Principal of iconic school tackles drugs
Head works for a clean community Zebra Inn murder a loss to Maboneng
THE Morris Isaacson High School in Soweto will always be remembered as an institution that played a pivotal role in the June 1976 student protests against the apartheid state.
Leaders of the June 1976 movement, such as Murphy Morobe and the late Teboho “Tsietsi” Mashinini, cultivated their socio-political knowledge at the school, which has left an indelible mark on the history of South Africa’s anti-apartheid Struggle.
Today, almost 41 years later, the school is waging a new war against arguably the greatest threat to township youth today – drug abuse.
This fight against drug abuse is spearheaded by headmaster Steven Khanyile.
He laid bare the effects that such abuse has had on not only his pupils, but the community of Soweto – detailing the debilitating crime and grime caused chiefly by substance abuse.
Khanyile has joined forces with musician Kabelo “Bouga Luv” Mabalane, who is also from Soweto, and other community members, as part of the Anti-Substance Abuse Social Movement campaign.
I t was l a u n c h e d in December, when Mabalane led a march from K h a n y i l e ’ s school to the Orlando Police Station.
The route taken was symbolic, as it was a re-enactment of the 1976 course that the more than 20 000 Soweto students were supposed to have walked before hundreds of them were mown down by apartheid’s security state.
Khanyile told The Star it is important for him to be a part of the anti-substance abuse campaign, as he can no longer endure the pain of seeing former students, including young people from the community, in dire situations due to drug addiction.
Khanyile added that, as a teacher, he had refused to sit by and allow his pupils to fall by the wayside.
“We don’t want to produce learners who will end up nowhere in life because of drug abuse.
“So, as a school, we must be seen to be serving and enlightening the community, while also coming up with solutions that assist the community to deal with harmful social ills resulting from substance abuse,” he said.
“That is just what we are serious about as a school and where we need to continue to focus.
“How do we kill the issue of the effect that drugs have on our community? What is painful is that we have learners who abuse (the drug) ‘nyaope’ and don’t get anywhere in life, because it makes them lose their ability to think positively about the future.”
Khanyile became the head of Morris Isaacson in 2013.
He emphasised he does not see his current role as a prestigious one. Rather, he said, being the head is a “huge privilege” that he refuses to take for granted, adding he is a public servant whose duty is to continue positioning the school as a community leader.
“I can’t just be happy to be here – there is a lot that needs to be done in terms of trying to maintain the school’s name, as it is attached to history, but also in ensuring that this school continues to do good things for the community and for the country,” Khanyile said.
“If this school played an important role in 1976 by producing leaders, how do we make sure that this big name is still relevant today in terms of dealing with societal problems? “That is just one part where I feel that I need to work a bit harder. That is why I have tackled the issue of drugs, because I can see the effects they have on the community.”
Khanyile is not merely paying lip service by expressing his concerns about the effects drugs have had on the youth. He is also taking action by rescuing pupils who he sees heading down a terrible path because of drugs.
Examples of this are Grade 12 pupils Katlego Mosala and Sibusiso Makhatini.
Mosala, 20, and Makhatini, 21, told The Star they were embroiled in a degenerate life of drug taking before seeking assistance from Khanyile, who was more than willing to assist them in getting their lives back on track.
Mosala said he began experimenting with cigarettes and dagga in primary school, a few years after his mother passed away, when he was eight.
When he arrived at Morris Isaacson in 2013, he began smoking nyaope because of what he said was the anger and frustration he felt in his life, caused by being an orphan.
“When things weren’t going well at home, I would get angry at thinking of why my life
‘I have tackled drugs, as I can see the effect on the community’
IT MADE sense that Zebra Inn in Maboneng was a favourite hangout, especially for old patrons not amenable to the crowded restaurants of Maboneng, which usually teemed with young and energetic patrons.
I was one of those who loved the restaurant and, just like TV producer and presenter Johann Botha, the owner had become a friend of mine.
In fact, Botha was introduced to me during a late night of socialising by the owner who, until recently, I only knew as Swazi.
His name was, in fact, Werner Josef Peherchtold, 76, an Austrian and a legendary hunter who was also a former war pilot.
Most of the time, Swazi did not reveal much about himself, but he surprised me one night, leading me downstairs to the basement to show me his treasure trove – stacks and stacks of books, over 200 000, that he had collected over his lifetime.
Swazi was a man whom I had come to know as a book collector, reader and hunter. He was an eccentric and came over as being cold, even a bit suspicious of patrons that came to his establishment for the first time.
But once he knew you well, and you knew him, he was one of the
COUNTERING ABUSE: Steven Khanyile, principal of Morris Isaacson.
might have been better had my mother still been alive. All of these things led me to abuse drugs and other substances in order to numb the pain that I was feeling,” he said.
“There was also a sweetest guys I’d ever known to run an establishment.
In fact, Swazi is the one who, only a few weeks ago, introduced me to his buddy Botha, with whom he would be always playing pool in his establishment. In turn, Botha warmed to me, to such an extent that he immediately invited me to a party at his home the next day, a Saturday.
