The diary of Maria Tholo - August 16 - 24 by Carol Hermer

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

Maria's Diary, Wednesday, August 18

What a miserable weekend. Nothing interesting. We didn't even go out Saturday evening. We went to church in the morning but no one would say a word about all that's happening because we have this informer, Jason, in our congregation. We know he's an in­former because he's tried to get others to join up. In the afternoon we went to see the family of that boy I saw in hospital Thursday night but they already knew of his whereabouts.

I had quite a shock later. Arthur came to tell me that the schoolboy who was shot at Langa was one of the Mosi family, Xolile. I know his brother and his family quite well. Xolile was a student at Langa High. His mother is alone here as the father is somewhere in the country. They stay in one of those shacks in Elsies River. She can't get a house in Guguletu because her stay here is not legal. ¹The funeral is on Saturday.

There are several stories of what happened. One person there said Xolile was armed with a short axe and charged an African policeman. It was an African who shot him. Others say he opened his shirt and just ran at them shouting, 'Well, if you have got my friend, take me too.' So they shot him at point blank range because one of the girls behind him was hit by the same bullet. Who knows? I suppose they felt he was asking for it. ²

The children are really organised now. They meet every day. Langa High is the gathering point. The newspapers are saying that school attendance is up but that is nonsense. These children are not attending classes. They are only there for the meetings to decide what action to take next. I hear they spent Sunday going from church to church collecting for bail and for the funerals of the Mosi boy and another one who went to Intshinga. At the Langa Baptist church alone they got R26.

Each school held a collection and the principals handed it on to the bereaved families. Then, Sunday, the children divided themselves into two groups. One went to the Methodist church until after the collection. Reverend X. was outside when they left and he overheard one say, 'Right, comrades. We are going to the Anglicans this afternoon.' So another piped up, 'No, let's go to the Catholic church.' The first one replied, 'No, these Roman Catholics are very stingy with their communion. They stick to their special members but in the Anglican church we are all going to get com­munion. Let's go there.' So that's where they went and sure enough they all got communion. And the Anglicans were also distributing bread because there are no bread vans coming into the township.

They went everywhere, these students, even as far as Silvertown. In all they've collected over R800. Can you imagine?

They are wearing their uniforms all week now, even on Sundays, because the police are denying that the Most boy was a student. They've decided the police must shoot them in their uniforms.

A whole group of them appeared in the magistrate's court Monday morning. One boy had no father and he was quite prepared to stay in jail because he couldn't afford the R50 for bail. But no. In no time the other children had collected the money and he was out.

We have opened school again but with precautions. Quite a number of children are back. Their parents feel it is safer to have them here than with their older brothers and sisters. We take turns to sit guard outside so that we will be well warned should anything start to happen. Being right here near the main road one never knows if people won't just run in here for shelter from the squads, Mr. M. says we mustn't lock our gates to keep out the students because that will make it dangerous for us should they turn against us. Rather let them run in if need be.

Gus took the car to work today. He felt it was safe enough. He was wrong. You never know what's going to happen till late in the morning. About mid-morning the action started. We saw a big group of youths going to the bush up the road carrying loads of bushes and sticks like they do when they are going to slaughter and use a lot of fire. ³They were ferrying them back and forth, up and down the road.

All of a sudden there were a lot of fires. They had all lit their piles. Right up the road there were fires so that cars couldn't get through. I really couldn't see the logic of it at first but of course it was to stop the vans from driving up and down. It wasn't only bushes that were burning. They had taken a lot of tyres as well and lit those. We then noticed that the tyres from the school had gone - the ones the children used to play with. That's what must have happened to them.

I had to rush over to Mrs. B. to phone Gus not to come home by the usual route. He had to go all the way round through Section 2. He didn't come across any other fires. I don't know where the other students were because if there is one thing you can be certain of, it's that if one group was doing it here there was another group doing the same thing somewhere else.

Sunday, August 22

Yesterday was a day of funerals. The first one was that of the Mosi boy. Now because he was the first student to be killed in the riots the police were worried that there would be trouble at the funeral so they told Mrs. Mosi that only very close relatives could attend, not more than 20 people. I hear that they threatened her that if she allowed a crowd she would be endorsed out of Cape Town because she is here illegally. I don't know why she is not living with the father. He is from Kingwilliamstown but he came here for the funeral.

