PREPARATIONS FOR WINNIE’S wedding turned not only the Madikizela household, but the entire village on its head. The whole district was abuzz with excitement, and the tribal elders reminded Columbus that the wedding had to befit the status of the bridegroom, who was not only a member of the royal house of the Tembu, but a respected political figure revered by millions of black South Africans.
Columbus and Hilda put their heads together. Guests would be coming from Johannesburg and other parts of the country, travelling long distances to attend the festivities. As a courtesy to them, it was decided that traditional festivities at the Madikizela home would follow the church ceremony, as well as a Western-style reception in Bizana. But there was a problem. The only venue in Bizana that was big and grand enough for the kind of reception they envisaged was the town hall, and they knew that it was reserved for use by whites. Columbus, however, went ahead and applied to hire the hall, and to his astonishment the request was granted.
This was the first wedding that Columbus would host. Those of Winnie’s siblings who were already married had chosen to make their own arrangements, but Winnie had asked for his blessing, and he and Hilda would give her the wedding of her dreams. Columbus was no longer just a poor schoolteacher, but had become a wealthy businessman who owned several shops and a fleet of buses, and he could afford to spare no effort to make the wedding memorable.
Throughout her life Winnie was a trailblazer, and her marriage was no exception. Since Mandela was a lawyer, close attention was paid to the legal formalities of the union, and at the time Winnie was one of the few black women to have an antenuptial contract. It gave her the right to conduct business transactions without having to first seek her husband’s permission, and ensured that she remained in control of her own possessions. She would be spared her mother’s anguish over having to produce at least two sons in order to comply with the hereditary custom of the Pondo.
Traditionally, black marriages were in community of property, which effectively reduced the woman’s status to that of a minor, unable to make even the smallest legal decision without her husband’s signed permission, and gave men total power over the disposal of any assets. A strong woman like Winnie was not about to surrender her newfound independence, no matter how much she loved Mandela.
As the wedding day approached, excitement rose to fever pitch all over Pondoland. The most distant Madikizela relatives wanted to be a part of the preparations, even if this involved nothing more than discussing which cattle would be slaughtered to feed the expected crowd. While the men pondered this important decision, the women brewed large vats of traditional beer, a low-alcohol beverage made from maize or sorghum, with the consistency of gruel. They also stamped maize kernels for porridge (called grits in the southern US and polenta in Europe), and planned and prepared other dishes that would be cooked in three-legged black iron pots. Columbus asked Winnie’s Aunt Phyllis, who had some experience in catering for large crowds, to help, and she took charge of the food preparation.
In terms of his banning order, Mandela had to apply for special permission to attend his own wedding. He was granted four days, after which he had to report back to police in Johannesburg. While in the Transkei he had to stay in Bizana and restrict his activities to the wedding ceremony. He and Winnie made the long drive to Bizana with the bridal party, which included his sister Leaby, Georgina Lekgoate and Helen Ngobese. The most important piece of luggage was Winnie’s wedding gown, made, as Mandela had suggested, by his close friend Michael Harmel’s wife, Ray.
The trip was a nightmare for Winnie. An unexpected attack of pre-wedding jitters gave her diarrhoea, and much to her embarrassment Mandela had to stop the car at regular intervals so that she could run for the cover of bushes beside the road. When they reached eMbongweni after dark, the entire household and a host of relatives were waiting, and Hilda led a shrill chorus of ululating to welcome them. As dictated by custom, the bride and groom were immediately separated and would not meet again until they stood before the altar. Mandela and his party were escorted to the home of a family member, Simon Madikizela, while sisters and aunts helped an exhausted Winnie to bed. When she had not recovered by the next day, Makhulu diagnosed her as having been bewitched. She jealously guarded over Winnie, and although Mandela discreetly sent his friend Dr Mbekeni to treat the ailing bride, it was the care and counsel of her wise old grandmother that had the necessary calming effect.
