MORE THAN JUST COURAGE
Rebone Makgato
SHORT FICTION
By Rebone Makgato
More Than Just Courage
Short Non-Fiction Story
By Rebone Makgato
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Rebone Makgato
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MORE THAN JUST COURAGE
THE VILLAGE OF Mabaso is situated approximately seventy kilometres east of Louis Trichard. It is a beautiful, picturesque evergreen village nestled in a basin between two distant mountains. Rocks and hillocks lay scattered over the village landscape as if sown by an irate farmer. The village is isolated and so laid back that most people forgot it existed.
Here the lives of the villagers are preserved traditionally by means of strict culture and family principles that are relayed through generations. Most of the people in Mabaso are so steeped in traditional rural pastimes that few had ever ventured out to other places. The year is 1949 and the villagers find themselves in the midst of a severe depression. Life is hard and slow. The family plots that are planted each year had not been able bring in a god crop. That was owing to the swarm of locusts that had ravaged the plains and valleys and decimated the crop. Now the villagers are facing a long uncertain year of hunger.
But as the popularity of deep holes that produced shiny metals became more attractive in Johannesburg, the traditional setting began to change. Families became torn apart as young men packed their bags after circumcision and headed for Joburg to try their luck at finding a job. The women stayed behind, of course, to tend to livestock and vegetables and grow the children. Predictably, there was no electricity during those times. The people had never seen or heard of modern machinery. School was a myth, a distant echo that the villagers could only dream about. There was no development at all. The village was virtually dead.
Here we meet the family of Mali. Mr. Mali was a migrant worker, sloshing it up as a labourer at a gold mine on the Reef. Mrs. Lina Mali, who is the subject of our recital, is a charming and intrepid young lady. Perhaps more than most of the Mabaso villagers, she had struggled through the hardships of family life. Married at the tender age of twelve through the infamous traditional arrangement her husband was thirty-two old. It appeared that no single aspect of traditional law and custom was violated. In this nook of the country there was nothing as important as observing cultural practices and upholding them to the letter. Cultural identity and celebrating the being of a clan took precedence over all else.
In that part of the land it is the parents of a son who must be vigilant and recognize when their child comes of age. Usually it is desired that the son marry, or is arranged for a wife in the family of his uncle to solidify and further extend the family. After the mandatory rituals of traditional circumcision, the son, no matter how old he is, is deemed ready for marriage. The arrangement is that when the son graduates from initiation school, he is given a few cattle and a piece of land to farm. By that gesture his parents instruct him to learn to be responsible and ready himself for a married life where he’d be the head of the family. He is supposed to learn to farm and sustain his livestock and provide for his future family.
A matter of choice came by only in latter years when gold made Johannesburg famous and attractive for job seekers. Suddenly the meaning of survival was no more solely etched in the age old tradition of farming. But in the old days the parents of a young man decided among themselves who in the village could be a suitable wife for their son. Sometimes it was not just a matter of suitability, but rather of carrying on the family of a departed brother or uncle or other male relative. Sometimes the influence of friendship came into play. Mostly practised by older mothers, it entailed sustaining a friendship by arranging their son to marry the daughter of a friend, particularly if they were extremely fond of her. This latter form was not practised wildly. Such union tended to disintegrate as there was no obligation and will among the newly-arranged-weds to respect and build the marriage.
But the most popular, wildly practised arrangement was that of courting the daughter of the son’s uncle. In that case the son’s niece automatically became his wife. No questions were raised about the age difference, love cultivated between the two, and if the two potential partners were known to each other. No one was permitted, not least the niece, to question the ability of her prospective partner to carry and perform matrimonial obligations. The saying in those days went that a very good wife was best young and tender. Ancient grandparents counselled that one only had to shape a twig into a circle the moment it’s dry and see what happened. So better young and fresh, unpolluted.
In our case, the old woman Mali’s brothers had no daughters available. And worse still, to the elder Mali’s disgust, their son Makhado sold all his treasured livestock and headed for Johannesburg to find work. The absence of Makhado didn’t deter his parents from carrying out their customary duties, though. The nature of the migratory work meant that Makhado was away the whole year only to come back during the December holidays. He was illiterate, as was virtually everybody in the village. So during the course of the year his parents couldn’t hear from him or about his life as he couldn’t write. They were only happy when he came back one December evening in 1954.
Unbeknown to him, a big surprise was waiting for him on his arrival.
