The Rape Victim of Kwa Mashu.……………………………………....Toronto, November 2007.
My name is uThandeka. I was born on the third day of December 1980, in a ghetto called Kwa Mashu on the outskirts of the City of Durban on the East Coast of South Africa. My name means the Lovable One in isiZulu- one of the eleven official languages of the country.
I feel uncomfortable when people call me Thandi-short for uThandeka-, because it reminds me of the day when my uncle uMandlakayise raped me, for as he raped me he kept on repeating my name saying “Thandi, Thandi, Thandi, Thandi .……” many times.
Like most young girls who have been raped I am ashamed of myself, because I could not complain to anyone, except my Grandmother, uGogo, uMmaNkabinde who said “…rape is the price you pay for being a beautiful girl in Kwa Mashu.” I felt that she was blaming me, the victim.
According to uBoniswa- my aunt- (the One who was Shown Visions)-I was born “a real bundle of joy.” She told me she was the one who gave me the name uThandeka. My mother liked the name iNkosazana (the Princess), that is why my full name is iNkosazana-e-Thandekayo, meaning the Princess who is Lovable.
I am also told that my uncle, uMandlakayise (meaning His Father’s Power), was so impressed with my looks that he emptied the film in his camera taking pictures of me when he first saw me. One of those pictures appeared on the front page of Ilanga Lase Natal, our provincial newspaper. The clippings from that newspaper occupy pride of place on the wall of my Grandmothers’ living room.
My Aunt uBoniswa, piles lots of praises on me every time she meets me. “I could say from the very day you were born,” she always tells me, “that you were going to be the Queen of Kwa Mashu.”
“Is that why you named me uThandeka?” I asked her.
“Yes! I named you uThandeka. Your mother called you iNkosazana-meaning the Princess, because she claimed that your good looks were fit for royalty. Everyone felt that the young-men of Kwa Mashu would worship the ground on which you stood.” She said.
But leave it to my Grandmother, uGogo, uMmaNkabinde as we fondly call her, to give praises to the ‘beauties’ of our tribe. On every visit to my Gogo’s apartment I am certain to hear of our good looks and especially mine, and that many people say I look like her.
On such visits, I would also be shown her photo-album and the trophies she won in her youthful years. Also in the album are photos my mother, uNomusa-The Merciful Lady- with her trophies and a special photo of hers with Cedric Xulu and Ace Mnikathi-the stars of the Zulu Royals Football Club of the nineteen sixties, taken when she was chosen the Miss Zulu Royals Football.
On my last to visit to my Grandmother’s, she gave me a long hard gaze and said, “Thandi, my child’s child, look at me in the eyes, I want you to know that it is now your turn to give the Zulu Nation a Beauty Queen, you’re going to be Miss Inkatha Freedom Party.” She demanded.
“I cannot be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party, Gogo.” I protested.
“Why?” she asked.
“You know that I am not a member of the Inkatha Freedom Party.” I said. “What if I refuse?” I added.
“You dare not refuse.” She said.
“Gogo,” I said,” have you ever considered the impact this could have on me? Don’t you think that this exposure will make every young-man in Kwa Mashu want to rape me?”
“You’re being a pessimist, Thandi. Be an optimist. Don’t think of rape. Think of the possibility that every young man in Kwa Mashu would wish to marry you if you win this contest.”
“Gogo, I have no interested in being married to any ‘young-man of Kwa Mashu’. My eyes are seeing far away, beyond the boundaries of Kwa Zulu.” I said with a smile on my face.
“You must be joking, because we have big plans for you.” She said with a soft laughter.
“What are those ‘big plans’ and who are these ‘we’ who have plans for me?” I asked her curiously.
“This is confidential and please promise to keep this a secret. Will you?” she asked.
“Gogo, these plans involves me. I have a need to know what these plans are and who these people are.” I said.
“True, you have a need to know, but unless you promise to keep this a secret, I cannot answer you. Will you swear by your Late Grandfather to keep this a secret?” She asked again.
“Gogo, I swear by my late Grandfather that I will keep this secret,” I answered, showing solemnity by crossing my index fingers.
“Good girl,” she said, “now I can have a serious discussion with you. As you know, your uncle is a member of the National Executive Committee of the Inkatha Freedom Party of South Africa. You know that, don’t you?” She asked.
“Yes, I know that Gogo,” I said.
“He was here yesterday to tell me that the Party has authorized the Youth League to organize a Beauty Contest as a Fundraising Event and your name came up as a possible contestant. He was requested to ensure your participation. Will you participate, my child’s child?”
“NO! I cannot accept this, Gogo,” I said protested.
“Thandi, my child’s child,” said my Gogo, “you must accept this. It comes from your uncle, you know how furious he can be when he is rejected. Please say Yes!”
“I am refusing, Gogo, and if you want to know why, it is because of my uncle.” I said. “You know that I want nothing to do with him,” spreading my hands to emphasize my point.
uGogo became mad with rage. She hid her face in her hands and took a deep breath and then said; “but tell me, my child’s child, why do you hate your uncle so much?” She asked, barely concealing her rage.
“Gogo, wouldn’t you hate somebody who raped you?” I asked her in return.
“I would, my child’s child,” she answered, struggling to maintain her calm, “but I wouldn’t allow that to stand between me and the prize of being the Princess of Kwa Mashu. Do you know how many young girls have been raped by their uncles in Kwa Mashu? Rape is a common thing in Kwa Mashu. Think about that, Thandeka!” She added.
“Oh Yes, Gogo! I thought about that many times. I know that thousands of young girls have been raped by their uncles or other close relatives in Kwa Mashu. But I think that this must stop, more especially during these days of the AIDS Pandemic.” I said. “If I could help it, no girl in the whole world would ever be raped by anyone, let alone a close relative. Whoever did that would be severely punished. I would rather be remembered as the girl who brought an end to rape than for being a titular Princess of Kwa Mashu,” I said with tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I promise to help you fight the AIDS Pandemic if you agree to participate in this contest. It will be easier to fight this Pandemic when you are a Princess than being a wasted pretty girl in Kwa Mashu. Please be a Princess for your Gogo Thandi,” she appealed.
“I told you some time back Gogo, that I believe that these days, beauty is skin deep.” I answered. “I strongly believe in those words. For me beauty lies in the heart. One cannot be beautiful if one is evil.” I continued.
“What do you mean when you say ‘these days beauty is skin deep’?” she asked. “You’re far from being evil, if you were, it would not have been necessary to plead with you to join this contest. You’re doing this for your Gogo. Will you do that for me, Thandi?” with earnestness showing in her face.
“No! Gogo, I will not. Look at aunt Boni,” I said. “Someone poured boiling water on her face for that. I don’t want to look like that, Gogo.” I replied.
“No! Thandi my child’s child,” She replied. “I want you to be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party, not to have someone pour boiling water on your face. You must look beyond your aunt uBoniswa, look at uNobuhle (Ms. Beautiful) her daughter. See how pretty she looks? It shows that beauty is in our blood and not on our skin.” She said with pride.
“Gogo, I told you I have plans of my own,” I said, trying to change the topic. “I need time to think about them.”
“You need to think about them fast!” She said, ignoring my plea for a chance to consider my plans, “the whole Zulu Nation is waiting for your decision. They cannot wait for ever,” she said, indicating impatience. “Your uncle, uMandla will be furious if you make the wrong decision.” She warned.
The mention of my uncle’s name made me feel like exploding. I tried to stand up but couldn’t. I was glued to the chair on which I was seating. The words “..your uncle will be furious…”kept ringing in my head. That made me angry. Finally I stood up and said “Gogo, I can’t stand this any longer. What if I loose?” I asked her for what appeared to be the umpteenth time.
“I told you that there is no way you could loose, Thandi, this contest is yours to win, you just take part and you win. We always win these contests. One last time, Thandi, my child’s child, are you going to disappoint me? I need to know your answer now before your uncle arrives. He will be here anytime now.” I could sense her exacerbation.
“Yes, Gogo! I am going to disappoint you. I am not going to be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party. I will not allow myself to be made into a political football.” I said, with some finality.
“Please say yes! Thandi, If you say yes! I will do anything for you,” she implored. “If you refuse, your uncle will not speak to you again,” she threatened.
“Besides, you know that my father, uMtimkhulu (Big Tree) hates these contests, did you ask his opinion?” I asked, trying to postpone the unpleasant decision.
“Thandi, my child’s child, your father is an idiot. He knows nothing about Beauty Contests,” she said. “He is an old-fashioned Zulu man,” she added.
“Perhaps I should ask for his permission, don’t you think so,” I asked.
“No! You are not going to waste my time because of an old fashioned Zulu man.” She said, angrily.
“But you wouldn’t want to anger him, would you?” I asked. “You know how an angry Zulu man reacts.” I said, with a smile on my face.
She smiled back and said, “Yes I know, but I can always get uncle uMandla, to deal with him.”
“I wouldn’t like to see two angry Zulu men clash over me,” I said jokingly.
She also laughed and added; “jokes aside, you will get media exposure and a key to a career in modeling and more especially in filming.” She said, still trying to convince me.
“I am not interested in a modeling or an acting career,” I said. “I’d rather be a nurse to help the
sick than be a model or a film star.” I added.
“Remember, I promised to do anything for you if you accept this proposal,” showing increased anger. “Will you take this opportunity or not?” she asked again.
“I am afraid I won’t, Gogo. I do not want to be the laughing stock of Kwa Mashu.” I said, giving myself the chance to show some anger.
“No one laughs at someone who looses a beauty contest, Thandeka.” She said, whilst coming closer to me so as to emphasize her point. Suddenly she shouted, “do you know how many girls would die for an opportunity like this one?” she asked “You have a chance of a life time Thandi! You will remember this opportunity,” she said in an attempt to give me a final push. “All you need to do is to enter this contest and win,” she tried to assure me again.
“I told you Gogo, I can’t take that chance. I will be devastated if I lost.” I said.
“So, you have a problem of self-confidence, Thandeka, I will talk to MmaNdlovu, the Sangoma to help with your self-confidence.” She said with a smile.
I smiled back and nodded my head in an effort to calm her. She mistook this to mean agreement with her. “Yes!” she said, “My Granddaughter is going to be Miss Inkatha Freedom Party 2007.”
“I cannot be a Beauty Queen of a Party that I am not a member of, Gogo. Besides, if I loose, I may kill myself. That is why I do not want to join this contest. I am not a good loser. I told you that many times,” I repeated.
“Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly, “you will not loose because your uncle will fix that,” she said. “He can arrange such things.”
“Did you say Uncle Mandla can fix this, Gogo?” sensing an opportunity to close this discussion once and for all I shouted, “I cannot take part in a fixed competition. Did you say this was a fixed competition?” I asked, feigning astonishment.
“Yes! I said your Uncle Mandla can fix such things for you. As you know uMandla is a bulldozer.
“Yes! You are right!” I retorted. “I know that my uncle is a bulldozer. He always wants to have things his way. It is high time he met his match. I am that match. I will not be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party.” I said.
“You dare not stand on your Uncle’s way, he will smash you to bits if you do.” She said.
If my Grandmother intended to intimidate me with those words, she was wrong because those words had the opposite effect. They angered me. I became adamant in my refusal to participate in the competition. I stood up from the chair on which I was seating and stormed out of my Gogo’s apartment. I haven’t been back there ever since.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Dudley George: And How Can A Man Die Better?
by Ezrom Serame Mokgakala.
Dudley George: Smiling in his grave.
Although Dudley George died an angry man, he must be smiling in his grave, for his blood was not shed in vain. He has been vindicated. He will be remembered as the only brave man killed in a land dispute in Canada, in the 20th Century, for he was shot and killed while defending the burial-grounds of his forefathers from the clutches of a heavily armed Ontario Provincial Police Force. On December 20, 2007 the Ontario Government announced that the disputed land will be e returned to his people.
Dudley George was shot and killed while protesting the refusal of successive Canadian Governments to honour a commitment made to them more than half a century ago-in 1942 to be more excat-. Using the War Measures Act, the Government seized the land for use as a Military Training Camp with a promise that it will be returned to its owners at the end of the war. The War ended and that promise was not kept until Dudley George and his compatriots chose to peacefully occupy it and demand that it be returned to his people. An angry Ontario Government ordered they be removed by the Provincial Police from the land when a stand off ensued, leading to the violent death of an unarmed and peacefully demonstrating Dudley George.
