© Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela ± All Rights Reserved Chapter 1: Childhood Days My father, Gadla Henry Mphakanyiswa, once a prosperous nobleman according to the standards of that time died in 1930 having lost his chieftaincy and all the wealth and comforts attached to that office. Shortly thereafter my mother and I went westward on a journey which, unknown to me then, was to change my whole life. I was sorry to leave behind the sweet home where I had spent the happiest days of my childhood; the simple peasant huts where my sisters and I had enjoyed my mother's love and protection as well as her tempting dishes; where we had listened to her at night telling us gripping stories and fables from the distant past, and where no evil could touch us. Before we disappeared behind the hills I turned and looked for the last time at the cluster of villages I was leaving behind. I could see the two trading stores where I used to buy my mother's groceries, the two primary schools I had attended, the dipping tanks, the maize fields and the green pastures where the herds and flocks were grazing. I imagined how other boys were enjoying themselves hunting, roasting maize on the cob, drinking milk straight from the cow's udders and swimming in the pools. Above all I could see those three round huts which I associated with happiness, with life itself. I wished I had kissed them before I left. 1 1 We travelled on foot and in the afternoon came to a large and beautiful home with an equally large courtyard. The buildings consisted of two large ingxande (square houses) and seven rondavels, all washed in white lime and far bigger than anything I had seen before. In the shade of two gum trees sat a group of about twenty serious elders. There were peach trees and maize in the front garden and a larger garden at the back had apple trees, maize, a vegetable and flower strip and a wattle patch. Grazing around the place were about fifty head of cattle and about three hundred sheep. This was Mqhekezweni, the provisional capital of Thembuland, and the residence of Chief Jongintaba Dalindyebo who acted as the regent for Sabata, a future king. In my village at Qunu I had seen modern homes of the families of Mbekela, Zidlele, Njomane, Habe and others, but the royal residence completely dwarfed all these. Here almost everything had a dimension of its own and at that age I could hardly imagine anything on earth which could exceed this. It would take me almost two decades to discover the prosperity of the Thembu Court could hardly be compared to that of the senior chiefs of Botswana, Lesotho, and Swaziland. Towards sunset a huge motor car drove through the western gate and the men in the shade rose to their feet shouting: Bayethe a-a-a Jongintaba ! (Hail ! Jongintaba !), the traditional salute of the Xhosas for their chief. A short thick set man, dark complexioned and wearing a smart suit, stepped out and joined the gathering under the trees. He had a resolute bearing and an intelligent face. His confidence and casual manner marked him off as one who was used to praise and exercise of authority. This was the regent who for more than a decade was to be my guardian and generous 2 2 benefactor and who was to exercise a tremendous influence on me. His physical appearance symbolised all the prosperity and grandeur that was written into everything that made up that home. The men around him were the counselors who handled the affairs of Thembuland and who formed the highest Thembu Court of Justice. Before my arrival at Mqhekezweni I had no higher ambitions than to have plenty of good food, nice clothes, to become a great hunter, a champion stick fighter, and the centre of a host of other adventures some printable others not. The idea of property and class had not become an obsession as yet. But even on that first day of my arrival, I felt like a tree that had been pulled out root and branch from the earth and flung mid stream into a strong current. Children who come from poor homes, whose parents can neither read nor write, are exposed to many temptations when they suddenly find themselves in the midst of prosperity. Established beliefs, existing loyalties and even affectionate relationships may be undermined. During the first days at the royal residence I felt the slender foundations my parents had built in me beginning to shake with the impact of all the glitter that surrounded me. Life here made me acutely aware of the poverty in which I was born and bred. A few days after our arrival my mother, my very first friend in life, returned to Qunu to resume the fight against poverty and growing physical and spiritual needs that would never be satisfied. I remained behind merry in the festive atmosphere of Mqekezweni, eating fairly good food, sleeping 3 3 in comfort and looking like a polished piece of bronze in the new outfit the regent had bought me. Parting came without fuss. There were no sermons, moral or otherwise, no kisses and not even a handshake. All these things would have been superfluous. That tender look of hers which has always moved me and her smooth and concise remarks were all that I needed to feel secure and relaxed. Uqinisufokotho Kwedini ! (Brace yourself up, my boy !) meant more to me than anything else. Both my home at Qunu and the royal residence at Mqhekezweni are in the district of Mthatha (the corrupt European form being presently Umtata), the capital of the Transkei. The Transkei itself is about seven hundred miles east of Cape Town and lies between the Kei River and the Natal border, the Drakensberg mountains and the Indian Ocean. A beautiful country of rolling hills, fertile valleys and numerous rivers, it is the largest block of African territory in South Africa, covering an area of 16,500 square miles and with the present population of 3,600,000 Xhosas with a tiny minority of Basothos, Coloureds (mixed blood) and whites. The land is owned by the State and, with a few exceptions, Africans enjoy no private title to land. Africans are state tenants paying rent annually to the Government. Much of the beauty of the territory has been destroyed by over population, over stocking and soil erosion. The houses consist of rounded mud walls, grass roofs with strong wooden poles in the centre on which the roof rests. The floor is made of crushed ant heap and kept smooth and clean by smearing it regularly with fresh cow dung. The houses are generally grouped together in residential areas separate and very 4 4 often some distance from the maize fields. Cattle, horses, sheep and goats graze in common pastures. Maize, sorghum, beans and pumpkins form the staple diet, not because of any inherent preference for this type of food, but because the people cannot afford anything better. The more well to do families supplement their diets with some milk, tea, coffee and sugar, but for many people these are luxuries which are beyond their means. For the greater part of the year the men are away working on the mines, farms and towns. They return mainly for the purpose of ploughing but leave the hoeing, weeding and harvesting to women and children. Water has to be fetched in buckets or clay pitchers by women from springs and streams. As a rule Christians move about in modern clothes whilst the non-Christians wear blankets soaked in ochre. The Transkei is a country of poverty and hunger, disease and illiteracy. It serves as an important reservoir of cheap labour for the mines and the farms, the former having established an efficient network of recruiting agencies throughout the area. Much change has occured to this area over the past fifty years in regard to the living conditions of the people and, in spite of strong objections and stubborn resistance from the liberation movement to the policy of separate development and its institutions, today there is even talk of independence in which the people it is claimed will for the first time since conquest run their own affairs. My father ruled at Mvezo in the district of Mthatha. Here I was born on the 18th July 1918, a year 5 5 which is significant in many respects. It brought both disaster and happy days. It was the year of the influenza epidemic in which millions of people throughout the world died. It marked the end of the first world war and ushered in world peace for two decades. That year a delegation of the African National Congress travelled to the Versailles Peace Conference to voice the grievances of the African people of South Africa. On the home front is was a year of rising industrial unrest in which both black and white workers went on strike and in which there were even wild rumours of an impending rebellion by the workers. It was in this atmosphere that in Johannesburg and Durban workers went so far as to establish soviets to manage their affairs. Above all, it was the year following the Bolshevik revolution - an immortal achievement which opened up vast possibilities for man's forward movement. My relationship to the Thembu royal house, and more particularly the fact that I spent my youth at Mqhekezweni, has led to well meant but exaggerated accounts of my exact position in the affairs of Thembuland.