Winnie’s wedding day began with a warm bath in a large iron tub. Aunt Phyllis helped her to dress in the exquisite gown of luxuriant satin and frothy lace. Her hair was swept up in soft curls and adorned with a wreath of flowers and a short, gossamer veil. She was radiantly beautiful and transparently happy. As she stepped through the door of her childhood home clutching a bouquet of roses and lilies, relatives waiting outside greeted her with a dance of joy. Makhulu led the way with ululations and exuberant high leaps that belied her age. The Madikizela kraal was teeming with the horses of tribesmen who had come from near and far, and when all the guests were gathered they boarded Columbus’s buses for the trip to the Methodist church in Bizana. The father of the bride, in a new black suit with a carnation in the lapel, went ahead and waited for the bride at the church door. She arrived in a car festooned with ribbons in the ANC colours.
Winnie and Nelson’s wedding was a unique fusion of religious and traditional tribal customs. The church was filled to capacity when the groom slipped a gold band onto the bride’s finger and the minister pronounced them man and wife. Their eyes locked, and their faces shone with a happiness that clearly came from deep within.
They stepped out of their aura of oneness into the celebrations, ushered in by the choir with a Xhosa hymn, followed by a praise singer who recited traditional rites and lauded both the families. The guests followed the wedding party to the burial ground at the ancestral home of the Madikizelas, where they paid their respects – the first of many traditional rituals that would mark their first hours as a married couple.
Nelson, the newest member of the Madikizela family, presented the older women with headscarves, and each, in turn, danced up to the groom to receive the gift, ululating recognition and appreciation. This was followed by a demonstration of the bride’s virginal purity as her retinue walked round and round the Madikizela kraal, the young women in front, the older ones behind. Then Winnie’s kinsmen sang ‘Baya Khala Abazali’ [‘Your family is crying’] to express the sadness of parting with her. The bride was expected to wail and cry at this point, but Winnie was incapable of feigning sorrow on this happiest of days, and was smiling broadly. Irene nudged her and hissed that she should at least pretend to weep, but no matter how hard she tried, Winnie could not stop smiling. Nelson’s sister saved the moment by declaring that the bride could not possibly cry, since she had just married a prince. There was unanimous agreement.
With the Madikizelas having taken leave of Winnie, Nelson had to formally introduce her to the Madiba clan. An urgent whisper from Irene reminded Winnie that she had to keep her eyes downcast, as it would be seen as an insult if she looked her new in-laws in the eye. But with the best will in the world, Winnie could not disguise her joy. It was obvious to everyone that Nelson adored her, and there wasn’t a serious face or moment of gloom on their wedding day. The Madikizela men caught the groom’s party off guard and playfully ‘kidnapped’ Duma Nokwe, and demanded the traditional ransom. Columbus paid a goat for his release, and Duma promised to deliver the full ransom of an ox at a later date.
The celebrations moved to Bizana in the late afternoon, where proceedings opened with the usual speeches. Columbus spoke of his love for Winnie, voiced admiration for his son-in-law’s commitment to the struggle, and warned both of them that only the deepest devotion would allow their marriage to withstand the threats they faced from all sides and enable them to weather the challenges they would face. Because of the terms of his banning order, Mandela couldn’t make the traditional bridegroom’s speech, and his sister Constance had to speak on his behalf.
Then the couple cut the wedding cake. Thirteen tiers were served to the guests, but the fourteenth layer was left untouched and carefully wrapped so that Winnie could take it to Nelson’s ancestral home for the final wedding rite. According to tradition, part of the cake had to be cut at the bridegroom’s homestead in front of the family elders, but because Nelson’s four-day period of grace was drawing to a close and he had to get back to Johannesburg, the ceremony had to be postponed. Winnie kept the wrapped cake for many years, intending to honour the tradition when Nelson was released from prison, but he never did manage to take Winnie to his home to do so.
Apart from this departure from custom, the only sadness for Winnie on her wedding day was the absence of her dear friend Adelaide Tambo. She was due to give birth at any time, and had been unable to make the long journey to eMbongweni. Oliver, however, as Nelson’s partner and a Madikizela relative, did attend the wedding.
After the formal reception, guests made their way to Columbus and Hilda’s home for more merry-making. In an atmosphere of unbridled joy, they settled down to a meal of the many dishes prepared in the weeks before the wedding, including meat and maize porridge, and many of them stayed for a whole week of celebration. But Winnie and Nelson had to leave, and on the eve of their departure Columbus took them to the hut where he had stored their traditional wedding gifts: grass mats, clay pots and an array of small live animals. Mandela graciously declined the gifts, but took two chickens as a gesture of recognition for the generosity of the givers. On their drive back to Johannesburg, the chickens escaped from the car when they stopped for lunch, and the newlyweds ran around screaming and clucking, trying to capture them. They eventually gave up and fell to the ground, laughing, leaving the chickens to fend for themselves.
