Government calls on all South Africans, young and old, to reflect on what it was like to live in apartheid South Africa, to consider the changes that have taken place, the challenges that remain, and a way forward for the country.
Send us your story, telling us how you experienced the transition:
- email to electronic@gcis.gov.za
- share on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/GovernmentZA
- share on Twitter @tellyourstoryZA
Read some of the stories on our website.
South African citizens
South Africans share their stories by sending an email to: electronic@gcis.gov.za.
Hanif Manjoo - I was there….when Nkosi Albert Luthuli died! |
|
|
[[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_large","fid":"405191","attributes":{"class":"media-image","id":"1","style":"float: left; margin-left: 3px; margin-right: 3px;;","typeof":"foaf:Image"}}]](Umlilo 8 December 2010 - Address at launch of ‘Bound by Faith’ by Reverend Dr. Scott Couper) We salute you…. Nkosi! Firstly, I am honoured to address you and feel totally humbled when, in hindsight, I realize that not only am I an intricate, integral interwoven particle of an extremely important era of our oral history, but that I had been at private meetings with a great son of our land and father of a nation in Nkosi Albert Luthuli, drove him to his home in Groutville, was the person to take the telephone call about his accident, identify him when he was brought into Stanger Hospital, inform and mobilize the (black) health staff, and then, relay it personally to the world. Nkosi Luthuli…. We all salute you! Amandla! Background In 1967, I was an Out-Patients Department (OPD) Clerk at the Stanger hospital at a princely salary of R42.00 per month, and in my second year of employment there. My colleagues were Baba Dimba, Burke Mzoneli and Chetty. There was a hHospital Secretary in Dave Duror (assisted by a young Hector Corrigall), the Superintendent was a female Dr Gregerson, Head Matron a Mrs Farrer (her daughter also a nurse, Sister Farrer), Mr Duror Snr was the Transport Manager, then there was a Senior Clerk in Goolam Bux. Ambulance drivers were Morgan, Peter and Myeni. Amongst the nursing staff were sisters and matrons (I cannot recall exactly which) in Gumbi, Faith Mzoneli, Guma, Ngema, Zuma, etc. In the Out-Patients Department, there were usually two of us on duty and we were on shifts, alternating (I think monthly, from 6 am to 2 pm and 2 pm to 8p m). Our work entailed, inter alia: 1. Admitting patients in Outpatients Dept by entering admission forms on which numerous questions were asked, such as-
2. We had to ascertain who would pay the hospital bill. Information had to be supplied by the patient on being admitted or his companion/ employer/ etc. Admission fee was about 60c. If they were not working; this was waived at our discretion. We would ascertain the seriousness/ gravity / urgency of anyone and inform the floor nurse, who would then inform the doctor and, if necessary, see to him/ her immediately or not. If we received a call for an ambulance, we would require someone to guarantee the payment of R6.00 to the driver, unless it was the employer or a Government department. 3. Worker injuries were recorded separately as IOD (injured on duty), and the senior clerk would process the documents for payment to the WCA. 4. If the patient was admitted at night after we knocked off (maternity or accident/ assault / injury), the next morning we had to go to the relevant wards and fill in the admission forms by questioning the patient. There was a lighter side to this! When we entered the maternity wards, we would often hear the labour screams of women. Sometimes, when young, unwed teenagers came in, we would over-hear the nurses remonstrating with them in isiZulu (You enjoyed the men- now? You scream for ‘we mama’ when we tell you to push!) The IsiZulu version does not sound so harsh or insensitive! 5. In addition to the above, we also manned the switchboard, which was manually operated- you rang (cranked) and connected one to the other via a whole lot of cables and plugs! Here, all calls in and out were recorded. When we made private calls (or assisted nursing staff), we would enter the call as under the Secretary’s office or the OutPatients’ Doctor! 21 July 1967 A month ahead, I was going to get married to the girl of my dreams (my late wife Rabiya nee Kajee) on 22 August 1967. Everyone at the hospital was excited (the staff liked me, I suppose, because of my friendly, jovial and helpful ways!). My wedding was at the Stanger Town Hall where blacks were not allowed, and Indians only by permit. At my wedding, over a dozen of the black staff (clerks and nurses) attended; the first time ever! My colleague was on lunch and I received this call ‘This is the Groutville Station Master. Can you send an ambulance for a native who’s been knocked down by a train?’ I immediately contacted the Transport Manager and relayed the request. About an hour later, the ambulance (with Morgan the driver), brought the ‘patient’ in on a trolley. Our office (counter) being at the entrance, I noted the victim moving his hands, sort of agitated, in the air. As he passed me, I recognized that this looked very much like Nkosi! He was taken to Emergency Ward. Immediately, I phoned the Ward Sisters (Surgical, Medical, Paediatrics and Maternity) to come to the Outpatients and positively identify the patient (as clerks, we could not go into the consulting rooms). Once confirmed, one of the first persons I phoned was Goolam Hajee Suleman, a very close companion of Nkosi and his family. Then, I phoned Shammi Harichander whom I knew, a reporter for the Sunday Tribune (I think). Goolam was at the hospital in no time, together with other ANC comrades. The hospital burst into action. Normally, when there are less than about 5 patients and not for urgent / emergency treatment, the Outpatients’ Doctor would take an extended lunch break. He was an elderly man, this Dr Stein with extremely thick lensed glasses. The Superintendent would only come to the OPD for inspections or if there was a deluge of patients. However, this time, not only the Superintendent (Dr Gregerson) was out, but Dr G Misra (on call and the District Surgeon) was on hand. Normally, when a white patient came in, s/he would be treated at a different section/entrance to the hospital, and sent to Addington Hospital in Durban. Not with Nkosi! However, the team battled with him for over 2 hours before Dr Misra came out to inform everyone that ‘The Chief was no more!’ How did i identify Nkosi? During my high school days, I was a close friend of both Mogambaran Padayachee (who, unfortunately, passed on early in life) and Yumus Mahomed (both were neighbours), son of EV Mahomed. ‘EV’ Mahomed (also banned with Nkosi later on) was a committed Communist and very close to senior ANC officials. Nkosi used to come often to his place in Stanger (KwaDuguza) opposite the cemetery. My parents lived just a little further down the road. As such, I was frequently at EV Mahomed’s place and ‘bumped’ into Nkosi quite often. At the time, there was no thought of history or the future. I engaged in discussions a few times with both the individuals and was given a copy of ‘Introduction to Philosophy’ by Prof CEM Joad, which I read avidly…unfortunately, the book was left behind in a taxi on my way from Eshowe to Stanger. I told him that I had come 2nd in my school’s BW Charles Annual Speech contest. My topic on the impromptu speech was ‘If I were Mayor’. He laughed when I recounted what I had said. I suppose it was on this that Nkosi based his essay on ‘If I were Prime Minister’? At the time of the Rivonia arrests, we discussed various issues regarding student activities. Earlier (circa 1957), I had joined the ANC Youth Brigade that was launched by late Fatima Meer and Cde Sam Kikine, being introduced by Mr Yakub Khan, my then Biology teacher at Orient High (Durban). My class mates (at Stanger), Yunus, Mogambaran and I decided to do something. Opposite our school (Stanger High) was the municipal swimming pool… for whites only. There was a high wall so that we could not see in. However, some of these bloody white kids would stand on the wall, lower their pants, and show us their backsides. Others would scream ‘Coolie! Coolie!’ at us. So, when Madiba was arrested (Goolam Hajee Suleman drove him one night while he was ‘on the run’ to the border just before his arrest), the 3 of us went at night and sprayed on the walls of the swimming pools (there were no security guards those days!) ‘Hang Vorster! Free Mandela!’ & ‘Down with Vorster! Viva ANC!’, etc. We also went into Stanger and on the main street, where there was a wall of the local Madressa, we sprayed similar graffiti! Nobody knew who was behind this and EV Mahomed told me that the security police were hunting high and low for the culprits! That was our fortitude and sense of unity and commitment… none of us ever opened our mouths to anyone. (For anyone who is doubtful Yunus Mahomed, son of EV, is still alive in KwaDuguza, carrying on with his father’s book-keeping business; he can be contacted for confirmation). As youngsters, having grown up in rural areas like Colenso and Wasbank, we kids knew how to drive from an early age. My dad used to let me drive his VW. There were at least two instances when I had to take Nkosi to his residence in Groutville. I would take the back road and drop him off alongside the road, opposite his house. He always impressed on me…. ‘Take up education’! The reason Mr EV Mahomed asked me to take him was that, as a minor, if I did get caught with Nkosi, the police will rather give me a slap or two and send me home; none of my family had a record of political involvement…. I was the black sheep! Once, I was given a copy of Mayibuye. When my father saw it, he instructed me to read it and destroy it- he did not discourage me. On another occasion, I was given a Brownie (.22) by one of my comrades to keep for him. My dad came across it and insisted that he get rid of it- he did not object to my being in possession of the firearm. I suppose (being a Khoisan descendant via Adam Kok), he quietly endorsed what I indulged in! At the time, we had heard of the Gun Squad that went around picking up people on suspicion of them having firearms (for the armed struggle!). We heard terrible tales of torture and solitary confinement in the Tugela Ferry area where they were taken for weeks on end. The sad part was, if someone did not like you, she/he informed the Squad that you had a firearm… that was it! And, there were a lot of ‘impimpis’ around- you could not trust anyone! However, there was a shocking experience which made me drop out of politics just before I completed high schooling; I was sodomised by a comrade! This accounted for my absence from the struggle (or contact with Nkosi again) until the day he was brought into the hospital, where I readily recognized him. Was he murdered? Nkosi had diabetes and suffered from high blood pressure. There were times when he would feel dizzy. I knew the Groutville railway bridge (now demolished) and crossed it a couple of times. This was the link to Groutville (beside the road) over the Mvoti River. It was at this bridge that another activist Ismail Omar and his colleague Mr E Mahomedy, drowned when they jumped into the river to rescue a youngster who had slipped into the waters. The metal bridge had a narrow path to walk along. Once one reached the end of it, there was this steep drop to the ground (no steps), due to soil and pedestrian walking traffic erosion. In my view, there is a distinct possibility that Nkosi suffered one of those bouts of dizziness (if you not used to it, even a normal person can become disorientated and lose sense of balance when a train goes past at speed). That would have made him slip, or lose his balance, and fall onto the path of the train. From what I observed, Nkosi was neither disfigured nor bleeding profusely from multiple, external injuries. He was still semi-conscious, moving his hands about and turning his head. The inference is: the train must have ‘nicked’ him and threw him back onto the side of the tracks. It’s these internal injuries that would have resulted in his death. What does surprise me about these conspiracy theories, is the following: 1. Until now, nobody knows that the station master at Groutville made the call for an ambulance; 2. I believe a documentary was made by Anglo American Company on his life and death. Here again, none of the station master, ambulance driver, train driver, the doctors, nursing staff or I have ever been contacted. I am certain that, collectively, we could have given the whole tragic incident a perspective of what exactly happened if there was proper investigative journalism / reporting. For me, there was no ANC plot to assassinate Nkosi whatsoever… what I heard and saw does not support such a presumption. Amandlka! Nkosi… rest in peace! Viva, the struggle continues! Note: We, as ordinary beings, always wonder how some people end up at the right place, right time and why not us? I am over-awed that I was just one such person but have not lost my sense of reality and touch with common humanity. In retrospect, I also (objectively) consider it some uncanny coincidence/fate, whatever- 1. I knew the man personally... and went through this 'breakaway'; 2. After about 6 years, I am told directly of him meeting with an accident, identifying him and also being there when he passes away! Just another friend or colleague is one thing; this was Chief Luthuli, Nobel Peace Prize recipient! As the Rev Couper remarked after reading it, 'Wow!' If he knew before, he would have included this in his book! |
- Mxit [[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_large","fid":"405192","attributes":{"class":"media-image","id":"1","typeof":"foaf:Image"}}]] |
Tracy Cheetham, 39, Square Kilometre Array (SKA) South Africa General Manager: Infrastructure and Site Operations |
|
|
[[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_large","fid":"404668","attributes":{"class":"media-image","id":"1","style":"float: left; margin-left: 3px; margin-right: 3px;;;;;;;","typeof":"foaf:Image"}}]]I was born in Kimberley where I had a lovely life in a small town environment. I didn’t stay there for long. When I was in Standard 1, probably about eight years old, we moved to Port Elizabeth where I spent most of my childhood. My dad worked in the media and this was probably the reason why we were more exposed to the real challenges pre-1994. He had first worked in the Diamond Fields Advertiser in Kimberley and then the Eastern Province Herald. So throughout that’s been his career, media … journalist. Those days … my dad would say if the security police came to the house just let them in. You would also see marches and protests in Port Elizabeth. That was in the late 80s. I didn’t take part. I was too young. After school, I went to university in PE - to Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University NMMU) where I studied architecture – a B-Tech. Initially I was going to study music. On my mom’s side they’re all musicians so it was kind of accepted that I would study music. I used to have these piano lessons after school and through my music teacher met a friend of his who was a draughtsman. I was fascinated by what he was doing on his drawing board and paid more attention to this than the music. That was where the interest started. So, I woke up one day and decided - no music for me, I’m going to study architecture. After university, I had the choice of going to work for an architect’s office or going into the development field. I chose development as I needed to interact with people and make a contribution to the growth of South Africa. It’s not about the career for me … it’s what you can contribute. I wanted to help others and have an impact. The interaction, seeing people grow and develop … that is the reward. When you see people living in poor conditions, then see the development and somebody move into a new house for the first time with access to water, power, services - that is the reward. I started working at a non-governmental organisation in PE in 1997 called the Urban Services Group where the focus was on facilitating community development, housing and land restitution. I was involved in quite a large housing project in Missionvale, which is a fairly poor community. We facilitated access to housing subsidies, construction of medium-density housing, and then shifting the community from shacks into formal housing. That was a big project that I was involved in at that point. I was aged 23. In 1999 I was employed by the Port Elizabeth Lower-income Housing Project (Pelip). This project was to train the local community to build their own houses so we facilitated the social side which was the application for