Submit an essay on Kaffir Boy, Part I Road to Alexandra .
CONTENTS
Preface ix
Part I: The Road to Alexandra
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Part II: Passport to Knowledge
121
Part III: Passport to Freedom
213
Index
351
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”Sl ^]pj,>|^£|f.^skdd to explain wha.t it fe|tllike to,jgrow,up,black pnder
‘ South ^nca’s system of .legalized racism known .as ^apartheid, and
$0^ !■ eac^^d; frpm it and ended up ia America. .This book is the ’
m^st’thQfbu^h ‘cinswer I have heretofore given. .
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ft ^’lie%sVthing jI ever dreamed 0/ wh^ I was, daily battling ^dr
surJ^v^ijapcf fp^^n.ide,ntity pthqr thaji that*of inferiority and |ourthplass citizpn^ ‘^^ich »apartheid foisted on me, was that someday I
woul(l!|atfepd|ai\,AmencanfCQllege, edit its newspaper, graduate with
honors, ‘^factl^fejojjrnali^m and vvrite,a book. ,
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. I^pwiou^ 1 h^ye. dreamed of all ifos when I was born pf ilUterate
j.pafejpts’whofcDuld not afford to pay niy way through .schiOpl, let alone
pay.*the«irep^’|br »pur shack and put enough food on thy ^table; y?hen,
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coniJempj.gtec^sj^cide, because I found the burden ofjivingin a ghetto,
povert^-str’iclefoand without hope, ^too heavy’ to .shouldyr; when in
197^ I gof deeply invqlveciin foe Soweto protests, in wfoch hundreds
ofsblacl^? studejits weye killed by thy police, and .thousands; fled the
country m escape impr|^nmept and torture?
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Id
re,-created,, as best as I can remember,^ all
foese experiences. I have sought to paint a portrait of my childhood
and youfo Sn Alexandra, a blaclc ghetto of Johannesburg, where I was
born ap^-jivecf jfpr. eighteen .years, with the .pope that ,thy rest of the ‘
world y^ill fipalLy,,understand why apartheid cannot be reformed: it
has* to be abolished.
IX
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Preface
Preface
Much has been written and spoken about the politics of apartheid:
me forced removals of black communities from their ancestral lands,
the Influx Control and Pass laws that mandate where blacks can live
work, raise families, be buried; the migrant labour system that forces
black men to live away from their families eleven months out of a
year; the breaking up of black families in the ghettos as the authorities
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^ so-called white South Africa; the brutal suppression
oi the black majority as it agitates for equd rights. But what does it
‘ ^ all mean m human terms?
When I was groining up in Aldxandra it meant hate, bitterness,
hunger, pain, terror, violence, fear, dashed hopes and dreams. Todav
U still means the same for millions of black children who are trapped
in the ghettos of South Africa, in a lingering nightmare of a racial
system that m many respects resembles Nazism. In the ghettos black
children fight for survival from the moment they are born. They take
to hdtmg and fearing the police, soldiers and authorities as* a baby
takes to its mpther’s breast.
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In my childhood these enforcers t)f white prerogatives and whims
represented a simster force capable of crushing me at will; ’bf ihaking
y pafrfents flee m the dead of night to escape arrest under the Pass
laws; of marching them naked oiit of bed because they did’nothavd
husband and wife under^He same
roof They turned my father-by repeatedly arresting him and denying turn the right to earn a living in a way that gave him dignity—into
such a’bitter nian that, as he fiercely but in vain resisted the emasculation, he hurt those he loved the most.
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theirdurid descriptibhs of white Violence, reintorfced this image-of white terror and power. Often the products of
abject poVferty and broken homes, many black children, for whom
education IS mfehor and n6t compulsory, have been derailed by movles into the de^-end life of crime and violence. It is no wonder that
Q
“^tes in’the world, and
Sou± African prisons are among the most packed. It was purely by
accident that I did not end tip a tsotsi (thug, mug^ef, gangster): It was
whit^worlr^^^^^^”^^^
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The turning point came when one day in my eleventh year I
accompanied my grandmother to’her gardening job and met a white
T\
stereotypes I had grown up with. Most
blacks, exposed daily to virulent racism and dehumanized and embit-
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tered by it? # not believe that.such whites exist. From this family I
started receiving “illegal books” like Treasure Island and David CopperfieM, which“revealed ^ different reaUty and markedithe beginning
ofitny j^ypit agaipst Bantu education’s attempts to proscribe the limits
of my-aspirations, and .determine iriy place, in South African life.
At‘thirteen‘I stumbled across tennis, a sport so “white” .most
blocks thqtight I was’mad for thinking I cbuld-excel in it; others
mistobkimq for,an Uncle Tom. Through tennis I learned the impor
tant lessop th§t South Africa’s 4.’5, million whites are not all racists.
As I ^retV older, and got to understand them more—their fears, long
ings, hbpe^, (ignorance «and mistaken beliefs, and they mine—this
lesson became the conviction thdt whites ate in some ways victims of
apartheid,^ too, and that it is the system, not they, that has to be
destroyed; just^s it was. Hitler’s regime that had to extirpated,-not
the German people. Such an attitude helped me survive the nightmare
into’which my, life was plunged by the Soweto protests of 1976. A
tennis scholarship to an American college, arranged by the profes
sional tennis player Stan Smith, in 1978, became my passport to
freedom-.
