Saturday 3 December 2016

The Commander: Chapter 2

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 Livingstone Hospital in 1985 on the 24th of August.  So we buried him here in town. Another shocking story about him, my father, at the time he was buried, my mother was unable to buy a cross, to mark the grave, and to honour him.  So after some few months, she managed to raise those funds, and she gave the money to one of the family members, of which the family member misused the money.  So, one day my mum asked him, Can’t we go and see if it is beautiful or not?  Unfortunately up until today, we still want to know: Where is our father’s grave?   I am the one who spent almost a week, I and my friend, searching for the grave of my father, after I told him that, Hey my friend I have got this problem, searching for my father’s grave; then my friend was so shocked to hear that, then he said to me, No, let’s launch an operation, Operation Searcher; so we search and search up until we failed.  We came up with nothing.  So that is still shocking me; but the one who misused the money; he is not my enemy, he is still a family member; but I think God is the only person who will intervene in that.

۞

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
"Township: Burial grove"
Grahamstown 2016

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