The diary of Maria Tholo - October 18 - November 1 by Carol Hermer

From the book: The Diary of Maria Tholo by Carol Hermer

Maria's Diary, Tuesday, October 19

What a beautifully quiet weekend it was. Our lives are no longer controlled by shebeens. They used to be all around us. My neighbour, directly in front of me, was one of the biggest liquor sellers. Friday was especially peaceful. That was always the worst day.

But the children haven't picked the bones yet. They are search­ing everyone who comes into the township. Isaac was telling me that last week they had raided some shebeens in Nyanga East and found nothing. Yesterday being final clean-up, one youth, a big one - more of a man - walked into the house of one of those who thought they no longer had anything to fear. He was holding an empty bottle as if he had to come to buy a bottle of beer and leave the other one as deposit.

The woman said, 'O.K. wait a bit,' and she went into the bedroom to fetch beer. As she was about to give it to him she hesitated. 'Oh, hold on. Don't go yet. I can see a couple of children walking about and as you know, they've been raiding us.' So this fellow said, 'Lady, don't worry about these children. I'm one of them. Just bring out the lot.'

He called to his comrades and they went straight into the bedroom and pulled it out from under the bed - three cases of beer. And then, ag, did they bash it. Isaac hadn't even known she was selling beer. Those kids are just like detectives, in fact better than our detectives who are open to bribes.

But some people are still getting through the search. Angela says her husband and his friends go roaming the township asking each other, 'Uphiliwa? Where can one live?', meaning where is there some liquor. Everybody is nice and dry. They end up in the zones ¹because those bachelors are watching their area. They say no children are going to get in there. And there the men are the shebeen kings - no queens. So our men are disappearing into the zones.

On Sunday we went to Agnes's place after her uncle-in-law's funeral for 'inkukuza' ². One man arrived to fetch his wife, soused. Everybody Jumped up and asked, 'Where did you get wet?' I mean especially on Sunday, and when the children thought they had wiped out liquor. So he just laughed and said, 'I am not telling because I don't want my spot uncovered and it's you women who gave us away.'

Lulu told me Seth came home drunk about 10 o'clock Sunday. She asked if he had gone to the coloured areas. He said, 'Don't worry. We've been right here in the township.' So there are still people who are getting enough.

Thursday, October 21

Ruth held her Tupperware party last night. All the talk was about the police, who have been beating up any children they see in the street who look like they should be in school. It's as if they are determined to stop things once and for all.

Angela told two stories, one about a girl who's a friend of the people at the back of her place. She was crossing the road and that red Valiant came by and someone shot her. Her mother took her to Groote Schuur and they are trying to make a case but the police deny that the red Valiant exists. Angela said she had seen it, filled with big heavily built men wearing tracksuits. One of the children in the street at the time says he took the number and the girl's mother swore she had seen the same car parked among the cars at the Guguletu police station. It's very frightening. ³

The other story was of a man and his wife who were walking up NY 1 - a main street. A riot van came past. Now as soon as most people see the vans they run but this couple didn't and the police pounced on the man and threw him into the van. The woman followed to the police station to find out the charges and they old her he was in for public incitement - he'd been shouting 'Black Power'.

She said he hadn't shouted anything and she had been with him. When she saw him at the station his head had a big gash in it and his coat was full of blood. And this was just going walking on a Sunday afternoon. They have pressed charges and the lawyer said it sounded just like another case he was dealing with, and that the man's description of the policeman who had hit him was the same as the other one.

This is the kind of terror we are living in. There are so many stories. One woman was telling us that her fourteen-year-old girl was beaten up actually inside their house in Langa. It happened last week when they were going around raiding the shebeens. They were not as successful at Langa as at Guguletu because the riot squad turned against them and tried to stop them. A policeman followed her daughter straight into the house and the child is full of blue marks from that baton. Her little boy was also inside at the time. He was crying, 'Baas, I didn't do it. I didn't do it.' The policeman left him alone but the others - she has four older children - haven't stopped kidding him about that 'baas'. 4 If you have locked your door they break it down so it is better not to.

Mandisa, who teaches at one of the higher primaries, said the Department was keeping tags on teachers to make sure they were at school at half-past eight and stayed there till three even though they didn't have anyone to teach. It is supposedly to stop the parents saying that the children don't go because the teachers aren't there anyway.

Then there was also the news over the radio that the Department was not going to pay teachers who do nothing. What are the teachers supposed to do? They can't make the children come to school.

The Department's threat was probably as a result of the meeting that took place on the 18th. Mandisa was there. The youths wanted to know where the teachers stood. The teachers pledged solidarity with them as long as they were polite and not rude as in the public meetings.