Kaffir Boy is also about how, in order to escape from the clutches
of apartheid, I had to reject the tribal traditions of my ancestors. It
was a hard thing to do, for there were many good things in my African
heritage, which, had it been left to me to choose freely, I would have
presetted and venerated. I, too, had the burning need like human
beings everywhere to know where I came from, in order to better
understand who I was and where I was going in this world. But
apartheid had long adulterated my heritage and traditions, twisted
them into tools of oppression and indoctrination. I saw at a young age
that apartheid was using tribahsm to deny me equal rights, to separate
me from my black brothers and sisters, to justify segregation and
perpetuate white power and privilege, to render me subservient, doc
ile and, therefore, exploitable. I instinctively understood that in order
to forge my own identity, to achieve according to my aspirations and
dreams, to see myself the equal of any man, black or white, I had to
reject this brand of tribalism, and that in the rejection I ran the risk
of losing my heritage. I took the plunge.
Being in America has afforded me the rare opportunity of gaining
a proper perspective on my African heritage, of looking at South
Africa critically, of understanding what it means to be regarded as a
human being, of learning about the nitty-gritty of a democracy and.
»
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Preface
‘na racism
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SpSl btdy^S3SS?5t3
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Th^ vf^td’l^dffir i& of Arabic origin. It-means “infidel.”,In South
Afri’ci»i,f>i?^’fi!sr(?d’disparagingly by most’whites’to’refer to’blacks. It is
‘theoqiiival^t.’of 1flie lerm nigger. I was called d’“i^affir” many times.
E^fte^tlfio^e offmy family, Stan and Marjory Smi±v Arthur Ashe,
Wilfred Pprn, Owen and Jennifer Williams, Rtfy Moore and Agnes
and B’teT^-Hoftneyer,.allKhe names’in this book are fictitious, and
HajunaOta/Whosephbtogtaphs’havebeeninvaluabir^™^
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any resemblance to living persons is coincidental.
N6w York»’198e
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I, as a Christian, haye always felt that there is one thing above all
about “apartheid; or “sepatute Jevelopn^f that ia uSlTble I,
r
of Mvidual perLm, who
land, .then* homes, their jobs, in pursuit of what surelv is
the most terrible dream in die .world.
^
PART ONE
—Albetrf Luthuli, 1960 Nobel Peace Prize winner
Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number—
Shake your chains to earth like
dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.”
—Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Mask of Anarchy
Sy
*0 endurance of those whom
—Frederick Douglass
Give me the hberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according
to conscience, above all liberties.
^
—John Milton
THE ROAD TO
ALEXANDRA
"This
Road
Passes
Through
Proclaimed
B^tu’ L'ocatiqns”, Aot'Person Who “'Enters
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fH?‘‘"L 'fcATiONS Without A Permit Renders
.Himself Liable for ProseciITion for Contra-
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,VE!NtNG THE “Bantu (UrbaKT Area§) CoNsoLida- ' ^
j.tjOn Act 1945/And the L6cation Regulation
‘'•AcT bVL'ME City of JOHANNESBURG.
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Thfe lAbSye message can be found written ondarger-ith^-life signs.
sta^e,4 ffe’ qy’^ry^^oad leading, intOi,Alexandra, where I was born and
‘raisfed, oir for that matter^ into any other black ghetto of South Africa.
II iS“rti’eant a6*dissuade white people from entering *the black wotld.As a;results’more .than^(>*pfercpnt ‘of white South Africans go through
A .lifetipte without seeing firsthand the inhuman conditions under
‘ ,
whicji,blacks-halve to survive.
Yetkl^e wl&e pan of South Africa claims to’the rest Of the world
that ht k^owsSVhat is gOod for black people and,what it takes’fOT a
black\child;to grOw, up to adulthoodi He vaunts aloud i that “his
‘blacks” in Sqiith, Africa are well’fed, and materially-better off under
the chalips,of apartheid than their-hberated brothers and sisters in the
rest oj[ Africa.- But^ in truth, these claims-and boasts hre hollow’.
The white man of South Africa certainly does not know me.. He
certainly ^oes-not know the conditions under which I was born and
had to live fort eighteen years’. So my story, is intended to show-.him
with’word,s a world he would otherwise not see because of a sigri and
a CClnscience.racked .With guilt and to make him feel what L felt when
he, contemptuously called me a -“Kaffir^boy. ”
At, the -writing of‘this ‘book the ghetto of Alexandra had just been
saved from extinction’by Bishop’Desmond Tutu, winner of the .1984
Peace Prize, and a group “of clergymen ..- When the “reprieve
came’over half of Alexandra bad already been destroyed, for the
ghetto Had been on death row since 1962 when the South African
4
Kaffir Boy
The Road to Alexandra
government first decreed that it had to go because it occunied land
onto which whites wished to expand.
T u
of Alexandra can be found about ten miles north of
Johannesburg. You will not mistake those remains for anything else
wSe^nf’’’’ “
pi’ constantly shrouded by a heavy
blanket of smog. It ,s the only such pit in an enclave of spacious
a
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one huhdred thousand blacks. Coloureds and Indians—all squeezed
into a space of,“one square mile.
