Abraham Carel Marthinus Spies
Obituary
Abraham Carel Marthinus Spies, beloved husband, father, and grandfather passed away peacefully on October 25, 2025, surrounded by his family after a rich and remarkable life of seventy-three years.
Born and raised in Pretoria to Francois Jacobus du Toit Spies and Herma Joubert Spies, Abraham is survived by his devoted wife of nearly fifty years, Yvette Spies (née Marais); his children Jozanne, Suneé, and Francois; and six beloved grandchildren — Theo, Yvette, Stefan, Henri, Abraham, and Louis. He leaves behind a legacy of love, laughter, and leadership that will live on in all who knew him.
Abraham attended Afrikaans Hoër Seunskool, where he excelled in several sports and discovered his lifelong passion for water polo. He earned a degree in metallurgical engineering from the University of Pretoria, continuing to play water polo throughout his studies. After graduating, he represented Northern Transvaal, Western Province, and ultimately South Africa in 1980 — an honor he carried with pride. Even decades later, he remained deeply involved in the sport, playing for the Coelacanths Masters team, as well as clubs in Melbourne, Australia, and later in Cape Town. Across continents, he was remembered in the water-polo community as a gifted player, coach, and mentor to younger athletes.
Abraham’s professional life reflected the same energy and curiosity that defined him personally. He obtained an MBA from Stellenbosch University, and then after working in engineering and management roles at Eskom and Kennedy & Donkin, he founded Engineering Informatics (later NokusaEI), and built an innovative engineering technology company that did business around the world. After years of success in South Africa, he expanded the business to Australia, where he lived for several years, and after successful exits for both businesses, returned to Cape Town.
To those who knew him, Abraham was not only an entrepreneur and athlete, but also a man of great intellect and compassion. Endlessly curious, he was an avid reader, thoughtful debater, and lifelong learner who delighted in long dinners filled with ideas, spirited conversation, and laughter. In his later years, he discovered new passions — traversing off-road mountain passes in his 4x4 , wildlife photography at Gondwana, gourmet cooking, and coffee making. His creativity and enthusiasm infused every part of his life.
A memorial celebration will be held 10:30am on Friday 31st October, 2025, at Protea Valley Church, 47 Van Riebeeckshof Road, Bellville. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests memorial donations to South African Water Polo (donation link to follow).
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November 4, 2025
LIGHTING THE CANDLES
Abie loved research — a good deep dive into any topic.
Given his background and his historian father, he was fascinated by all thing’s tech, science, genetics, and genealogy.
We believe that some of his best traits live on in his children and grandchildren:
his wit,
his kindness,
his curiosity.
He was proud of his heritage and optimistic about our future.
So, as we light the candles today, each flame represents something of him that continues in us —
his humour,
his strength,
his love of adventure,
and his belief that life is worth exploring.
May these lights remind us of where we come from.
May that knowledge give us reason to be proud,
to live curiously,
and to love deeply.
Because in the end, the measure of a life isn’t how long it was, but how brightly it burned.
Oupa Abie’s light — will continue to glow in all of us.
Abie loved research — a good deep dive into any topic.
Given his background and his historian father, he was fascinated by all thing’s tech, science, genetics, and genealogy.
We believe that some of his best traits live on in his children and grandchildren:
his wit,
his kindness,
his curiosity.
He was proud of his heritage and optimistic about our future.
So, as we light the candles today, each flame represents something of him that continues in us —
his humour,
his strength,
his love of adventure,
and his belief that life is worth exploring.
May these lights remind us of where we come from.
May that knowledge give us reason to be proud,
to live curiously,
and to love deeply.
Because in the end, the measure of a life isn’t how long it was, but how brightly it burned.
Oupa Abie’s light — will continue to glow in all of us.
November 4, 2025
Memorial Service Speech for Pa - Part 1
For those who don’t know me, my name is Francois, I’m Abie and Yvette’s youngest child.
Over the years I saw my father give many speeches, he was that kind of person, and I never once saw him use notes to help him remember his words. Even though he never said it, I knew him well enough that it was a source of pride for him to be able to do that. Throughout my life I have tried to emulate that skill and habit of his, among many other things I tried to emulate, but I think even he would be OK with me today reading from notes, since otherwise I don’t think I could get through it.
When my sisters and I were young, around 10 years old, my dad started taking the four of us out together for long swims in the ocean beyond the waves. He loved few things in life as much as being adrift in a large body of water, letting the currents and swells control where we ended up, to catch wave after wave. Together we would bodysurf 20 or 30 waves each.
My poor mother would wait on the shore, I realize now probably anxiously, for us to appear 1 km or 2 kms down along the coast after a few hours. One day, I had the common sense to ask my dad whether we should be scared of the sharks that were surely out there with us. And he told me “My son, if you are more scared of the sharks in the water than driving to the beach, then you don’t understand statistics”.
Which is sort of a strange thing to tell a 10 year old, but that was what my dad was like. I am sure that any of you here who knew Abie, has a similar story of a time where he said something that surprised you or caught you off guard, that made it clear he saw the world differently - with humor, logic and curiosity.