subsidies and also training of local communities. I was involved with Bloemendal Block 23 where I helped the community to build 100 RDP houses. In 2000 I went to Stockholm. I was given one year’s sabbatical and spent the year in Stockholm studying. It was an international programme so we had people from Africa, Eastern Europe ... from across the world. There were 50 of us. At the end of the year I came back to South Africa and completed the thesis for my master’s while working with Pelip. The organisation now no longer exists. It closed down after the Swedish withdrew their funding. I left PE for Pretoria right after I completed the thesis in 2001. I began work with the national Department of Public Works in the Construction Industry Policy Unit where we developed policies for the construction industry in South Africa. This is where I met my mentor, Lindelwa Mabuntana; she was my direct boss but the kind of guidance and mentorship that she gave me set the scene for my personal and career development. She was very instrumental in that. At Public Works there were a lot of other innovative programmes that we started up with the youth to build capacity in the built environment. One of them was the military skills development programme. We linked young graduates in engineering and sent them to the navy for a year to give them a bit of discipline … This worked out very well and after we would offer them bursaries to go and work in the public and private sectors. A second programme which is kind of my baby was what we called the 2014 Youth Foundation. We selected scholars from across South Africa, from different schools, and we brought them to holiday camps. We had about 108 of these scholars from across the country and they still have a Facebook page today (2014 Youth Foundation). We would train them up in engineering, looking at design particularly. This was before the Soccer World Cup so the type of projects was the design of a soccer stadium and the SKA. We were teaching them engineering design and exposing them to the construction industry to make it an attractive industry to get involved and study in. Some of them might not have gone into the built environment, some did political science, accounting ... but it really gave them a foundation. One of the participants in that Youth Foundation is now in Parliament. She was one of the representatives of Agang. I left Public Works in 2007. I had met the project manager of the SKA, Dr Bernie Fanaroff, and associate director of science and engineering, Justin Jonas, through one of the Youth Foundation projects where we asked the kids to look at the design on the SKA. They judged that project. In July 2007 I started with the SKA as infrastructure manager. It’s been seven years and I am now the general manager of infrastructure and site operations. I am responsible for the management of the design and construction of the infrastructure for MeerKAT and also site operations and maintenance of the infrastructure. Within SKA South Africa we have set up what we call the Infra-SA Consortium which was awarded the package to do the design of the infrastructure and power for SKA1, in other words 190 dishes to be added to MeerKAT which is a 64-dish array. We are going to expand MeerKAT to 254 dishes at a capped cost of Euro 650 million. We started the design in 2013 and will finish the preliminary design by the end of 2014. The detailed design will be done from 2015 to the end of 2016. The past 20 years In the past 20 years I have been very involved in skills and youth development programmes. I think a lot has been achieved in terms of access to basic needs but there is a lot of work still to do. There are still quite a few challenges but a lot has been achieved. For me the future lies in the youth, equipping them with the skills to assist with continued development. The youth need discipline, commitment and education – that is the key to the future. With discipline I mean committing to your studies and to South Africa. Discipline through high school. There is enormous scope for the future and if we look at all the infrastructure projects currently there is huge scope in the construction industry and science and technology. There is a lot of work still to be done and we need the skills to implement these projects: the construction of the SKA, the Eskom projects, energy, big solar projects, the revitalisation of the Transnet rail system, roads, schools and hospitals have to be built and maintained, we need water and sanitation … My commitment, career-wise, is to realise the SKA …I’m in for the long-haul. What’s nice for me is that my position is very design-construction orientated but we also liaise with the local community (of Carnarvon). There are corporate social investment (CSI) projects - you want to see that contribution and development in the local community as well. I work in a male-dominated field; certainly the construction industry is still very male-dominated. In meetings with contractors and engineers I am normally the only female and in SKA International I am the only female consortium leader at the moment. I have never had any challenges or issues related to me being a woman. I believe I have earned my colleagues’ respect so I have never been challenged. I would like to see more women enter the field. Women bring to the field of construction a sense of reason; there is a desire to understand the wider context of a project. The other strong point is on communication: Women are often good listeners; they possibly really listen and try to understand the core root or challenges of something. Women bring to the field a softer touch, a new perspective … 20 years of democracy After 20 years South Africa is definitely, without a doubt, a better place. What we have achieved in these last 20 years is remarkable, but the challenge is out there, there is a lot more to do. It starts with education, right from primary school to high school. I think that the challenge currently lies in the education system. Maths, Science is a big issue. Even in the rural areas … you don’t have Maths and Science teachers and they don’t offer Maths and Science subjects at school. This needs to be addressed so that you create a pipeline of skills so that others can participate in this kind of industry. Education is the foundation of everything. If you get that right the rest will follow. You often hear the youth on Facebook saying “We’ve studied but now we can’t get an opportunity because we need experience.” Somehow we need to create that platform to be able to give young graduates experience in the marketplace. It’s happening on a small scale and I think there has to be a concerted effort to expand that in future. My advice to the youth is to get a skill and then sell yourself. Your results, your commitment, passion and enthusiasm rubs off on people. This is a challenge for people in rural areas. People working on big projects in rural areas have a responsibility to play a role in uplifting communities and education. These big projects give communities access to knowledge and information. Universities also have a role to play in the rural areas. One of the things that could happen is that those students studying engineering, for example, could go into rural areas and tutor others, could take on a mentorship role to motivate and inspire their peers. Connectivity, access to the Internet, and the impact this has on not only the youth but adults too– it is amazing to see the difference in a local community. There are so many interesting things happening in South Africa at the moment. There is a lot that needs to be done though. There are big projects, there’s a commitment as citizens to the country and many opportunities for the youth. For young people to leave the country would be very sad; they should rather channel their energy locally into making it a better place here. |
|
| [[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_large","fid":"404670","attributes":{"class":"media-image","id":"1","typeof":"foaf:Image"}}]] | |
Mxit
People shared their stories on Mxit. Below is a small selection of the stories shared.
|
Yolanda Moroa (Western Cape) Letlape Salaminah (Mpumalanga) Franscinah (North West) Thabang Mokoena (Gauteng) Issar Saar (Gauteng) Dube Nhlakanipho (KZN) Sharon Hlungwani (Limpopo) Mayibuye Ndlovu, (KZN) |
- SA citizens |
GCIS
Government Communications asked its staff to share their stories.