My parents, a genefation or-so removed frbm these earliest settlers
of Alexandra j fiady too, c6me from the tribal/eserves. My father came
from what is now the so-balled independent homeland* ofthe Vendas
in the northwestern cornpr of the Transvaal. Venda’s specfious, inde1* pendence .(no other country bufSoilth Afnca recognizes it) was im’I posed b^y-the Pr^oria regime in 1979, thus at the tim6 making three
) (TfSnsRei ana Bophuthatswana were the* other two) the, number of
these archipelagos of poverty, suffering and corruption, where blacks
are supplied tot exercise their political rights. Since* “independence”
the Vencia’, feeople .have been under the clutches of the Pretoriaanointed* dictator} Patrick Mphephu, who, despite theToss bf.two
elections, ctgitiilues clinging to power through untempered repression
and brutality. *
“Not so .loud,” she cautioned, a finger qn her lips. .Still clad ,only
m her underwear, ,she hurriedly’draped, a tattered black shawl,, which
had been lying op a tin. chair,nearby, over hef-shoulders, but .the
shawl didn’t cover much; Shd reached’under the kitchen table and
grabbed the torn blanket and draped it in-place of the shawl-and took
the shawl and.spreadjt.dver the newspapers-and cardboard-covering
Florah.
“What’«’riie.mattef, Mama?.”
»“Peri-Urban |s hete.”
“Peri-Urban!” I.gaspdd and«tiffened at thename of the dreaded
Alexandra,PolicA^quad. To md nothing,-short of-a white*fnan,.Was
more terrifying; not’even a bogeyman. Memories of previous .encoun
ters with.the police bfegan haunting me,. Will-the two fat black police
men with sjamboks* and truncheons burst open the door again? And
will the one with-the twirled mustache and big-hands grit his teeth at
me>while.threatening, “Speak up, boyier-ril Ifet.you-taste, my
bokr and, thereafter spit-in my face and hit me ton the Aead with a
truncheon fqt.refusing to tell where my mother and father were hid
ing? And will the tall, carfoty-Aaired white man in. fatigues, stand by
the, doorjamb.,/again, whistlihg a strange tune and, staring fear into
Florah and me?
‘‘W-where a-are t*they?” I stammered.
“.Outside. Don’t be .afraid now. They’re still in the next-neigh
bourhood. I was in the outhouse when the alarm*came.” “When the
alarm came” meant people leaping over fences in a mad dash to escape
the police.
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I nodded sheepishly, the,sleep now cdmpletely gone.,’from my
eyes. I was now standing—naked, cold and treihbling—in the middle
of the room. My mother took the candle from my hand-and told me
to dress. I reached under the kitchen table for my piltched khaki
shorts and dressed hurriedly. Meanwhile the pandemonium’ ohtside
was intensifying with each minute; the raid, it seemed, was gathering
* An animal-hide whip used to enforce apartheid.
The Road to Alexandra
9
momentum. Suddenly a gust of wind puffed through the sackcloth
covering’a hole in the”window; the candle flickered but did not go
out. I’felt something warm soak, my-groin and trickle down my legs.
I tried to stem the flow of urine by pressing my thighs together, but I
was too late; a puddle, had formed about my feet, and L scattered it
with my toes. My mother handed me the candle and headed* toward
the table ip.th^orner. As.she wen^ along she said, without turning
to face me, ‘T^e good care-of your brother and sister while I’m
gone, you hearl^
“Yes, Mama.” I.knew she had to leave, she:had tp flee from the
police knd’leave us children alone as, she had-done .so many times
before.’By now-my mother had reached the. table, and her big brown
eyes darted abolit its top, searching for something.
“Where’simyvj)assb0ok?”.she asked in a f^-antic voice, her tense
body bent low over the table. “Bring the candle over here. Keep it
down! ♦Away from the window!” As I hurried the candle, which had
now burnt,to a stub, over to her, a loud scream leaped out from-the
dark outside^ Alarmed, I stumbled and fell headlong into my mother’s
arms. As .she steadied me she continued asking, “Where’s my pass
book? Where js it?” -I did not know; I could not answer; I.cpuld not
think; .my-mind had suddenly gone blank. She grabbed me by the
shoulder and shook me, yelling frantically, “Where is it!,Where is it!
Oh, God”. Where is it, child? Where is the book? Hurry, or they’ll
find me!”
“What book?”.! said blankly.
“The htde book I showed you,and your sister last night, remem
ber,” she stared at me anxiously, but my eyes merelv widened in
confusion. No matter how hard I iried it seemed I could not rid my
mind of the sinister force that had suddenly .blotted out all memory.
“Remeniber’the Httle black book with my picture in it. Where is
it?” my ipotfier said,* again grabbing me and shaking me, begging me
to remember. I could not snap out of my amnesia.
The. noise outside had risen to a dreadful crescendo. Suddenly
several gunshots rang out in quick succession. Shouts of “Follow that
Kaffir! He can’t ggt far! He’s wounded!” followed the shots. Some
how it all jolted’ me back to consciousness, and I remembered where
niy mother’s little black book was: under the pallet of cardboard
where I had tucked it the night before, hoping to sneak it out the-next
day and show it to my friends at play—who had already shown me
their mothers’—to see whose mother’s picture was the most beautiful.
