The voice
In January 1957, the workers in Alexandra Township embarked on a bus boycott that came to be known as the Alexandra Bus Boycott. The boycott was against the bus company, Public Utility Transport Corporation (Putco), which had decided to hike the bus fare by one penny. That decision was taken against strong protests not only from the workers, but from commuters in general.
The strike which was initiated in Alexandra was soon joined by other townships in solidarity, not only around Johannesburg but also in Pretoria, about 40–50 kilometres to the north. Thousands of strikers marched to and from work for a period of three months before Putco was forced to reverse its decision.
Ruth First was among well-known writers, activists and political leaders who vigorously raised their voices, in the South African press and radio, in opposition to the government-backed Putco decision. This was my first ‘contact’ with Ruth. 1
According to Wikipedia, ‘Ruth First said of the boycott … “not since the days of the Defiance Campaign, had Africans held so strategic a position”.’ (Wikipedia n.d.)
Alexandra, a sprawling black residential area, is about 12–15 kilometres north of Johannesburg. I lived in the township at the time, with my elder brother, Jackson, who was assisting with my education at Jan Hofmeyr School of Social Work, where I had just commenced a three-year course in social work. The school was located at the centre of the city, and this meant that I, and other students living in different townships around the city, had no choice but join the hundreds of marching workers to attend classes.
However, a week after the strike started, the staff of the school decided to offer us what they termed a helping hand; they gave us lifts in their private cars. To do this, pick-up points were arranged where groups of students who lived in the same township would assemble for the free ride to school. This welcome, chauffeured service, was however, short-lived; it came to an abrupt halt after a week. This was subsequent to an episode in the assembly hall one morning when we were suddenly chastised and lectured on by the director, Dr Ray Phillips, then a well-known liberal philanthropist from the American Board of Missions. During the short prayer meeting that preceded classes, he had said, in reference to the strike in progress, that black people were never grateful (to their white benefactors); they often behaved like spoilt children; always mourning about their suffering. But if you want to know what real suffering is (he chided), you must ask the children of Israel.
Later that day, following this morally charged sermon, the student body sent a delegation to deliver a message to the director which read, more or less, as follows: Following the lecture at prayers this morning, we wish to express our sincere and deep gratitude to the staff of the school for their support with transport so far received. However, as from the following week, we would no longer avail ourselves with the ‘helping hand’ as we have decided to join the marching workers and walk to school. And we walked to school until the end of the boycott.
There was another important event that brought Ruth's name to my notice: her sterling work as an investigative journalist (1959). This was her great exposure of the labour scandals on white-owned farms in the Ermelo district of the Eastern Transvaal (now Mpumalanga). The apartheid regime had introduced a system whereby Africans arrested daily in their hundreds, for infringing minor offences under the notorious pass laws, were leased out to white farmers as cheap labour, instead of sending them to prisons because the jails were overcrowded and unable to accommodate any further prisoners that kept pouring in daily.2
The inhuman working conditions under which the prisoners lived and toiled were described by Ruth First and other journalists as being ‘akin to slavery’. Daniel Mbhazima, one of my elder brothers, was one of the victims. The family eventually traced and rescued him from one of the potato farms in Bethal, thanks to the exposure. He was in such a poor state of health at that time, having been fed on a daily diet of potatoes that had been declared unfit for human consumption, that the family thought he might not survive even after he had been rescued. Daniel was arrested when he crossed the narrow street in Alexandra Township to visit a friend in the house directly opposite his own. He failed to produce his pass on demand when confronted by the police. He was then bundled into a police van. He pleaded in vain to be allowed to fetch his pass from the bedroom, or call his wife to do so. He was driven away not to be heard from for several months.
Ruth and I shared other experiences: We were both trained as sociologists and in ‘Native’ and Public Administration (in South Africa). Both of us visited the People's Republic of China at different times (Ruth in 1955, and I in 1973); not officially but as members of the African National Congress Alliance. As far as I remember, except for a remark in passing perhaps, these shared experiences were not discussed between us during the years we worked together. In retrospect, I wonder why this was so.