GCIS Acting CEO Phumla Williams tells her story |
|
|
[[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_large","fid":"404683","attributes":{"class":"media-image","id":"1","style":"float: left; margin-left: 3px; margin-right: 3px;;;;;;;","typeof":"foaf:Image"}}]]I was born in the 1960s in Pimville, then called Old Pimville, in Johannesburg. Growing up at that time and being raised by a single parent had its own challenges. My mom was a live-in domestic worker and for the better part of my life I was raised by my grandmother. I could see my mother only on Thursdays when she was not working. When I was about seven or eight my mom used to take me to her employer. Young as I was I could see there was a difference between me and the children of my mom’s employer. We were more or less the same age but I was struggling with just having the basics like shoes and they had shoes. At that time I could not really conceptualise the differences but I could see what I had and what they had. I grew up and started my schooling in a black township. It was in a Catholic School. In those days the schools were structured such that if you were Xhosa-speaking you had to go to a Xhosa-speaking school, if you were Zulu-speaking you had to go to a Zulu-speaking school. The Xhosa-speaking school was far away and my mom could not afford to send me there so I went to the Zulu school as it was nearby and would not have a lot of money in terms of transport. The conditions of schooling then and those of my kids today, it is a huge difference, it is something that I will always remember. For example, in one of our classrooms there was no door and when it was winter, my mom used to wake up early to make a fire and put stones in the oven. She would wrap these in cloth and this would sustain us and keep us warm for quite a while. My mom at that stage worked at a clinic as a cleaner and tea lady and not as a domestic worker so it meant she could be with us. In primary school in about Standard 2 or 3 I was living with my mom. During that time, my mom could only afford to buy us shoes and the basics, like jerseys once a year. The pair of shoes and jersey had to sustain you throughout the year. She also couldn’t afford to get a full school uniform so she used to pad our clothes because the school was quite strict about the uniform. By the time I was at high school I knew the system was wrong, I knew something had to change. We grew up in the Catholic school and used to go to a Cathedral once a year. Even there you could see the disparities. The one thing that still strikes me and that even changed my life was that we grew up knowing that an elderly person takes precedence in terms of sitting. I remember one Easter holiday, we went to a Cathedral. In that Cathedral the grannies were made to stand up for the kids of the white parents and we had to sit on the floor because normally the Easter service used to be quite full. I was already a teenager and found this odd. By the time student politics crept in I knew the system we were living under was wrong and the poverty of my mother was real. One day my mom collapsed in the house and we had to get neighbours to come and assist. We were only told as adults much later in life that my mom had collapsed because she hadn’t eaten for three days. This was because she gave us children priority. She didn’t have enough money but she would buy a bag of mealie meal and she would want to make sure that it would last. She would give us our supper. She also wanted to make sure we would have breakfast and lunch when we got home from school. She had collapsed because of low blood sugar. Come ‘76 I was in high school. It wasn’t a problem for me to get involved. It felt natural to because I was already saying something has to happen. We said “mom, we have to do something”. My mom didn’t want us to get involved because she was scared. My mom’s biggest fear at that time was that we would get shot. We were three sisters and my older sister and I were so militant - we were not afraid. When I left the country I left alone and joined the African National Congress (ANC). I left via Swaziland at the age of 17. I did so with my mother’s blessing. With the ANC if you left the country you had the choice of going into the army or going to school. I opted to go into the army. I was afraid of the unknown, and was terrified of leaving my mother, because we were a close family. I felt so strongly about this though that it overtook everything. It helped to be young. At the time what was in my head was to bring about change. I did two years of training in Angola, one year in the Soviet Union and a few months in East Germany. Then started working in Mozambique and Swaziland and finally I was brought into the country. I had to learn new languages, Portuguese and Russian, but I must be honest, I am not that great at them. In Mozambique I was in the political unit responsible for all the internal underground units of the ANC that were doing political work. The struggle of the ANC was on a political, international solidarity and military front. I then came back into the country to do ANC political work servicing some of the internal ANC units. In exile, being a woman was an asset. It toughened me up. Men and women were fighting the same war, the same enemy; it came with its own challenges but women were treated no differently. Men and women were given the same tasks. The women and even many of the ANC men had to go through a transition. Many men were initially fixated on the idea that the cooking had to be done by women but later had to accept that there was a roster and everyone had to have a turn to cook. Many men had to drop their stereotypes so I can relate to the gender streamlining and transformation efforts today. They called us the flowers of the nation but when it came to being treated the same some of the men had to be inducted by the other men in the camp. At one stage I was the only woman in the camp. The issue of women has always been on the agenda of the ANC because the women in the African National Congress have been in the struggle for as long as I can remember. When the Freedom Charter was put in place the ANC women had already said “we want to be heard, we also have similar challenges as women and we want our rights to be addressed”. In the camps from time to time leaders from the ANC Women’s League used to come and talk to us and there were endless debates about gender equality. It was not an easy life but it was a rewarding life experience for me. I went through two camps and had different experiences in each. The first was in Quibaxe and this was very punishing and quite painful. We lived in the bush and it was very mountainous. The better part of my training was done in Katenga. Here it was much better because we had electricity and a building. It was a training camp. The challenges of being a woman in the camps will always be there though. You want your privacy. Living in the camp there was never a shortage of food. Our experience included learning to appreciate different foods. In my time I ate snake, wild cat, and monkey. There was a lot of fruit in Angola, lots of lemons, guavas, avocados so we could eat anything. I never starved. We had to deal with snakes and an infestation of rats. The rats were almost as a big as a cat, huge, and they would always pounce at night but we learnt to live with them. The rats would go for your toes and heels so we women used to wear our boots while we slept. The women were incredible. Every other night you would hear the men scream, not the women. A scary incident involved an attack by a snake. We never felt it or heard it come in. When we woke up - there were three of us - we saw a big puff adder on us. We waited until lunchtime for the snake to leave. When it did we burst into tears. In 1988 I returned to South Africa and sadly was arrested in ’89 because of an ANC cadre who had turned and become a spy and spotted me in Soweto. They arrested me before I could even meet the person I was going to meet. I went on trial and was sentenced. At that time the ANC was getting closer to forcing the apartheid government to its knees and into negotiations so I was released in 1991. I had been in so many prisons but when I was released I was in Pretoria Central prison with Marion Sparg. After my release I went to work for the ANC. My mom was still