At least four teachers stood up to say that. One said, 'Look, we came to this meeting on condition that there was discipline. We want the respect that you owe us as teachers. Today you may feel you are the greatest but tomorrow you will need us. Schooling has not ended. We will still be at the blackboard, so show us some decency. We've been to the parents' meetings and seen the way you howl down the speakers.

'Rudeness is not for us Africans. It will destroy us rather than build us up. And don't think that we are scared of you. It is only because you move in a mob that you feel you can do what you like to your elders. If you continue that way, your elders will not support you. Don't forget that you are children.'

She said it was a beautiful meeting. In the end each teacher pledged R3 for the Students' Relief Fund to help for bail and for those people who can't afford lawyers.

Guguletu looks so funny. All those children of all ages on the street. The comrades have stopped the children entering the schools even if there are no lessons going on. They came to Songezu, where Angela's children were, and threw them out. But Xolani still continues. No lessons, but the children come every day and the teachers leave at three like all the other places.

So far they have left us alone. We are always waiting for it. They can be nasty if they want to because some of them are not students - they just take advantage of the situation.

The man who tape-recorded that Sunday meeting made a big mistake. Last week the students went to his house and bashed up his furniture. They broke everything, made one big pile, and turned the hosepipe on it to ruin everything that hadn't been broken. He was there but he couldn't say anything. He tried to turn off the water but they said, 'No, leave it. Don't turn it off until the furniture can float.' Finally the police came to evacuate him and his family and he's left Guguletu for somewhere.

Our dear brother in Christ ⁵was also given a warning. He told us he received a letter telling him that he was next. Why they waited this long I don't know. Our youth group used to use his house for gatherings until they found that they were being scrutinised to see if they were perhaps doing the same job. Two of them had new cars and that made them suspect, especially one, who had a Datsun, which was the same make of car as our church-mate, the informer. This poor man was terrified that the students might think it came from the same source.

The group was so desperate that I asked Mother, now that she is staying with Isaac at Nyanga, if they could use her house for practices instead of leaving it all locked up. She was delighted. Having people there takes away any ideas of breaking in that the skollies might have.

The looting is still going on. Today it was an Excelsior van and a sweet van. Some people say it is the tsotsis, some say it is the students. If it keeps on like this where are we going to buy things? There are still no buses coming into the township. The meat vans stop the other side of the bridge and the butchers go and fetch stock there. It's safe because that is opposite the Manenberg police station.

People are getting very tired of this whole thing, especially the struggle with the buses. It's the mothers who are suffering. They are the ones who have to walk long distances to get food. It's not funny walking across that bridge to catch a bus. I had to do it this morning to get to town.

Yet, in the bus, on the way to Athlone, there were two men sitting opposite me. They were elderly people and must have been very tired and frustrated from that walk. But one said, 'Don't worry. Ulunisa into. They will fix something. Nothing is ever done easily. There has got to be suffering. We haven't suffered because we still eat. We still go back to our shelters. This is nothing. There is going to be a change in the long run and you can feel it already so, my people, just have patience. The children have taken it upon themselves.' The other one said, 'But why are we the sufferers? Why can't they keep it to themselves?' Said the first, 'They are trying to make us feel the situation around us, so that we either fight them or join them. In the end you will feel that they are right.' That's all very well but I don't know that I understand the whole thing.

I am holding my breath because tomorrow Jeff's fleet ⁷is due to leave for the Transkei for the independence thing. I don't know whether the riot squad is going to escort them out of the city or what. With these children who knows whether they will be able to leave Cape Town.

Sunday, October 24

The children held another meeting today. We didn't hear about it until late because we never saw notices. They distributed them only to the nearest houses. Because everybody is always on the alert, it goes by word of mouth when there is a meeting. We first got to hear about it at Ruth's lunch party.

You could hear the noise of the meeting from all that way away, all the 'Yeahs' and the singing. Nomathuli and Yvette went and they came on from there to Ruth so we got all the news,

Well, there were all sorts of demands. We're not supposed to buy our food in Athlone or Claremont any longer. Just here in the township and pay those ridiculous prices. There are to be no Christmas celebrations this year. No cards, no buying of furniture, no painting of houses, nothing. We are all supposed to be in a state of mourning until our grievances are taken notice of.

There were arguments about girls not wearing slacks because police then think they are boys and hit them but the girls did not go along with that at all. Wigs are also not allowed. The girls must look as plain as possible so that they look like students. Wearing wigs they could be working girls. No discos, no picnics, no going to the beach.