The face
In December 1976 I arrived in Mozambique to take up a post at Eduardo Mondlane University (UEM) in Maputo. Following my departure from South Africa in May 1960, I had worked and studied in Glasgow (the Gorbals), London (Tower Hamlets), Zambia, the University of Ibadan, Nigeria, the Institute of Social Studies in The Hague, the Netherlands, the University of Uppsala in Sweden and the Institute of Development Studies, Copenhagen, Denmark) before I was recruited to the UEM as ‘Lecturer’. I was located, on arrival, in the history department where I spent the first several weeks with hardly anything to do as it was examination time, with Christmas vacation approaching. My Portuguese was practically non-existent when I started work at the university, so I spent my early days attending Portuguese lessons, as was the requirement. Even with this preparation, I was traumatised when I was thrown in at the deep end to start lecturing in Portuguese.
Then one morning, early in 1977, I arrived at my office to find a message on the table. It was scribbled on a small piece of paper, apparently having been written in a hurry and torn out of a notebook. The message, now filed among my other precious notes (see Figure 9), read:
Came across to see you; perhaps tomorrow? I'm at the Centro de Estudos Africanos, across the way. Ruth First.
I went to the CEA, across the way, the following morning, where I was warmly received by Ruth. Here I was, now shaking hands with Ruth, remembering that hers was one of the voices that I heard in South Africa during the Alexandra bus boycott, some 20 years back; voices that expressed support and solidarity for the boycotters.
During this brief contact, I remember telling Ruth that so far I had only been ‘self-employed’ at the history department, but that I had killed the time by having some interesting conversations with some of the workers in the university complex. Ruth, listening intently, quickly asked: ‘So did they tell you anything of particular interest; and how did you communicate with them?’ I replied that I had been introduced to people in the Caniço, the ‘reed city’ (similar in some ways to our townships in South Africa), and that they all talked about life under Portuguese colonial rule in general, dwelling as they did, on their experiences as shibalo (forced) labourers and workers on South African mines and farms. I told her that my mother tongue was Shangaan, a language spoken from the Sabie River in the south of Mozambique, in parts of KwaZulu-Natal in the south and the Northern Transvaal (now Limpopo Province) in South Africa.3
Following this brief introductory conversation, my days of sitting in my small office at the history department, twiddling my thumbs, came to a quick end, as I was subsequently transferred to the CEA, where I joined a multi-disciplinary research collective that was then in formation.
The work
I remember that the work at the CEA started, one fine day, in a somewhat comical way. There was an older research institute in the same block of offices before the establishment of the CEA that consisted of at least two clusters, namely archaeology and anthropology, which were being dismantled to be recast as separate entities. I think it was during my first weeks at the CEA when suddenly there was a big scramble for the share of resources, namely brooms, buckets, chairs, desks, Land Rovers and their drivers that had belonged to the old institute. Ruth and I soon found ourselves, half walking and half running, along the corridors of the building in an attempt to secure our own share of the spoils. I don't believe that Ruth had been aware of the special attention we were attracting from onlookers along our ‘war path’. I led the way, with Ruth close behind, and her high heel shoes making a racket on the cement floors. Although I did not admit this to Ruth or anyone else afterwards, I had actually felt a bit awkward while our ‘raid’ lasted. Our target was clear; we were after the good driver – one of those workers I had already made contact with on my arrival at UEM. It was Salomao Zandamela, who had previously given me lifts to the endless bureaucratic offices in town to fix my resident's papers before I had my own means of transport.
Now, with Salomao Zandamela having so readily agreed to join us, we returned to our desks, assured that we had managed to get one of the best drivers at UEM. As it turned out, Salomao was not just a good and reliable driver, he was a good informant on different aspects of Mozambican history, in his own right. I got my first lessons from him, for example, about the interesting relationships between ethnic groups in the city in colonial times. He came from one of the smaller ethnic groups, the Chopi, famous for their Timbila or xylophone music. He told me that in the colonial city of Lourenço Marques (now Maputo), the Chopi were the refuse collectors and thus despised by the vaTsonga in particular (my ethnic group), who preferred clerical jobs and were selected as foremen by the authorities to supervise the Chopi street cleaners. In turn, I taught Salomao how to transcribe interviews, and with the typewriting skills he already possessed, and a good command of the Portuguese language, he was able to transcribe and translate xiTsonga texts to Portuguese (in between his normal duties as a driver).