10
‘Kaffir Boy
The Road to Alekandra
“It’s under the table, Mapial” Lcried out. ^
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My mother thanked her ancestors. Hurriddly, she‘circled the
table, reached under it, rolled flbk-gh away from the damp cardboard,
lifted them up, and underneath >on*’the;earthen floor, she found her
little black book. I heaved a‘great-sighvof relief as‘J watched her tuck
it into her bosom.,
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My sister’s naked, frail,b6dy,mow on the bare floor, shook,from
the icy cold seeping through^ hole,uhdbr-the door..She coughed, .then
moaned a prolonged racing soundj but she did not; wake* up.. My
mother quickly straighbned butfthe car4board and tolled-Florah back
to sleep,and covebd,her-With mote,newspapers and cardboard. More
screams came from, outside* as’more doors .^and .windows were’being
busted by the poliee;,’tHe vicious barking of dogs escalated’, as did’the
thudding of xunnii^*feet. Shouts.of mhafnhel MHmlieliGtah him!
Cai;ch hin:i!)”‘’folloivedthe screaihs bf police whistlbs!
My mb^e’r ’^as headed for the bedroom door when, a shaft.of^very *
bright light flashed through the uncurtained window and fell upon
her.-Instantly she leaped behind,the door and rdmairted ..hidden, behind it. A^rmed, I.dropped the Candle, spilling-the moltbn’Wax.on
my feetj me ^oom was plunged into utter darkness, for,„the Bright
light^ disappeared,,,barely Seconds after it had flashed.. As. I* groped
about for the’candle/the’ bright fight again flashed th’rough theJwindow’andflpbdedthe kitchen. This time it stayed. “Ir’seemed daylight.
My.motlier crept from’ behind the bedroom door and started to
ward the kitchen door, on tiptoe. As shevneafed it, my year-old
brother,.George’, who,slept with my mother .and’father* on the only
bed inthe-ho^seytstarted screaming, piercing the tenuotls stillnessrof
the house; His ‘screams stopped my mother dead in-her tracks; she
spun around and Said tome, in a whisper, “Goquietf your’b’rothbr.”
Ye^,.Mama,” I said, butT.did not go. I could not go. I seemed
root^^ to the spot by,u terrifying fear of the unknot^n.
111 be gone a short while,” my mother, now, by the door/whis
pered. She stealtflily Opened it a crack, her blanketed body still in a
crouch, her head almost Jtouching the floor. She hesitated-a moment
or, two before peering through the-opening. The storm of streams that
came through the door* made me think that the world was somehow
coming to an end. IThrough the .opening I saw policemenj with flash
lights and what looked like raised cavemen’s clubs, move searchingly
about several shacks across, the strpet.
Don”!-forget to lock the doOr securely behind me,”-my mother
11
said is,, She tap her eyes up and down the street. More gunshots rang
‘ -;‘(Sut;’i^^ ‘Screamsiand more shouts canie from somewhere deep in
’the neighbourhood.
-(‘fDoh’t’go, Mama!” I cried. “Please don’t go! Don’t .leave us,
”.;’iii^se!”%,.
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: She diptnotinswer/ bur continued opening the door a little wider
inching.her blanketed body, still bent low> slowly, fory^ard until
: ,was baftway’in’and’halfway out. Meantime in the bedroom George
(^kitinupdf’b^Mirig.’ T hated it Wpen he btied like that, -for it
1/and,made’more real, my feelings of .confusionydertor’and
tepl^s§h(^li
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“.“Let him^suck thumb,” my mother saidnow almost.out of the
V;. liliouse.^i^bqwas still bent low.-She spat on the doorknob twice, a ritual
V ; -‘tha%,,shb dnefe told.me, protected th’feinnocent and kept all evil “spirits
including the police. I felt vagiiely reassured seeing her perform*
‘”‘And don’t: fotget now,” she said/ “don’t ever.be ^raid. ‘I’ll be
ffi’iacjr soonif’ Those were her last wprds; and as 1,.watched* her disapM|^ear .b^nd the shacks, swallowed up by the‘ominous .darkness and
|f’jlfeinous/sdunds,-her figure like that.of a black-cloaked.ghost, she
■y -ir^mejj’less ofthe-mother I knew arid loved, and metre bf a idesperate
‘; :;|^liagitivf^’fleeing ,off
her secret lair somewhere in the inkyblackd’ iriimfediately slammed the door shut, bolted it in three places,
‘■ ‘‘blew^out thd handle and then scampered to the,’bedroqtti, where, my
‘^brotl%^ w^ still crying. ■Butas L flung* operi the bedroom floor anew
|1;>and ipore dreadful fear gripped me arid made me turn-and run back
Klio’the
oor. 1 suddenly remembered how the pohce’hafl smashed
^^^n.tqe’floor during a raid one morning even though it had^been
;^#oltedj’ J;’inrist barricade the door,,this fline, Ttold iriyself; that will
|st6i) fhe|ri. ‘ll started dragging.things from all uven the^kitchen and
Itpilirig them up against the door—a barrel half-filled -with drinking
“ water,-a shuttle half-filled with coal and seyeral tin* chairs. Satisfied
|:’that;thefloor’was ‘noW impregnable I-then scuttled back to the ‘bed’room and there leaped onto the bed by the latticed Window,
“Shut lip, you fool!” I yelled atmy brother, but he did not quiet.
