The diary of Maria Tholo - December 16 - 1 January 1977 by Carol Hermer

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

Maria's Diary, Monday, December 20

We were all a bit anxious about December 16, supposedly our Black Christmas, but it turned out very quiet. People didn't know what to do, whether to celebrate or not. In this situation you never know whether you are doing the right thing. After all, what special place is one supposed to go to on an ordinary Thursday night? Even if someone tells you it's Christmas, it's not what you're used to and you can't just start celebrating for nothing.

Some youths did go around shouting 'Happy Christmas' and beating empty paraffin tins but it didn't last very long - not even the whole morning. And the students had a braai and a meeting to work out their demands and a programme for the 25th.

They have asked us all to show we're in mourning. We must ail wear black. If we don't own a whole outfit, we've still got to wear something black, even a scarf. We must wear this every day until New Year and then bury it in the traditional way, like after someone dies. And we're not allowed to go to church on Christmas Day. We must all be at the graveyard instead.

I don't like this interfering with church. Our youth group left this evening for Swaziland, but up to three hours ago it looked is if they weren't going to be able to go. A group of girl students stormed into our Langa mission and demanded to know how come this group of young people could even think of amusing themselves over Christmas when everyone else was in mourning. We had to explain that the whole thing had been booked with the railways more than six months ago, before the troubles in Soweto had started, let alone in Cape Town. So they let them go but they demanded that they be back by December 26. That's impossible. They were very rude to our church leaders. These girls really have no manners.

Saturday, December 25

Not knowing whether we'd be able to go to church today, I went to last night's service. Gus stayed home. He was too scared to move from his home area. Usually the Friday service is packed but last night there were barely 20 people.

The preacher urged us to defy today's ban on churchgoing because it was anti-Christ and anti-religious and this was an oppor­tunity to prove where one stood. I wasn't convinced. It seemed one of those occasions where one should rather wait and see.

I usually find it very difficult to wake up on Saturday, but this particular one we were all up very early. Gus, of all people, was determined to go to church. Last night when everything was fine he was too scared. Today, he was up and dressed in his suit. I tried to reason with him but he wasn't interested, wouldn't even look at me.

I hadn't heard any church bells ringing so I went outside to check around. I had to jump back into the gate as a small Morris car came tearing up our street. It was 6.30 in the morning but the car was packed with youths and they were all roaring drunk. They didn't look like students and we discovered later that the car had been stolen and they were on the run from the police as they had knocked someone down in Langa. But it gave me quite a fright.

There's a Langa High student who lives across the street and she was also up and about. I called over to her.

'What's happening today?'

'I'm going to the graveyard,' she said. 'Everyone's going to the graveyard.'

'But who are we burying?'

'Auntie, it's best for you to go and find out for yourself. Those who aren't there will be noticed. And let me tell you, I wouldn't go to church because when we come from the graveyard woe unto those we find there.'

It was time to fetch my mother but Gus wouldn't let me go.

'You're going out like that, in a suit? You'll come back with those clothes in tatters.' He went, but dressed just in a shirt and trousers. And I know he didn't go straight to Mother's 1 because I decided to follow - and I got there first.

NY 6 was packed. People, mostly youths, all in black, were milling around. The boys wore black lumber jackets and jeans and the girls had on black skirts and t-shirts or blouses. I overheard someone comment that there were already adults and ministers at the graveyard, so why didn't everyone go. But people had been shot dead at the Soweto graveyard so I wanted to play safe and first see how things developed.

Mother was all ready for church but I managed to persuade her otherwise. I made an excuse that it was because of the weather. Gus arrived, cross with me for having walked so far alone. I could have been equally cross with him for having taken so long. He took Mother home while I popped in to warn Jeff about a rumour I'd heard that the youths were going to commandeer his kombis the next day for a beach trip. People go to the beach every Boxing Day, but this was supposed to be a special protest trip to 'whites only' Muizenberg. But he had already heard the rumour and arranged to get the vans out of Guguletu.

I thumbed a lift back with Mrs. Maphila whom I knew would be going my way. She was actually en route to Section 4 to visit a Mrs. Xubi and very grateful to have company as she didn't like the atmosphere. There was a lot of movement around. As we arrived, two of Mrs. Xubi's kids were just coming back from the graveyard, still wearing their black clothes.

I asked them about going to church. Happily, they said that at the last students' meeting it had been agreed that our church could continue with services because for us it was a normal church day, not just Christmas.

We drove back to Guguletu to give the glad tidings. We had to pass the cemetery. There were a lot of students leaving - and the riot squads just arriving. But they didn't do anything, just stood by and watched.

Some boys coming our way quickened their step as they saw us getting into the kombi.

'Excuse me, Auntie,' one asked, 'but how many people does your kombi hold?'

'Well, about eight, but I've taken the back seat out.'

'Not to worry. We are just small boys. We'd like to go to Mnandi Beach.'

Now that wasn't anywhere near but Pamela just looked at me and said, 'I don't have a choice.' Well, what could I do? I couldn't just abandon her. We were both terrified. They've never done anything when they've asked for a lift but you never know what can happen. She couldn't refuse. That's when she would have felt their fury.

They packed into the kombi and we were on our way. 'Do you want us to wait for you or just leave you there?' Pamela asked. 'No, you can just leave us.'

'You know, you boys aren't fair,' I said. 'You tell us not to celebrate, not to go on picnics and here you are going to the beach.'

'No, auntie, we are not going on a picnic. We want to see who has disobeyed us. Some people are stubborn. They have gone camping in spite of the warnings.'