Makhado’s parents had built him his own roundavel on the other section of the yard. His new rooms had their own court and a garden. By tradition, on his arrival his parents kept him in his room until nightfall. There they advised him that the days were getting darker for them. It would be too late a tragedy if they died without seeing their grandchildren. The new rooms that he was unexpectedly presented with had a purpose. He only had to get possession of them, and all the treasures inside, so he could go on to be a full man.
And thus he was released to go to his new dwellings and explore them. But upon entering his new rooms, Makhado was met with a sight he had never anticipated. There in the new bedroom, on the bed, sat a girl he had seen only once in his life. He had no idea what the treasures espoused entailed; he was naturally disposed to violently interrogate the intruder. But it was the gentle deportment and childish candor that quickly changed his mind. Lina was an officially married wife – made in preparation for his home-coming. All could have went well, perhaps, had the child not been twelve years old.
Makhado knew his customs and duties to the family. And he didn’t like it one bit. It was the distressing thought of being dictated to and forced things that had been chosen for him that made him sell up his livestock and leave for Johannesburg. After visiting Joburg and finding a job, nothing at home was attractive and worthwhile. At thirty years himself, he didn’t know how to respond to the eighteen-year wide age difference. He did not like that one bit, but what he did was to keep quiet and swim with the flow. Makhado was supposed to adapt and utilize his surprise the best way he could with the knowledge that it’d be with him until old age. The details of adventures with the new bride are, in reality, not suitable for the purpose of the space provided. Suffice to say that Lina was taught traditional hospitality and the upkeep of her new family. She went through a trial of domestic tests and passed them
Determined to carve his career out of the deep digging gold, Makhado found that this was more than he could bear. Because of respect for his parents, he stayed with the child wife. In January when his leave ended, Makhado went back to his job. Now Mrs Lina Mali, young as she was, was a clever girl who, by setup rather than will had desired to be a genius. Although her prosperity and success was described only within the scope of her traditional life, she wanted to rise up and enjoy quality life of abundant resources. She saw that a ceiling was put over her head and all the odds stacked against her. She was young, forcefully married and solely depended on her husband for survival. During those first months she stayed at home learning and mastering agriculture, sewing, beading, and pottery. And it came to pass that over the course of time, of the nine summers she spent there, she came to conceive three sons.
A sharp mind always strives to be inquisitive. It was when Lina visited the only local clinic in the fifty kilometre radius of the hill strewn wasteland that her passion to learn and succeed sharpened itself. She had always known that she had a yearning for formal education. But with her disadvantaged forced marriage status, there was no one to emancipate her. There at the clinic she befriended a nurse who was brought in from a distant semi-urban area. As explained by her profession, the nurse was educated and much more informed. Her name was Nurse Modupi.
Once the friendship had been solidified, Lina informed Nurse Modupi of her curiosity. She asked every kind of question and always got them answered. At first she struggled to comprehend the complex answers, but she went out of her way to ask even more questions to be clarified. In time Nurse Modupi became her only friend. During the weekend Lina could be seen pedalling on her bicycle bound for the clinic to visit her friend. One day in June 1960 Mrs. Lina Mali asked her friend:
“What should I do if I want to be someone?”
“What do you mean by someone? Aren’t you Lina Mali?” replied Nurse Modupi.
“What I mean is someone like you. How can I do that when I can neither read nor write?”
Nurse Modupi was taken aback. Frankly, she had measured the degree of interest Mrs. Mali showed in different matters but she had not expected that she may want to learn more. In dealing with her she had to be careful and very subtle because she was engaging here with a very rural uneducated woman to whom grasping even the intricacies of language would be a challenge. Moreover, deprived of reasonable western knowledge, she was growing old. So she carefully replied:
“I think I understand what you mean. The only way to start is with education. Primary education begins at an early age where tender pupils are best positioned to meet the elementary challenges.”
“Is that where reading and writing are taught?” Lina Mali went on to ask.
“And much more, Lina,” Nurse Modupi replied. “You are taught things such as farming, numeracy and social studies as well.”
What Lina surprised Nurse Modupi with next was amazing. She boldly asserted:
“I want to learn, my friend. I have to attend school and learn. I want to be somebody!”
But unfortunately, a fact that Nurse Modupi knew as well, school in that kind of setting could not be attended. That was unless one was prepared to migrate to a place hundreds of fields away where such education was offered since there was not a single school at Mabaso Village.
