developmental needs.
The AU’s leadership structure, as it stands, is neither fit for purpose nor in tune with the rapidly changing global dynamics. The laws governing candidacy in the AU must be re-examined, not simply for their procedural fairness but for their capacity to foster leadership that is both reflective of contemporary Africa, capable of navigating the realities of a multipolar world and agile in addressing its diverse problems.
As 2025 approaches, Africa’s future will be shaped by the leadership decisions of today. While the continent faces mounting problems, there is a glimmer of hope in the rise of youthful leaders — such as President Bassirou Diomaye Faye of Senegal and Botswana’s election of Duma Boko.
These shifts in leadership echo the spirit of Fela and Masekela — voices calling for change and revolution. The wind of change is gaining strength. In the hands of the youth, Africa may successfully navigate the complexities of 2025 and beyond with vision and resolve.
Dumoluhle Mazwemzini G Moyo is a columnist, creative, author, emerging scholar and researcher with a focus on African law(s), youth advocacy in policy and decision-making and African integration and regionalism.
Where faith becomes art and art becomes faith again:
Looking back at what you created this year is a valuable exercise.
For me, 2024 brought a whole new way of understanding the meaning and symbolism behind innotivity (innovation, creativity and adaptability). We replaced the trite pyramid of our previous model with a flowing bonsai acacia, for one thing.
But my biggest creative advancement was surely my experience on the island of Bali. I travelled there in September to participate in the Global Speakers’ Federation Summit. It was the biggest talk I have given, to a room of 200 of the world’s best professional speakers. It was also my first trip to Asia.
What really knocked my socks off was the spiritual experience. Yes, Bali has one of the world’s densest populations of yoga retreats, but I am not talking about that. I am referring to Balinese Hinduism, which I propose is the world’s most creative religion.
What do I mean by “creative religion”? As with anything I would describe as creative, I mean it is unique, valuable and synthesises an existing variety of approaches into one set of practices.
Bali is perhaps the most famous of the more than 17?000 islands in the Indonesian archipelago. It is a magnet for international tourists. The island has a population approaching five million people, and an annual visitor average of 16 million, meaning there are three times more tourists each year than people who live there.
Only Venice, Macao and Iceland have greater ratios of tourists to residents, but their populations are comparatively tiny, with all three combined adding up to less than a fifth of Bali’s.
Indonesia is the largest Muslim country in the world, making Bali a radical anomaly, the only non-Islamic island in the archipelago. Almost everyone on Bali is Hindu, but of a peculiarly Balinese type.
My introduction to Bali came at one of its most touristed temples, Pura Luhur on the Uluwatu cliffs, offering a stunning view of the Indian Ocean. My tour guide Mangcku (“monk”), a documentary filmmaker, took me there during my first afternoon on the island to watch the Kecak Fire Dance.
The fire dance harks back to Bali’s Indian roots, narrating an ancient epic called the Ramayana. The hypnotic, entrancing chants of a shirtless chorus of 30 men drive the action with their endless “takatakatakatakataka” as masked lead actors detail the story of Prince Rama, his wife Sita and his monkey general Hanuman.
It’s a stunning performance that begins in broad daylight and ends in darkness. I’m talking about natural end-of-day reality, not metaphor.
The temple at Uluwatu is one of more than a thousand public temples spread across the island.
Mangcku took me to more than I could count on my fingers, teaching me that Bali’s religion is as different from mainstream Hinduism as mainstream Hinduism is from Islam or Christianity.
A bit of history — Indian traders brought Hinduism to Bali in about 100 CE. But it wasn’t until a thousand years later that the religion took hold. Instead of banishing the animistic traditions that came before it, Hinduism absorbed them.
Or maybe they absorbed it. Either way, the Balinese focus on harmony with nature did not diminish.
The ancestral spirits that inhabit their mountains, rivers, trees and animals became manifestations of Hindu deities.
For instance, while Hindus elsewhere venerate the god Ganesh, Balinese Hindus pray to a localised version called Ganapati, who looks less human and more fully elephant.
This localisation is fundamental to Bali’s Hinduism. Religion in Bali is personal. There are almost 25?000 private family temples in people’s yards — one for every 200 residents. I marvelled as we drove by one after the next.
Each is a unique work of art, its layout and carvings of animals and demons distinct.
This deeply individual connection to the religion manifests in how holidays are commemorated. The day before I left the island was Galungan, the second-most important day of the year, when the Balinese celebrate the triumph of order (dharma) over chaos (adharma).
And yet the only indication of the special day was the tall bamboo poles placed along the roadside with food for the ancestors, and the special lace dresses the women wore. Otherwise, it was business as usual.
The only Balinese holiday that is obvious is Nyepi, the Day of Silence, when the entire island shuts down and nobody dares leave their house for fear of the evil spirits that run rampant. Although this does provide a space for internalised reflection, it is the antithesis of creativity.
The days leading up to Nyepi provide the opposite experience, as the island bursts with creative energy. In Ogoh-Ogoh parades, people pump enormous effigies of demons through the streets and then burn them to symbolise the destruction of evil.
Even the underlying symbolism of Balinese Hinduism is a bit different. Most of Asian religion and philosophy focuses on duality, such as yin-yang, or in Hindu, purusha (spirit) and prakriti (material).
Mangcku taught me that Balinese spirituality is based on a structure of three: equal balance among our relationship with the divine, with nature and with other humans.
There is an element of this in traditional Hinduism, in the trinity of Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer. But the Balinese version is about the individual’s relationship to the trinity.
The highlight of my trip was when Mangcku brought me to Tirta Empul, a temple featuring a series of seven holy purification pools.
The stations, in order, purify the body, mind, karma and soul, enhance spiritual connection, bring balance and health and, finally, synthesise the ritual, offering peace and renewal. At each station, Mangcku offered the spirits incense and a tray of flowers, rice and spices that he had carefully prepared the night before.
I embraced the moment as if the belief system were my own. As a Jew raised in a partly Christian household whose beliefs look more Mahayana Buddhist, it is second nature for me to try out others’ practices.
And the Balinese are open to their traditions being shared with outsiders without damage to its sacred essence.
But this freedom is not total. My last stop was Tanah Lot, one of Bali’s most iconic landmarks. Like Uluwatu, Tanah Lot sits at the fringe of the shore, but at sea level. It seems to float on the surf. I came on Galungan to witness how the Balinese commemorated this day formally.
For the first time, I was not allowed to do so. The main temple was for locals. We tourists — more than a thousand of us, scrabbling along the rocks like frantic ants — had to watch from outside the gates.
Maybe Mangcku could have got me in, but he was not with me. It was heartening, though, to finally see Balinese Hinduism treated with a touch of the mysticism it deserves.
Balinese Hinduism is not a static set of doctrines. It is a faith that thrives on adaptation and reinterpretation, a vibrant, living practice that transforms the most mundane activities into acts of worship and reshapes every aspect of life.
Most of all, it is a reminder that spirituality at its best is not just about adherence to tradition but about creating anew — a canvas where faith becomes art and art becomes faith again.
And that is why Bali was the best creative milestone of my year, taking me back to a tradition I had never experienced. What about you?
Michael Brian Lee is an advisory board member of World Creativity and Innovation Week/Day and a Radio 702 creativity contributor.
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