I looked at Pamela in dismay. Here we were bringing trouble. 'Look, we can't go all the way with you then. We can't have people seeing that we brought you.' 'No, that's okay. Play it safe as long as you take us near.' So we were saved. I used the opportunity to clear the air once again over going to church and also complained about the way those girls had behaved on the 20th when our youth party was leaving. The boys agreed that the girls were the rudest.

I asked them what they were going to do when they got there. 'Oh, you'll hear,' they laughed and they were off.

As we turned two young men from Langa who knows Mrs. Maphila hailed us. They wanted a lift back to the township. They were camping there and had forgotten something. As they climbed into the kombi we said to them, 'You've had it boys. Those comrades have come for you.'

They started panicking. The one had brought his clothes and his portable hi-fi and left them all in the tent. Well, they should have listened. We couldn't very well take them back to fetch their things because we could have been seen and then we'd have been in trouble for warning people.

Mrs. Maphila dropped me at my comer on her way back to Langa. Gus and Mother were sitting there stiff with worry but somehow I couldn't just come straight out and tell them what had happened. In a few moments I'd forgotten about it and it wasn't until Grace arrived that I started to tell my story. Gus was just about screaming. He couldn't get the words out. 'You know, you can sit here thinking someone is around the corner when they are already dead. But I don't know how you get yourself into these things.' Mother was furious, as if I could have avoided the whole thing.

I thought it was time we went to the graveyard. Gus wouldn't budge. 'I'm not going anywhere. I'm not sticking my neck out another minute.' So we did our own sort of Sabbath service in the house and just lay around. But I was feeling miserable.

Finally, I got up and went around to Angela - only to find that she and Linda had gone off to the graveyard, and without inviting me. One of her neighbours was outside. She had just returned. 'The whole town's there, sis,' she said. 'You'd better go. People are afraid that those who haven't gone are being marked. It's safer to go because there's nothing there, no riot squads, nothing. Nothing but people, but I don't want to tell you the whole thing. Seeing is believing. Go yourself.'

I collected Grace's mother and my own and together we went off, all wearing something black. Gus was still stubborn. We met Linda and Angela on their way back. They had thought I was already there. They'd also been told that it would be hell if they weren't seen. They told us the procedure. First we had to go to the graveyard to tidy up the graves and then to a house in NY 78, which had suffered the most recent bereavement in these troubles.

It was one thing hearing it. Arriving was still a shock. I have never seen so many people. I hadn't understood what they meant about tidying up the graves. I thought perhaps we had to clean the graveyard or something. But what it was that we had to mould the graves, make the mounds of earth on top, because these graves were flat. They weren't like the usual ones, rounded on top. These graves were separate, in three long rows of about fifty in each line. There were so many I couldn't count any more.

Usually at a new grave there is a cross with the name of the deceased, age and date of birth and death. But the graves in these lines were just marked with a stake and a number. Every gravesite has a stake but it's only when someone gets buried that a metal tag with a number is clipped to it. And these were all numbered graves but with no names on them.

Unknown graves. I was too scared to openly ask questions, but you start feeling your way and people start talking. These graves, we heard, were riot deaths who were buried by the police in the night. Some of the comrades used to come and watch. The people of Section 4 said they used to see the police coming along with big plastic bags, those rubbish bags, and bury them there. Some of the comrades dug them up to find already decomposed bodies, sometimes more than one in a bag. So, it was said these were the graves of the unknown people who were just shot at random during the riots.

Well, you couldn't know whether there were also coloureds buried there, or even convicts. But it was still terrible to think that so many people could be buried like that without the parents or people or relatives or anyone knowing.

At the beginning of each line of graves there was a man with a spade with earth on it. You took a handful and put it onto the grave. Now all day from six o'clock in the morning people had been coming to put a handful on each grave. You could tell how many people must have been there, from all the townships, Nyanga, Langa, Guguletu and all, because these moulds were growing.

I counted two out of all those graves that had a flower on them, a lousy little plastic flower, where the family had been to the police station and discovered the number of the grave. All over people were crying. There were those who had lost their relatives or who still didn't know where their children were. They couldn't help but cry to think that maybe it was their child on whose grave they were throwing earth, but which one, which one? There were so many.

All the time there was this low singing, the sad hum of the freedom songs, and all the time more people, coming, coming. I am used to going to funerals but it had never felt so heavy, people milling around singing, others crying quietly.

Some youths stood, lecturing. 'This is what they do to us. This is what they do to us. This is the treatment we get and still when we say to you people, "Cooperate with us," you don't understand. You won't say "Shoo" when someone stands on your corns. You smile and say, "That's good." '

It was quite an effort, all that bending and throwing. It was too much for Mother. We were getting so tired that we tried to dodge the last row. We went on to the house in NY 78. The owner of the house was filling basins with water with which to wash your hands and everyone who passed put down a few coins.

All the way home there were crowds of people talking in low voices about the scene at the graveyard. In the morning they said there had been ministers present and they had given a service. And after that they had gone to their own churches and some had given a Christmas service. None of the churches were intimidated. Ours would have been left alone anyway but we had been too scared to go.

I just had a couple of salads waiting at home for lunch. I had been too afraid to cook. We were supposed to be eating only sour milk and mphokoqo², but I had made a chicken and hidden it away for the next day. People were coming past the house con­tinuously on their way to the graveyard and it was already late. I wanted Gus to go there quickly. Not him. Once he had made up his mind he wouldn't budge. I was cross with him and rather bored so I slipped out and went across to the Motwelas.

What a surprise. They had quite a Christmas dinner ready. They had invited me but they hadn't said why. Everything must have been prepared very quietly.

We were still eating when Shelley arrived to ask whether I was coming home to make something for supper. The Motwelas sent us back with supper for everyone so the evening ended with some slight celebration. But I pray to God never to have another Christ­mas like this one. It's difficult to forget the heartbreak of that graveyard. There's a sad and quiet feeling right through the township.