There was another episode, in some ways similar to the ‘scramble for the spoils’, described above. This time it was for information from the rural communities, about their views and feelings about the Frelimo government's policy of creating state farms, agricultural producer cooperatives and communal villages, as a preferred option to one that would see the introduction of land reform and land redistribution. The latter option was the one that had been expected by the peasantry as their just reward from liberation and independence.
We were on a field work trip to the Chokwe (Shokwe) area of Gaza Province, later to be called CAIL (Complexo Agricola Industrial do Limpopo). In this part of the Limpopo Valley the land was expropriated, in the 1950s, from local communities who had cultivated and prospered from its extremely rich soils for centuries before colonialism. These communities were expelled and relocated to cultivate their crops on poorer, drier land out of the valley. The land was then divided into small family holdings to be farmed by poor, semi-literate Portuguese settlers.
On arrival, our research team suddenly became aware that there were some kind of agitated exchanges among people gathered there. Two groups of men faced each other, gesticulating and shouting in both xiTsonga and Portuguese. The issue was about land. It was an open dispute in which one group, bigger than the other, was making demands, threatening to invade and reclaim their ancestral land; while the smaller group of local government officials and the Grupos Dinamizadores (Dynamising Groups) were trying to calm the potentially explosive situation. I was giving Ruth a rough interpretation of what was afoot when the confrontation suddenly stopped when the angry group walked away, leaving the officials standing there agape; sadly shaking their heads, but obviously having a sense of relief.
Ruth and I decided to follow the agitated group as they disappeared behind a big warehouse. The man who appeared to be the leader of the group turned round, still angry, and talked to us: He poured out grievances against those ‘who are preventing us from coming back to reclaim our inheritance’.4 The rest of the men nodded their heads in full agreement.
From 1977 onwards, I participated in the research programme of the CEA, with the exception of field work in the Central and Northern Provinces, where I did not speak the local languages, and therefore, I would have required an interpreter to be able to conduct interviews with the rural communities. In southern Mozambique where my mother tongue was my working language, I often acted as team leader, doubling as interpreter to the teams and visiting foreign researchers and academics from research institutions which collaborated with the CEA.5 My own work, which was mostly in the rural areas, consisted of tape-recorded, in-depth and extensive interviews about different aspects of un-recorded Mozambican history, including work songs: The main areas of my work were on labour migration, forced labour, forced cropping (cotton and rice), and newly established communal villages and agricultural producer cooperatives. The interviews and songs were tape-recorded, transcribed and translated from the xiTsonga original into English. I played no role in teaching on the Development Course, which was a very important component of the CEA programme.
The work at the CEA began with a major project, the study of the export of mine labour from Mozambique to the South African mines. A report was produced, followed by the publication of a book, Black Gold (First 1983). The CEA carried out studies on state farms, tea plantations, agricultural producer cooperatives, factories, the port of Maputo etc.; and articles were published in Mozambican Studies, Journal of Social Science, published quarterly by the CEA, from 1980 onwards.
The conditions under which we lived and worked in newly independent Mozambique in particular and in Southern Africa in general could have fitted the English novelist Charles Dickens' (1812–1870) description of a particular period in European history which declares, in part, that:
… It was the Best of times, it was the Worst of times, it was the age of Wisdom, it was the age of Foolishness, it was the epoch of Belief, it was the epoch of Incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the Spring of Hope, it was the Winter of Despair … (Dickens 1999, 1)
We lived and worked through that period in Mozambique's history; in the Spring of Hope; under the dynamic and inspiring leadership of Aquino de Bragança and Ruth First (General Director and Research Director respectively, of the CEA), leading an international team of social scientists dedicated to scientific research. The CEA did not only survive the ravages of the time, but produced and prospered.
I believe strongly that for Ruth, accepting the post in Mozambique enabled her to return home from ‘intellectual and political exile’ and to continue directly, at close quarters, with the academic and intellectual work in which she was so dedicated and so deeply involved, before she went into exile where she worked in universities, but at a long distance. For example, in her research work on mine and farm labour issues, as well as her political activities in South Africa, Ruth was involved with both South African workers and Mozambican migrant labourers there. In retrospect, I would like to think, for instance, that during our little episode in Chokwe, Ruth was probably reminded of her past investigations in the 1950s on the potato farms in Bethal, Mpumalanga Province. The actual conditions, obviously, were different. I believe that at least, professionally, Ruth was in her natural environment during her years as Research Director at the CEA in Mozambique.