Over the last few days and weeks, many people have come up to me and told me some version of the phrase that: if they could choose to live a life, they would feel incredibly proud and happy to have lived Abie’s life. What I take from this is they recognize someone who achieved a great deal, built a loving family, yet did so with deep humility — connecting sincerely with people from all walks of life, and leaving each of them feeling seen.
I think you all are well aware of his tremendous accomplishments across the varied fields of business, entrepreneurship, sports, marriage, fatherhood and education, or of his passion for seeing and understanding the world. Not just the physical world by traveling across the world’s continents and discovering their food and culture, but also the invisible world of science, economics and politics, and history. So while I pay tribute to that part of Abie, who you all know and love, I wanted today to celebrate another more personal part of him, the father he was to me.
It’s an impossible task to put into words the emotions and experiences of being his son for 43 years, but I’ll try and scratch the surface through a story that fittingly includes both water and water polo. When I was about 6 or 7, my dad was playing a water polo game in Port Elizabeth. I don’t know why I was hanging around alone along the pool while he was playing a game, I guess that’s what it was like in the 1980s, but I had been bugging him as they were getting ready for the match by telling him I was bored. He swam over to the edge of the pool, pointed to the top of the 10 meter diving platform, and told me to go jump off it. And then he returned to the game.
I dutifully walked over to the platform, climbed the stairs, first past the 3m platform exit, then then the 5m and then the 7m, and emerged alone at the top. I peered down from what felt like a completely impractical height for any human activity, and for a moment I wondered if my dad had made a mistake.
But he had told me to do it, which meant that I should be able to, that I would be safe, even if I was scared or unsure of myself he believed in me and my abilities. And so I prepared to jump.
Meanwhile, down at the polo pool, someone had noticed — with great alarm — that a small child in nothing but a Speedo was preparing to leap from the ten-metre platform. There was some yelling and arm-waving, but I only noticed it as I left the platform, accelerating toward the water, before I closed my eyes and prepared to die — realizing, mid-air, that I might have made a grave error after all.
When I emerged from the diving pool, dazed but trying to keep my calm, I walked back over to the polo pool. My dad swam to the end and looked at me and admitted “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d do it”, then went back to playing. Later that day, when I sat listening to the men talk over some beers, he recounted the story and I could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke of me and what I’d done, and in future years when the story would come back up I would hear the pride in his voice again.
I tell that story because that’s what it was like to have him as a dad. He always believed we could make our own choices, that we were more capable than we thought. We also knew that if we failed, it wouldn’t matter to him, he would be there to support us. He pushed us through examples and encouraged us with smiles, a sense of humor, and pride.
To have my dad as a father was to feel like being in a warm bath — safe within his wide wingspan and wisdom, never at risk of denting the embrace of his unconditional love. Life was full of dinner-table debates about the complexities of the world — him talking to you as if you were an adult even when you were a child; teaching you about life; often winning an argument and then immediately switching sides just to see how it felt — and always quick to admit when he was wrong. I don’t know if it feels like that for all children to have a father like that, but I suspect not.
I’ve become the beneficiary of the great person he was in so many ways that don’t seem apparent at first. He made my mom very happy, always looked out for her, and that created a very happy home. His influence over his daughters meant that they chose amazing men to be their husbands and I now have the benefit of having them as brothers. His influence on me I think likely helped convince an incredible woman who is now my wife would fall in love with me. And I see his influence in how I try to raise my two lovely boys. If parenting ever feels overwhelming or unmanageable, I think of how my dad looked at us with peace and patience in all circumstances and I try to project that sense of calm to my own children.
For those who don’t know me, my name is Francois, I’m Abie and Yvette’s youngest child.
Over the years I saw my father give many speeches, he was that kind of person, and I never once saw him use notes to help him remember his words. Even though he never said it, I knew him well enough that it was a source of pride for him to be able to do that. Throughout my life I have tried to emulate that skill and habit of his, among many other things I tried to emulate, but I think even he would be OK with me today reading from notes, since otherwise I don’t think I could get through it.
When my sisters and I were young, around 10 years old, my dad started taking the four of us out together for long swims in the ocean beyond the waves. He loved few things in life as much as being adrift in a large body of water, letting the currents and swells control where we ended up, to catch wave after wave. Together we would bodysurf 20 or 30 waves each.
My poor mother would wait on the shore, I realize now probably anxiously, for us to appear 1 km or 2 kms down along the coast after a few hours. One day, I had the common sense to ask my dad whether we should be scared of the sharks that were surely out there with us. And he told me “My son, if you are more scared of the sharks in the water than driving to the beach, then you don’t understand statistics”.
Which is sort of a strange thing to tell a 10 year old, but that was what my dad was like. I am sure that any of you here who knew Abie, has a similar story of a time where he said something that surprised you or caught you off guard, that made it clear he saw the world differently - with humor, logic and curiosity.
Over the last few days and weeks, many people have come up to me and told me some version of the phrase that: if they could choose to live a life, they would feel incredibly proud and happy to have lived Abie’s life. What I take from this is they recognize someone who achieved a great deal, built a loving family, yet did so with deep humility — connecting sincerely with people from all walks of life, and leaving each of them feeling seen.