Sunday, December 26

I was looking forward to getting back to normal today. Anything but. There is panic here. We first heard about some action when my aunt arrived, just as I had started cooking for lunch. 'I don't know what is going on,' she said, 'but last night there was trouble.' She had seen a group of youths passing her place - she lives in NY 137 near Nyanga. There were boys, girls, the lot, all singing.

Now the minute people saw those youths in a group they stood around to see what would happen next. As they passed, she said, there was a low humming, like waves. It was as if there were waves building up, growing, growing and suddenly bursting.

And then fire. As the group reached the corner of her street it broke into two, one lot going to the corner house and the other to Gqiba's place. In no time there was chaos. The corner house was set on fire. She didn't know whether they burned Gqiba's house but windows were broken and his van burned.

Just as she was telling us about this, we saw people swarming our way, lots of people running, and cars loaded. One car went to our neighbours so I thought I would go and ask what it was all about. They'd come from Nyanga East. They told me that a faction fight was raging between the township and the bachelor quarters. As we spoke, the man of the house came out saying, 'Out. Not in my house. Go away and don't offload in my place. There's no room here. Go back to where you came from.'

I thought that was very unfair - without even giving these people a hearing. As I crossed back home I saw others arriving three houses away and a van coming with more people. I went to talk to the driver. My first thought was for Isaac.

'Don't go near the bachelor quarters,' the man said. 'They are on the rampage. Even women and children have been killed. Everybody is fleeing out of Nyanga. We don't care whether people let us pile our things in the yard and sleep in the bathroom. Just as long as we're out of there.'

As more people flooded in, the cries started for all men to go to the borders. A loudhailer went up and down the streets crying, 'Amadoda, Amadoda emdeni.' ³We had to be on the alert because the bachelors, having had a field day in Nyanga, were coming our way and were just over the hill - nice and drunk and on the war path. One of our church elders was here visiting Father as the loudhailer passed by. He said that their area had already been on border duty all last night so this was really war.

At first the cry 'Amadoda emdeni'sounded exciting, but that was before we knew that the riot police and teargas were also involved. Gus and Pete ran off to go and patrol but what happened was that they were just in and out of here all day. The main scene of action was along NY 5 but they'd get as far as NY 78 and then be pushed back by the teargas and the shooting.

Some of the men were too cowardly to go to the border. They actually ran out of Guguletu, left their families and ran away. There was one man who was caught today wearing a dress, but he was given away by not having shaved properly.

Around three or four in the afternoon we heard a chanting coming from Section 3. It was a mob of women. They were well armed - each was carrying something, a panga⁴or stick or something - and all were wearing loin cloths tied around the waist, which was supposed to show that they were really going to work hard. Most of them were bare-headed which also meant 'ready for action'.

I don't know how they had heard the news so early because they were really prepared, but there had been a rumour that the bachelors were planning to kill all the children of 'these bitches' (onomokwe) and kill their babies too because they would just grow up like their brothers.

They were chanting, 'Baphela bantwana bethu. ⁵Our children are being finished so what do we have to live for,' and 'If the men can't quell this, we will do it ourselves. We are the onomokwe. We will go ourselves.'

The woman leading the group comes from NY 112. She's a very fat woman but she looked very strong. You see these films of Zulu wars and as the men go to fight, you hear the women ululating in the background and it fills the air and makes the warriors surge on. That is what it felt like. Even the cowards felt they had to get out and do something. That kind of thing can be dangerous because you stop thinking and you start feeling, 'I don't care if I die - I will be dying in battle.' That was the spirit behind them.

It was very scary. The children were whimpering. The dogs didn't even want to bark. They just disappeared to the back like when there are fireworks. Everyone amongst us must have felt, 'This is it.'

I think the riot police must have felt that too, because just then the teargas and shooting intensified. A riot van came past hailing, 'All women and children inside.' It went up and down the streets, up and down. Then another van came past with, 'Everyone in­doors. Everyone in your own house,' and within ten minutes there was teargas and they started shooting with those bird pellets.

It was all the way around us. The house on the corner really caught it because it is on the route from NY 5 where the heaviest action was. The wife was away on holiday but the husband was home so the house was open. He said people came charging inside to get away from the squads. There are holes in all the windows from the pellets. And when the people ran in, the squads followed. They were not only throwing teargas, they were beating up anybody they could see. It is one thing beating them in the street, but why follow them into the houses. This man is quite desperate. He said people climbed onto his bed and turned it over to try and shield themselves from the beating. Now it's broken. So are his chairs.

After that onslaught things quietened down a bit, so much so that I felt it safe to take Mother to work. And safe enough to venture into Nyanga to search for Isaac. I went to one of his friends who lives in Zwelitsha. All along the way were people carrying luggage. Some had prams filled with suitcases, others were in cars, any mobile thing was carrying people into Guguletu.

And there I was, alone in the car, feeling a bit nervous but wanting to check on Isaac. I cut across to the terminus. I looked first and saw nobody, but as I got there three white-doeked people appeared - bachelors. I'm not good at driving in reverse but I reversed out of there like hell. I think it was for more than a mile, then I turned back straight to Guguletu.

The roads were choked with people streaming away from Nyanga. And all along the way youths were disappearing into the bush that makes up the border. They were carrying cans, plastic cans and other containers. I thought they must be manning themselves with petrol bombs. They were exchanging messages with one another in whistles and animal sounds. It was as if the whole bush was alive. And very frightening to drive past.

The people streaming into Guguletu were full of two warnings. Firstly the Bhacas - we now call them the amasoka or bachelors - were on the warpath. And second that the police was aiding them. I asked one man, 'What do you mean? How can you say they are being aided? Are the police actually going with them?'

