We Are Fighting the World. Gary Kynoch
a 1950s veteran, explains: “We even showed mercy to other Marashea in a fight. We would just take your clothes and send you to your morena; we would not kill you.” ML, a 1970s veteran, describes much the same practice: “When we chase one and catch him, we kill him. But if he is well dressed in smart clothes, wearing a blanket like this one, we take the blanket and send him away and say, ‘Go!’ so that tomorrow when one of us is caught during a fight, his clothing will be taken but he will not be killed.”
In the heat of battle men were sometimes struck down and mercilessly killed—there were no guarantees of protection. However, in the early years the different groups generally adhered to a moral code that when violated could result in severe consequences. Mamalinyane, who led a 1950s group of Marashea, mainly composed of Hlubi, was targeted for assassination by a combined Matsieng-Molapo force precisely because he broke the rules of the time. “In those days marena were not supposed to be killed. If morena was captured he would be taken to lekhotla and asked about his group. When he answered those questions, he was supposed to be released, not killed, and then his group would go and fight back. But Mamalinyane killed morena Bifa from QwaQwa in Masakeng. He stabbed him with a spear, and Marashea from Molapo and Matsieng joined to attack Mamalinyane” (NT). Mamalinyane was killed in his house in 1956, reportedly stabbed in the same way he killed Bifa (multiple interviews).
When the Marashea began in the 1940s and 1950s, most combatants used melamu, battle axes, or swords and it was relatively easy to limit hand-to-hand conflicts. As firearms became more prevalent, it was difficult to control the fights and the practice of sparing fallen enemies, as well as the tendency to prearrange battles, gradually died out. BM, who has more than thirty years of experience as Lerashea, gives his perspective on these changes:
The fight between Marashea started a long time ago, around the 1940s. I do not know how it started but we are told many stories about it. It was like a game when one person hits another—the rule was that if he falls down he should not be hit again, rather you would just take his blanket. After the blanket is taken the owner would want to claim it back by fighting. It would be an ongoing fight. There were notices from the attacking group to the other group in order to make them prepared for the fight. Somebody would be given a letter telling morena of the other group that on such and such a day we will come and fight over our blankets, which you captured last time. He would be given a drink as we are drinking now and they would reply and say, okay, we shall be waiting for you, or we will not be in a position to fight because of a funeral or stokvel or anything. But these days things have changed. If there is a fight, it is a fight, not a game. If we were to send someone to Thabong now, they would kill him; he would never come back.
The proliferation of firearms was partially responsible for eroding the practice of ritualistic combat governed by a recognizable set of rules. A second factor has been the increasing commercialization of the Marashea. Instead of fighting for recreation and bragging rights, Marashea in the last thirty years have battled for control of lucrative transport routes and liquor distribution networks. Rather than the prearranged, set-piece battles of former days, hit-and-run raids using taxis are the method of choice in recent years. However, battles between Marashea groups are still viewed in a different light than fights with non-Basotho, as truces and agreements are more easily negotiated.
As transport became more readily available in the 1970s and 1980s, Marashea groups began to accompany the bodies of fallen members to their home villages in Lesotho, where they conducted funeral ceremonies. Before this practice, funerals in South Africa often erupted in violence when groups attempted to prevent rivals from burying their dead.35 “It was difficult to bury Lerashea because when we were taking the body to the cemetery the other group would come and start a fight at the funeral. If they defeated us, before they buried the body they would break the coffin and sometimes even pour petrol on the body and burn it” (HM). Funeral conflicts could also be prearranged. NN, a Matsekha veteran, explains, “If Lerashea died in a fight, before he was buried we would invite the Matsieng group and fight with melamu before the burial began” (20 May 1998). Less often, fights have occurred at funerals in Lesotho when one group follows a rival back home to disrupt the proceedings. In 1996 members of a rogue Matsieng group attacked Matsekha during a funeral service near the university town of Roma, killing several people.36
Impromptu battles also took place, especially on trains, when groups met on the way to dances and other celebrations. With a near constant state of warfare between rivals, spontaneous fights erupted for the most trivial reasons. Molefi Thabane was at a loss to explain these internecine conflicts: “Really there is no reason why Marashea fight each other. I still remember at times in court when we were asked why we fought. The answer was puzzling, and only fit to be given by an insane person—‘These Masupha people despise us’” (Bonner transcript). KP remembers, “The cause of those fights was when Molapo people called us girls and we had to prove that we were not girls.” DS was wounded because “someone from the Molapo group said that we were farting and we had to go outside. The fight started and my head was injured by a sword.”
Not all fights were so whimsical; groups fought for material gain and to increase their power. Raids to abduct women and revenge attacks to reclaim stolen women featured prominently. The 1940s clashes in Vereeniging were reportedly due to “the abduction by a member of the Matsieng clan of a woman of the Molapo clan.”37 In 1957 the World (Johannesburg) carried an editorial on Marashea clashes that were plaguing the Sotho zones of what was to become Soweto: “We learn that one of the causes of fights between these factions is the indecent habit of woman-grabbing.”38 As the Marashea extended into the Free State so did the internecine battles that often revolved around women. A 1960 clash in Thabong was said to have begun when “a member of one of the two groups was accused of having an affair with the wife of one of the members of the other group.”39
Fighting was also precipitated by the desertion of members to a rival group, and assaults on individual members sometimes instigated large-scale revenge attacks. Raids on rival settlements had an economic rationale because of the prospects of booty. “When they defeat the other group, they take away watches, clothes, everything a person has” (‘Mè TF). Thus an attack to avenge the abduction of a female member was also potentially lucrative. Marena attempting to extend their power over neighboring groups occasionally initiated confrontations. “Sometimes they fight for power, as when one leader wants to rule over another. He attacks and tries to defeat him in order to rule over him, as in politics” (KK).
The men and women interviewed supplied dozens of accounts of fights between different Marashea gangs. Three specific incidents demonstrate some of the conditions and consequences of these conflicts. SC was Lerashea with a Matsekha group on the East Rand in the 1950s, where he worked as a miner. He attended meetings and dances and fought alongside his colleagues on weekends. His experience illustrates how membership in the Marashea could put individuals at considerable risk even when they were not engaged in group fights.
One Sunday morning I was with two friends and we jumped the fence to the location. At that time I didn’t drink joala. We went to where the women hid joala by burying the cans and we saw some of the containers above the ground. We took all the joala . . . to an isolated place and hid in the grass because we were afraid of the police. I was the one who poured the joala until I decided to drink it myself, and that was my first time. We were busy drinking and then we saw a crowd of men coming toward us. They were Matsieng. . . . My friends ran away but I was not able and they beat me. I tried to fight but it was useless because the Matsieng were many. . . . I was beaten unconscious and when I regained consciousness my head was covered in blood and my hand was badly injured. I felt the grass on my back and realized I had no clothes—they left me with only my trousers. When a person is badly beaten we say limohatile [trampled by horses or cattle]. I tried until I managed to stand. I didn’t know where I was because I was afraid and drunk. I walked until. . . . I saw another crowd of men and gave up because I thought they were Matsieng, but they were Molapo. . . . My group went in front of a car driven by a white woman, forced her to stop, and ordered her to take me to the hospital at the mine where I worked. (7 June 1998)
The original group of an abducted or runaway woman was honor bound to attempt her reclamation. ‘Mè ID, who belonged to a Carletonville group in the 1980s and early 1990s, explains