A collective exhibition of gr; »e held at the Market Theatre Gallery from September 28 t 'cPnmitted' work by artists from Johannesburg and the Reef, Ns? Staff rider Series Recently published in the Staffrider Series is OGUN golden opportunity ABIBIMAN, by Nigerian poet Wole Soyinka, an epic poem dedicated to the fallen of Soweto. Forthcoming books in the series are MZALA — THE for you STORIES OF MBULELO MZAMANE, to be published in October, followed by an exciting new The MaskewMiller Prize novel by MIRIAM TLALI and a collection of plays by prize-winning playwright, ZAKES MDA. R3000,00 are you (three thousand rands) getting yours? The most effective way to ensure that you receive your latest copy of Staffrider without delay is to for subscribe! THE JUNIOR Simply fill in the subscription form inserted into this issue, indicating the number of issues you would ADVENTURE NOVEL like to receive, and send a cheque or money order to 5taffrider Magazine, P.O. Box 31134, Braamfontein IN ENGLISH THE MASKEW MILLER PRIZE aims to stimulate the writing of English 2017, South Africa. by Blacks in Southern Africa. Staffrider is published quarterly and costs R1,00 per THE COMPETITION is open to Blacks in South Africa and SWA/Namibia. issue (including tax.) THE GENRE is a junior adventure novel in English, about 20 000 words in length, aimed at the age group 12-15.

Tune into the voice of South Africa's people send FOR FURTHER INFORMATION WRITE TO: us your subscription now! F.C.H. Rumboll The Publishing Director Maskew Miller DAVID PHILIP, P.O. Box 396 CAPE TOWN Publishers, P.O. Box 408 Claremont 7735, are now 8000 Telephone 45-7731 distributors of Staffrider and Ravan Press books in the Western Cape. Closing date for 1980: 1 November 1980. Vol.3 No.3 CONTENTS Sept./Oct.1980 Poetry Stories Mafika Gwala 2 The Music of the Violin by Njabulo Ndebele 7 Nkos'omzi Ngcukana, Ellinor Joosten, Roy Joseph Cotton, Societa Secreta Subversa by Duncan Foster 13 Mogambery Isaac, benjlanga 12 Some Kinds of Wounds by Charles Mungoshi 15 Chirwa P. Chipeya 14 Jazz by Peter Wilhelm 20 Morena King Monarc, Ed Wilmsen 31 The Diary of Maria Tholo by Carol Hermer 26 Lionel Abrahams, Zulekha Dinath, Haroon Mohamed . 37 The Betrayal by Mtutuzeli Matshoba 32 Lindiwe Mvemve 47 Landi kaThemba 48 Groups Columns/ Features MPUMALANGA ARTS, Hammarsdale 2 KHAULEZA, Alexandra 3 VOICES FROM THE GHETTO MANGALISO CREATIVE SOCIETY, Swaziland .... 31 Mr Petrus Xaba, Alexandra pensioner MEDU ART ENSEMBLE, Botswana 42 by Eddie Nhlane 3 MALIMU, Bloemfontein 43 STAFFRIDER REVIEWS Gallery/ Graphics Exhibition: East Rand Black Artists by Andy Mason 2 3 Garth Erasmus Inside front cover Ralph Ndawo 5 STAFFRIDER PROFILE David Goldbladt 6 Katlehong Artists 24 Mpikayipheli 7, 11, 46, 47 Malopoets 38 W. Sol Mafa 9 N.D. Mazin 13, 20, 22, 45 DRAMA SECTION Goodman Mabote 15 Theatre of the Dispossessed: James Mthoba Bhekisani Manyoni 23,25 and Joe Rahube by Matsemela Manaka 28 Napo Mokoena 2 3, 24 Moss Petlo 24 TRUTH AND CENSORSHIP Gamakhulu Diniso 25 Another Glimpse of Slavery by a lawyer 36 Farouk Stemmet 26 Mzwakhe 32, 36 STAFFRIDERS SPEAKING Thami Mnyele 42, 43 A New Day by Thami Mnyele 42 Nils Burwitz 45 Dilemmas of a Writers Group by Mogorosi Motshumi 43 Photographs THE EARLY YEARS Thabo Serote 4 Es'kia Mphahlele and Noel Manganyi 45 Ralph Ndawo 1, 3, 17, 31 Rose Shakanovsky 23, 24, 25 WOMAN WRITERS SPEAK Paul Weinberg : 38, 39 Amelia House 46 Judas Ngwenya 41 Lindiwe Mvemve 47 Landi ka Themba 48

CHILDREN'S SECTION Cover Photographs: The Dustbin Baby by Landi kaThemba Molo Songololo — Two Tales Front: Ralph Ndawo by Lloyd Zarry and Barisha Karlie . . . 48 Back: Paul Weinberg Staffrider magazine is published by Ravan Press, P.O. Box 31134, Braamfontein 2017, South Africa. (Street address: 409 Dunwell, 35 Jorissen Street, Braamfontein.) Copyright is held by the individual contributors of all material, including all graphic material, published in the magazine. Anyone wishing to reproduce material from the magazine in any form should approach the individual contributors c/o the publishers. This issue was printed by The Mafeking Mail, Mafeking. Poetry/Mpumalanga Arts Mafika Gwal AFRIKA AT A PIECE (On Heroes Day) You can't think of a solution Without your mind spelling revolution Unless your mind is steamed with pollution So much that you drop the notion

As our heroes die As our heroes are born Our history is being written With the black moments given Looking the storm in the eye Our hope is not gone Our history glosses ^~ the rail tracks at Effingham and Langlaagte Our blackman's history Our history is black women marching is not written in classrooms on Pretoria Building on wide smooth boards lifting fists Our history shall be written shouting: at the factory gates 'Amandla!' at the Unemployment offices in the scorched queues of dying mouths Our history is being written with indelible blood stains Our history shall be our joys with sweeping black souls our sorrows in the streets at John Vorster our moroseness where Timol dived thru the window scrawled in dirty Third Class toilets at Auden House Our history will be graffitti where Mdluli made a somersault stunt decorating our ghetto walls at Sanlam Building where flowers find not peace enough to grow where Biko knocked himself against walls at the Kei Road copshop Our history shall be written where Mapetla thought hanging was fun on laps in the bush at Caledon Square Or whizz out of a smoking steel mouth where the Imam Haroon slipped on a bar of soap Our history is being written We sing our present Our history is being written We sing the dark-lit rooms As the Bergies refuse to bend where the 'Free Mandela' chant is mounting to white civilization truth below Table Mountain We sing the New Truth The New Truth is! Our history is the freedom seed Those 1976 bullets were not sacramental being sown across the Karoos bread meant With our Kaapenaar brothers for the faithful . . . refusing to mix the milky way We've heard the Bullet Refrain vibrating walls But blocking blows at Silverton Right into 'die duiwel se skop' On the sidewalks of Goch Street We shall sit down and sing Our present is the lavatory blues We shall sing songs Tiro would have loved to we so love to sing hear in our matchbox houses Songs Ma Ngoyi would have sung Songs Mthuli kaShezi would have composed Our present is the Blue Light Songs flashing operations Songs that lead us on high up at Groote Schuur And when it's Time To Rise Our present is those heart operations The Isle of Makana will be flooded with guinea-pig donors from ghetto deaths by the swelling tide of Kwancha and from deaths called 'accidental' Batho ba Sechaba, Our present is naked ribbed stomachs hora e fitlhile! and TB coughs The Hour has come! at Limehill, Dimbaza, Winterveldt It is panga attacks and rape Mafika Gwala at Tin Town, Malacca Road, Crossroads It is ritual murder at Richmond Farm, UNB Residence (Austerville) Rooigrond, Klipspruit Heroes Day — 21 March 1980

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 198( VOICES FROM THE GHETTO ALEXANDRA 1h:- ".; ^ " ""Ig2 T SPEAKING I "•• "*• ««f*\T$ 1f&m*.r | - ^^^sp^ /*4 • ^m %^_Mh_^^^^ ^^^Wij' r 1 Mahlaba Eddie Nhlane of 'IP J*^l IIP*:: • . 1 KHAULEZA talks to Mr I Petros Xaba, a pensioner of *V A^:^.tjjfre- * Alexandra. 1 2T \ How fair is it for a man to give his blood, sweat and tears to uplift the face of a city and make it one of the most beautiful in the world? How fair is it for a man to build schools and churches only to be deprived of the right to education, and religion? How fair is it for a man to build skyscrapers and mansions for his master, and hmiself live in ghettoes? Worst of * 1 all, how fair is it for that very man ;: : to be told he belongs to a certain l:;f: r:l | homeland and not to the place he has helped to build? That is the grati­ some mental illness. I tried to get back two years. In 1969, when I heard tude the black man in this country to work after recovering but the disease rumours that blacks had taken over our earns. Yet Johannesburg, as it stands recurs from time to time, so I was pension offices, I thought everything today, tall, proud, with its neon lights forced to stay permanently at home would run smoothly. But to my sur­ dickering and reflecting its beauty, is after working for about seven years. I prise, the situation seemed worse. the result of the blood, sweat and tears still receive medical attention every By then I was desperate to get of our disability pensioners. Friday. money as I could not stand the thought Forty-four-year-old Mr Petrus Xaba When first did that start? of being a burden on my family. I learnt of Alexandra is one such victim. Born in Well, it first started in 1960 while I to be patient. I took all their instruc­ Alexandra in 1936, he had difficulty in was working in Fordsburg. I lost con­ tions and eventually in 1972 they .; .tting permission to stay in Alexandra. centration on whatever I was doing told me to wait for a letter. His parents had divorced, so his father and was told that I did some funny At that time I had difficulty in was staying at Dikathole and his mother things while I was with my white- walking as I had pain in both my was still in Alex. Police started arresting co-worker. He felt scared that maybe legs. I waited for two years and in eople under Section 29 known as one day I would pounce on him and do 1974 I got a letter informing me to loaferskap' or 'Julie Bantoes'. He harm, especially as we were always report to the Commissioner's office. bad to flee from Alexandra and went to fighting over my doing a lot of hard In July of the same year I received Dikathole, where his father was, and work and getting very little while he my first pension. obtained a reference book. relaxed and earned a lot. How much were you paid? After two months, he came back to You were getting a raw deal from R28,00, bi-monthly. Alexandra and applied for a permit to your employers? At the moment, how much do live with his mother. This time the Oh yes, I was. In fact, I did not you receive? application was considered, as influx blame the people at the top, only R45,50, bi-monthly. laws were not very strict then. him. He was the one who never worked Does this cover your expenses At the moment he is sharing a much but always expected more for the for two months? small room with his sister and brother- little he did. And I still remember very Hayi Bo! Mntwana warn', don't in-law who are said to belong to a well that in early February 1960, we play with me. Being a pensioner doesn't certain homeland. They help with the had a quarrel in an Indian shop along mean I get things cheap. I pay .the same rent and food. He cannot manage on the Market Street. I looked at him and amount that you pay. small pension he gets. just thought to myself: 'This one So how do you push on? I found Mr Xaba sitting with about can't even scare a dead rat so why (He smiled shyly and looked at me eight men and one woman around a pot me?' But, most unfortunately, the like a kid who was caught doing wrong.) of home-made beer, which his sister Indian owners stood by him. I was, in My sister here, (pointing at her) brews on his behalf. He was friendly and any case, afraid to beat up this stubborn brews umqombothi for us to sell as she helpful. Without wasting time he young White boy as I knew I would be too is unemployed. These people out­ led us into the house. arrested there and then. side are our daily customers. We make When did you receive your first very little out of it but at least we go to Mr Xaba, as far as I know, the pension payment? bed having had something. My brother- age requirement for pensions, according My son, they mess us around, these in-law does help a lot, especially with to South African law, is 65 years. How officials. My first application was rent. He does piece jobs. They (my sis­ come you got paid before you turned tendered late in 1963. For ten years I ter and brother-in-law) cannot register 65? had to go up and down. I gave up and in Johannesburg as they do not qualify. 1 was laid off work permanently said, 'Oh well, to hell with it.' That was Now lately I was arrested for selling by some doctors after suffering from in 1965 after running up and down for liquor and, fortunately, I managed to

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 3 pay the fine (R20,00) as it was only two nised at the expense of other peop . days after I got paid. I didn't care as 'Kungalo' according to me. that was not going to stop me from sell­ And thirdly, selfishness. I cann t ing. I understand their laws, but I al­ understand how some people can ov i ways tell myself that unjust laws are large houses while others do not ha\ e there to be opposed. even a place 'to hide their heads'. Th s (We passed on to general topics. We action drives the homeless to distru t spoke about the sixties and forties. Way and have a negative attitude towards tl t back Dark City. who did an act of malice to society. If fortunate ones. In the process no or : He smiled rather shyly and took his we wanted to fight, we would go far wants to help each other and enmit zoll of B.B. that was lying on the table away where no one could see us, as we crops up. I have seen a family of aboi and lit it. He pulled one good puff and knew that if we were caught we were in twelve sharing one room. The father an concentrated on the smoke escaping his for the high jump. But today parents the mother on the bed, kids lying on th mouth, still wearing a slight smile.) defend their kids by denying that their ground so that there was no place t I was very young, you are right, but children have done such a thing. The put a foot down. I still recall some scenes from those child eventually takes it as a lesson and The kids blame their parents, becaus days. ends up in big trouble. they do not know and cannot undei We lived as one society, but even As for education at school, I view it stand. Eventually, they lose respect fo though we understood one another so very differently from that of home their parents and accuse them of makin well, there were problems. education. Today's education is creating life hell for them. Parents, on the othe I remember the war between the class, not knowledge. The Boers have hand, try hard to please their kids bu Zulus, Xhosas and Marussia. It was so taken advantage of our educated people. how can they? Not when they ar dangerous that we were not even sent to Our educated feel that the customs and underpaid. Eventually frustration lead the shops after 6 p.m. as you would be ways of civilisation are superior to those a father and/or mother into drinking molested by either of those groups. that were not certificated to a certain and they start using vulgar language ii Police were summoned by some con­ level. For instance, when the blacks front of the kids. They learn the langu cerned residents to calm this devilish took over the jobs that were done by age and spread it through outside. Ther warfare that made people feel unsafe. Boers, as happened at the pensioners' the whole family is corrupt. But those were family affairs and they office, we thought things would be easy. Those are frustrations that some o! were solved quickly. What worries me Instead, they proved to be tools of more my friends could not overcome now is the lack of unity. oppression. They felt they were more Mntwanam', life is really frustrating, In the 1940s people were so united important than we were and we had to wish you good luck, not to be a victim that you could not even try to separate listen to the sophisticated. They called in the future. them. For example, in 1945 we suffered us, and still do, uncivilised, mannerless 'Yes, I know baba,' I said. 'Tell me, from housing shortages. But as our old men and women. That is where what is the situation at the pension people were a unified society, they these Boers got us. They felt it wise to office ?' eased the problem without even consult­ teach us their way of living and we Oh, you mean when we are getting ing the authorities. One morning, when danced to their tune. Now, when we do paid? Hell, I feel pity for the old ladies we woke up, we found that people had things the African way, our sophisti­ that cannot even walk. It seems to be not slept but were busy building houses cated, educated people mock us and say exaggeration but it is not. with 90 lb. mealie-meal sacks. That was these are other times. Well, we, the olds, You know, mntwanam', some old the era known later as 'Emasakeni'. have decided to accept it as a way of ladies are pushed to the office in wheel­ They built them to safeguard the few life. barrows as no one is allowed to take household belongings they had. Police Lack of proper leadership: When we anyone else's pay on his or her behalf. tried to demolish those sack-houses but were still young, most of our leaders did You can cry if you are not man enough they were met by a strong protest from the job voluntarily rather than expect­ to see how these old ladies and some old the whole society. The government was ing payment or recognition. I know it gentlemen are treated by their own forced to give alternative accommod­ might hurt many but the truth of it is children for that matter. That is a ation to those people. That was when that today's leaders, cultural or politi­ school of vulgarism. Those boys do not people were sent to Moroka. But on cal, do it for their own good. They have respect, really. We wait for our coming to Moroka, they found that think of their stomachs before anything money outside in the sun and it takes there were no houses and they built else and eventually let the people down. them a little under an hour to serve two their 'Amasaka' again, until they were Who of our present leaders comes from pensioners. You know* there are a few allocated proper accommodation. That a poor family or rather is poor himself? who spend the night there to be first on demonstrates that a united nation will Such people are not even cared for, if pay-day. That is to show how desperate eventually achieve its goal. But things they do exist. That is very bad, they are to get that money. Who knows, have now changed. mfana'm'. They are not leaders but they might have spent some days with­ You say that unity has died with the misleaders. out a meal. times. What, according to your own Now recently, I protested against go­ At times I don't feel like going there views, brought this about? ing to 'City Deep' (a hostel complex and to keep on selling Umqombothi. Three factors: education (at school near George Gogh) and complained to But it is illegal and might lead to my and at home); lack of proper leadership; our leaders, but they did not even give arrest again, so I go there. You under­ and selfishness. me an answer. Fortunately, the hostel stand each other. Maybe if you could To start with education at home — I was full and that is how I escaped it. speak with them, they will understand, often find it hard to understand when a How could I have managed the higher my son. parent says, 'Umntwanam' uya ngihlula. rent when I am having problems with 'Oh, definitely, we will try and speak There is nothing I can do to stop him the present rent here? Well, that is a to them,' I commented passively, wish­ from his bad deeds.' Perhaps this is be­ part of life that I've learnt to accept ing I had the power to keep this promise cause people are disunited. In the early now. But, truly speaking, 'Asinabo and stop the scandal at the pension days a parent was right to beat a child abameli'. They only want to be recog­ offices. •

4 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 faff rider Gallery Ralph Ndawo

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 5 Staff rider Gallery David Goldblact

-~~~~j'

Makana and Ntsiki, Rock ville, Soweto

In a Kitchen, Killarney, Orlando West, Soweto

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 The Music of the Violin A SHORT STORY BY NJABULO NDEBELE illustrated by Mpikayipheli Figlan

Vukahi was doing homework in his bedroom when voices in the living room slowly filtered into his mind. He lifted his head to look up, as if to focus his ears. No. He could not recognise the voices. Now and again the hum of conversation was punctuated with laughter. Then he grew apprehensive, the continuing onversation suddenly filling him with dread. He tried to concentrate on his work: 'Answer the following questions: How did the coming of the whites lead to the establishment of prosperity and peace among the arious Bantu tribes? . . . ' But the peace had gone from his mind. The questions had become a meaningless task. Instinctively, he turned round to look at his music stand at the foot of his bed. Yesterday he had practised some Mozart. Then he saw the violin leaning against the wall next to the stand. Would they come to interrupt him? He felt certain they would. He stood up, thinking of a way of escape.

There was another peal of laughter was the fellow's name — "these plots, agreed Vukani's father. 'We just can't from the living room, and Vukani they are quite far, aren't they?" "We're get it into these teachers' heads that we wondered again who the visitors were. just about there, Sir," he said.' have to uplift the black nation. And we As he opened the door slowly, he was 'Man alive!' exclaimed the other cannot do that through cheating and net by another thunderous roar. Escape man. 'This story is getting hot. Let me laziness. We will not develop self- would be impossible. He had to go sip one more time.' There was silence reliance that way. That fellow was just hrough the living room and would while the man sipped his tea. Vukani's not teaching the students gardening, and .ertainly be called by his mother to be mother also lifted her cup to her lips. that is dead against government policy.' introduced to the visitors, and then the The women were now listening too. Vukani shut the door. In spite of him­ usual agony would follow. A delicate 'So,' continued Vukani's father, 'we self, he had been amused by the story. clink of cups and saucers told Vukani walked another two hundred yards and He went back to the desk and tried to hat the visitors had been served with I turned to look at the man. "We're just continue with the homework. He could tea. Another roar. His father and the about there, Sir." I only needed to look not. What about going out through the male visitor were laughing. He knew at him and he would say: "We're just window? No. That would be taking now that the visitors were a man and a about there, Sir." ' things too far. He wondered where woman, but he did not recognise their Everybody laughed. 'You see, the Teboho, his sister was. Probably in her /oices. Growing curious, he opened the fellow was now sweating like a horse.' bedroom. door by another inch or so, and saw the 'So?' asked the woman visitor, laugh­ Teboho and their mother were get­ woman visitor, who sat close to where ing some more. She was wiping her eyes ting involved in too many heated ex­ the passage to the bedrooms began. with a tissue. changes these days. Their mother Vukani's mother, still in her white nurs­ 'Then this fellow, Mabaso, shows me tended to make too many demands on ing uniform, sat close to the woman a hill about a mile away and says: them. Vukani wished he could go and visitor in another heavily cushioned "We're going there, to that hill, Sir, the talk to Teboho. They had grown very chair. They were separated by a coffee plots are behind it. You see, Sir, I close. Then he suddenly became frantic table. figured that since the wind normally again and went to the door. He had to 'I couldn't make it at all to the meet­ hits the hill on the side we are looking escape. When he opened the door, ing last Saturday/ said Vukani's mother. at now, I should have the plots on the slightly again, it was the woman named 'Which meeting?' asked the woman. leeward side to protect the plants." Beatrice who was talking. The men laughed again. What bosh!' 'You just don't know what you 'Don't you laugh so loudly,' Vukani's There was more laughter and the missed, you,' she was saying. The men mother shouted. male visitor said, in the middle of it: laughed again. 'You see,' Vukani's father was say­ 'Beatrice, give me some Kleenex, 'Please, you men!' appealed Vukani's ing, 'I had caught the fellow by surprise, please.' His wife stood up and dis­ mother. But they laughed once again. the way I like to catch them.' appeared from Vukani's view. She re­ 'Do you want us to leave you and go 'That's the only way to ensure that turned. Vukani heard the blowing of a to the bedroom?' threatened Vukani's the work gets done,' said the other man. nose. It must have been the man. mother. 'And you know if we go in 'Indeed,' agreed Vukani's Father. 'Please don't laugh, fellow Africans,' there we won't come out.' 'So?' asked the other man. said Vukani's father. 'The man is a 'Peace! Peace!' shouted Vukani's 'So I said: "Show me the students' genius. What's this poem by the English father. 'Peace, women of Africa!' garden plots." I saw a twitch of anguish poet? The man blushes unseen in the Then he lowered his voice as he across his face. But he was a clever fel­ wilderness. He knew I would not go any continued to talk to the other man. low, you see. He quickly recovered and further. So I really have no proof that 'What have I missed?' asked Vukani's said: "Of course Sir, of course, come there were no garden plots.*' mother, eagerly. along." So we went. There was a wilder­ 'Of course there weren't any,' assert­ 'Well, you just don't know what ness around the school. These bush ed Vukani's mother. you've missed,' said Mrs Beatrice, pull­ schools: I wouldn't have been sur­ 'Of course there weren't,' everybody ing the bait away from the fish. prised if a python had stopped us in our agreed. 'Please don't tease me.' racks. So, after about two hundred 'You school inspectors,' said the 'I want to do just that,' said Mrs Bea­ yards of walking, and all the wilderness male visitor, 'have real problems with trice, clapping once and sitting forward around us, I began to wonder. So I said these bush schools.' in her chair, her legs thrust underneath. to this teacher: "Mr Mabaso," — that 'You haven't heard anything yet,' She kept on pulling her tight-fitting