I think you all are well aware of his tremendous accomplishments across the varied fields of business, entrepreneurship, sports, marriage, fatherhood and education, or of his passion for seeing and understanding the world. Not just the physical world by traveling across the world’s continents and discovering their food and culture, but also the invisible world of science, economics and politics, and history. So while I pay tribute to that part of Abie, who you all know and love, I wanted today to celebrate another more personal part of him, the father he was to me.
It’s an impossible task to put into words the emotions and experiences of being his son for 43 years, but I’ll try and scratch the surface through a story that fittingly includes both water and water polo. When I was about 6 or 7, my dad was playing a water polo game in Port Elizabeth. I don’t know why I was hanging around alone along the pool while he was playing a game, I guess that’s what it was like in the 1980s, but I had been bugging him as they were getting ready for the match by telling him I was bored. He swam over to the edge of the pool, pointed to the top of the 10 meter diving platform, and told me to go jump off it. And then he returned to the game.
I dutifully walked over to the platform, climbed the stairs, first past the 3m platform exit, then then the 5m and then the 7m, and emerged alone at the top. I peered down from what felt like a completely impractical height for any human activity, and for a moment I wondered if my dad had made a mistake.
But he had told me to do it, which meant that I should be able to, that I would be safe, even if I was scared or unsure of myself he believed in me and my abilities. And so I prepared to jump.
Meanwhile, down at the polo pool, someone had noticed — with great alarm — that a small child in nothing but a Speedo was preparing to leap from the ten-metre platform. There was some yelling and arm-waving, but I only noticed it as I left the platform, accelerating toward the water, before I closed my eyes and prepared to die — realizing, mid-air, that I might have made a grave error after all.
When I emerged from the diving pool, dazed but trying to keep my calm, I walked back over to the polo pool. My dad swam to the end and looked at me and admitted “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d do it”, then went back to playing. Later that day, when I sat listening to the men talk over some beers, he recounted the story and I could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke of me and what I’d done, and in future years when the story would come back up I would hear the pride in his voice again.
I tell that story because that’s what it was like to have him as a dad. He always believed we could make our own choices, that we were more capable than we thought. We also knew that if we failed, it wouldn’t matter to him, he would be there to support us. He pushed us through examples and encouraged us with smiles, a sense of humor, and pride.
To have my dad as a father was to feel like being in a warm bath — safe within his wide wingspan and wisdom, never at risk of denting the embrace of his unconditional love. Life was full of dinner-table debates about the complexities of the world — him talking to you as if you were an adult even when you were a child; teaching you about life; often winning an argument and then immediately switching sides just to see how it felt — and always quick to admit when he was wrong. I don’t know if it feels like that for all children to have a father like that, but I suspect not.
I’ve become the beneficiary of the great person he was in so many ways that don’t seem apparent at first. He made my mom very happy, always looked out for her, and that created a very happy home. His influence over his daughters meant that they chose amazing men to be their husbands and I now have the benefit of having them as brothers. His influence on me I think likely helped convince an incredible woman who is now my wife would fall in love with me. And I see his influence in how I try to raise my two lovely boys. If parenting ever feels overwhelming or unmanageable, I think of how my dad looked at us with peace and patience in all circumstances and I try to project that sense of calm to my own children.
November 4, 2025
Memorial Service Speech for Pa -Part 2
To my mother I want to say that even though my dad has taken his last swim out to the deep blue ocean beyond where we can ever see or experience him again, this time, my sisters and I will stay on the shore with you — looking after you now that he’s gone. The way that you cared for him during this last year was a testament to the love between you, and a great example to us all. The way you respected his decision to spend his last days at home was breathtaking in its grace.
During my dad’s last days I was able to sit next to him for hours on end, noticing his lucidity start to fade in and out. In a more lucid moment on the last day before he passed, he asked me to help him put on his earphones so he could listen to the radio. He lay still, peacefully, staring at the ceiling but smiling now and then. After 30 minutes I asked him what he was listening to: he looked at me and said “Oh, it’s a live broadcast of a parliamentary ad hoc committee” on something or other. Even in his final hours, he was still himself — curious about the world, fascinated by the politics of the country he loved. I could do nothing but laugh.
On the final morning, it was a special moment to be able to sit next to my mom and hold my dad’s hand when he breathed out one last time. A pure, powerful feeling immediately lit up inside my body in that moment: a feeling of intense gratitude for having had him as my dad in this life. And so, when I gave him one last hug before they took him away, I said softly: Dankie, Pa. Dankie.
To my mother I want to say that even though my dad has taken his last swim out to the deep blue ocean beyond where we can ever see or experience him again, this time, my sisters and I will stay on the shore with you — looking after you now that he’s gone. The way that you cared for him during this last year was a testament to the love between you, and a great example to us all. The way you respected his decision to spend his last days at home was breathtaking in its grace.