“You might be unfortunate, though,” advised Nurse Modupi. “At your age it might be difficult to be admitted to school. There is a point you must consider as well. You have offspring to attend to.”
To any ordinary woman, Nurse Modupi’s words could have discouraged any further interest in the subject. But Lina Mali was no ordinary woman – so was her determination to learn that she considered every single utterance as invaluable counsel.
“But writing – is it not difficult? Not painful?” she asked her friend.
“Not as far as I know. The difficulty largely comes with pupils not being prepared enough to listen to the teacher and succeed. As far as writing being painful, you must understand that your hand will be doing an action they were never used to. You’ll have to practice how to hold the pen steadily and move in across the slate with controlled motion – over a period of time – to realize complete detail of what you’ll be trying to write. That is called hand coordination. But it becomes perfect with time.”
Mrs. Mali spent the rest of the week pondering over all that her friend had told her. It seemed a little daunting. She told herself that although not all things could not be achieved, some of the can. And self emancipation by way of education ought to be one of them. The dream of being someone and rising up from the deep rural backwater nagged her. Holding up her head from the hopeless, disadvantaged villagers seemed like a calling. And when the following Friday she travelled to the clinic to have her youngest child immunized, she said to Nurse Modupi:
“I have an idea, my friend. A dream that I’d like you to advise me about. Help me turn it into reality….”
“So you’ve decided to go to school?” Nurse Modupi thought she knew better.
“I want to establish a learning centre for adult people.” Lina informed her. “Over the week I thought about this. How am I going to gain education if there are no schools here? I am not prepared to move to another village. If this happens it will help even smaller children because nearly all the village grows up without elementary education.”
This sudden bold statement, said maturely and honestly, was not what Nurse Modupi had in mind. It was heartening, coming from this oppressed, maltreated woman.
“You have a point, my friend,” she assured her. “But how are you planning to achieve that point?”
“I’ve been thinking. That’s where you come in. With your position in the village, you and I can request the audience with the King. You will be able to communicate with the welfare people as well. We will state that we want to establish a school here.”
All Nurse Modupi could do was to agree. She realized that all along she had given valuable. With the small woman and the gigantic idea, Nurse Modupi didn’t know what she was getting herself into. That it’d be in the interest of the village, as her friend Lina asserted, was indisputable. The solid conviction of the illiterate woman struck home.
The meeting with the king was scheduled for the following weekend. The king himself was a knowledgeable man, an expert in Africa crafts. He acceded to the dire need for emancipation and said it was long overdue. After discussing the matter at length with the elders and advisers from his council, the king donated a piece of land and timber. With these two resources, things were looking up for Lina Mali’s dream. But it was with the welfare people that the most problems were met. On meeting with them, Nurse Modpi was discouraged about the idea of a school. She was told the people of the village did not want schools; moreover, they wouldn’t know what to do with them. The best they’d ever need was quality jobs on the farms and of course laundering, kitchen skills and cleaning at the farm owners’ houses.
That was not part of Lina Mali’s dream.
It took several meetings and a great deal of pleading for the duo’s request to be finally honoured. It took a long while for the labour and classroom equipment that they promised to provide to arrive. When those needed shortages were addressed, the work began with earnest. Nearly everyone in the village had bought into the idea and they assisted where they can. By December the tenth, at the new fenced plot, two classrooms stood boldly and proudly, adjacent to an old Army Post. The classrooms were built, the equipment sought. But Nurse Modupi’s job was not done yet. Mrs. Mali urged her to help lift the project off the ground. With her they sought yet another meeting, this time with the principal of the missionary school. Principal Leso helped find someone who can be in charge of the school.
At the village school classes for Sub A up to Standard Three were assembled everyday and taught. Mrs. Mali was the first pupil to be registered. Of the twenty-five pupils who registered in that year in 1960, the school encountered problems concerning attendance. This, Mrs Mali said, was to be expected as none of the pupils, who ranged in age from 18 to 30 years, had never been exposed to a school environment. For them it took pains to try to comprehend the meaning of guidance and the value of being informed and their future uses as contrary to farming and crafting. One would sow and tend to one’s land, and less than five months later you’d have all the food you ever needed. Another problem was learning to concentrate amid a plethora of distractions that adult people experienced. For some controlling muscle coordination was a greatest challenge that was as well painful, therefore straining their knuckles. Concentration and discipline had to be built in for the first classed to continue.