By some accounts this could not have happened at a worse time for the protestors as Ontario had a very reactionary “red-neck” government which preferred the use force and in the words of one leading government official to drive the “F.. .. natives” out the camp. The then Premier of Ontario, Mr. Mike Harris to whom the words were attributed has vehemently denied using any racist words in addressing the land dispute.
Dudley George was shot and killed by Kenneth Deane, who was himself killed in a road accident just before giving evidence before the Commission. However, as the Minister of Indian Affairs made the announcement about the return of the land, I could not help but imagine the late Dudley George smiling in his grave and remembered the famous words of Thomas B. Macaulay who said, “and how can a man die better, that facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods.”
We can all hope and pray that Dudley George’s soul will now rest in peace.
Dudley George: Smiling in his grave.
Although Dudley George died an angry man, he must be smiling in his grave, for his blood was not shed in vain. He has been vindicated. He will be remembered as the only brave man killed in a land dispute in Canada, in the 20th Century, for he was shot and killed while defending the burial-grounds of his forefathers from the clutches of a heavily armed Ontario Provincial Police Force. On December 20, 2007 the Ontario Government announced that the disputed land will be e returned to his people.
Dudley George was shot and killed while protesting the refusal of successive Canadian Governments to honour a commitment made to them more than half a century ago-in 1942 to be more excat-. Using the War Measures Act, the Government seized the land for use as a Military Training Camp with a promise that it will be returned to its owners at the end of the war. The War ended and that promise was not kept until Dudley George and his compatriots chose to peacefully occupy it and demand that it be returned to his people. An angry Ontario Government ordered they be removed by the Provincial Police from the land when a stand off ensued, leading to the violent death of an unarmed and peacefully demonstrating Dudley George.
By some accounts this could not have happened at a worse time for the protestors as Ontario had a very reactionary “red-neck” government which preferred the use force and in the words of one leading government official to drive the “F.. .. natives” out the camp. The then Premier of Ontario, Mr. Mike Harris to whom the words were attributed has vehemently denied using any racist words in addressing the land dispute.
Dudley George was shot and killed by Kenneth Deane, who was himself killed in a road accident just before giving evidence before the Commission. However, as the Minister of Indian Affairs made the announcement about the return of the land, I could not help but imagine the late Dudley George smiling in his grave and remembered the famous words of Thomas B. Macaulay who said, “and how can a man die better, that facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods.”
We can all hope and pray that Dudley George’s soul will now rest in peace.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
And How Can A Man Die Better!
by Ezrom Serame Mokgakala.
Dudley George: Smiling in his grave.
Although Dudley George died an angry man, he must be smiling in his grave, for his blood was not shed in vain. He has been vindicated. He will be remembered as the only brave man killed in a land dispute in Canada, in the 20th Century, for he was shot and killed while defending the burial-grounds of his forefathers from the clutches of a heavily armed Ontario Provincial Police Force. On December 20, 2007 the Ontario Government announced that the disputed land will be e returned to his people.
Dudley George was shot and killed while protesting the refusal of successive Canadian Governments to honour a commitment made to them more than half a century ago-in 1942 to be more excat-. Using the War Measures Act, the Government seized the land for use as a Military Training Camp with a promise that it will be returned to its owners at the end of the war. The War ended and that promise was not kept until Dudley George and his compatriots chose to peacefully occupy it and demand that it be returned to his people. An angry Ontario Government ordered they be removed by the Provincial Police from the land when a stand off ensued, leading to the violent death of an unarmed and peacefully demonstrating Dudley George.
By some accounts this could not have happened at a worse time for the protestors as Ontario had a very reactionary “red-neck” government which preferred the use force and in the words of one leading government official to drive the “F.. .. natives” out the camp. The then Premier of Ontario, Mr. Mike Harris to whom the words were attributed has vehemently denied using any racist words in addressing the land dispute.
Dudley George was shot and killed by Kenneth Deane, who was himself killed in a road accident just before giving evidence before the Commission. However, as the Minister of Indian Affairs made the announcement about the return of the land, I could not help but imagine the late Dudley George smiling in his grave and remembered the famous words of Thomas B. Macaulay who said, “and how can a man die better, that facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods.”
We can all hope and pray that Dudley George’s soul will now rest in peace.
Dudley George: Smiling in his grave.
Although Dudley George died an angry man, he must be smiling in his grave, for his blood was not shed in vain. He has been vindicated. He will be remembered as the only brave man killed in a land dispute in Canada, in the 20th Century, for he was shot and killed while defending the burial-grounds of his forefathers from the clutches of a heavily armed Ontario Provincial Police Force. On December 20, 2007 the Ontario Government announced that the disputed land will be e returned to his people.
Dudley George was shot and killed while protesting the refusal of successive Canadian Governments to honour a commitment made to them more than half a century ago-in 1942 to be more excat-. Using the War Measures Act, the Government seized the land for use as a Military Training Camp with a promise that it will be returned to its owners at the end of the war. The War ended and that promise was not kept until Dudley George and his compatriots chose to peacefully occupy it and demand that it be returned to his people. An angry Ontario Government ordered they be removed by the Provincial Police from the land when a stand off ensued, leading to the violent death of an unarmed and peacefully demonstrating Dudley George.
By some accounts this could not have happened at a worse time for the protestors as Ontario had a very reactionary “red-neck” government which preferred the use force and in the words of one leading government official to drive the “F.. .. natives” out the camp. The then Premier of Ontario, Mr. Mike Harris to whom the words were attributed has vehemently denied using any racist words in addressing the land dispute.
Dudley George was shot and killed by Kenneth Deane, who was himself killed in a road accident just before giving evidence before the Commission. However, as the Minister of Indian Affairs made the announcement about the return of the land, I could not help but imagine the late Dudley George smiling in his grave and remembered the famous words of Thomas B. Macaulay who said, “and how can a man die better, that facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods.”
We can all hope and pray that Dudley George’s soul will now rest in peace.
The N Word
I hate it when someone calls me a Nigger, especially when that someone is an African American to whom the word should be more hurtful. However, I notice that African Americans call each other by that word and do not seem to take offense when they use it among themselves. However I still cannot take it from anyone.
Let's be blunt. Nigger means lynching. It means hundreds of white people, including children, gathered to watch a black man, a human being, dragged, beaten, hung from a tree and cooked alive. It means grinding poverty. Today -- not 30 years ago, but today -- blacks are disproportionately poor, hungry and die of illnesses which do not kill whites. This is true all across planet earth and all over the United States. It means police harassment and brutality. Being pulled over by the police for lesser, or no transgressions; being shot 41 times after going for your wallet; it means a toilet plunger; it means a disproportionate number of black people arrested, convicted and imprisoned.
This is the America of today. Am I happy to live in this environment? Of course not but I come from a place where things are worse. Here, at least my wits can allow me to go some distance before I am stopped and harassed. In South Africa I had to flee to save my skin. Can things get worse than described above?
The answer is an emphatic yes! America is on the brink of a very violent revolution. The ordinary redneck is armed to the tooth, thanks to the National Rifle Association. The KKK is resurgent. Racism is rampant while the law claims to have proscribed it. Apologists of the racist system point to the appearance of black faces in formerly all white positions in society. These appearances have never been more misleading. White racism is arming at an alarming rate. Call me an alarmist if you wish. What alarms me most is the lackadaisical manner in which our people are responding to this situation.
Should we arm ourselves given this situation? My answer is an emphatic NO! because no one is going to win following this carnage. This is bound to be a very bloody affair as several groups are gradually collecting massive arsenals that will be unleashed to an unsuspecting world.
Let us hope this prognosis is wrong.
Let's be blunt. Nigger means lynching. It means hundreds of white people, including children, gathered to watch a black man, a human being, dragged, beaten, hung from a tree and cooked alive. It means grinding poverty. Today -- not 30 years ago, but today -- blacks are disproportionately poor, hungry and die of illnesses which do not kill whites. This is true all across planet earth and all over the United States. It means police harassment and brutality. Being pulled over by the police for lesser, or no transgressions; being shot 41 times after going for your wallet; it means a toilet plunger; it means a disproportionate number of black people arrested, convicted and imprisoned.
This is the America of today. Am I happy to live in this environment? Of course not but I come from a place where things are worse. Here, at least my wits can allow me to go some distance before I am stopped and harassed. In South Africa I had to flee to save my skin. Can things get worse than described above?
The answer is an emphatic yes! America is on the brink of a very violent revolution. The ordinary redneck is armed to the tooth, thanks to the National Rifle Association. The KKK is resurgent. Racism is rampant while the law claims to have proscribed it. Apologists of the racist system point to the appearance of black faces in formerly all white positions in society. These appearances have never been more misleading. White racism is arming at an alarming rate. Call me an alarmist if you wish. What alarms me most is the lackadaisical manner in which our people are responding to this situation.
Should we arm ourselves given this situation? My answer is an emphatic NO! because no one is going to win following this carnage. This is bound to be a very bloody affair as several groups are gradually collecting massive arsenals that will be unleashed to an unsuspecting world.
Let us hope this prognosis is wrong.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Ezrom's The Leadership Award
Ezrom Mokgakala (Leadership)
Held in jail in South Africa for 180 days without trial, Ezrom was brutally interrogated, tortured and imprisoned for three years for being a member of an "unlawful" organization. In 1983, Ezrom fled from South Africa. Upon arrival in Canada, as a refugee, he began working as a community worked in the Jane/Finch corridor of Toronto. Ezrom began to take a leadership role in advocating policies and programs to assist newcomers in Toronto. He is co-chair of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council; a Director of the Refugee Rights Festival; an editor of Refugee Voices; and a member of the Coalition for a Just Refugee and Immigration Policy; The Black Secretariat; Parkdale Community Health Centre; and the Council of African Organizations in Ontario. Currently, Ezrom is program worker at CultureLink providing critical support to newcomers in Toronto
Held in jail in South Africa for 180 days without trial, Ezrom was brutally interrogated, tortured and imprisoned for three years for being a member of an "unlawful" organization. In 1983, Ezrom fled from South Africa. Upon arrival in Canada, as a refugee, he began working as a community worked in the Jane/Finch corridor of Toronto. Ezrom began to take a leadership role in advocating policies and programs to assist newcomers in Toronto. He is co-chair of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council; a Director of the Refugee Rights Festival; an editor of Refugee Voices; and a member of the Coalition for a Just Refugee and Immigration Policy; The Black Secretariat; Parkdale Community Health Centre; and the Council of African Organizations in Ontario. Currently, Ezrom is program worker at CultureLink providing critical support to newcomers in Toronto
Monday, February 18, 2008
. Made for Success Quote and Commentary
"Swallow your pride occasionally, it's not fattening." -- Frank Tyger
Chris' Commentary:
There is good pride (taking pride in your work) and there is bad pride (being so proud you think more highly of yourself than you ought). We're talking about swallowing the second kind today. Pride is an interesting thing. It drives us deeper and deeper into trouble. We first recognize it and we don't admit it. This is too bad because we could be let off the hook at this point of recognition. Your money could be saved. A relationship could be restored. But instead, we say, "No way am I going to admit it." And things get worse, and worse, and worse, with each time we refuse to humble ourselves. Believe me, I know from experience! But won't you get walked on? Sometimes I suppose, but that is the price you pay for getting it right the rest of the time.
Action Point: Is there something you have dug into your bunker about? Is there a mistake you have made but won't admit, or a person you have offended but won't reconcile with? Think about it. Then take a step today to get it right. Eat your pride for lunch instead of that turkey sandwich!
"Swallow your pride occasionally, it's not fattening." -- Frank Tyger
Chris' Commentary:
There is good pride (taking pride in your work) and there is bad pride (being so proud you think more highly of yourself than you ought). We're talking about swallowing the second kind today. Pride is an interesting thing. It drives us deeper and deeper into trouble. We first recognize it and we don't admit it. This is too bad because we could be let off the hook at this point of recognition. Your money could be saved. A relationship could be restored. But instead, we say, "No way am I going to admit it." And things get worse, and worse, and worse, with each time we refuse to humble ourselves. Believe me, I know from experience! But won't you get walked on? Sometimes I suppose, but that is the price you pay for getting it right the rest of the time.
Action Point: Is there something you have dug into your bunker about? Is there a mistake you have made but won't admit, or a person you have offended but won't reconcile with? Think about it. Then take a step today to get it right. Eat your pride for lunch instead of that turkey sandwich!