Now with Africans twenty people is impossible. Who can decide who is a close relative? Why, when I got married to Gus he had to adopt my whole family. If you keep counting his people and her people and her sister's people and their people's people you'll never stop counting. Everybody who belongs to that clan or that totem belongs to the family. ⁴

The students insisted that they were going to be at the funeral even though the teachers had told them that the police had forbidden this. We heard this from Arthur. Because he knows I know the family he came to ask me what they must do about catering. He is a close friend of the older brother. I told him I'm sick of large funerals. You can't tell whether it's a wedding or a funeral, there is so much cooking and preparation. But seeing the mother was struggling on her own I thought we should make sand­wiches and tea.

So even though I knew of the restriction on attendance, seeing that I was going to help with the catering I thought we should at least try and force our way to the ceremony.

The trouble was no one was sure when the funeral was due to take place. First we heard ten o'clock, then nine o'clock, then one and so on. The authorities kept on changing it. So instead of going to early morning service at church we went to the graveyard. As we turned the corner from Jungle Walk past the Langa High School I noticed that the school grounds were deserted. This meant something funny because that is where the children have been meeting and if they intended going to the funeral they must have been collecting somewhere. Police were watching the stations and the bus terminals to see that the children didn't gather toget­her. Because they wear their uniforms they are easy to spot.

But the children were too clever for the riot squad. The girls put their mothers' overalls over their uniforms and the boys took off their ties and blazers and only when they were safely in Langa, away from the eyes of the police, did they strip and get into uniform. I don't know where they did it but as we turned the car into the road that runs straight to the graveyard, we saw a whole crowd of children dressed in the uniforms of all four township high schools, and some of the higher primary ones as well.

They seemed to be in quite a hurry. I thought perhaps we were late and that the funeral had started already. Everyone along the road had come out of their houses to watch. Gus's cousin lives there and we saw her at her gate, still in her gown, as she's just had a baby. Her eyes were red and puffed from crying and we noticed all the people along the road were crying too. When she heard where we were going she just nodded her head and said, 'Okay, sisi, I don't think you'll get there but anyway you go, you go.'

We parked and followed the students through the knots of curious people flanking the side of the road till we came in sight of the actual grave. You could see from this distance that there were very few people there, a handful. There was nobody at the gate, no sign of riot cars or police.

Out of nowhere they appeared. All you could see were camouflage uniforms charging for the gate. One policeman, dressed in proper light blue, appeared in front shouting, 'Stop, or we shoot.' I thought wow, they really are all armed. They had those big guns on slings and revolvers. We quickly slunk into one of the gates but stayed in the yard, watching.

The children didn't stop. One of the boys called out, 'They say they don't shoot school children. Let them prove it today.' The policemen crowded together to stop them entering the gate.

And then as if a switch had been pulled the girls started wailing. You know how Africans can scream. 'Wah, wah, wah. It's not a dog that's being buried. We want to see our comrade. We want to see our fellow-student.' The people around took up the chorus and the next moment it was just pandemonium with everybody screaming 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' and then the teargas shot out. One minute Gus was screaming 'You can't shoot children. Let them go!' and the next he was diving away. I saw him dodging the canisters, off down the road.

Everyone was watching the canisters go up, watching to see where they fell and quick as anything the women around were organised. Some tore off their doeks, ⁵others had buckets of water. As the canisters fell they were doused with water. They pulled nappies, clothes off the lines, dipping them in water and throwing them to the children to cover their noses.

The boys had thrown a cordon around the girls, cautioning them to stand firm and sit out the gas fumes. I looked around just in time to see Gus driving off around the corner. He had dodged, dodged, disappeared and left me to myself. That's a fine husband for you, leaving me there in the lurch with all the teargas.

The children were carrying a big wreath to put on the grave but there was no way to get through, so eventually they moved off slowly towards Langa High. I ran to where I'd seen the car dis­appearing. It was a couple of streets away. Gus says he left to protect the children. I know better.