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 7 skirt down over her big knees. But after There is not a single boy in the burning hair Doksi had said, while mak each effort, the skirt slipped back re­ whole of Soweto, not even in Dube, ing the sign of the cross over the smok vealing the knees again. who has a room like yours. This ing fire: 'When God had finished burn 'You women are on again about the room is as good as any white boy's. ing hair, he thought that it was good. Housewives' League,' interrupted Vu- Vukani had playfully accused him o; kani's father. shrugging her shoulders, as Teboho sacrilege. But Doksi had continued 'Day in and day out,' supported the disappeared into the kitchen. There was suddenly looking very serious: 'Deac other man. silence. things catch fire,' he said. Vukani wa 'Of course yes!' said Mrs Beatrice 'Sometimes these South African Jews suddenly caught by a wishful fascin with emphatic pride. sicken me,' said the other man reflec­ ation to see the books on the desk 'Forget about these men,' pleaded tively. aflame. Perhaps he should lower the Vukani's mother, 'and give me a pinch 'Why?' the two women asked. lamp, bringing it closer to the books. It of the story.' 'Well, they're hypocrites! I mean was a silly idea but he lowered the lamp 'Mother-of-Teboho, you really look, they say they were killed left and all the same. But the papers shone missed,' Mrs Beatrice started. 'A white right by the Germans, but here they defiantly with a sheen. It was futile, woman came all the way from Emma- are helping the Boers to sit on us.' Then he saw his violin again, and felt rentia, a high class exclusive suburb, to 'How can you say such a thing?' the sensation of fear deep in his breast. address the meeting on Jewish recipes. asked his wife. 'People like Mrs Kaplin­ He looked at the violin with dread: Came all the way to Soweto for that. It sky are very good friends of ours. Some something that could bring both pain was wonderful.' of her best friends are Africans.' and pleasure all at once. It was like the 'Was it not Mrs Kaplinsky?' 'Because she gives you recipes?' red dress which Miss Yende, their class 'As if you knew!' 'Food, my dear husband, belongs to teacher in standard four, occasionally 'Eh please, give me! Give me!' mankind, not just to one race.' wore. She had once said to the class: shouted Vukani's mother with great 'Yes, exactly,' agreed Vukani's mo­ 'When I wear this red dress, children, excitement, clapping her hands re­ ther. 'Like art, literature and things. know that I shall not stomach any peatedly. 'I'm fetching my pen, I'm Completely universal.' nonsense that day. Know that I shall fetching my pen. Give me those recipes.' 'Well . . . ' said the man, but he did expect sharp minds: I shall expect quick But she did not leave to go and fetch not pursue the matter further. responses to my questions, and I shall her pen. 'In fact this reminds me,' said Vu­ expect absolute seriousness. And I shall 'I'm selling them, dearie. Business kani's mother with sudden enthusi­ use the stick with the vengeance of the first, friendship after.' They laughed. asm, her eyes glittering, 'instead of sit­ God of the Old Testament.' That dress! 'Ei! Women and food!' exclaimed the ting here talking politics, we should be It was a deep, rich velvety red that other man. listening to some music. Have you heard somehow suggested that it had a 'What! We cook for you,' retorted his my son play? He plays the violin. A flowery fragrance. Yet, because it also wife. most wonderful instrument!' signalled the possibility of pain, it had a 'Exactly,' concurred Vukani's mo­ 'Yes,' said Vukani's father, 'you dreadful repulsiveness. ther. 'More tea?' know . . . ' Vukani tried to brace himself for the 'No thanks, dearie.' Vukani swiftly shut the door, shut­ coming of the visitors. It was always like 'Hey you men, more tea?' But the ting out the living room conversation that. Every visitor was brought to his men were already back to their convers­ with an abruptness that brought him room, where he was required to be do­ ation. Vukani's father answered while sharply to himself as he moved to ing his school work or practising on the laughing, suddenly coming into Vu­ the centre of the room. He began to feel violin. kani's view as he brought his empty very lonely and noticed that he was Then he had to entertain these cup to the coffee table that separated trembling. It was coming now. He visitors with violin music. It was always the women. looked at the history homework on the an agonising nuisance to be an unwilling 'No thanks,' he was saying, 'No desk, then looked at the reading lamp entertainer. What would happen if he thanks ... he he he hehehehe . . . that with its circular light which seemed to should refuse to play that night? He was a good one ... no thanks . . . what be baking the open pages of the books knew what his mother would say. It was a good one.' Then he took out a hand­ on the desk with its intensity, while the the same thing all the time. His eyes kerchief from the pocket of his trousers, books looked as if they were waiting for swept round the room. He was well pro­ wiped his eyes, wiped his whole face, that delicate moment when they would vided for. There was the beautiful desk and then wiped his lips. 'A jolly good burst into flame. Then he thought of on which he did his work; bookshelves evening, tonight.' Then he went back to Doksi his friend. He wondered where he full of books, including a set of the his chair, disappearing from Vukani's was and what he was doing at that mo­ Encyclopaedia Brittanica; & reading view. ment. Friday evening? Probably watch­ lamp on the desk; two comfortable easy 'Thanks for the tea,' said the other ing his father cutting the late evening chairs; a wardrobe full of clothes; his man, blowing his nose. customers' hair and trimming it care­ own portable transistor radio; a violin 'Teboho!' called Vukani's mother. fully while he murmured a song as al­ and music stand; a chest full of games — 'Please come and clear up here!' ways. Doksi had said to Vukani one day monopoly, chess and many others. His Teboho appeared carrying a tray. She that when he was a grown up, he would mother never tired of telling him how had on denim jeans and a loose blouse. like to be a barber like his father. And lucky he was. 'There is not a single boy 'That was a nice cup of tea, Teboho,' Doksi did love hair. Vukani remembered in the whole of Soweto, not even here said the other man. Teboho replied with his favourite game: a weekly ritual of in Dube, who has a room like yours. a shy smile. 'When are you going back hair burning. Every Saturday afternoon This room is as good as any white boy's. to varsity?' Doksi would make a fire out in the yard Isn't it exactly like Ronnie Simpson's? 'We have six more weeks,' replied and when it was burning steadily, toss You yourself, you ungrateful boy, saw Teboho. knots of hair into it. The hair would that room when we visited the Simpsons 'You are lucky to have children who catch fire with a crackling brilliance that in Parktown North. Kaffir children! are educating themselves, dearie,' said always sent him into raptures of delight. That's what. Always ungrateful!' He never seemed to mind the smell of Mrs Beatrice. What did all this really mean to him the burning hair. One Saturday after 'Oh, well,' said Vukani's mother when it brought so much bother?

8 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 ikani remembered what teacher / will make you fishers of men see it, pelt it with stones. What should Maseko had said at assembly one morn- Fishers of men you do to it?' ;: 'Children, I would rather be a Fishers of men 'Pelt it with stones!' was the sombre hungry dog that runs freely in the I will make you fishers of men response of the assembled children that reets, than a fat, chained dog burden- If you follow me. morning. Vukani had wondered whether j with itself and the weight of the Three weeks later, teacher Maseko teacher Maseko was that dog. But how chain. Whenever the whiteman tells was fired. The Principal had made the could anybody pelt teacher Maseko you that he has made you much better announcement at morning assembly. He with stones? off than Africans elsewhere in this con- spoke in Afrikaans, always. Concluding Vukani heard another roar of laught­ tinent, tell him he is lying before God!' the announcement, he said: 'Children, a er from the living room. But why There were cheers that morning at wondering dog, that upsets garbage bins did his mother have to show off at his sembly, and the children had sung the and ejects its dung all over the place, is a expense like this? That Friday, as on all morning's hymn with a feeling of ener- very dangerous animal. It is a carrier of Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, he etic release: disease and pestilence, and when you had carried his violin to school. The other children at school never got used to it. It was a constant source of wonder and ridicule. 'Here's a fellow with a strange guitar!' some would say. Others would ask him to play the current township hits. It was so every day. Then one day his violin disappeared from class while he went out to the boys' toilet. He was met with stony faces when he pleaded for its return after school. Everybody simply went home and there was no sign of the violin. What would he say to his music teachers in town? What would he say to his mother? When he went out of the class­ room, he found Doksi waiting for him. They always went home together, ex­ cept on the days when Vukani had to go to town for his music lessons after school. 'Doksi,' he said, 'I can't find my violin. Somebody took it.' 'These boys of shit!' Doksi said with a curse of sympathy. He had not waited for details. He knew his friend's pro­ blem. 'Do you suspect anybody?' 'I can't say,' replied Vukani. 'The whole class seems to have ganged up against me. There are some things that always bring them together.' 'Even Gwendoline?' asked Doksi, with a mis­ chievous smirk across his face. Gwendo­ line was the frail, brilliant, beautiful girl who vied with Vukani for first position in class. Vukani had always told Doksi that he would like to marry that girl one day. And Doksi would always say: 'With you it's talk, talk all the time. Why don't you just go to this girl and tell her you love her? Just look at how she looks at you. She's suffering, man!' 'Look,' said Vukani, 'this is no time for jokes. My violin is lost.' 'The trouble with you, Vukani, is that you are too soft. I would never stand this nonsense. I'd just face the whole class and say, "Whoever took my violin is a coward. Why doesn't he come out and fight?" I'm sure it was taken by one of those big boys whom everybody fears. Big bodies without minds. They ought to be working in town. Just at school to avoid paying tax. But me, they know me. They know what my brothers would do. My whole family would come here looking for the bas­ tards.' Most of the children had gone The Musician, lino-cut, W. Sol Ma fa now. Only those whose turn it was to

AFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 9 clean the classrooms remained. me? Is this an insult? Tell me before I steps as imperceptibly as possible. 'Let's go and tell the principal,' sug­ finish you off!' 'Music man! Don't you know yoi.r gested Vukani. The principal was one of 'What's happening, Dorkas?' Vukani name?' They were behind him now. those Vukani had entertained one day saw his father entering the bedroom. Crossing the street had been no problo 1 in his bedroom. He was a friend of his 'Can you believe this? I found this violin for them. They simply walked onto th t father's. 'But maybe we shouldn't,' said on the doorstep outside as I was leaving street and cars came to a screechir r Vukani, changing his mind. for work. Can you believe this?' halt. They were the kings of the town­ 'Let's go and find out from the girls 'Vukani,' said his Father. 'What on ship. They just parted the traffic lik i sweeping up your classroom,' suggested earth could have made you do such a Moses must have parted the waves of Doksi. They went back. The girls were thing?' the sea. Vukani wanted to run, but he singing loudly and the room was full of 'I didn't put it there, Baba,' Vukani was not going to give himself away. 1 dust. 'Leave it to me,' said Doksi. There replied. he ran and they caught up with him were four girls in there. Gwendoline 'Nonsense,' shouted his mother, 'you they could do a lot of harm to him. He and Manana were as old as Doksi and don't have to lie. Ungrateful wretch, had had that feeling of wanting to takt Vukani. The other two girls, Topsana you have the nerve to tell your parents a advantage of something weaker thar and Sarah were older. Much older. lie.' himself when he found a stray dog try 'Hey, you girls!' shouted Doksi, 'Wait a minute, dear, maybe we ing to topple a garbage bin. If the dog squaring his shoulders and looking like a should hear what he has to say.' Vukani stood its ground and growled, Vukam cowboy about to draw. 'Where is the had nothing to say. The deep feeling of would become afraid. But if the dog bloody violin!' The bigger girls simply having been wronged could only find took to its heels with tail and all tucked laughed. expression in tears. He heard the violin between the legs, Vukani would sudden­ 'And who are you, toughie?' asked land next to him and he recoiled from ly be filled with the urge to run after Sarah, pushing a desk out of the way for its coldness. He also heard his mother the dog, catch it, and beat it to death. A Topsana to sweep. leave, saying that he was crying because fleeing impala must excite the worst 'Hey you, Vukani,' called Topsana, 'I of his sins. She never knew what hap­ destructive urge in a lion. Vukani had want to soothe your heart. I've long pened. once seen a film in which a lion charged been waiting for this moment. Come and But that had happened last year. To­ at a frightened impala. There had been a | kiss me.' The smaller girls giggled, and day he had been humiliated again in confidence in the purposeful strides of Vukani regretted that they had come public, and there were people in that liv­ the lion, as if it felt this was just a game ] back. 'I mean it,' said Topsana. 'I know ing room who wanted to humiliate him that would surely end with the bringing who took your violin. It's safe. You'll again. Right inside his home. It was all down of the prey. find it at home. I made them promise to because of this violin. The homework A hand grabbed Vukani's collar be­ take it there. There now, I want my had made him forget the latest ordeal hind and jerked him violently to a halt. kiss. I want to kiss the inspector's son.' for a while. The homework was like a The leader of the gang came round and Doksi turned to the younger girls, jigsaw puzzle; you simply looked for faced him. He held Vukani by the knot ! 'Hey you, what is the joke? What's there pieces which fitted. All the answers of his tie. He was short but heavily to laugh at?' were there in the chapter. You just built. He had puffed up cheeks with 'Hha!' protested Manana, sweeping moved your finger up and down the scars on them. His bloodshot eyes rather purposefully. 'We have a right to page until you spotted the correct suggested the violence in him. He must laugh.' answer. There was no thinking involved. have been four or five years older than 'I can show you a thing or two,' But now it was all gone. It was not Vukani. Doksi said. 'Punch you up or some­ South African History, the story of the 'Spy!' the leader cursed, glaring at thing.' coming of the whiteman he was looking Vukani. 'So you are special! So we had 'Doksi,' appealed Vukani, 'please, at, he was now faced with the reality of to cross the street and risk death in let's go.' Doksi clearly felt the need for the violin. order to talk to you. You don't know retreat, but it had to be done with dig­ There was that gang of boys who your name, music man? Everyday we nity. He addressed all the girls with a always stood under the shop verandah greet you nice nice and you don't sweep of his hand, 'You are all useless. at Maponya's shopping complex. They answer. Because you think you are be- One of these days I'll get you. Come on, shouted, 'Hey, music man!' whenever he ing greeted by shit. By scum, hey? Why, Vukani, let's go.' went past their 'headquarters' on his spy? Are we shit?' The walk home for Vukani had been way home to Dube. That very Friday 'Ja! Just answer that,' said the fellow j a long one. Better not to tell the par­ they had done more than shout at him behind, 'are we shit?' Vukani tried to ents. If Topsana had been telling the from a distance. They had stopped him free his neck. truth, then he should wait. Nobody and humiliated him before all those 'Shit!' screamed the leader, 'we just asked him about the violin. But he workers who were returning from work wanted to talk to you nice nice. That's would never forget the morning follow­ in town. all. We just wanted to dance to your ing that day when his mother stormed 'Hey, music man,' the one who music a little. Dance to your guitar a into his bedroom, black with anger. She seemed to be their leader had called. little. But no. You don't even look at had simply come in and pulled the Vukani, as a rule, never answered them. us. Do we smell, music man? Do we blankets off him. She glared at him, He just walked on as if he had not heard smell?' There was a crowd of workers holding the violin in one of her hands. anything. But that afternoon, as he was now who were watching the spectacle Vukani had felt so exposed — as if his coming up from Phefeni station, and quietly. mother was about to hit him with the was turning round the corner to go 'Shake him up, Bhuka!' was the violin. It was very early in the morning. down towards the AME church, it was chorus from the rest of the gang about His mother was already dressed up in as if the gang had been waiting for him. thirty yards away at the shop. her uniform, ready to go to work. If she 'Hey, music man!' this time it was a 'What are you rogues doing to this was on day duty, she had to leave very chorus. A rowdy chorus. Out of the poor boy?' asked an old lady who had a early for the hospital. corner of his eye, Vukani saw two boys bundle of washing on her head. 'Vukani!' she was shouting, 'What detach themselves from the gang. He 'Shut up!' said Bhuka. 'Go and do desecration is this? What ultimate act of dare not turn to look. He had to act your white man's washing, he'll want it ungratefulness is this? Is this to spite unconcerned. He tried to quicken his tomorrow.' Some of the crowd laughed

10 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 it this. Thoko Ujola Nobani? ?' It was a current blankly looked at the homework: 'Dogs of the street! Don't talk like hit. Question Three: Who introduced the that to your mother. Whose child are Vukani felt tears in his eyes. He European type of education among the ou?' blinked many times to keep them in. Bantu . . . ? But Vukani felt only the 'I'm your child,' said Bhuka with a Why couldn't they just leave him alone. solid presence of four people behind certain flourish. This time more of the That day would be final, he would him. crowd laughed. simply tell his parents that he did not 'Vuka,' said his mother, 'I did not 'He's the child of his mother!' said want to play the violin again. If they hear you practice today.' It was not the boy behind Vukani. None laughed still insisted, he would run away from clear from her voice whether she was at that one. He was in the shadow of his home. 'Please, leave me alone,' he heard finding fault with her son or was just eader. himself say. trying to say something by way of 'You are laughing,' said the woman, 'I asked you. Can you play Thoko introduction. Vukani turned round and iravely addressing the crowds. 'You are Ujola Nobani? ?' smiled sheepishly. They all looked at laughing at this boy being harassed and Vukani shook his head. him as if they expected him to defend you are laughing at me being insulted by 'Why, music man?' himself, their eyes occasionally going to these street urchins. I could be your 'I'd have to see it written first. I can't the table as if to see what he was doing. aother and this could be your son. Sies! just play it like that.' 'Are you doing your homework, You rogues, just let decent people be.' 'Next time you pass here you must son?' asked the male visitor. The woman then left, taking Vukani's know that song. And come with your 'E!' hopes with her. But she had not left sister!' Then he gave Vukani a shove in 'Good, hard-working boy!' he said Bhuka unsettled. He had to move his the chest, and Vukani reeled backwards patting him on the shoulder. And |3rey to safer ground. Too many lesser and fell on his back. But he still held on Vukani felt in that hand the heaviness animals could be a disturbance. He to the violin. 'Next time we greet you of condescension. tightened his grip around Vukani's tie nice nice, you must greet nice nice.' 'He's a very serious-minded boy,' pulling him across the street towards the Vukani got up timidly and hurried added his mother with obvious pride. headquarters'. Vukani looked at the fist away, glancing backwards occasionally. 'You are very happy, dearie, to have below his chin, and saw that it had a Somehow he felt relieved. It could have a child who loves school,' commented little sixth finger. There were two shin­ been worse. The stories he had heard Mrs Beatrice. ing copper bangles round the wrist. Part about the violence of this gang were 'And here is my Mozart's violin,' said of the crowd left but another part simply unbelievable. He felt deep inside Vukani's father, pointing at the violin wanted to see the game to its end. They him the laughter that followed him as against the wall. He took the case, followed the trio to the shop. The gang he slunk away. Just after passing the opened it and took out the violin. had then completely encircled Vukani. AME church, he saw the rubbish heap 'Vuka!' 'Do you have a sister?' Bhuka that people had created at the corner 'Ma!' snapped. Vukani had trouble breathing and wished he was brave enough to 'These visitors are the mother and now. Bhuka realised this and loosened throw the violin there. father of Lauretta. Do you know her?' the grip. Vukani thought of Teboho at 'My son,' his mother had said one 'No, I don't think I do,' said Vukani, home. If she came here she would fight day when Vukani had complained about shaking his head. for him. 'I asked you a question. Do the harassment he suffered as a result of 'But you are at the same school to­ you have a sister?' Vukani nodded. 'Hey the violin, 'you should never yield to ig­ gether. Surely you know Lauretta the man, talk!' norance.' daughter of Doctor Zwane? Stand up to 'Is your voice precious? His master's 'But maybe you should buy me a greet them.' voice!' piano,' Vukani had said. 'I can't carry Vukani then remembered the girl, 'Yes,' answered Vukani in a whisper. that in the street.' who was well known at school for her 'I want to fuck her. Do you hear? I 'If Yehudi Menuhin had listened to brilliance. She was two classes ahead of want to eat her up thoroughly. Do you fools, he wouldn't be the greatest living Vukani. But Vukani wondered if she hear? Tell her that.' Bhuka then paused violinist. A violin you have, and a violin could beat Gwendoline. Vukani greeted and jerked Vukani to and fro so that you shall play.' the visitors and went back to his seat. Vukane's head bobbed. He then stopped That's how it had ended. But his 'Baba, you will play the visitors and glowered at Vukani. 'And what agony had continued three times a something, won't you? What will you song will you play when I am on top of week. play us?' asked his mother. Vukani her?' There was a festive laugh from the Then the door opened. 'Here he is!' crowd. Bhuka looked round in acknow­ said Vukani's mother as she led the visi­ Continued on page 40 ledgement. 'Tell me now, can you play I tors in. His father took the rear. Vukani

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 11 Poetry/ Durban, Cape Town Three sequences from FORGED AGELESS NEGATION an epic poem by jerking Nkos'omzi Ngcukana. shaking Ageless distance shouting between thorns, Ill and howling ageless lament the stampede began their muscles ceasing as the dust gathers to beat to obey flowers, beneath vaster than hands, pulsations everything swimming timeless atrophy feet hammering before their eyes of gulls hinders the hard ground a feeling of emptiness the sky, and the pot-holed streets fires and smokes shackled yet the horizon, fists ululations strength and hope and further off accompanied living in them a lonesome lorry sighs. clapping of hands VII Roy Joseph Cotton/Cape Town the stampede in rhythm the feet and hands like a song bellowed chained together burst their throats dry OF COOLIES AND CANEFIELDS rampaging from shouting mobbing The coolie pitching exhaustion Has watered the canefields to confrontation from head to toe With his sweat. deprived of sleep the buildings Heaps of white sugar gutted they look at Rise now like heroin scattered through the moon And drug his soul. areas of silence through the bars wanting to pray Mogambery Isaac/Durban VI with doubt captive it would be better realising their limits THE TAMING OF THE MAN considering the worth to curse the curs and futility and praise our fathers' gods Dangerous creature, of their cries You catch me and tag me they walk Scourge me and cage me. caged solitary Then limbless, you set me free abused limping trying to catch Proud that I am now cursing So tame. depressed and broken the rhythm of the stampede Mogambery Isaac /Durban ON THE PERIPHERY

It could have been one world and love forever, But it was a pensile bridge only, Trying to unite two such different lives. at times Why couldn't we build a bridge more solid, Indestructible by the outside world? at times i sit alone We walk on the same earth, breathe the same air, immersed in Get wet from the same rain and the very same deep thought sun dries our faces, about some things But our worlds are incongruous, dissimilar and i see around and i forcefully separated. fail to fully comprehend Not needed, not wanted, not permitted a how man made as told in the foothold in your solitude. book of genesis can contradict his maker and treat like I hang like a passenger on an overcrowded train: man in a manner as to 'Let me in, I can buy a ticket, second class, first reduce him (who was class made in the image whatever you want and more!' of the creator) 'No — reserved for members only', and the to a position colour of my eyes of less than disqualifies me from membership. a thing

Ellinor Joosten/Durban benjlanga/Durban

12 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 Societa Secreta Subversa AN ABSURD STOR Y BY DUNCAN FOSTER/ALBERTON

In his office behind the public section of the governor's fort, Pontius Pilate sat read­ ing a copy of 'Acta Diurna' (which means, when translated, 'Government Gazettes- Keeping up with the law was no mean task for a man of Pilate's limited capabilities. He did not pretend to understand the implications of much of his work. It was enough for him to know that he was carrying out the letter of the law and that if the Roman Empire was ever threatened from within, it would not be owing to any neglect of duty on his part.