Ezrom and Irene Mokgakala: Biography
Ezrom (Easy) and Irene (MmaMosala) Mokgakala have been married for more than fourty years. They have three sons, Solly, Mduduzi and Itumeleng and a cute five year-old grandson named Raheem Serame Mokgakala. The family has contributed a great deal in raising awareness of Anti-Apartheid activities in Toronto during the nineteen-eighties and early nineteen nineties. Easy Mokgakala, an active Community Leader, served time on the infamous Robben Island in the nineteen sixties.
Ezrom Mokgakala has worked for more that a decade as a Program Worker at CultureLink Settlement Services of Toronto where he assisted New Canadians to find accommodation and employment in the City. His sterling work at CultureLink earned him an Agency Staff Award. He was also given an award for his work as Chairman of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council and was given a New Pioneers’ Award for Leadership by Skills For Change, a settlement agency based in Toronto in 1994.
Irene MmaMosala Kenosi Mokgakala (nee Mokaleng) has been a pillar of strength for her family. She withstood the harassment experienced by the spouses of Freedom Fighters at the hands the Security Police of racist South Africa for many years until she decided to join her husband in exile.
Risking arrest, she bravely led her sons across the border into The Democratic Republic of Botswana to join the Anti-Apartheid Struggle in exile before joining her husband in Canada. Her valiant spirit has helped her overcome the difficulties of leading her family in adjusting to a new environment.
On arriving in Canada, she immediately joined the Black Consciousness Movement of Azania and the Azania Support Committee, under the leadership of Comrades Gerald Phokobye and Thato Bereng to mobilize support for the International Anti-Apartheid Movement.
The couple is presently enjoying their retirement years in Toronto.
Ezrom (Easy) and Irene (MmaMosala) Mokgakala have been married for more than fourty years. They have three sons, Solly, Mduduzi and Itumeleng and a cute five year-old grandson named Raheem Serame Mokgakala. The family has contributed a great deal in raising awareness of Anti-Apartheid activities in Toronto during the nineteen-eighties and early nineteen nineties. Easy Mokgakala, an active Community Leader, served time on the infamous Robben Island in the nineteen sixties.
Ezrom Mokgakala has worked for more that a decade as a Program Worker at CultureLink Settlement Services of Toronto where he assisted New Canadians to find accommodation and employment in the City. His sterling work at CultureLink earned him an Agency Staff Award. He was also given an award for his work as Chairman of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council and was given a New Pioneers’ Award for Leadership by Skills For Change, a settlement agency based in Toronto in 1994.
Irene MmaMosala Kenosi Mokgakala (nee Mokaleng) has been a pillar of strength for her family. She withstood the harassment experienced by the spouses of Freedom Fighters at the hands the Security Police of racist South Africa for many years until she decided to join her husband in exile.
Risking arrest, she bravely led her sons across the border into The Democratic Republic of Botswana to join the Anti-Apartheid Struggle in exile before joining her husband in Canada. Her valiant spirit has helped her overcome the difficulties of leading her family in adjusting to a new environment.
On arriving in Canada, she immediately joined the Black Consciousness Movement of Azania and the Azania Support Committee, under the leadership of Comrades Gerald Phokobye and Thato Bereng to mobilize support for the International Anti-Apartheid Movement.
The couple is presently enjoying their retirement years in Toronto.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Ezrom and Irene Mokgakala: Biography
Ezrom (Easy) and Irene (MmaMosala) Mokgakala have been married for more than thirty years. They have three sons, Solly, Mduduzi and Itumeleng and a cute five year-old grandson named Raheem Serame Mokgakala. The family has contributed a great deal in raising awareness of Anti-Apartheid activities in Toronto during the nine-eighties and early nineteen nineties. Easy Mokgakala, an active Community Leader, served time on the infamous Robben Island in the nineteen sixties.
Ezrom Mokgakala has worked for more that a decade as a Program Worker at CultureLink Settlement Services of Toronto where he assisted New Canadians to find accommodation and employment in the City. His sterling work at CultureLink earned him an Agency Staff Award. He was also given an award for his work as Chairman of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council and was given a New Pioneers’ Award for Leadership by Skills For Change, a settlement agency based in Toronto in 1994.
Irene MmaMosala Kenosi Mokgakala (nee Mokaleng) has been a pillar of strength for her family. She withstood the harassment experienced by the spouses of Freedom Fighters at the hands the Security Police of racist South Africa for many years until she decided to join her husband in exile.
Risking arrest, she bravely led her sons across the border into The Democratic Republic of Botswana to join the Anti-Apartheid Struggle in exile before joining her husband in Canada. Her valiant spirit has helped her overcome the difficulties of leading her family in adjusting to a new environment.
The couple has recently paid a well deserved visit to their beloved South Africa and are presently enjoying their retirement years in Toronto.
Ezrom (Easy) and Irene (MmaMosala) Mokgakala have been married for more than thirty years. They have three sons, Solly, Mduduzi and Itumeleng and a cute five year-old grandson named Raheem Serame Mokgakala. The family has contributed a great deal in raising awareness of Anti-Apartheid activities in Toronto during the nine-eighties and early nineteen nineties. Easy Mokgakala, an active Community Leader, served time on the infamous Robben Island in the nineteen sixties.
Ezrom Mokgakala has worked for more that a decade as a Program Worker at CultureLink Settlement Services of Toronto where he assisted New Canadians to find accommodation and employment in the City. His sterling work at CultureLink earned him an Agency Staff Award. He was also given an award for his work as Chairman of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council and was given a New Pioneers’ Award for Leadership by Skills For Change, a settlement agency based in Toronto in 1994.
Irene MmaMosala Kenosi Mokgakala (nee Mokaleng) has been a pillar of strength for her family. She withstood the harassment experienced by the spouses of Freedom Fighters at the hands the Security Police of racist South Africa for many years until she decided to join her husband in exile.
Risking arrest, she bravely led her sons across the border into The Democratic Republic of Botswana to join the Anti-Apartheid Struggle in exile before joining her husband in Canada. Her valiant spirit has helped her overcome the difficulties of leading her family in adjusting to a new environment.
The couple has recently paid a well deserved visit to their beloved South Africa and are presently enjoying their retirement years in Toronto.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Ezrom Mokgakala (Leadership)
Held in jail in South Africa for 180 days without trial, Ezrom was brutally interrogated, tortured and imprisoned for three years for being a member of an "unlawful" organization. In 1983, Ezrom fled from South Africa. Upon arrival in Canada, as a refugee, he began working as a community worked in the Jane/Finch corridor of Toronto. Ezrom began to take a leadership role in advocating policies and programs to assist newcomers in Toronto. He is co-chair of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council; a Director of the Refugee Rights Festival; an editor of Refugee Voices; and a member of the Coalition for a Just Refugee and Immigration Policy; The Black Secretariat; Parkdale Community Health Centre; and the Council of African Organizations in Ontario. Currently, Ezrom is program worker at CultureLink providing critical support to newcomers in Toronto
Held in jail in South Africa for 180 days without trial, Ezrom was brutally interrogated, tortured and imprisoned for three years for being a member of an "unlawful" organization. In 1983, Ezrom fled from South Africa. Upon arrival in Canada, as a refugee, he began working as a community worked in the Jane/Finch corridor of Toronto. Ezrom began to take a leadership role in advocating policies and programs to assist newcomers in Toronto. He is co-chair of the Toronto Refugee Affairs Council; a Director of the Refugee Rights Festival; an editor of Refugee Voices; and a member of the Coalition for a Just Refugee and Immigration Policy; The Black Secretariat; Parkdale Community Health Centre; and the Council of African Organizations in Ontario. Currently, Ezrom is program worker at CultureLink providing critical support to newcomers in Toronto
Friday, February 8, 2008
Ezrom and Irene Mokgakala: Biography
Ezrom (Easy) and Irene (MmaMosala) Mokgakala have been married for more than thirty years. They have three sons, Solly, Mduduzi and Itumeleng and a cute five year-old grandson named Raheem Serame Mokgakala. The family has contributed a great deal in raising awareness of Anti-Apartheid activities in Toronto during the nine-eighties and early nineteen nineties. Easy Mokgakala, an active Community Leader, served time on the infamous Robben Island in the nineteen sixties. The couple is presently living in Toronto where they are spending their well deserved retirement years.
Ezrom (Easy) and Irene (MmaMosala) Mokgakala have been married for more than thirty years. They have three sons, Solly, Mduduzi and Itumeleng and a cute five year-old grandson named Raheem Serame Mokgakala. The family has contributed a great deal in raising awareness of Anti-Apartheid activities in Toronto during the nine-eighties and early nineteen nineties. Easy Mokgakala, an active Community Leader, served time on the infamous Robben Island in the nineteen sixties. The couple is presently living in Toronto where they are spending their well deserved retirement years.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The Life of An Anti-Apartheid Activist
Children of Apartheid
Esrom Mokgakala: The Life of an anti-apartheid Activist
October, 1997
Toronto, Canada
Esrom Mokgakala is a Canadian Citizen of South African descent who worked closely with the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa. Among other activities, he spent three years on Robben Island, worked for the Pan-Africanists Congress (PAC) [one of the leading anti-apartheid organisations in the early years of the struggle], and, after leaving the country soon after the Soweto Uprisings, spent a number of years conducting military training overseas with the PAC.
In 1984, with the help of Canadian officials at the United Nations, he emigrated to Canada as a political refugee. He currently lives in Toronto and works for an organisation called Culture Link which helps new immigrants adjust to a new life. Both in South Africa, and in Canada, Esrom has always worked closely with the community in which he lives.
Esrom is excited about the new South Africa, which he sees to be, in the words of Robert Sobhukwe the ex-leader of the PAC, "pregnant with possibilities." However, he is not naively optimistic and feels that there are still many hurdles to overcome. As he says: "This is not the end of our struggle, this is the beginning of our struggle to create the new South Africa." This is his story.
Note: Throughout this interview (*) indicates a link to relevant links at the bottom of the page.
His Story - Early Years, the Armed Struggle, Robben Island, Return to "Freedom"
I got involved very early, politically in South Africa. I was born in 1940, and around 1948 the Nationalist party of South Africa became the government, and by that time I was old enough to hear people talk. And there was a lot of talk about 'colour bar' in South Africa. Although our parents would not discuss much about politics, the word 'colour bar' was always on their minds, it became a part of the idiom of the people. For instance if you were jealous they would say "You have colour bar," or if you are unfair they would say you have colour bar, or if you don't like them, they would say "So and so has got colour bar." So I got curious to find out what this colour bar was from very young age.
When I was about 11 there was the Defiance Campaign in South Africa in 1952 - it affected my life very much. There was an older guy, living across from where I was living, who was an active member of the ANC (*) and he was the first young person I saw who was interested in politics, and I saw a lot of young people surrounding him. So I got curious, and by the time of my first day in high school I had already been exposed to the ANC.
By the time I wrote my high school junior certificate there was quite a crisis, a leadership crisis, in the ANC in the Transvaal Province. I met a gang of disgruntled ANC members who broke away from the ANC to form the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC). Then I joined the PAC, which for me was more militant - I mean they didn't have a history of failures and things like that, And when I compared the ANC with them, I found the PAC more youthful and more intellectually enriching, and so I hooked up with them.
I was one of the youngest people to join the PAC at that time [he was 18 at the time], and very quickly I found myself being groomed as the next layer of leadership. I became chairman of several branches of the PAC. For instance, I participated in organising the Witwatersrand region, helping to set up branches throughout that area. And I actually took part in preparations for the Sharpeville (*) Campaign which was opposed to the Defiance Campaign of 1952, [which] we called a positive action campaign.
This was an extension of the defiance campaign. The purpose was to demand a repeal of the pass laws, and to surrender our passes to the system and to tell them we don't want to use them anymore. The most that we achieved was to get a suspension of the pass laws for some time.
Sharpeville (*) did two things for me: Sharpeville convinced me that we needed an armed struggle in South Africa to get our freedom; and, peaceful demonstrations wouldn't work with the kind of government that we had. We needed a military response because [the government] were always coming with the military.
The Armed Struggle
I need to explain to you what we mean by the armed struggle. There is a statement by Mao that "war is the highest form of politics." We decided on the armed struggle because we figured we had political work to do; which was not violent work. Every time we did this political work we got violence from the army and the police. To protect our work we had to protect ourselves. So our being armed was not with the intention of doing violence but with the intention of protecting our work and ourselves. And, that is why the philosophy of a people's war demands that there must be a very strong political leadership of the army so that the army carries out political intentions, not military intentions.
