The diary of Maria Tholo - September 20 - October 17 by Carol Hermer

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

Maria's Diary, Wednesday, September 29

I thought things might calm down after the stayaway, but no. Now the youths are after the primary schools. Last Thursday was Nomsa's last day at school. Some boys came round to see the principal and the next thing Nomsa was home with instructions to go back at her own risk. That's all I need. I don't know what I'm going to do with her every day. She is so bored.

Of all the useless things, they have printed pamphlets to try to get the youths to go back to school. Mrs. M. says the teachers had to take them around to the children themselves, door to door. They have the usual sort of message. Nothing can be done through rioting. Don't listen to those people who are trying to keep you away from school, who are saying this and this and this. It is pointless staying away. Things like that.

All primary school children who have older brothers, sisters or cousins had to take them too. Nomsa had to take one to her cousin. She did it and all he said was, 'Oh thanks, that's very nice of you, but you see there's nothing I can do about it. The others aren't going to school so why should I?'

So far they've left us alone. We have 30 children coming. It's more than any other pre-primary, but I don't know for how long. Nomonde and I take turns to have a morning off because there is so little to do. It's funny how one becomes used to seeing police cars and crowds of children around.

But people still feel there must be no turning back even though they are very, very tired of all the tension, never knowing whether there are going to be buses or food supplies in the township, or whatever. I often think they secretly hope the children will go back to school after the holidays.

One little boy, Zukile, came to sit with me while I was writing. His sister is at a high school. I think it is I.D. Mkize. I asked him if his sister was going back to school.

'No, she's not.'

'Why not?'

'Don't you know?' he said. Remember he's four and a half. 'We want our blood, we want our people, we want our school and we don't want to learn the rubbish. And we don't want the umboom-boom.'

At that age!

Though I must say at that age he's old enough to be shot. I got such a fright last week. There were ten children left, all of who live in Section 4. So when one of their fathers arrived, I asked him, if I helped as far as NY 5, could he carry on with the lot from there. We left, me with about six kids and he with four.

We were just at the corner of 108 and NY 6 when I saw a bus coming along NY 6 towards us. Now on that corner there is a grassy patch and a whole lot of little kids had gathered. Very young kids, the age of those at the school - from two upwards. They were playing with bicycle tyres and a couple of them had gathered some stones.

And there came the bus. One little girl got excited. A really little thing. She didn't even have panties. There she was shouting and suddenly I realised she was about to throw stones at this bus, These children stay along 108, they've seen what's been happening and the stonethrowing at cars and buses and all. And now they wanted to copy it.

I pushed the children over to the Mr. N., grabbed a big stick and rushed across the road shouting, 'Go home,' beating the stick on the ground as if I was about to hit them. So they ran and one of the mothers came out to see what the shouting was about and why I was scaring her children. She wouldn't believe that they had been about to throw stones.

Just then a riot car came along. If they had seen that they would have fired. They don't care about the age group of the children.

Monday, I went to see if Miss Mtonintsi was still getting the bread and soup from the school feeding people. ¹Our system had been in operation for only two weeks when the trouble started and that was that. Her school, Xolani, is the only primary school that has kept going.

On Thursday, she had the same warning as had been given at Nomsa's school but she wasn't so cooperative. Eight boys came, she said, seven of them ex-pupils others. The eighth boy, who was acting as spokesman, was a stranger. When they told her 'No school tomorrow,' she tried to cross-examine them to find out who had sent them. They said the boys from Fezeka, which she knew was nonsense. Fezeka is the one school the children haven't even visited since that first day.

The next day, Friday, she held school as usual. Early in the morning a child came running in to warn her that the older boys were coming to close down all the schools. This child was a pupil at a Section 2 school. The principal there was a bit of a so-and -so, very demanding and strict with the children. In fact, the parents were very unhappy about the whole situation.

This principal had responded to the warning by locking the gates. One boy came in and asked her to open them but all she did was to reply, 'Not here,' and got into her car and drove off. The students, figuring she must have gone to call the riot squad, jumped into the grounds, ran straight into the classrooms and demanded, 'Out now.'

One of the teachers was found writing on the board, so they gave her a few claps and said, 'Next time you take heed of warnings.' By the time the principal returned there were no pupils and the windows had all been smashed.

This one child ran straight home and told her mother who's a friend of Miss Mtonintsi, and she sent her over straight away. Miss Mtonintsi just waited for the trouble to arrive. Finally three small boys appeared, each with a couple of stones. 'Who sent you?' she asked. 'The big boys,' 'Who are they?'

'No. They say you can identify them, so they'd rather we came.' 'And what happens if I don't let the children out?' 'Oh, we throw these stones in the air and that is the sign for 'm to crowd around and start stoning your school.' She thought she had better play it cool so she went from class to class telling the teachers to let the children out in batches. News travels fast in the township and in no time a crowd had gathered around to watch. She was most disappointed to overhear the parents saying, 'What does she think she is doing sticking her neck out like that and continuing teaching? She is putting the lives of our children at stake.'

All the children left. 'Nothing to worry about,' she thought. She looked up and there came the children, galloping back into the school grounds.

'What's happening?'

'The riot squad is coming.'

She quickly opened two of the classrooms again and the children crowded inside. They had run back to school because they knew it was the only safe place. Their parents weren't home and in any case, the riot squad would follow them into the houses.

Once the children were safely indoors she stood guard at the gate to wait for the squad.

'What's the matter?' she asked when they arrived.