Indeed, at that very moment, from Relations Act of the Senate and the the courtyard at the back of the fort, People of Rome. they would treat you?' A wry smile came the sounds of someone being Presently the young man was escort­ flickered lightly across the prisoner's flogged. Pilate knew who it was — a ed back into the office. He could hardly face. 'Since it was the tribal court that truculent young man who knew, or hold himself erect, so Pilate allowed him delivered me up to you, I think they pretended to know, scarcely enough to sit on a wicker stool opposite the. would be very agitated to have me back. Latin to say 'Consento, Dominus' desk. He ordered the manacles to be ta­ I am an embarrassment to them.' (which means, when translated, 'Yes ken off his hands and dismissed the 'Why?' Pilate was genuinely curious. Boss'). Pilate had tried being reasonable guards. For fully five minutes he con­ The prisoner answered hesitantly, with the fellow, but to no avail; he had templated the prisoner in silence. At half-perplexed: 'They think I am a trai­ simply refused to confess that he was an first, the man seemed to be having diffi­ tor to my people — an enemy within the active supporter of the banned Societa culty in breathing. He made rasping gates.' Secreta Subversa, a subversive secret noises in his throat, interspersed with 'And are you?' society. Eventually, Pilate had been half-broken pants. He was a slim, ascetic 'I have not submitted myself.' obliged to submit him to a sound individual. His eyes, set against the 'To what?' flogging in the hope that it might loosen gaunt darkness of his face, mirrored his 'To the tribal court. . . amongst his obstinate tongue. However, it was pain. But he was not obsequious; nei­ other things.' with a heavy heart that Pilate handed ther was he defiant. As the minutes Pilate was not sure that he under­ the man over to the tormentors, for dragged by, his breath came more even­ stood this answer, but he felt that to Pilate was not at heart a cruel man. ly and soon Pilate judged that he was question further on it would reveal Verily, verily, I say unto you, in his own able to answer questions. some ignorance on his part. way Pilate had considerable affection He phrased the first one carefully, Another long silence ensued. Then for the tribes and tongues over whom he wishing to sound authoritative without Pilate said, 'If I release you, will you held sway. At least one ancestor of his, being bullying. He spoke in the bastard­ swear to go back to your tribe and be­ a centurion in the Batavic Legion, had ised 'lingua franca' which all the tribes­ have yourself?' served in the Great Campaign by which men of the Empire seemed to under­ 'I shall behave myself exactly as I the citizen armies of Rome had subju­ stand. have always done.' gated all the land north of the Sinai 'Are you a leader of the Societa?' Once again, impasse. Peninsula. Pilate also believed that that To his surprise, the man answered On an impulse of exasperation, Pilate same ancestor had fought in the Battle quietly and without hesitation. turned and stomped out of his office to of the Jordan River, when a vengeful 'You are already convinced that I find the guard. He was surprised to see a Roman god had brought such destruc­ am.' deputation from the tribal court sitting tion upon the refractory tribes that the Pilate pondered this statement for stolidly in the public section. One of the soldiers said afterwards (in Latin, of some minutes before he said, 'And if I deputies, he noticed, had eyes almost as course), 'That was really a ding-dong hang you for it? What then?' large and white as those of the prisoner; battle!' From which was derived the 'Then nothing. I will be dead. That is another was abstractedly and disgusting­ name of the now famous national all.' ly picking his nose. holiday, celebrated annually from one 'You are not afraid to die?' 'What do you want?' asked Pilate end of the Empire to the other, Ding- 'Yes, I am afraid to die. But in this shortly. Dong Day. case you see it is not up to me as to The white-eyed man gave him a From this long and happy association whether, or when, I am to be hanged.' bland smile. 'We have come to see a cer­ of his family with the tribes, Pilate had Pilate shifted his position to stand tain man punished for sedition.' inherited a profound understanding of behind the prisoner. He gazed out of the 'I have just interviewed this man,' their customs and beliefs which enabled barred window and across the hot said Pilate stiffly. him to treat them with jovial informa­ courtyard to the prison block behind 'Then,' ventured white-eyes suavely, lity. When he occasionally visited them the main section of the fort. It looked 'you have no doubt extracted proof of in their homes, for example, he did not deserted, though there must have been a the charges against him.' feel constrained to knock before enter­ score or so prisoners inside. Shabby men Acutely aware that he was sacrificing ing .. . — dozing, sleeping, praying, waiting — face, Pilate retorted in a too-loud voice, So Pilate almost winced at every all of them, waiting. Quite a few Pilate 'I find no reason to punish or imprison stroke of the lash across the young might have recognised as previous the man at all.' The white eyes narrow­ man's back. The soldiers seemed to be offenders. This one in his office, he ed to gleaming slits. The nose-picker was taking their time about it, he thought, thought, was quite different from any stricken with sudden paralysis and sat as he tried to concentrate on the legal of them. stock-still with a finger up one of his jargon of the latest Amendments to He spoke again, trying another tack. nostrils. Section II of the Revised Citizens and 'Supposing I were to hand you over to 'It is not possible,' said white-eyes Barbarians Extra- and Intra-Marital the tribal courts. How do you think sharply, then added in a tone that was

TAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 13 both conciliatory and threatening, 'Sed­ VOICES FROM ZIMBABWE ition, O Pilate, is certainly a most difficult thing to prove against a man who refuses to answer questions, but in this case surely . . . ' His voice tailed off Four poems by Chirwa P. Chipeya at precisely the right point. Pilate, losing ground hopelessly, uhuru in Zimbabwe in the days of chimurenga asked in a tone riddled with weakness: 'What do you think I should do with villagers the skirmishes the man?* massing everywhere the border raids As he spoke he noticed, inexplicably, clapped their the martyrs that the nose-picker had started up hands in haste the heroes again, pick, pick, pick. But it was frenzied their the movements white-eyes who answered his question: drums and stamped the death of cultures 'Hang him.' the ground quick vulturous voices And before Pilate could respond, he the cock crowed that lived in added pointedly: 'Unless, of course, it 'zee Zimbabwe' exclusiveness is necessary to refer the case to a higher to all the sons exhausted authority.' of the soil living their propaganda Pilate was beaten. He turned abrupt­ to fulfil the struggle towns turned sour ly back to his office. 'That,' he said, seven years in the jungle homesteads were barricaded 'will not be necessary.' of the martyrs and heroes villagers were hoarded Inside, the prisoner sat exactly as he dissidents were concentrated had been left. Whether he had heard and harare but the dreams of money the exchange with the tribal deputies, was more sleepless were scattered in the bloody Pilate could not guess. He hoped not. splashing endless dust of bushes Pilate seated himself behind his desk jubilation so shattered the souls and fumbled through some official pa­ and danced of soil tenders pers to win time. Through the window, its rhumba that lamented the gloom by the last rays of the afternoon sun, he in the streets of forced exile could see the soldiers lowering the Im­ sending the ecstasies of in a war that never ended perial emblem to the strains of the a people once oppressed it continued Imperial anthem, 'Vox Noster' (which across the riversides and continued means, when translated, 'The Voice', drying juice alternatively 'The Vote'). With some ef­ africa drifting peace fort, Pilate looked at the prisoner. saluted meetings followed 'You are a dangerous, deceitful man,' this uhuru tigerish or fearless he said. 'It is the obstinacy of people year after year like you which prevents the full bless­ the rebellion was there ings of Imperial rulership from coming haunted by nibmar* to your people. We cannot allow your it collapsed detente type to go on obstructing progress and across the bridge interfering with good race relations. farewell wakoloni and failed geneva Therefore I intend to rid the country of the war continued you and any others like you whom I lay tolling its tragedies my hands on.' away forevermore the rapturous rape faring to the grind He expected the prisoner to say of the wakoloni* of time and fate something to this. He had actually steel­ that ushered ed himself to shut out any pleas for our destruction * nibmar — no independence clemency. But nothing came; not one and violated before majority rule word. A little disappointed in spite of our fulfilment his conscience, Pilate called for the we struggled change guard. The door banged open and two with the bondage centurions clumped in. Pilate nodded of our own minds the clouds towards the prisoner and said, 'Take leaning to the estrangement him away. You know where he goes to.' losing the from the love lustre of As he said it, he realised that he was of our own music still speaking in the bastardised kitchen clarity there was even a stranger reunion the sky dialogue in which he had conversed with with our African the prisoner and the court delegation. saturated heritage with imminent The centurions hesitated a moment as in a changed their brains translated the command tears order of things there's neither into Latin. Then they acted. One of that saw us them pinioned the prisoner's arms be­ breeze nor wind forsaking the nature to deceive hind his back while the other kicked of our own destiny away the wicker stool. As he jabbed his the vision to be the half replicas that the season knee sharply into the prisoner's ribs, he of past masters barked out an order in Latin: belongs to the peasants 'Opskud, kaffir!' he snapped, which * Shangaan for colonialists means, when translated . . . •

14 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 SOME KINDS OF WOUNDS A Short Story by Charles Mungoshi/Zimbabwe Illustrated by Goodman Mabote

Cute pushed the woman gently into the room and before she could sit down on the floor — as I saw she was about to, I quickly offered her a chair. Suddenly the smell in the room changed. The woman carefully sat on e edge of the chair, her hands in her lap, eyes cast down. Kute remained standing in the doorway.

'Okay?' he whispered. that it was partly open. I couldn't bring myself to open it 'It's all right,' I said. wider. 'Good. Won't be long. A minute to work the windowpane Slowly I turned my head towards the woman. She wore a loose — and — hallelujah!' He was in sudden good spirits. sleeveless top of some faded very thin pink material that 'Mind the neighbours,' I warned him. showed she had nothing inside to hold up her breasts. She 'They call me Cool Cat Kute. And anyway who would had on a home-made black skirt and her dusty feet were hear a thing with that kind of roof-wrecking racket going covered by worn-out once-white tennis shoes without laces. on? Tell me Gatsi. How did I go and choose me a father like Her head was covered in a headcloth that hid almost half her that?' face down to the top of the bridge of her nose so that her 'The ways of the Almighty are mysterious and not to be eyes were in shadow. It gave her a very mysterious look sniffed at with our clay snouts,' I offered him the wis­ which I was sure must have appealed to Kute's'sense of the dom of our seven-month friendship. sensual. There were deep lines down from the flanks of 'Amen. Could we borrow a knife?' her nostrils to the corners of her mouth. These lines gave her I handed him my all-purpose table knife. 'Mind you don't an old woman's face although I could sense that she was reak it. It's the last of its kind in this country.' far from being old. In fact, there was a certain subtle 'Priceless, to be precise,' he said, giving it the expert awkwardness in her that made me feel she wasn't even aware )utcher's professional squint. 'It's in safe hands.' Turning to that she was a woman. he woman, he whispered loudly, 'Patience. The reverend She looked as if she had come a very long way on foot. Gatsi here will take good care of you. I lost my key and the She looked that dusty and travel-used — a kind of slept-in- pare is opening up some bright futures for me in my father's every-place air about her. And she sat in that chair as if she ams.' He said this last bit nodding towards the sound couldn't trust herself to let go and relax, as if she knew that Dming from his father's room down the corridor. this was only a temporary resting place on the long road. The woman didn't say a thing. He went out to the back And yet, in spite of all this, there was a kind of watchful- ere the door to his room was. The smell in the room stillness about her, a kind of relaxation-in-motion that made < - growing thicker. I guiltily looked at the window and saw me feel that she was as much at home in that chair as on

AFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 15 her feet or asleep. Walking, sitting or Those hands . . . gave me a feel­ it far from here, this Highfield?' sleeping, her body had erased all the ing I had never had since coming I could smell the sadza burning bu I differences and acquired its own kind of to the city some ten or so years didn't have the energy to take the pot separate peace with her mind. before. They belonged to the off the stove. I had turned the flarne She didn't look at the pot of sadza low thinking it wouldn't need attendi J cooking on the fire, nor round this depths of the heart of the to till the woman had left the room. room which must only have been country and all that I missed. 'Is it far?' she repeated. strange to her with the numerous books 'No,' I said, suddenly unforgivabl / piled knee-high against one wall, some 'He told me this is his house.' angry with Kute. I wondered what he cheap reproductions of some abstract 'It's his father's, and he is the first had told her and how she had got he; : paintings, the typewriter, the single un­ born, so I suppose that makes it his.' without asking for directions. made bed and the clothes hanging from She didn't seem to have heard me. I 'This friend of yours in Highfield/ wire-hangers in a corner. She did not said, 'But his father sleeps in his own asked quickly, 'did he ask you to com- even look at me or at anything else ex­ room and Kute has his room at the to him? Wasn't he waiting for you at cept at her hands in her lap. I wondered back.' Musika Bus Terminus?' whether she even saw those hands. The 'And you are his brother?' she asked She simply shook her head and saic silence in her resting hands suggested with the slightest hint at raising her nothing. How the hell could I help her i some deep religious experience in her. eyes. she wasn't going to talk? I looked ou Those hands — which were clearly not 'I am only their lodger.' She didn't through the window, seeing nothing sweating from nervousness as mine seem to understand that. 'I pay rent to feeling a newer kind of chilly guilt creef would in the presence of strange people them for this room. We are not related over me. I was suddenly aware of or unfamiliar rooms — gave me a feeling at all.' the depth of my hatred for Kute but I had never had since coming to the city She didn't say anything to this. couldn't do anything and I just sat there some ten or so years before. They be­ I picked up the book, decided that feeling as if I were keeping vigil in a longed to the depths of the heart of the poetry would be easier in the circum­ house of mourning. country and all that I missed. She re­ stances. I threw the book on top of the 'When he left there was no time to minded me of where I came from and pile of other books and pulled out a say goodbye,' she startled me once suddenly the smell in the room was much-referred-to dog-eared paperback more. I turned towards her. clearly a mixture of human sweat and edition of Paul Celan's Selected Poems. 'My boyfriend,' she helped me al­ soil and grass and leaves as we carted His poetry was very difficult yet most though I was sure she couldn't have read hay for the cattle. Once I knew what it of the poems were almost haiku-like in my thoughts. 'I didn't even see him. He was, I felt at home in it. their brevity. I thought I would work on left word with one of his friends to tell Outside, I heard the scraping of the the meaning behind the verbal appear­ me that should I ever come to Harare I knife on Kute's window. ance while I waited for Kute. What should look him up in Highfield.' 'He has lost his key and he is trying bothered me was that the words were all 'And the number? Where exactly in to remove the window pane so that you quite simple — I didn't need a diction­ Highfield were you to look him up?' can get in,' I told the woman, for some­ ary for their conventional meanings — 'There was no time.' She hadn't thing to say. yet the way

16 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 She looked up at me, but not accus­ ingly, rather pleadingly, as if asking how I could be so cruel — but then I might have been wrong in thinking so because nothing in her showed that she needed my pity. Instead, I could feel a deeper silence settling in the room, that kind of silence one senses in places where a hu­ man life has been lost, the scene of an accident or some other disaster. A des­ perate, frightening silence that makes you ask metaphysical questions. 'How far is this Highfield?' she asked after some time. I heard a tap on the window. I looked up and saw Kute looking in, grinning. I restrained myself from slap­ ping that greedy meaty grin off his face. 'It's open,' he said. He came round to the door and entered without knocking. He handed me the knife. 'Thanks, Gatsi,' he said. 'Keep it safe for future journeys to the land of milk and honey — it's an all-purpose Moses's rod.' He nodded towards his father's snoring. 'Ask Pharaoh and the Red Sea.' He laughed and rubbed his hands. I didn't answer him. 'All right, Reverend Gatsi. All right. Come on, sister.' He was angry. They went out and Kute's anger re­ minded him to close the door softly. His father's snores were coming along the corridor like trapped wind in a tunnel. There were slight rustles and soft-footed thuds as they helped each other through the window into Kute's room. I sat in my chair, doing nothing. Forty minutes later I heard a sound vhoto, Ralph Ndawo as if someone was crying. I listened hard passing information to the soldiers, nored by the host. It made my guilty and heard them coming out. Their ey kill you. If your neighbour hates feeling more complex. I felt that she shadows passed by my window and I you he.can tell either the soldiers or was silently asking me why I wasn't also heard their footfalls fade beyond the vanamukoma that you are a sellout and out there. I looked at my pile of books yard to get swallowed by other footfalls her way you will be killed.' She and suddenly I wished I hadn't let her on the street. lowered her eyes. I would have felt into the room. Kute came back five minutes later. sier had there been any kind of self- 'He was going to marry me,' she said. He entered my room without knocking. pity or suffering in her voice. 'He would have married me if he hadn't 'Silly bitch,' he said, sitting on the 'So, what did your boyfriend do? felt that one day he might join the edge of the table. He wanted my com­ Why did they come for him?' I felt it fighters — vanamukoma. He was quite pliments or some kind of comment that wouldn't be safe for me to ask her who friendly with them but they told him to would make him feel good. He always came for him. help his old people on the farm. They felt he wasn't living until someone else 'Nothing,' she said. 'He didn't do didn't even recruit him to be a mujihha told him so. When he saw that I wasn't anything at all. The soldiers just don't — that's the name for their messengers going to answer him he went on, feel happy with a young man of twenty or spies — local village boys who keep 'Thinks this is a home for the pregnant, doing nothing out there.' vanamukoma supplied with inform­ destitute and aged.' He shook a cigarette 'But are you sure that he came here ation.' from my pack which was lying on the vhen he ran away?' I felt that it was 'I know,' I said and then wished I table and lit it. He drew in smoke and more likely that he would want to join hadn't said it. The pinpoints of light filled his cheeks and then blew it out vanamukoma in the bush if the soldiers from her dark tunnel bored into me but stintingly, afraid to waste a good smoke. were after him. He would be safer in the she quickly dropped her head. 'Wanted to spend the night here. bush. I looked through the window. I felt Wouldn't accept any money. And does 'Wouldn't it have been safer for him ashamed of the poetry. What was Kute she stink! If the old goat weren't around > run into the bush?' I asked, seeing still doing? The scraping had stopped. I would have asked her to have a bath that she didn't seem to have heard me. 'It must be tough living out there,' I first.' 'He was going to marry me when all said, wanting to hear more. It was like a 'From where did you pick her up?' I this fighting was over,' she said, appa- sore which you felt needed scratching. asked. ntly not interested in my questions. I 'We no longer think about it.' 'The pub.' He pulled on his cigarette It like someone who had been invited 'What are you going to do if you and began to laugh. 'Can you imagine it, to a party and then found himself ig­ don't find him here?' man. She was asking for directions to

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 17 Highfield in Highfield! Must have got in­ begin to purr, stroking his whiskers and 'Take what slow?' to town today. Never even went to licking his fur as if he had finally landed 'You know what I am talking about school. Can you imagine that — in this the record-breaking rat. Once or twice per week is all right. No day and age?' He had a good laugh over 'Hey,' he said suspiciously, 'what's everyday.' that and went on, * "Would you please got into you?' 'What the hell are you talking tell me where Highfield is, brother." I didn't answer him. about?' And I took her right to Highfield — 'Well, I got what I wanted out of her I could see dark anger and fear here! I told her Highfield was too damn — Chesa stink, rags and all — and she gathering in his eyes like storm clouds. far to get there tonight.' can get what she wants from someone 'It isn't healthy, you know.' 'Did she say what she was doing in else. Saved me the trouble of scrounging 'What isn't healthy?' He was hedging the pub?' for cigarette stubs though. Mighty con­ trying to avoid facing it. He knew what 'What else does her type do in the siderate of her. Kakara kununa hudya I was talking about. pub?' kamwe, as the wise old folks had it. Dog 'This won't get you anywhere, Kute.' 'You didn't ask her?' eat dog.' 'The hell you say!' He banged the 'That's her problem. If I had known 'Kute.' table with his fist. 'Has my old man she was pregnant I wouldn't have 'Yes?' asked you to interrogate me about this?' bothered with her. Silly bitch.' 'You should have given her the 'I don't need your old man to see I was quiet for some time while he money, you know. Forget about lying that.' smoked and thought over the wrong she to her about Highfield. But the money 'Oh, so you have decided to play the had done him. at least.' saviour! With your kind of guts?' he 'Where have you taken her now?' I 'Well, she refused it, didn't she? You sniggered. 'Look, you are just jealous, asked. aren't suggesting that I should have gone man. You can't do what I can do and 'I put her on the street and pointed down on my knees and begged her to you dream of doing it and when the east, south, north and west and told her take it, are you?' moment of truth comes you haven't got this was all Highfield.' He laughed. The 'She is not your usual type. Probably the guts, right? You wanted that piece smoke caught in his throat and he she didn't know all you wanted out of of tail and you hate my guts for doing coughed. 'You know, Gatsi, I just don't her is only that.* what I have done to her. Why don't you understand these country women. I 'Heey! Come on, Gatsi. You know ask me how it's done and I will give you offered her money and she refused it. very well what she wanted — a good bed a few elementary lessons, huh, Gatsi- And yet any fool can see how desperate­ and a man for the night. Then to­ boy?' ly she needs food, decent clothes, and if morrow she would have come back 'That doesn't change the fact that she is going to have a baby — hell. Pro­ again — and tomorrow and tomorrow you won't get anywhere. Look how bably she will throw it down some till I was so entangled with her I many times you have been to the doc­ sewer drain or dump it on some rubbish wouldn't know whether my head comes tor. Your seat-hide must be as perfora­ heap for the dogs.' before my arse or what.' He was now ted as a sieve now. Sounding tough and I looked through the window. pleading with me. He didn't want me to brave doesn't get you anywhere either.' 'Where did she go?' I asked. get him wrong. He lived on the actor's 'Hell, man, hell! And what has ever 'How the hell should I know? Does habit, the clap of the hand and the cry got me anywhere in this rotten world? her type ever lack places to go to? She for more. Third division in Form Four and every­ just walked straight away from me I kept quiet but turned to look at one at my neck saying I wasn't applying without looking back — as if she knew him. myself. Four years tramping round the where she was going. How the hell 'Look,' he said. 'Why this sudden country, knocking on every goddamn would I know where she was heading?' interest in that — that slut?' door for any kind of job and being I didn't say anything. 'She is no slut. She may be pregnant shooed off with a boot in my arse and 'You know, I think she was after but she is no slut.' at home my old man out for my scalp something more than money. You can 'Does she come from your home?' telling me I am not searching hard never tell in these times. Telling me she 'No.' enough. I would have drunk, taken has walked all the way from Chesa or 'Then?' drugs — anything to jump out of my whatever place she mentioned — after I didn't answer. skin — but that stuff hasn't just been her parents had been killed and she 'Or you wanted her for yourself?' He good for me. And now you begrudge me escaped — who does she think will be­ had solved the problem for himself. He the one and only little thing that keeps lieve that baboon-and-hare story in laughed long and hard. He patted me on me going.' these times? Does she look the type that the shoulder and laughed some more till As always, the anger was crumbling could have walked from Chesa to you? tears stood in his eyes. 'Guts-less Gatsi! into his only other weapon that was The dirt, the stink and the simple men­ Why didn't you tell me you wanted her? even worse than the anger. It was as if I tality might belong to Chesa yes — but I could have left her all to yourself and had taken the lid off a sewer-drain man­ don't let that fool you. She could have gone and found me another tail. Now hole knowing exactly what would come run away from home in Harare — her you are growing up. You are coming to out but not quite prepared to take what father after her with the old battleaxe my way of thinking now. That's a good finally came out of it. for conceiving a bastard — and now she sign. The heavens augur well for a bum­ 'Listen,' I said, 'I am only trying to wants to con some fool of a man into per crop in tail this year!' He looked at help.' keeping her till she delivers and later she me as if I were a long-lost brother 'Yeah? Give me a job then — and will run away again with all his money suddenly come home without warning. money and keep me sane.' and clothes and his everything — leaving 'Tell you what,' he said. 'When I make 'You are getting more than enough him to look after her bastard. Damn my patrol tomorrow night we go money from your old man.' silly bitch!' together, right? Good Gutsy Gatsi. Man 'For my private studies. And he He smoked for some time in silence. does not live on books alone but gave it to me until he saw you with all I knew he was looking at me, waiting on ... ' those books. He thinks it's the books for me to say something like 'Good old 'I think you should take it slow,' I that get one a job.' Cool Cat Kute', so that he could really cut into his sermon. 'I don't see how else you want to get

