Teacher in a million whose legacy lives on
Mongezi ‘bra Kenny’ Mjila born 3 December 1949, died 23 June 2020
With my parents concerned about my experience of constant bullying at a mainstream school, it became clear to them that such a toxic environment for a young lad with a physical condition was unbearable.
In March 1981, I was admitted to the school for children with disabilities, Vukuhambe, in Mdantsane.
I was an impressionable young boy of 11 years. It was during this period that I was fortunate enough to cross paths with Mongezi “bra Kenny” Kenneth Mjila — a person who contributed prolifically to the development of others through a range of different hats such as teacher, mentor and deeply spiritual leader.
Accordingly, allow me to state that Mjila’s tutelage would later lead me to being the first recipient of the Nelson Mandela Scholarship to study at the University of Cambridge in the UK in 1995.
On my first day of registration at Vukuhambe, and bear in mind I had never in my little life up to then had the experience of
being taught by a male teacher, I was welcomed by Mjila who, indulging in some light conversation, asked about my name.
I nonchalantly responded
“ndingu Thabo ‘Lundi’ Makupula Bhuti”.
On hearing this Mjila burst into laughter saying “tyhini!
Madoda le ntwana indibiza —
Bhuti esikolweni ayithi Titshala”, which loosely translates as “this young chap has diminutively referred to me as his big brother instead of properly calling me ‘Teacher’.”
This was my first informal lesson on understanding that within different schools there were also male teachers.
At the time Vukuhambe had two male teachers — Mr Mjila and Mr Dlova — with the rest of the teachers being female — Mam Theng’imfene, Mam Gxalo, Mam Bhaku, Mam Ndema, Ms Lali and Ms Ndarala.
The principal and his deputy were two white males — Mnr Renken and Mnr Crows — who were surprisingly proficient in isiXhosa.
Mjila was a towering giant, a former professional boxing pugilist with refined athleticism and a pedagogue par excellence.
He was a man of great stature with an unassuming gentle soul.
In him I encountered a remarkable man shaped from a special type of clay and cloth. He had the good looks of famous boxers such as Mohamed Ali. His well-cut, prominent beard and infectious smile, which featured a “love” gap of a front tooth, remain indelible in my memory, and without question melted a thousand hearts.
Vukuhambe Special School back then was a boarding school for boys and Mjila served as our boarding master.
He was a benevolent master who did not resist demonstrating tough love by imparting to us basic etiquette, such as how to properly hold a knife and fork, during our school dining sessions.
He would say: “You know what, my boys, some day you’ll go to faraway places and therefore must learn to avoid being embarrassed for failing to master the art of holding such utensils.”
Mjila loved cleanliness and always exuded good body aroma by using the notable colognes of the times.
I will never forget the quiet role he played in the political awakening of his lads, especially around the time of Prime Minister CR Swart’s death on July 16 1982.
Some will recall that during the funeral of Prime Minister Swart, schools had to close to observe these proceedings.
On this day, Mjila informally addressed us about the political meaning of the day against the backdrop of the real leader of the people, Nelson Mandela, who was languishing in jail at the time.
He told us that, in as much it was regrettable for a person to die, that very same Prime Minister Swart had played a part in having Mandela and other leaders jailed.
Mjila was incredibly trusting of us schoolboys he not only allowed us to clean his always immaculate Datsun, but would leave us with the keys.
As fate would dictate, and with boys being boys, I am reminded of what could have been a calamitous incident. Mjila as usual left the car keys with one of the boys for one of the cleaning sessions.
The car’s engine was started with the gear engaged for takeoff by someone whose physical condition required the aid of a leg brace.
The car took off at a blistering pace, with some of us screaming to the beleaguered “driver”“yifake egadini imoto”.
The car zigzagged along, finally stopping when it plunged into a concrete stormwater drain.
On his return to the car Mjila was remarkably calm and relieved that there were no fatalities.
Mjila was a rare gem and a welcome surprise to our lives at Vukuhambe Special School — he was a teacher and mentor for all seasons.
Indeed, a big tree has fallen. Rest in peace, “Dlamini omhle,
Zizi elimnyama neenkomo zalo,
Jama kaSijadu, ngxibo enoboya”.
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Mjila was a towering giant, a former professional boxing pugilist with refined athleticism and a pedagogue par excellence