This is nonsense. Christmas is summertime and those public holidays are the only times when families can go to the beach together. There aren't any buses to Mnandi Beach ⁸other than in summer. There was a lot of argument about all that. No discos I don't mind at all. They are such a noisy nuisance. Everyone who can afford it has got a hi-fi even if they don't have electricity. Then there are those speakers ... at first I thought speakers were useful because you can move them around, but what they do is put them on the roof so that it is as noisy as possible. The party is inside but the speakers must be on the roof.

People who have electricity are making money out of it because they allow others to plug in their hi-fis for a fee per night. They usually charge about R5, 00. That's a lot but it means you can't sleep as the lead comes into your house and you can't close the door. The lead also has to go over other people's houses.

That's how our chimney got broken because they had to tie a lead around it to go across our street and a big lorry came along, tugged at the cord and down came the chimney as well as a branch off our tree. So it's fine about the discos - less noise.

The other thing they are demanding is that those students who are in the Transkei or Ciskei come back to Cape Town. They must be home by next Saturday or their parents will suffer. One mother said she would tell her child to come back Sunday. That is the first possible date because there are no trains out of Umtata Monday or Tuesday because of the independence celebrations. This woman is not bitter. She is sending the money happily because that's what the orders were.

I feel sorry for some parents. They really saved to send their children to boarding school and now it's wasted. At the same time there are those who don't care tuppence about it. At the meeting they asked what was going to happen to those parents who didn't have the money to bring their children home, especially as it was the end of the month. They got a quick answer. 'Monday morning we are meeting at the church at 9 a.m. Come and tell us how much the train fare is. Money is no problem.' Can you beat that?

They went on. 'Those people whose breadwinners were shot, whose breadwinners are lying in NY 5 ⁹, they don't want for any­thing.' At that, one woman stood up and shouted, 'Power!' She was boasting that she gets more money now her son is late ¹⁰than when he was alive and didn't bring all his money home.

I know where some of the money is coming from. Yesterday Mamabulo came to visit Father. He asked me, 'Sisi, I would like you to contribute R5.00 towards the Students' Relief fund to help those in custody and those parents who have been left without breadwinners.' I asked who to give it to and he said any minister would do. They say there are more youth in church than before, probably to hear where the ministers stand in all this. The ministers are all supporting them though it may be in fear that their churches will be burnt down if they don't.

There were some funny stories at Ruth's party about the liquor search which still continues. A lot of people still get drunk in the coloured area. One woman said she saw a middle-aged man, coming back drunk to the township, stopped by four youths. 'You, you are drunk,' they said.

'Yes, of course,' he said, slurring. 'I drink. You drink.'

'Oh, is that so?' they said, and they took some sticks, those you use to give a child a hiding, and they whacked that man. They didn't want to harm him, just to give him a good beating so that he would listen next time he was told not to drink.

There was another story about a man from Langa who swore he wasn't going to stay dry while there were still shebeens in Sea Point. He was a really boisterous fellow and the children knew he drank, so last Sunday night they stopped him on his way home when he was nice and sozzled. 'I'm not carrying any liquor,' he said.

'Really? You have found a clever way of bringing liquor into the township - between your ribs.' And one youth took a feather out of his pocket and made him open his mouth and they tickled his throat until he brought it all up. All those they see drunk are getting the feather treatment now. They are terrorising them.

Otherwise Ruth's party wasn't such fun because the guests from Johannesburg only arrived at 5 o'clock and this was supposed to be for lunch. We had to wait for them and when they finally got there Ruth wouldn't stop shouting at them for being so rude. So we were both hungry and embarrassed. One of the guests told us about a letter that the headquarters of the United Congregational Church in Pretoria had sent to all its branches, advising parents to support their children, talk to them, help them and advise them when necessary, but also to realise that they were fighting for everybody's good. They also suggested that everyone make one white friend so that whites would learn how Africans lived, how much they earned and therefore understand what the people were moaning about.

Tuesday, October 26

Angela and I had the good sense to stay home from a meeting at. Nonswakazi church last night. Gus and Pete went. I didn't feel like it because I'd had such a tiring day. I had to phone the Early Learning Centre and that meant walking all the way to NY 6 as the people with the only nearby phone were not home. Then I still had to prepare supper, so to go on to a meeting, no. I talked Gus into going instead.

He wanted to take the car but Pete's sister warned him against it. She said it had been wild at NY 1 during the day. They had looted a butchery van and tried to burn it when the police arrived. Some children were shot and others injured. One child walked as far as the swimming pool in NY 5 with a bullet in his head.

The riot squad are fed up and have started shooting and hitting again, wildly. There's a story that it's in retaliation for one of the squad who was so badly beaten he was nearly killed. He'd followed a running child into a house where there were some youths inside who were waiting to get a chance at a riot squad man alone. They say they even stabbed him.