;0’-1 then uttered the phrase, “There’si.a white map outside,” which ta
I Small black children .had the same effect as “There’s a bogeyman
|; outside,” but still he would not stop. I then stuck my thumb into his
wide-’Opentoouth, as my mother had, told me. BPt George had other
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Kaffir Boy
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plans for my thunib; he sunk his teeth into it. Howling with pain, I
grabbed him by, the feet and tQssed’hiin over, and spanked‘liim on .the
buttocks.
“Don’t ever do that!”
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He became hysterical and went into a seizure of screams. Hisbody
writhed and his mouth, frothed. Again I grabbed ^ssing^ the
resplt-of a rock hprle^”fcom’th£f.^treAt.Qne pight long ago..My father
hadn t replaced the„wihdQW |?pMtsed the,fl3p,asa„watchpost whenever,
pohcp raided the, peigh^ourbcifldst
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With mouhtipg .poiteihenivi; raised my self toward ..th^;,window
and reached-fpr thedip,^, carefndy pushed it,tp ohe^ide as-Lhadseepmy father do.,,and |hgn tfokedmijy head; through; all the tinje my eyes
were qn*the prQwl,foP d&pger., iMy head, lya^-halfway in aPd’haifway ‘
out whpnimy .eyes fell,i|pon twof tall black.pdJicem.ememprging.from.a.
shack acrpss theistreet.. Jhpy joined tWo-others, Stahdipg alongside a
white map by the.entrance gate-Jto.one .pf rhe yaj-dg. The white,mah’
had a holstered gun. sltpig low |hput his*waist, ,;as’in the movies, ;and
was pacing hnskly“abQut,.shouting prders and pointingih all different
directiops.”FtitJher on, ip the-yard, another white Tnanjl ,also with a
gun.j.^Was .sppemsing a,,group;df about, tepbIach..polidemep as theyroundedmb half-paked.bladk men and woipeP,from Jh,e ^hacka.,Ghi],- i
dreh s screams issued from some of the shacks. ‘
ijt^.Thps’Sighf had, me spellbound:. Suddenly nthp white/man.by jhe
entrance gate pointed-in the.difectipn of.qur house.,,Two black policemen.’jpjpped’ and’ started aprpss the street toward|me;^ They were
quickly‘jpined. by. a-third. I gasped with fear. A newterroj gripped
me’nnd frqze.’lne by the window, my head still-stieking halfway out.
^y mmdwent blank; I shut my eyes; my heart*thpmped somewhere
ite^y throat. I overheard tho three bjack policemen, -as they,came
across jthe, street, say to each other.
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•’“That’smumberttiurty-seven,”
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„ “Yes. But.*’!^ don’t think we’ll find any of the? Afjpmi gang in
tnere.
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[thejwhite man], thinks there ipay. be a few hiding in
there. If we don^ fipdthem, we can stillmake easympney. The yard
IS a havep for people without passbooks.”
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But I think everybody hasjfled. Look at those-busted doors.”
“There’s a few oyer thereatill shut.”
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“All right, then, let’s go in.”
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/
Suddenly there was a tremendous thud, as of some±ing heavy
crashing against the floor, and I heard )womaawas befiig kicked by.another
black policeman for being-.stul?t)prn; another womanlwas-hieing orr
dered to leave a-bawling-infant-hehind. .Several redmeckedjwhite hien
m Satan suits and fatigues; guiis‘drawn; paced“ briskly about the-en
trance gate, shouting orders and-supervising the roundup*. I, avoided
them by going arbund the :shaeks. I,passed-pn’my v^ay to thfe gate
shacks whose windows had .^een shattered, whose dooBs had been
usted. The mterior of some of.the,shacks were a mess, as if a tornado
had hit. I arrived at the gate gnd’founda group*of hbys’in’a half-circle
on a stoep overlobking the street,.Dawn was sturting-tb brfeak^ut stars still twinkled faintly m the
istant, pale eastern sky. BUTC(^i buses droned in the distance, carryr
mg loads of black-humanity tq’ ffie white world to work.,! joined‘tha
group of boys-. My eyes wandered up, then dowmthe street. I gasped
at what I saw down the street..A huge throng of handcuffed black
men and women,,numbering in -the hundreds,»mied the narrow street
rom side to,side* The multitude, murmuring like herds of’restless
cattle, was being marched by-scores of black policemerfand a dozen
”
fierce-police dogs on leashes,
toward a row of about,ten polled vans and trucks.parked farther down
he street. More:handcuffed,mdiY and women were still.filing odt of
the yards on either side, &Welling.the„ranks of-those already choking
^en a^sld
openmouthdd With fearful anticipation, watching
e handcuffed mea and; women bemg shoved, jostled, kicked apd
sr”outof t^e
vans,,along.with the dogs,
I saw out of.the corner of my.eye, a short, .pot-bellied black police^
man leading a naked* black man-with bony, stiltlike .legs, out of-an
outhouse m a yard across the street. The naked man pleaded that he
with
f
gO”-and..dress, but the fat policeman dimply rbafed
ith laughter and prpdded the-naked man in the back with a truncheon, telling him *fhat jt was not bis fault that he had caught him
the
jeered^^^^
witp,your tlothes on, brother.,” the policeman
The boys around me giggled at the sight of the naked man being
marched down the street, totVard the throng of handcuffed men and
women, his gnarled hands cupped betweih his bony legs. I remained
25
The Road to Alexandra
-silent. A t^l black man standing by the gate to one of the yards
dverlookihgsthe,street—one of theTe^ adults left behind, presumably
becaus^’ltis^ papers were in order—saw the naked man,and instantly
;4ashed into his house and catne out waving a pair of tattered overalls.