None of the first pupils wanted that. By the end of the three months period the pupils had dropped to just ten. Mrs. Mali and nine others persevered and gained the power to concentrate. It took all of them six years to acquire the outcomes and skills of a Standard Two level and they were proud. The king showed great interest in this. He reacted by donating more timber for two more classrooms to be built where three upper levels would be taught. It is said that when the first Standard Six student graduated, the king declared it the most important day in the annals of the village. He ordered a public feast to be organized in honour of this momentous occasion. He declared Mrs Mali and her friend Nurse Modupi ‘Friends of the People’. Prior to that the school did not have a name. The king at the ceremony took it upon the liberty of the villagers to officially name it “Lina Mali Elementary School.”
All was not plain sailing, though. The great joy of naming the school arose in some people fiery anger. Many people wanted the school to be named after the king, but the wise man declined the honour. Mrs. Mali’s detractors insinuated that she was beginning to sound like the missionaries. But if there was anyone deserving of the accolade, then it was the small woman who dreamt of a big idea.
On the home front life for Mrs. Mavunda had not stood still. One day, during the December holidays when her husband was home, he learned of all the good news and warm heart of his wife. Through all these years his wife had never told him anything. She was afraid that the argument they had ten yeas previously would recur. But because lately things had changed, both had been able to sit down and jointly discuss their family affairs. Upon being told everything, Mr. Mali realized and appreciated the courage and the iron will her wife possessed. When she told him that she’d be going to school for three more years to obtain her Standard Six Certificate, he willingly let her go. He was proud of her. Seeing now that progress was being made, his wish to have five more children by his wife was swept aside.
And for the time Mr Mali was toiling hard at the mines, his wife went back to school to fulfil her dream. The Standard Six Certificate that she obtained represented the extent of her courage and wisdom. Now that she had completed her schooling, she knew that it was not the end of a dream. One day she got hold of a newspaper article where Standard Eight and Ten were offered by way of distant education. As there were few high schools in her area, she began to give this possibility serious thought. She reasoned that if she wanted to continue with education, she wouldn’t have to leave her children and squat at some other unknown places. Distance learning was an opportunity to acquire high level education while taking care of the home.
When she contacted Nurse Modupi about this idea, she had already made up her mind.
She immediately got down to applying for intake. In her application she took mathematics, science and technical drawing. Determined than ever now that the courses demanded a lot from her, she went on to complete her Junior Certificate and her Standard Ten a year later. Yet again she made history. She was the first person, let alone a woman in her district to take up correspondence studies by the horns. The people had begun to accord her a great deal of respect. She went to teach at her school and encourage more and more people to enrol and improve their lives. But correspondence study was the hardest part of her schooling career. She stretched the allowance from her husband too far, and they often lacked necessities at home. To set back the possibility of hunger, she went back to till her land and grow vegetables. At times she could be seen with her children going from door to door selling their products to finance her education. By that she knew that she owed her children a lot. She promised in her heart that one day she would reward their patience. She promised quietly, because she knew that a promised made quietly always stuck.
When Mrs. Mali obtained her Senior Certificate, she wrote her husband a letter – a few sentences of triumph. She didn’t go into details since the letter was going to be read to him. It was such a joyful occasion matriculate. Later when she met nurse Modupi, she asked her for advice on which career path to follow. Always willing to help, Nurse Modupi said that there were jobs best suited for men and women. Angry and fuming Mrs. Mali thought that her friend had let her down by implying there were jobs she couldn’t do. There couldn’t possibly be such a thing. If there was such an ugly idea, then she was determined to dismantle them. She believed that a woman could do just as well what any man can. What was the difference? Moreover, she could even do it better that any man.
So out the window went clerical stuff, nursing, and teaching. She wanted to do something solid, something real that could bring invaluable contribution to the community. In the beginning of January 1972, she discussed the issue with her husband. She needed the finances to go to university. So they went about borrowing from their parents and selling their livestock to raise the tuition. Together with Mr. Mali’s savings, Lina Mali was able to enrol for an engineering degree in Johannesburg. It was the first time she had ever went anywhere outside her village, and Johannesburg was a big story. The fast life of the townships and the big city did not dent her determination, though. She always stayed focused.