'Where's the fire?'

'There's no fire here.'

'No? Somebody said Xolani is on fire because you have been stubborn and refused to close the school. The children are going around stoning and setting fire to schools.' ²

What they had seen was the smoke from the municipal tip and had put two and two together. Finally they left, the children were let out again, and nobody was hurt.

It's not only the schools that have been warned. The students have gone round to all the shebeens telling them that if they don't close down, they will do it for them. The deadline is October 11. One shebeen owner threatened them with an axe. Others, I hear, took it more calmly. The children make so many demands, one never knows how serious they are.

Thursday, September 30

One of the children's older brothers actually opened up to me today. He was at Tuesday's meeting between the students and Owens and Mitchell. ³He was laughing about Reverend Mabuza. ⁴He had been asked by the students to interpret for them. There were about four ministers present but he was the one in the hot.

Evidently one of the ministers gave a Black Power salute when he entered the yard but the children quickly stopped that. 'It's not for us. We are no Black Power movement. We want equal rights and equal education and Black Power confuses the whole issue.'

In fact there's a rumour that the whole Black Power thing is being pushed by informers trying to cause trouble so that people focus on 'Power' and forget the actual needs of black people.

Anyway the ministers were there because the children didn't want any teachers or principals present although the principals had talked Owens and Mitchell into seeing the children personally. Of course the youths were feeling great that these high inspectors had come to them. They did ask for assurances that no one who attended would be arrested because in other places outside people have had meetings with leaders and later those leaders were arrested.

When asked who their leader was, the first thing they said was, 'No. We haven't got a leader. Everyone is a leader.'

One girl shouted, 'I'm a leader.' A boy did the same. There was a chorus of, 'We're all leaders. If you want to take us, take us all. We are all fellow-sufferers. That's what we are. We don't need a leader. They've achieved nothing before. All we want is an assurance that not one of us who speaks here today will end up locked up, because if we can't voice our opinions there won't be a settlement to our unrest.' They were given that assurance.

Next, they went onto grievances. The children said, 'We'll tell you our grievances, but we want them written down and signed and a copy left with us. We want it signed because you people have got a tendency of saying you don't know what things are all about even after we've told you.

'We took our grievances into town. We carried placards and they were written down in the papers and still you say you don't know what we want. So we are going to spell it out for you.'

First they asked Owens to define education. I don't know whether it was Owens or Mitchell but one of them went on about the importance of education and things like that. The children answered, 'Wonderful. It sounds great but let's look at the sort of education you are giving us Bantus and see if it's education at all.' Owens or Mitchell tried to argue his way out of that and there was some booing until one of the senior ministers stepped in.

The meeting went on and Owens promised that if they could just wait until after the Transkei independence on October 26 ⁵it would be quite another thing. Not a chance.

'No, thank you,' they said. 'We didn't come to talk about that. We don't recognise that as anything. Let's stick to this education thing, equal rights and equal pay.'

About this time they started to get upset with the way Reverend Mabuza was translating. They felt he was trying to soften things. They had said, 'You are Amabhulu(Boers) and you will go to other Amabhulu and sit around and say 'Hulle is mal.' (They are mad.) Reverend Mabuza tried to change that to 'You white people, etc.' but they stopped him with, 'No. Please, if you can't say it properly we'll help you. We said, "You Boers".'

Poor man was trying to be as polite as possible but he felt he'd also be in trouble if he was too polite. Some of the children were really rough. There was no sign of the respect they usually give a white person. If either Mitchell or Owens got up to talk and one of the children was tired, he would just grab the empty chair and sit while the white man stood.

There was also a lot of baiting about the two men standing in the sun getting redder and redder in the face. Someone commented that it was good for them, that white people always want a tan, but not to live with tan people.

Fortunately the meeting wasn't too unruly except during the national anthem at the end when one of the ministers felt it necessary to remind the children that they were singing a prayer and should behave accordingly. But they listened, so maybe they are not as rude as people make them out to be.

At least the ministers seemed pleased with the way the meeting had gone. They appear to be acting as a sort of go-between for the children during this trouble. Both to try and keep the children from going too far and also to negotiate for them with the Police Station commander or the community. If the children have no leader at least they could have someone acting for them. Not because the ministers are political but because they belong to the community. It's just as well, because all the people who are usually so loud in the township seem to have disappeared. You don't hear a word from them.

Monday, October 4

We are beginning to breathe more quietly again. The buses are running. We don't see as many riot vans. Maybe the worst is over and the children will go back to school. Nomsa comes with me to the creche now. At least that gives her something to do.

We were all late for morning prayer - and therefore work - today. There was such nice music on the radio that we started dancing and forgot about the time, and then had to rush like mad. It's nice to be doing something like dancing again.

On Saturday some women from the church came to conduct a prayer service for Father as he cannot go out. I had been hoping for a really quiet afternoon but it was not to be. To my great surprise, the lady chosen to lead the service was a very modern widow.

I suppose I am still primitive to think that everyone who touches the Bible must be a saint, but this woman and her spinster friend are known to be especially generous where men are con­cerned.

They have often boasted of the way men dodge their wives to visit them in their rooms. The friend once told my cousin Zodwa, that if she wanted, she could win Gus from me anytime, as she had noticed the way he eyes her.

I mentioned this to Gus. I think it has made him rather wary of showing any interest in her. I wouldn't stand a chance with her in a beauty competition but her reputation makes me feel like a queen.

