Umkhonto we Sizwe, Death and Welcoming in Zwelathemba

Umkhonto we Sizwe

Umkhonto we Sizwe, known as the MK, were the military wing of the African National Congress (ANC) during apartheid. They were, of course, outlawed and pursued heavily by the South African military (the SADF) and so they existed almost exclusively outside of South Africa, training and preparing for war on bases in Angola, Mozambique, Lesotho, Zimbabwe and even as far as Russia and Cuba. Their operations in South Africa were generally sabotage-based missions aimed at crippling the apartheid government. Their first commander was Nelson Mandela. They have a long and interesting, and complicated, history that Steve told me in the car on the way home today. (In fact, it took so much concentration that I managed to lock the keys in the car on when we arrived home). Basically, they were training to come back in and seize power through military struggle. Negotiations happened first, and they came home in 1991 and some were absorbed into the SADF and others were left to their own devices. Steve's research is on these guys and one of them passed away last week so I went to the funeral with him today.

The Funeral

We got to Zwelathemba at 10 this morning and went to the guy's house where they had set up a tent in the lawn and we could hear voices singing. In the tent it was close and warm. The coffin was up front with a preacher standing next to it speaking a sermon in Xhosa. There were mainly women in the audience at the time, and they sat close together, dressed up, in plastic chairs facing the coffin. We sat down (I felt really uncomfortable at first - saying out of place would be a gross understatement - I suddenly felt like this was a bad idea and that I shouldn't be there. After all, I didn't even know the guy) and listened. The preacher would stop for what seemed like a breath only, and one or another woman in the audience would sing out a sad tune, loudly, and you could palpably feel the hearts breaking. The rest of the women, and some men, then responded and picked up the choral part of the song. The call and response went on like this for a few rounds and then the preacher would be able to speak again. It was haunting, and beautiful, and extremely sad. You get the feeling that these women are carrying an enormous weight, and weights beyond just this one, and mourning not just for themselves but for all the men who were stoically silent. I felt at once bedraggled, and lifted.

At one point when the preacher was speaking there was a man next to him and he began to speak another language. Steve nudged me and told me they were translating into Afrikaans for us - most whites in this area are Afrikaners - but once they realized who Steve was and why we were there that stopped. They never did translate into English though, except for a few snippets later on.

The Community Center - Fiery Speeches, Further Mourning, Toyi-Toyi

After a number of speeches at his house, we followed the funeral procession to the community center where they positioned the coffin in the front and people sat in wooden chairs throughout. The space was much larger, and at first there were only those of us at the home funeral, but as the service went on the place nearly filled up with various members of the community, including many youth and former MK soldiers who had come.

I feel at a loss for words to describe what this was like.

The people, there were a number of groups that were there, each of which deserves much more than I can describe: the family, the ANC Women's League, the Veteran's Association, friends, teenagers and youth from the township, former MK and current SADF soldiers, elected officials, and us. The ANC women's league were dressed in bright, ANC green and many had yellow and black as well. They led many of the songs and orchestrated the whole thing, it seemed. They are older ladies, mostly over 60 by sight, with some younger recruits in there. At times, they held up the salute to relieve the men.

Oh yeah, the salute: when the coffin was in place in the community hall six men surrounded the coffin and held the MK salute (very similar to the black power salute although the fist is lower) and maintained it. They were all veterans to start, but when one man got tired another would come up and relieve him. The result being that the coffin was never alone, and always saluted.

The different people there all came up to speak. As the room filled, there were probably about 10 speakers who spoke about everything from his days fighting in Angola, to his life in the township, to the current situation for vets in this country. Many of the speeches got pretty animated, there was a lot of anger in the room - anger about how things were, about losing someone, about how the government is treating vets now, and a lot of old patriotism.

A teenager flew an ANC flag above the room. During some of the speeches a man would shout out the beginning of a song (just as the women were before) and the men would join in, then dance the toyi-toyi at the front of the room. The toyi-toyi is a military dance - often used to train and keep legs fit in the camps - and the men would stand in a circle and dance while the flag flew above them. It was a scene from years ago, a scene from so many protests and marches, I felt like I was adrift in time for a second.

One veteran, who was particularly vehement in his speech and was obviously extremely distraught, spoke twice. His speeches were filled with shouts of Amandla! (a Xhosa and Zulu word for power that was a rallying cry during the anti-apartheid struggle). We followed him and many of the other vets out to the graveyard next. The community center part was very long - about 4 hours. The men did the toyi-toyi all the way to the graveyard - an image I will never forget.

Graves, Gunshots and Feasts

At the graveyard the mood continued to be frantic, mournful and celebratory all at the same time. Perhaps I haven't made that clear - the whole thing felt that way. We were there to mourn, but we were also there to celebrate, and that was invariably tied into politics, war, culture, singing and family. (Am I being overly dramatic? Possible - then again, I have no way to show you this - and it was dramatic) We were shuffled to the front, with the family and the veterans around us. Steve went close - I tried to stay back a bit - I was still feeling strange about not know him.

The dancing and singing continued, but now there were gunshots along with it. They had started right after we left the community center but they were going off more now. One veteran (the Amandla guy) was right behind me and fired his gun twice into the air about 10 inches from my ear. I couldn't here out of my right ear for a good couple hours.

After the coffin was lowered and the bulldozer had buried it almost completely, we went to the man's house again for a big feast that had been being cooked since the morning. Steve had paid for a sheep to be slaughtered in his friend's honor, and so we went to wash our hands (a ritual after any funeral) and stood in line. People tried to get us to go ahead of them but we said we'd stand in line. After only a moment or two, the man who died, his brother came and got us. As we walked past the line a teenager kicked dirt on me - I think he thought I was cutting the line because I was white. I may have been naive about this, but I don't think so. I felt horrible, but then realized what was happening. We were brought in to eat with the family and dignitaries there. It was an awkward meal as I didn't have anything to say to anyone at the table, but everyone was friendly.

Afterward, we left. I still am having trouble processing this, days later, but it was unbelievable. I'm sure I'll write more soon.

Sorry this has taken a while - I have been away from a computer for a while and in Jo'burg and Khayelitsha - I will write about those places tomorrow.