;ije hurled’ them across the don^a^ and they landed in the’tniddle of
§ie street, a few paces from the approaching policeman and his naked
%ptive. Grudgingly,, amid slioufs of “Hilri-y up, we hai^en’t got all
“lay,” intendfed’to please the ^roup of women prisonerigaping at* the
scene ffbfn a shdrt distance, the policeman-allowed the naked man to
pek up the overalls*. He dressed in the middle pf the street.
(’.Meanwhild the truck .and fans, now jam-packed with handcuffed
men’tindAvomen and dogs and black policemeil, hummed fengihes-and
prept^Jed to leave. More handcuffed-men and-women and policemen’
and dogs still”remained,,in the streets. Within minutes more; vans and
IriiSfo/Came, and the Ibading was finally completed. The’convoy of
vans and trucks sped away in a huge cloud of dust, with several of the
blac^ policemen dangling from the side and rear doors iike ,rags on a
Une
i.
/k-4 fHp ormin
r\f*
ctQrtp/i tJiltino’ in
subdued tones.
^‘They’ve-iaken my father.away.”
«“They’ve taken my rnother and father.”
“They’ve taken myhrbther.”
“They’ve taken my sister.”
“They’ve taken my whole family/’
“They’ve taken my aunt and uncle.”
,
‘^■‘They’vfe taken my mother and left my father after he had given’
them some money.”
I Mother! Where.was my mother? All along*I’had been oblivious of
her. 6.emembering that the police did not find her whemthey searched
the hbuse, I ran back home as fast as I could to try.arid find her. I
found my brother and sister still crying, but I ignored them.
“Mama! Where are you?” I shouted, standing in the middle of
the bedrooms “They’re gone.”
No reply.
I repeated the shout. The wardrobe creaked and a voice inside
softly asked,. “Are they gone?”
Instantly I leaped back; my eyes popped out in fearful astonish
ment.
“Mama, is that you?” I warily approached the wardrobe.
,
■
.1 ‘fe a*i
26
Kaffir
i «*,
■* “Yes, Ifet me out!” ,
.
« j,
Mama, afe you in.thfer£?”iT said’,-16- make sure that I ^ad-iiiafeeU*
heardher voice. I-could nof561ieve.^hei^lidd>hidden hehself m & ‘Smali
a wardrobe. My sister and. I*dftefn’,had trouble fittfn^ in there Men- *
dver we played hide-ahd-seeR.^’‘i5(^’!th6.eartheafl6or. Where,was the key^
Had my fathdr unMttiftglytfa’keil.itWith’hmi? How would I»gS’t mv
‘ ■ “Leok.again!’^pleVMd thor^^^^
^
‘
‘
’ ^
I PPat twice on my right balm ahd .
ost spit werit. J^,wenfto the fight. I then littered thfeisupplication
evLTm r
Ancestors!,Gtiideine tb^^l^t-‘
‘ 7n th
wO^reveffit may iiel” ! doncentraW my se’a/eh
on the right sidebftlie bed.‘Still no key. J bebame frantic.’ ‘ ‘
There s’no ketjiMama.-”
,
*’
– _
,
‘
«
to Ibokeverywhere. I’began ransacking the house and
while oyferturning the tbfn strW mattress.l found a pair of old, tilSted
bhambUng.adobe bricksvtwo,tiny Windows made of cardboard
fc ’W>plces of glass,.a*creakyi termite^eaterr door too Ic^’fbr a person ,
|; oteage’height to pass,.through’with’qut-bei^mg’double, and a floor
I* ma(ie^fipafches.df cfcment arid earthr It was Similar to the dozen or.
Ir.S’sMcks strpwn,irregularly,-like lumps on a leperyupon.the cracked
‘
” ‘^ l^^s-‘piece of grouUd named yard.nurUber thirty-five^ ‘ *
U thi&’new shack.my brother, George,(was.’Weaned-. It was amus.idg»;tp Y^itness my, mother. da.*it. The fitsLdayshe began *the process
i’ .Sifsbcretly smeared her bteasts with*red peppfr and then.invited my
brHtihet‘to’Stickle. Unsuspecting^ George’energetically attacked my
■hiOTher.’»breast dnly tb let go of itinstantly and*start hollering because
‘ >‘5. fheAot.pepper^,This xontinued thrbughout.the daywhenever he
i * Wahfed‘to,sucklev FinaUy/ after a fewdaysyhh began to dread the
I ifelitiof ,my mother’s bi?east, .and .each time she teased fiim with it he
*■ Wodlditurn his fate.-. He was now weaned. My father .bought a,.s,mall.
f-r ;|hite,xhicken„ my, mother brewedbeer, a‘,few. relatives
^
•’aiid’a- smalKcelebration- ‘Was held ’ to mark George >s pasSagfer from-m
lancy to childhood., Hewas almost two years old. He noW-had to sleep
‘VithFlorahand’me in the kitchen.
