I WAS BORN IN INTERESTING TIMES. A year before my birth, apartheid laws had been relaxed by FW de Klerk, the then president of South Africa. As I’ve mentioned, this meant that political parties, which had been banned following the gruesome Sharpeville Massacre in 1960, were unbanned. Political prisoners were also freed, including Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, an anti-apartheid campaigner and leader of your organisation. Mandela had been convicted of treason and sabotage in June 1964 and sentenced to life imprisonment. But on 11 February 1990 at quarter past four in the afternoon, Mandela appeared at the gates of Victor Verster Prison in Paarl in the Western Cape with his beautiful wife, Mama Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, by his side. He was a free man after spending almost three decades incarcerated.
My mother often tells me about this moment. She has repeated the story many times, always in a very emotional state. This is the story in her words:
A short while before Nelson Mandela was freed from prison we received a message that he would be flown to Soweto to the Jabulani Amphitheatre on the day of his release. And so, just before the scheduled day, 11 February 1990, leaders of COSAS and other organisations mobilised their members to fill up the arena at the Amphitheatre and welcome the struggle hero.
The day finally came. I remember vividly that it was a Sunday. Hundreds if not thousands of us walked all the way from Meadowlands to Jabulani chanting revolutionary slogans. Just before we arrived, at the time scheduled for his release, something extraordinary happened. It began to rain heavily. This was no ordinary rain. It was the kind that announces itself with roaring thunder and pours down hard, almost as if the heavens are weeping. By the time we arrived at the small venue, we were soaked. But we were all so excited and so loud in our singing and chanting that no amount of rain could have persuaded us to run for cover.
A few minutes after our arrival, one of the ANC leaders, I think it was comrade Popo Molefe or Terror Lekota if I am not mistaken, made an announcement to the large crowd that Mandela would not be coming on that day, that we were to return home and meet the following day at FNB Stadium.
The crowd dispersed and, in that torrent, we chanted back home, disappointed but not angry.
The following day, on a warm Monday morning, an even bigger group from Meadowlands met at Mapedi Community Hall in Zone 2. We marched again, this time to FNB Stadium just outside Diepkloof. There were all kinds of people: students in their uniforms, workers, the unemployed and every other person who lived in the township. When we arrived at FNB Stadium it was almost full to capacity. On top of that, the roads leading to the entrances were blocked. Everywhere one looked, there were people holding up posters with slogans like: ‘Free at last!’ and ‘Welcome home, Madiba!’
Eventually, in the midst of all the singing and the chanting, he arrived, with Mama Winnie Mandela at his side. You could see on his face that he was stunned. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric! Mandela even lost balance and had to be held by other comrades. The stadium was shaking as we were singing one particular song. The words go like this:
Nelson Mandela!
Sabela uyabizwa (uyabizwa) Sabela uyabizwa!
Wena Madiba!
Sabela uyabizwa (uyabizwa) Sabela uyabizwa!
We were so loud that at one point comrade Popo Molefe, yes it was him, took the microphone and pleaded with us to calm down. He informed us that the stadium had recently been built and if we kept on stomping our feet like we were doing, the concrete panels would fall off. But no one listened to him; we were in a frenzy. We all wanted to have a glimpse of this man, Nelson Mandela, who for many years we had heard of. For years, we were taught about him in our political education sessions and we knew that part of our fight was for his release so that he could come and lead us into a new South Africa. We all wanted to just see him, however briefly.
He was brought up to the podium to speak to the crowd and when he did, the humility oozed out of his trembling voice. He said he knew while he was incarcerated that there were many people outside who were supporting him, but had not realised until that moment just how many these people were. He told us that he was shocked and then ended by thanking the country for the support and the commitment to the struggle. That was the birth of a new dawn. At that moment, I believed without a shadow of a doubt that the African National Congress, my organisation, would rule the country for a very long time to come . . .
The warm Saturday morning I was born was a year and eight months after that historic day of Mandela’s release. The Nationalist Party was still in power but everyone, including white people, knew its grip on political power would draw to an inevitable end sooner rather than later.
Three days after my birth, my mother took me home to her family in a one-roomed shack that she shared with my grandmother and four of my mother’s siblings. The fourth and last born, Tshepiso, had been born eight months previously at Baragwanath Hospital, usually called Bara, in Diepkloof. Tshepiso had had an identical twin but three months after their birth baby Tshepang had died from asthma. Tshepiso was also a sickly child and spent most of her early childhood hospitalised. As a result of this, my mother had to look after me without the assistance of her mother. On top of that, she had to look after her younger brothers. But by then they were relatively independent, save for their reliance on their older sister to cook and keep the house together while my grandmother was juggling frequenting Bara and work at the kitchens.
I had a normal childhood by township standards. Like all the other kids in the neighbourhood, I played on the dusty streets and attended day care not too far from home. By the time I was five years old, Tshepiso was out of hospital. We were inseparable, and would be for many years to come.