But it seems for every one you hit they shoot ten. The children around here are full of bullet wounds, pellets, everything. So Angela and I thought it a good idea if we just stayed at home. I was pleased Gus didn't take the car because the children suck petrol out for their bombs if it's in a convenient place. I was even more pleased when we heard what had happened. First Pete came hurrying back and later Gus. They were both in quite a state.

Gus said firstly the road that the church uses as a carpark was fuller than for a Sunday meeting. The hall was so crowded that they couldn't use the chairs and everyone had to stand. There must have been about six thousand people there. Many were standing under the open windows just to hear what was happening inside. Gus managed to find an opening and crawled through till he was inside.

Lots of things were discussed. The students were adamant about bringing the children back from boarding school. They were also not prepared to discuss the nonsense about Christmas celebrations and the liquor thing. They also demanded something else about which I am not at all pleased. On Sunday, all women must go to the zones to preach to the bachelors about this movement and what the children are fussing about. We are supposed to be there at. 9 a.m. I don't know where I am going to hide myself. They said they would know if a person didn't go. I am in trouble.

But over the two-week strike there was some argument. Most people feel it would be unwise because with this independence thing on now,' the government would be only too glad to fill empty posts with coloured people, and pack us off to the Transkei. Someone else suggested that it would be unwise for us to strike alone. We must make sure the coloured people were also in it. The reason for the strike would be to cripple the economy further and to show that our labour was wanted even if we ourselves were not treated with human dignity. Gus said that, surprisingly, the people who were most for the strike were the women. Well, for once the meeting had started on time, so by the time they arrived at seven it was almost through. Going out was a real crush and Gus lost Pete in the crowd.

There was just one gate that everyone had to pass through and Pete said that as he went out, he found a group of youths standing there, ordering, 'This way. All down the road ... To the police station . . . everybody.' Not a word had been said in the meeting about this march till now: 'One road to the police station.' It was to release those who had been arrested in the afternoon turmoil. Those who went to their cars were told to leave them there and follow the crowd to the station. As everyone walked they were

Chanting that song:

'What have we done?

What have we done?

Our only sin is being black

Let Africa come back.'

You know African people. Everything is lighter when they sing, even working on the roads. Gus said the chanting made you want to follow. The street was pitchblack with people. No cars could move. Now at last the parents were joining. They had been told, 'You people are funny. When Moses went to release the children of Israel from Egypt he didn't want just the youth. He said, "I want my people. Cripples, old people, children, everybody . . ." ' Alright, they got their way. The adults were with them now.

Except for Gus. As they were walking down the road he was thinking, 'How am I going to escape from this police station thing?' And Pete was also planning his getaway. By now they were no longer looking for each other. All they wanted was to get home.

Pete was the first to jump. He said he waited for most of the crowd to surge away and then deviated from NY 6. He went to one side as if going towards a yard, crept in, and ran. He was panting for breath when he reached our house.

Gus was with the crowd right to the tennis courts, where you turn off to the Moravian church. As soon as he felt that no one was noticing him, he slipped away. He said the chanting, the singing, was beautiful. But what he'd seen was that all along by the shopping centre, near the Teach school, there were white vans. The riot squad was hiding there somewhere. The marchers were being watched. Someone must have run straight from the meeting and warned the squad.

From this point I got the story from Yvette. That girl. You would never think she was a married woman. She doesn't work. She is always at these meetings. She is in everything that is happening in this township. She said that as they had come to the police station all its lights suddenly went out. They turned round. The whole street was in a blackout.

Now one woman, who stays near here in 108, is a sort of witch doctor. She is very fat with huge breasts. She was standing at the station yard, in front of the fence. The gates were locked and a white sergeant was standing on the other side. She stood there and shouted, her breasts bobbing, 'Hey. Take notice of us. Open the gates and take notice of us. We want our children who are in there.'

This sergeant just said one thing - 'Fuck off.' And as he spoke a white star shot up from the ground into the sky. Teargas. There was such a throng no one could move. And then shooting. No one could see anything but it was coming from inside the station. At that point they all ran. Yvette said the woman next to her fell and she was off. She didn't know what happened because she was already at the municipal swimming pool when she felt chafing between her legs. She had had such a shock she'd wet her panties. So she crawled behind a bush and took off her step-in and panties so that she could run faster.

There is a policeman's wife living next door. When I talk with her about the riots, of course, I am all against the children. You've got to take sides with the right people. When you talk to the children you are with them. When you meet somebody who is opposing them you also oppose because really you don't know where you stand.

This C.I.D.'s wife said that as the crowd came to the police station the lights were switched off purposefully. The vans were just over the bridge, out of sight, but forming a roadblock so that no cars could enter or leave. There were police ready waiting in the lanes, in the nearby houses all around, lying flat on the grass and on the roof of the police station, all armed. They could have killed the lot if they had wanted to.