uL ‘ol
ss
.Soon after George, was*weaned my .father began teach^g him,,
.. Abe.had bpen .teaching me^ tribal’ways-of Ufe.-Myfadier belonged to a
wNlposely. knit group.of black’families,m the .neighbourhood .to whom
I, tribal,traditions were a way of life, and who sought touring up th
offspring according to its laws. HebeUeved th’at feeding us a stea y
viVi,
^ifct ‘6f tribal beliefs, values and dtual§. was.one way of ensuring our
mortnal growth, so that in the event- of our returning to the tribal
reserve, something he insistently believed would hapdfeh soony’we,
,would.blpnd iu perfectly. This diethe administered »^elig«;uslyrseemingly bent Ion moulding*George and.me.in his image: At first.I had
tried toxesist the dietybut my father’s severe‘looks frightened me^;
A short, gaunt figure, with a smooth, tight, black-as-coal skin*
large promindnt ‘jaws* thin, uneven-lips whose, sole function seemed
to be the production .of sneers, a broad nose with slightly .flaring
nostrils* small, bloodshot eyes which never cried^CsmaU, close-set ears-,
and a wide* prominent forehead—such wei;e my father s fearsome ^
Vi
and bred-in-a tribal reserve and nearly tiyice my mother’s
age, my father existed,under the illusion, formed a^ much,by a strange
innate pride as by a blindness to everything but his own will, that
32
Kaffir Boy
bSSnn?
disappear from 3outh, Affica, and
black people would revert to their old ways of living. To prepare for
tolerSn^ dJ
the-house strictly according to.triL-law,
tolerating no deviance^ ‘pamculaYly from his children. At the-same
time that he Was force-feedih^ius’. tribalism we were learning, other
ways of life modern ways, frdbapingling with children.whose parents
had shed then: tqbal cloth, and/embfaced Western culture
My father’s tribalxulehab as its fulcrum the constant performing
rituals spanning the.rgnge of day-to-day living. There were rituals
o protect the house MevMoets, toward off starvutiouTprent
US from becoming sick, to-safeguard his job, to keep the policLway
to bring us good luck, to;make him earn more money dnd Lny othere
theTnlv
^^ysihiply awed, confused and embarrassed hie,
and the bnJy.regson I participated in them night after night wasVbe
Sr 7,
certain that I did, by using,
kings, the whip^ and the threat of the retributive powers^of’^mv
ancestral spirits’,, whose favour the rituals were designed to rculry^
Td
eatiij^
^ Hiteptionally broke one of the^e laws: I talked Xle
“That’s never donfe in mybouse,^’ my father screamed at m‘e as
our”mL?T
alone, presiding*over
Tnd
-h Tw
bowl with George
and Florah. We-Were fitting on-the floor, about the bLier md X
mother was-iri thd bedrqom doing-something.
’
have two mouths to afford you such luxury.’.”* he
fumed, ad™phreateningly towardme, a cold sneer on hil thim
lipbed, cankerous mouth. He.seemed ten feet tall
,
rerrified, I’desertedthe pap ’wvleis and fled to Mother. ,
iBring him back -here,- woman!” my father called through the
I began bawling, sensing I was about to be whipped
My mother led me into the kitchen and pleaded for me “He
cmidren are At this point‘George and Florah, stopped eating and
^ched wiUi pctrdied eyes. “Don-t give me that,” surfed my.ftttel
He s old enough to remember, how to eat properly:”-He tore me
away from my mother and lashed me. She tried to iuLvene, but my
The Road to Alexandra
33
father shoved her aside and promised her the same. I never finished
my meals sobbihg, I slunk off; to bed, my limbs afire.with pain where
the /awhide had raised welts. The next day,” as I nursed my .wounds,
whild my, father was at.work, I told my mother that I hated him and
promised her I.would kill him when I grew up.
“DQh’t.say that!”* my mother reprimanded me.
‘■T will,” I said stoutly, “if he won’t leave mq alone.”*
*
^‘He’s your«father,.you know.”
“He’s not my father
^‘Shut that ba’d moutbof yours!” My mother threatened to smack
I
mC.
“Why does he beat me, then?” I protested.-“Other fathers don’t
^eat their children.” My friends always boasted that their fathers
never laid a hand on them.
“He’s trying to discipline you. He wants you to grow up to be like
him.”
“What! Me! Never!” I shook with indignation. “I’m never going
to be likfe him! Why should I?”
“Well, in the tribes sons grow up to be like their fathers.’*’
“But we’re not living in the tribes.”
“But we’re still of the tribes.”
“I’m not,” I said.’ Trying to focus the conversation on rituals, my
nemesis, I said, after a thoughtful pause, “Is that why Papa, insists
that we do rituals?”
“Yes.”
‘
“But other people don’t.”
“Everybody does rituals, Mr. Mathabane,” my mother said.
“You just don’t notice* it because they do theirs differently.- Even
white people do rituals.”
“Why do people do rituals. Mama?”
“People do rituals because they were born in the tribes. And in
the tribes rituals are done every day. They are a way of life.”
“But we don’t live in the tribes,” I countered. “Papa should stop
doing rituals.”
– My mother laughed. “Well, it’s not as simplesas that. Your father
grew up in the tribes, as you know. He didn’t come to the city until
he was quite .old.. It’s hard to stop doing .things when you’re old. I,
too, ,’da rituals because I was raised; in, the tribes. Their- meaning,
child, will become clear as you grow up. Have patience.”