Either way he was not having any more of Langa. He wouldn't even go to church. We drove straight out and back to Guguletu. There was still another funeral to go to. This one was of the boy who had gone to Nomsa's school. We didn't expect trouble because they had a permit to be in Cape Town and there were no restric­tions on the number of people attending. I don't know why there was a difference, possibly because he was only a primary school boy.

There were no incidents. The police kept far away, just watched from a distance. The only funny thing was watching the change in the attitude of the adults to the children. There were well over eighty children present though the teachers had tried to restrict it to just the standard fives. Even the high-school children turned up in numbers. They hitchhiked from Langa and collected together.

There was a tremendous moment of tension as we saw the horde of children approaching. By now they were the fear of the township. You could see everyone's eyes turn but they just came in quietly and the bigger men gave way for them.

Now at most African funerals everyone who wants to make a speech does so but the M.C. asked that because this was not an ordinary funeral he'd appreciate it if they would stick to the pro­gramme and just hear the appointed speakers.

He couldn't stop one old man from jumping up. 'I'm not in the programme,' he said, 'but I just want to say that I have learned something in my old age when my hair is turning grey. We have always said that Christianity is what is asked of us in the Bible. I have learned the truth from these children. I'm sure all the parents here will tell you that they can get nothing out of their children. They will not tell what the others have been saying. They are as one. They speak as one and they act together. Christians are supposed to be people who are united, who are brother and sister to each other. Whereas we turn around and gossip about each other, these children cry together, laugh together.

'We must learn a lesson from them. According to African custom this is not a boy lying here. This is a man because we say that a man shows that he is one by his deeds. Here lies a hero. He has died for you and me.' Before he could go on the M.C. jumped up. 'Please friends, can we just stick to the verse that is in front of you and not flounder.'

But the man had said his piece. At least one person stood up for the truth. When we went back to the house for refreshments it was the children who were given first preference. I never thought I'd see that. The graveyard was quite full. There must have been four or five riot deaths buried at once.

We heard about another death today. This Miss Gobile who teaches at Nomsa's school. Her brother had been missing since the first day of the riots and however many times they'd been to Tygerberg Hospital and the mortuary they'd never found him. (What happens is that they put all the unidentified bodies in one place and you have to search through them like a pile of old clothes to find yours.)

Well, at the Intshinga funeral yesterday someone told the mother that they had seen Christopher's body among the bodies at Tygerberg. This person had gone to look for her own son. So Miss Gobile and the mother went there and even though they were told at first there was no such person, they insisted and, sure enough, there was the corpse.

But someone said 'No. That looks too fresh a thing.' So they investigated and finally were told he had died only yesterday morning. Imagine after searching and being put off for all that time, to miss him by only one day.

Tuesday, August 24

Daphne N.'s uncle fetched her from school today. He was one of those shot. He's just come out of hospital. He was standing with a group of youngsters watching the action when they began laughing at him. 'Hey, listen. Do you also get periods?' one boy asked. 'Just look at yourself. You are all red there.'

He looked down and saw blood running. He'd been shot in the thigh and hadn't even felt it. He went to the police station to report that he had been shot but he didn't know how and they took him to hospital. He was discharged Sunday morning and taken straight to the police station at Guguletu.

He was shown into a room in which sat two white Security Police officers. 'Where were you shot? The exact location please and no nonsense.' It was like a court case right there at the police station on a Sunday morning. When he told them what had happened they asked, 'Do you know who shot you?' 'No. I don't know.'

'Can you identify the person who shot you? Do you want to make a case?' 'I would like to make a case.' 'But can you identify the person who shot you?' 'No.'

'So what are you going to do?'

What could he do? He signed something and was discharged. A lot of people were discharged so long as they signed but the scholars all had to go to court.