When they reached Orlando the sun had not yet set, and according to tradition the time was not right for them to start their married life. So they drove to Lillian Ngoyi’s house, and waited until darkness fell. Only then did they drive to house No. 8115 where, not too long before, Winnie had faced two ardent suitors vying for her hand. Nelson’s mother, friends and other relatives were waiting for them, and another celebration followed.
Nelson and Winnie Mandela embarked on their married life determined not to allow the uncertainty of what the future held to cloud whatever time they would have together, and to start a family immediately. Nelson’s love for Winnie had given him new hope and heart for the difficulties that lay ahead, and in later years he would say he felt as if their marriage gave him a second chance at life. There was neither time nor money for a honeymoon, so Winnie settled in house 8115 without delay. Mandela had been renting the property from the Johannesburg municipality for several years, barred from buying property except in certain areas designated by the apartheid laws. He had a ninety-nine-year lease on the tiny corner house, which had an indoor bathroom, electricity and running hot water – rare luxuries in the sprawling township.
As before, the Treason Trial dominated their lives. Nelson had already formed his lifelong habit of rising early, around 4 am, before going for a run around the township. He found the tranquillity of the empty streets, the crisp air and the breaking day rejuvenating. Once the sun was up, the brief respite from smoke and kerosene fumes was dispelled as fires and small stoves were lit to hastily cook a pot of porridge and brew a cup of tea before the streets burst into life and thousands of people rushed to work in buses and taxis that wove their impatient way into the city.
Winnie made Nelson a breakfast of orange juice and toast, a small bowl of porridge and sometimes a raw egg before he took a bus to the trial in Pretoria. Winnie went back to work at Baragwanath Hospital, and her mother-in-law took care of the house. When time allowed, Nelson would call at his law office before going to the trial each morning, and when court adjourned in the afternoons he would spend long hours at the office in an effort to keep the practice afloat and earn an income. Political work and meetings with other ANC officials usually took up the rest of the evening, and he often arrived home after midnight. He was rarely there over weekends. Winnie soon found out that the life of a struggle leader’s wife was a lonely one. Often enough, though, their house was filled with people and laughter, political discussion and debate, and she found the constant stream of visitors stimulating. After living in a hostel for so many years she enjoyed having her own home, even though not everything in it was to her liking. But she exercised patience, making discreet changes slowly. She didn’t touch Nelson’s study, which he had partitioned off from the lounge and furnished with a couch, three cane chairs, a bookshelf and a display cabinet. On the wall was a picture of Lenin, addressing a huge crowd. It was Nelson’s kingdom.
A few weeks after their wedding, a group of Nelson’s tribesmen arrived to ceremoniously admit Winnie into the Madiba tribe, and she was given the name Nobandla, which he adopted as a term of endearment. She affectionately called him Madiba. To the world outside they were Nelson and Winnie Mandela, but away from the public glare they were Madiba and Zami, short for Nomzamo.
One night a loud banging on the door rudely awakened everyone in the house. Winnie was frightened and bewildered, and had no idea what was going on. It was 1.30 in the morning, but Nelson quickly told her not to worry, that it was just a regular police raid. He hastily pulled on some clothes and rushed to the front door. Winnie sat in bed with the blankets pulled up under her chin, her heart pounding as faceless men shone torches at all the windows and yelled for them to open the door. She had known that the house and Mandela’s office were raided frequently, but not that everything about these incursions was intentionally designed to unsettle the victims as much as possible. She watched in horror as policemen rummaged through their personal possessions, threw books off shelves, emptied drawers of clothing onto the floor, even read their personal letters, all the while making insulting remarks about kaffirs.
They found nothing incriminating, just turned the house upside down, and left. In time, Winnie would come to realise that they never expected to find anything incriminating, and that the raids formed part of the psychological warfare waged against opponents of the apartheid system. After she and Nelson had tidied up, she made coffee and they went back to bed. He warned her that she would have to get used to these midnight invasions of their privacy, which were a regular feature of his life. Winnie dreaded the prospect, but no raid was ever again as traumatic as the first.