I heard they arrested over 100 people. The unluckiest were the ones who had come by car and had left them there for the march. When they got back a policeman was waiting by each car. My intuition saved Gus. Mr. P. was one who was caught. The dear man came up to his car at a spritely run and the policeman put him straight in the van, no excuses accepted. I hear he was at the station until 3 a.m. talking his way out of it. The police had all night. After all, they work in shifts so they were not in a hurry.

Those who were warned about the arrests and left their cars for the night found this morning that the tyres had been punctured and there were bullet holes and scratches in the bodywork. They all had to tow their cars away.

Linda finally got through to Jeff in Umtata this evening. Not to him personally but to the house where he has been staying. He was at the stadium. Today was the final day of the celebrations. She asked the people why they weren't also at the stadium. They just said, 'What for? We're not interested.' It all sounds very unhealthy. The local people don't want to celebrate. It is only those from the outside.

Anyway, Jeff is well. Linda is just praying that he gets back safely as well. He is due in a couple of days. On the bus to town this afternoon they were talking about Matanzima. That he was selling us. That he said that he was not consulted and that he didn't want independence, but it was a lie. There was a crowd between me and the people talking so I couldn't hear every word but I was thinking that everywhere you go you hear nobody speaking nicely about this Transkei thing. Even those very Xhosas that you would think would be delighted about the project. I tried to listen to the radio last night till midnight but I got tired. It was in both English and Xhosa. It has been broadcast on and on all during the day.

In town outside Garlicks there was a very old white lady. She was wearing posters in front and on her back. About the Transkei and how the constitution had been forced on people. There were Africans in a crowd around her so I couldn't read them properly. One African passing said, 'Quite right. She can do it. She is old. They can't just pick her up and throw her into jail.' At least some­one is doing it for us because this is what we think but we can't say it.

Wednesday, October 27

I went to see Mrs. Bolongwana at Tembalethu 11 early this morning about the group pre-school project for tomorrow. More damage has been done at her school, which is a real shame. After all, it is for crippled children. They had just fixed the office, which had been set on fire, and now the windows at the back of the place have been stoned. The only reason I can think of why they keep attacking her place is that she has been so outspoken against this whole thing. Someone must have heard her and wanted to teach her a lesson.

Her daughter is in Port Elizabeth and she was cross about this order to bring her back to Cape Town. She said that rather than do that she would send her straight to Matanzima. He was once a student of her mother's. Her school has also been hit by the stoning of the buses because she used to take a lot of coloured children and they can't come into the township any longer.

Next stop was the Reverend Z.'s place. My goodness, did I sit and wait. I came at just the wrong time. They were busy with their breakfast, the maid told me, and unfortunately it was still the first course. I counted the number of times she had to bring plates. The first course was porridge and then the bell rang and the plates were taken to the kitchen and eggs and bread brought in. Then the bell rang again and the girl took the plates into the kitchen and brought coffee. I enjoyed watching all of it.

There was another auntie ¹²waiting for the father and the maid brought us each a cup of coffee. I asked the auntie what she was waiting for. She had come to ask Rev. Z. to pray for her. There is a belief that certain people can get through to God better than you can yourself.

Finally I got to see Mrs. Z. We sat talking in her dining-room about workshops and other projects. All the time there was this beautiful singing coming from the kitchen where her four children - two boys and two girls - were supposed to be finishing break­fast. You could hear that the maid was getting impatient with them. 'Eat your breakfast or voetsak ¹³out of here.' But they were only interested in singing their freedom songs.

Mrs. Z. was quite desperate about them. The oldest two were in Matric, another one in J.C. and the baby in Standard 2. She and her husband were due to go to a conference just before the September holidays so Rev. Z. said to the two older boys, 'Listen. Pack up your suitcases. You are coming with us.' Usually they are delighted to be taken along but they weren't that time,

'Why?' the one asked.

'I'm going to arrange that you write your exams in the Ciskei or Transkei. I don't mind which but I'm not coming back until I know you are going to write somewhere.'

The Z.'s went off to town and came back fully expecting the boys to have packed. Mrs. Z. ventured into their room to see that they'd put in the right things - and saw the cases still on top of the wardrobe. She found one boy reading the paper in the dining room.

'Themba, we want to leave very early in the morning so please pack now or you'll have to work through the night.' He just looked at her in a lopsided way and said, 'No, mother. Where are we going?'

'Your father told you this morning. He wants to see that you write your exams.'

'Tell father to forget that idea.' He stormed out of the house. Mrs. Z. shouted at him to come back.

'What do you mean?'