Last night was my Tupperware party. I didn't want to cancel it because Angela would have been upset, but because of all the unrest I had a lot of difficulty making up my ten people. Quite a few let me down. In the end I got Shelley, Nomsa and Gus to buy things so that I could get the free gift. Gus's cousin, Agnes, came, together with her sister Noncebe. I hadn't invited Noncebe but Agnes brought her anyway. I suppose it was to keep her occupied since her shop was burned down. She had a fishery in the Langa complex. They lost a lot because they own all that machinery. They had a good stove for frying and very good refrigeration. And they thought they had almost finished paying their accounts and could start living. They weren't insured or anything.

Noncebe wouldn't know anything about something like that. She's very slow. The husband can even have a girlfriend in his car and she won't go and peep. She'll accept anything that the husband says without argument. A real country girl. But that fish shop had brought her out of herself a little so it was really a pity.

Ruth offered her sympathies. She was quite indignant about the senselessness of destroying African people's property. Someone else said it wasn't really African things because these shops, like our homes, belonged to the Board, not to us. But not everybody had their things insured so it's very casual to dismiss it like that.

There wasn't much time for talk because Angela was anxious to get selling. She's become very greedy with this Tupperware. She's out every night selling and her children are being neglected. She's also become quite a nuisance, always asking for lifts to these parties. But it's interesting to see how this selling has made her learn to talk, because she's always been a very quiet person.

Everyone bought something so I got my present. Ruth is having the next party but it won't be for some time. She is really worried about what is happening because of her boys. She's terrified that they will be picked up by the police if they are anywhere near the scene of any action. Or even that they will get excited and start to throw stones. So she's been locking them inside while she's at work.

My Matric certificate had recently come in the post. I showed it to Agnes and to Thabo when he brought her and Noncebe. They were quite unbelieving. Agnes is very unhappy these day. She says Thabo stays out late and drinks. Being in the middle of a family row sort of dampened spirits. I was pleased when Thabo left them here. This must happen in eight out of ten homes in Guguletu.

Agnes says she spends her evenings playing cards with the kids. I sent her home with some books to read.

Commentary

Throughout the country things were simmering in the week August 16 - 22. It was announced that 50 prominent blacks had been arrested including Winnie Mandela, wife of the leader of the African National Congress, currently serving a life sentence on Robben Island, and Steve Biko, the black consciousness leader.

In Johannesburg, 1050 black workers of the West Rand Admini­stration Board, the authority responsible for running the local townships, were laid off on the grounds that burning the buildings had led to fewer jobs being necessary.

There were arson attempts in Mamelodi, near Pretoria, Johannes­burg, Germiston, Orlando and Fort Beaufort. Students clashed with police at Mdantsane, near East London, Port Elizabeth and at the University of the North at Pietersburg. So far the death toll in Port Elizabeth had reached 33.

In Kimberley a petrol bomb was thrown at the house of Mr. Sonny Leon, leader of the 'coloured' Labour Party. Most establish­ment black leaders called for students to return to classes but the Dutch Reform Mission Church called on the government to release detained students and a young conservative Nationalist member of parliament stated that South Africa would be making the mistake of its life if it were to write off the riots as just the work of agitators.

In Cape Town, however, things were fairly quiet. In the black townships the clean-up started and shopowners whose premises had been gutted set up the remainder of their merchandise in the streets. Police patrols swept through the area constantly. Milk and food were once again delivered, though liquor was still forbidden. Buses stopped on the outskirts as they were still unable to reach their usual terminals. School attendance was up to 50 per cent, though the Langa High School let it be known that they would not be back at classes until after the funeral of their comrade. Xolile Mosi. By the end of the week police patrols were photo graphed playing soccer in the streets with the children of Langa.

On Monday, August 16, students of the University of the Western Cape once again clashed with the police, who broke up a march to the Bellville Court where eleven students were appearing | on charges of sabotage, but attendance at lectures began to improve, The senate of the university issued an ultimatum to the students to return to classes by the end of the month or have their examination privileges withdrawn.

In the 'coloured' schools of the peninsula, pupils demonstrated in sympathy with those of Nyanga, Guguletu and Langa. The marchers did not leave school grounds and the police did not interfere. Brigadier Bisschoff, head of the riot police in the Cape commented that he was pleased to say that 'coloured' students and pupils had behaved in such a way as to make it unnecessary to use force against them. It was a statement he would have to change in the next couple of days.