The first year of marriage was a challenging time financially. For more than two years, Nelson and Oliver Tambo had spent most of their time attending the Treason Trial and preparing their defence, and their legal practice was in dire straits. They generated hardly any income from it, and were struggling to pay the office rental and provide for their families. Both men had to rely heavily on their wives to make ends meet, and Mandela’s burden was about to increase. In July, Winnie found that she was pregnant.
Nelson had adopted a lifestyle that demanded more than his diminished income allowed. He had a permit to keep alcohol at home (blacks were not allowed to store hard liquor, even in their homes, without such a permit), and although he himself was a teetotaller, there was always a variety of beverages for guests. He also liked buying exotic foods and experimenting in the kitchen. Winnie was learning that there were many things about her famous and charming husband that she had not known before their wedding, such as his taste for good living and his offbeat sense of humour. He had a knack for relating the most outrageous stories with a deadpan face, which she found exasperating at first. She was driven close to tears of embarrassment when he told people he had promised to marry her only after she agreed to refer all accident claims covered by the Workmen’s Compensation Act to him. But his friends knew when he was joking and they loved to listen to his anecdotes, especially those with a political sting in the tail.
Winnie was often angry with Nelson over what she considered to be his careless spending, and told him he was an economic disaster. He seldom had any money in his pocket, and when he did he would buy something they didn’t really need. He often brought home boxes of fruit and vegetables as part of his quest for a healthy lifestyle, which included regular exercise and eating well.
Mandela also had a rebellious streak, and at times this drove him to wilfully challenge the law. His former wife, Evelyn, was not happy about the poor education her sons were getting in Johannesburg. She discussed her concerns with Kaiser Matanzima, and he suggested that the boys be sent to school in the Transkei, where he would watch over them. Evelyn asked Matanzima to take this proposal to Mandela, who immediately agreed that the rural conditions and superior education of a mission school would be to his sons’ advantage. He took them shopping for school clothes and then drove them to the Transkei himself, without permission from the authorities, and in clear contravention of his banning order and bail conditions. He explained to Winnie that he would honour the restrictions on his movements up to a point, but was not prepared to police himself. She was understandably anxious about his decision. It was a long, tiring trip, and he had to travel through the night in order to appear in court the next day and avoid being caught out. Any number of things could go wrong, and Winnie spent a sleepless night, worrying about her husband until he was safely home again.
Whenever possible, Winnie attended the trial, both to support Nelson and because of her own political interests. Her exotic beauty, dignity and obvious strength swept through the depressing courtroom like a fresh breeze. When Nelson and Winnie were together, they turned heads. They were glamorous, basked in the glow of their love, and despite the potentially disastrous consequences of the trial, they appeared invincible. Winnie was becoming increasingly involved in the work and operations of the ANC, and it seemed to Mandela’s friends that he was grooming her to play a significant role in the movement. And they had to admit, however grudgingly, that she was more than capable of doing so.
The political atmosphere in South Africa took a turn for the worse when Dr Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd became prime minister in 1958. Like tyrants such as Hitler and Stalin, he was not born in the country he would rule with a right-wing rod. His Dutch parents emigrated to South Africa when Verwoerd was a baby, and during the 1920s, while studying in Germany, he was influenced by the doctrine of the emerging National Socialist (Nazi) Party.
ANC leader Chief Albert Luthuli described Verwoerd as apartheid’s ‘most ardent and relentless apostle’,1 and his policies would incite blacks to protest on an unprecedented scale. They demanded a minimum wage of £1 a day and the eradication of the Group Areas Act, the unjust permit system, the increase in poll tax and – above all – the proposed extension of the hated pass laws. Previously, passes applied only to men. But moves were afoot to make it mandatory for black women, too, to carry at all times an identify document called a reference book, which contained the bearer’s personal particulars and a photograph. The pass was used to control the movement, employment and residence of blacks. The system divided communities and tore apart families, often forcing husbands and wives to live in different areas. Every black person over the age of sixteen had to carry their reference books at all times, and produce them on demand to any police officer, day or night. Failure to do so resulted in summary detention, and was an offence that carried a £10 fine or one-month prison sentence. Offering an excuse that a pass had been lost or simply forgotten at home made no difference, and some 500 000 blacks went to jail each year for pass offences, earning South Africa the dubious distinction of having one of the highest prison populations in the world.