alive and when I came home she was my greatest support system. She was a pensioner and was using her own money to travel to court to be in the front row during every one of my court appearances. Going into the public service was a natural option for me. Education was a mission deferred but not forgotten. When I got arrested the first thing I did was go back to school and finish my Matric. I decided to use the next seven years to get an education. When I was growing up I had wanted to be a lawyer, but by the time I was in prison I was clear I wanted to work in the public service. I did my undergraduate, honours and master’s degree in public administration. After the elections I went to work for the public service. We sacrificed quite a lot of our lives as young people but when I look back I feel we have made a contribution. South Africa would not be where it is now had we not been resolute about changing the system. Have we made a difference in 20 years? Certainly we have made a dent. My kids no longer know any differences in terms of race. They see South Africans as South Africans. When I was growing up I saw South Africans as black and white. My son and my daughter went to a school that has all the basics. I’m working as a senior manager in the public service and I don’t think that would ever have been possible. When I joined the provincial government of Gauteng I think there were two Africans in that government communication department: a messenger and a tea lady, the rest were whites. Today the public service is completely different. There is a huge difference between Pimville of 1978 and today. Today there is a tarred road, electricity and more than one clinic. There is a lot we have achieved but there are many challenges. I am eager to get young people to see public service as a career of choice because it is public servants that can bring about change in terms of disparities and laws and make South Africa a better place to live in. My mom is no longer alive but at least I could spoil her a bit at the end of her life. She was not educated. She only went as far as Standard 4 but she was probably one of the most interesting figures in our lives. I have memories of us asking her questions and she tried to explain in the most rudimentary way our experiences and apartheid. She was amazing in the way she tried to contextualise what was happening. I knew the word apartheid from my mom. She tried to say it was wrong but I’m not sure she knew whether it would change. I am beginning to dislike the word “born frees” because I think a lot of young people are failing to appreciate the sacrifices that were made for this freedom, and the challenges we still have as a country that won’t go away if they don’t get involved. They say “we are born frees, you are dinosaurs”. They don’t appreciate that for this journey to have got this far it was because of young people who made sacrifices. They need to contextualise what we have today and what still needs to be done. It’s not unheard of to hear young people saying “government is not giving us any work”. They must take a step back and create a job for themselves. I say this to my kids all the time. Young people are on a honeymoon; we need to bring them back to reality. The struggle is not over. It is a struggle for a better life for all of us even their own generation. They must realise they must do something to carry the baton. The struggle today is for economic freedom. All of us have to fight the war. We need young people to take the country forward. We still have inequalities, the two South Africa’s, the haves and have nots, the gender and communication divide, unemployment. Those require all of us, not government alone. They require that everyone put their heads together. We have a plan but everyone has to get involved. Government can do so much, the private sector can do so much and citizens can do something, young people in particular. Regarding unemployment, we need young people to start something themselves, not say “I’ve been applying everywhere and can’t get a job”. Let them also think and be creative and work with government and some of the companies in the private sector who offer internships, who give them a lifeline. They need to take it forward. There is still a lot for us to do as a country and for all of us who can still work and make a contribution. |
|
Former MK member Lennox Klaas takes us down memory lane |
|
|
[[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_large","fid":"404684","attributes":{"alt":"Lennox Klaas","class":"media-image","id":"1","style":"float: left; margin-left: 3px; margin-right: 3px;;;;;;;","typeof":"foaf:Image"}}]]My name is Lennox Klaas but I have been all over the place and in every place I was deployed I had to use a different name. With the exception of Lennox Klaas all my other names are aliases. I was born 53 years ago, in 1961, in Port Elizabeth (PE), the place I call home and visit whenever I can. I lived in Kwazakhele until the age of 15 and went to school in Port Elizabeth. Those first 15 years I lived an ordinary life in a black township. You didn’t know what was happening beyond what was within walking distance. The life of most black families was the same. If you hear one story you’ve heard every one. We were a family of five who lived in a typical two-bedroom house. Everything was crammed into that house. You could take the space and make it into anything you wanted it to be: your bathroom, your bedroom, your sitting room, everything. So we were very fortunate in that we had as many bedrooms as we wanted in that two-bedroom space. That’s how lucky we were. My mom and dad were typical black family folks. My mother worked on the production line at Industex. They made material that people used to buy to make clothes and my mom used to work with wool. My dad worked for a place specialising in cables and then he worked in the motor industry, Ford, GM, all those motor industries you see in Port Elizabeth. Like many families he was a victim of alcohol abuse so he didn’t last in his job. The year 1976 brings back memories for so many of us. It was a time very few of us escaped, even us in PE. In and around my home we had so many fellows, about 26, in the immediate vicinity, studying at Kwazakhele High School. They were rounded up and arrested. All of them were members of SASM – South African Students Movement. Members used to meet clandestinely to discuss how to change the country and fight the apartheid system. They were connected with other students across the country. Every time you visited their homes you would find a tense situation. People would say things in not so many words. Depending on how they trusted you, they would share things in a secret way. You would find that the parents and older brothers were keen to share things about life that were foreign to you. That was the beginning of political orientation for many of us. They spoke of the ANC and gradually even the military wing of the ANC, MK, and the possibilities of us joining these organisations. These were the debates and discussions you were exposed to. You were surrounded by politically involved people. In 1976 I knew of the existence of the banned ANC and PAC and all liberation movements. We couldn’t talk about those organisations, their leaders or members; you could not even talk about the family members involved because you became banned by association. You could be arrested. You learnt how to outwit, outsmart and get around this. You learnt to be grounded, modest and disciplined because you knew if they were to arrest you, you would be history. When Steve Biko was captured and murdered by the system that elevated political awareness in PE. Steve Biko was detained elsewhere and kept in a notorious place – Sanlam. The Sanlam Building in PE was the headquarters of the security branch. Those guys were known all over the country. They used to boast about their methods of getting information. They would boast and threaten us when they arrested us. Imagine the kind of human being you were dealing with. You knew that if you were captured, even if you have no clue what they are talking about, you will eventually have to tell them what they wanted to know. Youwould draw them a map of the Soviet Union even though you have never been there because they believed you had been trained there. You had to find a way to be