One of the women cried during the prayer session. She said it sounded like a funeral service already and that I should be prepared. Father was furious at that and so was I. He's a long way from death.

After the prayer meeting I went to visit Doris Motwela. She's just had an operation on her feet and both the soles are in stitches. It's ridiculous. She is supposed to go to Heideveld Day Hospital every day for the dressings to be changed but there is no transport available to bring her home. So she's stopped going as it is much too painful to walk.

Her older sister comes daily to help in the house as their mother works full-time as a nurse aid. They are a very big family. Both Doris and one other sister have illegitimate children who are also it home. I like going there because they are a very lively family, but sometimes they talk a bit too much and I come home with my head buzzing.

Sunday we had lunch with some white friends in Rondebosch. There was a visiting lecturer from London who had a message for me from Rebecca. We were the only blacks there. The men were quite friendly - they wanted to know all about the riots - but the women seemed to pretend that we were not there. I was quite amused and could see that our hostess was trying to give us extra attention to make up for it. I told her that she wasn't around to entertain just one person and we had a good laugh about it which relaxed things.

The afternoon turned into Operation Rat-hunt. We were all helping Gus turn out the storeroom and clear the yard. What turned up were rats as big as cats.

AH the women went running into the house leaving Gus to deal with them. He was furious.

In the evening Joanna came to fetch me to see their new bedroom suite. It's all white and the wardrobes are the new style with cupboards on top. I am really glad to see that she and Zeke are improving their place and that they seem to be at peace with one another at last.

She's come home from Kingwilliamstown determined to make life comfortable and not worry about Zeke and his girlfriends. Zeke for his part is willing to give her what she wants and try and cut down both on his late nights and his aggression. So it's all much better.

Thursday, October 7

Owens and Mitchell were supposed to have reported back to the children on Monday but of course nothing happened. ⁶The pamphlets didn't get the children back to school either. Anyway, it's now officially holidays. Not that anything has changed. The classes are as empty as usual and the meetings go on. School time is very hard on the teachers. Officially they have to be at their posts during school hours but with nothing to do. The inspectors check to see that everyone is present.

There were rumours that another strike was supposed to start this week but it has been postponed. The children felt we should wait for the coloureds because we Africans do not have per­manence in Cape Town and the Government could use it as an excuse to endorse us out. At least that is what I heard from Mrs. M. Besides, if the children forced another strike here they could well find the parents turned against them. There is too much worry over losing jobs.

Tuesday gave me a very good idea of people's feelings. I hadn't cashed my cheque so I thought I'd run to the bank in Claremont in the morning. It's no use going in the afternoon because just at the most important time, when people are coming back from work, you never see a bus.

It was quite a nice day but the ride in was freezing. There was a |cool wind and when something is moving and the windows are -open you really feel the draught. These windows weren't open - they were broken. The children call the buses TV's. They say when they see their friends passing by it's as if they were appearing on TV.

Tuesday was just windy. The other day it was raining and one woman had her umbrella up. Tuesday's bus had both the sides and the back open, and people were complaining. There's no way to shelter yourself and besides you're never sure you won't have stones thrown at you as well.

The youths have taken advantage of this state of disrepair. When the bus stops they jump in through the broken windows and sit down quickly, then after some time they make their way upstairs as if they are giving up the downstairs seat for an older person, but it's just to avoid payment.

One old lady took it upon herself to play policeman on Tuesday. She said to one boy who had just climbed in, 'Morning, my son, and whose child are you?' He gave some name. 'So do you go to school?'

'Yes, Vuyani.'

'Then why aren't you at school?'

'It's holidays this week.'

'So where are you going?'

'Claremont.'

'What are you going to do there?'

By now all the other passengers were eyeing this granny, hoping she was going to get hell from the children for not minding her own business. But she continued, 'Look here, my children, I want to tell you that when we were your age we respected our elders. You think you can take the law into your own hands, do whatever you want to, get into these buses through the windows without paying and what not.'

I thought to myself, oh, but this granny should be careful. I know African women. They take sides and in one minute she was bound to have the whole bus on top of her. I wasn't wrong either. First, the youngster said to his friend, 'Hey, let's go upstairs. This old woman is driving me crazy.'

Once they had left the women were on to her. Is that perhaps your child? If not why don't you mind your own business?'

'Perhaps your own grandchildren are in this thing and you can't control them so you take it out on someone else's.'

I added, 'It serves you right. Nobody interferes with what these children are doing anymore. Rather you side with them than oppose them.'

There was a lady teacher on the bus. I know her from Kimberley. ⁷She said, 'We teachers know we have to give in to these children because what they are doing is for everybody's good.' By the time we got to Claremont the old woman was good and quiet.

That wasn't the end of events on the buses that day. I finished my business and caught a bus back. The journey was uneventful but instead of going straight to the terminus in Guguletu, the driver stopped a little way before and waited. We saw quite a crowd around the terminus. There was no stoning but there was certainly some commotion going on. The children were moving from bus to bus, not getting on, just going from one to the next. As we got nearer an African inspector waved our driver to stop.

I was dying to know what was going on so I went up to the driver to ask him please could he let me off between stops, because I had all those parcels for my school, etc. He agreed so I was standing right next to him and could hear what the inspector wanted.

The children were telling the drivers that they were giving them until Thursday, that is today, not to come into Guguletu in TV buses. All the windows must be mended by then.

Now that is really, really going too far. First they break the windows, then they threaten the drivers not to drive in buses with broken windows. Our driver just shook his head. 'If only I last till the end of the year. Then I'm getting out of buses.' Oh, I did sympathise.