18 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 a better job if you aren't going to study have been through something like it able to help your little brothers and for it.' too.' sisters just because you have been 'So you haven't heard of the univer- 'But not four years, man. Four years labelled incompetent by some smart sity blokes who have been years looking is too long for any man to be still hop­ Mr Know-it-all who has had the further for jobs?' ing.' luck of having it believed by your own 'That's no reason why you shouldn't 'But you can't just give up like this. family?' study yourself.' You aren't helping anyone, least of all 'Then prove yourself!' 'What the hell do you mean, I am not yourself, by being bitter and attacking 'Prove my death, you mean?' studying?' your father and dropping your studies 'So you want to kill — you would ra­ and chasing tail. You have to face your­ 'Don't fool yourself, Kute. Since you ther kill yourself?' self, find what you want to do and do 'Who says I am killing myself?' bought those books you haven't it.' 'How many times have you been to touched a single one of them. If your He squinted dangerously at me, 'So I the doctor for the past half-year and he old man had been to school he would was right, huh?' has diagnosed VD in one form or know exactly what you are doing to 'Right about what?' another?' him.' 'You are together with my old man. 'So you told my father that too? He leaned towards me menacingly Shit, man. I thought you were my You are not leaving any stone unturned and hissed, 'You aren't going to let him friend. I thought you understood. I per­ are you? You want to see me complete­ hear that are you?' suaded my old man to give you a room ly destroyed.' He put his hands to his I said nothing. here and now you are better than me — face. 'Well, are you?' His nose was only a his own son!' 'How could I tell him that?' few inches from my face. 'Don't hang your own shortcomings 'Sure you didn't when you shout it 'It's your funeral, Kute,' I said, rising round other people's necks, Kute.' out like that as if you were the short­ to close the window. 'But I wish you 'Dang shortcomings! I know you changed tenth wife in a polygamous wouldn't take advantage of your old have been stabbing me in the back since marriage!' man in this way.' that time you started staying here. 'Kute.' He leaned back in his chair and Neither you nor my old man has the 'Don't Kute me!' brought his hands to his face, sighed and guts to say it to my face but I know it. I 'Listen.' looked blearily at me. He said, 'You have been too long out among people to 'Listen yourself, Mr Gutbug! It's me on't know how it is.' be fooled by toothpaste-advert smiles.' who feels the pricks of the doctor's "I know.' 'You are imagining things, Kute.' needle. It's me who is going to do the 'No, you don't.' 'Exactly. And who taught you that dying if there is going to be any dying We were quiet for some time. word? Let me tell you. It's that pig around here. And you won't hear me 'Know what,' he said. 'When I ran grunting down the corridor who would complain when I am dead, hear that? into you that day in town — must be six sell his own son for chicken shit.' Not a single word from me when I am months or so now — and you told me 'You are frustrated, Kute, and that's down and under. I'll be so far away and that you were looking for a room, you all. You can't face the real world that's out of it all that I won't bother you. don't know how good I felt. To have doing this to you and so you turn Then you can continue with your books someone — a classmate from way back those that would — ' all year round, all your damn precious those years in school — to talk to. life. God, I wish I had never met you!' Someone like you to confide in, some- 'You mean people like you? You are one who would understand. I knew I damn right. It's people like you who I looked at him. There were pieces of could trust you. You were one of those come messing up things for us un­ broken glass in his eyes. who always understood me. I felt fortunates who should be shot.' 'Please leave me alone with my life, good, I tell you. And the best feeling I 'You are not an unfortunate, Kute.' Gatsi, will you? I can't be as bright as ever had in my life was when I knew I 'The hell I am not! When they have you and you can't do what I can do al­ could ask my old man — persuade him looked inside my head and decided that though no one else thinks it's anything to give you a room here. I knew I am not good for anything else and and when I die you will be king of the he would know I was moving in good what kind of load do you think I always world and cock of the roost and I hope company. I knew he would know that I carry round with me if it isn't Maths — to honest God that you drown in your wasn't as useless as he seemed to think. 20 percent; English Literature — 15 per­ own piss so leave my goddam rotten life That made me feel good, Gatsi. To be cent; History — 40 percent; Geography alone, will you?' able to do something for someone, for — 19 percent? They have made my old I looked at him and he turned his nothing. I almost cried, Gatsi. It's a man and all people I know believe it and face away from me, swallowing hard. I thing I have always wanted to do all my now you are pushing it further into my looked through the window and saw life but when you don't have what old man's head that I am completely only my reflection in the glasspane. others have how do you do it? Who will castrated with your books and studies. 'Just stay out of my life,' he said, his believe you that you are sincere? I know He really believes it's this shit you are eyes to the wall but his fists clenched so don't have your kind of brains. Even doing in here that makes people and hard that several veins bulged out in his in school, but should the luck always because I can't measure up to it — I am neck. come to those who have brains alone? lost. I am not his son any more. Do you He stood up and, without looking at Look at me now, still at the bottom of realise what I am talking about, you me, opened the door and went out, clos­ my class while you are well-tucked into squirty worm?' ing the door so silently that the echo of that firm of publishers. And my old 'Listen. I just wanted to help. Forget its eternal bang haunted me for the next tan believes it's because I am lazy. Do all I said. I was just worried that you three weeks as I tramped from one loca­ you know that my old man loves you might catch it worse than what you are tion to another in search of new lodg­ ;ore than me — his own son? Do you receiving treatment for right now.' ings. I had also given away the bulk of know that?' 'Just like my father. Now you are the my books to friends because I found 'No.' bigger brother that I don't have. Do you that it was just too much useless bagg­ 'The hell you don't!' know what it feels like to be the big age to lug around with me whenever Listen Kute. I know how you feel. I brother in a family of eight and never be there was a need to change lodgings. •

vFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 19 This is for you Adam, my first man, and for you Jane: this tale of my burned and wasted youth: for you have been taken by dark time, and I want remission through my utterance.

It was when I had left school and was in my first year at university; eighteen years old, scrabbling around the campus with my bag of books and short-sighted­ ness. Jane was in my English class and we sat near each other. She was very beautiful, a target for the predatory men who stalked women there, as always. But she held aloof, being an intellectual and, for those times, a radical. Those times. The early 1960s, after Sharpeville, had the taste of revolution in the wintry wind. For me, South Africa has never been the country presented in the gross coffee-table books on tribes and wildlife, or the sunny panoramas of the Satour bro­ chures. For me, this is cold country, and in winter the air itself tastes bitter, like the taste of generations of cruelty and oppression. In winter, then, I sat near Jane for the warmth of her body; and the fire of her opinions brought warmth too. Conrad, Lawrence, James: we read these books and wrote papers on them. I struggled, for my background was im­ poverished; not simply in the cash valu­ ation you could put on it, though that was scant enough: but in the very ari­ dity of the mental climate. I moved in the remotest suburbs of thought. Far A story by Peter Wilhelm away I saw the lights, and was drawn like a moth. I cannot easily describe Jane. Very beautiful,' I have written, knowing it to illustrated by n.d.mazin be a cliche. Her hair was blond, she was tanned and 'athletic'. And at the end of a fruitful and natural consummation on my crotchety old car, so essential to that curt summation one adds, 'Etc' could come a burgeoning foetus. And getting around, and for spare change to The fact of beauty was there, like a cat after that marriage, abortion, God knew buy Jane hamburgers after we had seen in the house: but then I could match what. Alien territory. So one did not Bergman's latest contribution to cosmic that by being handsome in a parodic transgress easily, and there was an pessimism. Jane generally accompanied fashion, and I played all the sports. She understanding implicit in the gropings me to the various dances at which I would not have been drawn to me that in the end one would drive home in played, but was mostly bored. 'Why through a reciprocation of prettiness. sexual agony. don't you ever play real music?' she Had that been on, other men would I had worked part-time to buy an would ask. She meant jazz. 'It's not that have put her in their pockets with their electric guitar, and I was a member of a kind of band,' I would reply, on the meaty hands: after all, just ahead is the band that played on Friday or Saturday defence. 'I can play jazz if I want to.' man who is better than you in every nights at various student parties. We She came from a very rich back­ respect. barely got by, musically and financially. ground; her parents had a castle in But because I had a carnal wish for There were four of us: lead guitar (my­ Houghton, with uniformed servants, a learning, Jane came my way. self), electric bass, drums, and a per­ bar, everything. She did not merely have We dated regularly. We went to art petually stoned dude who played all her own room: it had an adjacent study. movies. Now in those days sex had not kinds of instruments very well — piano, Her father was the head of an important been invented, so to speak. One took saxophone, flute. liberal organisation, and needed a study oneself to the extremes of passion in We played to order, like robots. to concoct his ringing denunciations of parked cars or bedrooms when parents There was no improvisation, no com­ apartheid; so, in a kind of dreamy intel­ were out for the night: but the essential plexity, no jazz unless a few rehearsed lectual deliverance, he had provided his was not consummated. Of course girls riffs in the midst of a twelve-bar-blues sons and daughter with studies. They still say, 'No, no,' when they mean 'Yes, number can be accounted such. would need them. Everybody needed yes,' but back then the rebuttal was I had no ambitions musically. I play­ them, right? somewhat more in force. At the end of ed to earn money to keep up payments 'Prove to me you can play jazz,' Jane

20 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 6 So I'm supposed to go to bed 'No, no.' But I don't want trouble.' with you because I believe in 'Yes, yes.' 'Piss off.' freedom for the African people? 'No, stop.' 'Piss off yourself you arrogant 'I'd do anything for you. I want to twerp.' That's the most nonsensical make love with you.' Let me speak about myself briefly, as argument I've ever heard.' 'You'd never respect me afterwards.' I then was. I was just a young white lad 'Of course I'd respect you after­ from a succession of poor suburbs. said once. 'Bring your guitar to my wards. I'd respect you even more.' Blacks were not, so to speak, visible to house and see if you can play along 'No.' me. I had been brought up in the pro­ ^(with Parker or Mingus.' She had all I sat upright, hurt and almost angry. prieties and rectitudes of a normal the records. 'See if you can play 'You talk so much about freedom and family for that time and place — except ike Coltrane, or only imitate Cliff all: why can't you be free with me?' that an entire section, a nation one Richard and The Shadows!' She shook her head. 'I'm not that might say, had been rendered invisible Damn right I was going to try. So I kind of girl.' to me. My parents spoke easily of practised at home, sending my fretful 'Well perhaps you should become 'boys', and I seldom met black people fingers over the frets, learning apparent­ that kind of girl. You're nothing but a who were not servants — not of that ly spontaneous sequences of notes. I — ' And there I stopped short of using a amorphous gestation of 'garden boys' went over them, and over them again. term very familiar- in my background, and 'kitchen girls' who scurried around Mother threw fits. 'Switch that thing off but one which would have shocked her and beneath the skirts of white society, or I'll break it over your head! You'll and driven her away. cleaning up and being humble. My view have me in the bladdy lunatic asylum if 'A what?' she snorted, also sitting up. of the real world was therefore un­ you go on.' 'Just what am I? Go ahead and say what balanced. 'I make money out of it,' I would you were going to say.' Jazz players, for people like Jane, reply. 'I pay for my textbooks by play­ 'A hypocrite,' I mumbled, for that myself, and indeed the president of the ing the guitar.' was the most acceptable alternative that Jazz Society, represented far more than 'No you don't. Your father pays for occurred to me right then. a musical ambience: they stood for their your textbooks by repping in the north­ She laughed. 'So I'm supposed to go people, a symbol in the liberal's mind. ern Transvaal, leaving me alone here to to bed with you because I believe in Yet, after all, they were simply men; listen to your crap. You just play to freedom for the African people? That's they struggled under an additional yoke show off to your rich little girlfriend.' the most nonsensical argument I've ever when the liberals made their play of So it went on. heard.' them, as if they were cards in a bridge I went to Jane's house and played 'Well,' I said, producing like a magic game. along with Parker and Mingus, their rich rabbit an idea, a threat, a strategy. No wonder Adam Moletsi drank. He organic sounds coming out of vast hi-fi 'Would you go to bed with me if I stood had to stand up there in the face of speakers that cost more than I could up on stage with Adam Moletsi and those white youths and play nigger for make out of my playing in a year. I played jazz just as well as he can?' them. played along, not very well, but surpris­ The proposition had coalesced out of I made my preparations for the ingly well enough to please Jane. Jazz, the variant threads of our conversation, afternoon of the concert. Because I, a she explained to me (remember this was our relation of bodies, our sense of each white, was going to stand up with those the Sixties), was the authentic music of other's dimensions of soul. said representatives of blackdom, I the 'Negro'. It was, therefore, a bold And: 'Yes,' she said. would take upon myself a quantum of statement about life from men who It happened that Adam Moletsi was blackness. I knew that (and knew it was lived on the raw edge of danger and pre­ coming to the campus within the next why Jane would go to bed with me judice. week. He would bring his usual backing because of it: she really wanted to sleep By implication, even listening to jazz band with him and would give a mid- with a black man). However, because I showed not merely one's solidarity with afternoon concert in a medium-sized full realised my physical limits when it an oppressed people, but was in itself a hall. Several hundred students could be came to playing the guitar, and knew I quasi-revolutionary act. Your heart was expected to attend, and the university would be up front with professionals, I in the right area. Jazz Society (to which Jane and I prepared myself psychologically for the However. Jazz — as codified in those belonged) would charge admission to encounter: I boosted my pride, lest giant piles of records she had in racks non-members, and Adam and his band there be cataclysm. and on shelves — was an imported sub­ would be given the money that was The hall filled. Adam and his band version; the players were Americans. I taken in. It was an easy arrangement. arrived. He was drunk. He waved to the put a hard point to Jane: wasn't all this I went to the president of the Jazz girls and waggled his hips. There was a posture? In what way did it relate to Society and told him I wanted to play some laughter in the hall. the life content of South African blacks, with Adam. Adam. A tall, cadaverous man, his 'our' blacks. 'No, you can't do that,' he said liver mostly gone but giving to his light vIt's the same thing. They use music firmly. 'People will be paying to hear skin a yellow tinge. His blackness was in the same way. Look at Dollar Brand Adam, not you. Besides, it would look inside him, not folded over his bones. and Adam Moletsi.' ridiculous if you, a white, went up and I went up. 'I want to play with you.' Adam Moletsi was invited from time tried to compete with an assured black I pointed to a corner where I had in to time to play on campus. The atten­ jazzman.' The president spoke snottily, advance stacked my guitar and ampli­ tive white liberals would listen to him I had offended some sense of racial pro­ fier: a mean red Fender and a fine producing tortured notes from his saxo­ priety. wood and metal amplifier with a great phone, veritable cries of anguish and 'Well,' I said, 'I'm going to ask Adam attached speaker. pride on which they would comment if I can play with him. It's his scene; he Adam laughed, swaying over me. favourably. can decide.' 'Hey man, you want to play with us?' After I had played along with Jane's 'I still say no,' said the president; but He had an adopted American accent, records, we lay together on the bed and he was unsure now. like many black men of his generation. kissed. I took matters further. 'Perhaps if Adam says yes it'll be OK. He was perhaps forty-five. An old soul.

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 21 The whole band laughed. The presi­ Finally there was just Adam, myself But I came to clarity when Adam dent of the Jazz Society, blushing like a and Jane. We talked desultorily, unsure said: 'Listen man, give up playing. rose, came up and whispered to Adam. I of each other. Then Adam said: 'Hey, You're no good. This afternoon, that saw Jane sitting in the audience. Then man: you got a car?' was just playing games.' Adam turned to me and said, 'Sure, you 'Sure.' 'But I was . . . fluent ... I was OK, can join in on some numbers. Get set 'Let's go for a ride. Us three.' wasn't I?' up.' This was Life. I was tense and ex­ Jane looked intently at us two. The band went straight into 'Bloom- cited. So was Jane. 'Us three.' 'You were OK: but you don't under­ dido,' the Bird and Diz number that is So we went driving, packed into my stand it. You don't understand jazz. scatty and great. Adam played a solo Ford with conversation and brandy. You don't understand the pain, the and then turned to me to bring me in. I Adam told us a lot about himself, how suffering, the longing, the rocking, the felt total exposure. 'Bloomdido' was far he lived close to the edge but had good rolling . . . ' Adam was almost gibbering. out of my range. Absurdly, I shook my high-class gangster friends who helped He was very stoned. But, of course, I head and Adam let the drummer go for him out. He actually sat there, reclining understood him all too well. thirty-two bars, an impressive explosion in the back seat and told us stuff like 'I tried,' I said defensively. that diverted attention away from my that, nodding off from time to time. He 'Sure. But that's not good enough. initial, devastating failure. I sensed directed me, and soon I found that we You'll never get there man: just face it, Adam's concern not to embarrass me were on our way to Alexandra town­ and you'll be happier.' and was swayed by curious emotions. ship. A black area: I felt trepidation. 'What was wrong with my playing?' The next number was a straight­ But we were not soon into the town­ 'It was the wrong colour man, forward twelve-bar-blues: three chords, ship when Adam sat up alertly and told that was all.' up and down. A child could do well. me to park. 'I don't Adam, I was certain, had set this up for 'You stay here,' he instructed Jane. 'It was the wrong colour! It's not me and I played a perfect solo when my Then he took my arm and we walked your music and you can't play it and turn came, being really fancy and over­ out together in those bitter streets, you never will play it. Even if you put riding notes so that it sounded like Chet frozen in the early winter, to a shop out sounds like Charlie Parker, and Atkins had come in, but funky, good. where a Chinese man sat and watched. there is no difference between you and You could feel it was good. I was We bought from him dagga, the Charlie Parker, there will still be a applauded. weed, boom: that which I had always difference. It's not your music' So it went. Adam now knew what I associated with precipitation into black­ Then he turned to Jane: 'But you're could do, so he did not ask me in on ness, the revenge of the blackman my woman, you're my music' numbers beyond my scope. At one on the white whose consciousness can­ 'No she's not,' I shouted. 'Take your point he took a nip of brandy out of his not bear alteration. hands off her.' coat pocket, sipped, and offered it to A secret about drugs: any hell they We all pummelled each other; it was me. I took it, proud in front of all those give is better than the hell of the white farce. At last Adam gave up and simply envious white dudes. man for the black. laughed. 'OK white boy, she's your The concert came to an end and the We drove out of Alex, through mute, woman. Just take me to the station and students filed out. I was left standing manicured, varnished suburbs, all order drop me off. She's all yours.' Then, with Adam and the band, the president, and the law incarnate, drove 'us three' abruptly, he leaned over to me and and Jane, who came up and took my with our cargo of hallucination and kissed me; I could actually feel the arm like Miss Universe. That was the communication. We smoked the stuff essence of love there, a tolerance and an proudest moment of my youth. I felt on and laughed like crazy as the world anguish; I smelt him. fire. Perhaps the brandy helped, but I twisted and warped, and we twisted and I kissed him back. was at ease with Adam, and the thought warped and flickered into bizarre, mean­ I gave up my guitar. Jane gave me up. of sex with Jane — assured now, on the ingless awareness: that point where just Adam died of cirrhosis of the liver. Jane line — churned in my bowels of com­ one more toke will be too much, or will married and had a child which drowned passion, as Lawrence would probably reveal all. The Allness waiting there in in her swimming pool, so she committed not have put it. the next joint, like reality about to serve suicide. 'You were very good,' said Jane. She a summons. The difference between youth and all smiled. We drove to the top of the Melville that comes afterwards is a simple one, a The president of the Jazz Society Koppies, looking down on the suburbs stage or an event that puts matters into paid the band out and the men split, and the city itself: far from any cop, perspective. Real people really die. Real except Adam who sat back in one of the smoking, smoking, pushing out smoke people have real limits. chairs, just like a student and thought­ from our lungs as if we were on fire. Jazz is something I have on my fully drank his brandy. His saxophone And what did we talk about? God record player. • was in a case on the bench before him. knows.

22 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 Staff rider Review I Exhibition: iEast Rand | Black Artists i Review by Andy Mason

The squat five-storied building in Germiston which houses I the offices of the East Rand Administration Board seems an I unlikely venue for an art exhibition. After braving the rather I daunting security check under the beatific smile of a large and lurid portrait of 'Oom Hendrik', we were led down a gloomy passage into a large room where the work of artists from the East Rand was on display. A colourful barrage of images at the far side of the room, representing work by children at the Katlehong Art Centre, and a variety of work ranging from paintings and graphics to Bhekisane Manyoni, sculpture ~ Crippled Lady Complaining sculpture and ceramics, immediately dispelled the sense of foreboding engendered by the monolithic exterior of the H.F. Verwoerd Building. The exhibition represented a wide range of artists working | in a diversity of styles and media, some very well known and | established, others relatively unexposed. The work of Napo Makoena, a young art teacher at the i Katlehong Centre, immediately stands out; solid images ! executed in a variety of media — especially 'My Identity', a j drawing of a young man slumped into a corner, beneath a I calender of staring eyes. The sculptures and lino-cuts of Bhekisane Manyoni, also | employed at the Katlehong centre, are striking and original. | This artist, educated at Rorkes Drift Art School, is compe- I tent in pottery, sculpture and graphics. His densely-worked | lino-cuts are suggestive of traditional story-telling, but con- | centrate more on unifying the elements of the composition | rather than isolating particular personal emotions. His sculp- j tures on the other hand, especially 'Crippled Lady Complain- | ing' and 'Angry Man' portray a complexity of emotions; pain | and anguish, self-pity and self-hate. Other accomplished | artists represented in the exhibition are Judas Mahlangu, j whose colour etchings show technical mastery in a difficult ! medium, and Speelman Mahlangu, whose previous sculptures ! are well known for their big feet. His sculptures and prints on • exhibition show him to be moving away from pathos as a i vehicle for emotion, towards a more angular, more mature i style. Another well-known artist represented was Billy Molo- \ keng, whose work continues to show the finish and style I which has made it an eminently saleable commodity in ; various Johannesburg galleries. But it is the work of younger artists like Martin Tose and : Mos's Petlo which shows the most striking steps forward, as | these students expand their technical and compositional I proficiency. Gamakhulu Diniso, lino-cut — What About Us? Martin Tose's drawing, 'Brotherhood', a back view of a j young man carrying his brother, is boldly executed, but his at a distance but reveal complexity and depth from a closer | conte drawing shows more finesse where abstraction eases perspective. the necessity of representational drawing. Mos's Petlo's Unfortunately the venue of the exhibition is relatively I drawing, 'Figure', shows a relaxed and free approach to line- inaccessible, not to mention inhibiting, and suggests that the work which carries a lot of energy but also shows an as yet position of the East Rand artists is rather dependent on unfinished style. Some of his pencil drawings, tightly flowing government patronage, as the opening, plagued by one bnes expressing symbolic ideas, show the influence of artists 'official' speech after another, clearly indicated. like Madi Phala and Fikile, and are an advance on his prevous However the extent to which young artists are drawn pencil work. towards the facilities provided by the Katlehong Art Centre The work of N.P. Magatikele is also striking — an untuto­ shows that their options are few, and that 'black art' in red abstract style in which archetypal African images are South Africa has a long way to go before it gets the public woven into dense surrealistic patterns which are obscure attention and patronage it deserves.