Whites were not required to carry similar identity documents, but ironically they did not escape the consequences of the draconian laws. Ruthless police officers thought nothing of leaving small white children stranded and crying on their way from school or the neighbourhood shop if the black nanny who was walking them home could not produce her pass; and white employers spent a disproportionate amount of time tracking workers who had disappeared without a trace, and bailing them out of prison. Blacks viewed the pass laws with such contempt that they no longer had any regard for the stigma of going to jail. In fact, repeat pass law offenders were seen by many as political heroes.
Black women had staged numerous protests against the pass laws, of which the largest was a march by 20 000 of them on the Union Buildings in Pretoria in August 1956. Luthuli believed that the active participation of women in the struggle would force political change in his lifetime; and in his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, Mandela said the women’s anti-pass protests had set an unequalled standard for anti-government protests. In October 1958, Lillian Ngoyi organised another mass protest in Johannesburg, and Winnie, already an active member of the ANC Women’s League, decided to take part. Nelson had encouraged and supported her membership of the Orlando West branch of the league, but he was taken aback when she told him of her decision. By and large, she had been shielded from the reality of life as it was experienced by most black South Africans, and he warned her that this single act of defiance could change her life dramatically. He was particularly concerned that she might lose her job at Bara, a state-run hospital, especially since they were relying almost entirely on Winnie’s salary at the time. She was also in the early stages of her first pregnancy, and Nelson feared the effect that possible imprisonment might have on her.
But although she shared his concerns, Winnie had made her decision. On the day of the march, Nelson made breakfast for his battle-ready wife and drove her to the home of his old friend Walter Sisulu, whose wife Albertina was one of the protest leaders. Then he took the two women to Phefeni station in Orlando, from where they would take a train into the city.
Many years later, Mandela said that as she waved to him from the train window, he felt as though Winnie was setting off on a long and perilous journey, the end of which neither of them could know. His presentiment of doom proved justified. At that point, despite being Nelson’s wife, Winnie was not regarded as a threat by the government. She had no record of political activism and was a model employee. But the anti-pass demonstration would place her squarely in their sights.
Hundreds of women from townships around Johannesburg marched on the Central Pass Office that day. There were professional women and office workers in smart suits, factory workers in overalls, rural residents wrapped in tribal blankets. Some were young and educated, others old, bent and illiterate. They represented all the major ethnic groups and every social sphere. Many had babies strapped to their backs. They sang and chanted anti-pass slogans, and some of them blocked the entrance to the pass office, turning away both clerks arriving for work and people who had come to collect or apply for the iniquitous documents. The pass office was brought to a standstill, but within a few hours dozens of armed policemen arrested all the protestors and ordered them into waiting police vans. They sang and chanted all the way to Marshall Square, Johannesburg’s police headquarters. More than 1 000 women were arrested, and Mandela and Tambo were called to arrange their bail. Nelson rushed to Marshall Square, where Winnie greeted him with a bright and reassuring smile. But her induction into the rigours of political activism had only just begun.
From the police cells, the women were moved to the Fort, the prison in Braamfontein, which was totally unprepared for the sudden influx of so many awaiting-trial prisoners. There were not enough blankets, sleeping mats, toilets or food for the women, who milled around in the main hall and on a second-floor balcony while waiting to be processed. They were lined up in groups, ordered to undress, and told to squat so that warders could conduct vaginal searches for contraband. Then the women were told to dress again and shown to the cells – filthy, stinking and lice-riddled. Each woman was given a single blanket, caked with dirt and reeking of urine, and the cells were so overcrowded that there was hardly enough space for them to lie down. The ANC leadership, including Mandela, wanted to arrange bail for the women, but Lillian Ngoyi, the national president of the Women’s League, and Helen Joseph, secretary of the South African Women’s Federation, which was affiliated with the Women’s League, argued that in order for the protest to be effective, the women should forego bail, refuse to pay any fines and serve whatever sentence the courts handed down. But not all the women were prepared to spend a month or more in prison, and a compromise was reached: they would stay in jail for two weeks, after which the ANC would pay their fines.
Meanwhile, the protests would continue. The widely reported arrests did not deter other women, and during further demonstrations another 1 000 were arrested. As the number of prisoners increased, conditions at the Fort deteriorated even further. A terrible stench from the sanitary buckets hung over the overcrowded cells, there were endless queues for showers, and Winnie was revolted by conditions that assailed her senses day and night.