Going to Robben Island
In 1963 I found myself on Robben Island. [Note: Nelson Mandela (*) was sent to Robben Island in 1964.] I went to the island because of the ineptitude of the leadership of the PAC. In 1963 we were planning an armed uprising - very amateurishly - with no good leadership. There was such a demand for an armed struggle in South Africa that we intended to cause an armed rebellion by African people in South Africa. But our plans were thwarted. The police came to know about our plans before we even fully discussed them. Very soon we were all rounded up - it ended up with about 2000 PAC members on the Island in 1963.
We had a big leak inside of our own leadership apparently, because they [the police] knew everything. They knew our codes, and our pseudonyms. They were even addressing us in our code language so it was obvious that they knew who we were and what we intended on doing. So they rounded us up.
Arrest, Detention, Interrogation
I was in detention for 180 days before I was put on trial. We were expecting the worst. But I was lucky to be with friends and comrades who protected me since I was one of the younger guys in that crowd. They protected us younger guys from serious abuse and also gave us a lot of advice on how to handle ourselves in detention. And I think I looked young and naive even to the interrogators because I didn't really go through very stringent interrogation. [In the interrogations] there was tough talk and I did get a few slaps, a few kicks, a fist here and there, and threats and all that, but, I mean, nothing like people like Steve Biko went through.
I was charged under the suppression of communism act of 1944 (*). There were two charges coming out of that act: the first was I that I was a member of an illegal organisation; and the second was that I was furthering the aims of an illegal organisation.
I didn't matter if I denied anything or not, and my trial was very strange. I was charged under the suppression of communism act, but the only incriminating evidence they had against me was that they found a book on the civil war in the United States, and a copy of the US declaration of rights, which they called propaganda. In the summary that the magistrate gave at the end, he said this documentation proved that I was a communist. The trial was a mockery.
I got three years on each of the counts, and I was fortunate that the magistrate who was presiding over the case decided that I should serve the sentences concurrently. So I ended up doing three years. So from 1963 to 1966 I was in Robben Island.
On Robben Island
The Island was hell, the reception was just hell. We were traveling from just north of Johannesburg to Cape Town and they had chained us together. By the time I had arrived on the Island my feet were so swollen the guards were calling me "Wit foot" meaning white feet, because I had bandages on both of my feet. I still have scars on my feet from those chains.
There was a group of about 100 of us who had arrived on the Island from Johannesburg. The reception was very violent. We were all beaten up and pushed over. There were lots of atrocities on the island at that time. There were people who had been buried alive, people who had been pissed on, people who had broken arms, and some people were just taken from the Island to Pretoria to be held. The officials on the Island were telling the police in front of us "you must shoot to kill, when the prisoners go out of order." So it was tough - lots of violence.
When we arrived there, the prison was still being built - it was very new. We had to work in the quarry and the sand would make my wounds much worse. We were actually sentenced to hard labour, which meant we would face all the abuse. We were also given the worst diet. Because the diet itself was classified by race and gender. The classification was A Diet for white women, B Diet for white men, C Diet for coloured women, D Diet for coloured men, E Diet for black women, and F Diet for black men. So obviously I was the F Diet guy, so we were eating the throw-aways.
But, it was also educational, I mean for the first time we had all the leading political leaders in the country in one place. We used to have meetings, and educational classes. Actually I read my first literature on communism there. A friend brought me a copy of the 'Communist Manifesto', so this was the first time I realised what these guys [communists] were talking about.
We were in a section solely for political prisoners, and we just had to have meetings. Some of the people were even charged later for the meetings we used to have. They used to throw about eighty of us together in a cell, and sometimes they would throw in an informer to report on our activities, but sometimes we'd ignore them. But the guards couldn't prevent the meetings because we had to have some sort of social life.
Return to Freedom
After I left I was expecting to be banned to a remote area, I was not even expecting to return to Soweto. However, I returned to Soweto, but I found out that under the pass laws I had lost my right to live in Soweto. I couldn't legally look for a job, or even rent an apartment. Later on I married, and by marriage your qualifications improve. Somehow I survived, I don't know how, but I survived for ten years in South Africa after I came off the Island.
From time to time I would be working and then they [the police] would come and harass me out of my job. They would tell my boss that I was a communist and the white South Africans don't like black communists; I mean, that was enough for them to fire you.
There were attempts to get me to be an informer, but I turned them down. They would say "you watch around, look at what your comrades are doing, tell us and we will give you money," or "trap your comrades into having a meeting and we will trap them, and come and pick them all up." I refused to do this, which meant that I would face more harassment.
I would be raided at any time, they would turn my whole apartment upside down, search through all my books, throw my clothes around, and of course, tell me all the abuse they can tell me. This could happen to me any time. My kids grew up knowing that this is what they could expect from these guys any day, any time.
In those ten years after Robben Island I was working underground. I had no alternative anymore [than to be a freedom fighter]; the system had already branded me. So I continued doing education, trying to build up the resistance underground. I continued working with the PAC. But, it is difficult to talk about underground work [because of security].
His Story - Leaving South Africa and Military Training
I left South Africa three months before the Soweto Uprising (*), because we knew the uprising was coming, and we also knew they were going to re-arrest all of us who had ever been arrested for a political offense. I was actually instructed by the PAC leadership to get out, and go to the PAC external headquarters in Tanzania and brief them on the situation at home.
So I ended up in Dar Es Salaam [Tanzania], where I joined the PAC army, and went for military training. I went all over the world, I ended up being a sort of political Commissar. By then it was the aftermath of the Soweto uprising, there were a lot of young guys from Soweto who wanted to join the army. I happened to be the most senior person in the PAC who was from Soweto at that time. So obviously I had to take leadership over them. So I got a leadership position in the army, sort of a political orientation of the army, political education of the army and so forth. My job was mostly the political education part.
[They sent him abroad for military training, to a number of countries such as Vietnam, Cambodia and China]. I trained mostly in China, to some extent I was regarded as the Sinologist of the PAC because I was training in China in guerrilla warfare. I went to China several times with different groups.
We were trained by the Chinese. It was interesting. For instance, the only training I have in guerrilla warfare is by the Chinese Army, and it is in what they call a "people's war". I found that very interesting because this is what we were trying to do in South Africa: organizing a national uprising. We had lots and lots of training in the philosophy of a people's war; The strategy and tactics of a people's war; the organizational structures of a people's war; the building of operational base areas, the relations with the civilian population, and things like that. It was fascinating: learning how to build a resistance army, that is what we were trying to do.
The End of Military Training
Most of us who went to join the army abroad gave ourselves a maximum of six months to be abroad. But, almost none of us achieved that. My military training started in 1976 and lasted to about 1979.
The main reason it stopped was that I tried to implement my philosophy, and I met resistance from inside the PAC leadership. Then it flared up into an uncontrollable dispute. My philosophy was that of a people's war, and not many people wanted that kind of thing for fear that it might get out of control. It's true, nobody can control that, because it is too liberating. And, before you take the gun, your politics must be clear, and then you focus on certain objectives. That demands a lot of discipline, and it demands a particular kind of structure. Not everybody was willing to subject themselves to that kind of discipline, and the structure was also threatening the power basis of some people - it was restructuring the organisation.... also, it was time for me to reunite with my family.
I couldn't go back to South Africa, I was on the wanted list at that time. Because they [the South Africa government] knew that I was in Dar Es Salaam, and they had already arrested some of the people I had trained. [Note: It was illegal for black South Africans to leave the country at the time.]
[As a result of this internal dispute] I had to get out of Tanzania. So I had to go to the United Nations (*) to ask for protection. I needed protection even from my own comrades at the time. I appealed to UN to take me out of Tanzania as quickly as possible. Then they took me out. They made all the international arrangements. I went to the UN Human Rights Commission in Dar Es Salaam, and then they made arrangement for me. Ultimately I was interviewed by the Canadian immigration official from Nairobi.
His Story - Coming to Canada
[Before coming to Canada Esrom spent three years in Germany where he received a diploma in business administration. He then returned to Tanzania, and the UN (*) arranged for him to come to Canada as a political refugee.]
I was completely confused when I first came to Canada. I remember taking a walk along Yonge Street, in Toronto. When I reached College Street I got scared, I went back, I thought I might get lost, then I went back down again. All of a sudden I found myself in the middle of perhaps the biggest police raid that ever took place in Toronto. It was a raid on the Church of Scientology, and the police removed a million documents out of that place. I was so fascinated I couldn't sleep that night. I dreamt of Steve Biko that night, being tortured to death.
My wife came over about six months after I had arrived, so I had to start the struggle of settling down. It was big struggle adjusting to my own family. I had been away from them for 6 or 7 years. My boys were already big, I was shocked to see them, they were already in their early teens. I had left them a month after the youngest started school. So you can imagine. It was a tough thing just to readjust to each other and the new environment, to look for work. But, it worked out. My wife was very strong, and she gave me lots of support.
Ultimately we settled, and after some time I got a job working in the 'helping industry'. I worked [work] for an organisation called CultureLink. We work with people who are in similar situations that I had been in, to help them find their feet and to adjust. That gives me a lot of satisfaction and a lot of pride. And, it has sustained me.
I work with refugee claimants who come to Canada, newcomers who come to live in Canada. My job is to recruit Canadians, work within the host community to find volunteers to help the newcomers adjust to the new thing. So this exposes me to Canadian culture and Canadians, and this exposes me to the various newcomers coming from all over the world to live in Toronto. They are people from all over the world, so it enriches my knowledge of the world and of myself.
I am fortunate. We usually say that the kind of thing we do is a thankless job, where we put in too many hours, and sometimes we get abuse, even from the people we are trying to help. But, I was recognized for my job in Canada, and, something I knew would never happen in Johannesburg, I was able to win a leadership award in 1994 by my colleagues. Meaning that they really liked what I was doing, and giving me courage to continue.
South Africa Today - Mandela, and the Future
I sometimes feel, and I must be very careful of offending South Africans by saying this, that South Africans tend to have a very exaggerated view of the wealth of their country and its potential. And that is why it is only somebody like Nelson Mandela (*) who can keep it together at the moment; and I am one of those who fear to see him go away. Not that I want him there forever. I definitely would not want him there all the time. But, I admire what he did, and I think it is very important and historical that we went through this period with him as help.
I am one of those South Africans who think that Mandela is one of the best things to happen to South Africa. But, you see, I don't want to over estimate his capabilities. I'm happy that Mandela, and I give him credit for this, has managed to keep the government going. The whole world is watching and he has given the country a very good image, he has given very good leadership; and that I appreciate.
But, as somebody who has been involved in the struggle, of course my sights were higher, and I was expecting a little bit more. I was expecting that we would defeat the white army for instance, and that we would have the substance of power, really.
There is going to be change; there is change taking place in South Africa. Actually, I find that many people expected that the elections themselves meant the end of the old era and that things all of a sudden will start. They didn't take into account that people need to adjust to the new environment, and that there are inequalities, damages of apartheid. The biggest complaint that I have against Nelson Mandela is that he is not really addressing the damages done, to the black people, by apartheid.
However, his role is not to solve the problems of apartheid, it is to palliate, to make the transition smooth. For that I think he is doing very very well. The transition might not end up being smooth, but he will have created conditions where it will turn smoother. For that I think he's got his place in history.
People are more excited about the coming election than the last. The last was a fantasy, it was something that the people had never had before. This is the beginning, the first time of really looking at issues. The future is brighter. For example I have a parliament that I can appeal to, I've got a judicial system that is ready made for me to use. But we must remember this is not the end of our struggle, this is the beginning of our struggle to create the new South Africa.
Esrom's Children, and Going Home
[Recently his children, who were six and nine and living in Soweto during the Soweto uprisings, went back to live in South Africa; when they left they were aged 27 and 30. When they arrived in Canada the youngest was thirteen and older was fifteen.]
I think they are more radical than I am. I'm older than Steve Biko (*), and Steve Biko is their hero. But they have a lot of respect for my contribution, especially on a personal level. I think history has a lot of those instances where the younger generation thinks the older generation did not do enough. They grew up in a generation of young South Africans who feel that their parents did not fight the system hard enough.
