Lovedale: The tales of a printing press
‘It’s us loving in our own languages; it’s us praying in our own languages; it’s us living…’ says artist Athi-Patra Ruga, co-founder of Victory of the Word, a project to help save and preserve the Lovedale Press in Alice, Eastern Cape.
Almost 20 decades ago, just north of Alice in the Eastern Cape, the Lovedale Missionary Institute was founded. The influence of the institution on South Africa’s political, cultural and intellectual life throughout the years is prodigious; from one of the first black woman journalists in the country, Daisy Makiwane, to poet Isaac Williams Wauchope, Lovedale nurtured generations of intellectuals and political leaders.
In 1823, the mission opened the Lovedale Press, publishing educational and evangelical isiXhosa texts and literature, as well as the institution’s newspaper, Ikwezi, and journals such as Bantu Studies.
Today, the concrete structure that holds the press could easily be mistaken for a rather minor building if it wasn’t for the plaque on the side of the main entrance, a quote by novelist A.C. Jordan, with the words: “The earliest record of anything written by any Bantu-speaking African in his own language in South Africa was made at the small printing press at Old Lovedale.”
In 2020, Lovedale, which survived a war, apartheid, threats of closing down, an auction, more threats and the slow-burning disappearance of the printing world, is still standing, 197 years after its opening; and yet, although the press is kept active, operated by three former employees – now the owners of the Lovedale Press, Bishop Nqumevu, Bulelwa Mbatyothi and Cebo Ntaka – the institution is once more on the verge of closing; books in brown paper are piling up to the ceiling like fragile structures, a metaphor for the vulnerability of the place. It’s an Ali Baba cave of sorts, but filled with words that together write the story of our country – should it disappear, it would be a loss of significant cultural memories in written form.
“I went to Johannesburg as part of ‘the realness project’, which is a film-making workshop that happens in [Nirox]. I was developing The Lunar Songbook Cycle, which revolves around a child prodigy, who lives in the imaginary world that was set by the Lovedale Press; 200 years of history that lives through the body of Nomalizo Khwezi, who is this character I’ve been working with, both in art exhibitions and also for this film that I’m developing,” says Athi-Patra Ruga.
For two years, Ruga had been speaking with actress and academic Lesoko Seabe, as they share a passion for language and the arts; they also understand the urgency to preserve, protect and bring to light memories, and markers of time and culture, especially black culture, languages and literature.
Together, Seabe and Ruga, with the consent of the Lovedale team, started playing around with ideas and possibilities to build awareness of the place; and then, the Covid-19 pandemic obscured the world with an ominous and scary cloud.
“We started the Victory of the Word there and then, on a kitchen table. We said, let’s bring attention to the place, let’s bring attention to the fact that it does need help to sustain itself for the next 200 years,” says Ruga. “What was important for Athi and I is that once we got over our shock, and our dismay, and our grieving that this is a moment that we are even facing, we had to move into action. It’s something Athi said right at the beginning, ‘you must be shocked and then you must act’,” says Seabe.
And so, they acted: They launched a fundraiser campaign, they have engaged with “some really smart financial and strategic minds”, to help them think about the next steps, and to ensure this won’t be another stopgap campaign that might only help the press in the short term.
“I think that with the dying of vernacular, we need to find futuristic ways in which we can build industries out of translation, because that’s what needs to happen for it to be activated; we need to have much more futuristic looks,” explains Ruga.
What was important for Athi and I is that once we got over our shock and our dismay and our grieving that this is a moment we are even facing, we had to move into action. It’s something Athi said right at the beginning, “you must be shocked and then you must act”.
The idea is to think about how the space, the physical press and the Lovedale archive can be used, beyond preserving and highlighting what Lovedale represents.
Seabe ponders: “Would isiXhosa in the written form look like something else had the press not come? These are the questions that we can have really wonderful intellectual moments about; and then start to reimagine what the press can do, what other kinds of artistic outputs can occur out of the artistic space.”
The project is a work-in-progress, and both Seabe and Ruga agree that a phased approach is essential in order to shape the future of the Lovedale Press, which includes raising money, creating sustainable revenue channels, rebuilding the publishing house and translating original historical works.
“We thought about what part of our community would always need access to these kinds of books, and we were thinking about collaborating with the Department of
Education, as they make this push towards the foundation-phase learning in indigenous languages, and to be a primary developer of those works.
“If we could get that contract or parts of those contracts to generate that income, that would allow the different other parts of the business to be taken care of,” she says.
“We’re a country whose preamble, in every aspect that we do, is to right the wrongs of the past. And one of the major ones and the most consequential one is the erasure of people’s cultures.
“The Department of Arts and Culture, the Department of Education are here to help in righting those wrongs, or facilitating for the redress of those situations. And that’s where they come in. At the moment, Lovedale, in whatever state it exists, is in trouble. It has so much intellectual property that has added to the dignity of the people, me included; my art included,” adds Ruga.
“I’m in a position whereby the story has fed me, the stories that come from there have literally fed me and Lesoko and many generations. I left there wanting to get as many people as possible to do even a simple thing like acknowledging the place. And hopefully it sticks this time. We’re just praying it sticks this time,” he explains.
What do they hope the campaign will achieve for Lovedale?
“I think that the first thing that people can do is Google and research as much as they can about the Lovedale Press and other presses that were involved in the development of contemporary indigenous language in South Africa.
“You will learn so much; because it goes beyond the modern founding myth of South Africa. It’s us loving in our own languages; it’s us praying in our own languages; it’s us living, so that humanity just finding out about Lovedale… it gives you a backbone.
“We’re also trying to just get people to reattach again to this space. Because those sales could go to the day-to-day living of the people so that they have the strength to carry on. That’s all I’ve been thinking. That’s all we’ve been thinking, the strength they need to fight well. They need to fight well…,” he adds.
Seabe nods, smiles and sighs. Their passion and love for the place are palpable, and contagious. It’s an all-consuming undertaking, especially as both the actress and the artist have full-time jobs and not much time to spare working on other projects. But it’s also a labour of love, she says, and a “dream that lives so close to the heart… and so close to the flesh”.
Now, after almost 200 years, the history of the press is so rich, it turned a small missionary institute into a national treasure.
With thousands of pages printed and bound together, will the word finally be victorious? It has to be.
DM168