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 Staff rider Profile Katlehong Artists The Katlehong Art Centre is situated in the township of Katlehong and administered by the East Rand Administ­ ration Board. From shaky beginnings the centre has deve­ loped into a popular educational and recreational facility in the township. Andy Mason and Elaine Mohamed visited the centre and spoke with the four artists who are employed there as student teachers. They run the centre, work on their own projects, and teach the younger members. Excerpts of the interview are presented here:

Do you think there is something specific that you would describe as 'black art'? NAPO: I think art has got to be universal, not to be this art or that art, or that other art. . . So how do you explain the fact that there does seem to be a very specific style that one associates with 'black art'? NAPO: Well, I suppose that most of the time it's because of lack of training that we find this, and then it becomes identi­ fied as 'black art' ... I think one should be well equipped with some kind of 'touch' that comes from within, but there have to be some good basic principles of Art itself. Moss Petlo — drawing Do you think that black artists have followed a specific tradition of 'black art'? Napo Makoena, lino-cut — The Crusifix NAPO: Well it's hard to say at present because I suppose the artists who are doing this art are also trying to distinguish between one kind of art and another: they come into some sort of collision with Art itself. When you say 'Art itself what do you mean? NAPO: I mean in the sense that Art has always been Art, and whatever names are put to it are just to try and 'prove' it. But if we get down to the basics of Art, we find it to be a thing you learn by viewing the work of other artists, it's not going to be 'this' or 'that' kind of art, it's got to be a univer­ sal kind of thing ... I think, in perspective, we've got to look at it in its total view, on a very broad scope. Sipho, do you see yourself as specifically a 'black artist'? SIPHO: At the moment I'm just an artist, for Art's sake, since I feel that Art is universal. Bhekisane, your work seems to suggest, to be very connected with traditional art forms. BHEKISANE: Yes it is. Where does your subject matter come from? BHEKI: It comes from my spirit (demonstrates with hands, a movement outwards from within himself). And in our place (back home) we especially use tradition ... In our place, there are things which people have believed in many years ago, which now we cannot see, but we are still getting stories about them and are still worried about how we can get them. Speelman, your more recent scultures are much less easily identifiable as being 'black art' than your earlier ones, the political in the same way. Why do you think this is the case? ones with big feet. . . SIPHO: Since we are still students I don't think we have the SPEELMAN: Before I was working too much from my inner right to be political, but I think it is essential to improve self, rather from things I see . . . Now I can say that the ourselves in our studies rather than to concentrate on poli­ things that I do are mostly the things that I see . . . every day tics. scenes and the environment around the township. You mean the technical level of your art? This leads us into another area — the political aspect of your SIPHO: Ja, maybe afterwards when we have these tools, and art. Most literary art by black writers at the moment seems we can express ourselves fully, we may be political or what­ to be explicitly political, but your visual art does not seem ever, but at the moment we are working on projects, and am an artist,for Arts sake,for I believe that Art is universal...J

this is right — there is always some political aspect involved. I suppose everything is politics and it depends on whether your message can be driven through by your way of handling your technique. It is not a question of separating the technique from the subject matter because whatever you feel within yourself is what you have to be technically good enough to reproduce the way you want it. Are you saying you should avoid trying to deliver a message until you are technically equipped to do so? NAPO: Not avoid as such. It's like singing. When you prac­ tice singing, you have a certain style of singing and to improve your style you have to use it with the subject matter you are dealing with at present. As far as I'm concerned, the stuff I use is as general as anything. If you understand my work, you'll realise how political it is, if you don't you might not. Or you might think, 'this is politics, this is not', that's Bhekisane Manyoni, lino-cut — Zulu Transfer from how you might interpret any type of work that I do, it One Dwelling Place to Another depends on the person who is looking at it, and Art is for the people and it's for me too. About this idea of art being for the people . . . how do you see the function of the artist in society, do you see him as a teacher? NAPO: I think Art deals with lots of subjects in itself and it is a teacher to people of course, but to do art is not to teach people. Considering that your work is being exhibited at a venue which is far from where you live, the people of your com­ munity don't actually get to see your work. How do you feel about that? NAPO: Well, I feel that, it's not for particularly these people or those people, it's for the public in general. And the fact that it is exhibited in a government building, under the eye of the state, how do you feel about that? BHEKISANE: I have no answer. There is only one thing; at this moment, you prefer to have something in your hands rather than nothing — I mean that. NAPO: The art should speak for itself. The sole purpose in having that work there is to reproduce the inner drive. Like we say, Art should be universal; it should go to the public irrespective of race or class, irrespective of 'this should be a public place' or 'that should be a public place'. We are going to have an exhibition at Northmead Mall and it is going to be viewed by the public, right, and the very same exhibition is going down to Johannesburg, it's not specifically meant to be at a certain building. Okay, but if we are talking about the relationsip between the artist and the community, we can say that art is universal and that it should cross barriers, but nevertheless we live in South Africa, which is probably one of the most separated, boxed- in societies in the whole world. In other words,, the idea of a single 'community' is a concept, but it is not so in real life, the communities are separated. Do you as an artist see yourself as more responsible to the black community or to Napo Makoena, drawing — My Identity the white community? NAPO: I suppose to everybody in particular. I mean white, black, pink, red or blue . . . they don't include politics. But surely you relate differently to a certain person, say Piet But it seems there are two things; one is the subject matter Koornhof, who attended the exhibition, and someone from and the other is the technical and formal side. As students down the street? Isn't there a difference in your relation Jo a here you are working to improve your technical capabilities, cabinet minister on one hand, and the guy next door on the but should that affect your subject matter? other? SIPHO: It does- NAPO: At that point, yes. The one has a coat and the other sTAPO: But not exactly. One has subject matter within one­ has no coat. But to me as an artist there is no difference. self. Maybe you are equipping yourself to fight against a That's very interesting . . . articular kind of a system, or to prove that this is wrong or NAPO: To me they are both the same.B e^ dp

^^ .A ^*L "A Ml <

"An excerpt from the diary of a Guguletu woman documenting the first wave of the ' illustrated by 'children's crusade' in Cape Town 1976. 1 Farouk Stem met The Diary of Maria Tholo, Carol Hermer. Published ;/j by Ravan Press, August 1980. 7« «\

Friday, September 17 there. In Claremont and Rondebosch There was one shopping complex there were crowds as if it were Friday — that stayed open, the one near what was immmThis was the week of the big staya- white people, everybody, stocking up once the NY 6 administration building. way. We were first informed about it for the Wednesday. I don't know what will happen to them. from pamphlets which were in all the The shops were running out of Angela, the adventurous one, actual­ post boxes last week. They asked for things. I wanted mince but there wasn't ly went to the racecourse. She and Pete workers to stay home from this Wed­ any so they had to go and prepare more. work at Tattersalls, so Wednesday being nesday till the end of the week. There People came back to the township load­ a race day they thought they might as had been rumours before but this was ed. well go. They weren't brave enough to the first definite thing. My neighbour opposite had gone to go in their own car. They were walking The night the papers arrived, Zeke the farm to get eggs. I baked bread. along to Mike's people when they and Joanna were over here and then Joanna baked buns and brought me passed a Kombi that usually goes to the Pete and Angela popped in as usual. some in case I didn't have bread. Angela course, so they stopped it and hitched a Nomsa had told them the crowd was also baked bread and brought me a loaf, ride. Actually, we've heard that most gathering at our place. Everyone was and finally Grace arrived with the people who could afford to go to the laughing about the stay away, especially heaviest looking vetkoeke. They were races took a chance and went. at Zeke. He's a big man and quite a completely unbaked inside but as she It wasn't all easy. As the Kombi was bully. Gus said to him, 'So who says said, at least she'd made an effort. 'Just leaving Guguletu to join Lansdowne you mustn't go to work? Who are you warn your brothers and your uncles Road a group of young boys stopped it. afraid of?' I'm no cook,' she laughed. So we were Angela said she was shivering. She was 'No one,' he said. 'But you just sort well prepared for all the visitors that the one closest to the door. The boys of hear that everyone is going to stay were expected during the big event. demanded to know where they were home. It's a general known thing.' Wednesday was dead quiet. Even going. When they heard the racecourse We were all laughing at each other. quieter than on a Sunday because here they said, 'Didn't you hear that no cars No one knew who sent out the notices in Guguletu shops are open seven days a are to move out of Guguletu?' or who intended to enforce the staya- week — but not this Wednesday. Gus The driver got cross and replied, way, but we were going to listen just the didn't go near work. He wouldn't even 'You get out of the way. You people same. It was like people driven by a venture out of the gate. Father was have no right to treat us like this.' Oh, force that they don't understand, but very, very ill. We had to get help but but that was the wrong thing to say. afraid enough to stay put and not Gus wouldn't go with me in the car be­ The kids — they were between nine and venture too far from home. cause of a notice which had said, 'No fourteen •?- said, 'You say that again and Tuesday, the day before the big cars on the road.' So I had to go alone you won't have anything to go back strike, was just like Christmas. The to fetch the doctor. His surgery was home in.' shops were so full you couldn't move. open in the morning but he closed it in Fortunately, the children started an We took it in turns to leave the children. the afternoon and brought everything argument among themselves. The older Nomonde and I went together but she he might need and saw Father. I think it ones thought it alright to let people go likes to shop in Athlone so I left her was very brave of him. to the races because it was not working,

26 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 198< but the younger ones were keen on the around. Everyone was too afraid to take By now the police had come out of

1AFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 27 Drama Section Theatre of the Dispossessed

An article based on discussions with JAMES MTHOBA and JOE RAHUBE, by MATSEMELA MANAKA

What is theatre? What was our theatre before the coming of the white man? How does experimental theatre differ from conventional theatre? With whom is our theatre communica­ ting — the dispossessed, the dispossessor or both? A class distinction must be made between the dispossessed and the dispossessors. What is the theatre of the dispossessed? Is it aiming at being popular or literary? My definition of lite­ rary' is intellectual, and 'popular' is fashion, though by fashion I do not necessarily mean sensational bullshit or non-committed entertainment. As a dramatist, there is a constant dramatic spiral of such questions challenging our creative abilities. Now that we are suffering from cultural malnutrition on this confusing colonial platform in search of our true selves, we shall constantly talk to those who tasted the colonial era before us. James Mthoba, an actor and director who appeared in a variety of plays since the fifties is still actively involved in the theatre arts.

James, I understand that when you started being involved in the performing arts, you were doing what you called sketches. Apparently, I am told, at that time the performing arts were pregnant with music groups like Manhattan Bro­ thers, Dambuza, Woodpeckers, Church Choirs and many more. And sketches were a must in all those musical shows. Now, despite the influence and dominance of sketches you managed to create an experimental play like Uhlanga. How did you find working on Uhlanga? James Mthoba, photo, courtesy Post Uhlanga took us eight months to put together. It was a bit taxing, especially when we started. We did not know where to start. All we wanted to do was a one man play because we What is the future of experimental theatre in the midst of had financial problems. We decided to spend most of our popular conventional threatre? To me experimental theatre is time working on improvised lines. Mshengu as a director and not yet popular. Even some of us who are trying to be myself as an actor. We went to Wits University, working two, involved in it hardly have a clear knowledge of what experi­ three hours on different ideas, at times spending the whole mental theatre is. And this very experimental theatre seems night on one idea. It just did not work. Till one day, after to be addressing the intellectual elite. I don't know whether such a long session we went to my home, tired. We decided our theatre is aiming at addressing a wider audience or not — to look at the whole problem over a bottle of beer. That was well if it is, then I would like to know whether you think the beginning of things. experimental theatre will survive and become popular? Meshengu said, 'Hey look at yourself. What do you see?' I really don't know. But I think there is a chance, because I 'Steelen bones, the bones that have taught me how to relate have tried. I had a play which I directed called Visions of the to my ancestors, the bones that have taught me how to Night. It was really an experimental piece. This play started survive, the bones that have . . . ' Then Mshengu said, 'Let's at dawn. It was all my experience of dawn or of the night. It have a play stretching back from the ancestors, the way they started at dawn and ended at . . . hey!, did I say dawn? It see things happening and how they lived before whitey started at dusk, sunset, and ended at dawn. I spoke about came.' That was the beginning of Uhlanga. We had three one night in Soweto. It was really experimental and of course phases; life before the coming of the white man, life today improvised. and life in the future. After the completion of the production, because we knew So do you think experimental theatre could easily integrate we were going to have problems in presenting it, we decided the past, present and future? to move in backyards, just inviting people and performing I don't think there is any other theatre except experimental free of charge. This became the struggle to make our theatre theatre. Experimental African theatre — No, let me say popular. experimental theatre. I think that that is the theatre that can We were going right out to places like Nylstroom, places help us dig out our cultural past. Because in this theatre, un­ where people had probably never seen drama before. And we like in conventional theatre, an actor is given a chance to would just ask people to vacate the grounds, football explore, to experiment without restrictive rules. grounds, and start doing our thing.

28 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 • The dispossessed need no entertainment that will make them oblivious of their state of subservience. 9

| That was street theatre and in terms of the Riotous Assem­ bling about the play in the trains and buses. Critics must also blies Act, I think it is no longer possible in South Africa. be aware that good attendance from the audience does not (Persistently) Well, what else can we do? But what I disagree necessarily declare a play a masterpiece. Nor does financial with is what people say about the taste of the audience . . . success determine the success of the play. The success of any They say they know the people's taste, know that the audi­ play is determined by the effect it leaves on the minds of ence likes this kind of theatre, or that the audience does not those who have seen it. This is what communication is all | like that kind of theatre . . . That thing, I really don't go about. | hand in hand with, because I think that as a writer or drama- Anybody who has a love and passion for theatre can I tist, you must do the best you can. And do what you want become a critic. Obviously this kind of person will constantly j to, not what the other person wants. If your contemporaries be prowling through his bookshelves and paging through his don't understand you, it's okay. The next generation will books of reference and listening to what other people have to understand you. It's okay. say about theatre. Then through this kind of commitment, he can easily tell what theatre is and what our theatre was be­ Undoubtedly, we all agree that our cultural wave today fore the coming of a white man. Using this very little know­ has to integrate the past, present and future. Literary black ledge, together with love, passion and commitment he writers have already started. Now the dramatist should be can do justice to the theatre of the dispossessed. In this case concerned at all times about the audience. Communication is critics can easily avoid using western standards as a criterion the key issue in theatre. It does not matter what language is to crit black theatre. used, what matters is whether the language communicates Dramatists have now become slaves of the people. All the with the people being addressed. Obviously the theatre of the time they are worried about satisfying the audience and dispossessed is addressing the dispossessed and the dis- their critical misconceptions instead of their main objectives possessor. And in creating any theatrical piece, the dramatist of educating the dispossessed. James Mthoba seems to be must be conscious of the fact that when using English as a a different slave. He has acknowledged that theatre of the language of communication (I say English because of colonial dispossessed is involved in a struggle to integrate the past, reasons) there are various categories of people among the present and future. On the other hand he is not prejudiced in dispossessed. We have the literate and illiterate, that is terms of our language problem. Recently he has appeared in basically the black middle class and the workers. So it an Afrikaans play, 'Die Swerfjare van Poppie Nongena'. A becomes the struggle of the dramatist to accommodate all number of black and white people were critical of blacks the dispossessed people. Well with the dispossessor, we may who appeared in Poppie Nongena. This is another grave say there is no problem because the language is his. A real critical misconception. Firstly we should ask ourselves a problem, maybe not, may arise when the dramatist is question. Whom is the play addressing? If it is addressing the addressing, at the same time, both the dispossessor and the Afrikaner, then there is no problem. What is the play, con­ dispossessed. Obviously the language used to accommodate tent-wise, purporting to say? Is it relevant or does it relate to I all sectors of the dispossessed may be viewed as of poor the problems of the dispossessed? If it does, then there is no quality by the dispossessor and the perplexed black educated problem. What is the criticism all about? Let us share your middle class. And on the other hand, a sophisticated language genuine and authentic criticism when it comes to such will also become a boon to the other class of the dis­ dramatic problems. Once more we shall remind you that possessed. This kind of problem will never be solved by theatre is mainly aiming at communicating and not merely history as long as South Africa is still enjoying the warm entertaining. Entertainment can also come in as a reflection blanket of apartheid. Though to the dramatist we say popu­ of this present life. And a committed dramatist will not for­ lar language is the language of tomorrow. It is the language get that popular language is the language that will easily we shall carry along with those who will taste the dawn of a communicate in an apartheid society like South Africa. new day in our country. At this point in time, the dis­ Mineke Schipper in her paper entitled, 'Origin and Forms possessed are destitute. They are very desperate for the of Drama in the African Context' says there is a growing gap realisation of their aspirations. They are in quest of freedom. between popular and literary drama. She goes on further to ; They need no entertainment that shall make them oblivious say: of their state of subservience. They need no entertainment 'Several young playwrights refuse to limit their work to a that shall make them submissive to their state of poverty and small public of school and university. Instead they produce servitude. They need no entertainment that will be ir­ popular drama, mostly in the city. The popular playwright is relevant to the black man's bone of contention. They need not only inspired by the life of the common man in the no entertainment that shall not respond to the call of free­ townships but he also writes his play for him . . . The work dom's cry. But they need realistic entertainment that will of South African drama groups in the townships of the coun­ give them courage to survive and forge ahead. Entertainment try, especially those performed by the now banned black that will bring hope for freedom in their life-style. students' organisation SASO, usually work without an To the critics, we ask, how must the dramatist project official text in order to avoid the problems of censorship and his own true self in the midst of critical misconception which banning. People in the townships are very interested in is based on western standards? We call upon the critic of this kind of consciousness-raising drama which is directly black theatre to acknowledge a transition period in the related to the local context and their own situation.' j theatre of the dispossessed. Critics do not necessarily have to Actually, it is a well-known fact that quite a number of go to school because we often wonder whether there is any young dramatists are not popularly known in the so-called school in this country that can satisfactorily teach us how to 'theatre world', but they are very popular in our urban crit black theatre. The best school we can think of is inside traditional performances. They are an integral part of those the theatre. Critics should not wag their tongues from who suffer death in the dusty streets of the ghettoes. outside the theatre. They must attend as many shows as When people celebrate their talent on a formal theatre plat­ possible and acquaint themselves with a variety of plays. An form, they commemorate their talent before the eyes of honest and sincere criticism will come from someone who those in grief. They perform at all sorts of gatherings, and has seen the play, not from someone who heard people bab­ this becomes more like ritual theatre.

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 29 r r*> • 41 What is there to cry for ^ when mothers cry no more for their stolen babies who end up dying in the bloody mud of soweto pavements what is there to cry for when mothers stay no more with their sons who end up dying far away « MM I from home what is there to cry for

at the hour of separation 1 s ' 1 I what is there to cry for when mothers watch nonplussed helpless and hopeless when their sons are sent to the gallows \ i • ' i : « what is there to cry for ! s w s* mm when mothers weep no more but sing songs of hope y for their husbands who are buried ! ^ « ; f; : g$ on the island the island of makana

Joe Rahube has succeeded in integrating the «a,s:,:...... At this hour of separation tell me audience with the actor. The kind of perform- / SIB*!::^do you keep your head straight mance he gives is rooted in the origins of African --"•^ do you draw your strength theatre — which never separates the actor from the audience. from your little brother An artist becomes an integral part of the experience Derform- hector ed. Acting is not acting for acting's sake. It is a religious act. We all take part when Joe Rahube is on the stage. Without listen to the song of children any decor Joe would take the stage, natural as he would be at crying the time when called upon to perform. He would start by stumbling singing a song: 'Senzeni na?' and all the people at that falling and being brutally killed particular gathering would join in. Joe with his painful gestures would start the poem: listen to the song Joe (with people singing 'Senzena') a song that was born of terrible memory of how the breeze turned into hurricane Looking back is the last thing a man does depriving us of every little we had like you have heard those who came before you tell me murmur in bloody tones of no despair how can we smile phambile makwenkwe when our faces are forever like phambile maAfrika scars of resistance walking and falling You have overheard your mother say captured and killed 'Those who once met shall meet again' after her baby was snatched away from her back We can no longer like when death once crept into your home go down to our knees with our heads bared when I talk about death praying to an empty sky look at me my tongue clutched to my teeth I heard voices crying nkosi sikelele africa because of my bleeding heart maluphakamisi phondo Iwayo this wound izwa imethandazo yethu my sore nkosi sikelela keeps telling me about i pondered those who died and asked myself and were buried by the flood when shall nkosi hear us keeps telling me about when shall he ever sikelela us those who died miles away from home This is the song sung by the dispossessed in their struggle at the hour of separation to repossess. It is the theatre that talks about me and you babies are seized from mothers' bosoms today. It relates to the history of the dispossessed before the fathers sent to island colonial era and comes along with the story through the children left alone colonial era until it will ultimately dredge us out of this to rot to die in colonial dung. This is the theatre that will not staffride the despondency freedom wagon: it will ride on through heavy rains and shame! bloody days until freedom dawns at the station of our birth. It's a shame (then the audience joins in the chorus 'It 's a And after freedom our theatre shall celebrate our life and ] shame!') remain an integral part of our culture of the new day."

30 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 198 poetry/Swaziland, Botswana

MANGALISO Creative Society

BRA BUSHY

Bra Bushy The friend of the township children They call him: 'Mahlal'eshushu' A walking brewery Ja-a! He drinks eight days In a week Monday — Mokoko o ntshebileng Tuesday - Mqombothi Wednesday — Mankantshana Thursday — Mbamba Friday — Sebapa le masenke Saturday — Mayi-mayi SCHOOL'S OUT Sunday — Patlama-ke-ho-seshe Dedicated to Phillip Tobias And of course his day Go out a short distance from the city, His extra day some sunny afternoon; The day when he is take a picnic or just go for a drive. Dead drunk with theblood Of the innocent souls You will meet polished new school buses. All you will learn about their passengers protected behind closed Morena King Monare windows is that they are white and seem as identical as their brown leather satchels, though it must be admitted that some are now imitation.

But you will be able to distinguish the children walking to the location A GOSSIP carrying books in plastic bags — the kind with shop names in large letters. You will learn that a few are taught to beg with open hands, Did you know and to measure time by depth of expression rather than by size alone: That my 'Sheila's day' mother the larger, older kids will turn their faces from you or mutter something Sings your little one you will not understand; A funeral dirge to sleep the younger ones, those with much still to learn, will smile Instead of a lullaby and wave in their joy of life. As she rocks it And you? In the whites-only park I tell you, return the smiles Did you know wave now That my Christian mother before it is your turn to extend your hands in supplication Daily chokes your little one when the bullets those children learn to use in their real lessons Just for a second come looking for your blood. Wishing it was the zero-zero hour Ed Wilmsen Did you know Tl'r, ny 'girlie' mother Drowns your little one CITY JO'BURG City Jo'burg For a few seconds City born of our blood As she bathes it City Jo'burg Black blood Black sweat Wishing it was for real City of the yellow devil Black hands Black hatred City faceless as the night City of white baases of life Morena King Monare City Jo'burg Devourer of our youth City Purulent with Castrator of our love White mountains white privileges City Jo'burg City cold as death An earth quake City Jo'burg Is as inevitable City of tigers and foxes To an empty stomach photo (top) Ralph Ndawo City alive as hell As death Morena King Monare

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 31 wmmmtyiMfm

W « »ij- ml!-'

.g^ •'•/'• *^%r:^?; wfm fW//^ !% ; : '•fmtrM t \f, it'. The Betrayal An excerpt from a novel in progress by Mtutuzeli Matshoba 'If you were one of them, you would have been in an asylum or dead — long ago!'

Nonkululeko spent most of her time singing freedom songs tc prevent her mind from exploding in the alien world of solitary con finement. There was little else that she could do. It was the deliberate arrangement of her captors that it be so, their purpose being to wilt an) spirit of resistance that she might have been capable of summoning when it came to her interrogation. At the time when she was taken into custody she had only been asked preliminary questions. They had hinted at the reasons for her detention, after which they had told her to think up a statement that would give her back her freedom. If she failed to do so she 'would be locked up and the key thrown away,' according to one of them. She feared that this promise was now being kept, to the last word.