I grew up like that too. My parents would only talk about colour bar, but they would never do anything about it, except make jokes about it. But, now I realise what they were doing was the only thing they could do. The value of what they were doing was that they were educating me and reminding me that there is a serious problem that you will have to address at one time as you grow older. And, as I grew older I had to do it.
To some extent Nelson Mandela vindicated me. His release brought a new dynamic. It was as if my generation was the generation that brought freedom. Although it looks more like accident than by design, especially from my own vantage point. I happen to be lucky that I was always there. We talk about the Defiance Campaign, I was 11, but I was conscious about it. You talk about the Sharpeville campaign, I was not in Sharpeville but I was there when they were burying the dead, I was at the funeral. Of course I went to Robben Island too, which proves that I was not just on the sidelines. To some extent I did my little bit.
The Future
For me having been here [in Canada] has been positive; not for me alone, even for my kids who have gone back to South Africa. Canada is our new home and we've always contributed to the communities in which we've been involved.
In Canada my kids went to school during a time when it was difficult to go to school in South Africa. They were fortunate to get a good education that they would not have acquired in South Africa because of the Bantu Education (*). This is something we are eternally thankful for. Especially me as a parent, I'm very thankful that my kids got the opportunity to go to school. They learned a lot of things: they are filmmakers, computer technicians, photographers and even writers - they wrote their own scripts for the films they did.
However, I am going back. I've been away from South Africa for 21 years. I've been talking to some people there, and I know that the South Africa I am going to find will be very very strange. But my kids are there, my family is there. I can go to South Africa and live in a cocoon and still be at home. My personal wish is to go to South Africa and to sit down and write. I could work on a project like yours from time to time, but I don't want to go and have a 9-5.
I have reason to be very optimistic about South Africa. It can not be as bad as it was when I was 20 years old. There are things I can do today: I can run for parliament, I can assist somebody to go to parliament. I can do so many things; I can run a small community project, I can teach. I can teach people how to do the Internet. I don't have the expertise right now, but I can learn them quickly. There's so much I can do. It will be very exciting for me.
Last Words
I want to say to you that the new South Africa is a very big promise, and a very big challenge for all South Africans. I think that the big problem still remains as to the rightful place of the black population itself; the kind of justice they deserve. This will always be of concern to me. Whilst, like every black person, I will listen to those who caution me to be more patient... I would like to feel that we are doing away with injustices and that we are building a decent society. That, I think, we are capable of doing.
Relevant Links
African National Congress (ANC)
Bantu Education Act
Life Under Apartheid
The Freedom Charter
The 1949 Programme of Action
Nelson Mandela
The Sharpeville Massacre
The South African Elections
The Soweto Uprisings
Steven Biko
Suppression of Communism Act
The United Nations and South Africa (coming soon)
Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) - Armed wing of the ANC
Esrom Mokgakala: The Life of an anti-apartheid Activist
October, 1997
Toronto, Canada
Esrom Mokgakala is a Canadian Citizen of South African descent who worked closely with the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa. Among other activities, he spent three years on Robben Island, worked for the Pan-Africanists Congress (PAC) [one of the leading anti-apartheid organisations in the early years of the struggle], and, after leaving the country soon after the Soweto Uprisings, spent a number of years conducting military training overseas with the PAC.
In 1984, with the help of Canadian officials at the United Nations, he emigrated to Canada as a political refugee. He currently lives in Toronto and works for an organisation called Culture Link which helps new immigrants adjust to a new life. Both in South Africa, and in Canada, Esrom has always worked closely with the community in which he lives.
Esrom is excited about the new South Africa, which he sees to be, in the words of Robert Sobhukwe the ex-leader of the PAC, "pregnant with possibilities." However, he is not naively optimistic and feels that there are still many hurdles to overcome. As he says: "This is not the end of our struggle, this is the beginning of our struggle to create the new South Africa." This is his story.
Note: Throughout this interview (*) indicates a link to relevant links at the bottom of the page.
His Story - Early Years, the Armed Struggle, Robben Island, Return to "Freedom"
I got involved very early, politically in South Africa. I was born in 1940, and around 1948 the Nationalist party of South Africa became the government, and by that time I was old enough to hear people talk. And there was a lot of talk about 'colour bar' in South Africa. Although our parents would not discuss much about politics, the word 'colour bar' was always on their minds, it became a part of the idiom of the people. For instance if you were jealous they would say "You have colour bar," or if you are unfair they would say you have colour bar, or if you don't like them, they would say "So and so has got colour bar." So I got curious to find out what this colour bar was from very young age.
When I was about 11 there was the Defiance Campaign in South Africa in 1952 - it affected my life very much. There was an older guy, living across from where I was living, who was an active member of the ANC (*) and he was the first young person I saw who was interested in politics, and I saw a lot of young people surrounding him. So I got curious, and by the time of my first day in high school I had already been exposed to the ANC.
By the time I wrote my high school junior certificate there was quite a crisis, a leadership crisis, in the ANC in the Transvaal Province. I met a gang of disgruntled ANC members who broke away from the ANC to form the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC). Then I joined the PAC, which for me was more militant - I mean they didn't have a history of failures and things like that, And when I compared the ANC with them, I found the PAC more youthful and more intellectually enriching, and so I hooked up with them.
I was one of the youngest people to join the PAC at that time [he was 18 at the time], and very quickly I found myself being groomed as the next layer of leadership. I became chairman of several branches of the PAC. For instance, I participated in organising the Witwatersrand region, helping to set up branches throughout that area. And I actually took part in preparations for the Sharpeville (*) Campaign which was opposed to the Defiance Campaign of 1952, [which] we called a positive action campaign.
This was an extension of the defiance campaign. The purpose was to demand a repeal of the pass laws, and to surrender our passes to the system and to tell them we don't want to use them anymore. The most that we achieved was to get a suspension of the pass laws for some time.
Sharpeville (*) did two things for me: Sharpeville convinced me that we needed an armed struggle in South Africa to get our freedom; and, peaceful demonstrations wouldn't work with the kind of government that we had. We needed a military response because [the government] were always coming with the military.
The Armed Struggle
I need to explain to you what we mean by the armed struggle. There is a statement by Mao that "war is the highest form of politics." We decided on the armed struggle because we figured we had political work to do; which was not violent work. Every time we did this political work we got violence from the army and the police. To protect our work we had to protect ourselves. So our being armed was not with the intention of doing violence but with the intention of protecting our work and ourselves. And, that is why the philosophy of a people's war demands that there must be a very strong political leadership of the army so that the army carries out political intentions, not military intentions.
Going to Robben Island
In 1963 I found myself on Robben Island. [Note: Nelson Mandela (*) was sent to Robben Island in 1964.] I went to the island because of the ineptitude of the leadership of the PAC. In 1963 we were planning an armed uprising - very amateurishly - with no good leadership. There was such a demand for an armed struggle in South Africa that we intended to cause an armed rebellion by African people in South Africa. But our plans were thwarted. The police came to know about our plans before we even fully discussed them. Very soon we were all rounded up - it ended up with about 2000 PAC members on the Island in 1963.
We had a big leak inside of our own leadership apparently, because they [the police] knew everything. They knew our codes, and our pseudonyms. They were even addressing us in our code language so it was obvious that they knew who we were and what we intended on doing. So they rounded us up.
Arrest, Detention, Interrogation
I was in detention for 180 days before I was put on trial. We were expecting the worst. But I was lucky to be with friends and comrades who protected me since I was one of the younger guys in that crowd. They protected us younger guys from serious abuse and also gave us a lot of advice on how to handle ourselves in detention. And I think I looked young and naive even to the interrogators because I didn't really go through very stringent interrogation. [In the interrogations] there was tough talk and I did get a few slaps, a few kicks, a fist here and there, and threats and all that, but, I mean, nothing like people like Steve Biko went through.
I was charged under the suppression of communism act of 1944 (*). There were two charges coming out of that act: the first was I that I was a member of an illegal organisation; and the second was that I was furthering the aims of an illegal organisation.
I didn't matter if I denied anything or not, and my trial was very strange. I was charged under the suppression of communism act, but the only incriminating evidence they had against me was that they found a book on the civil war in the United States, and a copy of the US declaration of rights, which they called propaganda. In the summary that the magistrate gave at the end, he said this documentation proved that I was a communist. The trial was a mockery.
I got three years on each of the counts, and I was fortunate that the magistrate who was presiding over the case decided that I should serve the sentences concurrently. So I ended up doing three years. So from 1963 to 1966 I was in Robben Island.
On Robben Island
The Island was hell, the reception was just hell. We were traveling from just north of Johannesburg to Cape Town and they had chained us together. By the time I had arrived on the Island my feet were so swollen the guards were calling me "Wit foot" meaning white feet, because I had bandages on both of my feet. I still have scars on my feet from those chains.
There was a group of about 100 of us who had arrived on the Island from Johannesburg. The reception was very violent. We were all beaten up and pushed over. There were lots of atrocities on the island at that time. There were people who had been buried alive, people who had been pissed on, people who had broken arms, and some people were just taken from the Island to Pretoria to be held. The officials on the Island were telling the police in front of us "you must shoot to kill, when the prisoners go out of order." So it was tough - lots of violence.
When we arrived there, the prison was still being built - it was very new. We had to work in the quarry and the sand would make my wounds much worse. We were actually sentenced to hard labour, which meant we would face all the abuse. We were also given the worst diet. Because the diet itself was classified by race and gender. The classification was A Diet for white women, B Diet for white men, C Diet for coloured women, D Diet for coloured men, E Diet for black women, and F Diet for black men. So obviously I was the F Diet guy, so we were eating the throw-aways.
But, it was also educational, I mean for the first time we had all the leading political leaders in the country in one place. We used to have meetings, and educational classes. Actually I read my first literature on communism there. A friend brought me a copy of the 'Communist Manifesto', so this was the first time I realised what these guys [communists] were talking about.
We were in a section solely for political prisoners, and we just had to have meetings. Some of the people were even charged later for the meetings we used to have. They used to throw about eighty of us together in a cell, and sometimes they would throw in an informer to report on our activities, but sometimes we'd ignore them. But the guards couldn't prevent the meetings because we had to have some sort of social life.
Return to Freedom
After I left I was expecting to be banned to a remote area, I was not even expecting to return to Soweto. However, I returned to Soweto, but I found out that under the pass laws I had lost my right to live in Soweto. I couldn't legally look for a job, or even rent an apartment. Later on I married, and by marriage your qualifications improve. Somehow I survived, I don't know how, but I survived for ten years in South Africa after I came off the Island.
From time to time I would be working and then they [the police] would come and harass me out of my job. They would tell my boss that I was a communist and the white South Africans don't like black communists; I mean, that was enough for them to fire you.
There were attempts to get me to be an informer, but I turned them down. They would say "you watch around, look at what your comrades are doing, tell us and we will give you money," or "trap your comrades into having a meeting and we will trap them, and come and pick them all up." I refused to do this, which meant that I would face more harassment.
I would be raided at any time, they would turn my whole apartment upside down, search through all my books, throw my clothes around, and of course, tell me all the abuse they can tell me. This could happen to me any time. My kids grew up knowing that this is what they could expect from these guys any day, any time.
In those ten years after Robben Island I was working underground. I had no alternative anymore [than to be a freedom fighter]; the system had already branded me. So I continued doing education, trying to build up the resistance underground. I continued working with the PAC. But, it is difficult to talk about underground work [because of security].
His Story - Leaving South Africa and Military Training
I left South Africa three months before the Soweto Uprising (*), because we knew the uprising was coming, and we also knew they were going to re-arrest all of us who had ever been arrested for a political offense. I was actually instructed by the PAC leadership to get out, and go to the PAC external headquarters in Tanzania and brief them on the situation at home.
So I ended up in Dar Es Salaam [Tanzania], where I joined the PAC army, and went for military training. I went all over the world, I ended up being a sort of political Commissar. By then it was the aftermath of the Soweto uprising, there were a lot of young guys from Soweto who wanted to join the army. I happened to be the most senior person in the PAC who was from Soweto at that time. So obviously I had to take leadership over them. So I got a leadership position in the army, sort of a political orientation of the army, political education of the army and so forth. My job was mostly the political education part.
[They sent him abroad for military training, to a number of countries such as Vietnam, Cambodia and China]. I trained mostly in China, to some extent I was regarded as the Sinologist of the PAC because I was training in China in guerrilla warfare. I went to China several times with different groups.