creative, draw that map and answer their questions without giving away anything. Steve Biko was captured, tortured and murdered there. From time to time they used to take us to the place where Steve died. You were 15, 16 and they’d show you the blood stains all over the place. Another turning point was the death in 1978 of Prof Mangaliso Robert Sobukwe, leader of the PAC. He was an intellectual who was also held on Robben Island. He contributed to making South Africa what it is today. He can be put on the same pedestal as leaders like Tambo and Rolihlahla. Sobukwe died. At the time he was not allowed to leave Graaff-Reinet. When he died I was a member of a committee put together to form a student movement that came two years later: Cosas. In 1978 we were young pressure groups that had all these other associations and formations. In 1979 I had the responsibility to arrange transport to attend Sobukwe’s funeral and join other pressure groupings associated with trying to undo the apartheid system. There were factions because by then most organisations had been banned including newspapers like World. Anything that sought to give some kind of resistance they would silence it by banning it so all associations and pressure groups were operating underground. We were a group of youngsters. None of us had a license but we got a van from a lawyer who was a sympathiser. We drove to Graaff-Reinet and met guys from all over the place. Bishop Desmond Tutu was there and I can tell you right now he assisted a great deal because it was announced that Mangosuthu Buthelezi was at the funeral. He was the paramount chief of KZN. The sentiment was that Buthelezi had joined the system of Lennox Sebe, paramount chief of Ciskei, Mathanzima, paramount chief of Transkei, Mangope, the paramount chief of Boputhatswana … they were grouped together and they constituted the enemies of the people. The meeting decided to attack and kill him to drive home black South Africans’ resistance to the Bantustans. It was a tense moment. Tutu played the role of Jesus Christ. Tutu stood between the mob and some of the kicking found its way to Bishop Desmond Tutu but he was not going to leave Mangosuthu Buthelezi alone. In retrospect it was a good move to save Buthelezi. Thanks to him, thanks to Tutu, Buthelezi survived and was escorted away. These are some of the thing South Africans have to be told. Without Tutu I am telling you right now for sure Buthelezi would have been dead. A number of engagements took place during the funeral. We received step-by-step instructions on how to make a Molotov cocktail, what we call a petrol bomb. We had to go back to PE and teach other people how to make them. It was a popular weapon then to confront the police and everyone else defending the system. At that time a bomb rocked Cawood, an area in PE. Later on we were told there had been a problem with the timing device. Then ANC didn’t target human beings. Soft targets were not part of the strategy but installations and buildings were particularly when there was nobody there, say at midnight. This was so as to register a particular position. Something went wrong with the timing device and the person who carried the bomb died during the explosion. You can imagine how the white people in the vicinity panicked. The police decided to widen the net and they arrested everyone they believed could have information. I was arrested then. I was detained for a few days and was questions about who was responsible, where they came from. I had nothing to hide because I really knew nothing. I was tortured – they used electric shocks - and I was about to tell them a story just to take off the pressure, but then the clever ones among them realised I knew nothing. By then a great deal of damage had been done. They let me go but I had to admit to some kind of guilt. At that time some schools were associated with the apartheid system and Bantu education. They were set alight by activists to register a point. So, I admitted to setting alight a school that I knew was intact. They were not clever enough to assess the damage. So, when we went to court, the case was thrown out. That was how we survived. This was around 1978. We had visitations from some of the guys, members of MK, who would come into the country to brief us and advise us about people that we should be careful of. The system was working overtime and had found people to work for them as informers; they were double agents. We were told not to let them know that we knew they were spies. We didn’t have double agents. We didn’t have the capacity to create double agents, to brief them and get them to pretend to work with the system. That was so beyond us but some of the people at our meetings were working for the system. It was very difficult to know who they were. So, 1978, 1979 Cosas was banned in Port Elizabeth. By that time every black household had lost someone, a son who was arrested, serving on Robben Island, dead or in exile. Everyone was active, including our parents. You were constantly on the road. I stopped sleeping at my parents’ home as early as 1978. At intervals I would go to school but I would see them coming and we knew they were coming for us so we used to jump the fences. They even beat our teachers and it became very impractical to go to school because we were exposing all these people. I never slept in the same place twice. You can imagine what that does. Eventually Port Elizabeth becomes as small as your fist because you’ve exhausted all of your options. At a time I used to sleep right behind my mother’s house because I knew they wouldn’t think to search so close to the house. It became so risky because we were risking my parents’ house and all the houses around there. My friends were disappearing, they were dying. Eventually I had no choice but to leave Port Elizabeth. A friend - Siphiwo Mthimkhulu - and I were planning to go to East London. He was also not sleeping at home. We had a way of communicating. Someone who was not involved would innocently convey a message. One fateful Wednesday, a person told someone and the system had come and found Siphiwo. They shot him, but he did not die. He was paralysed and had to use a wheelchair. He was going to be released but the system knew they had a case to answer because the parents were suing the Minister of Police for the shooting. It was a big case in Port Elizabeth and they knew that they were going to lose. They then poisoned him. They gave him thallium. It was a poison used to kill rats used somewhere in Europe and then banned because it was killing these rats so brutally. The rats’ eyes used to pop out and the fur would disintegrate and fall out. You would find the rat unable to run because the poison had weakened the joints. And that’s what happened to him. He lost his voice, his hair started falling out ... he could not even walk. He was dying in that wheelchair. But he was not dying fast enough. They kidnapped him and shot him. Up until today nobody has taken responsibility but there was a captain who after 1994 went to his mother to apologise and ask her forgiveness. His name was Nieuwoudt. That was how brutal they were. The ANC approached us and gave us a contact inside the country responsible for getting us out. We were in contact with a veteran of the ANC, who had been an underground operative all along but we did not know this. He was an old man. He is still there. He talked to us about the politics of the ANC, what it was and what it was not, he taught us to be grounded. We let him know when we were ready to leave. We left in groups. The first group of six left early in 1980. We were very excited. The process of leaving involved a web of underground activities. I was given responsibility to lead the group. From Port Elizabeth we were to go to Queenstown. From there an underground operative was going to take us to Sterkspruit near Aliwal-North and from there another underground operative would take us to Lesotho. Each part of the journey someone else would help you. We did not know that until much later. I was given strict instructions. Imvo is a daily Xhosa publication, mostly found in the Eastern Cape. The target audience was Xhosa readers. It had a font and look and feel, features that made it easy to spot from a distance. I had to carry a copy of Imvo, find a place in the waiting room where the transport would