During my dad’s last days I was able to sit next to him for hours on end, noticing his lucidity start to fade in and out. In a more lucid moment on the last day before he passed, he asked me to help him put on his earphones so he could listen to the radio. He lay still, peacefully, staring at the ceiling but smiling now and then. After 30 minutes I asked him what he was listening to: he looked at me and said “Oh, it’s a live broadcast of a parliamentary ad hoc committee” on something or other. Even in his final hours, he was still himself — curious about the world, fascinated by the politics of the country he loved. I could do nothing but laugh.
On the final morning, it was a special moment to be able to sit next to my mom and hold my dad’s hand when he breathed out one last time. A pure, powerful feeling immediately lit up inside my body in that moment: a feeling of intense gratitude for having had him as my dad in this life. And so, when I gave him one last hug before they took him away, I said softly: Dankie, Pa. Dankie.
November 4, 2025
My Herinnering aan Abie Spies
Abie en ek het in 1958 in Juffrou Heidenrich se graad een klas ontmoet by Pretoria Oos Laerskool. Dit meen ons het mekaar 67 jaar geken, maar meer nog……hy was van toe tot sy dood my beste maatjie. Ons het saam Ingenieurswese op Tukkies geswot en selfs, baie “amicable”, dieselfde meisie gedeel sonder om te baklei of kwaad vir mekaar te wees.
Ons trou meisies, Yvette en Annette was ook vriende, en na ons huwelike , het die 4 van ons die lewe as boesem vriende aangevat.
Ons het deur vele omswerwinge altyd kontak gehou en oor en weer gekuier. Selfs moeite gedoen om oorsee by mekaar uit te kom.
Ek het die voorreg gehad om by Abie in die hospital te kuier 5 dae voor sy afsterwe. Toe ek wegry was my gemoed baie laag en het ek RSG aangesit in die hoop dat mooi musiek my bietjie sou opkikker. Ongelukkig was dit nuustyd en moes ek luister na n samelewing van korrupsie, zero integriteit ens ens…..skelm harde mense!
Op daardie oomblik het Abie Spies se kernwaarde my soos n weerligstraal getref! Alhoewel Abie vaste beginsels gehad het, gepaard met onwrikbare integriteit , het Abie SAG gelewe. Hy was n lewende voorbeeld dat mens sterk kan wees, maar tog SAG kan lewe!
Met sy skewe , skalkse glimlag, sy voorliefde om drukkies uit te deel en sy passie vir alles wat mooi is in die lewe, het hy hom min gesteur aan die dinge wat my laasweek, laasmaand en eintlik die afgelope paar jaar beneuk en bedruk gemaak het. Dalk het dit hom ook bekommer, dalk het dit hom ook gepla, maar hy het dit nooit n deel van sy gesprek gemaak nie. Sy gesprekke was oor sy drome, sy mense, en die mooi dinge van die lewe. Ek het skielik besef waarom Abie Spies vir 67 jaar my beste maatjie was! Abie was een van min mense wat nooit iets afbrekend van ander mense gese het nie en hy het voordurend SAG gelewe!
Soos ek verder gery het, het ek hardop vir myself gese dat ons moet leer om sagter te lewe. Sagter met ander mense, sagter met die wereld, maar veral sagter met onsself. Maar jinne, Abie, dis moeilik! Dis nie sommer van opstaan en sag lewe nie……dit verg inspanning, dit verg moeite en dit verg stilbly en luister en dan weer stilbly en luister……Soos Abie ons gewys en geleer het!
Yvette, julle gaan olraait wees en anderkant uitkom.Ek kan dit se, want Abie se manier van sag lewe het op sy gesin afgeskuur, dit was julle voorbeeld van hoe om te lewe….sag met ander en sag met julself.
Dankie Abie dat jy sag gelewe het en dat ek so bevoorreg was om 67 jaar daarvan te kon ervaar!
Abie en ek het in 1958 in Juffrou Heidenrich se graad een klas ontmoet by Pretoria Oos Laerskool. Dit meen ons het mekaar 67 jaar geken, maar meer nog……hy was van toe tot sy dood my beste maatjie. Ons het saam Ingenieurswese op Tukkies geswot en selfs, baie “amicable”, dieselfde meisie gedeel sonder om te baklei of kwaad vir mekaar te wees.
Ons trou meisies, Yvette en Annette was ook vriende, en na ons huwelike , het die 4 van ons die lewe as boesem vriende aangevat.
Ons het deur vele omswerwinge altyd kontak gehou en oor en weer gekuier. Selfs moeite gedoen om oorsee by mekaar uit te kom.
Ek het die voorreg gehad om by Abie in die hospital te kuier 5 dae voor sy afsterwe. Toe ek wegry was my gemoed baie laag en het ek RSG aangesit in die hoop dat mooi musiek my bietjie sou opkikker. Ongelukkig was dit nuustyd en moes ek luister na n samelewing van korrupsie, zero integriteit ens ens…..skelm harde mense!
Op daardie oomblik het Abie Spies se kernwaarde my soos n weerligstraal getref! Alhoewel Abie vaste beginsels gehad het, gepaard met onwrikbare integriteit , het Abie SAG gelewe. Hy was n lewende voorbeeld dat mens sterk kan wees, maar tog SAG kan lewe!