One aspect of Ruth's abiding work ethic was that one worked better when the adrenaline was pumping fast. And faced with one of the most stifling post-colonial bureaucracies in Southern Africa, as we were, Ruth would say that when she came to the office with the list of what she aimed to accomplish that day, and managed to do half of that, she would go home and reward herself with a good drink. And if she succeeded in doing more than 50%, she would throw a party! This philosophical standpoint is certainly very attractive to emulate. However, the would-be emulator would be undertaking to climb a mountain; as Ruth, consciously or not, seemed to think that everyone around her should work like herself.
Remarks have often been made about Ruth's direct and sharp ways of delivering criticisms without any pretentions to political correctness, pointing out that this tended to put off or intimidate both friend and foe, when that was not intended. I recall two occasions: One afternoon Ruth and Joe Slovo dropped in at our house. After a cup of tea, Joe asked me to go to the kitchen to have a ‘confidential chat’. But before we were on our feet, Ruth asked, at the top of her voice; ‘ … but Joe, you have already told me what you were going to discuss with Alpheus [ANC security matters], and I bet that Alpheus has already talked to his wife about that.’ We were all amused, and giggled, regarding that as a mild joke.
The second instance made some of those present feel ill at ease, even a little upset. The audience at the meeting, which was held at the CEA, included members of volunteer or support groups such as MAGIC (Mozambique, Angola, Guinea Bissau Information Centre), a British organisation. The special guest was Lord Anthony Gifford, QC (6th Baron Gifford); then chairman of the Committee for Freedom in Mozambique, Angola and Guinea–Bissau in Britain. Among the issues raised by his Lordship at this briefing meeting was in reference to what he described as the very interesting experiment by the Frelimo government to establish collective or communal villages aimed at ushering in rural development and prosperity for the communities.
Ruth's intervention was swift, direct, and to the point, when she remarked that the government policy to create communal villages was an unmitigated disaster!
For me, the years during which I worked at the CEA were a period of intellectual and professional growth and development in which I had the opportunity to participate actively in the processes of socio-economic and political changes in a newly independent Mozambique. It was a great opportunity to learn about different aspects of Mozambican history; with the rural people being some of my best tutors.6 Having been schooled and trained in conventional liberal institutions of social work and sociology, Mozambique created a unique opportunity in which I could test the validity, or otherwise, of received wisdom. There was also continued exposure to international cooperation and solidarity in working within a team of international scientists, as well as interacting with different members of liberation movements and support groups present in the country.
When the manuscript of Black Gold was submitted for publication, the publishers in London recommended that more interviews should be conducted in order to enrich the manuscript. When Ruth requested me to return to Inhambane (Nyembane) Province to collect the additional data by interviewing mine workers, ex-mine workers and wives of mine workers, I suggested that I would also like to tape-record work songs. Although Ruth expressed her scepticism about the value of work songs as historical evidence at that point, she did not raise any objection to my proposal. However, Ruth's initial doubts about the value of work songs seemed to have disappeared after my field trip report was placed on her desk.
In the circumstances, Ruth showed her softer side when, following another field work trip to Gaza Province when I returned with a basket full of ‘plums’. One of the songs among the plums caused Ruth to shed a tear, after she listened to it and to the story behind it. A woman in her late 50s told her sad story as follows: After her marriage, Oselina Marindza's husband escaped to South Africa following repeated arrests to do terms of forced labour on the railways, road works, sugar plantations etc. He remained and worked and in South Africa for years, not daring to come home; because if he did, he would have faced further arrests; with even longer terms in shibalo.
In the song below, Marindza sees herself as someone caught between two rivers, on the spot where her husband left her when he deserted. She desperately wishes to get out of this situation of misery and poverty by either returning to her parental home or by joining her husband at the mines in South Africa, but none of these two options is feasible: she cannot return to her parental home because behind her, the Mumithi River is in flood. In other words, since her husband paid lobola (bride wealth) to her family, tradition bound her to remain where he left her until he returns or dies. In front, the Nkomati River is also in flood, preventing her from joining her husband in South Africa. In fact, Mozambican women were legally prohibited from travelling to South Africa to join husbands employed in the mines.
When Marindza's husband eventually came home, this should have been a moment of great rejoicing, but according to Marindza, her husband only returned after the country's independence (1975) ‘when he was old and useless’ (impotent).7
The song: Where shall I go; how shall I get there?
