To Survive and Succeed by Mkhuseli Jack

Author:Mkhuseli Jack
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kwela
Published: 2018-08-14T13:21:03+00:00

CHAPTER 16

No cause to celebrate

I returned to Port Elizabeth in August 1980, my new status as an ikrwala man proudly declared by the ochre clay called imbola adorning my face. Word spread in the township, both among the students I was leading and the security police, that I was back in town. I arrived back on a Wednesday and was immediately informed by my fellow student leaders that a mass rally was planned to be held at the Great Centenary Hall.

I wanted to slow things down and call the meeting a week later, but my proposal was rejected. Thango Lamani explained to me: ‘We have to have this meeting to demonstrate to the enemy how much support we have behind our cause.’ Lamani was one comrade I learned to trust very early in my political life. He never got involved in hidden agendas and his mind was focused on outmanoeuvring the security police at all times. He became my trusted sounding board when I was unsure about anything political. There were others in the student leadership who seemed to pray more for my downfall than the system we were trying to topple.

The atmosphere at the meeting was electric. At least 5 000 students and their parents were crammed in the hall or gathered outside. I delivered my speech wearing my ikrwala khaki pants and cap and jacket. It was song, it was dance, it was poetry, as new speakers whipped up the crowds before I was to give my talk on where we were with our boycott. Many meetings had been held with parents, schools and other organisations and I was told to pull out all the stops to motivate the students and keep them united after six months of no schooling. The pressure was taking its toll and divisive cracks were showing between those wanting to return to school and those holding out. My opening account of the dirty trick of arresting me mid-initiation caused shock and outrage, especially among conservative parents.

By 2 am the security police were at my door. I was arrested in my ikrwala outfit, my only clothes since all pre-initiation clothing is burned as sign of leaving childhood behind. As usual, I was mocked, fed slanderous talk and driven around in the early morning with Cornelius Roelofse and Gideon Nieuwoudt and some other security policemen in the back of their sedan. They drove past bus stops circling the township, forcing me to wear my cap and jamming a cigarette in my mouth to give the impression that I was now a traitorous turncoat, a sell-out.

People saw right through them. They were used to this kind of psychological warfare. I was released after two weeks with the standard farewell best wishes – that they hoped I would be killed out there by my ‘own comrades’.

That did not succeed and they came for me again as well as the committee and others. We were detained without trial, and transferred to Modderbee prison in Benoni, a thousand miles from our homes.

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