Met sy skewe , skalkse glimlag, sy voorliefde om drukkies uit te deel en sy passie vir alles wat mooi is in die lewe, het hy hom min gesteur aan die dinge wat my laasweek, laasmaand en eintlik die afgelope paar jaar beneuk en bedruk gemaak het. Dalk het dit hom ook bekommer, dalk het dit hom ook gepla, maar hy het dit nooit n deel van sy gesprek gemaak nie. Sy gesprekke was oor sy drome, sy mense, en die mooi dinge van die lewe. Ek het skielik besef waarom Abie Spies vir 67 jaar my beste maatjie was! Abie was een van min mense wat nooit iets afbrekend van ander mense gese het nie en hy het voordurend SAG gelewe!
Soos ek verder gery het, het ek hardop vir myself gese dat ons moet leer om sagter te lewe. Sagter met ander mense, sagter met die wereld, maar veral sagter met onsself. Maar jinne, Abie, dis moeilik! Dis nie sommer van opstaan en sag lewe nie……dit verg inspanning, dit verg moeite en dit verg stilbly en luister en dan weer stilbly en luister……Soos Abie ons gewys en geleer het!
Yvette, julle gaan olraait wees en anderkant uitkom.Ek kan dit se, want Abie se manier van sag lewe het op sy gesin afgeskuur, dit was julle voorbeeld van hoe om te lewe….sag met ander en sag met julself.
Dankie Abie dat jy sag gelewe het en dat ek so bevoorreg was om 67 jaar daarvan te kon ervaar!
November 4, 2025
Tribute for My Pappa
Thank you all for being here today to celebrate my Pappa — a loving husband, father, grandfather, and friend and mentor to so many.
He lived a rich, full life — seventy-three years of deep curiosity, humour, adventure, and love.
But more than anything, he lived and taught us to live well.
In the photos collage you have seen the joyful, beautiful life he created together with his first love, my Mom. You have seen him as a doting grandfather, the fun they had with him — how curious he made them about the world, and how deeply he loved them. And you are hearing from us three kids, the impact he had on our lives and on our partners, whom he accepted and loved as his own.
I asked the grandkids to name one thing they will never forget about him or one word that encapsulates him:
Theo - His wisdom and always having time for him
Yvette - His patience
Stefan - His calmness
Henri - Empathy and sitting on his lap and my Dad asking him math problems to solve
Young Abie - His drone (another tech enthusiasts)
Louis - Building Lego with him
One thing recently that stood out that illustrates the authentic man my Pa was. For his 70th birthday, instead of presents, he asked his friends to give him second-hand books.
Not books they thought he would enjoy, but books that meant something to them — so that he could understand and appreciate a piece of who they were.
He truly saw people.
He listened.
He wanted to understand you — and in doing so, he made you feel seen, heard, and valued.
This made him an incredible mentor, and many here today benefited from that — in business, in sport, and in how to live an impactful life.
Of course, many of you will be familiar with his one-liners that made you laugh, think, or most probably both. I liked to call them his Abie-isms:
For example his view on sport:
“Run until you can’t run anymore… and then turn around and come back.”
Or “A good swimmer is a sign of a misspent youth.” - even whilst never complaining dropping us off at 5am practice.
Sound and sobering life advice:
‘Life is not fair, deal with with.’
Or his advice on anything small you might be worrying about all the way to World War 3:
“I wouldn’t worry, you’ll be fine!”
“He who dies with most gadgets wins.”
He could mix humour and logic better than anyone I know — often delivering a full life lesson in a single sentence.
He taught us so many life lessons, just two I want to highlight:
Learning is one of life’s greatest joys —
He showed us that curiosity keeps you young,
and that happiness can be found in the simplest things —
a good book, a gadget, a cup of coffee, a road trip, or a lively debate around the dinner table.
Secondly the love of a lifelong sport
50 + years of waterpolo, which my mom refers to as his first love.
The many water polo friends here today speaks of those 50+ years of friendship,
cammaraderie and lots of beers shared. Thank you for all you meant to my Pa.
His best friend of 67 years, Jannie Retief could sadly not be here today, but he wrote a beautiful piece and to quote a section of that in Afrikaans:
Op daardie oomblik het Abie Spies se kernwaarde my soos weerligstraal getref. Alhoewel Abie vaste beginsels gehad het, gepaard met onwrikbare integriteit, het Abie SAG gelewe. Hy was ’n lewende voorbeeld dat mens sterk kan wees, maar tot SAG lewe!
In closing:
My dad’s voice is my inner voice.
“Jy doen goed” — you’re doing well — has echoed in my mind through endurance races, career crossroads, navigating a happy marriage, and raising my incredible boys.
Long before I ever read in a parenting book that your parents become your inner voice, my dad already was mine.
When he folded his enormous, wingspan arms around me, I always felt that all would be okay.
And in this last year, when he became so ill, I found myself saying it back to him:
“Jy doen goed, Pappa.”
So I want to say to all of you here today:
Julle doen goed. You are doing well. We will be ok.
Your legacy lives on in each of us, and you have profoundly shaped your grandkids — showing them what a real man is: humble, vulnerable, and a fierce protector of those he loved, especially his amazing wife and family.