There were too many of them, black, white and brown. She had seen them in the various official detention places between which she had been tossed countless times, like a hostage moved by kidnappers to different hiding places. There were too many of them for her to know who was who. Neither did she know where she was. It was impossible to keep track of all the roundabout routes they used to convey her from point to point in their strange firmament. Time had also lost its meaning for her. One prison cell had been like the last, each day like another, each night like another for six months — same lonesomeness, same jailhouse smells, illustrated by Mzwakhe same bedbugs — no visit from anybody but the grim-faced white wardress and the girl who brought her the half-cooked porridge, soft in the morning and hard in

32 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 198( -> afternoon, and the slightly- He thought that 'DS' and the meddle in politics instead of remaining $\ .;etened, weak, black coffee. Occasio­ Captain were being naive in hop­ at school and preparing a bright future nally they also brought her a change of ing that he could soften the girl by for herself.' clothing from home, although she never conversation. Nonkululeko decided that that de­ knew how the clothes got to her. They served an answer. 'There can be no were thoroughly searched before she night they took her returned vividly to bright future for anyone in a discrimina­ received them, so that there was no the screen of her memory. He had tory society, ntate. Especially if those possibility of smuggling in even a refused to leave the room to give her a who are discriminated against are un­ little message from the outside. chance to get out of her nightdress, so aware of it.' She was so bored with being alone that she had been forced to slip her gym 'I do not believe that what you're that she often found herself missing her dress and her elder sister's overcoat on saying represents your own ideas, girl. 'kidnappers'. Waiting for them frayed top of it. The last straw had come when At nineteen you're still a toddler in such her nerves to painful shreds. When they the man had demanded, as she was matters. These people who agitate you came she could at least hope for a drive rummaging in a wardrobe drawer for to rebel against Law and Order are in a car and a slight change of environ­ extra underwear, that she shake the merely manipulating you for their own ment to another police station, usually garments in front of him to ensure th*at ends. Take my advice and never listen to L night. He only escape was singing: nothing was concealed in them. them again.' Unzima lomthwalo, He repeated: 'It was your friend 'Mh. You don't believe? You have a Ufuna sihlangane Langa. His pig-headedness did not gain lot of homework to do if you want to Asikhathali noma siyaboshwa him anything.' know us, ntate. Ours is not a subservient SizimiseV inkululeko Nonkululeko remained silent. generation like most of yours was. Con­ Unzi. . . 'He also tried to play Meaf and sidering what you've achieved in life we (Heavy is this burden dumb.' know that it's not what we would be It calls for a united effort She probed the remotest corners of satisfied with.' We are not afraid of going to prison her mind for an explanation of the 'Those of us who would not accept We are determined to fight for our man's paradoxical outlook on life. She what was given to them learned the hard Freedom). tried to figure out why he hated his way. Where are they today? Where is Her song stopped abruptly when she fellow blacks to the extent of participat­ Mandela? Where is Sisulu? Where is heard the rattle of the jail keys in the ing in their persecution. She could for­ Sobukwe? Where is Tambo? And with­ grille which linked their passage to the give the unforgivable from the whites out looking so far, where is your friend, reception room on that floor, through involved because they had been misled Langa? They did not stand a chance which she had passed on her way in two by lifelong brainwashing into believing against 'Makhoa'. You can't possibly weeks previously. that ruthless suppression of any black think that you do.' 'Mos she never comes at this time,' opposition was the only way to extend 'Because life for black people is the she said to herself and went to stand the lease of white domination in those same as prison, and life and death no anxiously near the grille inside the door parts of Africa where it still survived. different, there is nothing for us to lose of her cell. They, though wrongly, thought that in fighting for our human rights.' She 'Are they coming to take me away they had reason for their actions; but was beginning to show signs of losing elsewhere so soon? Surprising! They she could not see what possible cause a patience with the man. 'There are many usually entomb me for at least a month black person could have for rejoicing in of us who have resolved to stand up and before they remember me. I'll wait and the hunting-down and destruction of his make our aspirations known to the see.' own kind. Had he not been born black world, and there will be many more; the The sound of the footfalls grew and undergone all the harsh experiences tide will keep growing. You're fortunate louder. 'There are two of them.' There of life in a black skin in a racially struc­ because you've only just seen the begin­ was a shuffle outside her door. Steel tured country ruled by an unscrupulous ning. We pity those who will face the grinding against steel and the cell was white clique? She gave up her search be­ main onslaught.' open. fore she had gone too far, for she was Moloi saw the change in the girl's A well-known wardress with a grim convinced that she would never arrive at manner and himself started feeling hot face. Behind and towering over her, an appropriate explanation. under the collar. He thought that 'DS' John Moloi, the man with the oversized 'What friend? And have I told any of and the Captain were being naive in shoulders and the beret. Nonkululeko you that I am deaf and dumb?' she hoping that he could soften the girl by stood facing them from the gloom of asked, becoming as hostile as she could conversation. He knew her kind; they her cell, her arms folded across her to show him just how little she regarded needed stronger persuasion to loosen chest, the wary look she had learnt to him. them up, like open threats: 'With your wear at the approach of her captors He seemed not to grasp it. 'Your stupid cheek you fail to realise that intensifying in her big almond-shaped friend, Langa,' he said. what you've just said amounts to a con­ eyes. Her heart skipped. The expression in fession of your involvement in the dis­ She was a beautiful girl, that Nonku­ her eyes was quickly replaced by an ruption of Law and Order,' he fumed. luleko — although mention of it both indifferent, unknowing look, enough to 'Heh, ntate. Do you have any child­ embarrassed and bored her, as she had hide her shock. ren?' the girl asked as sincerely as she heard it for as long as she could remem­ 'It is not as if it was something new could, ignoring the twitches of anger ber. Her long hair formed a glorious in this country that is ruled by evil, with that kept distorting the sweaty black dome, like a black halo around her the aid of people like you.' face. The grim-faced wardress watched delicately-formed dark face. 'That is the trouble with you little the exchange blankly, wishing she could It was the man who spoke. 'That was freaks. You do not care about your understand what they were saying in your friend.' companions' and your own lives.' seSotho. She did not grasp it immediately. Her 'As if you did.' Moloi's eyes narrowed. 'If you were mind was concentrated on feeding her 'Of course I do, my daughter. Right one of them, I would have sent you to a soul with hatred of the figures before now I'm wondering what makes a lovely place of safety or killed you long ago.' er. The arrogance of the man on the little girl like you think that she can 'I bet that it would not have been the

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 33 first time that you usurped someone's I hao when you're ostracised by your I too big for mere schoolgirls. Leave poli freedom or taken his or her life. How own people? Because you won't be tics to the politicians. Makhoa a tla ho many children have you robbed of tolerated even there — in spite of your lokisa, jong. The white people will fix mothers and fathers?' concern about "state security"!' you. If your parents have failed to keep 'No doubt you want to follow He had felt that a three-pronged you in line, they are going to do it — them.' attack on his ego was rather more than with my help, too. I would like to sec 'These children you have — they he could handle and had left his family you there in the box, giving evidence must be your exact duplicates to allow in a fit of pained anger and battered against the very boys that you are so themselves to be called by your name. I pride. Once out and in the car, he had prepared to lay your life down for.' would have disowned you as a father discovered that he had nowhere to go 'You should tell us to leave politics the day I was born were I one of them.' and let off steam. He had no friend to to the police, ntate. It is they who seer) That stung John Moloi's pride lean upon for kilometres around, nor so concerned about it — even more than deeply. It reminded him of his two sons was he a welcome patron in any she­ the politicians themselves. Moreover, if who had one day returned home saying been. The revelation brought another you think that demanding one's rights u that they were leaving school. one, namely that he could only find politics, you do not know what you'r Asked why, they had replied: 'We are solace away from his home either at an­ talking about.' tired of being called sellouts by our other policeman's house or inside a po­ John slammed the door on the girl schoolmates. They will not even be seen lice station. Truly, he had become an with a bang that reverberated inside th with us. If they ever talk to us it's only integral part of what 'they' called 'the whole cell block. The grim-faced ward to ask us why we don't make you system'. Since he had joined the new ress locked it with a triple turning o resign. We feel ashamed of ourselves be­ department he had found himself be­ key and led the way down the passage. cause . . . ' coming gradually alienated from his As soon as they were gone the reality 'Because of what?' he had growled. community without being aware of it, of the news she had heard sunk into the Knowing his temperament, the boys only to come face to face with the girl's mind. 'Langa! Destroyed by these had held back the rest of their explan­ unpleasant fact right inside his own sadists? But why, why, oh Nkulunkulu?' ation. household. He could not deny the truth With that she broke down, crying like a 'Who are they? Tell me you . . . ' he of his wife's allegation that everybody woman with a big family bereaved of a searched for an adequate description outside the force who knew his occup­ breadwinning husband. She flopped on which he did not find. 'I'll make ation regarded his whole family with the the coarse bedding and let her tears gush them . . . !' utmost distrust. Even people with out of the core of her soul as water does 'And endanger my children's safety? whom he had struck up an easy from a broken dam. She cried for two You leave schoolchildren alone!' The acquaintance when meeting them for full hours, until, unable to cry any angry words came from his wife, who the first time always withdrew com­ more, she sat there letting sorrowful had been listening unnoticed. 'I have pletely from his company as soon as thoughts run freely through her mind. experienced the same thing as these two they got to know about his job. At length they lulled her into a heavy boys. No one who knows you will talk All these thoughts, inundating his but broken slumber, for the thought of to me anymore. You should have re­ mind and his conscience, gave him the Langa descending thirty metres under mained the crime-busting policeman urge to crash his car into a lamp-post as the pull of his weight to his death had that you were and never applied for he drove at an insane speed down the torn her heart apart. your present job!' dusty Diepkloof street. The pedestrians From that day onward she could no He had tried to meet her halfway. scampered out of the way and clung to longer hold herself together. Her resist­ 'Am I not doing it to feed you and en­ the fences like chickens during an in­ ance was almost at an end. For three sure that your children get a good educ­ vasion of their fowl-run. However, he days and nights she thought, cried and ation? None of you have any appreci­ did not obey the yearning. Instead he slept — the only evidence of any rem ation for what I do for you. Who can promised himself: 'I'll get them! All nant of a will to live was when she support a family of five on an ordinary these people who make my life and that nibbled at the food they brought hei policeman's salary? Only the other day of my family so miserable.' twice a day. According to her reasoning you were telling me that we were The vow had marked an intensific­ if Langa was dead and had died in the underpaid . . . ' ation of his enthusiasm for his new job. way he had, what use was there in her 'This new job has made no differ­ If his whole world was going to turn continuing to live? She had withstood ence. Our standard of living has not against him, he had thought, he too what she had to support him against his really changed for the better. It is not would brace himself to face it. Watching enemies, their enemies, the enemies of worth the scorn with which we have to those who sought to make him an ob­ justice, peace and the oppressed. live . . . ' ject of derision whining for his mercy On the third evening of her anguish 'Will you listen to all these fools who would be the source of the self- they paid her another visit. She heard think . . . ' importance he needed to buttress his them, as always, when they opened the 'So you are the wise one, heh? crumbling self-confidence as a man. 'Ya, passage grille, and subconsciously tried Everybody is a fool?' His wife had left I'm going to show them!' he had re­ to figure out from their footfalls how what she had been doing in the kitchen peated. many they were. to advance on him with her fists planted He thought of his oath as he looked Nonkululeko did not stand anxiously on her hips, in a typical fighting wo­ at Nonkululeko behind the iron bars. just inside the cell bars this time, but lay man's pose. The girl glared back without the slight­ face down on her bedding as if oblivious 'But, Wilhelmina, listen . . . ' est flinch, waiting for him to continue. of their presence, although she felt their 'I won't listen to anything you say, He did, with an exacting pretence at eyes on her after they had opened the John. Your so-called sacrifice to keep us calmness: 'My girl, you will soon see door. well fed is too great — it includes even that all which you could have done They first stood in the passage ex­ us! Think of your children. No one can about your life was to attend school, get changing puzzled looks. Then the ward­ live alone in this world. Surely you a good education, be married to an edu­ ress opened the inside grille and Nonku­ don't expect to move to Randburg or cated young man and start a family. luleko raised her head to see what was Sandton or anywhere among Makhoa a You should not have meddled in affairs I happening. Seeing the wardress entering

34 STAFFRIDFR SFPTFMRFR/OCTORFR 19R( tI cell she turned to sit facing her with She felt the emotion stab through either', she silently reassured herself. her blanket-covered knees drawn to­ her heart when his scream filled They led her to a room with two gether against her chest, her arms folded her head once more. Then she tables, each between two wooden chairs around her shins. imagined him on a cold morgue on opposite sides, two for interrogators 'What is wrong with you? Are you slab, his folks, their friends. She and two for 'clients', on adjacent sides lick?' asked the wardress in her curt had never needed the comfort of of the room. iner, the grim face reflecting no her own people as much as at that 'DS' took the one behind the door , otion. There was, however, a barely time — and they had probably and John the one opposite it. There was •, iceable switch of attitude in the tone needed her, the girl who had been a tangible silence as 'DS' rifled through of her voice which made the girl wonder with Langa when he left them a pile of papers. John sucked long why for the first time her captor was forever. breaths and released them slowly, showing concern about her condition. audibly. Nonkululeko sat where she had 'Wake up. You're going for a check- as at that time — and they had probably been ordered to sit, opposite 'DS', her ' She was standing to the right, needed her, the girl who had been with bundle of clothes pressed on her tight ixtly above the girl, her left hand on Langa when he left them forever. She thighs, with both hands resting on top her hip, the other dangling the keys. wanted to be at the funeral to mourn of it. She snapped her finger joints. With an unfamiliar obedience Nonku- together with them. John smiled at her uneasiness. uieko rose slowly, first to her knees and The wardress returned with a pail of When 'DS' found the two paper then to her feet, taking her time about luke warm water and a cake of Lux sheets he was looking for he raised his olding her blanket. The two men at the toilet soap. eyes to the girl. She picked one of them door, 'DS' and Moloi, again exchanged 'Wash and change. I'll be back with up, 'On this page is a statement,' he said glances. the food.' with a heavy accent. 'Your statement, 'She's probably ready to co-operate,' Nonkululeko did not thank her. which I have pieced together from what remarked 'DS'. After fifteen minutes she had scrubbed the others have told me. When you *Ja, meneer.' herself all over with the soap, hoping thought you could hold back on us, See now, be nice to her. Show some that it would kill the nauseating prison others were singing. If this is ever couraging sympathy. Otherwise she smell — at least drive it from her body, proved in court, and you know that it may decide to clam up again.' for it clung fast to the clothes she had. will be, you're going to jail for a very sJa, meneer.' She smelt them, garment by garment in long time. I would advise you not to 'I want to change. Will you tell those a futile attempt to choose the ones that sign it.' two at the door that I need some pri­ carried the least jail odour. He put it down and took the other. vacy?' Nonkululeko sounded as meek as The key turned in its hole and the 'On this one is another statement. Again young nun who had just taken her woman gaoler-turned-angel entered with your own, containing all the inform­ vows. a warm pie and steaming coffee in her ation that would release you from de­ The wardress instructed the men to hands. tention and remove the long prison ove away, which they did. Then she 'Who bought these?' sentence hanging over your head if you >aid, her voice softening, 'There's no 'I did.' attest to it. I would advise you to sign urry about it, girl. You can even wash. 'Why?' it.' I'll get you clean water and good soap 'You must be smart when the doctor Placing the two typed documents and see what I can find in the form of sees you.' challengingly in front of the girl, 'DS' food. What would you like?' 'I know that, but why?' asked: 'Which one are you going to 'Anything,' Nonkululeko answered 'The main reason is that you may be sign?' weakly. going home if you co-operate. That's 'What do they contain?' 'Okay then,' the wardress said and why you must be examined by a doctor. 'I told you. Which one are you sign­ left the cell. She did not forget to lock They must return you home the way ing?' behind her. they took you.' 'Think well, girl,' John chipped in in Nonkululeko had decided. The scene 'And not like the other one. They seSotho. 'He is not joking.' of the death of a friend was going to reckon two accidents at the same time There was a long pause as Nonkulu­ haunt her until she lost her mind. Not might be too much? leko consulted with her conscience. the tragedy's immediate scene alone, For a fleeting moment the wardress's 'How can I sign a statement I haven't but any other prison environment eyes crystalized into diamond stones. given or even read?' There was little, if would be intolerable. She could not 'Eat. We'll be back to fetch you,' she any, resistance in her words. overcome the memory of Langa. She ordered coldly. 'The choice is yours,' replied 'DS' -ould still see him with the eye of her Another forty-five minutes — during summarily. aiind — medium height, shoulders that which she had magnified the prospect of She again consulted with her consci­ told of above-average strength in a man a reunion with her loved ones to the ence and, while at it, 'DS' added: 'You who had turned twenty-one only a few extent of feeling her heartbeat gaining will know the details in due course. It months previously in prison, square speed and force, and the subconsciously will be as easy as "Yes" or "No" in determined dark face, unshifting angry prayer, 'Tixo, let it be so,' on her lips. court. Or you will listen to the other eyes, long uncombed hair: an appear­ They came for her. being read against you in court.' ance which reflected the revolution that 'Take your clothes with you,' the Desperation clutched at her heart. had taken place in his mind and the one wardress said. She turned to face John: 'Kanti, ntate, which he had tried to effect. She felt Stepping out into the passage was the you're not going to release me?' the emotion stab through her heart most exultant experience in her life up That was the begging he looked for when his scream filled her head once to that time. But then, it did not last in all his customers. Adopting an air of more. Then she imagined him on a cold long as another probability presented it­ importance, he answered, 'If you stop morgue slab, his folks, their friends. Had self. What if this was one more leg in her hesitating and do as you're told by the hey believed the news when they were endless nomadism? 'It cannot be. They white man.' first informed? She had never needed never give notice when they come for She turned back to the table: 'I'll the comfort of her own people as much me. They are never so seemingly nice, sign the one that'll release me.' •

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 35 Truth and Censorship ANOTHER GLIMPSE OF SLAVERY A Lawyer's View

Last year Mtutuzeli Matshoba's collection of short stories Call Me Not A Man was declared undesirable by the Public­ ations Control Board in that it was 'prejudicial to safety of the state, the general welfare or the peace and good order'. In their reasons for the banning the Board, while conceding that there was 'not inconsiderable merit in much of the writ­ ing', took exception to the story entitled A Glimpse of Slavery-, a story dealing with the parole labour system. The Board stated that 'even if all these situations had occurred, which is improbable, and had occurred in this accumulated context in which they are set in the story, the presentation of these scenes in a popular medium would be undesirable. The presentation is calculated to exacerbate race feelings between the black and white races reciprocally; it is calcu­ lated to promote a sense of grievance without sufficient particular grounds to justify the grievance feelings in the minds of African readers.' In the story, the narrator is sentenced to three months imprisonment for an assault and finds himself paroled from Modderbee to a farm where he suffers various indignities. He is forced to wear a sack, he is sworn at and assaulted; in the end he escapes and returns to Johannesburg. The parole labour system is, of course, not the creation of farm. As the case concluded in an out-of-Court settlement Matshoba's imagination. Thousands of short-term prisoners all that was said in the Court remains at the level of alleg (unable to pay their fines) find themselves labouring for little ations, as the Court was not required to make any finding or reward on farms throughout the country. Since September them. last year the minimum wage for such parolees has been 60 In his evidence, Mr Mofokeng said that on 16 Novembe cents per day; prior to that it was 45 cents. 1978 he was convicted of a failure to pay General Tax anc The precise extent of the parole labour system is difficult sentenced to a R100 fine or 100 days in prison. Unable t( to gauge. In 1973 the Minister of Prisons was asked on two pay the fine, he was taken to Modderbee Prison from which occasions how many prisoners are made available daily to he was fetched by Becker (Snr.) and taken to the farm in the work on land or premises other than those of the Prisons Bronkhorstspruit district. At this stage Mofokeng had no idee Department. On the first occasion he was unable to give an that he was being paroled; in prison he had signed a form answer, saying that the only statistics were those kept by the with his thumb-print but had not been allowed to read it individual prisons, on the second occasion he said that although he can both read and write. 24 000 prisoners were made available daily. On their arrival at the farm, according to Mofokeng, Since that date the Prisons Act has been altered to make a Mr Becker (Snr.) told the new parolees that they would b substantially larger number of prisoners available for the beaten if they did not work because his son 'hou om 'n kaffir parole labour system. Prior to 1979 prisoners whose total te slaan'. After their arrival they were taken to work in the sentence was less than four months could be paroled; now fields. That evening they were taken to a large room with prisoners whose total sentence is less than two years can be barred windows which the parolees referred to as the 'cell'. paroled. Reservations have been expressed about the possibil­ Mr Mofokeng then alleged that that evening Mr Becker ity of policing such a system. In 1979, after the Minister of (Jnr.) had entered the cell with five of his black employees. Prisons had been unable to give an answer to her question He stated in Court that the new parolees had been ordered to about the number of parolees, Mrs Suzman questioned one side and told to strip. Becker and his employees then hit whether adequate checks were made to ensure that parolees all the new parolees on their backs with sticks. No reason was received their wages, adequate food and lodging. She also given for this beating although Mr Mofokeng said that he said that she found it difficult to believe that an adequate later found out that it was to stop the parolees running away check could be kept on persons working throughout the from the farm. The next morning, he said, his back was country as farm labourers. The system was one which lent smeared with blood and he felt pain for two weeks. It was itself to abuse, especially if careful supervision was not main­ this particular assault which formed the basis of Mr Mofo- tained. keng's claim for damages. A recent case in the Transvaal Supreme Court in Pretoria While cross-examining Mofokeng, the Beckers' counsel put throws both the parole labour system and the banning of Call it to him that these beatings in the cell were, in fact, carried Me Not A Man into sharp relief. In this case a former parolee out by old parolees on the new arrivals, carrying out an Petrus Mofokeng (the Plaintiff) sued a farming partnership, initiation ritual. The counsel then said that Becker would L.A. Becker (Jnr.) for R4 000 damages for an assault he give evidence to the effect that he had the parolees locked up alleged had been perpetrated on him while working on their at night because he feared for the safety of his wife and

36 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 ch : iren. Becker (Jnr.), their advocate said, would say that at Poetry/ Johannesburg nil he would hear singing from the 'cell' and that he would th< know that assaults were taking place. In response to LATE RISER th Mr Mofokeng asked why, if Becker knew that fighting ;roing on, he did not come and stop it, as it was his duty Believing fast in gravity, the law to otect the parolees. Counsel then said that Becker (Jnr.) that all must fall (the child

W i :d say that he had come to the 'cell' and talked to the from the medical couch, the cup pa lees from outside. But Mofokeng denied that this from the tightening hand, the upright h ypened while he was on the farm. Mr Mofokeng went on walker from his height), I clung t :sk why those parolees who would not listen to Becker with a simple-minded dread s) instructions were not taken back to the prison by to be held: 'Hold . . . ! Hold me! th: Beckers. Catch . . . !' I would fling down ocking or having prisoners locked up at night is in to destruction unless contained CO : avention of the undertaking that an employer signs with in a lap, an embrace, a caging cot, th Prisons Department when taking parolees. One of the or solid on the swallowing floor. co itions of this undertaking is that the parolees will be I've since learnt that law h< ed without any restriction being placed on their freedom to be no law: earthpull is conventional: of lovement. One of the Beckers signed such an undertaking everything can fly: will and whim in 'i 972, but it was not until 1979 that they were deprived of waft the fallible porcelain th supply of parolees by the Prisons Department because or lumped lead; fluids from brim to brim of amplaints against them. bridge firm; a grand piano floats i Mofokeng went on to allege that while he was on the on the wrists of men miming a stagger; fa, i other groups of new arrivals were beaten in a similar children go easy through air; fa* on. He also stated that while working in the fields the and there are, indeed, mimes, P ees would be beaten by the Beckers' employees. These jugglers, trapezists, free-fallers be •rings were not as severe as those in the cell, and their who barely confess to descent P pose was to make them work. He also described a punish- as they play in the sky. mt :it during which the parolees were forced to lift concrete Enlightened even I have risked bl cks above their heads and then lower them. They were and risen and balanced and ridden ak; made to run with the bricks and if they dropped them and mounted steep flights th-' would be hit. and now count falling exceptional M: the conclusion of Mofokeng's evidence, his counsel accident, no rule, as I over-ride ca­led their next witness, Mr Joseph Tiwane. He stated that (after all) satiable floors nt had received a sentence of four months or R120 for and spurn the avoidable ground. po ession of stolen goods. He said that he had been found But somewhere the heavy recollection w; paint he had bought but did not have receipts for. He lurks; I take no lightness for granted; only spent four days (12 to 16 June 1979) on the farm, in every quickening above a sluggish crawl by that time his fine had been paid. I apprehend brave miracle, Be alleged, in his evidence, that on his arrival at the farm my biped stance sustained :ker (Jnr.) had told the new parolees that this was not the only by a counterfaith, and that those who did not work would be beaten. He my watery weightiness raised in a dancing column J that Becker (Jnr.) then proceeded to strike one of the by love. arrivals. That night, he continued, the prisoners were ked in the 'cell' and the new arrivals were assaulted by Lionel Abrahams eiees who had been on the farm for sometime. They were de to strip and stand against the wall and sing while they SAIC r being hit. Neither of the Beckers was present. At this point counsel for the Beckers objected to this type The money-faggoted councillors evidence being lead as it did not relate to the specific dispense themselves ault on which Mofokeng was suing. After legal argument to the tune of stacked notes both sides the judge ruled that such evidence was relevant sticking to platitudes 1, therefore, could be led, in that it was part of an attempt like flies to cow-dung 'how that a system of assault had existed on the farm. defending, pledging allegiance mid a system be proved it would render the single assault and dishing out shit which Mr Mofokeng was suing more likely. At this point on SATV Beckers' lawyers made a proposal of settlement which Sloshed up quotes and watery metaphors accepted. The details of this settlement have not been and Puerile Pap that entrenches us sed to the press. in the Laager. The point, of course, is not who hit Mr Mofokeng but that was exposed to this type of risk. Prisoners convicted of a Zulekha Dinath 'hnical offence, such as contravention of the pass laws, rt themselves working as farm labourers for a minimal IN A CLASSROOM nuneration. Often, they are on a farm before their relatives ends have an opportunity to pay their fines. They are Dizzy eyes Time spent in endless turnings r m need of rehabilitation, nor is the system capable of with swaggering laughing, crying for sad joys Ading it. heads shouting, then screaming ti to point out the risks involved in such a system is to staggering . . . for voiceless, undefined things nger the security of the state, the Publications Director- lean hopes The children of the universe play. flight well find themselves having to restrict the public- untold fears cm of certain Court records. • Haroon Mohamed

