The Liar, the Thief and the Undecided

Reflections

The Liar, the Thief and the Undecided

By MoAfrika Skotch Ntilane, 8 September 2026

South Africa has taught me that not every dangerous person walks around looking dangerous.

Some arrive smiling.

The liar steals your reality. The thief steals your possessions. But the undecided can steal something far more expensive: your time.

The liar tells you what is convenient, not what is true. He can look you straight in the eye while manufacturing a story with the confidence of a politician opening a pothole ribbon-cutting ceremony. You catch him in the lie, and somehow you become the problem for noticing.

The thief is simpler. At least you know what happened. Something was yours yesterday and mysteriously belongs to him today. A phone. Money. An opportunity. An idea. Sometimes even your reputation.

But the undecided?

That one is complicated.

The undecided says, "Let's see."

"Maybe."

"I'll get back to you."

"Things are complicated."

And because we are often too polite to call uncertainty what it really is, we keep waiting.

Waiting for the call.

Waiting for the commitment.

Waiting for the apology.

Waiting for somebody to finally decide whether they value us, need us, love us, employ us, support us or simply enjoy having us available.

There is a peculiar cruelty in keeping someone on standby.

You are not choosing them, but you are not releasing them either.

You leave the door open just wide enough for their hope to remain alive.

And hope, when mishandled, becomes another form of exploitation.

I have watched people lose years trying to extract clarity from people who had already made their decision. The answer was there. It was simply uncomfortable.

Sometimes "I don't know" means "I know, but I don't want to deal with the consequences."

Sometimes "I'm still thinking" means "I like having you around while I consider better options."

And sometimes silence is not confusion.

It is an answer wearing a respectable suit.

The Bible speaks often about truth, stewardship and the weight of our words. We like the spiritual parts that make us feel blessed, but we are less enthusiastic about the parts that demand character.

Because God does not merely judge what we possess.

He sees what we do with what has been entrusted to us.

Your word.

Someone's trust.

Someone's time.

Someone's heart.

Someone's opportunity.

That is why I have become suspicious of people who constantly need more time to decide but never hesitate to benefit from your availability.

There is nothing wrong with uncertainty. We are human. Life is complicated. Sometimes genuinely not knowing is honest.

But there is a difference between being undecided and being dishonest about your indecision.

One says, "I genuinely don't know."

The other says, "I don't know, but I'll keep you waiting because your patience is useful to me."

That distinction can save you years.

And perhaps this is the hardest lesson of adulthood:

You cannot force character into someone.

You cannot love honesty into a liar.

You cannot reason generosity into a thief.

And you cannot make a decision for someone who has become comfortable living inside indecision.

At some point, you must stop studying their behaviour and start studying your own.

Why are you still waiting?

Why are you still explaining?

Why are you still lending?

Why are you still believing promises that have never survived contact with reality?

Why are you asking someone to confirm your value when their behaviour has already given you the answer?

There comes a holy moment when discernment becomes more loving than endurance.

You walk away.

Not because you hate them.

Because you finally understand that your life is also something God entrusted to you.

Your time is sacred.

Your peace is sacred.

Your purpose is sacred.

And you cannot keep handing sacred things to people who treat them like loose change.

The liar needs an audience.

The thief needs access.

The undecided needs your patience.

So perhaps the wisest thing you can do is stop providing all three.

Tell the truth.

Lock the door.

And keep moving.

Because some people are not lessons you are meant to keep repeating.

Some are simply lessons you were meant to learn once.