Sadly, the will to live – and live well – isn't always ours to choose

Daily Maverick

06-05-2025

Life expectancy in any given country says a lot about how its society values, supports and nurtures its people.
Before you were born, you were dead – no one we can imagine wasn't void of feeling, of thought, of senses, existing only in a state of nothingness, inside a silent void.
After death, we're all headed to that same insensate, unconscious destination of non-being, properly referred to as inexistence. I think this is reason enough to make the most of the short time – a little more than half a century for most of us – that we get to spend on this planet as cognisant, conscious beings.
But certain groups of our species, guided by religious belief and hoped-for after-life destinations, may hold back and decide to live guardedly, as they await a paradise they're taught is just beyond the grave. Whether this gives them comfort or not, it is their absolute right.
But for those who acknowledge that this might be a one-off stab at living, there's an urgency to live the half-century we've got fully: to love, dance, fall, then get up; for this is, much more than just living, a unique experience. As Samuel Beckett advised us: 'Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' We get one shot at being alive.
But time doesn't always let us choose how or how long we live. Circumstance, chance, suffering often get in the way. The body or the mind sometimes fails us. Disease intrudes. Yet even within those constraints we must strive to remain sentient – noticing sunlight through tree leaves, reacting to laughter or the wild beating of a lover's heart. As one streetwise aphorism puts it: 'Life's a bitch, and then you die.' Its origin is hazy, but the line found a place in Nas's 1994 classic, Illmatic.
Looking at life expectancy worldwide tells us a lot about how we live and sustain ourselves in different countries. According to Wikipedia's longevity chart by country, Hong Kong tops the list at 86 years. Japan follows at 85. France ranks 12th at 83, while the US lags, at number 55, with just 79 years. South Africa is at 66 years and Lesotho trails near the bottom at 57 years.
Healthcare is a key driver of these numbers: the poorer the system, the shorter the lives. But that's not the only factor: diet, physical activity, education, environment, po­litical stability and social support all play vital roles.
Which raises the question why the US – often called the richest country in the world – is far behind other high-income nations in life expectancy. Even with gun violence set aside, there are serious systemic flaws in the US, which spends more per capita on healthcare than any other country, yet its system is among the least efficient. It's largely privatised, expensive and befuddling. Millions are uninsured or underinsured, forced to delay or forgo essential care. Preventive medicine is often overshadowed by costly, treatment-heavy approaches.
Chronic health issues such as obesity, diabetes and heart disease are rampant, driven by ultra-processed foods and sedentary lifestyles. The US also falls behind in social protections: minimal maternity leave, costly childcare, inadequate housing and limited education support. In these fields, Europe is quite ahead, offering stronger foundations for long-term health.
These disparities point to a broader need for systemic change. Addressing public health crises requires not only better access to nutritious food and more active living, but also comprehensive social policies that support families to reduce stress and promote equity. The US model, with its emphasis on individual responsibility, could benefit from integrating some of the social safety nets found in European systems. Ultimately, a healthier population begins with policies that prioritise wellbeing in all stages of life.
In the end, life expectancy is more than just a number – it reflects how a society values and supports its people, especially its most vulnerable. We do not get forever – no one does. For many, there isn't even fair, let alone far. Yet there's enough money to go around, if only it wasn't being hogged by the top 1% (in most countries). Low-income countries like Lesotho can't even boast a functioning health system.
Sickness prevails and often inspires the poet: ' When I wake, this is what I tell myself: / I belong to this, to all the ghosts present / in the DNA. Diabetes, / an ancient Greek consort, sweeps through the halls // of my body.' (From the poem Type 2 by Sjohnna McCray.)
We are programmed to die. Sorry to burst your bubble. The clock is ticking and there are no exceptions, not in the plant and animal kingdoms. Those who practise community-inspired humanity inherit from their forebears the capacity to be altruistic.
Those who practise humanity that's based on religious dogma often cherry-pick the naturally meaningful bits and discard the mindless smiting and lapidation often mentioned as punishment for adultery, homosexuality, disobedience and so on. They, too, do know right from wrong without needing dogma.
We have come this far as a species in large part because of selflessness and generosity. They're wired into us. One could argue that greed isn't. Greed is a short circuit in the system. The day we realise that no one has to go without medical care, or live under a bridge, or eat from a dumpster, even as others take 10-minute joy-rides into space at billions of rands per jaunt, we will have arrived at maturity as a species. As things stand, there remain many long ways we have yet to come up, babe. DM
Rethabile Masilo is a Mosotho poet from Lesotho who lives in Paris, France.
Life
By Rethabile Masilo
When at peace, feeling like the best of your body, it is impossible to imagine some muscle twitching, wrecked by the increase in years, a shoulder loose every time you run for the bus, God inching nearer with each tremor of the hand, though it will not be till the lungs draw dust in and your voice rasps, as in a hopeless dream, that you will understand how evil all of this is, after a ligament has waned and atrophied. And if ever the flank gives, you pray for release from terror that makes you recall past acts, and you ask your family to find the courage to bring Doctor Death to your bedside. You don't like the urine balloon tied to your waist. You never wanted to die with tubes up your nose. Besides, how cruel it is to let somebody rot, when they used to wear their body so sensual?
24 hours
By Rethabile Masilo
The hand of my mother holds nothing now, except the past, this is what a child must accept. I touch the lumps of her finger-joints and rub balm in, moving from one to the next and feeding the spaces in there. I tell my father I know he's in the room. I tell him to stay with us forever. My mother says she sees her son and grandson as well, holding hands on account of having had to share a grave. Today has been a day of miracles. Mme drank her porridge with the good hand and finished it, then read from her bible a little, her eyes moistening where Jesus asks his father why he has forsaken him so. But it is time for her nap, so, she sleeps, till I get back from town and turn the knob on her TV set, adjust the volume, and leave to go pound some meat to serve with lepu. She watches the evening news. The days are usually the same. The doctor comes sometimes for a quick check-up. 'We are proud of her,' he likes to say, as if we were supposed to harbour some kind of shame.