We were trained by the Chinese. It was interesting. For instance, the only training I have in guerrilla warfare is by the Chinese Army, and it is in what they call a "people's war". I found that very interesting because this is what we were trying to do in South Africa: organizing a national uprising. We had lots and lots of training in the philosophy of a people's war; The strategy and tactics of a people's war; the organizational structures of a people's war; the building of operational base areas, the relations with the civilian population, and things like that. It was fascinating: learning how to build a resistance army, that is what we were trying to do.
The End of Military Training
Most of us who went to join the army abroad gave ourselves a maximum of six months to be abroad. But, almost none of us achieved that. My military training started in 1976 and lasted to about 1979.
The main reason it stopped was that I tried to implement my philosophy, and I met resistance from inside the PAC leadership. Then it flared up into an uncontrollable dispute. My philosophy was that of a people's war, and not many people wanted that kind of thing for fear that it might get out of control. It's true, nobody can control that, because it is too liberating. And, before you take the gun, your politics must be clear, and then you focus on certain objectives. That demands a lot of discipline, and it demands a particular kind of structure. Not everybody was willing to subject themselves to that kind of discipline, and the structure was also threatening the power basis of some people - it was restructuring the organisation.... also, it was time for me to reunite with my family.
I couldn't go back to South Africa, I was on the wanted list at that time. Because they [the South Africa government] knew that I was in Dar Es Salaam, and they had already arrested some of the people I had trained. [Note: It was illegal for black South Africans to leave the country at the time.]
[As a result of this internal dispute] I had to get out of Tanzania. So I had to go to the United Nations (*) to ask for protection. I needed protection even from my own comrades at the time. I appealed to UN to take me out of Tanzania as quickly as possible. Then they took me out. They made all the international arrangements. I went to the UN Human Rights Commission in Dar Es Salaam, and then they made arrangement for me. Ultimately I was interviewed by the Canadian immigration official from Nairobi.
His Story - Coming to Canada
[Before coming to Canada Esrom spent three years in Germany where he received a diploma in business administration. He then returned to Tanzania, and the UN (*) arranged for him to come to Canada as a political refugee.]
I was completely confused when I first came to Canada. I remember taking a walk along Yonge Street, in Toronto. When I reached College Street I got scared, I went back, I thought I might get lost, then I went back down again. All of a sudden I found myself in the middle of perhaps the biggest police raid that ever took place in Toronto. It was a raid on the Church of Scientology, and the police removed a million documents out of that place. I was so fascinated I couldn't sleep that night. I dreamt of Steve Biko that night, being tortured to death.
My wife came over about six months after I had arrived, so I had to start the struggle of settling down. It was big struggle adjusting to my own family. I had been away from them for 6 or 7 years. My boys were already big, I was shocked to see them, they were already in their early teens. I had left them a month after the youngest started school. So you can imagine. It was a tough thing just to readjust to each other and the new environment, to look for work. But, it worked out. My wife was very strong, and she gave me lots of support.
Ultimately we settled, and after some time I got a job working in the 'helping industry'. I worked [work] for an organisation called CultureLink. We work with people who are in similar situations that I had been in, to help them find their feet and to adjust. That gives me a lot of satisfaction and a lot of pride. And, it has sustained me.
I work with refugee claimants who come to Canada, newcomers who come to live in Canada. My job is to recruit Canadians, work within the host community to find volunteers to help the newcomers adjust to the new thing. So this exposes me to Canadian culture and Canadians, and this exposes me to the various newcomers coming from all over the world to live in Toronto. They are people from all over the world, so it enriches my knowledge of the world and of myself.
I am fortunate. We usually say that the kind of thing we do is a thankless job, where we put in too many hours, and sometimes we get abuse, even from the people we are trying to help. But, I was recognized for my job in Canada, and, something I knew would never happen in Johannesburg, I was able to win a leadership award in 1994 by my colleagues. Meaning that they really liked what I was doing, and giving me courage to continue.
South Africa Today - Mandela, and the Future
I sometimes feel, and I must be very careful of offending South Africans by saying this, that South Africans tend to have a very exaggerated view of the wealth of their country and its potential. And that is why it is only somebody like Nelson Mandela (*) who can keep it together at the moment; and I am one of those who fear to see him go away. Not that I want him there forever. I definitely would not want him there all the time. But, I admire what he did, and I think it is very important and historical that we went through this period with him as help.
I am one of those South Africans who think that Mandela is one of the best things to happen to South Africa. But, you see, I don't want to over estimate his capabilities. I'm happy that Mandela, and I give him credit for this, has managed to keep the government going. The whole world is watching and he has given the country a very good image, he has given very good leadership; and that I appreciate.
But, as somebody who has been involved in the struggle, of course my sights were higher, and I was expecting a little bit more. I was expecting that we would defeat the white army for instance, and that we would have the substance of power, really.
There is going to be change; there is change taking place in South Africa. Actually, I find that many people expected that the elections themselves meant the end of the old era and that things all of a sudden will start. They didn't take into account that people need to adjust to the new environment, and that there are inequalities, damages of apartheid. The biggest complaint that I have against Nelson Mandela is that he is not really addressing the damages done, to the black people, by apartheid.
However, his role is not to solve the problems of apartheid, it is to palliate, to make the transition smooth. For that I think he is doing very very well. The transition might not end up being smooth, but he will have created conditions where it will turn smoother. For that I think he's got his place in history.
People are more excited about the coming election than the last. The last was a fantasy, it was something that the people had never had before. This is the beginning, the first time of really looking at issues. The future is brighter. For example I have a parliament that I can appeal to, I've got a judicial system that is ready made for me to use. But we must remember this is not the end of our struggle, this is the beginning of our struggle to create the new South Africa.
Esrom's Children, and Going Home
[Recently his children, who were six and nine and living in Soweto during the Soweto uprisings, went back to live in South Africa; when they left they were aged 27 and 30. When they arrived in Canada the youngest was thirteen and older was fifteen.]
I think they are more radical than I am. I'm older than Steve Biko (*), and Steve Biko is their hero. But they have a lot of respect for my contribution, especially on a personal level. I think history has a lot of those instances where the younger generation thinks the older generation did not do enough. They grew up in a generation of young South Africans who feel that their parents did not fight the system hard enough.
I grew up like that too. My parents would only talk about colour bar, but they would never do anything about it, except make jokes about it. But, now I realise what they were doing was the only thing they could do. The value of what they were doing was that they were educating me and reminding me that there is a serious problem that you will have to address at one time as you grow older. And, as I grew older I had to do it.
To some extent Nelson Mandela vindicated me. His release brought a new dynamic. It was as if my generation was the generation that brought freedom. Although it looks more like accident than by design, especially from my own vantage point. I happen to be lucky that I was always there. We talk about the Defiance Campaign, I was 11, but I was conscious about it. You talk about the Sharpeville campaign, I was not in Sharpeville but I was there when they were burying the dead, I was at the funeral. Of course I went to Robben Island too, which proves that I was not just on the sidelines. To some extent I did my little bit.
The Future
For me having been here [in Canada] has been positive; not for me alone, even for my kids who have gone back to South Africa. Canada is our new home and we've always contributed to the communities in which we've been involved.
In Canada my kids went to school during a time when it was difficult to go to school in South Africa. They were fortunate to get a good education that they would not have acquired in South Africa because of the Bantu Education (*). This is something we are eternally thankful for. Especially me as a parent, I'm very thankful that my kids got the opportunity to go to school. They learned a lot of things: they are filmmakers, computer technicians, photographers and even writers - they wrote their own scripts for the films they did.
However, I am going back. I've been away from South Africa for 21 years. I've been talking to some people there, and I know that the South Africa I am going to find will be very very strange. But my kids are there, my family is there. I can go to South Africa and live in a cocoon and still be at home. My personal wish is to go to South Africa and to sit down and write. I could work on a project like yours from time to time, but I don't want to go and have a 9-5.
I have reason to be very optimistic about South Africa. It can not be as bad as it was when I was 20 years old. There are things I can do today: I can run for parliament, I can assist somebody to go to parliament. I can do so many things; I can run a small community project, I can teach. I can teach people how to do the Internet. I don't have the expertise right now, but I can learn them quickly. There's so much I can do. It will be very exciting for me.
Last Words
I want to say to you that the new South Africa is a very big promise, and a very big challenge for all South Africans. I think that the big problem still remains as to the rightful place of the black population itself; the kind of justice they deserve. This will always be of concern to me. Whilst, like every black person, I will listen to those who caution me to be more patient... I would like to feel that we are doing away with injustices and that we are building a decent society. That, I think, we are capable of doing.
Relevant Links
African National Congress (ANC)
Bantu Education Act
Life Under Apartheid
The Freedom Charter
The 1949 Programme of Action
Nelson Mandela
The Sharpeville Massacre
The South African Elections
The Soweto Uprisings
Steven Biko
Suppression of Communism Act
The United Nations and South Africa (coming soon)
Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) - Armed wing of the ANC
Monday, February 4, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The Rape Victim of Kwa Mashu
The Rape Victim of Kwa Mashu By Ezrom Serame Mokgakala Toronto, Canada.
My name is uThandeka. I was born on the third day of December 1980, in a ghetto called Kwa Mashu on the outskirts of the City of Durban on the East Coast of the Republic of South Africa. My name means the Lovable One in isiZulu- one of the eleven official languages of our country.
Some people call me Thandi-short for uThandeka-, that makes me feel uncomfortable because it reminds me of the day when my uncle uMandlakayise raped me, for as he raped me he kept on repeating my name saying “Thandi, Thandi, Thandi, Thandi .……” many times.
Like most young girls who have been raped I am ashamed of myself, because I could not complain to anyone, except my Grandmother, uGogo, uMmaNkabinde whose remarks were “…rape is the price you pay for being a beautiful girl in Kwa Mashu.” I felt that she was blaming me, the victim.
According to uBoniswa- my maternal aunt- (meaning One who was Shown Visions)-I was born “a real bundle of joy.” She told me she was the one who gave me the name uThandeka. My mother preferred the name iNkosazana (the Princess), that is why my full name is iNkosazana-e-Thandekayo, meaning the Princess who is Lovable.
I am also told that my uncle, uMandlakayise (meaning His Father’s Power), a photo-journalist by profession, was so impressed with my good looks that he emptied the film in his camera taking pictures of me when he first saw me. One of those pictures appeared on the front page of Ilanga Lase Natal, our popular provincial newspaper. The clippings from that newspaper still occupy pride of place on one of the walls of my Grandmothers’ living room.
My Aunt uBoniswa, piles lots of praises on me every time she meets me. “I could tell from the very day you were born,” she always tells me, “that you were going to be the Queen of Kwa Mashu Township.”
“Is that why you named me uThandeka?” I asked her.
“Yes! I named you uThandeka.” She proudly answered. “But your mother preferred to call you iNkosazana-meaning the Princess, because she claimed that your good looks were the envy Zulu royalty. Everyone felt that the young-men of Kwa Mashu would worship the very ground on which you stood.” She said.
But leave it to my Grandmother, uGogo, uMmaNkabinde, as we fondly call her, to give praises to the ‘beauties’ of our tribe. On every visit to my Gogo’s apartment I am certain to hear of our above average good looks and especially hers and mine; and that many people say I look very much like her.
On such visits, I would also be shown her photo-album and the trophies she won in her younger years. Also in the album are photos my mother, uMaMbatha, uNomusa-The Merciful Lady- with her trophies and a special photo of hers with Cedric Xulu and Ace Mnikathi-the stars of the Zulu Royals Football Club of the nineteen sixties, taken when she was chosen the Miss Zulu Royals Football.
On my last to visit to my Grandmother’s, she gave me a long hard gaze and said to me, “Thandi, my child’s child, look at me straight in the eyes. I want you to know that it is now your turn to give the Zulu Nation a Beauty Princess, you’re going to be Miss Inkatha Freedom Party.” She said instructively.
“No! Gogo, I cannot be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party. I am not a member of that Party.” I protested.
“You can be a member of the Party anytime you wish. Anyway, why are you not a member?” she asked.
“You know why I am not a member of the Inkatha Freedom Party, Gogo.” I said. “I refuse to join this Party because I am a member of the African National Congress.” I added.
“You dare not say that to your uncle, Thandeka, you know that your uncle has worked very hard for many years so that the family can benefit from the Party membership. One of those benefits is that you could win the Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party Contest of 2007” she said.
“Gogo,” I said,” have you ever considered the impact of winning this contest could be on me? Don’t you think that this exposure will make every youngman in Kwa Mashu want to rape me?”
