Inheritance in limbo: How the Master's Office fails grieving families

Mail & Guardian

26-05-2025

The system turned our mourning into a minefield. Graphic: John McCann/ M&G
When a loved one dies, the grief should be sacred. It should be met with compassion, clarity and support. But, in South Africa, mourning often collides with bureaucracy, and what should be a dignified farewell turns into an administrative nightmare, especially when the Master's Office becomes part of the problem.
In September 2023, my father passed away. The pain of that loss will remain etched in my memory, not just because of his absence, but because of how the system turned our mourning into a minefield.
The tragedy began on my birthday, 4 September, when he suddenly fell ill. By the end of that month, he was gone.
We buried him with dignity — or at least tried to. He was a well-respected man, even in death. But the peace we tried to preserve was quickly shattered by his own family.
Despite my brother being his only biological child, a group of retired siblings, our aunts and uncles, rushed to the Master's Office in Mahikeng, in North West, to open a file. They were told that the estate's value exceeded the R250 000 threshold and that a lawyer would be required. They were also told something else — they couldn't proceed without the biological child.
That's when they came knocking, seeking my younger brother. My mother, ever cautious, sent me to accompany him, a move that would prove critical. We followed the Master's instructions and got a lawyer. My brother was appointed executor through a letter of authority issued under Section 18(3) of the Administration of Estates Act 66 of 1965, which governs estates under a certain threshold where no will exists.
That should have been the end of the matter. It was only the beginning.
The elusive BI-1663: The gatekeeper to the truth
One of the key documents required for claiming policies and processing estate matters is the BI-1663 — the death notice form signed by the funeral parlour and family. Our family couldn't locate it. Why? Because it was being withheld.
We approached my father's younger brother in December 2023, during the festive season, a time when families should gather in peace. Instead, we were kicked out of his home and threatened. We pleaded for the form so we could finalise one of the legitimate policies left behind for my little brother.
Ironically, this uncle had helped with one of the claims. At the time, no mention was made of a will. He even accused us of 'claiming' when, in truth, we were following due process.
The mysterious appearance of a will
Then came the shock.
When we tried to claim another legitimate policy in January 2024, we were told something chilling — a new letter of executorship had been issued. A will had surfaced. We had never seen it. No one had informed us. And no one had signed for its delivery at the Master's Office.
Let that sink in — a completely new executor had been appointed without any notice to the existing one. A will was accepted without transparency and we only discovered it because a private insurer alerted us, not the state.
This wasn't just an administrative error. It was negligence that borders on complicity. No signatures. No notifications. No accountability.
Under the law, the Master's Office is required to act with transparency and procedural fairness. According to the Promotion of Administrative Justice Act and section 33 of the Constitution, every person has the right to administrative action that is lawful, reasonable and procedurally fair.
How does one accept a will without due process? How is it that, months after an executor was formally appointed, a new one can be slipped in through the back door without even a courtesy call to the original applicant?
This failure is not unique to our case.
In 2020, the Office of the Chief Master acknowledged in parliament that hundreds of cases had been compromised by fraud, mismanagement and missing files. Efforts have been made to digitise processes but these have been poor. The public is left in the dark. Families are told different things at different times. Documents go missing. Queries are ignored. And the human cost? Enormous.
This dysfunction has a face — mine. My brother's. And thousands more.
I've since learned that we are not alone. Families across the country are calling radio stations, appearing on TV shows like
Mamazala
and
Rea Tsotella
, or resorting to expensive private investigators all because the Master's Office is a breeding ground for fraud and betrayal.
My family has escalated this. We've engaged signature experts. My family has escalated this. We've engaged handwriting experts and are currently in court disputing the validity of the will. But justice moves slowly — and often too late.
Meanwhile, the people who obstructed these processes are living off policies not meant for them, with no regard for the wishes of the deceased, nor the law.
This article is just the beginning.
It's the first in a series I intend to write, not just about my family, but about the systemic rot that allows this to happen. We need reform. We need digital tracking. We need real-time estate visibility. We need legislation that holds the Master's Office accountable for breaches of trust and protocol.
But most of all, we need to start talking.
Because until we do, the dead will keep being buried twice — once in the ground and again beneath paperwork and lies.
Orateng Lepodise is a writer and communications specialist.