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 37 Staff rider Profile Malopoets

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'' 1 Par Sefolost. Probably South Africa's most unrecognised indigenous lack of available venues has been the group's most basic musical group, the Malopoets have had a hard struggle, since problem since their formation, despite the fact that the 1978 when the group was formed, to get their music across received generally good reviews in the Durban press. to the South African public. PAT: Times were hard, three of us shared a small room i The group is composed of Pat Sefolosha (African drums, Kwa Mashu, as we were from Pretoria, and we even had t< saxophone and vocals), Samson Shabalala (rythm guitar, phone Matsemela at one time to ask him to pay our rent. Ou percussion and vocals), Patric Mokoka (bass guitar, marimba instruments were borrowed, at that time, from anothe and vocals), Duze Mahlobo (lead guitar and vocals), Bruce group, 'Third Generation', which had split up. Except for rm Madoda Sosibo (western drums, marimba and vocals) and African Drums, which I had been using with 'Afrika'. Moss Manaka who has recently joined (flute and percussion). Pat, Samson and Patric were previously with 'Africa', the Then the group was 'taken for a ride', as Pat puts it, by group led by Abbey Cindi, formerly of 'Molombo'. well-known music producer. In November 1979 he booke Staffrider spoke to Pat Sefolosha, currently with the them a studio at Gallo in Johannesburg, to record their mus group in Johannesburg for a series of gigs held at The Box at for an album to be entitled 'The Birth of Malopoets'. V Wits University and at the Market Theatre. contract was signed, but the group never received their copy. Pat tells of how the group was formed in Durban on Two days were spent recording in the studio, a cover w s 17 July 1978, the anniversary of the death of the late great designed by Natal artist Charles Nkosi, but the record neve jazz musician, John Coltrane, who died on the same day in appeared. 1967. 'Coltrane is the godfather of the group,' he says, 'we PAT: We went back to Durban. We spoke to the producer o get much of our inspiration from his records, although he the phone a couple of times — he told us things were comin; played jazz music and our sound is closer to "African trad­ along, he had booked the studio for the pressing. He had th itional music".' cover printed and sent us a copy. After that we heard noth ing from him — we couldn't reach him. We wrote letters, bu* Is this the name you give your music? got no response. By that time we had overseas contacts PAT: Well, when we started playing we didn't know a name people were waiting for demos, promoters overseas ha*, for our music — we just played what we felt. The name came expressed interest. Since then we have had no contact with from the press, when they described our music in the papers. him. In the beginning we played quite a few gigs, mostly at uni­ Have you made any attempt to contact him since you've versities and festivals, but in Durban, you know, there are no been in Johannesburg? promoters, no venues for our kind of music other than PAT: No. You see, since then we have been working hard, festivals — we would have to wait around for six months for the quality of our music has improved. The record doesn't a music festival. The only other possibility was to hire a hall, matter any more — we want to get into the studio to make a which was impossible, we had no capital. better record. But the group nearly split up after this crisis. People in Durban, you know, would only listen to disco What kept you together? music, the only venues were these disco clubs. In Durban we were the only group playing this kind of music. Not all musicians are prepared to sacrifice. Others see The Malopoets play purely their own compositions, except music as a job, for the money. But the five of us were pre­ for their popular rendition of 'Days of Slavery' by 'Burning pared to sacrifice for this music — we found satisfaction in Spear', which integrates a reggae sound into their music. The the music even though Durban people were not aware of this kind of music. When people hear something different for the first time, it takes a while for them to realise, you know. Was there anyone helping you out at this time? PAT: A woman called Ellinor Joosten, who is from Ger­ many, was interested in the group. She used to attend all our performances and helped us out in many different ways. When our borrowed instruments were taken back she helped ianise money for us to buy instruments on higher pur- :hase. When we could not pay the instalments she helped us out from her own salary, sometimes we could not repay her we were living pretty tfrin ourselves. Didn 't you go overseas at one time? [n April '79 I went overseas with Umabatha, playing drums for the show. But we were only there for five weeks. The how was picketed for political reasons. I felt bad. I had felt • was a chance to go overseas, I never expected that such lings might happen. id you feel politically compromised by this situation? PAT: No. The pickets were not against individuals — it was jainst the whole show, the promoters. I was just a musician hind the stage. You say you felt bad. PAT: I had to come back too soon. Umabatha was supposed to be there for six months. What happened to the Malopoets while you were away? PAT: They went through hassles. They had opportunities but never played, they were afraid of a bad performance without the drums ... It was a difficult decision for me, but I felt hat I must know what is going on outside the country. Moss Manaka

Pat returned to a lower than usual time for the Malopoets. Gigs were scarce, they only played once in Durban from the beginning of 1980 until September, when the group headed for Johannesburg and greener pastures. PAT: We have been looking forward to coming to the big city. We want to make the most of it. How have your audiences been? PAT: As I say, it takes people time to realise that something good is around. Our performances at The Box were good, the people liked it.

Moss Manaka joined the group shortly before the perfor­ mances at The Box. 'I like the music,' he says. He plans to stay on with the group. The group plans to stay in Johannes­ burg, possibly to the end of the year, and hopes to go back into the studio to make another recording. But Pat has reservations about whether the group will be able to play as they want to. PAT: In South Africa you can never do as you want to. We will have to make our arrangements more commercial other­ wise they won't take it. If you want music to be on record, it can never be as you desire it to be. Many groups end up play­ ing the producer's music, not their own. This is happening with many black musicians in this country. Is there a way out? PAT: I can't think of anything. Only that the artists should come together — if we could form a big musicians' union which could accommodate all musicians. Musicians here in South Africa are competing against each other . . . Do you see a positive future for the group? PAT: Mmm . . . (long pause) Ja. That took a long time, (laughter) PAT: The only place we can really make it is outside South Africa. But to get there is the problem. So the group must work hard. p atric Mokoka and Samson Tshabalala And if you make a record? PAT: If we get a record we can send demos to our contacts Photographs by Paul Weinberg — But to get on record the music will not be the way we want to make it ... •

TAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 39 The Music 'Mama!' sounded urgently restrained. 'Yes, son.' But Vukani did not go on. 'Is that how you are talking to me? of the His mother continued: 'Why don't Then Teboho's voice seemed to lose you play some selections from Brahms? all restraint: 'You don't want to listen Violin You know some extracts from his only to anybody, you just come in shouting Continued from page 11 violin concerto? Perhaps Mozart? Yes The voice was loud and defiant. Mozart. I know that sometimes one is in 'Is that how they teach you to tal looked at the violin in his father's the mood for a particular composer. to your parents at the university?' hands. He was explaining to Dr Zwane What about Lizst? Where are your music 'Mama, that is not the point.' the various kinds of violins. books? There is something on the music 'Are you arguing with me?' j 'This type,' he was saying, 'is very stand: what is it? Ahh! it's the glorious, .'The point is that you have been rare. You do not find it easily these beautiful Dvorak. Turn tee turn!' She showing more interest in your dishes days. Not at all.' shook her head, conducting an imagi­ and your furniture than in your child 'It must have been very expensive,' nary orchestra. 'Come up and play some ren.' observed Dr Zwane appreciatively, 'one of this Dvorak.' 'What?' can judge from its looks.' Vukani wanted to shout, but his 'I'm not going to say anything more.' 'Five hundred and fifty rands down,' throat was completely dry. He wanted 'Slut! That's what you are! What butted in Vukani's mother, 'made to to sink into the ground. He tried to decent girl would talk like that to her specifications. You just tell them7 how swallow. It was only dryness he mother?' you want it and they just make it. This swallowed and it hurt against the throat. 'Mama, will you stop.' There was the is special.' Standing up would be agonising. His sound of a slap. Another explosion. 'One has to pay to produce a strength and resistance were all gathered Lighter this time — perhaps a glass. Mozart,' said Vukani's father with final­ up in his sitting position. All that 'I'm leaving this house,' screamed ity. strength would be dissipated if he stood Teboho. Then the door to her room 'We had lauretta start on ballet up. And he would feel exposed, lonely banged shut, rattling some cutlery. recently,' said Mrs Zwane, 'and I am and vulnerable. The visitors and his Vukani's father was about to leave for happy to note that she seems to be do­ parents soon noticed that there was the kitchen when he met his wife at the ing well.' something amiss. door. She grinned at the visitors. 'All these things have to be taught at 'What is it Vuka?' asked his mother. 'I'm sorry for that unfortunate diver­ our schools. You school inspectors have 'Is there something wrong?' sion. Children can be destructive. Since a duty to ensure that it happens.' 'Nothing wrong, ma.' He had missed Teboho went to that university in the 'Indeed,' agreed Vukani's father. 'But his opportunity. Why did he fear? Why North, she has come back with some do you think the Boers would agree? did he not act decisively for his own very strange ideas. Opposes everything. Never. Remember they say Western good? Then he felt anger building up in Defiant. Yesterday she said I was a Civilisation is spoiling us. So we have to him, but he was not sure whether he black white woman. She said I was a cultivate the indigenous way of life.' was angry with himself or with his slave of the things I bought; that the j The conversation was stopped by Vu­ parents — together with the visitors white man had planned it that way. To kani's mother. whose presence was now forcing him to give us a little of everything so that we 'Okay now.' She clapped her hands. come to terms with his hitherto un­ can so prize the little we have that we 'What will you play us?' expressed determination to stop doing completely forget about the most im- Vukani's father brought the violin to what brought him suffering. At that portant things in life, like our freedom, j him. He took it with his visibly shaking moment there was a dull explosion from I won't have that nonsense in my house. | hands. He saw the red, glowering eyes of the kitchen, of something massive Fancy, doing all that rubbish when the | Bhuka that afternoon. He heard the suddenly disintegrating into pieces. visitors are here. I've had enough. I felt I laughter of people in the streets. He There was silence for a while. Then had to remind that girl that I was her remembered being violently shaken Vukani's mother muttered: 'The bloody parent. I wonder what all this showing- j awake by his angry mother one morn­ street girl has done it again.' And she off is for?' ing. He remembered one of his dreams stormed out of the bedroom. Her voice 'One can never know with children, which came very frequently. He was could be heard clearly in the kitchen: dearie,' observed Mrs Zwane. naked in the streets and people were 'Awu, lord of the heavens! My . . . my 'Indeed!' said her husband. laughing. He did not know how he had expensive . . . my precious . . . my ex­ 'Well, Vuka,' said Vukani's father, | come to be naked. It always occurred pensive . . . this girl has done it again. 'Can you heal our broken spirits?' that way. He would be naked in the Teboho, has the devil got into you 'Yes,' agreed his mother. 'We have streets and people would be laughing. again? Do you have to break something been waiting for too long.' Suddenly he would reach home and his every day?' Vukani's mother was now Vukani thought of his sister. He mother would scold him for bringing shrieking with anger. 'Do you know wanted to go to her. They were very shame to the family. But the dream what? Maybe you don't. I gave Mrs Wil- lonely. Their parents disapproved of | would always end with him leaving lard three hundred rands to bring me some of their friends. Even Doksi. His home and flying out into the sky with this set from Hong Kong when she went mother had said he should have friends his hands as wings. there on holiday. And I have told you of his own station in life. What would a Vukani found that he had instinctive­ countless times that you should be extra barber's son bring him? This had ly put the violin on his left shoulder. careful when you handle those dishes. brought Vukani and Teboho very close. And when he became aware, he felt its Such care doesn't cost much. How He decided then that he would not let irksome weight on him. What did people many households in the whole of his sister down. But could he? He want of him? He did not want to play. Johannesburg, white and black, can thought of smashing the violin against He did not want to play. And for the boast of owning such a set — a genuine the wall and then rushing out of the second time that day, he felt the tears set? But you, you refuse to appreciate house. But Where would he go? Who did coming to his eyes and again he blinked that. Don't just stand there . . . ' he know nearby? The relatives he knew repeatedly to keep them from flowing. 'Mama, can you please just stop lived very far away. He did not know This was the time. that,' said Teboho in a voice that them all that well anyhow. He re-

40 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 membered how envious he would be anymore.' There was a stunned silence. do not want to play . . . not anymore whenever he heard other children saying Vukani's mother looked at her husband, . . . ' Then he choked and could not say they were going to spend their holidays a puzzled expression on her face. But anymore. But what he had already said with their relatives. Perhaps with a she quickly recovered. had carried everything he felt deep grandmother or an uncle. He remember- 'What?' she shouted. inside him. He felt free. There was a vast ed that he had once asked his mother 'I don't want to play the violin any­ expanse of open space deep inside him. when they were ever going to visit his more.' Vukani was surprised at his He was free. He could fly into the sky. uncle. His mother had not answered steadiness. Then he heard Dr Zwane say: him. But then there was that convers­ 'This is enough!' screamed his 'How difficult it is to bring up a child ation between his parents. mother. 'Right now . . . right now. You properly in Soweto! To give them cul­ 'By the way,' asked Vukani's mother, are going to play that violin right now.' ture. Black people just turn away from when did you say your sister would be 'Now you just play that instrument. advancement.' oming?' What's going on in this house?' Those words seemed to build a fire in 'Next month.' There was a brief His father's voice put some fear into Vukani's mother. They had sounded silence and then his father continued, him. like a reflection on her. She let go at Why do you ask? I have been telling 'Wait, dearie,' pleaded Mrs Zwane. Vukani with the back of her hand. vou practically every day.' 'Maybe the boy is not well.' Vukani reeled back and fell on the bed 'I was just asking for interest's sake.' 'Beatrice,' answered Vukani's mo­ letting the violin drop to the floor. It 'Well,' said the father, putting down ther, 'it's nothing like that. We are made no noise on the carpet. Vukani's the Daily Mail and picking up the Star, not going to be humiliated by such a mother lifted him from the bed and was 'I just feel there is more to the question little flea. Play, cheeky brute!' about to strike him again when Teboho nan casual interest.' 'Today those boys stopped me rushed into the bedroom and pulled her 'You think so?' again.' Vukani attempted to justify his mother away from her brother. 'Yes, I think so.' There was silence. stand. 'Ma! What are you doing? What are 'Relatives,' the mother came out, 'Who?' shrieked his mother, 'Those you doing?' she was screaming. 'can be a real nuisance. Once you have dogs of the street? Those low things?' 'Are you fighting me?' shrieked her opened the door, they come trooping 'What's bothering him?' asked mother. 'You laid a hand on your Lke ants. We cannot afford it these Dr Zwane. Vukani's mother explained mother. Am I bewitched?' ays. Not with the cost of living. These briefly. Then turning towards her hus­ 'You never think of anybody else, are different times. Whites saw this band she said, 'As I told you the other just yourself.' problem a long time ago. That is why day, he keeps complaining that people 'Teboho,' called her father. 'Don't hey have very little time for relatives. laugh at him because he plays the say that to your mother.' The nuclear family! That's what violin.' 'Please, dearie, please,' appealed matters. I believe in it. I've always 'Jealousy,' shouted Mrs Zwane. 'Plain Mrs Zwane, 'there is no need for all this. maintained that. If relatives want to jealousy. Jealousy number one. Nothing How can you do this to your children?' visit, they must help with the groceries. else. Township people do not want to 'Sies! What disgraceful children! I am There I'm clear, my dear. Very clear.' see other Africans advance.' a nursing sister, your father is an inspec­ Vukani's father had said something 'Dear,' answered Vukani's mother, tor of schools. What are you going to ibout 'whites are whites; blacks are 'you are showing them a respect they do be, listening to savages? You cannot blacks' but Vukani's aunt never came. not deserve. If you say they are jealous, please everybody. Either you please the Nobody ever said anything about her. you make them people with feelings. street, in which case you are going to Doksi liked to say: 'It's nice to have No. They do not have that. They are be a heap of rubbish, something to be many relatives. Then when you are in not people; they are animals. Absolutely swept away, or you please your home trouble at home, you can always hide raw. They have no respect for what is which is going to give you something to with one of them. And your father will better than they. Not these. They just be proud of for the rest of your useless go from relative to relative looking for trample over everything. Hey, you, play life!' you. When he finds you, he will be all that instrument and stop telling us 'Dorcas! That's enough now!' She smiles trying to please the relatives.' about savages.' looked at her husband with disbelief, a 'Vukani!' called his mother. 'We are Vukani trembled. He felt his head wave of shock crossing her face. Then still waiting, will you start playing now.' going round now. He did not know she turned for the door and went to her Vukani stood up slowly and walked what to do to escape from this ordeal. bedroom, banging the door violently. round to the music stand. Then he The tears came back, but this time he There was bitter sobbing in the main faced his mother and something yielded did not stop them. He felt them going bedroom. Then it turned into a wail like in him. down his cheeks and he gave in to the the wail of the bereaved. • 'Ma, I don't want to play the violin fury in him: 'I do not want to play ... I Rock Against Management

RAM (Rock Against Management) was set up as an instant musical response to the appeal by the Western Province General Workers Union for funds to aid the striking meatworkers. Possibly the first programme of its kind in South Africa, its aims to create a politi­ cal culture through which musicians of all kinds can situate their music within the social and political realities of South Africa. Watch out for details of future RAM concerts.

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 41 Staffriders ng Thami Mnyeis

A NEW DAY

During the events of 1976 in Soweto, Thami Mnyele, Ben Arnold (sculptor) and Fikile held an art exhibition at the Dube YWCA, Here, Thami Mnyele of llllililiHl MEDU Art Ensemble speaks about the exhibition.

The exhibition, 'A New Day', was the most interesting of my life. In my opinion it was also the most important one, because it happened at a crucial time, when we had to make a decision and take a stand to say: were we in­ volved in the struggle and life around us or were we merely producing 'pictures'? So we made that exhibition after having discussed very thoroughly both what we paint, why we paint . . . you know, something to do with what was happen­ ing around us. We got a very interesting response, a very critical response. Trfe youth were very critical of us in a positive sense. Of course there were

;.:.;.;. ' y •••: some elements who were opposed to the whole idea. We experience this kind of opposition often when people say 'so ^ long as an artist indulges in politics, *> then it seldom becomes true art.' R Well, it is a very simple thing to say, ^ but if one involves oneself thoroughly or properly in life, then that is politics lives of us black artists at home, this partake actively in the struggle, to paint and that is life. So our exhibition was monster that has conquered us like a sincerely. attended by thousands of people. In grave secret disease — individualism; an A New Day became a concept after South Africa, as far as I know, not so alienation from the artist's environment we had sat around discussing what the many people attend art exhibitions, and an entry into the spiritual isolation exhibition was all about, why it had to especially not people from the black of the petty bourgeoisie — I mean this be in Soweto and not, as is convention­ sector. We had people standing at the attitude of detachedness and seeming ally done, in town — black artists in door counting and there were more than comfort in dreams, Bohemianism and white galleries. This time we had to a thousand people crammed into monk-like solitude within a situation decide that the exhibition would take the place and there were more waiting that needs artists desperately. place in Soweto because of the kind of outside. This exhibition was very I believe that the pen, the brush, and works that we had produced. The theme interesting because at the end the the song must be inspired by the signifi­ itself or the themes, had a lot to do with students took over and there was almost cance of the purpose, the nobility of our lives as people: These products had a riot in the hall. We the artists were the task and of course the scale of the to be exhibited where people are. So it very excited because it meant we characters. The true artist in his artistic was a new day, completely different communicated, you know, something strivings must coincide with the interest from other days, culturally. When I clicked. The works that were exhibited of the class, and I don't know if there is grew up I found that black artists were means of communication, not just one of us so far who has achieved this exhibiting in town were well-known in 'curio' pieces. So it was a very import­ precious sense of social commitment in town by white people only. I found ant exhibition in my life. I think there our activities as artists. I mean this artists associated with rebels and I are lots of things to learn from exhib­ precious element of socialism. As Sekou found artists seldom sober. I was still itions like that, mainly relating to an Toure said: 'To take part in the African having difficulty in analysing the artist versus the people, or versus his revolution, it is not enough to write problem, I mean the origin of the surrounding, rather than an artist there revolutionary songs; you must fashion 'plague'. on his own, as an individual. There has the revolution with the people. And if been a lot of mystification regarding you fashion it with the people, the Thami Mnyele is now a working artist in artists and art in life, and the exhibition songs will come by themselves and of Botswana, attached to MEDU ART (A New Day) was about involving themselves . . . ' Our work hasn't yet ENSEMBLE, Gaborone. an artist in the affairs of his own life developed above the mere stage of 'Statements in Spring', an exhibition of and therefore of the life of his people. protest; we're still moaning and plead­ his works, was recently held at the But I must go back a little and point at ing. And even that we do with inferior National Art Gallery in Botswana. • the cruel tragedy that permeates the craftsmanship and insincerity. We must