Angela had a good story to tell yesterday. It seems it is very profitable to be a policeman in Guguletu these days. She had taken the day off on Tuesday to go and pay accounts and also do some shopping at one of the factories in Salt River. She was supposed to fetch me to give me a lift to Mowbray but she didn't turn up. That's why I had my time on the buses. Now I know why.

She was on her way along NY 6 when she noticed a van being intercepted by two policemen, one white and one African. It was a red van, a bakkie, with a canopy on top, and she recognised it as belonging to Nomalusi, one of our biggest shebeen queens and a friend of Angela's.

She has got one of the best extensions in the township, quite exceptional, with a patio and everything. Now these two police­men must have been tipped off, because they went straight to the back of the van. By now a crowd had gathered to see what the find would be - liquor or whatever. It turned out to be a whole haul of dagga.

The white policeman climbed into the bakkie to drive it to the police station but the driver asked if they could first pass his own house so he could let his people know he had been arrested. Off they went, the African policeman following in the police van.

Angela thought she'd better go and warn Nomalusi. As soon as she told them, Nomalusi's husband rushed off to hide the rest of their loot. Within a minute the police and the bakkie arrived. Nomalusi went out to meet them. 'Please, we can arrange this,' she said.

Next thing, to Angela's amazement, the three of them went off into the bush across the road to negotiate and a few minutes later the policemen drove away alone in their van, each R200 richer. Can you believe that?

It reminds me of an incident that happened right here a while back. An isangoma, ⁸his name was Mr. Gaga, used to live opposite me. He prophesied and was supposed to have very good medicines. Now there was a watchman from one of the dairies, whose wife was illegally in Cape Town, and she had been given 48 hours to leave the city. So he went to Mr. Gaga to get potions for his wife so that when he took her to the Langa pass office they would give her three months' extension.

But when, armed with the potions, they went to the pass office, what happened? Instead of 48 hours they said she must be out of Cape Town in 12. The watchman wanted his money back. I think he had paid about R50 or R60 for the medicines. He said to Mr. Gaga, 'Mfo, you told me three months. Well, if my wife travelled safely, she is at home already and I want my money back.' Of course Mr. Gaga brushed it off. 'Your wife couldn't have used the medicines properly. It's not my fault.'

The watchman wasn't satisfied. 'I'm going to show that all magabas ⁹are not that stupid,' he said and he was back in half an hour with two policemen, one African and one white.

Now as I said, in the township nothing is private, so together with all our neighbours we went across the road to watch Mr. Gaga being arrested. But they didn't arrest him. He went into his house to collect whatever money he had there to give back to the watchman, who counted it slowly, nodding his head, pipe in mouth, very pleased with his actions.

When he had counted it, he walked to the gate where the police were waiting. He smiled and lifted his hat to thank them. 'Not so fast,' said the African policeman. 'Come nearer.' And the next thing there was this big hefty watchman handing out notes, first to the white man, then to the other.

We were all laughing. 'You see. You have to pay for the law,' someone shouted. I don't know how much he gave out. He still kept something back. But that is how the law works here.

In spite of all the threats things are much quieter. There's as much tension, but less action. This is the first week there hasn't been that helicopter patrolling overhead. It's nice to see tradesmen coming back into the township. All the looting seems to have stopped. It's only Mr. Gqiba who is worried. He has mesh right around the shop. After that time he invited the police in, a group of boys did go along to teach him a lesson.

They grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him right over his counter. 'Next time you just sit in your shop and mind your own business,' they said. Someone even tried to set the shop alight but the fire was put out before it did much damage.

It's still not safe for white people to come here, for two reasons. If we are seen being too friendly with whites someone might get the idea we are informing. Or if a white person visits a school, they might think it belongs to the council and then it will become a target for burning. You can never be too careful in a situation like this. We will see what happens next week when the schools are due to go back. They won't go back but maybe there won't be unrest.

But the Government is full of nonsense. There's this latest thing supposed to take place on the sixteenth all about so-called Transkei independence. 'Help Guguletu celebrate,' say the notices. One thing's for sure. If they try and do something like that here they'll need riot squads in plenty because of all the opposition. Most people say they won't go near the stadium that day.

(Later) To think I was talking about things getting quieter. Those youths were quite serious about the buses. Zodwa was just here. She came back on one of the TV buses. They had just entered Guguletu when they were stopped by a group of youths. Next thing she saw was the driver jumping out and running off. The passengers quickly did the same.

Some youths jumped into the bus and drove it off. She said it wasn't being dropped out of the way that terrified her, but those youths had obviously never driven a bus before so they were | careening from one side of the road to the other and finally landed

Sunday, October 10

It's difficult for us parents without high school children to find out what is going on so when I heard that there was to be a meeting for parents near the terminus I just had to go. I was lucky to hear about it at all. I was rushing over to Nyanga East to fetch Isaac when a man stopped me for a lift. He was on his way to this meeting which had been scheduled for 12.30.

I went straight back home and told them, 'Sorry, the day's programme is finished. You'll just have to find your own lunch. I'm going to the meeting.' I very much wanted Gus to come with me because it is hard to go to meetings like this without being afraid of what may happen to you. But Gus wouldn't leave his garden, so reluctantly I went on my own. I parked a little way away from the church - the big Methodist one - in case there was trouble. I didn't want to be caught in a rush to get away.