'Do you really think I'm going to sneak out and write exams? That's not comradeship.' And that was that. The boys didn't go. In fact she said she was pleased if they even came home. They didn't listen anymore. They were out all hours of the day and night. They just wanted to be with the others. The parents felt quite beaten. They'd so hoped that they would be able to work long enough for all the children to finish their education. They'd even wanted to send them to university. But now things have slowed up. I felt sorry for them.

From there Nomonde and I went to the new post office in the old Section 3 municipal offices. There were a lot of police around. The riot squad keeps a sort of restroom there. Some of them were outside chatting with the post boys in the sun. Others were playing indoor games with the township youths. It was crazy. Here was the riot squad playing with our children, but because there is a law saying we are not allowed to mix, everything has to be in a mess.

In 1960 when there was that big strike we were surrounded by the army, many of them young boys from U.C.T. ¹⁴They would always come to the houses for something to eat. My mother used to make marvellous soup and you could see them sniffing and they'd come to the door and pretend that they wanted water but when we offered them soup they'd take it gladly. And then when the beating up of the people took place, they came and warned us to hide our valuables and knives, axes and things because the army was coming to search. So we got our tipoffs right from within the organisation.

To find the sorting room at the post office you have to go right to the back of the building. All the post boys are young and they call each other 'comrade' just like the students. Now I know why we don't get any post. As I arrived the one said, 'Hey, it's half-past eleven. The meeting must be on now. I'm going.' Another one shouted, 'Wait, I'm coming with you.' And the third started complaining that yesterday they had gone, today was his turn.

So I said, 'Just hang on, comrades. You're not going anywhere until you've finished sorting my post.'

'Oh, auntie,' said the one. 'Are you also a comrade?' I answered, 'Do your work first. When you finish we'll be comrades!'

Monday, November 1

My biggest terror at the moment is the way the police are trying to beat the children back to school. I am so worried about Nomsa. I forgot something this morning and had to go back home. I'd just come round the corner when a riot van passed. Nomsa was sweeping the stoep. When she saw the van, she threw away the broom and ran inside, slamming the door behind her. I could feel my knees buckling. That's just the kind of situation they want - to run after someone, kick the door open and hit out.

But there was a group of boys on the corner and the riot van stopped on seeing them. Then there was running all over the place. I shouted at Nomsa as I went inside, 'Don't ever do that again. If you are sweeping, just turn your back slowly and go inside. But don't run.' I don't know what to do. I told Mother not to leave her alone in the house but she did and that shows what can happen.

Now that she is home all day Mother likes to send her on errands and that's even worse. One child I know was coming home from the shop. He had bread tucked under his arm. But like all the children, when he saw a riot truck he started to run. They chased him into his house but fortunately his father was there and he showed them the bread so they left him alone.

But the stories you hear are terrible. We are all so tense. They are just hitting everyone, picking them up, taking them to the bushes at Mnandi, beating them and then sending them back home. It happened to two boys in Veronica's street.

What the police do is collect everybody they meet in the street and take them towards Nyanga East where there are bushes and then they form what the Voortrekkers called a laager ¹⁵with the boys in the middle. They either set dogs on them or beat them up themselves.

At the pre-school workshop last week, Mrs. X. was telling us about a boy who lives right in my street. She had just been to see him. She said he was so bruised it was as if he had been scorched. He had been on his way to the Nyanga Administration block on Friday to pay the rent. He was with a friend and they were just about to cross an open field when a police van came by, made a U-turn on seeing them and came towards them.

This child had the presence of mind to take his money, roll it up in the rent card and put it in his shoe. The police stopped and asked where they were going. 'Why are you not at school?' they asked. When there was no answer they made the two of them get into the van.

Inside were a lot of other youngsters. They were all taken to Mnandi. When they got there the police collected some grass and started a fire. They formed a ring around the children and said, 'Right, put it out.' They had to stamp it out. And some of them had bare feet. If they stopped they got a clout with a baton. This boy was lucky he was wearing shoes, but all the time he was panicking in case the money got burned. When the fire was out they were shoved back in the van and dropped off somewhere in the township.

There is also a story that I heard from one of my mothers - her child is 11 years old - that if they pick up boys and girls together they make them have sex right there in the van with the policemen watching. I go hot with anger just thinking about it.

I sometimes wonder how many normal youths will be left in Guguletu. Maybe it's just like in Pharoah's time when there was word going round that they were going to kill off all the first-born boys. This is just what is happening to Guguletu. I can't help wishing I had never been born to live through this. When you hear b stories like this, something blocks inside you and you can't even talk for a time.

