Sonny Pillay
at Roosfontein (where the Westville prison now stands), Pillay ate his fill of ripe fruit every day. The family was poor, but his paternal grandfather had a banana farm, and his maternal grandfather a strawberry farm, “Six days out of the week I ate vegetarian,” he recalled.
His first foray into the world of sport was when he was aged seven, acting as a caddie, which earned him the sum of one shilling and sixpence. “I received my first Pound in 1967 from a golfer Frank Starkey.”
He gives fascinating insight into the world of caddies, mentioning that on Mondays they were allowed to play golf on the Royal Durban course up until 8.30am. “We were there at first light. We then moved on to Beachwood and Springfield. By the end of the day, we had played 54 holes. Nowadays professional golfers take three days to play that many holes,” he smiles.
But caddies, he says, were also gamblers. He and his partner, Rowan Ramtahal, were an unbeatable partnership, and apparently never lost a game. With the money they took off the less talented caddies, the two boys would attend the movies on a Tuesday. Ramtahal, he said eventually became a successful golfing coach.
As for Pillay, he was in due course invited to become clubhouse manager of the nine-hole Springfield Golf Club. “The clubhouse consisted of just four walls and two windows.” As clubhouse manager, he got to serve tea to the famous Indian golfer Papwa Sewgolum.
This brings Pillay to a subject he holds dear to his heart: “Sports people of colour played a vital role in dismantling apartheid in this country. They proved that whites are not supreme. Given the chance, blacks, coloureds and Indians have proved they can excel.”
Becoming introspective, Pillay claims that it is golf, rather than karate, that has moulded him.
But, it is with karate that many associate him and indeed this is the sport which has given him the opportunity to visit 47 countries.
He speaks freely of the difficulties he faced in the karate arena. Being small of stature, he was at a disadvantage when faced by Europeans whose height meant they had a longer reach. He overcame this, he said, with two secret weapons: his lightning fast gyaku zuki (reverse punch) into the solar plexus, and the mawashigeri (round-house kick) to his opponent’s face. “In the early days there were no sophisticated rules. Tournaments were often brutal and there was no protective gear,” he recalled..
It was the apartheid laws which ultimately drove him to England, as being Indian meant he could not gain his black belt in South Africa.
In England he trained under Tiger of the Rising Sun, Enoeda Keinosuke, a Japanese based in England, who had the authority to upgrade him to Black Belt status, a sash he could eventually sport with pride.
On his return to South Africa in 1977, he was given the mandate by the Japanese to start his own Shotokan Karate International South Africa (Skisa). For his own emblem he chose the tiger, as he believed much of karate is epitomised by the character of this animal.
Pillay duly received his eighth dan WKF black belt from the hands of one of the greatest legends in karate: Kanazawa Soke who, at 87, still sometimes takes to the floor.
Author/playwright Dr Ronnie Govender is currently writing a biography on Pillay, entitled “Reaching for the Mango.” This title is drawn from an anecdote that Pillay ruefully recalls. “When I was six years old, I fell from a tree, while reaching for a mango. I cracked my head and bear the scars to this day.”
As to Govender, he feels the youth of today are desperately in need of role models, and sees in Pillay such a steadying force.
Govender read to the Tribune Herald some excerpts from his book which he believes portray the spirit of “The dead-poor kid from the slums of Springfield whose unquenchable quest for excellence…took him to the capitals of the world.”