By the time I got inside it was 1.30. The hall was packed. People were still trooping in. There must have been at least 3 000 people inside and each entrance had a crowd around it. The churchyard was also packed. We waited and waited in the heat. Some people had already been there an hour.

By 2.45 nothing had happened and everyone was starting to get restless. At 2.55 the church deacons started calling, 'Whoever called this meeting, will you please begin?' Have you ever? No­body knows who called the meeting but there it is, packed. This is the kind of situation we find ourselves in today.

The people sitting next to me had heard about it from papers they had found in their letterboxes but nothing had been delivered down our way. At 3.00 people started slow clapping. Then finally at 3.10 out filed several ministers of religion from the side-room, the vestry. First came Guma, followed by Rev. Mabuza, Rev. Matolengwe, Rev. Ngidi and some other older ministers I don't know. Guguletu is so full of ministers. And right amongst them was Manas Buthelezi. 10 The crowd was very excited by that.

Actually the meeting wasn't even very late. It had been scheduled for 3.00 but somebody had passed around an incorrect rumour. Rev. Guma acted as chairman. He gave the first speech, saying that as the peoples' shepherds, the ministers had persuaded the stu­dents to trust them and they wanted to act as go-betweens between the students and parents so that the parents would know what was going on; also, to get advice from the parents as to what to do in a situation like this, and to get the parents to show where they stood in the whole matter.

The meeting was opened to questions from parents. Most of the questions were nonsense. 'Why can't the school committees deal with this thing instead of you ministers?' 'What happened in the meeting you had with the inspector of schools?' 'How many people have really been shot?' 'Why are only Africans shot during riots, not coloureds?' As if the ministers could know the answers to those. Besides, that last is no longer true.

By this time some students had come in and they interrupted:

'You see. That's the sort of meeting you get from our parents. They never stick to the subject.' So Guma asked, 'Let's take an instance. If you know your child has grievances and that is why he is not going to school, and those grievances have been forwarded to the right people, why do you force that child to go off to work instead of waiting for a reply?' Because that is what many of the parents do. If a child is not at school he must be at work.

After a lot of talking like that some of the parents at last began to get a grip on the point of the whole thing. One woman spoke out: 'Yes, I understand what you are trying to say. I am with my children. I understand what they are fighting for. But I don't think that we Africans can do this alone. When the coloureds were rioting it was alright. They were listened to, and quick. We must ask our coloured and Indian friends not to abandon us, because if they do we will not get anywhere as we are the least listened-to people in this country.'

Another disagreed with that. 'No, they are not interested. They are quiet now because they have got a step forward. You can't take the inqata 11 out of someone's mouth.'

One by one, people got up to say they were with their children, until the atmosphere grew tense and excited: you expected them all to get up in a minute and march. Rev. Ngidi managed to control things with a short speech.

Then one of the students stood up. 'I want to say something to our parents. I must tell you the reasons we did not want to involve you. Firstly, all of you want to be leaders. You like to be Mrs. So-and-so, Chairman of this or Head of that. We don't have leaders.

'Secondly, you are liars. You rather say something is fine than open your mouths to complain. Thirdly, you are cowards.' The other students cheered. Now for us Africans that was really something new. To hear back-talk from a child and then to be told you are a coward. Whew!

But the people took it. One man got up and asked what the parents were expected to do. It was all very well now knowing what was happening but where were we to go from there? It was agreed that there would be a meeting between parents and students but when it came to setting a date there was trouble. One student suggested the sixteenth. The ministers complained that that was awkward because Saturday is a funeral day. Then someone jumped up and said, 'We can't have it then because the sixteenth is the day to celebrate Transkei independence.'

'What!' You could feel the explosion. 'What independence? There is no independence. There is no celebration. You are not going to that celebration on the sixteenth. You won't even cele­brate in the Transkei unless you want to walk there. There will be no bus going to those celebrations.'

The meeting was completely disrupted. 'You know what will happen. The whites will give you a lot of beer and meat and say, "Now you are independent." And you will sit back.

'In 1960 you wanted freedom, they gave you beerhalls and bars. Quicker than they built schools, they built bar lounges.' It went on and on. Everyone was talking at once and people began filing out of the hall. Rev. Guma finally closed it, saying we should leave it to the students to decide the date and they would spread the news around. We were disappointed Manas Buthelezi hadn't said anything.

Before the hall emptied one of the students grabbed the mike and shouted, 'Remember to go and warn your shebeen friends that tomorrow is their deadline.'

As we trooped out we saw a crowd over by the car park. The students had caught a man tape-recording the meeting. They said he must have been an informer. Did they make a mess of him and his car? They ripped the tape out and destroyed it, bashed up the car and were beating him when the police came to his rescue. They broke up the crowd by shooting into the air. I was pleased I had parked out of the way and could escape all that.

Monday, October 11

Today being a public holiday, we thought we would take the children to watch the Big Walk. Mother came to look after Father and I had everything ready for supper by the time we left, about 11 o'clock. As we drove out we saw riot vans arriving hastily. I didn't think much of it, just wondered what was happening. Maybe the students were having another meeting and Manas Buthelezi was addressing them or something.

I would have liked to go back but Gus is too unbending. He won't go anywhere just to satisfy curiosity.

It was a lovely day. We watched the race from Simonstown, and then stopped in at Kalk Bay harbour. By the time we came back to Guguletu it was quite late in the afternoon.

The riot squad was there in full force, all round the police station. NY 108 was black with people. The street was littered with broken glass. I'd forgotten the threat against the shebeens.

