SS MENDI A CANDLE TO LIGHT OUR PATH
UNTIL the lion learns to write, all stories about hunting will always be told from the hunter’s viewpoint.
In paraphrasing the words of the Nigerian literary legend Chinua Achebe, I am trying to reiterate – as if it were not clear enough – that until we black people tell our stories, our history will continue to be told from the perspective of our conquerors.
Our kings will continue to be portrayed either as buffoons, or bloodthirsty despots. History, as documented by our conquerors, will continue to deny the fact that before they arrived on our shores we had our own art, our religion, our cuisine, that we mined gold, copper and platinum.
These were the concerns boiling in my head as I began scrutinising a piece of SA history – the story about the sinking of the SS Mendi. But what is this SS Mendi? We claw back to the past: World War 1 broke out in 1914. By 1916 it had reached a stalemate. Germany’s ambitious offensive of 1914 had overrun Belgium and run deep into France.
Combined French and British responses to the German onslaught melted like snowflakes under a strong sun. The Allies were desperate for more manpower. Thus, the imperial government sent out a clarion call to its subjects in all colonies. It should serve the reader well to remember that the Republic of South Africa did not exist then. We were still the Union of South Africa, subjects of the king in England.
When the call reached these shores, many black men expressed their readiness to serve. But white South Africans complained that arming blacks to fight against whites – under whatever circumstances would set a bad precedent.
It was then agreed the blacks would not be armed. They would be part of a labour contingent supplying services such as wood-collecting, water-carrying, laundry, loading and cleaning mechanical transport, camp sanitation and cleaning. Thus was the South African Native Labour Contingent born. Altogether, it recruited 20 000 black men.
Our story concerns itself with the Fifth Battalion of this newly formed unit which set sail from Cape Town on January 16 1917, aboard the SS Mendi. The ship reached Plymouth in England on February 20. There, it offloaded some goods and gold bullion mined in SA, to finance the war. Then it embarked on the last leg of its journey, destined for France. –
In the early hours of February 21, off the Isle of Wight in the English Channel, the SS Mendi was struck by the SS Darro, a commercial ship and 616 South African men (607 of them black troops) plus British crew members perished. Many died on impact, while others were trapped below decks. According to oral history, as the ship sank, the men’s chaplain Reverend Isaac Wauchope Dyobha told them to stand in formation as they had been taught on joining the army. He raised his arms and cried out: “Be quiet and calm, my countrymen. 30 What is happening now is what you came to do … you are going to die, but that is what you came to do. Brothers, we are drilling the death drill. I, a Xhosa, say you are my brothers…. Swazis, Pondos, Basotho so let us die like brothers. We are the sons of Africa. Raise your war cries, brothers, for though they made us leave our assegais in the kraal, our voices are left with our bodies.”
The men stamped their feet, in a macabre death dance as it was christened by oral historians.
It was this moment in particular that inspired me to want to revisit this story, to celebrate the valour of these unsung heroes. Research for the novel was intensive. It included going to France, visiting the graves of those who survived the sinking.
Digging deep into black history before and after the war, my new novel tells the story from the perspective of one of the survivors.
I use the Mendi as a springboard from which I launch a conversation on the subject of black men serving in wars that were not theirs.
The government-sponsored celebration of the centenary of the sinking of the SS Mendi is on February 21. As we celebrate this slice of history, it is only proper that we use this story as a candle that lights our path. Let us talk about who we are, where we’ve been, where we want to go.
“I, a Xhosa, say you are my brothers…. Swazis, Pondos, Basotho so let us die like brothers