'No. What happens is that there are two groups - the bachelors and the townspeople. The riot squads have been driving along, shooting out teargas at the townspeople who run back in disarray, and as the teargas disperses them the bachelors fall upon them from behind the police.

'And when the people run to the squads they're told, "These people are going to beat you up. These bachelors are good people. But you people - your children and yourselves - are naughty. You are the ones who provoke them. You don't let them drink their beer and have their parties so they are going to kill you." '

Gus was waiting at home. 'Since when does it take so long to get to Thornton? 6 Are you right in your head, woman? I've been sitting here worrying.' I made some excuse. I wouldn't dare tell him that I'd gone to Nyanga. He and Pete went back to their border duty. Our area is another route from Nyanga East so though the main fighting was along NY 5, Gus and Pete and the other men of our area had to patrol nearby in case the bachelors came along through the bush to NY 108 and got us that way. We didn't like our men going out at night but at least the homes were safe.

Thank heavens; just as it was getting dark, Isaac came. He was tired, ragged. The whole day they'd been at it, trying to fight off the bachelors. His friend was still there, fighting.

He'd seen one terrible thing happen to a man who works at the dairy near him. He was near the shop when he saw a van patrolling. Now the minute people see a van they run because they know this means teargas. So they started running and as they were cowering away from the teargas, they saw this group of bachelors surging towards them.

Isaac thought that because there was a van between them and the bachelors, the police would also fire towards the bachelors and not let them through. But no, the bachelors charged on. This man, the one from the dairy, wasn't quick to run because he was right near the van and thought that meant protection, but the next minute the bachelors were onto him.

He tried to run towards the Methodist Mission and scale the fence of the school opposite, but they caught him and beat him up. People shouted to the squad to stop it but they just looked on. 7 So what must one think? I mean, if someone who is supposed to come and stop a fight just stands and watches it, it does sound as if they are against us. All they are doing is mopping up the pieces of the dead people.

They must be helping them because if these bachelors had to fight on their own, this fight would once and for all show them their place in Cape Town. They have no right to take the law into their own hands all the time. They are not so numerous that they can beat up the whole township. Even those women knew they could have beaten the bachelors of Nyanga because there weren't that many of them.

There was a Sotho ⁸chap here too. He lives near the place where it all started. We were discussing what could have set it off. He thought that yesterday the youth must have gone across to the Newlands area, which is for bachelors only. They must have found the amplifiers blaring and everyone drinking and asked them, 'What are you celebrating when other people are mourning our freedom fighters?' Now the bachelors weren't going to have anyone interfere with their enjoyment.

So they chased them out of the Newlands bachelor quarters. But being drunk and angry, they moved over to Zwelitsha and that was where they caught people unexpectedly and went on the rampage. No one knew the bachelors were on the warpath. This man said he didn't know what was happening. He saw fire and heard screaming and as it was too close for comfort, he packed some of his belongings in his van and got right out.

But how it started had become unimportant. All we knew was that the bachelors had got out of hand and were killing women and children. There was just one thought - the safety of our families, and that meant stopping the bachelors.

Then tonight the comrades came. Where these youths came from or where they collected I don't know. All we saw was a stream of them coming along from Section 3. They had come to take over from the men.

You could see they meant business. They looked like people on the warpath. They were dressed for the bush, coming along slowly, whistling and jostling each other, and in quite a happy mood, not like when the women went past. You could see these youths knew what they were going to do and you could feel the excitement in the air. We actually cheered them. It was like salvation coming. Now things were going to happen properly, because we had learned to trust that they did what they said they were going to do. You had to give them respect.

Even Father had some respect for them tonight. And he hated the guts of these children.

Any man with scars on his face was in danger in the township today. You recognise a Bhaca from the scarification. ⁹A van, believed to be on its way to help the bachelors, was deviated into NY 153 and two men were killed. People went mad. Poor Nomonde is hiding in her house because her face is so cut up. She's afraid to go to the toilet.

Gus came home at about eleven o'clock to sleep. The comrades had arrived and said, 'Alright. You adults have been at it all day. Go to sleep. We'll watch for the night. The police and the bachelors will do nothing in the dark. They are not fools. They know their white doeks will be seen in the dark.'

I was very grateful to see him. I hadn't been sure I'd ever see him again. 'We've got to sleep in our clothes,' he said, but I persuaded him to have a bit of a wash while it was still quiet and then get back into his thick bush jerseys, before he passed out in the front room.

Monday, December 27

Gus's rest didn't last long. At 3 a.m. the church bells tolled - the warning of an attack by the bachelors who hoped to catch the township unawares. But those boys were on the alert. I don't know how many comrades came to wake us, shouting, 'Alert. Alert. All people on the streets.'

Gus rushed off to the border. It was so funny hearing him use the word 'comrade'. He had always refused to say it. Nobody wanted to accept the word. It meant fear. But all of a sudden they were our friends. And there was Gus jumping, saying, 'Yes, comrade. No, comrade.'

I put on the kettle to make some coffee. Unluckily it soon got around that there was coffee in our house. I don't know how many cups I made. Every minute a new face would appear. I stopped counting. All I know is a whole big tin disappeared. Gus came back about seven. Nothing had happened. The bachelors must have heard the church bells, realised that it was a warning and disappeared.

The quiet didn't last. As if to prove that the bachelors were getting help from the squads, the minute the riot police came on duty it all broke out again. Gus went back to his patrol. The girls were terrified by this time, whimpering like puppies. I wanted to get them out of here, take them to friends in Rondebosch, but they wouldn't leave us.