You’ve left us all a little bit smarter, a little more patient, and a lot more able to laugh at life — and, most importantly, at ourselves.
Thank you for everything you were — and still are — to all of us.
We’ll miss you deeply,
but your Abie-isms
and your way of living
will stay with us — always.
Thank you all for being here today to celebrate my Pappa — a loving husband, father, grandfather, and friend and mentor to so many.
He lived a rich, full life — seventy-three years of deep curiosity, humour, adventure, and love.
But more than anything, he lived and taught us to live well.
In the photos collage you have seen the joyful, beautiful life he created together with his first love, my Mom. You have seen him as a doting grandfather, the fun they had with him — how curious he made them about the world, and how deeply he loved them. And you are hearing from us three kids, the impact he had on our lives and on our partners, whom he accepted and loved as his own.
I asked the grandkids to name one thing they will never forget about him or one word that encapsulates him:
Theo - His wisdom and always having time for him
Yvette - His patience
Stefan - His calmness
Henri - Empathy and sitting on his lap and my Dad asking him math problems to solve
Young Abie - His drone (another tech enthusiasts)
Louis - Building Lego with him
One thing recently that stood out that illustrates the authentic man my Pa was. For his 70th birthday, instead of presents, he asked his friends to give him second-hand books.
Not books they thought he would enjoy, but books that meant something to them — so that he could understand and appreciate a piece of who they were.
He truly saw people.
He listened.
He wanted to understand you — and in doing so, he made you feel seen, heard, and valued.
This made him an incredible mentor, and many here today benefited from that — in business, in sport, and in how to live an impactful life.
Of course, many of you will be familiar with his one-liners that made you laugh, think, or most probably both. I liked to call them his Abie-isms:
For example his view on sport:
“Run until you can’t run anymore… and then turn around and come back.”
Or “A good swimmer is a sign of a misspent youth.” - even whilst never complaining dropping us off at 5am practice.
Sound and sobering life advice:
‘Life is not fair, deal with with.’
Or his advice on anything small you might be worrying about all the way to World War 3:
“I wouldn’t worry, you’ll be fine!”
“He who dies with most gadgets wins.”
He could mix humour and logic better than anyone I know — often delivering a full life lesson in a single sentence.
He taught us so many life lessons, just two I want to highlight:
Learning is one of life’s greatest joys —
He showed us that curiosity keeps you young,
and that happiness can be found in the simplest things —
a good book, a gadget, a cup of coffee, a road trip, or a lively debate around the dinner table.
Secondly the love of a lifelong sport
50 + years of waterpolo, which my mom refers to as his first love.
The many water polo friends here today speaks of those 50+ years of friendship,
cammaraderie and lots of beers shared. Thank you for all you meant to my Pa.
His best friend of 67 years, Jannie Retief could sadly not be here today, but he wrote a beautiful piece and to quote a section of that in Afrikaans:
Op daardie oomblik het Abie Spies se kernwaarde my soos weerligstraal getref. Alhoewel Abie vaste beginsels gehad het, gepaard met onwrikbare integriteit, het Abie SAG gelewe. Hy was ’n lewende voorbeeld dat mens sterk kan wees, maar tot SAG lewe!
In closing:
My dad’s voice is my inner voice.
“Jy doen goed” — you’re doing well — has echoed in my mind through endurance races, career crossroads, navigating a happy marriage, and raising my incredible boys.
Long before I ever read in a parenting book that your parents become your inner voice, my dad already was mine.
When he folded his enormous, wingspan arms around me, I always felt that all would be okay.
And in this last year, when he became so ill, I found myself saying it back to him:
“Jy doen goed, Pappa.”
So I want to say to all of you here today:
Julle doen goed. You are doing well. We will be ok.
Your legacy lives on in each of us, and you have profoundly shaped your grandkids — showing them what a real man is: humble, vulnerable, and a fierce protector of those he loved, especially his amazing wife and family.
You’ve left us all a little bit smarter, a little more patient, and a lot more able to laugh at life — and, most importantly, at ourselves.
Thank you for everything you were — and still are — to all of us.
We’ll miss you deeply,
but your Abie-isms
and your way of living
will stay with us — always.
November 4, 2025
What a privilege it is to call this big gentle intellectual adventurer my father. The best kind of gadget loving tech junky who takes the best long arm selfies. “He who dies with the most gadget wins… “
He fearlessly raised me without prejudice or boundaries. There were no real rights or wrongs, taboos, or strict rules. He didn’t care much for age restrictions, PG ratings or seatbelts for that matter. Bedtimes could be stretched – he never went to bed early. We used to watch all kinds of sport highlights late at night – European football, Tour de France, Paris to Dakar. We had no curfew that we knew of, and we always had to negotiate the pick-up time – and he always picked us up on time. He challenged me to always think broader and more inclusive and then often in the thick of the debate played the devil’s advocate. I never received enough pocket money, but I always had everything I needed. He never rewarded me with material things – making him proud was enough of a reward. He never made any decision for me –and I could never blame him for the tough choices I had to make myself. He never made me feel like I failed – yet the idea of disappointing him was my biggest dread.