42 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 Mogorosi Motshumi

decided on the name of the group. In fact, we had been linked to a Kroon- stad-based group, MALEPA, through whom we had been sending some of our works to Staff rider. When we left the second meeting (where two of the new members had been replaced by two new ones) we were all bubbling at the prospect of being a group, and not simply individu­ als who were more susceptible to the perpetual harassment thrown at us by the ever-alert Big Brother. We had also heathened our group MALIMO, which has since been changed to MALIMU (Mangaung Artistic, Literary and Musi­ cal Unit). We were now ready to start the bad times rolling. And this is where all the enthusiasm and excitement previously shown took a back seat to excuses and disappear­ ances. When the first challenge came, neatly wrapped in the form of Don Mattera, we had already made it such a big open secret that a group of this kind had been formed in Mangaung. Here is Don 'celebrating' his sixth year as a banned writer (that was November last year) and here is a group of writers and artists that has been proclaiming solidarity with all those in the same stormy sea. The stage is set and the audience has already filed in. The lights are switched off and well . . . Dilemmas of a Writers Group the projector has jammed. And the understandably disgusted audience files Mogorosi Motshumi of MALIMU, a Bloemfontein- out. Er . . . actually the projector got based writers group, analyses the hazards and jammed like-let-me-explain — through difficulties which the group has had to face. this little dialogue: FIRST MEMBER: We'll be reading 'Being involved' is fast becoming the ladder to quick, personal fame, poetry on the 26th in solidarity with in line with the trend of thinking in the present generation. We are too Don. prepared to exploit the situation of being involved — and thus being NON-MEMBER: Well, that'll be great. I hero-worshipped among the people. wish I were you. We are content, in fact, to create a situation where wherever we go FIRST MEMBER: Of course, but it's we are recognised as the few who are in the struggle. 'Involvement' is got to be a secret. You see we don't leliberately cooked in an infernal pot and is dished out to the people in want to invite the SB's who are sure to vuch a manner that an individual's part in the struggle becomes an open louse things up. secret. We should never be seen as mere loudmouths who are simply THOUGHT: And how do you keep seeking fame, recognition and acceptance. them out? NON-MEMBER: Do you mean you are We are involved and feel great LACK OF DEDICATION not going to put it in the press? when we are recognised as such. The Our group membership has always FIRST MEMBER: No! That would only stinking part of it is that we miss or been constant, but in number — rather be inviting trouble. SB's will be there in leliberately kick the dedication part of than in continuity of members. their hundreds if we do that. I don't it aside. And this, being very specific, is When this group was formed at the want to spend my whole life on Robben rrue of us here at MALIMU. beginning of 1979, there were four of us Island, you know, and for nothing at Confining myself to MALIMU (and and we all went out to find people who that. ot ruling out the possibility of this would be interested in joining the NON-MEMBER: Then how are people eing the case with other groups) I group. going to know? ould state these as being the most Individually we met and talked to THOUGHT: Stumped! -barring factors to any significant local artists and writers. We called and FIRST MEMBER: We'll find means . . . rogress: lack of dedication; submission attended a very informal meeting. Well, Of course it is published, this declar­ o harassment; submission to fear of the three new members who had turned ation of solidarity with Don. One otential harassment; unemployment. up 'joined' the group. member promises to secure a venue for We had at that meeting not yet the session and another promises to

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 43 provide the group with an alternative Mix all this concoction well, and what could happen to us here in Bloe n one should the first one fail. you have a stew that causes cul­ if we were to try and stand up for or Dawn the day of Don. tural stagnation and non-progress. rights.' And they soar, the disappearances Of course we do not know what may and excuses I mean. and once more we lose a member. befall us. We have an army camp right Second Member: Sipho (fictitious In diving headlong into SUB­ here in Bloemfontein. Booming sounds name) said he'll be attending a church MISSION TO FEAR' OF POTENTIAL are heard frequently in the night. Jets choir practice today. And er . . . by the HARASSMENT, I will state that zoom overhead every now and the* . way I'll also not be around . . . Mangaung is cursed with a huge number And in Maitland Street for everybody to Well . . . of people who have a deep fear of see, we have this exhibition of Soldiers Booked this hall for a what? I never the unknown. There are also the brilli­ marching along, armed. heard anything about this poetry ant 'political mathematicians', who, had Sure, we may be mowed down — reading session of yours. Anyway, it is they concentrated on aiming their FOR STANDING UP FOR 'OUR already too late to book now. You diabolically 'accurate' calculations and RIGHTS. The mathematicians, for ail should at least have told me a week ago. deductions in the right directions, their brilliant calculations, should get it Well ... would have been bearable. They possess into their heads that it is US, and not the knack of always arriving at the right they and theirs who should be engaged SUBMISSION TO HARASSMENT answers. in this war. And the mathematicians, for December 16 is a National Day of You see this government has this all the logic they show, where are they Prayer, and this day last year provided habit of displaying its muscle where it is hiding that positivism? They might our group with yet another challenge as bound to be seen by all, every now and argue that this word does not exist in to its dedication. And here we are on then. We in Bloem do most of our mathematics. this day, with three new members . . . shopping, fashion-parading, pick­ Fear of the unknown has got us by again. pocketing, mugging, you-name-it, in the throat and is shaking us so violently We read poetry and stage a play, all Maitland Street, St. Andrew Street, and we are just afraid to get off our asse* to the pulsating background of bongos in the F.V.B. Centre, and this is where and face the truth, instead of hiding and a flute. This is happening at Batho the muscle is mostly displayed. behind 'logic'. Big Brother is doing his Social Institute and as the name sug­ We have never been shot at by the homework, and we simply have to do gests, this place is situated at Batho. All police, except in the usual skirmishes of ours. goes well and the people sit up and a good white cop who, in the execution listen to MALIMU. After this session we of his duties and the maintenance of law UNEMPLOYMENT in the big city of do two others the following weekend. and order, chases a 'pickpocket' who Bloemfontein has robbed us of those This time it is only a few of us. has just nabbed a madam's purse and members who, I can say without doubt Going back a little, before the shoots him in the back after he has 'run' were the most dedicated in the group December 16 session takes place, a two steps because, 'If I hadn't shot the One member, actually the person member sets off to Soweto where he is bastard, who is incidentally an escaped who introduced me to Staffrider, partly going to negotiate for a playscript convict, he would have escaped.' because he wanted to save a few cents | by one staffrider whose name I don't We all gawk at this deed of brutality to further his studies, found himself in recall him mentioning. The other part of inflicted by one human being on the Vryburg, a remote area in the Northern course being his going there to see his other and are powerless to do anything Cape, where he was employed as a . . . folks. about it. POWERLESS! For lucksake. well that I have no business to tell. I On his arrival in Soweto he learns This is neither alpha nor omega. Of guess he has collected enough because I from friends that Big Brother has been course we are not powerless, only have since learned that he has enrolled on the lookout for him. He passes this if . . . but this is not the point now. with Fort Hare (I think.) message on to the group on his return. As I was saying, our students have Then there is another who left with Members have up to now been cautious never been shot at, we do. not know no alternative, had to go as far as as to their involvement with this play what tear gas is and we definitely do not Durban before he found a job. Then we have been busy polishing and now want to breathe the foul stuff into our finally the third one and myself could news that they have been in the com­ clean lungs. We have never heard the only find work in Thaba 'Nchu. Fortu­ pany of a wanted man spurs them gunfire (except when the boys are nately it is not very far from Mangaung, on to throw this caution to the wind target-shooting). We do not want to It is about one and a half hour's drive and quit. They have reached the point hear the piercing scream of a boy wnose by bus, so that we commute every where they do not care whether they brain has been shot out. We do not want day. And this is in no way helping to will be branded as cowards or not — this to spend five years in Leeuwkop and be keep the group members together. is to their relief, and ours, because we banned to a remote area for five years, Added to all this, is a non- feel that keeping such people in the and another five, and another. cooperative press. We have had some of group would have been tantamount to And this is where we meet the our poetry reading sessions publicised keeping potential er . . . sellouts — and mathematicians. Their argument is logi­ but no play. It would seem that our so we try to understand their position. cal, and very mathematical. local paper is bent more on reporting The show has to go on and the 'Now look at it this way,' they argue, funerals and community council issues skeleton group just squeezes through. A 'Soweto has got a very big black popul­ than black cultural activities. i week after the session the same question ation. In any struggle they are in with a We have had those artists and writers is being asked among members; Have chance. They have leaders such as the who, after being told that money was they (Big Brother) been to see you? Motlanas and the Tutus. They are not the primary concern, with this Of course they have been to see me, united in that whenever there's any group that is, showed no interest. but they cannot pin any crime on me, thing to be done, it is done in total Mix all this concoction well, and you neither on you. unity. But,' they go on, 'look at what have a stew that causes the cultural I Although there's no response to this happened to them in June '76. They stagnation and non-progress here in j assurance, it is clear that Big Brother has were mowed down. They were killed, MALIMU. put the fear of the devil into this one, detained, gassed and banned. Imagine S.O.S. (Save Our Solidarity). •

44 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 The Early Years... y.: IAHLELE: We ran a paper called The Voice in Orlando. Khabi, myself, Matlhare and Ngakane. Ngakane only joined us later on. But this was much ] tier. This was the founding core of The i iC We were mimeographing a paper of about six, sometimes eight pages. It was a paper of social and political An excerpt from a conversation between Zeke Mphahlele and Noel civicism. Very Orlando in flavour. It Manganyi in which Zeke remembers the early years of The Voice and often took a very strong satirical line Drum. against the elite who were trying to A long interview covering many aspects of black cultural history in South Africa is play their role in an anti-social way, we contained in Looking Through the Keyhole by Noel Manganyi, to be published by thought. Bantu Education also became a Ravan Press, October 1980. tonic. The Voice ran from '49 to MANGANYI: Zeke, can we move on to medium. The non-fictional prose sketch '52, It contained virulent attacks; we another important area — the area of was also a kind of social comment. jus\: didn't pull any punches at all. writing, of journalism, at the time when Quite a lively movement. The exposes Nakene saw himself being satirised and you got involved in it, which was that people like Henry Nxumalo and made a fool of. We didn't sign our subsequent to your being a teacher. Can Themba were writing — the exposes names on any article. Nobody knew the There again, we who are younger often of the Bethal potato farms, prison life authors of The Voice. feel that there came into being, particu­ and so on — were really dynamic. There MANGANYI: I see. larly in Sophiatown, an era that has was, as I say, a new kind of English MPHAHLELE: Only much later we since passed. I mean, apart from you being written. Significantly, it was the disclosed them. This was long after we and a few other people it seems to have black man writing for the black man. had been dismissed. But even today been a self-contained period in terms of Not addressing himself to the whites. there are many people who still don't creativity and writing. Talking a language that would be know . . . MPHAHLELE: Quite. understood by his own people. (L ;her) MANGANYI: Could you say something MANGANYI: That's interesting. A fecial Branch fellow came to Or- about it? MPHAHLELE: And very significant. lae< o High, to inquire about us. You MPHAHLELE: It was a fascinating There was no appeal or pleading at all to knew what a white person will do. He time. Drum was founded in 1950. And the white man to try to understand us. will go straight to the person in author­ it started first almost as an anthropolog­ We were writing about our own lives, ity and let him know what his people ical kind of journal, with pictures of replaying our own experiences to our are doing. You see? He won't say 'I rural life, pastoral beauty and so on. own people. Unlike the literary renais­ waet to see so-and-so.' No. He wants to Then Anthony Sampson became its sance of West Africa, for instance, esw :ish his presence. It was also Editor, He changed the whole policy of which I entered in the late '50's. West intended that Nakene should know that Drum-, it became a real proletarian Africans were writing and being he had dangerous people in his school. paper. It talked about the urban black published abroad, for a general world You see? That was enough to make man generally. I had already started readership. Ours was really a proletarian Nakene shake in his pants. writing and my Man Must Live short literature. Yes, people like Matshikiza, (L • \hter) stories had appeared in '47. My first Can Themba, Bloke Modisane, Arthur He wanted to see me and Khabi, this story appeared in Drum in '52 and then Maimane, Richard Rive, James fellow with shaggy white hair called again in '53. But I didn't join them until Matthews, Matthew Nkwane, Henry Sergeant Muller. He told us, 'Well, you '54, when I came from Lesotho. I had Nxumalo, Casey Motsisi. We were fe ^vvs, I hear you run The Voice.1 So just written my Honours when I joined not having meetings and talking about we decided that we were going to come Drum at the end of '54 as fiction editor. this, no. And yet there was some c i. They'd find out anyway. We said, My first assignment was to go through controlling force that made it a move­ 'Yes, we do.' He said, 'Well, I am going the literary contest manuscripts. There ment. to send you a summons because you've were lots and lots of entries. This MANGANYI: What was it? Dedication? be TI publishing a paper without re­ literary contest had been an annual What put it together? gistering it and without stating your event since Drum began. Can Temba MPHAHLELE: What put it together? I ' v.eb or where it's published.' We won the first prize in the first contest, think it was a kind of collective consci­ v 'in fact, using a fictitious address which is why he was immediately taken ousness. People had been suffering, and in George Goch. And you have to have onto Drum. I was coming into a real people had been living in harsh cond­ an address. literary renaissance, right in the middle itions without a voice. Well, they found V: \NGANYI: I see. of it. People had been waiting for a a voice then. It was a life that had been MPHAHLELE: It was actually the journal to publish their stuff. Fiction an on-going experience, so writers began address of a fellow called Nhlapo, and reportage — things like that. People to capture it. They were ready to go. Walter Nhlapo, who had allowed us to were really writing furiously in a lively, Many of our writers were not univer­ u-se it. He has since died. We were using vibrant style. It was quite a style of*its sity people. I had already graduated ai! kinds of places for mimeograph­ own, an English of its own. It was my although I had started writing in my ing because we didn't have a machine, duty to encourage this literary activity, Undergraduate days. Can Temba was a you see, and we were always borrowing this fiction writing. There wasn't much graduate. That was all. All the others one here and there . . . poetry then. Fiction was the strongest were Matric people . . . and below Ma-

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 45 trie people. And yet they had a com­ It gave Motsisi a subject for his satires. mand of English. It gave Can Themba a subject also. Women writers speak I MANGANYI: That says something Especially at the level of reportage, the about education . . . level of the prose sketch. Amelia House : MPHAHLELE: That says something At another level, imaginative writing about education, for sure. That the was stimulated by education and the education we had had still allowed for political climate. The political climate freedom of mobility — intellectual was a busy one in the fifties. First there mobility. There were things that people was the Suppression of Communism Act A SPECIAL PAGE could unearth in the libraries, in the in 1950 and the riots that resulted from bookshops. There was a good deal of it; then in 1952 the Defiance Campaign FOR WOMEN? Afro-American stuff in book form and of the Congress Alliance in which whites magazine form and we were reading it. and blacks participated; in 1951, the Those are some of the factors that gave Eiselen Commission Report and our the literary movement an initial push. kind of ferment against it; the Bantu Staff rider has started a women's MANGANYI: How did that tie up with Education Act in 1953 and the removal section which has started some contro­ the social institution in black life called of Sophiatown which almost coincided. versy. Some women feel that they the shebeen? In Sophiatown . . . The ANC tried to get people to resist should not be set aside from men. MPHAHLELE: In Sophiatown and the move, but. . . and schools were Others feel that there is a need for the Orlando, shebeen life was quite a being boycotted at the same time, that woman's point of view. We then have to vibrant institution and it might have is 1953. In 1955 the Kliptown Con­ ask the question — Do women have a injected something into our literary ference adopted the Freedom Charter. special role in the society? In the fight movement. I don't think so much That was quite a big get-together for equality do they want to be special, from the literary standpoint as from the because a number of people came from different and separate? social standpoint. I don't think anything the Cape and Natal and so on. Nineteen In the struggle for equality there has was manufactured in the shebeen. I fifty-six: there was the Treason Trial. A first to be the recognition of existence. would consider it as one of those lot was going on and the political scene A special section for women is a neces­ sub-cultures with its own quality of life. was very active. For me personally it sary first step. Since the women writers It was more an interesting back-drop created quite a context. do not always put a particular feminine than an organic part of the movement, MANGANYI: Well, I often feel that or feminist view in their work and since even though it was a cult for journalists. from our point of view as blacks that is we cannot always rely on names to And maybe it did something for people one period that really requires to be point to the sex of the author, we must who frequented the shebeens, like the studied in great detail. have a way of recognition. Once a clear Matshikizas, the Modisanes, the MPHAHLELE: Oh, it does. It really presence has been established then we Nkwanes, the Can Tembas and Motsisis. requires study. • can ask for equality. Is there a woman's point of view? Can a man write honestly about a female character? Can a white write about a black? Can a black write about a white? These are questions that have been asked over and over again. Do I suffer in any special way because I am black? There are things that I suffer because I am black but pain is not exclusively a black experience nor is suffering. Yes, blacks suffer in Sou rh Africa and other countries for no other 'crime' than for blackness. We do not want to escape blackness, but only the suffering inflicted on us by laws becau e of it. To that extent a white can nev r really know what it feels like to be black in a country like South Africa r in parts of the USA. There are certain experiences that are also unique to women. Some writers do write abo t childbirth and about mothering. This brings a particular point of view, but women should not permit it to becon e limiting. Women might be or have bee I the first teachers that children know, but those roles are changing even in South Africa. With pressing econom c times it might once again become a matter of women rather than men goir g out to work and men will have to take over child-rearing. For the present it is necessary t observe that women do write and ths there is diversity in their writing.• drawing, Mpikayipeli Figlan

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1930 Wonien writers speak Four Poems by Lindiwe Mvemve

HAVE 'I O DIE TO QO^O HELL? -\ THE RUSTLE IN THAT TALL DRY GRASS

icklings of life are numbec le rustle, in that tall dry grass e veins of my blood the revolver .^. _ this intoxicated fire the cry of the\ird my insides have caught in the tall nakeojtf : starved flames Jf .^^ iirig like little children people iping like fear-stricken wind to liberate . . . in spasms the struggle, the rustle, ing me in ashes of inferiority cor the sweating as years crowd into dust ng me out rjthe strangling,. " immersing me in blot ' the killing "* ' "~ sut and death somersaulting like a vulture on the people, the victims . . > >lood is cold enough %. clouds and smoke gather in their sky revenge n flesh . . * W " the streets smeared with blood too young i rainbow chicken unlike the streets of Jerusalem golden k like a zombie you walk not in haste in streets of gold city ig red where there's 1 soiled with corpses cockroaches like huma. you wash larvae were a commodity )ing in the background to devou#thp murdering sight. damn souls r 1 blood is cofd too f: LIl'L fS\OM()Rt' TV'-IC^i * tare such affinity wi ^_.-^'A ;/ ' ft g iv be aura The cry that was, grew faint y be the colour of the skin in the middle of that night traps me in the prongs I the whistle on the corner lis stil! creeping fear from a lover waiting pering 'you are the next one to trave the gamble in the shop •.an naked, lonely and dead/ dogs fighting over a bitch in the arms of hell who has and the people flocking from town to Known the taste of my flesh township the ants and their larvae won't parta and from township to town - flesh that died when it was born !,;•• the creaky buses overstuffed 4/2/58. with souls without a cry flesh that had to snek from souls that last crifcd in the labour ward >reasts of sulphur and brimstone where only death celebrates vas christened in pools of sweat to where do the tears of our mothers flow horrible smell will rise up from as they see the children taste this bitter cup omb of my burial? in this life of more evil than good? ip to choke this infested sun Life is no more with the living e smell of hell becomes but dwells in the shrines of the martyrs :/r, colder than the dog's nose, m of doornkop and kwa-langa. ^ IF GROUND OF THE STREET J : ground of the street sed my eardrum hard IIV 1' >ten W: f! V- for the inaudible .'lids of footsteps drowning ' ocean's marching humming r and louder they grew -hen i looked void congratulated the ignorance of mjc

souL/ *• • ^ MPfMVfWsu F»Q«-AN

Fo ving Heather Bailey's statement, The idea of a special page for women writers is anathema to me/ in the iast Staffrider, the controversy about whether or not there should be such a page has come out into the open, AMELIA HOUSE gives her viewpoint on the opposite page. Staffrider invites other readers, both women and men, to contribute their views to this debate.

STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 47 Children's Section \ &

THE DUSTBIN BABY The dustbin baby Member of the helpless lot Product of ignorance Son of negligence Who is pregnant with curse Before the eyes of the world Which supplies no aid For those in need

I am mothered By mother-dustbin Who gave me birth Molo Songololo is a magazine for all children in the Cape . . . Among With the spirit of compassion other aims, Molo Songololo wants to encourage children to express During the ungodly scene their ideas and experiences and provide them with an opportunity to When I was thrown away gain a greater insight into the environment they find themselves in By mother-man Molo Songololo appeals to all children to read and contribute to it and so help to educate one another. I am fathered, The address is: 330 Southwest House, Shortmarket Street, Cape Town. By the reasoning dustbin And starvation is partially defeated CHASING THE BABOONS TREK TO OCEAN VIEW For an act is better than no attempt By Lloyd Zany by Barisha Karlie And the pieces of pie satisfy The one in need One cold winter's morning we We lived in Simonstown till I Gloomily I focus on were standing at the road waiting was three years old. Then we The pillars of life for a lift to school. We hitch-hiked moved to Ocean View. In Simons for a long time. A few hours later town we lived across the sea. I can Who is considered a social disease we got a lift with a truck. still remember the earthquake we That cannot be halted? The school was at Ocean View, had when I was one year old. Who survives as a criminal but the truck went to Kommetjie. could walk that time. I climbed For he needed to satisfy hunger? We got off at the crossing near out of bed and the house shook so Who is considered a menace Ocean View. But as we got off the that I fell to the ground. We had a For wanting to overcome distress? truck we saw the police wagon small window on the roof. I look Who am I? standing there. The police was ed up and saw a baboon shivering An outcast — blocking another car. We were of the cold. The next day a mar The dustbin baby afraid that the police might hit us came round and told my parent! because we were walking in that we had to move to another Landi kaThemba groups. The high school pupils town. Simonstown was to be fo said they were going to turn back. the whites. We hired a truck to When they went back I also bring our furniture to Ocean followed them. View. Ocean View is also situated When we came to Witsands we five kilometres away from the sea. saw some baboons. We started It is called Soetwater. At first I throwing stones at them. They ran did not like it in Ocean View, but up the mountain with us shortly I came accustomed to it. Now we at their heels. After a while we live happy here in Ocean View. were tired and sat down to rest. While we were sitting there we watched the small baboons play­ ing in the trees.

48 STAFFRIDER, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1980 New Books from Ravan Press THE DIARY OF MARIA THOLO

Carol Hermer Maria Tholo is a middle-class woman whose story is set in the THE EYE townships of Guguletu, Nyanga and Langa — the black 'dormitories' of Cape Town — during the first wave of the 'Children's Crusade' of 1976. OF THE NEEDLE Sympathetic to the demands of the school children, she is swept along by the sheer momentum of the popular struggle. RICHARD TURNER Yet she feels threatened at times by the pace and violence of 'Turner revealed to a society caught in the defeating logic of events around her. oppression the shape and substance of life conceived in Her viewpoint is uniquely revealing and very human. freedom and lived out through the enactment of rational Carol Hermer constructed this book from tape-recorded choices.' (From the biographical Introduction by Tony interviews, and her commentaries recreate the context of Morphet) Maria Tholo's vivid personal encounter with her time. This new South African edition includes a lengthy post­ script, previously unpublished in South Africa, entitled The Forthcoming Books Present As History, in which Dr Turner examines the potentials for change in the South African situation. Mzala — The Stories of Mbulelo Mzamane (Staff- rider Series number five) Looking through the Keyhole — by N. Chabani A SEPARATE DEVELOPMENT Manganyi, author of Being Black in the World. Christopher Hope Race and State in Capitalist Development — South 'Hope achieves the impossible' — Rand Daily Mail Africa in Comparative Perspective by Stanley 'I have seldom read a funnier book' — The Star Greenberg. BANNED IN SOUTH AFRICA A Peoples' History of South Africa — Volume One The Visitation Ahmed Essop — 'Gold and Workers'. An illustrated history book A new first novel by the author of The Hajji and Other which presents South African history from a new Stories, winner of the Olive Schreiner Award, 1979. viewpoint. Lahnee's Pleasure — A play by Ronnie Govender. Chibaro Charles van Onselen The acclaimed comedy with a serious edge, per­ 'Charles van Onselen *s highly readable, scholarly and out­ formed hundreds of times, set in Mount Edge­ raged account of labour mobilisation and control, and combe, Natal. worker response, in Rhodesian gold mines between 1900 and 1933. This is a brilliant first book by a talented labour 'We Shall Sing for the Fatherland' and Other Plays historian.' m, . x by award-winning playwright, Zakes Mda. — Martin Legassick STOP PRESS: FORCED LANDING (ED.MUTLOATSE) UNBANNED: ON SALE AGAIN'.GET IT