The comrades went from house to house collecting petrol. All the cars in our street were siphoned. Unfortunately, our car was outside. We didn't have enough petrol for the weekend and today being Monday the garages were open, so we were going to get it filled. I had to give them the key. It wasn't worth trying to argue with them. But for some reason they couldn't get it out. They tried but most just spilled on the ground so they left us.

I asked one of the boys what they were going to do with the petrol. He said, 'Now that we know that the riot squads are helping the bachelors, we are going to dig trenches between them and ourselves so that their vans can't come past the flames.' It all sounded a bit drastic.

Later this morning, Patrick arrived. He'd come straight from the fighting. He was full of how the squads had been siding with the bachelors. Things had got so bad around their area yesterday - that's NY 78 - that they formed a deputation to go to the police station and ask for help. They went to Manenberg, not Guguletu, because Guguletu is the headquarters of the riot squad and they knew they wouldn't get much help. But at Manenberg the police said, 'There's nothing we can do. There are riot control police at Guguletu. Go to them.'

The group answered, 'That's the problem. At Guguletu, those people are helping, not stopping the fight.' But they got nowhere, so they went on to Athlone. Same story there. Someone suggested that they go to the press and to the white people. So they phoned members of Parliament and everybody, but unfortunately most of them were on holiday. But I think that some of the story must have got through because by two o'clock this afternoon the air was thick with helicopters - police reinforcements.

We were sitting outside. It was such a nice sunny day. Angela and her two kids were with us but we kept on being interrupted by the helicopters hovering above. They came so close you could count the people inside. Nomsa was so incensed she was shouting and waving her fist. She thought one was coming straight for her. It was hovering just on top of the telephone poles. I suppose they wanted to see the little group out here and what we were doing.

We heard that the reinforcements had arrived from Pretoria. This must be true because we saw different vans patrolling around - light blue ones.

They didn't need reinforcements. If the other squad people had not sided with the bachelors, they could have quelled it on their own.

By four o'clock it was all quiet again. Gus came back and we took the car to fill it up. After that we went to Nyanga to see Isaac. I wasn't going alone this time. We came along NY 78 and spotted a group of youngsters sitting on the pavement. The one said, 'Hey, look. In those bushes there are a group of white-docks. We're waiting for them.'

Just then one of those new vans came along, right out of the bush. It was a landrover. The boys hailed it. 'You know, there are bachelors waiting among those trees.'

The policeman answered, 'If they come as far as here, neek hulle. ¹⁰But if you go across that way, we'll neek you. You don't cross over this line and they don't cross over their line.'

So that was a different story. Those bachelors weren't so brave anymore with the new squads around. They kept to their place and there were no more fights after that.

Nyanga looks just terrible. Rows of burned houses, broken furniture and glass lying in the streets. It's horrible.

Tuesday, December 28

The main fighting is over but there's a lot of bad feeling left. Most of the bachelors left Cape Town over the weekend. But it seems as if we're left with what is like guerilla warfare. One boy was caught breaking into a shop, whose owner is very friendly with the bachelors. He'd wanted to set it alight. There are a lot of people who still feel the need for revenge.

There are families who lost a lot of people. One man had gone to the country over Christmas and left his wife and two kids here. He came back just to bury them. His wife had been hit by a panga and hacked to death; his two kids were in hospital critically wounded. It's sad because that woman was related to the first victim of the riots, the Mosi boy. Mosi's brother came to tell us about it. He's leaving Cape Town. He says the police won't leave him in peace. They keep questioning him about his movements.

People started filtering back to work today although most went in a bit late. Isaac was telling me that the bachelors who work in Bellville were waiting at the Nyanga terminus with their kieries. They were too nervous to leave them at home. Of course, the squads were still patrolling and a squad man said, 'No kieries on the bus.' But one of the youngsters piped up, as if he meant well, 'Oh, let them take their kieries. There won't be any trouble. Our fathers used to walk around with their kieries, so why stop them now?'

They all got on the bus. The bachelors with their kieries and the township youngsters. Isaac heard the sequel from the driver. Once the bus was out of the township the youngsters said, 'OK Dada, ¹¹use your kieries now. You can't carry them for nothing. In the township you had squads around, now we are going to teach you a lesson.'

And of course it was very difficult wielding a kierie in a bus. They have to pick up both hands and in the meantime their faces were left open to punches. The bus had to stop and the bachelors jumped out.

We saw Mr. Bengwe this evening. He had a narrow escape. He was coming back from the country through the night and he happened to come through Nyanga East early Sunday morning. The next thing there were people on the roof and inside his minibus. He's a teacher but he had been driving so he didn't look like one, or anyone special. He was wearing a balaclava and no tie.

He said, 'Please, before you kill me at least tell me what's happening.'

'Don't you know? There is a war. We are fighting with anybody from the township. We are tired of being bullied by your children.'

'But don't you think it's unfair to kill an innocent person who didn't know a thing about it? I didn't even know this was a special area for you people.'

At first someone said, 'Oh, just let's get on with it. Put the thing on fire.' But someone else recognised him and finally he was let through with a warning not to come near there again. Cars that followed weren't so lucky. Occupants were beaten up and their cars burned.

Saturday, January 1

Isaac had a nasty brush with one of the new squads. He was standing outside the shop talking to a friend. He had been busy taking stock so he had the stocktaking book in his hand. Two riot policemen came along carrying beer cans. One was a big chap, with red hair. He took the book out of Isaac's hand remarking, 'Ja, kaffir. Jy lyk vir my jy het skooltoe gegaan.' ¹²

Isaac thought he'd better cool it. The man was armed. He wasn't. So he said nothing. The red-haired man looked at him. 'As ek met jou praat jy moet antwoord. Ek is van Pretoria. Ek is nie eenvan julle.' ¹³

Isaac said simply. 'May I have the book back, sir. I am stock-taking.' He spoke in English, not Afrikaans. ¹⁴He said he could see there was going to be trouble. He kept his eyes on the man's hands and feet in order to avoid anything that followed. 'Ja, jy is slim, kaffir,' ¹⁵said the squad man, and he tried to kick out but he was off-balance. Isaac could see that he was drunk and that he meant to hurt him.