drop us off. I should be the only one there. The others had to hide far away. I had to read the newspaper upside down because there could be more than 20 people reading Imvo because it was Eastern Cape newspaper. I had to do something different with mine so that the person who had to meet me could find me. The code I had to give the person who had to meet with me meant “my friend” in Xhosa. My worry was “what if the person coming to meet with me was old?” In my culture I really could not refer to him as “my friend”. If I did not say “my friend” the person would leave and we would be in trouble. We were given money for a return trip from PE to Queenstown. Because we were youngsters and excited we calculated the bus fare from PE to Queenstown and with the rest we invited friends. We knew we were not going to see them again. We wanted to be nice. We bought them goodies, we played music, it was nice even though we did not tell them "guys you will not see us again". We wanted them to remember us and think of good times. We got to Queenstown around midnight. We were very scared. I did what I was told. It was like in a movie. I saw this old man coming. He told me: “You are going to have to round up the rest of the guys. The contact in Sterkspruit has been arrested.” The Boers got to know about this operation, and we had to go back to PE immediately. This man disappeared. I was confused and have to break this bad news to my friends. We didn’t have a cent to go back. Queenstown was very brutal at that time and we had to get out of there. We would have been arrested. We went to get a taxi and obviously couldn’t tell them we were going to PE so we picked a place nearby. We said we were going to Alice, school was opening and our parents didn’t know we were in Queenstown. Money? “We don’t have money but we’ll pay you when we get there”. Already in Port Elizabeth there were rumours we had left the country. When we got to Alice we didn’t know anyone but one of the guys, Bongo, remembered his mother was from there so he said we would go to his grandmother’s house. Now we had somewhere to go. We offered the taxi drivers the new clothes we had taken before leaving PE. Some of us had older brothers who were working and had money to buy clothes. So we stole some of their clothes. When we got to Alice we started looking for the grandmother. The first old person we met knew the place and showed us where to go. There were six of us. Can you imagine the size of these rondavels? She wasn’t there. She was at a function. So we waited for her. We lied to her when she got home from the function. We said we’d been on a school outing to play football and the bus got stuck so we thought we’d spend the night with her. I am not proud of what I am about to tell you. We had to find a way to get food. One of us was tasked to go and propose a lady whose parents owned a big supermarket, a big wholesale kind of place. There was a pretty young lady whose parents owned that shop. One of us had to go and be nice to this lady. One fellow, Andile, went there. One of us had 5c and we gave him that to buy stuff. He came back with all these plastics of food and change. I am not proud about this. I don’t know what became of that shop but the food sustained us for two weeks. That lady gave us food, we were comfortable ... she loved Andile. We even took care of the grandmother. We were afraid to go back to PE, but we needed to face reality. When we got back to PE we were arrested and said we had been in Alice. And when they traced us they found out we were there. We told them that we were tired of what was going on in PE, people burning things, blah blah, so we decided to go to Alice and cool off. They liked that story and we survived but we never gave up on the idea of going into exile. I successfully managed to leave the country. It was an express way of leaving the country. In 1979, early ‘80 there was a raid in Lesotho. So many people were shot there. One of them was a guy from our area and he was admitted to hospital. The mother of the guy was planning to visit the guy. The papers were legal, everything was legal. We were disguised as the grandchildren of the woman. Fake passports, fake this, fake that had to be arranged. This is how we legally illegally managed to cross the border. We met the ANC in Lesotho. They were expecting us. They found us at the hospital and took us to the ANC reception areas. We officially joined the ANC in 1981. It was the start of a very exciting journey. We were given the choice of taking up arms and joining MK or going to Europe to pursue our studies but because of our need to liberate the country yesterday we opted for military training. We went from Lesotho to Maputo, to Lusaka, to Angola for basic military training… six months. Everywhere we went we were inducted. Lectures, exposed to people doing different things, until about three months later when we landed in Angola. Some people even took ten months to get there. I was in Caculama camp. The tradition in each MK camp was that there would be a mock attack the first time you arrived in the camp. You could not be in the camp and be afraid of the sound of a gun. When you arrive the people who had done their training would perform this ritual; they were going to mock attack us. When you arrived it was so dark you could not see your finger but you were allowed to walk touching the person in front of you. The only person who knew where you were going was the one in front of you. You had no clue where you were. I’m telling you … there’s a signal given when everyone is in range and they start firing. I’m telling you the fire you hear can make you very crazy. They fire blanks but at night it is like live ammunition, the whole area lights up and you are confused because they’re shooting you, making smoke grenades, you are sure you have lost your leg and you hear people speaking Portuguese, foreign languages … You must know that at that time the bandits of Savimbi were operating in Angola, they were fighting against MK because they thought MK was assisting MPLA, the Angolan government, and they were joined by the SADF because these people were also talking Afrikaans. Remember we also had white people in the camps who were part of MK. Some of us would be captured during that thing and it was like a real kidnap. They would take us to outposts, they had big guns, they were talking foreign languages and asking us questions. You feel “I don’t know where I am, let me die, what can I do?” and you say whatever they want to hear. Remember some people were sent there by the Boers to infiltrate so they did not know that and they would question them. Savimbi was supported by the Boers. There was a battle, Cuito Cuanavale, so many of my friends died there, so many of the Boers died there. Boers, Cubans, Soviets, MK, Namibians were in Angola. There were so many people in Angola because it was strategic to all of us. It was not incomprehensible that Savimbi and the Boers would raid us so those mock attacks helped us know who is who. We learnt later that it was a mock attack. My training was long and not easy. I was deployed in what was known as anti-air. Ours was a base outside the main base. We had to look for planes coming to attack the base. We had anti-air guns as big as your cars that were so accurate. You could see the plane miles and miles away and would take out the plane long before it reaches you. Our camp was in a no-fly zone so if we saw a plane coming we knew it was a hostile plane. You don’t just shoot when you are trained. You do certain things to say “look, I see you”. You fire in such a way that you direct the plane away from the base. From time to time Cubans and Soviets would invade our air space in mock-attacks to check our state of readiness. The military training that you get… you are trained to do close combat, you are given tools to harm the person at very close range without a firearm, you are trained to harm someone using firearms... Depending on where you are going to be deployed you are trained to harm people with poison and hot and cold demolition. I trained in urban guerrilla warfare. I was taught to infiltrate and co-exist with people in South Africa without raising suspicion. My training was six months and then I had three months’ training in my specialisation, anti-air. Central to all of this is the politics of the