Daily Trust Sunday

- Winnie Madikizela Mandela

- TAMBARI

Early childhood I come from a big family of 11 and only a third of us are alive now. My father was a school principal and he was my teacher in primary school. My brief memory of my mother who died when I was nine years old is vague.

My father brought us up in an atmosphere where he had turned down a chieftainc­y tittle. He was supposed to be a chief in our area but he refused and instead went to train as a teacher. In those ancient days, it was unheard of that a chief would refuse to assume his position and then decide to go and learn to be a teacher. But there was a misunderst­anding between him and his father at the time. When we grew up, 11 as we were, we were never alone. I never grew up with only my brothers and sisters. There were always 10 other children. I didn’t know at the time that it was because of his status as a chief. When you are a chief, you are a community leader. So every parent who could not afford to feed their children just sent them to the chief, palace where they could get good food.

When we went to school and there were children who could not afford school fees and these children were my friends, they would be sent home. I would take them home to my father. 1 would say to my father, “their parents could not afford to pay school fees, could you please help pay their fees?” In some instances, I was too afraid to tell him. Sometimes, I would come with these children from boarding school and when it was time to return back to school, it was then I would tell him they couldn’t go back to school because their parents couldn’t afford the fees.

That was how he paid school fees for children whose parents he never knew. Before his death, he never met the parents of those children and neither did I.

When I went into care, I was becoming more and more aware of the social issues. I then understood what I had put my father through. It was he who applied for me to do Social Work because of what 1 had put him through (laughing). It wasn’t because I had any interest in it. I didn’t know anything about social work. Life as a social worker My father understood what I would ultimately be in life. I didn’t study to be a social worker in itself. For me, it was a manifestat­ion and a realisatio­n of what I had been doing and which I knew to be the norm of our society.

When I was born, I grew up in my provincial atmosphere. I was not born into my family. I was born into a community and I come from a background where the child is born to the community. I grew up knowing that I could not mess up in front of my neighbour as a child. If my neighbour saw me doing something silly, he had the right to whip me and beat me to a pulp. I would go home with scratches and still bear marks on my legs because I had been beaten up by my neighbours for being naughty as a child. That was how we were brought up. The child was regarded as a community child and not necessaril­y that of its biological mother and father.

Therefore, if I disgraced my family, I disgraced the community. So, when I knew I was going to do something silly, I was disgracing that community to the extent that my parents would be punished by the community. That became me and that is who I am. Belonging to the community That is exactly what we have lost. You then get to this age where I cannot even tell my grandchild, “you are being silly”. When he is naughty, I take a whip and I whip him, his father calls the police to say I am violating his children’s rights.

He messes up, takes drugs in front of me and does things that I know the best thing is to whip that child and put some senses into him.

In a way, this democratic dispensati­on can be very undemocrat­ic; I can’t even beat my own children.

I remember times when neighbours were beating us, but now, not even your uncle can correct you. Children will ask you, “why you, you are not my parent? They say so. They actually say so. In my society at the time, if for instance my daughter was married and she messes up where she is married, the husband does not even come to report to me. He goes to her uncle who was the most important entity in the family. He took over in the event of the father’s departure. The uncle makes decisions for my daughter.

However, that will not happen today. My granddaugh­ter will ask, “who the hell do you think you are? You are not my parent.” This democracy comes with its own frills that are problemati­c for an African and we should remain as African as I have remained. It is a problem and that is why I chose to remain in Soweto. My childhood dreams I had hoped that I might be a doctor and I thought I would be a paediatric­ian. But that wasn’t totally lost because I ended up becoming a paediatric social worker. I have satisfied that really. The bold and courageous women in the struggle I must stress that I relied mostly on women who were very, very brave and courageous. If my daughter can be asked or interviewe­d she can attest to what I am saying. That is Zindzi who was side by side with me in the undergroun­d days. That brought a lot of pain and she knows a great deal about what happened during those painful years.

We carried the struggle on our shoulders and I used Zindzi to carry out most of the dangerous struggles I n the undergroun­d. She will live to tell! that story herself one day, because I cannot speak on her behalf Zindzi was mostly with me. Her sister was either in Swaziland or some other place. She was with me because I was banished along with her. She was about 11 or 12 years when I was banished to Bradford.

I put her elder sister in boarding school because it was not safe for me to leave them on their own and I didn’t have to look

after them. But Zindzi was on holiday with me and that was when I was banished. That was how she lost those early school years and was forced to go with me. She witnessed all the gruesome things we went through and let’s hope that one day. she will be able to tell all that she went through. We did not have a family life To me, my life is just like a continuati­on of the childhood life I had. There were so many interrupti­ons in my married life and things that were not within my control. But I left it to time and as it is now; it is still being determined by time. On beauty routine I never had time to think about that. In the morning, I would just wash my face with any soap I can find. She (pointing to her daughter Zindzi) can tell you all about it, Daughter Zindzi (Cuts in): Mummy gets up in the morning, washes her face and puts whatever available cream there is. That’s all. Mummy’s beauty is from the inside. No special creams .... No. no. From the day I came into the world, nature decided to be good to me and I have never had to use anything extra. Favourite perfume Daughter Zindzi: Mummy’s favourite perfume in those days was called Youth Dew, but now she uses any one she finds. On jewellerie­s Zindzi: She loves wristwatch­es, no special designer but she can spend a lot on a wristwatch and she has many of them. The saying goes that you are what you eat. What do you eat? I do a lot of gardening and I love to eat the vegetables from my garden, I don’t like to eat frozen chicken, I prefer it live and freshly slaughtere­d.

(Zindzi Cuts in): She Is an amazing gardener, She spends like two hours a day in her garden. No special therapy. She does not go to the gym. She is very active but doesn’t go to the gym. Does she take a stroll around Soweto? Who will allow me? The moment I begin to walk around Soweto, the first person I meet would come and grab my arm and pull me into their homes and ask me to talk to their son who is refusing to go to school or some other problem.

Zindzi: She is very active. She is always having one engagement or the other. She is always on the road. About grandchild­ren (Counting) There are 10 grandchild­ren and five great grandchild­ren. Lets talk about the smacking .... Zindzi: (laughing) Mum is a typical African woman. She would wake up at 4am, sweep the house and do chores. She believes in respecting elders and hierarchy which is what she passed on to us. She instilled in us a sense of discipline and a sense of humility.

First published 28th November, 2010.

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