The man threw a fist at him but missed. That made him madder. By now Isaac was moving round in circles trying to avoid being kicked or punched. 'Kaffir,' said the policeman and spat on the ground, 'don't you "Sir" me. Ek is jou "baas".' Isaac said he didn't even have time to say, 'Ja, baas' ¹⁶he was so busy trying to dodge the blows.

A crowd had begun to gather. His friend called to him, 'Don't say anything. Next thing they will have you on the floor and you will be shot and they will say you were throwing stones.'

Fortunately, Isaac is athletic and the man couldn't land a punch on him. He did get one bad kick on his calf. The crowd started to shout, 'Go on Isaac, moer ¹⁷horn.' But now there were too many witnesses and the other policeman pulled his colleague away.

Isaac shut the shop and drove over here in a raging temper. But there's very little we could do. Just be grateful he wasn't shot.

A faction fight ¹⁸nearly started again - this time at Langa. We've all been collecting clothes and food for the people who lost their homes in Nyanga. The women organising this had gathered at the Reverend Moletsane's and invited everyone in Langa to bring what they could. But word was passed around the Langa bachelor quarters that people were gathering in the township, planning to come and catch them unawares. 'Arm yourselves. It's to revenge what happened at Nyanga,' they were told.

It was lucky that word reached the meeting about the rumours. I heard all this from Gus's cousin who was there. They were told that it was the riot squad who had started the stories. So the women decided that they had better go around to the bachelor quarters and tell them that no such thing was being planned.

Gus's cousin and another woman had to go to the new bachelor quarters, just opposite Jungle Walk. When they got there the men said, 'Yes, we heard about this as we came from work, but don't worry, this is not what we came to Cape Town for. We are not going to take part in any faction fight. If it comes to us we will defend ourselves but we are not going to be led into a fight.'

It was pouring with rain all day but some of the women had to go to the station and stand there and shout at the men as they came off the trains. 'Listen to us,' they shouted, 'we are women.

Don't listen to the rumours that are being circulated in your areas that we are fighting. It is not true.'

I spoke to one of the Langa bachelors who goes to our church. He said they had felt really sorry for the women standing in the rain. 'We told them to go home or they would get sick. We are not so stupid. We would never be involved in anything like that thing in Nyanga.'

Someone else had said, 'We have a link of friendship with you. After all, you looked after our wives when there were raids and they were not supposed to be in town. You took in our babies and reared them here because little children die so easily in the country. ¹⁹We're not ready to break ties with you.'

So whoever wanted to start trouble was disappointed.

In church today the sermon was about hope for peace in the New Year. I don't know. Where are we? School is supposed to start on the 5th. Will it? No one has any faith left in police protection and nothing has really changed. I said to Gus, 'You just pray that God protects you and you can continue to go to work, because more than anything you need that job and, with the state of the country, those big firms are only too ready to throw one out. And keep away from policemen.'

And that's what I pray. That we both stay healthy enough to work and that the girls get a proper education. And one day we can send them away from here.

Commentary

While the people in the townships were uncertain as to how to celebrate the Day of the Covenant, December 16, the powderkegs of Afrikaner establishment thinking were lit as the faithful gathered to hear the words of their leaders. While one or two speeches were conciliatory and acknowledged that blacks in South Africa had real grievances, most drew on traditional Nationalist mythology to depict the current crises.

Dr. Connie Mulder, Minister of the Interior, promised that the government would continue to act against those who went outside the law in the name of freedom. His only worry was that the South African people might lose the will to fight. ²⁰

Mr. Sybrand van Niekerk, Administrator of the Transvaal said that the only choice for South Africans was 'to fight or flee.' And as they had nowhere to go, they had to stay and fight. The Rector of the Rand Afrikaans University and head of the Broederbond - the secret Afrikaner policy-making thinktank - Professor Gerrit Viljoen, said that 'the true confrontation (today) is no longer between black and white, but civilisation against barbarism and chaos, Western democracy and free enterprise against Marxist state pressure and dictatorship.' ²¹

Minister of Bantu Administration, M.C. Botha, went even further. 'We know that most blacks are peace-loving and not radical in their approach to life. And yet they are being forced by loud-mouthed agitators and reckless thugs to passive resistance and taciturnity. The answer to this is firstly purposeful self-control and then the triumph of the good and honest over evil,' he said. ²²

Meanwhile at a black organised multiracial 'day of prayer' in Port Elizabeth, Chief Lennox Sebe, Chief Minister of the Ciskei, one of the homelands, maintained that 'an inbred white mentality of superiority and arrogance was setting the stage for catastrophe.' He called for the complete abolition of apartheid.

Black and white thinking on the Day of the Covenant could hardly be called a meeting of minds.

Although firmly restating the Government's belief in separate development as the only means for change, the Minister of Bantu Administration issued a statement suggesting that the following session of parliament would see important powers being given to blacks, both in the form of elected councils in the urban areas and in the homelands. He added that he believed the matter would have proceeded faster had it not been for the urban unrest in which 'so much human life, time, working power and resources had been squandered unnecessarily.' ²⁴(The importance of these councils to urban blacks was demonstrated subsequently when Soweto elections attracted a mere 5 per cent poll.)

Steps to improve the quality of black education were also announced. Free textbooks would be provided from Form 3 to Standard 10 by 1978, and for all classes by 1979. A system of grants would also be introduced to help upgrade the existing staff of teachers.