As we stopped for a robot someone called through the car window, 'Hey, it's really bad in your area.' All I could think of was my poor paralysed father lying there. When we got home I leapt out of the car. Father was sitting dazed and bewildered and Mother's eyes were big as saucers. 'One day you'll leave us and come and find us dead,' she complained.

The street outside was packed with an army of youngsters, some of them as young as Nomsa. They were not from our area. There wasn't one face I knew. Someone said they were a group from Nyanga East. They knew just which places were hiding liquor.

There was one child with a map and addresses. She was ordering, 'Now we go to number 26.' Well, I knew I mustn't miss this so I followed them down the road. They marched to the door of 26 and told the people of the house to get out of the way.

In a way I felt sorry for the owner of the house because she is a neighbour. But inside I was happy, because without those shebeens we will sleep at weekends. They said to her, 'Mama, open your cupboards and your wardrobes otherwise we will do it for you.' So she opened all the doors and they searched everywhere - under the beds, shaking out everything in case it concealed small bottles.

When they had collected all they could find they carried it out to the yard, each child holding a bottle, and then they aimed at the walls, smashing every bottle against the front of the house. They didn't aim for the windows. In fact, they closed the door so that they would not destroy anything inside.

There was so much. These queens had stocked up for the long weekend. As soon as all the bottles were smashed the children moved off towards the next address on the list. A minute passed and the people of the house came outside with their rakes and brooms to sweep up the mess under the stares of the crowd.

Not all the houses got off so lightly. The ones that were the most damaged were the really smart places, the ones with exten­sions, like Nomalusi's. The children said, 'It's our fathers' money that paid for these extensions. They couldn't afford to do it on their usual pay. They have big houses, television and the best hi-fi sets, so that our Daddies can sit and listen to music while they are drinking away the family's money.'

Also those who had been threatening them when the youths went round with the warning had a lot of damage done. There was a woman who had hit a boy over the head with an iron. Oh, her house! Even the burglar proofing was bent. One man charged at the children with an axe. But they stood their ground and got it away from him. They would have beaten him to a pulp if the riot squad hadn't rescued him. For a change the squad were watching to see that the children were not molested by the residents. As for Nomalusi's place. She has a corner plot, but instead of using the extra space for a garden, she had put up this extension - a whole big room like a hall. This is where she kept her hi-fi and held her drinking parties. It was more like a bar lounge, it was so well equipped, really smart with chandeliers and antique furniture and the most beautiful vases. I don't know where she shopped. It must have been Binnehuis or somewhere.

The children arrived at her house calling, 'Auntie, take us to your hideout.' She'd hidden all the liquor in the bush but they were too clever for her. I don't know where they got the informa­tion but they knew more than the police.

When they had come around with the warning, Nomalusi's husband had threatened to shoot them if they came back. But instead of being around to do the shooting he'd gone off to the races because he's a professional pickpocket and he couldn't resist such an opportunity.

Nomalusi had some of her henchmen around but they couldn't do anything about those Guguletu kids. She had to produce the lot. And she had the most posh collection of all - Smirnoff Vodka, all the expensive stuff. They brought all the bottles back to her yard because they didn't like to smash things away from the house.

This time they aimed at the windows. And her windows were huge things that slid open, almost like French doors but not low enough. On three sides of that room there had been windows, but not anymore. They smashed the lot. And anything that was in the way got smashed too.

We went around to her place after the crowds had left. I wanted to peek and see what damage had been done but we were unlucky enough to meet her so I couldn't hide. She had a lot of board under her arm to board up the windows until they could be fixed.

She wasn't cross that we had come. She wanted to talk to someone. 'You know, those children are so damn rude,' she told us. 'You know what they said to me? They are coming back Tuesday to see if the windows have been fixed because my husband will be bringing enough money from the racecourse today to have it done by then, and as it is all their fathers' money, I'm please to spend it or they will damage the furniture too.'

Wednesday, October 13

What a mess. Just when you think everything is quiet and going back to normal you get a week like this one and it all starts again. These children are completely out of control. Their parents don't know what is going on. The ministers are trying to cool things but what can they do?

Yesterday was supposed to have been the first day of the last school term. None of the high school students went back but the higher primaries did. Some schooling. Nomsa went off in the morning and was told to go right home and come back without her books. Today she had to go without her uniform. What good will that does?

On Monday, in Guguletu, the riot squad kept right out of sight unless it looked as if someone would get hurt. Isaac tells me that there was trouble in Nyanga and it was just as well that the riot squad was around because it could have ended in several deaths. They stopped the children in Langa as well.

There are a lot of bachelor quarters both in Langa and Nyanga and the one thing that these people from the country know is how to give a child a beating. A big fight was brewing in Nyanga.

The children had gone to the bachelor quarters to try and break up the drinking there but the men had stopped them. They came out in force with their kieries saying, 'You can do all your non­sense at your parents' places, but here you don't come.' The children collected bottles and stones and they drew the bachelors after them to an open sports field until they could be proper targets.

The bachelors didn't realise they were being drawn out until the children let fly with the bottles and stones. Then the riot police had to get really busy because the children soon ran out of stones and the bachelors still had their kieries. There would have been real murder. One man was killed.

Here, all you could see yesterday was glass. Gus got a puncture going to work. Everybody was busy sweeping glass off the streets - even the council people were busy. Our doctor once said to me, 'There are two things that are too much in Guguletu - sand and children.' He was right. And the children have grown up and are uncontrollable.

