Winnie Mandela (8 page)

Shawbury was one of a number of mission schools in the Transkei run by various religious denominations. When the National Party government introduced its Bantu Education programme, most of these schools closed down rather than apply the lower standards. But many of the young blacks of Winnie’s generation emerged from the mission schools well equipped to make their mark in both South African society and the liberation struggle.

Had there been any scholarships for blacks, Winnie would undoubtedly have been an excellent candidate for one, but Columbus had to pay all her tuition fees from his sparse income. It was a huge financial burden, but he was determined that she would get a decent education. His daughter Nancy noticed that he was struggling, and made a personal sacrifice on Winnie’s behalf. The two sisters had always been close, and after their mother’s death the bond between them deepened even more. Nancy shared their father’s confidence in Winnie, and she
left school and began to take casual jobs that brought in a small amount of money. Most of it went to Winnie for pocket money, and as soon as she was able, Winnie repaid Nancy’s generosity by sending her the fare to Johannesburg and arranging for her to train as a nurse at the Bridgeman Memorial Hospital.

After the National Party came to power in 1948, South Africa found itself increasingly in the stranglehold of Afrikaner nationalism. Laws drafted with the sole intent of segregating black and white were rushed through parliament, provoking an inevitable backlash from an outraged black community. The early 1950s were momentous years in South African politics, and Winnie was at Shawbury in 1951 and 1952. It was not her marriage to Nelson Mandela that made Winnie an activist, but the germination of seeds planted many years earlier by her father and teachers.

At Shawbury, she made her first acquaintance with political debate. Some of the teachers belonged to the Society of Young Africa, the so-called Conventionists, a theoretical, academic organisation that held no appeal for ordinary people, but was greatly admired by the senior pupils, who had no contact with any other political movement.

Their political awareness shifted into higher gear in 1952, when a young lawyer named Nelson Mandela – who was rapidly emerging as a leader in the liberation struggle – orchestrated what became known as the Defiance Campaign. Winnie and her friends knew all about this legend in the making, and about other ANC leaders whom they idolised, sang songs and talked about for hours. The campaign was to be a non-violent protest against the ‘Europeans Only’ signs in public areas such as post offices and railway stations, and against the newly introduced pass laws and urban curfews for blacks. Anyone taking part was inviting arrest, and many chose imprisonment over bail or an admission of guilt fine.

At Shawbury, the pupils gushed with pride and excitement when they read in
Zonk
and
Drum
, popular magazines among blacks, that 8 500 people were prepared to flout the discriminatory laws. Of those, 8 000 were arrested. Some of the Shawbury pupils decided that they, too, wanted to defy authority by boycotting their classes, citing inadequate facilities and unsatisfactory hostel conditions.

Winnie found herself in a predicament. Her final examinations were looming, and mindful of the sacrifices Columbus and Nancy had made on her behalf, she knew her first obligation was to complete her education. As head prefect she was also expected to help maintain discipline, and although her sympathies lay with her fellow pupils, she showed a wisdom and maturity way beyond her years, and decided she would not take part in the boycott.

The Shawbury ‘uprising’ made news throughout the country, with newspapers carrying front-page pictures of protesting girls in school uniforms. The fact that schoolchildren had become involved in the protests sparked an outcry from
whites, and caused outrage and consternation among the authorities, who were already uneasy about the Defiance Campaign. The Education Department acted ruthlessly and expelled a large number of pupils. Only those due to write the matriculation exams, and who were not among the agitators, were allowed to remain at school. The rest were told to reapply for admission in the new year.

Winnie left Shawbury with a first-class pass, and when she arrived home for the holidays learned the happy news that after six years as a widower, Columbus had decided to marry again. Winnie’s new stepmother was an unmarried schoolmistress, Hilda Nophikela, who was warm and kind and welcomed into the family by all the Madikizela children. A special bond developed between Winnie and Hilda, but Makhulu was far from impressed. She refused to go and meet her son’s bride-to-be, insisting that Hilda should come to her – clearly intending to slight the newcomer. She told the children bitingly that Hilda was interested only in Columbus’s money, and would take what was rightfully their inheritance. Hilda refused to be drawn into the conflict and went to Makhulu’s house as ordered, wearing her veil. It was tradition to slaughter a beast in honour of the meeting, but Makhulu shocked the family by halting the ceremony, declaring that this union did not warrant the ritual slaughter of an animal.