As a result of the appalling conditions and the shock of her situation, she started haemorrhaging. Terrified that she was having a miscarriage, Winnie sank to her knees and buried her head in her hands. Albertina Sisulu, a trained midwife, realised that something was terribly wrong, and pushed the women surrounding Winnie out of the way so that there was enough room for her to lie down. Albertina took off her own jacket and wrapped it around Winnie to keep her warm, and gave strict instructions that she was not to move. The simple, basic care paid off, and Winnie’s baby was saved.
The women subsequently appeared in court and were convicted. The ANC, with the help of family members and well-wishers, raised the amount needed to pay their fines, and the women were free to go home. Unpleasant as her first spell in prison had been, Winnie was still in defiant mood, and she refused to apply for a reference book for years. In fact, she only capitulated after Nelson was sent to prison and she was told she would not be allowed to visit him without one.
While at the Fort, Winnie had befriended two young Afrikaans wardresses. They were curious about the protest, and sympathetic when Winnie explained it to them. When she was released, Winnie invited them to visit her and Nelson at their home. They took the train to Orlando and had lunch with the Mandelas. Afterwards, Winnie took them on a tour of the township. At the end of the pleasant outing, the visitors thanked their hosts and said they would like to visit again. Unfortunately, two young white women on a train to a black township drew the attention of the security police. The outing was reported to their superiors, they were dismissed, and the Mandelas never heard from them again.
The triumph of Winnie’s elevated status as a jailed ANC protestor was overshadowed by the shocking, though not entirely unexpected, news that she had been sacked. Although this was exactly what Nelson had warned might happen, it was still a heavy blow. She loved her work and had been happy at Bara. Moreover, they needed her salary. There were critical reports in some newspapers, which noted that Winnie, the bright graduate of the Jan Hofmeyr College, had sacrificed the chance to study in America on a scholarship in order to serve black South Africans, only to be dismissed for advocating women’s rights. The authorities took no notice, Winnie’s father sent her some money to tide them over, and a while later she managed to get a job at the Johannesburg Child Welfare Society.
In early 1959, near the end of her pregnancy, Nelson had to go out of town to attend an executive meeting of the ANC. He assured Winnie that he would be back well ahead of the scheduled birth. But the baby had a different agenda, and Nelson arrived home a day after their first daughter was born. When he first laid eyes on her, he proudly announced that she was a true Tembu princess. The next day he arrived at the hospital with a beautiful layette for the baby, and a few days after that with a selection of pretty nightgowns for her mother.
When Winnie and the baby went home, both her mother-in-law and Walter Sisulu’s mother were waiting to offer her traditional counsel on how to care for the infant. Winnie was horrified when Nelson’s mother informed her they had arranged for an inyanga [tribal healer] to give the baby a traditional herbal bath, and she refused to take part in what she considered an unsanitary and outdated custom. She also stubbornly refused to drink the herbal tea the elderly women had prepared for her, but she acceded to custom when it came to naming the baby. It was the prerogative of a Tembu chief to name all babies born into the Madiba clan and the Mandela family, and Chief Ndingi named the little girl Zenani, which meant ‘what have you brought to the world’. The Madikizela family prophetically named her Nomadabi Nosizwe [battlefield of the nation], and Winnie shortened her name to Zeni. She was a beautiful and happy child, and her devoted parents showered her with love.
As soon as she could, Winnie again began helping Nelson with his work for the ANC. He, in turn, took great pains to explain his political philosophy to her. The expected outcome of the Treason Trial left little room for optimism, and he seemed anxious to share as much as he could with Winnie in whatever time they had left together. At a practical level, he realised that Winnie needed to learn to drive, and offered to teach her himself. Inevitably, as when any husband tries to teach his wife to drive, the lessons led to marital strife and often ended in shouting matches, until Nelson admitted defeat and asked his friend Joe Matthews to instruct Winnie instead.
As for any other young woman, marriage and motherhood demanded compromises from Winnie, but she was determined to remain true to herself. Much as she loved and admired her Madiba, as she called him, she would not hide in his shadow, or become known as nothing more than just his wife. So, when Zenani was five months old, Winnie left her in her grandmother’s care, and went back to work.