I think the - mess this week has something to do with the 'celebrations' on Saturday, that the youth are trying to disorganise everything. In one way they've already succeeded. The venue has been moved from Guguletu to Langa where it's smaller and more controllable.

Today was terrible. Nomsa just came from school. She said all the teachers did was sitting in the sun and it was very boring so she'd rather be with me if they weren't going to be taught anything. And Mother is sick. I had to rush her to hospital at lunchtime. She was looking really green. There is something wrong with her stomach.

Then this morning I was on my way to get fresh vegetables when they started looting over on NY 150. I just got away from there in time. First they went for a van that was delivering soap powders and things like that. I don't know who the looters were. They were not in uniform so one didn't know if they were school-children. Most people think it's tsotsis who've climbed on the bandwagon. They always take advantage of what is going on to spoil the good and stain it with the bad.

But it might have been children who burned the two vans, one from Pax and the other from Stuttafords, because they were used as road blocks to stop the riot police from passing. A third van, a laundry van, was also destroyed.

I don't understand what was behind it all. They told the Pax driver that he had to distribute what he was carrying because everyone in Guguletu should share. They weren't interested that it wasn't his own stuff. That means no more deliveries. And no more buses. So how people who can't afford to drive to Athlone or Claremont to shop are going to eat I don't know. We'll all starve.

It seems that things have been seething in Langa as well. It's all against this Transkei thing. No one has anything good to say about that. One rumour has it that Matanzima ¹²was given cattle by a boer corporation and that all he and his brother do is gather riches for themselves and that is why they were sold on this independence thing.

They say Matanzima is a replica of his father, Vorster. If something happens he won't answer you the same day. He says, 'No comment,' and the next day after someone gives him his speech typed out he comes out with a vibrant comment. No one has any confidence in him.

There was an item in the newspaper that the homeland leaders had all met and only Mangope ¹³is going to the celebrations. The others all say the Government can keep that type of independence.

All it is a balkanisation of states within South Africa.

Everyone around here is very upset. I'm pleased we are classi­fied Ciskei so we're not involved yet. On Saturday a person must be out of Guguletu or just stay put in your yard. It is going to be a riot. Even if the squad is there to protect those who go to the celebrations, those people will be watched and who knows what will happen to them afterwards.

My school is not deserted but there are forty less pupils than last term. I don't know how I am going to pay the staff. I can't let them go now they have learned to be so good with the children. It would be like starting from scratch.

What will happen with this no school thing? There will definitely be no exams in Guguletu this year. And then what? Will the children be advanced anyway? Nomsa was so looking forward to going into Standard 5. The children's meetings go on but now they won't allow adults to be present. I can't see how things can work out. A whole year of school wasted.

Saturday, October 16

Things were not as exciting today as I thought they'd be. I thought of skipping church, supposedly to look after Father but really because I was afraid to go to Langa, but Gus insisted, and all of a sudden Father wanted to go too.

So if the girls were going to be in danger I had to go too. The celebration thing was scheduled to start at 9 a.m. and our church starts about the same time. As we drove into Langa from Settlers Way, the road was lined with riot policemen outside their vans. There were also traffic police. Wow, I thought, they must really have wanted to be careful, with the Mayor coming and all.

The street running to the stadium was crowded with small boys and township people. I don't know what they were waiting to see. I suppose the main attractions were the riot squad and the traffic cops. In the stadium itself we saw more police than people.

There are a lot of people from the Transkei who go to our church and I had thought church would be half empty because they are so loyal, but they were all there. I asked a couple, 'Aren't you missing your festivities, aren't you going to the stadium?' They all answered the same thing. 'What? Go and be killed?

Don't you know that those children are so strong?' And these were mostly men from the zones. After church we went to visit Mother in hospital. She is progressing nicely but will still have to be there for some time. First Father and now her. It is too much.

Later this afternoon we heard some funny stories about the celebrations. Angela's brother-in-law had been there. None of the people who are usually prominent went, the sort who like to be seen in the front row of everything. They were too scared. The children had threatened to beat up anyone from the township they saw there. No one was supposed to go and celebrate 'his oppression' as they put it.

We heard some of the youths did go to see who from the township was present. But they went dressed like people from the Transkei, in woolly hats or big coats or very shabbily in unironed clothes.

Themba said there was plenty of meat and beer for everyone because there were so few people. They all ate themselves full. But when going-home time came they started feeling scared.

The police had promised protection to all who came so some­one suggested they ask to be taken home. So that is what Themba did. The policeman he approached asked, 'Do you live here in Langa?' and when he nodded, said, 'O.K., come.' Themba thought he was going to be put into the van, but no. The policeman climbed into the driving seat, started up and called out of the window to him, 'Okay, follow.'

So Themba had to keep pace with those wheels. Some of the way he could walk but then the policeman would ram the van and go faster, and he would have to start running.

By the time he reached his barracks he was finished. What with going so fast while full-bellied he just collapsed. He couldn't even get up to say thank you. They had really fooled him. Anyway, he got safely home.

The Transkei celebrations might have been poorly attended but the Ciskei thing was packed tight. 14 An old man who had been at the meeting told me one minute he was sitting listening, next thing the hall was full of smoke. He thought the place was on fire. But it was teargas. People believe that it was the CID who sabo­taged the meeting. They had come disguised as though they were simply interested parties and then threw the canisters.