For the first time, Winnie and her siblings realised that their strong-willed grandmother’s troubled relationship with their mother had little or nothing to do with Gertrude, and everything to do with Makhulu’s prejudices and preconceptions.

Fortunately, the unpleasantness was soon pushed into the background as Winnie and her family became caught up in planning for her further studies in Johannesburg. She adored and trusted her father, accepting without question that he had made the right choices for her, and was confident that she was ready to step into the adult world.

She was, in fact, already a quite remarkable young woman. Columbus had sown the seeds of political awareness and concern for others, but it was the female members of her family that had shaped her other traits. From Makhulu she inherited an imperious dignity, and from Granny, her strict adherence to hygiene and love of beautiful clothes. Gertrude had moulded the basis of her faith, tenacity and strength of character, and her Aunt Phyllis, a teacher who had studied at Fort Hare, would play an important role in her future.

Her mother’s sister was the first secretary of the Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA), and while Winnie saw little of her during childhood, they would form a strong bond once Winnie went to Johannesburg. She even lived with Aunt Phyllis on the East Rand for a time.

By the age of eighteen, Winnie had been exposed to controversy, conflict and tragedy, and already understood the need to be both tough and caring. As an adult, those qualities would expand into grace, empathy, charisma and great courage.

T
HE FIRST APARTHEID GOVERNMENT’S
Bantu Education system was designed to trap South Africa’s black population in subservience, and to institutionalise impoverished minds and stunt metaphysical growth. It restricted their teaching syllabus, placing the emphasis on subjects that would qualify pupils for unskilled labour: agriculture, gardening, woodwork, domestic service.

Academic subjects were systematically whittled out of the curriculum, and for decades after the introduction of the Bantu Education Act in 1953, black school leavers were equipped to be little more than carriers of water and hewers of wood. The government’s intent was spelled out clearly by Dr Hendrik Verwoerd, minister in charge of Bantu Education at the time and later prime minister: ‘There is no place for the Bantu in the European [i.e. white South African] community above the level of certain forms of labour. Racial relations cannot improve if the result of Native [i.e. black] education is the creation of frustrated people who, as a result of the education they receive, have expectations in life which circumstances in South Africa do not allow to be fulfilled immediately.’

Winnie was fortunate enough to escape this fate, matriculating two years before the introduction of Bantu Education. As the law that would condemn millions of blacks to a wholly inferior education was being debated in parliament, she was embarking on the journey that would qualify her as a social worker.

For the first time in her life she would travel beyond the small, dusty towns of the Transkei, armed with a knowledge of the outside world acquired from her father and his books, her love of reading newspapers, and her teachers. Going to Johannesburg, South Africa’s biggest city, was a breathtaking adventure, and during the December holidays there was a steady flow of relatives visiting with advice. Winnie had to sit, eyes respectfully downcast, listening patiently, as the older women – most of whom had never ventured out of Bizana – warned her of the dangers in eGoli – the City of Gold. They urged her to beware of strangers, and to be especially wary of
tsotsis
[gangsters], who were a danger to unsuspecting young girls. Nancy made faces and giggled behind her hand while Winnie tried her best to keep a straight face, although in reality she was growing more impatient
by the day to shake off the dust of the familiar and venture into the unknown. Makhulu grumbled that Winnie had enough of an education and had no need to go to Johannesburg. Why could she not stay at home like other girls?

The tribal elders cautioned Winnie not to forget Pondoland, and to live according to the proud traditions of her people. When they were alone, Columbus assured Winnie that there was nothing to be concerned about. He had organised everything and showed her the letters from the college and the Helping Hand Hostel, where he had arranged for her to live. The hostel was in Hans Street, Jeppe, close to the city centre and far from the overcrowded black townships where crime was rife.