“You’re being a pessimist, Thandi. You’re always looking at the darkside of life. Be an optimist. Don’t think of rape. Think of the possibility that every young man in Kwa Mashu would wish to marry you if you win this contest. Don’t you think that would be more exciting?” She asked.
“No! Gogo, I have no interested in being married to any ‘young-man of Kwa Mashu’. My eyes are seeing far away, beyond the boundaries of Kwa Zulu.” I said with a smile on my face.
“You must be joking Thandeka, because we have big plans for you.” She said with her friendliest smile, while spreading her hands to show the enormity of the plans.
“What are those ‘big plans’ and who are these ‘we’ who have big plans for me?” I asked her sarcastically, using my fingers to indicate the “we” and like her, spreading my hands to indicate the size of the plans.
“This is confidential. I cannot reveal those people and their plans to you until you promise to keep this a secret. Will you?” she asked.
“Gogo, these plans involves me. I have a need to know what these plans are and who these people are. I reserve the right to use that information anyway I choose.” I said.
“True, you have a need to know, but unless you promise to keep this a secret, I cannot answer you. Will you swear by your Late Grandfather to keep this a secret?” She asked again.
“OK! Gogo, I swear by my late Grandfather, uMkhulu, uMbatha, that I will keep this a secret,” I answered, showing solemnity by crossing my index fingers.
“Good girl,” she said, “now I can have a serious discussion with you. As you know, your uncle is one of the most influential members of the National Executive Committee of the Inkatha Freedom Party of South Africa. You know that, don’t you?” She asked.
“Yes, Gogo, I know that,” I said.
“He was here yesterday to tell me that the Party has authorized the Youth League to organize a Beauty Contest as a Fundraising Event and your name came up as a possible contestant. He was requested to ensure your participation in this contest. I know that my Thandi will win this contest if she participated. Will you participate, my child’s child?” she asked, urging me into accepting her proposal.
“NO! Gogo, I cannot participate in this contest.” I protested emphatically.
“Thandi, my child’s child,” said my Gogo, “you must accept this. It comes from your uncle, you know how furious he can be when he is rejected. Please say Yes!”
“No! Gogo, I am refusing and if you want to know why, it is because I see my uncle’s dirty hand behind all this.” I said. “You know that I want nothing to do with uMandla since he raped me, Gogo,” I said, spreading my hands to illustrate my point.
My Grandmother became mad with rage. She hid her face in her hands for a moment and took a deep breath, then she said; “tell me, my child’s child, why do you hate your uncle so much?” She asked, barely concealing her rage.
“Gogo,” I said, breathing heavily to hold my anger, “wouldn’t you hate somebody who raped you?” I asked her in return.
I could see a look of surprise in her face but she composed herself and said, “I would, my child’s child,” struggling to contain her surprise, “but I wouldn’t allow that to stand between me and the prize of being the Princess of Kwa Mashu. Do you know how many girls have been raped by their uncles in Kwa Mashu? Rape is a common thing in Kwa Mashu. Think about that, Thandeka!” She added.
“Oh Yes, Gogo! I thought about that many times. I know that thousands of young girls have been raped by their uncles or other close relatives in Kwa Mashu. But I think that this must stop, more especially during these days of the AIDS Pandemic.” I said. “If I could help it, no girl in the whole world would ever be raped by anyone, let alone a close relative. Whoever did that would be severely punished.” I said, breathing heavily with anger. “I would rather be remembered as the girl who brought an end to rape than for being a titular Princess of Kwa Mashu,” I said with tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I promise to help you fight the AIDS Pandemic if you agree to participate in this contest.” She said, holding my hand to give me some comfort. “It will be easier to fight this Pandemic when you are a Princess than being a wasted pretty little girl in Kwa Mashu. Please accept this for your Gogo’s sake Thandi,” she appealed.
“I told you some time back Gogo, that I do not believe that beauty is skin deep. These days beauty is skin deep.” I answered. “For me beauty lies in the heart. One cannot be beautiful if one does evil things.” I continued.
“What do you mean when you say ‘these days beauty is skin deep’?” she asked. “You’re far from doing evil things when you participate in a Beauty Contest. If you were, your Gogo,uMaNkabinde wouldn’t be pleading with you to take part. You’re in this for your Gogo. Will you do that for me, please Thandi?” earnestly urging me.
“No! MaNkabinde, I will not. Look at aunt Boniswa. Look at her face.” I said. “Someone poured boiling water on her face for taking part in a Beauty Contest. You remember that, don’t you? No! Gogo? NO! I don’t want to look like that, Gogo. Do you want me to look like her?” I asked her.
“No! Thandi my child’s child,” She replied. “I want you to be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party, not to have someone pour boiling water on your face. I don’t want that. You must look beyond your aunt uBoniswa, look at uNobuhle (Ms. Beautiful) her daughter. See how pretty she looks? It shows that beauty is in our blood and not on our skin.” She said with pride.
“Gogo, I told you I have plans of my own,” I said, trying to change the topic. “I need time to think about them.” I appealed for her consideration.
“You need to think about them fast!” She said, ignoring my plea for a chance to consider my plans, “the whole Zulu Nation is waiting for your decision. They cannot wait for ever,” she said, indicating impatience. “Your uncle will be furious if you make the wrong decision.” She warned.
The mention of my uncle’s name infuriated me. It made me feel like exploding. I tried to stand up but couldn’t. I felt like I was glued to the chair on which I was seating. The words “..your uncle will be furious…”kept ringing in my head. That made me angrier. Finally I stood up and said “Gogo, I can’t stand this any longer. What if I loose?” I asked her for what appeared to be the umpteenth time.
“I told you that there is no way you could loose this contest, Thandi, this contest is yours to win, you just take part in it and you win. We always win these contests. One last time, Thandi, my child’s child, are you going to disappoint me? I need to know your answer now before your uncle arrives. He will be here anytime now.” I could sense her exacerbation.
“Yes, Gogo! I am going to disappoint you. I am not going to be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party. I don’t want to be a member of Inkatha Freedom Party and I will not allow myself to be made into a political football.” I said, with some finality.
“Please say yes! Thandi,” she said with desperation. “Just say ‘yes!’ then I will do anything for you,” she implored. “If you refuse, your uncle will never speak to you again,” she threatened.
Her desperation made me to think of another excuse. “I don’t need to speak to my uncle, you know why and besides, you know that my father, uBaba uMtimkhulu, (The Big Tree) hates these contests, did you ask for his opinion?” I asked, trying to postpone the unpleasant decision. “I need his permission.” I added.
“Thandi, my child’s child, your father is an idiot. He knows nothing about Beauty Contests,” she said. “He is an old-fashioned Zulu man, besides, if you care for a little gossip, he is a hypocrite, do you know how proud he was when his then girl-friend, uNomusa your mother won the Miss Zulu Royals Football Club Contest?” she asked. “He was the toast of Kwa Mashu.” She added.
“Perhaps I should ask for his permission, don’t you think so,” I asked.
“No! You are not going to waste my time because of an old fashioned Zulu man.” She said angrily.
“But you wouldn’t want to anger him Gogo, would you?” I asked. “You know, Gogo how an angry Zulu man reacts.” I said, with a smile on my face.
She smiled back and said, “Yes I know, but I can always get your uncle to deal with him.”
“I wouldn’t like to see two angry Zulu men clash over me,” I said jokingly.
She also laughed and said; “jokes aside, you will get great media exposure and a key to a career in modeling and more especially in filming.” She said, still trying to convince me.
“I am not interested in a modeling or an acting career,” I said. “I’d rather be a nurse to help the sick especially during these days of the AIDS Pandemic.” trying to take the higher road.
“Remember, I promised to do anything for you if you accept this proposal,” she said, showing increased anger. “Will you take this opportunity or not?” giving me an ultimatum.
“I am afraid I won’t, Gogo. I don’t want to be the laughing stock of Kwa Mashu, Gogo.” I said, my body shaking with anger.
“No one laughs at someone who looses a beauty contest, Thandeka.” She said, whilst coming closer to me so as to emphasize her point. Suddenly she shouted, “do you know how many girls would die for an opportunity like this one?” she asked “You have a chance of a life time Thandi! You will remember this opportunity,” she said in an attempt to give me a final push. “All you need to do is to enter this contest and win,” she tried to assure me again.
“I told you Gogo, I can’t take that chance. I will be devastated if I lost.” I said again, still trying to deflect her urgings. “I told you that I need all the energy I have for my plan to fight the Aids Pandemic.”
“So, you have a problem of self-confidence, Thandeka, I will talk to MmaNdlovu, the Sangoma to help with your self-confidence.” She said with a smile.
I smiled back and nodded my head in an effort to calm her down. She mistook this to mean agreement with her. “Yes!” she said, “My child’s child is going to be Miss Inkatha Freedom Party 2007.”
“No Gogo!” I exclaimed, “I cannot be a Beauty Queen of a Party that I am not a member of, Gogo. Besides, if I loose, I may kill myself. That is why I do not want to join this contest. I am not a good loser. I told you that many times.” I repeated.
“Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly, “you will not loose because your uncle will fix that,” she said. “He can arrange such things,” she said reassuringly.
Sensing an opportunity to close this discussion once and for all I shouted, “Did you say Uncle Mandla can fix the results of this contest, Gogo?” I asked. “I cannot take part in a fixed competition. Did you say this was a fixed competition?” I asked, feigning astonishment.
“Yes! uMandla can fix such things.” She said excitedly. “I told you, your uncle is an influential member of the Party. He can bulldoze his way through this. He will make sure that you win.” She said with pride.
“You are right!” I exclaimed. “I know that my uncle can bulldoze his way through anything. He always wants to have things his way. It is high time he met his match. I have decided that I am that match. I’d rather use all my energy fighting the Aids Pandemic than being a Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party.” I shouted in uncontrolled anger.
“You dare not stand on your Uncle’s way, Thandi, he can close all doors before you and smash you to bits if you do that.” My Grandmother said.
If my Grandmother intended to intimidate me with those words, she was wrong because those words had the opposite effect. They angered me. I became adamant in my refusal to participate in the competition. “I don’t need him to open doors for me, Gogo.” I said. “I can open my own doors. And tell him MmaNkabinde,” I paused for a moment out of respect for my Grandmother and pointing a finger at her face, and said at the top of my voice, “tell uMalome uMandla, that I will stand on his way and dare him to smash me! I’ll tell him Gogo, that I’d rather devote all my energy fighting the Aids Pandemic that being a Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party.” I shouted, standing up from the chair and angrily stormed out of my Gogo’s apartment. I haven’t been back there ever since. I don’t think MmaNkabinde has seen an angrier Thandeka than the one she saw on that day.
My name is uThandeka. I was born on the third day of December 1980, in a ghetto called Kwa Mashu on the outskirts of the City of Durban on the East Coast of the Republic of South Africa. My name means the Lovable One in isiZulu- one of the eleven official languages of our country.
Some people call me Thandi-short for uThandeka-, that makes me feel uncomfortable because it reminds me of the day when my uncle uMandlakayise raped me, for as he raped me he kept on repeating my name saying “Thandi, Thandi, Thandi, Thandi .……” many times.
Like most young girls who have been raped I am ashamed of myself, because I could not complain to anyone, except my Grandmother, uGogo, uMmaNkabinde whose remarks were “…rape is the price you pay for being a beautiful girl in Kwa Mashu.” I felt that she was blaming me, the victim.
According to uBoniswa- my maternal aunt- (meaning One who was Shown Visions)-I was born “a real bundle of joy.” She told me she was the one who gave me the name uThandeka. My mother preferred the name iNkosazana (the Princess), that is why my full name is iNkosazana-e-Thandekayo, meaning the Princess who is Lovable.
I am also told that my uncle, uMandlakayise (meaning His Father’s Power), a photo-journalist by profession, was so impressed with my good looks that he emptied the film in his camera taking pictures of me when he first saw me. One of those pictures appeared on the front page of Ilanga Lase Natal, our popular provincial newspaper. The clippings from that newspaper still occupy pride of place on one of the walls of my Grandmothers’ living room.
My Aunt uBoniswa, piles lots of praises on me every time she meets me. “I could tell from the very day you were born,” she always tells me, “that you were going to be the Queen of Kwa Mashu Township.”
“Is that why you named me uThandeka?” I asked her.