One day after taking a bath she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection, surprised at herself. She asked herself, ‘Did I really do this?’ It was the second phase of her dream. Because in 1975 she came up top in her class. Her success was covered in major national papers. It had everybody talking about the unschooled woman from the rural country side.
Mrs. Mali worked briefly at the Mineral Explo Co. as a junior design engineer. As a designer over that period she had two mineral exploration equipments to her credit. The products – high-powered drills – were highly acclaimed nationally, leading to her getting a scholarship to study for a Masters degree in metallurgical designs. When her company made plans to apply for exploration license in the Northern Transvaal, she was sent there to help prospect. In time they opened a platinum mine in Pietersburg. The year was 1978 when she moved back home with responsibilities of an assistant chief engineer at Plaxco Ltd. Needless to say she was the first woman of colour to hold such a prominent position. While there she continued working towards her doctorate in engineering. Dr Mali had worked so hard, sacrificing all other liberties to fulfil her dream. With little resources over a period of time she achieved so much that it was almost impossible to believe it was true. She quickly became famous in the north of the country, leading to a legion of devotees who regarded this marvel of a woman as their role model. Nurse Modupi was also grateful for her zeal and determination. She could still be seen with her during weekends, chatting to her about the old times.
In 1983, at the age of 47, Dr Mali added to her many achievements the award of Community Achievement for her tireless contribution since the heady days of 1958. The Lina Mali Elementary School, still stands today as a beacon of hope and will for the younger generation. The villagers, especially her children, didn’t of course know about a silent affiance she had hidden from them. It still had to be fulfilled. The following year Nurse Modupi retired at the age of sixty-four. She continued to be the counsel of the Mabunda village as she was respected by many. Later that December, Mr Mali also took retirement and went on to settle at home.
Deep in her heart Dr Mali was looking for a perfect opportunity to repay the dues to her children. By doing that she went into negotiations with her company to help donate funds to build a clinic and a technical high school for tens of children who could not afford to emigrate to find schools. After many meetings and goading, the company agreed to fund the community project. The first leg of the project was commenced in the spring of 1987. By summer of 1989, all the state of the art work was completed. Classes were ready by January of 1990. That is how the courageous, small brilliant woman came to be known all over the country. Her motto, which was her pillar of strength all those years, is ‘Everything is possible as long as you’re determined to do it.’ The villagers of Mabaso can only attest to that. They are the first hand witnesses to her accomplishments.
I first met Dr Mali at a National Science Expo in 1995. At the time I was working as a laboratory chemist and was involved in researching the production of bio-degradable fuel from maze. She was the guest speaker at the expo, and still went on to encourage young people to realize their potential and study science related fields. Despite being in opposite fields, I immediately befriended her. At our lunch I asked her what was the inspiration that lay behind the enigma of this uneducated woman. Dr Mali looked at me and in that elongated moment I could see sadness creep into her eyes. During the constraints of time we had, I begged to be told more and more about herself, her achievements and tireless need to emancipate not only herself but the whole community. It had been a long and rough ride from her arranged marriage. At that moment all she could do was look at me and say, “It’s a long story.”
The result had been that we ended up arranging several meetings where she gave me the opportunity to record her extraordinary story. To her the story of her life warranted no praise, but as a writer I knew that thousands out there could, if not relate to it, at least gain some helpful hints from it. After she had told me everything I immediately knew where the courage and iron will came from. One could ask me if she indulged in pride. Pride? I could not for the life of me attest that Dr Mali had pride. It was more of something that espoused decades ago. It was about something that she resented. The whole thing can be summed up as a silent fight against that thing. The sadden eyes, and the tears rolling from her eyes were real. She owed herself a bucketful of tears. All those years she had never had the time to reflect on her situation, and be sad and cry. Now it was the perfect time to shove it all out.
And yes, Dr Mali did it. She meant it when she said, more than thirty years ago, that there couldn’t be such an ugly thing as a career for women and a career for men. No work can be done by men alone. And she did what she did far much better than a lot of men could’ve done. She is determination, courage, success fused together. A real genius – a rare one if there ever was.
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Thank you for purchasing and reading this work. I hope you enjoyed every moment of the harrowing tale. You are welcome contact the author personally and chat to her about any aspect of the book that grabbed your attention or about its weaknesses.
Contact details:
E-mail : rebonem@telkomsa.net
Telephone: +27 76 678 6222
Blog : www.rebone.blogspot.com
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Thank you.
Rebone