ANC. Before you were given a gun by the ANC you had to understand the politics in front of the barrel. You cannot just shoot someone because you are angry. For about five months you are not given a gun; you have to carry a big log. Discipline was very important and they used various ways to teach and test discipline. A lack of discipline gets people killed. My turn to be deployed in the country for operations came in 1983. Someone came to select a unit that was to leave Angola. Part of the training is what we call DLB – dead letterbox. I was so excited. I thought I was going to do DLB. I’m going to be distributing arms. A DLB gives coordinates for where arms are hidden. When you are staying in an underground house you know mos there is limited movement but where I stayed in Lusaka there was lots of movement. Much later the person who came for me in Angola came to take me from this house. Some of the people were civilians. They did not train. What is going on here? I stayed in the same house as Pallo Jordan, I was working in the same place as Thabo Mbeki. I was staying in the same place with Joel Netshitenzhe. I met people who had nothing to do with the military. Why am I here? I insisted I was not going to work there. I was a soldier, going home, going to fight. They said we told you in Angola I had been selected for DIP – the ANC’s Department of Information and Publicity, not DLB. They were recruiting me to join DIP. Why me? I was never a journalist. I knew DIP had something to do with Radio Freedom, something to do with journalism, something to do with Mayibuye. I questioned: “What am I going to do here?” Mbeki was the director. Pallo was the head of the research unit. It was a serious wing of the ANC. There were all kinds of things like Mayibuye, publications that were banned in South Africa. The ANC had radio facilities in Angola, Tanzania, Madagascar, Ethiopia, Lusaka and I was deployed there, at Radio Freedom, from 1983. Established in 1978, Radio Freedom used to broadcast using the resources in these countries. We were able to broadcast messages of hope to South Africans who risked their lives to hear the speeches of Tambo and Modise. They were the voices of people you would never dream to hear. We used radio to mobilise people and assist people who had joined the liberation movement. Radio Freedom used to teach people how to identify the enemy. We managed to get people to come over to our side; there were people who came to see that the ANC was not a beast and they joined the liberation movement. The policies and principles said a human is not an enemy but their actions are. What would liberate South Africa was not the barrel of a gun or sanctions or the tried and tested leadership of the ANC but the commitment of people saying they wanted liberation. The people of South Africa and abroad made a collective effort to liberate the country so they share the blame and the glory. Individuals didn’t achieve liberation, a collective effort did. Radio Freedom invited people to participate. So many people were influenced by the messages of Radio Freedom. My role was to monitor all radio stations broadcasting in South Africa. We used to record all the news and share the day’s events with our colleagues. We would broadcast at 19h00 and comment on current events. We taught people how to form defence units. I eventually moved from monitoring to presenting and became head of the Lusaka office of Radio Freedom. Today South Africa is no doubt a better country. We have foreign nationals coming here every day, whether documented or not. They would never leave home if things were not good. We need to embrace foreigners and show them love. We need to educate South Africans about foreigners and account for all the people in this country. Obviously there are things to improve as individuals, as departments and as a country. Let’s take all that has happened and using a football metaphor see it as the first half. Let’s go into the second half of the game and change these things. Our challenges now are xenophobia and poverty. People who have given their all should be empowered. Handouts are not sustainable and administrations change their policies. We need education and government and private-sector initiatives to foster entrepreneurship. Between 12 and 16 million people benefit directly and indirectly from all the people employed by government. How do you overcome poverty? Get educated. Play the Lotto. Some people wait to inherit, some rob a bank. Our biggest challenge is unity. We should all be singing from the same page. Hatred will not get us anywhere. People must be united in their attitude to crime and poverty. This was the vision of Madiba: a society where people help each other. If we try to do things that are a pipe dream we will surprise ourselves. Did we ever believe what would happen to Madiba? The lesson I learnt from the ANC is ubuntu. If I had to personify the ANC and MK I see the image and picture of Madiba, more so now because he can never be wrong. The ANC has stood the test of time. The organisation is as strong as its members. I love this country, the organisation and I love what I am doing. I manage the radio component of government. We sometimes do syndicated programmes with community radio. Today’s community radio offers an alternative voice. We open the lines and members of the community call in. We are breaking the barriers between people and the ministers through unmediated communication. I am happy about the world my children live in now. They are optimistic, they love this country and if you were to multiply that with half the population we would have a very powerful society. |
|
September stories
Remembering Suliman “Babla” Saloojee on the 50th Anniversary of his death |
|
|
The 9th September 2014 marked the 50th Anniversary of the death of Suliman ‘Babla’ Saloojee, the fourth person to die in police custody. While the inquest suggested that the cause of his death was unknown, many believe that after having being arrested he was severely tortured, killed and thrown out of the seventh floor window (a height of 20m) of Gray’s Building, the Special Branch Headquarters in Johannesburg. Suliman "Babla" Saloojee was born on 5 February 1931 in the small town of Belfast, in Mpumalanga. Babla left home to get a basic education. After completing this he worked as a legal clerk, but often presented himself as a qualified lawyer when his comrades were in trouble with the police. In this way he was able to trace the whereabouts of detainees, obtain legal assistance and arrange for essential provisions to be delivered to them. Babla was member of the Transvaal Indian Congress, and was part of the Picasso Club - famous for painting anti-apartheid slogans around Johannesburg, and frequently helped exiles flee the country. Those who knew Babla fondly recall that he was a witty, engaging and charming Comrade. They also recall that he was a brave man who was dedicated to the emancipation of all South Africans. Babla participated in many of the major anti-apartheid campaigns such as the Defiance Campaign. He also assisted in smuggling a number of political activists out of the country – including his close friends Abdulhay Jassat and Mosie Moolla who had escaped from detention despite a massive manhunt launched by the security police. Mosie Moolla recalls the last time he had seen Saloojee. “Babla was with me when I fled South Africa. I last saw him at the border between South Africa and Botswana, where we said goodbye. He was an outstanding individual. He played his part. There were no whims, no questions about monetary gains. He believed in a cause and gave his life for it.” Babla was detained on the night of his engagement to Rookie Adam in 1961. In February 1964 he was served with a banning order. On 6 July 1964 Babla, along with Ahmed Essop “Quarter” Khota, was arrested and taken to Marshall Square. This was the last time he was seen alive. In marking the occasion his close friend and comrade, Ahmed Kathrada, stated, “Sometimes, we place too much emphasis on those who were imprisoned. We tend to forget those who gave their lives and are no longer with us to enjoy the fruits of democracy. The stories of these comrades remind us that freedom did not fall from the sky – it was fought for. It reminds us that we should appreciate what we have today.” References
|
- SA citizens
|
