Legacy in Practice: A Graduation, A Family, A Full-Circle Moment

One of the most moving moments in my professional life didn’t happen in a clinic or a surgical theatre—it happened at a graduation ceremony.

Dr Nokukhanya Khanyile-Lenake and Dr Mpopi Lenake

A few weeks ago, I had the honour of capping my sister-in-law, Nokukhanya, a.k.a. number4, as she graduated from the Colleges of Medicine of South Africa. She became the fourth sibling when she married my brother. It was a deeply personal experience —one that brought together family, legacy, and the quiet pride that comes with walking a path you’ve seen lived out before you.

I was capped by my father when I graduated. This time, it was my turn to pass the baton.

Dr Lenake \ Dr Nokukhanya Khanyile-Lenake \ Dr Mpopi Lenake

Generations of Medicine

Ours is a medical family. My father, now past retirement age, still works diligently. Growing up, his GP practice was right next to our home. We saw him in action daily—not just as a doctor, but as someone who gave his time and energy to others with care and humility. He never pressured us to follow in his footsteps. In fact, my siblings chose different paths entirely. But the rhythm of service was always there. And when the time came to apply for university, medicine was a natural choice. I didn’t expect to cap anyone. I don’t have children, so I’d never pictured myself in that role. But when Khanya passed her paediatric exams and considered asking my dad, I gently asked if I could do it instead. He’d had his moment, and I knew how meaningful it would be—for both of us. She agreed. And there we were—two women, part of a growing line of healthcare professionals in one family, standing on stage, holding more than just a hood.

Dr Mpopi Lenake being capped by her father

Quiet Rewards

What struck me most about the day wasn’t the ceremony itself, but the emotion that came with it. We’re trained, as clinicians, to keep calm under pressure—to assess, to treat, to move forward. But in that moment, the personal and the professional met.

I didn’t cry. Khanya did

But I felt it—the weight of legacy, and the unexpected beauty of continuity.

Being part of a medical family comes with both privilege and pressure. You grow up watching late nights, patient calls at odd hours, and the deep sense of duty that never really switches off. But you also grow up learning values that anchor you in the work: honesty, humility, integrity, and gratitude. These aren’t just nice-to-haves. They shape how I treat patients, how I run my practice, and how I show up for others.

Passing It On

We don’t often talk about the quiet parts of medicine—the moments behind the scenes, the lessons passed down not through textbooks but through lived example. This experience reminded me just how much those quiet parts matter. Capping Khanya wasn’t just about celebrating her success. It was about recognising all the small, steady acts that got us here—my dad’s decades of dedication, the influence of family, the strength that comes from walking alongside others who understand the calling. I’ve always believed that medicine is more than a profession. It’s a practice—something you return to each day with intention. And now, with Khanya stepping into her own chapter, I’m reminded again that practice doesn’t just mean repetition. It also means legacy.

And legacy, when rooted in love and purpose, becomes something far more powerful than tradition.