But I had no patience with rituals, and I continued hating them.
34
Kaffir Boy.
an
my fathdr’s’ rittiak, sometimes led to ■.fhe’inost
appdUmg scenes, .which invariably. mdde^nie-thWiaugJiingstock Of-mv
friends, who thought that my father’ iri hSs.ritual’gai’b, was’theLost
hdarious thing ^hey had ever ^eeh’
datives: in T^zariS^
crv
^^^y^^’^ghe^i^t’mei-wouldsfefehfembarrassed and lyduld
ly. I began seeking wayS ofrdistan(?ingtmyself froirt ’my father’s fftti-
. als. I found one: fdecided.I wbuld no.aohger;wkhe presence ofC
Zulu
‘ ^San speikiug
Zulu, Sotho and Ts0nga,*% languages of my friends.Mt Wbrkd&ll
my fate
couiiuaea tfhtii
;;My.boy,».he;.bfeganr/‘,Whp is rulerpf.this house?” ^
‘
whose’ son ‘are ypu?”
“Yoursand’Mahi^’s.^’
■ . “Whose?’-’ 1
‘^Yours.”
i f
‘
“vS
,
a trembling Voice. ‘
,
‘
“Verida.”
,
“Whififrshould you speak^”
‘‘Wendi”
a uZhaJ’^Rlfc”
^
^
‘
■
‘
’*
.
,
^^guage do I speak?”-., ,
“Whi^ does your mama speak?”
^
‘
35
The Road to Alexandra
.
‘
■
‘
r
J
–
ote tongues; aJe-you
thnrmf lui
\ ‘^^dld reply he grabbed nie and* lashed me
a;.kept.everyone awake.at night. Each time my .mother
g^e thenj.-a.taorspil“of |ood, whenever she .could get it/.they voriiitfcdTheir ^ suffering- made the days and nights Unbearably ■filqrig* and
gloomy’,
. ^
.
°
My mother .pid jipt have the one hundred cents fOirake -tfifem to
the clinic, and no witch doctor, our last resort, was willing to’trpat
them on credit. But with-determination, courage and jbve, she’tried
her best tO’nurse, them back to health using some herbs Granny gave
IBI’ir
^
The RohU ‘to’Alexandra
39
I?;|‘h\r|,My brother alpd sister; fought’with’ the tenacity typical of African
l! cfiiidrett to stay alivfe/ but f’wofidemd,fbr how long’. The s;;rangest
Hgswaslthatydxcept for,ri minof’cough, Lfelt fine.
My father’s arrest,had eom’e* itf Septeiriber, and when Christmas
i .* ^a?”tw5b(days away, my mother dropped a bombshellf
^IThere Won’t bp any Christmas telebrationthis year,’.’ she-said.
tV “V^hat!” i cried, reacting-as if I were.a convict and my.mpthef a*
judge cbridPifaning me -to. death for a, criihe ! didn’t committ
EachChristmas, black’friiAilies wbuld‘celebrate by taking children
‘ all‘ages to.the Indiah.place on-First Avehue to be outfitted with
{‘pheap ^armerits, aiidsbnie, the extremely lucky onesjp wifh sneakers
f.. orishoe’S iThe Clothed, were worn .©n Christmas* arid hleW Year’s when
‘i ’tf^amilifes paraded theih’ehildren’on the streets in a pageantry designed
ifil^td-imply nonexistent wealth.. Chickens, .goats,’-sheep,* pigs.orcattle
‘ * ”IWouldhe slaughtered by. thewatious households, depending on each’s
if*:’»s^leyel’of affluence and’religious beliefs, and, commensurately^ big or
>^* shiailfeastsCwouldbe4ield,Uo which relatives from near and far^c^irie
ft t® paftake in the festivities, -^conps would, be baked, arid gallons of
■-.fs ‘Rbol-Aid ‘ori cider made *to?give to’ children on New Year’s, while the
adults went gbout each Other’s hoiriesteads, drinking free.liquor. Arid}
for the’fariiilies who cbuld-afford itj thdfr houses would be elaborately
decorated with trinketiiy,,andtthe very affluent would have Christmas
frees ifr their homesf ahd .’exchaiige small gifts.
i’‘*How come’we won’t bc’celebfating Christmas’, Mama?
s
, ■ “Your father,isn’.tshere;” my mother said..
‘
‘ ““But Chfiitmasis hefe;’)’I said.
■ ‘{Yes’, i know;” my mother said‘sadly. “But we donh have-the’
it.
money to celebrate it with.”
*’
‘^But We’ve always celebrated.Chri’stmaSj” I said.
‘
“That’s, because ybuf father had been around and working,” my
mother said.’.’
“When.will-he be back?” I said, tears filling my eyes.
‘
“I don’t,know3”“rity mother said.
»
When* Christmas came my mother-locked.my ailing brother and
sister arid mfe inside the house, while she went’about, the township
begging for cookies,.Kool-Aid and other fpods to keepms alive. WC
children .sat staring vacantly and longingly through the window at the
bright streets teeming with children dressed in gaudy .new loutfits,
suckingoandy bars’, munching cookie’s,-laughing, playing and romp-,
ing around, all’the time singing Christmas carols. Florah couldn t
40
The Road to Alexandra
Kaffir Boy*
bear the agony of seeing her friends’all dressed Up, playing arid fearing,
•…