On Friday the riot police bashed the students around actually inside the Nonswakazi church where they were having a meeting. They'd stopped using the schools because there was too much teargas but they thought the police would leave them alone in the church. But no. The police surrounded the church and beat them up inside it. I've heard benches were broken and the altar is in pieces. I think the police must have done that on purpose so that the minister would not allow them back there.

It caused a lot of cross feelings. The Methodist people were mad at what happened to their church. You know how church people never want children near their building. I don't know which minister dared to ask them to collect towards the repair of the chairs and the windows etc, because after all it was not the fault of the children but of the police. But the people were just furious. They felt that the minister should not have allowed the meetings there in the first place.

But the ministers are also in a difficult position. They are afraid that if they don't let the children use their buildings they'll burn them down. And churches have always been used for school, for concerts, for everything. The one near us is like a hall. They even had a beauty contest there yesterday.

At our church on Saturday the minister gave his sermon on the story of the loaves and fishes. Before he started he looked up, saying, 'I hope there is no informer listening.' He went on to say how when Christ had fed all those people with just five loaves and fishes everyone thought he was great and they wanted to make him their leader.

'As long as you can give people something to eat, as long as they have something in their tummy you can do anything with them. Informers are like that. I think they are just ordinary greedy people. They are people who are drinking their own brothers' blood but don't realise it because they see the money and not the blood.

'But I am not talking about that. I am talking about Jesus. Now when the people found that Jesus could feed them they started following him around. He escaped to another part of the land but they followed him there. And he knew that it was not because they liked him but for their own comfort.

'But it's like feeding a crocodile. It never gets full.' He paused. 'Now I'm assuming there are no informers here.' Of course Jason was sitting right there but he didn't make any move. 'We can talk because we don't have informers. There is no place for informers in church. In 1948, many of you were around. During that time people had spirit - umoya. It was the "Let's get Africa back" movement - Mayibuye iAfrica. You could be arrested just for saying that.

'So what did the government do? They said, "Let them have white bread. Instead of exporting all the white flour, let them have white bread." Now I was one of those people who was very excited about the new bread. I would buy it and just eat the inside and throw away the crust. So that was enough then.

'In 1960 once again people were frustrated. What happened? We were given liquor. All around there were liquor outlets. So people said, "Ah, now we can sit and drink in our homes without having to hide it." And that was that.

'And now, now again the people want something. It's like a crocodile. So look what Vorster is trying to do. The crocodile is hungry, so he takes a big chunk and throws the whole of Rhodesia into its mouth. But no, the crocodile won't wait. So he throws in the whole of South West Africa and while it is chewing, takes the little bit of Transkei and throws it in too. But the crocodile is still hungry. He wants something bigger. You can imagine what it wants. But I'm not talking about that.'

That man. I think he wanted Jason to get up and say something about him. He was daring him. You'd think it would have made Jason uncomfortable. No. Not that boy. He sat there with a smile on his face.

But if the police have gone crazy so have the students. They tried to stop church services yesterday. No one would stand for that. Usually on Sundays you don't see too many riot squads but yesterday they were all over the place especially towards Section 2 where there are many churches.

The students planned a meeting at the Apostolic Church for 11.00, which is just the time of the services, and I believe they did try to stop people going to church and get them to go to the meeting. Grace's mother said a youth actually came to the door of the church and when the minister asked what he wanted, said, 'I've got something to say. You are all expected at the meeting, not here.' But he quickly disappeared because he knew he was on his own and the church deacons would throw him out.

Evidently a meeting was held in the afternoon but the police came and threw teargas. I've decided no more meetings for me.

The youths also tried to stop the weekend sports. We were not supposed to play sports because we were in mourning. Isaac, as usual, took some things to sell at the Nyanga sportsground Sunday morning and when he got there the soccer poles had been sawn off, just as had happened at Langa. But the Nyanga people said, 'Nonsense. We'll put these up again and if they come and try to break them during the match, we'll be ready.'

When he saw the youths returning, Isaac thought, 'Now there's really going to be hell here.' But the minute the group armed with axes came into the stadium to chop down the poles, the spectators turned on them. The children could see that the opposition was too great and they fled. Later, Isaac heard shooting because the riot squad came in on it too. I don't know whether someone had called them for protection.

People have begun to turn against the students. I think it's because they went beyond what it was all about in the beginning. They should have stuck to the education issue and not interfered with the other activities in the township. Especially not with the buses that take their parents to work. We are the sufferers. We have to walk miles to get a bus. Our area, Section 3, hasn't seen a bus since September.

Commentary

The country was not settling down. Speeches questioning govern­ment policy multiplied. Professor Boshoff, rector of Turfloop University, told the Cillie Commission investigating the riots on his campus that dissatisfaction with South Africa's political system and not outside agitation had been behind them.