“Yes! I named you uThandeka.” She proudly answered. “But your mother preferred to call you iNkosazana-meaning the Princess, because she claimed that your good looks were the envy Zulu royalty. Everyone felt that the young-men of Kwa Mashu would worship the very ground on which you stood.” She said.
But leave it to my Grandmother, uGogo, uMmaNkabinde, as we fondly call her, to give praises to the ‘beauties’ of our tribe. On every visit to my Gogo’s apartment I am certain to hear of our above average good looks and especially hers and mine; and that many people say I look very much like her.
On such visits, I would also be shown her photo-album and the trophies she won in her younger years. Also in the album are photos my mother, uMaMbatha, uNomusa-The Merciful Lady- with her trophies and a special photo of hers with Cedric Xulu and Ace Mnikathi-the stars of the Zulu Royals Football Club of the nineteen sixties, taken when she was chosen the Miss Zulu Royals Football.
On my last to visit to my Grandmother’s, she gave me a long hard gaze and said to me, “Thandi, my child’s child, look at me straight in the eyes. I want you to know that it is now your turn to give the Zulu Nation a Beauty Princess, you’re going to be Miss Inkatha Freedom Party.” She said instructively.
“No! Gogo, I cannot be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party. I am not a member of that Party.” I protested.
“You can be a member of the Party anytime you wish. Anyway, why are you not a member?” she asked.
“You know why I am not a member of the Inkatha Freedom Party, Gogo.” I said. “I refuse to join this Party because I am a member of the African National Congress.” I added.
“You dare not say that to your uncle, Thandeka, you know that your uncle has worked very hard for many years so that the family can benefit from the Party membership. One of those benefits is that you could win the Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party Contest of 2007” she said.
“Gogo,” I said,” have you ever considered the impact of winning this contest could be on me? Don’t you think that this exposure will make every youngman in Kwa Mashu want to rape me?”
“You’re being a pessimist, Thandi. You’re always looking at the darkside of life. Be an optimist. Don’t think of rape. Think of the possibility that every young man in Kwa Mashu would wish to marry you if you win this contest. Don’t you think that would be more exciting?” She asked.
“No! Gogo, I have no interested in being married to any ‘young-man of Kwa Mashu’. My eyes are seeing far away, beyond the boundaries of Kwa Zulu.” I said with a smile on my face.
“You must be joking Thandeka, because we have big plans for you.” She said with her friendliest smile, while spreading her hands to show the enormity of the plans.
“What are those ‘big plans’ and who are these ‘we’ who have big plans for me?” I asked her sarcastically, using my fingers to indicate the “we” and like her, spreading my hands to indicate the size of the plans.
“This is confidential. I cannot reveal those people and their plans to you until you promise to keep this a secret. Will you?” she asked.
“Gogo, these plans involves me. I have a need to know what these plans are and who these people are. I reserve the right to use that information anyway I choose.” I said.
“True, you have a need to know, but unless you promise to keep this a secret, I cannot answer you. Will you swear by your Late Grandfather to keep this a secret?” She asked again.
“OK! Gogo, I swear by my late Grandfather, uMkhulu, uMbatha, that I will keep this a secret,” I answered, showing solemnity by crossing my index fingers.
“Good girl,” she said, “now I can have a serious discussion with you. As you know, your uncle is one of the most influential members of the National Executive Committee of the Inkatha Freedom Party of South Africa. You know that, don’t you?” She asked.
“Yes, Gogo, I know that,” I said.
“He was here yesterday to tell me that the Party has authorized the Youth League to organize a Beauty Contest as a Fundraising Event and your name came up as a possible contestant. He was requested to ensure your participation in this contest. I know that my Thandi will win this contest if she participated. Will you participate, my child’s child?” she asked, urging me into accepting her proposal.
“NO! Gogo, I cannot participate in this contest.” I protested emphatically.
“Thandi, my child’s child,” said my Gogo, “you must accept this. It comes from your uncle, you know how furious he can be when he is rejected. Please say Yes!”
“No! Gogo, I am refusing and if you want to know why, it is because I see my uncle’s dirty hand behind all this.” I said. “You know that I want nothing to do with uMandla since he raped me, Gogo,” I said, spreading my hands to illustrate my point.
My Grandmother became mad with rage. She hid her face in her hands for a moment and took a deep breath, then she said; “tell me, my child’s child, why do you hate your uncle so much?” She asked, barely concealing her rage.
“Gogo,” I said, breathing heavily to hold my anger, “wouldn’t you hate somebody who raped you?” I asked her in return.
I could see a look of surprise in her face but she composed herself and said, “I would, my child’s child,” struggling to contain her surprise, “but I wouldn’t allow that to stand between me and the prize of being the Princess of Kwa Mashu. Do you know how many girls have been raped by their uncles in Kwa Mashu? Rape is a common thing in Kwa Mashu. Think about that, Thandeka!” She added.
“Oh Yes, Gogo! I thought about that many times. I know that thousands of young girls have been raped by their uncles or other close relatives in Kwa Mashu. But I think that this must stop, more especially during these days of the AIDS Pandemic.” I said. “If I could help it, no girl in the whole world would ever be raped by anyone, let alone a close relative. Whoever did that would be severely punished.” I said, breathing heavily with anger. “I would rather be remembered as the girl who brought an end to rape than for being a titular Princess of Kwa Mashu,” I said with tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I promise to help you fight the AIDS Pandemic if you agree to participate in this contest.” She said, holding my hand to give me some comfort. “It will be easier to fight this Pandemic when you are a Princess than being a wasted pretty little girl in Kwa Mashu. Please accept this for your Gogo’s sake Thandi,” she appealed.
“I told you some time back Gogo, that I do not believe that beauty is skin deep. These days beauty is skin deep.” I answered. “For me beauty lies in the heart. One cannot be beautiful if one does evil things.” I continued.
“What do you mean when you say ‘these days beauty is skin deep’?” she asked. “You’re far from doing evil things when you participate in a Beauty Contest. If you were, your Gogo,uMaNkabinde wouldn’t be pleading with you to take part. You’re in this for your Gogo. Will you do that for me, please Thandi?” earnestly urging me.
“No! MaNkabinde, I will not. Look at aunt Boniswa. Look at her face.” I said. “Someone poured boiling water on her face for taking part in a Beauty Contest. You remember that, don’t you? No! Gogo? NO! I don’t want to look like that, Gogo. Do you want me to look like her?” I asked her.
“No! Thandi my child’s child,” She replied. “I want you to be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party, not to have someone pour boiling water on your face. I don’t want that. You must look beyond your aunt uBoniswa, look at uNobuhle (Ms. Beautiful) her daughter. See how pretty she looks? It shows that beauty is in our blood and not on our skin.” She said with pride.
“Gogo, I told you I have plans of my own,” I said, trying to change the topic. “I need time to think about them.” I appealed for her consideration.
“You need to think about them fast!” She said, ignoring my plea for a chance to consider my plans, “the whole Zulu Nation is waiting for your decision. They cannot wait for ever,” she said, indicating impatience. “Your uncle will be furious if you make the wrong decision.” She warned.
The mention of my uncle’s name infuriated me. It made me feel like exploding. I tried to stand up but couldn’t. I felt like I was glued to the chair on which I was seating. The words “..your uncle will be furious…”kept ringing in my head. That made me angrier. Finally I stood up and said “Gogo, I can’t stand this any longer. What if I loose?” I asked her for what appeared to be the umpteenth time.
“I told you that there is no way you could loose this contest, Thandi, this contest is yours to win, you just take part in it and you win. We always win these contests. One last time, Thandi, my child’s child, are you going to disappoint me? I need to know your answer now before your uncle arrives. He will be here anytime now.” I could sense her exacerbation.
“Yes, Gogo! I am going to disappoint you. I am not going to be Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party. I don’t want to be a member of Inkatha Freedom Party and I will not allow myself to be made into a political football.” I said, with some finality.
“Please say yes! Thandi,” she said with desperation. “Just say ‘yes!’ then I will do anything for you,” she implored. “If you refuse, your uncle will never speak to you again,” she threatened.
Her desperation made me to think of another excuse. “I don’t need to speak to my uncle, you know why and besides, you know that my father, uBaba uMtimkhulu, (The Big Tree) hates these contests, did you ask for his opinion?” I asked, trying to postpone the unpleasant decision. “I need his permission.” I added.
“Thandi, my child’s child, your father is an idiot. He knows nothing about Beauty Contests,” she said. “He is an old-fashioned Zulu man, besides, if you care for a little gossip, he is a hypocrite, do you know how proud he was when his then girl-friend, uNomusa your mother won the Miss Zulu Royals Football Club Contest?” she asked. “He was the toast of Kwa Mashu.” She added.
“Perhaps I should ask for his permission, don’t you think so,” I asked.
“No! You are not going to waste my time because of an old fashioned Zulu man.” She said angrily.
“But you wouldn’t want to anger him Gogo, would you?” I asked. “You know, Gogo how an angry Zulu man reacts.” I said, with a smile on my face.
She smiled back and said, “Yes I know, but I can always get your uncle to deal with him.”
“I wouldn’t like to see two angry Zulu men clash over me,” I said jokingly.
She also laughed and said; “jokes aside, you will get great media exposure and a key to a career in modeling and more especially in filming.” She said, still trying to convince me.
“I am not interested in a modeling or an acting career,” I said. “I’d rather be a nurse to help the sick especially during these days of the AIDS Pandemic.” trying to take the higher road.
“Remember, I promised to do anything for you if you accept this proposal,” she said, showing increased anger. “Will you take this opportunity or not?” giving me an ultimatum.
“I am afraid I won’t, Gogo. I don’t want to be the laughing stock of Kwa Mashu, Gogo.” I said, my body shaking with anger.
“No one laughs at someone who looses a beauty contest, Thandeka.” She said, whilst coming closer to me so as to emphasize her point. Suddenly she shouted, “do you know how many girls would die for an opportunity like this one?” she asked “You have a chance of a life time Thandi! You will remember this opportunity,” she said in an attempt to give me a final push. “All you need to do is to enter this contest and win,” she tried to assure me again.
“I told you Gogo, I can’t take that chance. I will be devastated if I lost.” I said again, still trying to deflect her urgings. “I told you that I need all the energy I have for my plan to fight the Aids Pandemic.”
“So, you have a problem of self-confidence, Thandeka, I will talk to MmaNdlovu, the Sangoma to help with your self-confidence.” She said with a smile.
I smiled back and nodded my head in an effort to calm her down. She mistook this to mean agreement with her. “Yes!” she said, “My child’s child is going to be Miss Inkatha Freedom Party 2007.”
“No Gogo!” I exclaimed, “I cannot be a Beauty Queen of a Party that I am not a member of, Gogo. Besides, if I loose, I may kill myself. That is why I do not want to join this contest. I am not a good loser. I told you that many times.” I repeated.
“Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly, “you will not loose because your uncle will fix that,” she said. “He can arrange such things,” she said reassuringly.
Sensing an opportunity to close this discussion once and for all I shouted, “Did you say Uncle Mandla can fix the results of this contest, Gogo?” I asked. “I cannot take part in a fixed competition. Did you say this was a fixed competition?” I asked, feigning astonishment.
“Yes! uMandla can fix such things.” She said excitedly. “I told you, your uncle is an influential member of the Party. He can bulldoze his way through this. He will make sure that you win.” She said with pride.
“You are right!” I exclaimed. “I know that my uncle can bulldoze his way through anything. He always wants to have things his way. It is high time he met his match. I have decided that I am that match. I’d rather use all my energy fighting the Aids Pandemic than being a Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party.” I shouted in uncontrolled anger.
“You dare not stand on your Uncle’s way, Thandi, he can close all doors before you and smash you to bits if you do that.” My Grandmother said.
If my Grandmother intended to intimidate me with those words, she was wrong because those words had the opposite effect. They angered me. I became adamant in my refusal to participate in the competition. “I don’t need him to open doors for me, Gogo.” I said. “I can open my own doors. And tell him MmaNkabinde,” I paused for a moment out of respect for my Grandmother and pointing a finger at her face, and said at the top of my voice, “tell uMalome uMandla, that I will stand on his way and dare him to smash me! I’ll tell him Gogo, that I’d rather devote all my energy fighting the Aids Pandemic that being a Ms. Inkatha Freedom Party.” I shouted, standing up from the chair and angrily stormed out of my Gogo’s apartment. I haven’t been back there ever since. I don’t think MmaNkabinde has seen an angrier Thandeka than the one she saw on that day.
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