Playing the race joke, I said to him: “As long as there are no racists at the party, I will definitely attend.”
And true to his promise, as soon as I got home, I received the following text: “Hey man, this is Johann Botha, just met you at Swazi’s.
“What are you doing on Saturday? I would really like you to come and visit me. You would be the only racist here,” he wrote.
I felt embarrassed for having ever made that racist joke in the first place, for he was now clearly playing it back to me in a wicked way.
Until this day, I still have that message on my phone and I agonise over whether it was appropriate for me to have made that racist joke in the first place.
Well, I did not make it to the party peer pressure involved, as my friends would smoke nyaope in front of me.
“They would say to me: ‘Man, just take one puff; it won’t hurt you at all and you will feel much better’. But I in the end, as I was committed elsewhere on the day.
I regret that I never went to it, following the murder of both Botha and Swazi last Wednesday.
However, living just three streets away from Zebra Inn, I nearly went in there that Wednesday at 7pm, exactly the same time it was estimated that the robbery that took my friends’ lives occurred.
However, something said to me that it would not be okay to pass through the pub at that time, while clutching a takeaway beer that I had bought from a nearby bottlestore on my way home.
I am glad that I made that decision out of good manners, for I would have walked straight into a robbery in progress and, like my two friends, could have been a victim of crime at a place I least expected such a thing to happen – my favourite neighbourhood pub.
In fact, Zebra Inn is a pub I had introduced many friends to, ever since I “discovered” it, after being introduced to the cosy pub by filmmaker Terry Stevens about three years ago. also have to take responsibility for my actions, as I allowed myself to get sucked into smoking nyaope – never again.”
Mosala added that the school helped him to check into a drug rehabilitation centre in
Just the previous Friday, my friends and I had downed a few drinks there.
One thing about Zebra Inn is that it is often quiet and has its loyal patrons, both the locals and tourists who visit Maboneng.
Swazi had always been careful about security at this establishment, with cameras that ensured that he could see patrons as they came in, as far as Albertina Sisulu Street, where the pub is situated.
It is almost unimaginable that such a murder would take place at this establishment, which had assumed iconic status in Maboneng, especially since, if Swazi did not know you, he would sometimes not open, by remote, two electric doors, complete with delay technology.
Zebra Inn is also a stone’s throw from Jeppe Police Station and one would assume that should be a deterrent for those trying to take a chance.
But, obviously, it did not discourage the three robbers – a woman, and two men – who robbed Maboneng of the lives of two of its most prominent characters.
Swazi is survived by his partner Lucille.
His memorial service is scheduled for tomorrow at the Edwardian Church in Houghton. February 2015.
He returned in April to begin the second term of the academic year as a Grade 10 pupil.
““I have yet to fail a single term since my return from rehab,” he said.
Makhatini has a similar story to Mosala of personal problems that led him to a life of substance abuse.
Makhatini said he was raised by his single mother who was an alcoholic. When it became apparent his mother could not take care of him adequately, he said that social workers placed him in the Walter Sisulu Child and Youth Care Centre in Soweto.
He added that things went further south after his mother died in 2008, when he was adopted by a Soweto family who he said would often mistreat him – and this led to him sniffing industrial glue.
“For example, I would be hanging outside and chatting with my friends and we would lose track of time.
“When I would arrive back home at around 7.30pm, my guardians would kick me out, telling me to go back to where I had come from,” he said.
“There was a boy who was homeless and who slept on my street. He was heavily sniffing glue. It was common knowledge back then that glue was sniffed by homeless children.
“That is when I also started sniffing glue because I would occasionally sleep outside. The first time I sniffed it, I remember it numbing the pain and anger I was feeling.
“I focused mainly on how good the glue made me feel, not realising how destructive it was going to be in my life,” Makhatini said.
He returned from a drug rehabilitation centre at the end of February this year, after his headmaster had checked him in towards the end of last year.
Makhatini was supposed to complete matric last year, but he never wrote his final exams because of the effects the glue had on him.
He credits Khanyile for assisting him when he sought help, saying he wants to make his headmaster proud.
His views were echoed by Mosala, who said that Khanyile “always had their back”.
Mosala hopes to study law next year, as he wants to defend people, especially the youth, who are downtrodden, like he was a few years ago.
“But I also want to be rich, my brother,” he said.
Makhatini, on the other hand, hopes to study business management next year and enter the corporate life, because he believeshe is entrepreneurial.
“But I also want to go into the corporate sector because I look good in a suit and tie,” he joked, pointing to how neatly dressed he was in his uniform.
Both pupils said they aim to work hard this year, so that they can achieve good marks in order to qualify for bursaries, as they know their families won’t have money to put them through university.
Asked whether prospective sponsors should trust them, seeing as they had lived a drugfuelled life, they said: “We are not prisoners of our past, but the pioneers of our future.”
Khanyile said he was confident both were on the right track and would not let themselves and their families down, which was more important than them trying not to let him down.
“They must do it for themselves, not for me,” he said.
Swazi was a collector, reader and hunter. He was an eccentric