Commentary

The period September 22 to October 16 was a period of returning normality in the 'coloured' areas and a time for new strategy in the black ones.

The end of the stayaway marked the transition from a period of almost continuous rioting to the sporadic outbursts that were to continue indefinitely. In the 'coloured' townships the violence had spent itself and calm gradually returned. The end of term examina­tions at the University of the Western Cape were well-attended.

But the brief but bloody 'coloured'protest had had effects. No one could ignore the new attitude of self-confidence amongst 'coloured' youths. They were proud of the reaction their outburst had provoked from the white government. The National Party has always been very sensitive but ambivalent on the 'coloured' issue. Traditionally 'coloured' people were stereotyped as mentally and morally inferior to whites but never as alien, with a potential, in-built, anti-white violence, as were blacks.

The fear throughout South Africa's history was that given the vote, the 'coloured' would ally himself with English-speaking white South Africans and in time defeat the Afrikaans-speaking government. On the other hand, the 'coloured' was regarded as an ally in opposition to black African domination. The emergence of a common purpose between black and brown people during the riots was seen as a tremendous threat and steps to accommodate 'coloured' aspirations were immediately proposed. 'Change' was the keynote in most politicians' and businessmen's speeches though modified according to personal belief.

It was a time for the counting of costs. The final cost in property in the Western Cape during the five weeks of rioting was close to R7, 3 million. 62 people were known to have died. ¹⁵

The Southern Cross fund expressed its thanks to the whites that gave financial support to police efforts during the riots. 'I can't say that the coloured community made any offers of assistance,' a spokesman said. ¹⁶Mr. Lofty Adams, a member of the Coloured Persons Representative Council, referring to the damage during the unrest as a result of 'police rioting' asked for compensation for the losses of the coloured people. ¹⁷

Coloured schools reopened in the first week of October. There were boycotts at some schools but others reported good attendance. Generally things were quiet.

Cape Town's black areas were not peaceful. The youths, having mobilised, were determined to continue their protest, directed not only against the white administration but also against their own elders, who they felt had let them down so many times before.

A meeting held at the I.D. Mkize school and attended secretly by a reporter, resolved that the school children would not return for the fourth quarter, that they would clean up the shebeens and hold a meeting to inform their parents on their continuing stand. The meeting that had taken place with Owens and Mitchell was also discussed.

As the Cape cooled down, violence started again on the Reef. In Soweto, the house of Credo Mutwa, a witchdoctor whose evidence before the Cillie Commission hearing aroused considerable anger amongst blacks, was burned down. 300 children stoned police vans and set a bus alight.

Johannesburg had its chance to see the trouble in the city when on September 23 hundreds of demonstrating students marched through the streets shouting Black Power slogans. Over 400 people were arrested after rocks and petrol bombs were thrown. By October 4, reported the Star, over 1 400 pupils had been charged for public violence, arson or theft.

The embassies of Australia, Canada and the United States were besieged by would-be immigrants. Throughout the country whites spoke of leaving. Women's so-called 'peace movements' sprang up in Johannesburg and Cape Town, with a membership consisting of more conservative blacks and more progressive whites. The ideas of the movements were to promote interracial contacts in the hope that it might be more difficult to throw a stone at someone with whom one had personal ties.

In spite of continued disturbances throughout the country, Minister of Police Kruger stated on British television that the unrest could not go on for long, that the police were in complete control of the situation and that the riots had been inspired by supporters of the American Black Power movement led by com­munist agitators. 'The riots in South Africa actually indicated that our people are not so unhappy as the outside world thinks,' he said, in that most of the African townships had remained quiet. ¹⁸

The searching of the shebeens marked a new outbreak of violence in the Cape. While the search-and-smash rampage through houses and vehicles entering the townships was generally left alone by the police, a march of 500 towards Athlone was dis-persed. In Philippi cars were set alight and others stoned in the townships and along the main roads leading past. One person was shot dead and several people hurt.

In Langa, stick-wielding bachelors defended their single quarters against the inroads of the searching students and police moved in to prevent pupils continuing their anti-liquor campaign. The police intervened at the sight of any crowd. A nine-year-old boy was beaten up by riot police as he and some friends were digging a hole in which to bury a dead dog in Langa. He was taken unconscious to hospital and X-rays showed that three of his ribs had been broken. He also had head injuries. His father laid a charge against the police. ¹⁹

Stonethrowing continued and once again bus services were suspended. Meanwhile shebeen owners unleashed a stream of abuse against the raiders through the newspapers. There were also threats of retaliation, which were not carried out.

The Cape Times of October 16 published three accounts of riot police attacking youths on their way from work or while playing some distance from the scene of action. Police spokesmen suggested that the people involved lay charges, which would be investigated.

The unrest continued on the Reef as well. In Mamelodi near Pretoria, a bus was stoned. On October 17 after the funeral of a student who had died in police custody, 700 pupils marched to the City Engineer's department, setting alight 27 vehicles along the way besides destroying a water tank.

Mr. George Matanzima, Minister of Justice of the Transkei, arrived in Cape Town for the celebrations. Although thousands of people were expected, only 100 were present as he landed by helicopter, though the crowd swelled later to about 1 000. The results of the pre-independence elections were announced as a landslide for the ruling pro-independence party. Leading members of the opposition party had been detained before the election. 200 youths taunted the audience as they left the stadium after the celebrations, shouting slogans such as 'Why feast for your own destruction?' There were no violent incidents as a strong contingent of riot police stood at the ready.