The South African government's suspicion of President-elect Jimmy Carter was confirmed when Congressman Andrew Young was appointed as the new Ambassador to the United Nations. His policy towards South Africa was unambiguous. 'I think we can't really assume the moral leadership that we need in the world in order to deal with problems like energy, the Middle East, every­thing else, unless we are aggressively pursuing majority rule in Southern Africa,' he said. ²⁵

A further attack on two houses in Guguletu and the stoning of a police vehicle on December 21, followed by the burning of five more houses and a shop on December 23, led to a huge police swoop through the townships in search of the young arsonists. A pamphlet bomb exploding in the middle of Guguletu distributed the year's Christmas message from the students - no festivities and a period of mourning, or watches it. Police protection was promised to would be shoppers but few were prepared to brave the students' revenge.

As if to warn blacks that continued association with whites would lead to their being regarded as informers, black model, Pat Malgas, was singled out for attack. She was the only black model whose face was famous in some of South Africa's major publica­tions with a largely white readership. She was assaulted and her home set alight.

Petrol bombs exploded in two crowded Cape Town department stores on Christmas Eve but were extinguished without injury to anyone.

'Peninsula looks to weekend of peace,' was the ironic headline of the Cape Times of December 25. That night the violence in Nyanga broke out. By Tuesday, December 28, 24 lives had been lost, 106 people injured, 81 houses destroyed, 58 seriously damaged and another 36 lightly damaged. Five hostel blocks were also destroyed. The damage to residents' houses was estimated at R340 000 and to the single quarters at R10 000. About 5 000 people had fled from the township, many seeking refuge in churches and white suburbs.

The accusations of police complicity in the migrant rampage led to demands for the Cillie Commission to reconvene in Cape Town. The Ministers' Fraternal of Langa, Guguletu and Nyanga issued a statement 'on the role of the riot police in the burnings and killings, Nyanga, Cape Town,' in which similar allegations to the ones Maria heard, were made. The statement was subsequently banned and the ministers responsible arrested on a charge of producing undesirable literature.

Five community leaders called on Brigadier Cerff, Divisional Inspector of Police for the Western Cape, just before New Year, to inform him that members of the riot police were encouraging migrants to attack residents on New Year's Eve in Langa.

It was alleged that police had encouraged migrants to arm them­selves and dropped pamphlets advocating the same thing in migrant quarters. If this were so, they were unsuccessful in fomenting trouble. Brigadier Cerff confirmed in January that senior officers had initiated an inquiry into the matter. ²⁶

On June 14, five and a half months after the events and just two days before the first anniversary of the Soweto uprisings, the Cillie Commission reopened its hearings in Cape Town to inquire into the Nyanga riots.

The major point at issue was the actions of the riot police during that period. Some frightening accusations had been made. The Ministers' Fraternal had collected what purported to be eyewitness reports of the events and some of these had been published in the Cape Times of February 5. The residents clearly believed that the police had fought alongside the migrants.

The cross examination of witnesses by Dr. Percy Yutar who led the evidence for the Commission, showed clearly that he wished to demonstrate that the residents were exaggerating, that the residents' children were initially responsible for the troubles, and that the police had been impartial. Frequently questions were not directly related to witnesses' testimony but referred to the Comrades movement, the fact that it had destroyed township property, interfered with migrant enjoyment and generally dis­rupted township life.

It does seem that the trouble was started by the failure of the migrants to identify with the political ideals of the youths, and it are very likely that the youths were responsible for the first attacks. But the members of the Cillie Commission did not share the political aspirations of the township young, so one could hardly expect them to be sympathetic to the anger of the children at finding other black people uncaring about the situation and the fact that they were in mourning.

In any case, the issue of who started what was a red herring. Had the police encouraged the migrants or not? Whether it was in attack or retaliation was irrelevant.

One of the first witnesses was Mr. Oscar Mpetha, Chairman of the Nyanga Residents' Committee. He stated that when police were between migrants and residents, the police had shot only in the direction of the residents. He also believed that there would have been considerably less loss of life had there been no police around at all. ²⁷

Mr. Mpetha was closely cross-examined by Dr. Yutar. After citing several incidents in which migrants were attacked by resi­dents, Dr. Yutar told Mr. Mpetha that police evidence would show that 'they tried their level best to reason with both sides and although the migrants were prepared to listen to them, the resi­dents were not.

He quoted a Nyanga shopkeeper whose statement appeared in the Cape Times, on December 28. According to him it was the youths who had started all the trouble. (This shopkeeper was a man distrusted by the youths and many township residents because of his alleged friendship with the riot police and the migrants. It was unlikely that he would have said anything complimentary about the Comrades after being singled out as a target on suspicion of being an informer.)

In reply, Mr. Mpetha asked why had residents been shot in their homes and why had people been shot in the township if there was a boundary beyond which the migrants were supposed to stay. He also asked how many residents had been shot in the migrants' area. ²⁹

More residents gave evidence. The stories were endless. They spoke of migrants hanging onto the backs of police vans, of migrants following policemen into houses when beckoned, of migrants setting fire to houses while police looked on.