The president of the Association of Chambers of Commerce, at its annual congress, pleaded with businessmen to give a lead in doing away with racial discrimination as far as possible. Surprisingly, Mr. Vorster, in officially opening the congress, rebuked the organisation for 'meddling in polities' which he said could only lead to a confrontation with the government. ¹⁶When interviewed by the New York Times, Mr. Vorster was reported as saying that urban blacks would continue to be excluded from participation in South Africa's political system. When asked if whites would cede power to the blacks he replied, 'I cannot foresee such a day at all.' ¹⁷

Yet an influential Nationalist body, the Afrikaanse Calvinistiese Beweging, expressed its doubts at the progress of the homelands policy and asked the government for greater consolidation of black areas.

The Minister of Bantu Administration and Development, Mr. M.C. Botha, announced a new deal for urban blacks. They would be given greater power through elected urban councils and were promised freehold tenure of houses, though not of the ground on which they stood, and not in the Western Cape at all. It was noted, though, that blacks in the urban or 'white' areas would remain secondary to whites or 'coloureds' in those areas, and that the urban councils would be linked to the homelands through appointed representatives.

Mr. M.J. Mitchell, circuit inspector of the Department of Bantu Education in the Cape, pleaded with the black pupils to return to classes as end of the year examinations approached. M.C. Botha threatened that if students continued boycotting classes, teachers' pay might be stopped, as the department could not be expected to continue subsidising the salaries of teachers while their services were not being used. ¹⁸

A youth organiser with the S.A. Institute of Race Relations explained the position of the students in an article, which appeared in the Argus of October 21. The reason, he said, why parents had not demonstrated solidarity with their children, even though they shared the same grievances and political aspirations, was that their methods of politics were different. The parents were negotiators whereas the children were activists.

'The parental generation,' he wrote, 'still adhere to the doctrine of passive resistance. They go to church and pray for change.' They saw students as children whose only goal at that stage should be to study. The students, on the other hand, looked upon their elders, who had passed through the Bantu Education system and settled in high-up positions, as immoral. Being more politically aware, they were working for their society as a whole and not for themselves as individuals.

About a hundred black, 'coloured' and Indian pupils representing 13 Cape Town schools, launched the United Students' Front to educate South African blacks politically and thus unite them.

A new wave of violence started on the Reef. The liquor cam­paign spread to Soweto and beer flowed in the streets as children invaded a beerhall and broke open the huge tanks. Three people were killed at a student's funeral. Damage of R175 000 was caused to buildings and hundreds of people were arrested, including 16 teachers and 62 pupils from the Morris Isaacson High School. Shebeens and liquor outlets were attacked.

At the Cillie Commission hearings, the minutes of a meeting held between Mr. M.C. Botha and urban black leaders on June 19, three days after the outbreak of the Soweto riots, were revealed. He had commented that the 'unfortunate clashes' over the Afrikaans issue at Soweto schools, could to a large extent be blamed on the newspapers. ¹⁹

In the two marches that took place in Guguletu on Monday 25, one of which had Gus as an unwilling participant, at least one person was killed and 14 wounded. Though police used shotgun fire to disperse both marches, the casualties occurred mainly in the earlier group, which having been dispersed, regathered in another part of the township and started throwing stones.

The threat to city parents, if their children did not return from boarding school, was taken seriously and newspapers reported a stream of students making for Cape Town. About 50 students returned from Lovedale College in Alice alone.

The end of the year examinations started on November 1 under heavy police guard but were attended by only 6 out of a possible 103 Senior Certificate candidates. Soweto examination centres were also deserted. Pamphlets urging a five-day strike were distributed in the Cape townships but others followed saying that it had been postponed. A similar strike call in Soweto appeared to have been ignored.

Sentences passed towards the end of October for offences committed during the earlier period of rioting were in most cases severe. A young father, Avontuur, received two years for inciting a crowd of demonstrators in the city and a young woman, Alida Frans, received two years, of which twelve months were suspended, for stonethrowing. She had been beaten on the head by police batons and had had to have 22 stitches. The magistrate told her she had been 'lucky not to have been killed.' ²⁰

The Cape Times of November 2 reported a feeling of general frustration in the townships similar to that described by Maria. It also reported that both Lagunya (Langa, Guguletu and Nyanga Action Committee) and the Ministers' Fraternal (the group of township ministers acting as representatives for the schoolchildren) had complained about police brutality in dealing with the children. Brigadier Bischoff, when approached, said that he knew nothing about the alleged police brutality except what he had read in the newspapers. He said that anyone with complaints against the police should come to him personally if they failed to get a satis­factory answer. Alternatively, they could appear before the Cillie Commission.