2 – He cried quietly
My
family come from Middledrift (said Vuyo). My
grandparents’ mother is from the traditional house, the amaMpondo. Although we fully understand that we are
originating from the kingdom of amaMpondo, but we are not claiming that, and
according to our culture, if let us say, originally you are from amaMpondo, and
let’s say the mother of your grandfather – according to our culture, there is
something they call umtchana, a nation, so even us, we are nephews of
amaMpondo, according to our tradition.
The name of my grandmother was Na-Mountain. They died early sixties
because of natural causes, and they had a big land in Middledrift. They lived next to MaNgconde’s house. MaNgconde, she is well-known, and the University of Georgia ,
I think five years back, called her, recognising her for being a mother, for
being a good mother in the Eastern Cape, a preacher, and they gave her a
degree, an honorary doctorate for her role, you know. But there is something I
want to confirm, or to say it very loudly and clear, that one of the major
things that resulted them to escape, to preferred the escape route in
Middledrift, there was a tension, within the family. Some of them – it’s like there was no trust,
within the family. It’s like, if for
instance, you married someone, it’s like the wives of other grandparents, it’s
like there was an accusation, let’s say for instance, there was no trust. There is this African tendency, if you are a
female and you are too much black, you have witchcraft. So, some of the family members died. So they died because of natural causes,
sometime, but you will find that there are accusations within the family. So there was no trust, with the family, so
that resulted for my father to left his cattle in Middledrift. He had
a farming there, agriculture; he was planting everything, mealies, everything,
beetroots, carrots, everything, but he left them, he left those things there,
because the time he left Middledrift, he never notify anyone, any member of the
family, that he was leaving Middledrift.
۞
Vuyo said that he
wanted to take me to Middledrift, there were members of his family still living
there. But we never did make the trip.
۞
Vuyo came to my
office to announce that he had had a dream about our doing this
autobiography. He had dreamt it was the
launch of the book – only it was not merely his autobiography, it was much
bigger than that, since the shades of the dead of the liberation struggle –
Walter Sisulu and others – were there, all presided over by Thabo Mbeki. He giggled, but I could tell he took this
dream seriously; dreams are the
presence of the shades. The point is,
they seemed to approve of the project.
۞
Before my
father went to the circumcision in 1958 (Vuyo
continued), he was unlike us because the time we went to circumcision we
were students, we were studying, so if you want to go to circumcision during
those years, you ought to work hard for yourself, because you are the person
who want to go to circumcision. My
father left school while he was doing Std 4, now I am wondering why he was
doing Std 4 whilst he was 16 years old, I am wondering, although I understand
the conditions of those years, so it’s not so amazing, but it’s something I
laugh, you know, something I laugh. My
father worked hard, he focussed on the farming and all that stuff, he was a
hard worker; even now, if my mother, or my family member maybe you do something
wrong, they will confront you by telling you the role my father played. If you do something which is not
constructive, they will tell you, you are not taking the route of your
father. My father was a hard worker.
As I have already mentioned before,
that there was a tension between the family members, so he left Middledrift; so
not only cattles and that farming only, and that land only, but he left even
other goods, because he was rushing to Salem where he believed that he would be
fine, so he decided to left everything there, and he told himself, that he will
start fresh. he fled to the Salem farm, where he was highly welcome by the man
known as Mr D.; he used to stay there for quite a long time, up until, he
managed to have some other cattles again there.
But mid 70s, he had a problem with Mr D.
And another interesting thing is that my father decided to sold his
cattle, because he had nothing to transport his cattle to town, and he did not have the right to come here in town,
because of those pass laws and so on, but he decided to lie, because he said,
he is the son of his sister, the one who was already working at the University
at that time; he said, No, I am here and I am staying with my sister, while he
was not staying with his sister. So he
was staying here at R. Road, and he was unable therefore to buy even a plot
here in town because of those laws. The
past regime believed that if you are not a town person, if you are not born
here, therefore you do not belong, according to those pass laws of the
regime. So he was renting a house here
at R. Road for almost twenty years; even after his death we were renting that
house. Another interesting issue is
that, if you are renting, during those years, you can’t cook something nice,
like eggs, or meat, or boerewors, and all that stuff if the owner of the
property don’t have that stuff, otherwise you will suffer consequences. He or she will chase you out of his
property. It’s like you can’t enjoy yourself; we were experiencing those hard
times. And you find that if you have a
sisters with something in their pocket, there will be a negative attitude; or
brother, if you are financially stable, the owner of the property won’t
recommend; you can’t do even a party. It
was one of the hard times we experienced; for almost twenty years, that’s what
we experienced.
And another interesting story about
my father; he was not an activist. Not
like my grandparents, even the brother of my grandparents, they were so strong,
it’s like they were so militant; you know, they don’t care; they were saying
This is wrong, this wrong; this is right , this is right. They were politically-minded, my
grandparents. They did not belong to a
particular organisation; it was just an attitude; they believe also to
mayibuye; bring it back, bring it back, bring my country back. So you find that they liked to lift up their
fist, and say, Bring Africa back, mayibuye; like, when you talk about Africa , they will be angry, immediately. But my father was not like that; he was not
even a politician, he will only work for his family. He was so nice, although I never spent quite a long time with him; but I remember
the time when I was maybe 8 years old, I was playing with my younger brother
Bongani. So whilst we were busy playing
– in fact it was a mistake, you know – the ball had beaten me right on my nose, so
there was that blood. My father saw my
T-shirt with that blood, so he asked me what happened; and I didn’t elaborate;
I said, No it was Bongani, and my father
was angry, and he banished Bongani. And
I was so worried that he banished Bongani; and I didn’t tell him exactly what
happened; because I also respect him, I must only tell him what happened
because if he question you and than you don’t come to the point immediately,
you may find yourself in trouble; because he wanted us as straightforward kids,
you don’t lie, he won’t accept that, so he want you to answer immediately. So
he really was a nice person, he was really nice he was very nice; I mean, I know him. Although I never spent
that much time with him.
My
father died because of a cancer, I don’t know how to call it, but it is a
cancer of the blood, and he died in Port
Elizabeth
۞
In another interview, he gave a slightly different version
of this: “I don't know the grave of my
father. Ja, because in 1989 the
policemen they went to those graves, then they destroyed those graves, trying
to make the community angry. Then,
because, the cross of those graveyards was just made of wood, so they were
destroyed totally. So when we go there
we find that we don't know our graves. I
searched and searched and searched and I tried to contact some funeral parlours
– unsuccessful. I've been searching for
that, even now, when I'm praying I say God, hey, even if you can send a bird,
and say here's your father's grave, then I'll be glad, I'll be glad,
really. But that that makes me
angry. That makes me angry because I
want to visit my father's grave one day, you know, and just make it nice you
know, even though I'm financially broke but, even if I've got a paint, just go
and paint there.”
And he cried quietly.
۞
And there is Vuyo’s
mother, who as far as I know is still alive.
But I have not attempted to find her.
Is it sensitivity or cowardice keeps me from questioning her about her
son’s sad history?
۞
Text and images © Dan Wylie
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