Where shall I go; how shall I get there?
My husband is suffering, oh, poor me!
My husband has deserted (me) for a long time; oh, poor me!
How shall I get there?
Nkomati [River] is in flood
Mumithi [Limpopo River] is in flood
Rivers are in flood
Refrain: Hoo-o, the rivers are in flood!
I am suffering, oh, poor me!
Where shall I go; how shall I get there?
I am distressed and heart-broken: oh, poor me!
Where shall I go; how shall I get there?
Despite the fact that we worked in Mozambique at the worst of times – in the midst of war waged against the country by both external and internal enemies (South Africa and RENAMO, 1977–1992), it was great and rewarding to know that one's input to the activities of the CEA was appreciated and valued. I was walking along the corridor one day, and Ruth was on the phone. The door of her office was ajar, and I overheard her saying to the person at the other end of the line that ‘when you come to see us, I will introduce you to … our crack interviewer’.
One day, sometime just before she was killed, Ruth asked me to consider writing a book as a follow-up to Black Gold. The provisional title of the book, The People's History of Mozambique, and with a preface by Ruth herself, would feature interviews, work songs and pictures; thus highlighting my own work and that of Moira Forjaz. The book would be a popular version with a non-academic audience in view. I thought oh, what an encouragement!
The silence
The CEA hosted a UNESCO-sponsored conference On Problems and Training Priorities in Social Sciences in Southern Africa (9–13 August 1982). At the end of the conference, Ruth, accompanied by other CEA staff members, invited some of the foreign participants to go and see our offices across the courtyard, as the meeting had been held in a different venue. Now wearing another of my many different hats, I went to a meeting where I regularly gave lectures on political education to members of the ANC community in Maputo. The session had hardly started when there was a loud knock on the door. Opening it, I saw my wife, Nadja, standing there, breathless; and trying hard to hold back her tears. She finally managed to say: There has been a bomb explosion at the CEA; Ruth has been killed. These words came out like a thunderbolt from the sky: We were stunned, devastated.
Moira Forjaz, a close friend of Ruth, joined us, members of the ANC Funeral Committee, in the mortuary at the Hospital Central de Maputo. She had brought with her clean white sheets with which to cover the remains of her good friend.8
At the Hlangeni Cemetery, we stood and listened to tributes and farewell speeches from dignitaries and friends of Ruth. I remember an elderly lady standing bolt upright, serene and dignified, by the graveside. A member of the ANC Funeral Committee offered her a chair (out of respect for her as a senior citizen). The offer was gracefully, but firmly declined by the lady, Ruth's mother, Tilly.9
The ANC community, joined by the all the mourners, quietly sang Hamba kahle Mkhonto we Sizwe (Farewell, Spear of the Nation), as the coffin was delicately lowered into the grave.
Condolences
Following the assassination of Ruth, I received condolences, most of them verbally, but some in writing. These messages, comforting as they were, also gave me a strange feeling that my friends and comforters were treating me as if I was a member of Ruth's family.
John Sheppard, a BBC television journalist, sent the following message:
The news about Ruth First hit me this morning and I am writing immediately to offer my deepest sympathy to all of you who have lost a remarkable colleague and friend. Please also pass to Joe Slovo my condolences.
I only met Ruth for the first time when I came to Mozambique earlier this year – that she so quickly introduced me to you is a measure of her wonderful ability to get to the point. Frankly I had been told that she could be difficult, in the event I found the opposite to be the case; I will not forget her drive and I deeply regret not having had the opportunity for a longer and more Discursive Conversation. (See note 5)
Bento Sitoe, a friend and colleague at UEM, sent the following message, written in xiRhonga, a dialect of xiTsonga (see Figure 10):
This has been a humble tribute to celebrate Ruth First, for her immeasurable contributions to both the development of the social sciences and the liberation struggles in Southern Africa.
In conclusion, we proudly convey the message to the silenced voice; declaring that the cancerous tumour of Apartheid has now been squashed!
To that, the silenced voice reacts: Aah, and then what?
And to that, we the living, respond: The struggle continues! A luta continua!
Presented at the Symposium on A Revolutionary Life: Ruth First 1925–1982, Institute of Commonwealth Studies, London, 7 June 2012.