A 64-year-old woman told of having been shot in her backyard while looking after her five grandchildren. She was emphatic that the policeman who shot her was looking directly at her and was sober. ³⁰

Mr. George Ndesi, another member of the Nyanga Residents' Action Committee had had his home set alight by the students after he sent his son to school in the Transkei. He stated, never­theless, that though the children had caused an 'awful lot of trouble' in the townships, the police had failed in their duty during the Christmas unrest and that they had instigated the migrants. ³¹

The case of the dairyman, whose attack in front of the police was described by Isaac, came up. A witness told the Commission that a policeman, whose vehicle he identified, had said, 'Laat hom vrek, when asked to intervene on the man's behalf. The witness, Mr. Noel Mutlane, who had begged for assistance for the dairyman, had been ordered to move on at the point of a shotgun. In mitigation, the Commission pointed out that the dairyman was later asked to identify his assailants, one of whom had been arrested. ³³

A 60-year-old pensioner, Mr. Alfred Ndamane, described another incident. He was standing just outside his yard when he saw a Mr. Jackson Gishi come out of his house, 'badly held by police,' who then 'just flung him over to the bachelors who assaulted him. The police did nothing to prevent the assault. Mr. Gishi later died. ³⁴

Mr. Longman Tono described how police had removed his neighbour from his house and handed him over to three migrant workers who beat him 'until he stopped screaming.' Another witness also described this case. The verbatim newspaper reports of this evidence have been included to indicate the line of ques­tioning taken by the Commission.

Mr. Tono said that on running to his house 'he noticed his neighbour, a Mr. Mtombeni, entering his own home.

'Through a window in my house I saw a vehicle pull up and then I heard my neighbour's door being kicked open. Then I heard a gunshot from his house, and two policemen came out of it, holding Mr. Mtombeni between them.

'I saw the policemen beckoning, and got the impression they were summoning another vehicle to take Mr. Mtombeni to the police station. Then I saw three migrant workers coming.

'The police let Mr. Mtombeni go and as they did so, one of the migrants struck him on the head with an axe. Mr. Mtombeni collapsed inside my yard. He got up, staggered to my doorway and then was again chopped, till he stopped screaming.

'The policemen stood by and watched while all this was happening.' ³⁵

Mr. Jeffrey Dyani told a similar story. After a day of incidents, 'I saw two policemen come out of another house with a man. They hurled the man through the gate and handed him to migrant workers waiting outside the gate. I was later told this man's name was Lawrence Mtombeni.

'The migrants chopped him with axes and beat him with sticks and other weapons.' ³⁶

During cross-examination Dr. Yutar said, 'In my search for the truth, Mr. Mtombeni was interviewed and a statement taken from him. I will tell you in advance that he denies that two policemen came for him.'

Mr. Dyani: He will never deny that.

Dr. Yutar: He denies that he was dragged out.

Mr. Dyani: I will stick to my evidence. If he wants to deny, that is up to him.

Dr. Yutar (reading Mr. Mtombeni's statement): 'On that particular day my wife and children were not at home. I was alone and closed the front door, but did not lock it, and went to the kitchen.

'About five minutes later my front door was kicked open and I walked towards it from the kitchen.

'A policeman in "blom pyjamas" ³⁷entered. A Landrover was parked outside. He had a gun in his hand and the barrel was pointing forward. He was about two steps away from me.

'He did not speak and fired a shot through the kitchen to out­side. I grabbed the gun by the barrel and pushed it away from me, then grabbed his left arm. He bumped me and said, "Los, los."³⁸

'I did not let him go, but pushed him backwards out of the front door and said, "I am not going to let go." I was scared he would shoot me.

'There were 30 to 40 migrants standing opposite my house. At the Landrover there were two policemen, one of whom asked the policeman with whom I was struggling why he had me. He replied that he was taking me to the van.

'The other said, "Ag, los hom, hulle gaan hom regmaak." ³⁹

'I was still holding onto the barrel of the gun when the police­man pulled it away from me and let go my shoulders. I then ran to my house and the three policemen stood at the Landrover.

'The migrants then stormed me and assaulted me with kieries and axes. I was chopped and beaten. I then became unconscious and came round in hospital.'

Dr. Yutar said Mr. Mtombeni's only complaint against the police was that they had not interfered or tried to prevent the assault by the migrants. ⁴⁰

The police could hardly call the statement a refutation of alleged bias. The Commission appeared to be attempting firstly, to lay the blame on the residents' children; secondly, by virtue of the fact that they were not in control of their children, to show that the residents deserved what had happened; and thirdly, to accuse scandal-mongering priests, the Ministers' Fraternal, of blowing the whole thing up out of nothing.

The Commission called two migrant workers to give evidence. The first testified that he did not know what the causes of the troubles were but that he had seen police trying to prevent clashes. In reply to a question by Dr. Yutar he denied having seen any inflammatory pamphlets issued allegedly by the riot police. ⁴¹

That is not surprising. The pamphlets were alleged to have been distributed in Langa, not in Nyanga.

A migrant leader told the Commission that the residents had attacked the single houses several times before migrants retaliated. It was not suggested that his evidence might be one-sided, an accusation often flung at the residents. ⁴²

Finally, the police gave evidence. Lieutenant Johannes Visser, in charge of a riot police patrol during the Christmas riots, flatly denied all the charges. Riot police had not encouraged migrants, nor had he seen any stand by while migrants attacked. Instead they had tried repeatedly to bring peace to the area. ⁴³

Questioned by Mr. Ngo, Lieutenant Visser said he was unable to offer any explanation why a succession of witnesses should testify before the Commission to the type of incidents the police were now denying.

A senior police officer stated that an independent investigation by the police had uncovered no evidence of police misconduct and that in fact they had had to act in extremely difficult circum­stances trying to bring order to many thousands of fighting men. ⁴⁴

The police certainly had had a difficult task. But the evidence suggested that they had believed the urban blacks deserved punish­ment and had acted accordingly. One only needs to look at the figures. More residents died than migrants. Much more resident property was destroyed than that of migrants.

The migrant population of Nyanga was not large and in early December the residents had had no difficulty in defeating them. The only difference in the mix at Christmas time was the active intervention of the riot police. The old principle of 'divide and rule* had won again, to the detriment of all black people in the townships.