He never demanded my respect – he earned it. He can swim faster, catch, and throw like a pro, walk further, work harder, read more and talk about anything and everything if required, but his best quality is the way that he just listens – and he listens the way he loves - without prejudice or boundaries. His love really set me free.
He fearlessly raised me without prejudice or boundaries. There were no real rights or wrongs, taboos, or strict rules. He didn’t care much for age restrictions, PG ratings or seatbelts for that matter. Bedtimes could be stretched – he never went to bed early. We used to watch all kinds of sport highlights late at night – European football, Tour de France, Paris to Dakar. We had no curfew that we knew of, and we always had to negotiate the pick-up time – and he always picked us up on time. He challenged me to always think broader and more inclusive and then often in the thick of the debate played the devil’s advocate. I never received enough pocket money, but I always had everything I needed. He never rewarded me with material things – making him proud was enough of a reward. He never made any decision for me –and I could never blame him for the tough choices I had to make myself. He never made me feel like I failed – yet the idea of disappointing him was my biggest dread.
He never demanded my respect – he earned it. He can swim faster, catch, and throw like a pro, walk further, work harder, read more and talk about anything and everything if required, but his best quality is the way that he just listens – and he listens the way he loves - without prejudice or boundaries. His love really set me free.
November 4, 2025
I met Abie about 10 years ago as a guest on our first Swartberg Tour. Since then we became firm friends.
Abie, an engineer by profession, had a remarkable approach to life - one that I quietly admired and aspired to.
A lifelong water polo athlete, Abie kept attending events and tournaments right up to his 70th year.
That was when he contracted a rare form of leukemia, which started a long medical journey of blood transfusions and treatments.
Throughout the last two years he maintained the things that mattered to him most. Family, friendships and dignity.
Four days ago he made the decision to stop all further treatments and decided to go home to die. He published his intentions on Facebook in the most heroic and admirable way, but very matter of fact.
I know very few men for who I have such admiration. He left this world on the 25th October. 2025 surrounded by his wife Yvette and family.
God speed Abie. You were a giant amongst men.
✍️ Trygve Roberts
Abie, an engineer by profession, had a remarkable approach to life - one that I quietly admired and aspired to.
A lifelong water polo athlete, Abie kept attending events and tournaments right up to his 70th year.
That was when he contracted a rare form of leukemia, which started a long medical journey of blood transfusions and treatments.
Throughout the last two years he maintained the things that mattered to him most. Family, friendships and dignity.
Four days ago he made the decision to stop all further treatments and decided to go home to die. He published his intentions on Facebook in the most heroic and admirable way, but very matter of fact.
I know very few men for who I have such admiration. He left this world on the 25th October. 2025 surrounded by his wife Yvette and family.
God speed Abie. You were a giant amongst men.
✍️ Trygve Roberts
November 4, 2025
Farewell to Our Friend, Abie Spies
On Friday morning, we said farewell to our dear friend, “unofficial” Masters Water Polo photographer, sideline storyteller, and all-round great competitor, Abie Spies.
Abie would have been proud of what he witnessed today: the love, the composure and outpouring of love and emotion from his family as they stood together to say their goodbyes. They spoke of life with Abie as something truly special, of being protected but never smothered; supported and enabled; challenged but always encouraged. He was the man who could swim with sharks while explaining the principles of statistics, and somehow, it always made perfect sense. That was the Abie we all knew and loved.
There was some mirth too, as his family described how, when wrapped in his fabled “wingspan,” Abie would gently say, “It will be OK.” Those of us from the water polo community had to smile because few of us ever heard those words when caught in that same “wingspan” ie Abie saying “it will be OK”
His family painted a picture of a life filled with humour, intellect, and love. Living with Abie, they said, made them smarter, more patient, and more willing to laugh at life’s curveballs.
They live by his simple but profound mottos:
On dealing with adversity: “Life’s not fair, deal with it.”
On getting fit: “Run, and run until you can run no more… then turn around and go back.”
And of course wrt toys almost done: “He who dies with the most gadgets wins.”
Abie’s love for Yvette, his children, and grandchildren shone through every story. Their fifty years of marriage stand as a testament to unwavering commitment and love. His optimism, pride, curiosity about life, and passion for water polo, these are the things we will always remember.
And yes, I agree with him: “A good swimming stroke is definitely the sign of a misspent youth!”
His family recalled the warmth they felt whenever he was proud of them, that unmistakable tone in his voice, filled with love and belief. He always reminded them that they could make their own choices, yet they would always find shelter in his arms, that “wingspan” of patience and wisdom.
Abie, thank you for your friendship, your humour, your guidance, and your quiet strength. You showed us what it means to live with purpose, to care deeply, and to find joy in every wave, whether in the pool or the ocean.
On Friday morning, we said farewell to our dear friend, “unofficial” Masters Water Polo photographer, sideline storyteller, and all-round great competitor, Abie Spies.
Abie would have been proud of what he witnessed today: the love, the composure and outpouring of love and emotion from his family as they stood together to say their goodbyes. They spoke of life with Abie as something truly special, of being protected but never smothered; supported and enabled; challenged but always encouraged. He was the man who could swim with sharks while explaining the principles of statistics, and somehow, it always made perfect sense. That was the Abie we all knew and loved.
