Winnie and Nelson: new book casts light on their young love
She was a force to be reckoned with, but Winnie Madikizela-Mandela was also the great love of Madiba’s life. This book extract gives a glimpse of their early romance
SHE was one of the most complex women the country has ever seen – compelling, controversial, outspoken and unapologetic. Much has been written about her, but after her death earlier this year a new book by acclaimed writer and commentator Sisonke Msimang is being hailed for its razor-sharp insight into the complexities of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela.
In this exclusive extract from The Resurrection of Winnie Mandela, Sisonke paints an evocative picture of Winnie’s early relationship with the charismatic force that was Nelson Mandela.
THE issue of marriage comes up at his instigation but he’s ever so cool about it. He doesn’t bother about the formalities of asking.
One day, as he’s driving, he slows down the car and says, “You know, there’s a woman, a dressmaker, you must go and see her, she’s going to make your wedding gown. How many bridesmaids would you like to have?”
By this stage you’re madly in love with him, as he is with you, in his own way. It’s such a mutual feeling and understanding that the two of you don’t have to talk about it.
You marry in 1958, two years after the defiance campaign, and Nelson’s being charged with treason. Alongside 155 others, Nelson spends five years fighting that case.
Your father – the humble and mighty Columbus, who taught you to ask questions and be sceptical – is extremely proud.
It probably occurs to him to worry because Nelson is in the midst of the treason trial, for which he could be sentenced to death. Somehow this seems inconsequential to you, however.
Columbus might also worry because Nelson’s reputation precedes him. He’s known as a shameless flirt and a womaniser.
People whisper about his wife, Evelyn, who’s a cousin to Albertina Sisulu. They have four children and when you meet he’s still married. She isn’t in the picture, however – he lavishes on you the sort of attention only a single man can give.
There are also rumours that he’s been involved romantically with Lillian Ngoyi, the formidable president of the ANC Women’s League whom you come to admire.
And there’s talk of an affair with his secretary, Ruth Mompati. You ignore it all because there’s no serious competition. He loves you, some say even more than you love him.
Your love story is beautiful. It’s so beautiful that it’s easy to forget that because of the trial, and because of being a banned person, Nelson has to ask perT
Ymission to travel to his own wedding.
The authorities give him four days. The ceremony is rushed and there’s no time to do everything required. You have to dash back without even completing the usual marriage ceremony in the traditional manner. OUR daughters, Zenani and Zindziswa, are born, Zeni in 1959 and Zindzi in 1960. In 1961, the treason triallists are acquitted. Nelson still faces some restrictions, however, including not being allowed to leave the country.
But he’s finally able to be fully at home, without onerous bail conditions and without having to spend most of his time preparing court papers and plotting legal arguments, and in spite of everything you think this might be the beginning of a normal family life.
You’re not allowed to indulge this daydream, however. Indeed, you know in your own heart, even as you hope for normalcy, that there can never be an
‘With all that power and strength he exudes, he’s so soft inside’
ordinary life for you and Nelson as long as apartheid exists.
One morning you’re washing Nelson’s shirt and you discover a slip. He’s paid rent in advance for a period of six months on the tiny Orlando house in which your family lives. You wonder why he’s done this, but you don’t have to wonder for long.
That afternoon a car comes to fetch him. He doesn’t tell you he’s about to leave. He never says he’s going underground and you may not see him for a while. He simply asks you to pack a suitcase for him.
The house is full of people and you’re not really sure where he’s going or why. By the time you’re done packing, and before you can even hand him the suitcase, Nelson is gone.
But you love him, so you’re generous instead of angry when you describe his departure. You simply say, “I think he found it too hard to tell me. With all that power and strength he exudes, he’s so soft inside.”
He becomes a subject of interest because he’s officially on the run. Your husband the lawyer and activist is now a fugitive.
Every once in a while he pops up here or there but he’s wanted by the police, so he can never be anywhere for too long. You miss him terribly but just when it’s beginning to feel unbearable, he appears.
He sends for you or he shows up in disguise, pretending to be a chauffeur and beaming out at you with that devilish smile from under a driver’s cap.
You learn to wait for that sacred knock in the early hours of the morning. Sometimes you get a knock and it isn’t him. It’s someone else who tells you to follow them.
You get in your car and you follow this person, then you switch cars, then you switch again, and sometimes you go through 10 cars, and Nelson is at the end, in a hideout, and the two of you can be alone with no disturbances.
Within months you hear Nelson has left the country.
He slips across the border like a bandit – like a man who’s either on a suicide mission or is deranged by dreams of peace. Six months later, in July 1962, he returns.
There’s an audacity about him. He isn’t reckless but perhaps he has a sense of invincibility. He says, “I [always knew] arrest was a possibility, but even freedom fighters practise denial.”
EVENTUALLY, in early August 1962, he’s captured near Howick in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands. The authorities try him and quite quickly the most-wanted man in South Africa is sentenced to five years in prison, for incitement and for leaving the country illegally.
In July 1963, while he’s still in prison, a raid is carried out in Rivonia outside Johannesburg during which materials are found that prove the ANC has plans to wage guerrilla warfare. Nelson is charged with sabotage and conspiracy to overthrow the government.
On 12 June 1964, Nelson and his Rivonia trial co-accused are sentenced to life imprisonment. On the day of the sentencing you hold the girls tightly while they wave their father goodbye.
You squeeze them so you have something to grasp, even if it’s fat little thighs and squishy tummies. You hold on and you wonder how you’ll breathe without him.
By this time you’re a subject of interest to the Security Branch – you’re the wife of the most well-known black terrorist in the country, and someone who’s spoken eloquently in his defence, and they’ve already begun their campaign of harassing you.
So in this moment of loss, when the idea you might never see your husband again as a free man threatens to pull you down, in the midst of the singing and the tears and the noise, someone grabs you by the arm. You turn to see a member of the Security Branch. He shouts above the crowd, “Remember your permit! You must be back in Johannesburg by 12 o’clock.”
You’re a banned person and so you can’t stay in the city past a certain hour. Even if your husband has just been sentenced to life in prison, the petty rules are the petty rules.
You look at this small silly white man and, without saying a word, you kick him. Then you turn back and continue to look for Nelson’s face in the crowd.