Sunday Times Combined Metros 8 - 19/05/2009 07:07:26 PM - Plate:

8 ý SUNDAY TIMES | MAY 24 2009 S

RU N N I N G THE FO RG OT T E N C O M RA D E Long before Sam Tshabalala made history by winning the Comrades , Vincent Rakabaele was G blazing a trail for black runners. m Thirty years after they met, f M Duane Heath goes searching for him o V a 2

M T 12.27 on the afternoon of c May 31 1975, before a vir- b tually all-white Republic p A Day crowd at Pietermar- a itzburg’s Jan Smuts stadium, a little- G known road runner from Lesotho named Gabashane Vincent Rak- t abaele raised his arms in triumph as c he completed the 50th Comrades ul- G t r a - m a r at h o n . i There was, however, no winner’s G tape left to break — that job had been taken care of 34 minutes ear- lier by defending champion Derek Preiss — while the gold medals m were long gone by the time the 26- d year-old mine employee crossed D the finish line in 20th place. t R a k ab a e l e ’s run, although large- w ly forgotten, remains a defining l moment in the history of South African sport: 40 years after Robert n Mtshali’s finish in 1935 went un- S recognised because of his race, and h 14 years before Samuel Tshabalala M finally closed the circle by taking SPRINTED MATTER: (Above) d the title, it was Rakabaele who be- Vincent Rakabaele holds Warren t came the first-ever black runner to Heath, and George ‘Goodenough’ T THE end of March this year I Motsapi Moorosi. “I knew him.” These days, he runs a butchery officially finish the Comrades — Qokweni puts his hands on four- A stand in front of my childhood Moorosi is Rakabaele’s former in Seapoint, a non-descript Maseru d and receive a silver medal to prove year-old Duane Heath’s shoulders; home, the old photo of Rakabaele in trainer. We meet at the Lancer’s suburb near the brown banks of the t it was all real. (above right) Rakabaele during a one hand, and a map of Lesotho in Inn in downtown Maseru, sifting Caledon River. Thirty years ago, R moment of victory the other. Why, 31 years after that through the clues that have brought without much official support for e E MET for the first and only Easter Sunday in 1978, do I feel such us together and that we hope will his efforts, he took it upon himself W time on March 26 1978. I re- an urgent need to drive thousands of lead to Rakabaele. to scour the mines of , member that Easter Sunday because wich in our backyard, he had fin- kilometres, searching for a man I A few days earlier, before leav- not for gold but for the migrant of a photograph that lay buried, for ished runner-up at the Two Oceans, hardly remember? Perhaps the rea- ing my home for the trip worker who could perhaps do what 25 years, at the bottom of a silver just 14 seconds off his 1976 record. son has less to do with Rakabaele the to Bloem and, ultimately, Maseru, a no Basotho athlete had ever done: cake tin crammed with family snaps. The following year, 1979, he person than it does with what he rep- call to Lesotho’s sports ministry win an Olympic medal. Rakabaele, wearing a suede jacket again won the race, but never vis- resents: how could such a famous produces Moorosi’s contact details. Moorosi himself had failed in and a broad smile, holds my brother ited us again: Rakabaele had moved athlete simply disappear into thin When I ring him, Moorosi admits 1972; what drove him was the desire Warren in his arms. Resting his to a mine in the old Transvaal, and air, and be forgotten for decades? he hasn’t seen Rakabaele in years, to unearth the guy who could make hands on my four-year-old shoulders he and Lionel lost touch. “Yes, I remember Vincent,” s ays but promises to make a few calls it. Anglo, Kinross, Marievale, Pres- is George “Goodenough” Q o kwe n i , before I leave for Maseru. ident Steyn, Western Deep Level, the first black runner to finish an- Outside a truckstop on the President Brand — if his country- other South African sporting insti- between Beaufort West and the men worked there, he made sure he tution, the Two Oceans Marathon. Three Sisters, Moorosi sends me an knew about it. Rakabaele and Qokweni had ar- SMS. “Found out Vincent might be Moorosi took Rakabaele to two rived at 5a Luther Street, Bloem- dead. I suppose u r fixing 2 come 2 Olympics, but both ended in disap- fontein, together with my uncle, Li- Maseru anyway, just thinking u pointment: in Moscow in 1980, he onel de Haas, who had driven them should know. Motsapi.” finished 36th; in Los Angeles four back from that year’s Two Oceans Or perhaps it was that Rakabaele, year later, 61st. It was a race that Marathon in Cape Town. In those who by now will be 60, is still living changed both men’s lives. years, when a black man and a in the shantytown of Motimposo, as “After ’84, we met from time to white man could share the same the Lesotho electoral commission’s time but things were not the same,” dark and dirty mine shaft by day, 2007 online voters’ roll suggests? says Moorosi. “In Lesotho, we’ve al- but not a beer in the bar at night, One cannot dismiss the possibility ways had problems to take care of Rakabaele, Qokweni and De Haas that he may have disappeared back our athletes because of poverty. (who runs his 35th Comrades to- across the SA border, in search of And around that time, the guys who day), became friends because they work. Or does Moorosi’s SMS come came in from South Africa started worked together at the President closest to the truth? getting second thoughts about Brand mine in Welkom — and be- On the morning of our conversa- competing for Lesotho. So, Vincent cause they loved to run. tion at the inn, Moorosi still looks as and some other guys decided to The day before Rakabaele and I fit as he did when he ran the 200m at break off, and after that, it might be had shared a peanut-butter sand- MEDAL-MINDED: Vincent Rakabaele with former trainer Motsapi Moorosi the 1972 Munich Olympics. a year before I’d see him again. So Sunday Times Combined Metros 9 - 19/05/2009 07:07:26 PM - Plate:

SUNDAY TIMES | MAY 24 2009 ý 9 DUANE HEATH

TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS: Michael Rakabaele at his shop in Lesotho; below, in his younger days, running with Johnny Halberstadt

GRAVE SENTIMENTS: Vincent’s 75-year-old mother, Makhabashane Rakabaele the radar. “We were both put up at a hotel called the Standard,” he re- much so that he slowly drifted away detailed directions to Vincent’s fam- Sitting at the grave is Rakabaele’s calls. “Vincent wanted to go for a from me.” ily from a man named Khotso — ap - 75-year-old mother, Makhabashane drink at the bar but, as soon as he A few hours before meeting parently a distant relative of Rak- Rakabaele, who still lives alone in walked in, they told him to leave. He Moorosi, a visit to the local election ab a e l e ’s — whom I found in a column a mud rondavel not 20m from was refused a drink in the bar, in the offices raises my spirits: Gabasheane of Rakabaeles in the Maseru phone this place where, on November 2 hotel in which he had been invited to Vincent Rakabaele is definitely book. Khotso has also heard that 2003, Rakabaele was buried. “B e fo r e stay. He never said anything about a l ive , and voted in Motimposo in the Rakabaele is dead, but he can’t be Vincent died, I promised him I would it, but it must have affected him.” 2007 elections. sure. Deep down, I know both he and never go anywhere else in the world “I’m pretty sure he’s dead,” Moorosi are probably right. But even to work again,” says Michael, point- Moorosi repeats when I put my dis- as the car crawls around the final ing to his mother. “I promised this T HAS been two months since I covery to him, “but it is a mystery bend of a 1 300km jour- because I have to look I stood on that hillside in Ha Rak- because there are maybe a few peo- ney, I find myself hoping after things here.” abaele, but I still think about Ben - ple with the name Vincent Rak- everyone has it horribly How could Iwish Icould sayI jamin’s words: “Vincent should have abaele, but not with the first name wrong: that the election a famous spent many days in Ha been alive today, passing on his G ab a s h a n e . ” official has made a Rakabaele, getting to cause of Rakabaele’s death: some knowledge, being a role model for It is only then that we notice the spelling mistake; that at h l ete know Vincent’s family, villagers spoke of debilitating knee- the next generation of road run- tiny discrepancy — a letter ‘e’ — t h at Moorosi’s sources have finding out why he had joint pain brought on by years of ners,” he told me. changes the course of our search. Rakabaele mixed up simply come here some time running; others, of diarrhoea and “Every year the big races donate Gabasheane the Motimposo voter with someone else; that I in the mid-’90s (no one fever, and of the pills from the local a huge amount of money to charity, is indeed alive, but he isn’t the will find this ghost from disappear could remember exact- clinic, which they say neither Rak- but this is almost grounds to say Gabashane we are looking for. my childhood alive and ly when), never to abaele nor his family could afford. that a lot of runners who have done kicking in the middle of into thin air, leave; why his wife had In the end, I realised, it doesn’t road running proud land up in po- EXT day our 62km journey n owh e r e . left him, never to re- matter how he died. “Quite simply, sitions where they’re forgotten and N from Maseru to the tiny settle- and be turn; why his only Vincent should have been alive to- need help. It’s impossible to stay in ment of Ha Rakabaele starts on the daughter had disap- d ay , ” says Shawn Benjamin, a vet- touch with everybody but the guys deserted, donor-funded Kofi Annan E BURIED him fo rg ot te n peared to Maseru; and eran photographer and former who have made a contribution, stay Drive and ends in a series of un- “W up here, behind why a man who had marathoner who befriended Rak- in touch with them. And when they tarred tracks that coil their way to- my shop,” says Michael for decades? won nine major gold abaele in the ’70s. “He wasn’t old, so suddenly get sick and they don’t ward the distant Maluti mountains, Rakabaele, as he leads medals had no one to hearing that he couldn’t afford pills know what to do, donate less to like strands of spaghetti. me to a simple grave overlooking a turn to when he fell ill. makes me shiver. He should have charity, and more to those guys The road links Maseru to the sweeping valley. “I’m responsible The truth is that I stood staring been able to pick up the telephone who need it.” new Mohale Dam, built to quench here now,” he says softly, placing his at Rakabaele’s grave for only a few and phone the Two Oceans organ- The last thing I did before leav- South Africa’s growing thirst. Out straw hat near the heart-shaped minutes, lost in that surreal space isers and say, ‘Guys, remember me, ing Ha Rakabaele was give here, beyond the villages of Ha h e a d st o n e . that comes when mystery is re- I’m in trouble, can you please help?’ Makhabashane the photo of Vincent Matjotjo and Ha Matete, dust and Michael, now 51, is Rakabaele’s duced to cold reality. Deep down, I And help should have been there that I had carried with me for so long. dongas are the common denomina- younger brother. He runs a small had tried to prepare myself for such for him.” I only found out later that it is the tors of a parched paradise. supply store — the Rakabaele Café a moment, but when it finally came Harold Berman, the Two Oceans only picture she has of her son. My stomach tightens the further I —but has bigdreams of turning it there was none of the excitement of race announcer since 1972, recalls At the time, I did it perhaps for no drive, and I feel, one way or another, into a supermarket. Michael could al- discovery. I felt only numbness, an event prior to the 1979 Foot of other reason than to give a still- that my four-year search for Vincent so run a bit: from 1984-1987, the Rak- and the calmness that comes with Africa race in Bredasdorp, which grieving mother something back of Rakabaele is about to come to an abaele brothers shared three third- the closing of a chapter. perhaps illustrates best why Rak- her son, the happier echoes of long- end. On the passenger seat are the place finishes at the Two Oceans. Perhaps I’ll never know the abaele lived most of his life under forgotten encores.