There was some mirth too, as his family described how, when wrapped in his fabled “wingspan,” Abie would gently say, “It will be OK.” Those of us from the water polo community had to smile because few of us ever heard those words when caught in that same “wingspan” ie Abie saying “it will be OK”
His family painted a picture of a life filled with humour, intellect, and love. Living with Abie, they said, made them smarter, more patient, and more willing to laugh at life’s curveballs.
They live by his simple but profound mottos:
On dealing with adversity: “Life’s not fair, deal with it.”
On getting fit: “Run, and run until you can run no more… then turn around and go back.”
And of course wrt toys almost done: “He who dies with the most gadgets wins.”
Abie’s love for Yvette, his children, and grandchildren shone through every story. Their fifty years of marriage stand as a testament to unwavering commitment and love. His optimism, pride, curiosity about life, and passion for water polo, these are the things we will always remember.
And yes, I agree with him: “A good swimming stroke is definitely the sign of a misspent youth!”
His family recalled the warmth they felt whenever he was proud of them, that unmistakable tone in his voice, filled with love and belief. He always reminded them that they could make their own choices, yet they would always find shelter in his arms, that “wingspan” of patience and wisdom.
Abie, thank you for your friendship, your humour, your guidance, and your quiet strength. You showed us what it means to live with purpose, to care deeply, and to find joy in every wave, whether in the pool or the ocean.
October 30, 2025
Abie was a dear friend since 1986 — nearly 40 years.
Our friendship was good. Precious and nice. His loyalty to his family was outstanding. Even during my last goodbye at the hospital, it was special how he mentioned each of his children and their partners with a little story — how the daughters and their husbands supported him, how Francois called him every day, showing me the lovely message Jen had sent, and how deeply grateful he was for Yvette.
That was Abie Spies — probably the most well-rounded person I have ever met. Complete in every way.
For some reason, Abie’s sense of humour keeps echoing in my mind — maybe it’s my way of softening the sadness. Earlier this year, I teased him about why he wanted to build on at Kleinbos at this stage of life. His answer, dry as ever:
“Well, I’m going to live a bit shorter now — might as well spend the money.”
Rest well, my friend. You will always remain an icon in my life.
Our friendship was good. Precious and nice. His loyalty to his family was outstanding. Even during my last goodbye at the hospital, it was special how he mentioned each of his children and their partners with a little story — how the daughters and their husbands supported him, how Francois called him every day, showing me the lovely message Jen had sent, and how deeply grateful he was for Yvette.
That was Abie Spies — probably the most well-rounded person I have ever met. Complete in every way.
For some reason, Abie’s sense of humour keeps echoing in my mind — maybe it’s my way of softening the sadness. Earlier this year, I teased him about why he wanted to build on at Kleinbos at this stage of life. His answer, dry as ever:
“Well, I’m going to live a bit shorter now — might as well spend the money.”
Rest well, my friend. You will always remain an icon in my life.
October 30, 2025
I met Abie in 1997, when he was the Managing Director of an engineering company — a man whose leadership, intelligence, and warmth were immediately evident. Soon after, we decided to start a consulting company together, alongside six others. Under Abie’s steady hand and visionary guidance, the company grew from an ambitious idea into a remarkable success story. In 2013, we sold it to a larger IT service integrator — a milestone that would never have been possible without his courage, clarity, and unwavering belief in what we were building.
Abie was far more than a business partner. He was my mentor, teacher, and trusted advisor. His wisdom shaped not just the company’s success, but also my own personal and professional journey. Much of what I have achieved in my life can be traced back to the lessons I learned from him — lessons about leadership, humility, and integrity.
I will miss his sharp mind, his calm counsel, and his friendship. His impact on my life — and on all those who had the privilege of knowing him — is immeasurable.
Condolences to Yvette and Abie's family, this part of your journey is not easy and words can not always console.. although the pain is real, celebrating the wonderful man we knew is a wonderful privilege that we have.
Rest peacefully, my friend and mentor. Your legacy lives on in all of us who were fortunate enough to walk part of the road with you.
Abie was far more than a business partner. He was my mentor, teacher, and trusted advisor. His wisdom shaped not just the company’s success, but also my own personal and professional journey. Much of what I have achieved in my life can be traced back to the lessons I learned from him — lessons about leadership, humility, and integrity.
I will miss his sharp mind, his calm counsel, and his friendship. His impact on my life — and on all those who had the privilege of knowing him — is immeasurable.
Condolences to Yvette and Abie's family, this part of your journey is not easy and words can not always console.. although the pain is real, celebrating the wonderful man we knew is a wonderful privilege that we have.
Rest peacefully, my friend and mentor. Your legacy lives on in all of us who were fortunate enough to walk part of the road with you.
October 28, 2025
Van graad 1 tot met matriek was ons saam in die skool..In kontak gebly tot nou toe. Ek sal jou mis my vriend en so ook baie ander. Rus in vrede.
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Protea Valley Church Bellville
31/10/2025 10:00am
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