Winnie had never been on a train or at a railway station, however, and Columbus was concerned about her safety on the overnight journey to Johannesburg – afraid that men with less than honourable intentions might accost her. Fortunately, two of their tribesmen, Moses and Jeremiah, migrant labourers on the gold mines, were travelling to Johannesburg on the same train, and Columbus asked them to take care of Winnie.

On the day of their departure, Winnie followed her two escorts to the crowded third-class carriages reserved for blacks. They pushed and shoved until they found an empty space on one of the hard, wooden seats. Winnie squeezed in next to the window and arranged her cooked mealies, fruit and cold tea – refreshments for the journey. Meals were served in the comfortable first- and second-class carriages that had separate compartments for between two and six people, but these were ominously marked ‘Europeans Only’. Black passengers in the dirty and uncomfortable third-class coaches had to provide their own food, or go without.

On the platform, Columbus maintained his stoic dignity while he said his farewells, but Nancy was openly weeping. Winnie shed no tears while waving to her father and sister as the train jerked and began to move slowly away from the station. She had inherited her father’s self-restraint, and she was excited. As the train gathered speed she sat quietly, wondering what lay ahead. Faster and faster, the train rushed past all that was familiar, heading for a strange place that was nothing but a legend.

There wasn’t much time for reverie, however. Moses and Jeremiah began to tell her about life in the city and the black townships, the hardship of the miners who lived in hostel compounds, the lack of privacy and family life, the puny wages. Winnie was perturbed by what she heard. At home she had seen how the migrant labour system disrupted families, leaving wives to take care of homes and children on their own, often eking out a living from the land without any financial support, while husbands and fathers struggled to survive on the mines. She considered writing to her father and asking him to discourage men from going off to work on the mines, but realised they had little choice. There was widespread
poverty in the Transkei, and for many men there was no other way of paying the compulsory taxes.

As night fell, the passengers tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible on the hard benches, and the carriage grew quiet as they drifted off to sleep. At daybreak, Winnie was surprised to see that the countryside through which the train was passing was flat and uniformly brown, except for the occasional splash of green. With images of the rolling emerald hills of Pondoland still fresh in her mind’s eye, she was disappointed by the anticlimax of the Transvaal landscape. Even the sky was different – not the bright, brilliant blue she was used to, but a muted blue-grey. In a moment of panic Winnie thought she would never be able to stay in this ugly place. Little could she know that, in time, she would love it even more than the Transkei.

As the train crawled slowly towards the city, Moses and Jeremiah pointed out large, yellow sandy hills in the distance – Johannesburg’s landmark mine dumps. After the gold was extracted from the crushed rock, the remaining slag was poured around the mines, forming man-made mountains. On the outskirts of the city, the dumps towered high above the train like the walls of a fortress, golden and formidable. Behind them lay the uneven skyline, etched against a backdrop of muffled sunlight and pale blue sky.

Moses and Jeremiah said goodbye and left Winnie on the platform, a bewildered country girl with her luggage balanced on her head, surrounded by a noisy, jostling crowd. Soon, two white women found her and introduced themselves as Mrs Phillips and Mrs Frieda Hough. Mrs Phillips was the wife of Professor Ray Phillips, head of the Jan Hofmeyr School of Social Work, while Mr Hough was a lecturer and the fieldwork director at the school. Mrs Phillips reassured Winnie that although Johannesburg might seem frightening at first, she would soon settle down once she met the other students. Winnie, whose only previous experience of whites had been hostility and condescension, was pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the two American women. Mrs Phillips and her husband were Congregational Church missionaries, while Mrs Hough, a social worker herself, was the daughter of missionaries. She had married an Afrikaner, Michiel Hough, one of a small number of whites who did not support apartheid and who later became a professor and head of the sociology department at Fort Hare. The Hofmeyr School was the only one of its kind in South Africa, and had been established in 1943 to train social workers to support the black South African troops in North Africa during World War II. After the war the school was turned into a college for training black social workers, but Winnie was the first student from a rural area.