Putco Mafani: The Price and Prize of Greatness. Putco Mafani
Ndabangaye had eleven sons. The irony of ironies was that although I grew up away from my biological father, I never felt any emptiness from his absence. The Mafani family was, and is still, rich with father figures, role models and inspiring achievers, from my string of grandfathers to well-groomed uncles. From each I learnt a valuable life lesson.
Almost all my grandfathers had little Western education. They had a different kind of education, ingqondo nolwazi lwemveli – naturally or traditionally smart – and were entrepreneurial with a great sense of family pride. For this reason, much was expected of a child coming from the Mafani family. And it meant that we were easily recognised.
Culturally, the birth of a boy means a lot to the Xhosa. And by all accounts I came into the world and wouldn’t stop crying. I’ve used my voice ever since.
My biological father did not experience the excitement of my birth. He was not there. A declaration was made by my proud grandfather, Mlungwana, the first-born of ubawo Ndabangaye: ‘Lo mntana uba phuthume bonke abantakwethu noodade bam’ – ‘This child has fetched all my brothers and sisters. His name is Mputumi.’ And that was how I got my name. His reference to my fetching my brothers and sisters was because all my grand-aunts and grand-uncles had returned home from their places of work in Port Elizabeth and East London to celebrate my birth.
I need to tell you about the families that shaped my early years. It is important to know these things before I begin the story of my schooling, my career and my life.
Throughout my youth I enjoyed the benefits of a wide and extended family. I enjoyed walking eight kilometres to Nxukhwebe to my mother’s new house and family, kwaMahlanyana, amaZizi amahle. This was a warm and welcoming family with modest values and deep roots in African traditions.
My mother and Tat’ uMbuyiselo Phillip Mahlanyana were blessed with two boys and two girls: Ntombebhongo, Mncedisi, Luntu and Siyambongela.
My stepfather, Dlamini as we called him, was a loving man. I refer to him as stepfather for the benefit of my non-African readers, yet he loved me like no one else among my blood relatives. To me Dlamini was my father and I loved him dearly and boasted about him even when I was at Radio Ciskei. Thanks to him my passion for agriculture grew stronger, and his knowledge of African medicine and herbs was unparalleled.
He was employed by the Ciskeian government as a game ranger and during this time developed a knowledge of natural herbs. Every time someone complained of flu, a headache or an unsettled tummy, he would know which herb to apply. Even if you cut your foot, he would be able to treat it. His love for me was such that he would slaughter a sheep whenever I had been away and returned to the family home. In him I found a father and learnt the tricks of balancing the life of a rural boy with those of a boy from the townships.
What also made my family life in Fort Beaufort warm were the great times I spent over weekends with the rest of my maternal grandfather’s family in Gontsi township, kwa tat’ uMute Mafani, where church was the order of the day. Evening family prayers and church time on Saturdays, the Sabbath, were non-negotiable.
Tat’ uMute was another soft-spoken man and a true gentleman. He also played a big role in my life and was a substitute for a father who was not there. He led his family through religious, faith and church activities. He was also an elder in church. In the family, his church values were the strongest.
This man loved me so much that even before I had a driver’s licence, he would lend me his bakkie. Once I drove it fast with my late brother, Mlungiseleli. I blew the engine. I felt so bad, I cried. I had made the error of not checking the oil. As an inexperienced ‘driver’, I did not check anything: not water, tyres or petrol. I was just excited to get into the car and drive. But he was never hard on me for damaging his bakkie. Though he was not happy, he saw it as a lesson for me. And because of that, nowadays I always allow the attendants at the filling station to check everything before I drive away.
UTat’ uMute taught me forgiveness. It was a lesson that came from a painful experience.
UTat’ uMlungwana, utat’ uLungephi and utat’ uMute played the role of father figures in my life.
My older brother, Mkhuseli Knowledge Mafani, left iBhofolo after finishing school because he found work in Thokoza, Joburg. He still lives there with his family. Bhuti Mkhuseli was the second born after sis’ Ntshantsha. The older brothers I had left to look up to were tat’ uMute’s sons. And in them I really found brothers: Sir Thoz, Thozamile Nyakatya, the late bhut’ Dumalisile Mafani, the late Matshawe Mafani, bhut’ Zukisa, the late Mlungiseleli Mafani and Hlanga. Mlungiseleli passed away during the 2010 FIFA World Cup period. This humble golden-hearted chap was everything to me: a friend and all I needed in a brother. He epitomised true brotherhood, just like the late Matshawe, who went on to become my life coach, confidant and motivator. He believed in me.
Dumalisile was Sir Thoz’s younger brother. He worked as a prison warder at the Ciskei Maximum Security Prison in Xesi, Middledrift. He was a very warm fellow.
I remember bumping into Dumalisile in 1992 near the post office and the public telephones at King William’s Town. Now, in the days before cellphones, the public telephones were a hot meeting place, mainly for lovers. I invited him to lunch at a nice eatery called Archie’s and killed him with a Dagwood sandwich. This was the first time he’d eaten one. Waxelela leCiskei yonke – he told the whole of Ciskei about the experience I gave him. ‘UMputumi le ntwana yasekhaya iseRadio Ciskei, indithengele idagwood’ – ‘Mputumi, the young man from our family who is at Radio Ciskei bought me a Dagwood.’ He was raving about it for months.
One of the other sons, Matshawandile, unfortunately died on New Year’s Day 2018. He was a personal assistant to Chief Lent Maqoma and also his driver. He was highly respected by Chief Maqoma for the manner in which he conducted himself. Chief Maqoma had been a senior in the cabinet of the Republic of the Ciskei. His father, way before the political prisoners of Mandela’s generation were taken to Robben Island, had been incarcerated on the island for his activism for isizwe samaXhosa – the Xhosa nation.
Losing Matshawandile was painful. I lost him at a time when our relationship had escalated to a deeper friendship. We were more than brothers. I could talk to him about anything. And our wives related very well.
And then there was Zukisa. He was a big achiever. He was tat’ uMute’s fourth son. At an early age he built himself a house, and he did this way before his older brothers. He was also married before them. When Tat’ uMute and Zize (his wife) went to King William’s Town, they would relax at his house. I looked up to him.
He was on the quieter side. Even at family meetings, you might forget that he was there. Whether there was a boy going to initiation school, a family wedding or a traditional ceremony, we always had family meetings. Sometimes Zukisa would whisper his point to someone sitting next to him. My way of showing respect was to insist that he said something. He would not talk for the sake of talking. He only voiced an opinion when he had a strong point to make. Then we offered him the opportunity to close the meeting in prayer.
Tat’ uMute’s wife, umama uNozizwe, whom we called Zize, was a household figure with impeccable hospitality skills and a lovely sense of humour. She was an entrepreneur and a hustler of note. At their house I found the value of fearing God woven into the personal art of entertaining guests.
Mama Nozizwe would slaughter a goat, and her younger sons and I would go around the township selling the meat. She would also stock fruit and package them in small packs for us to sell.
She was full of jokes. Her husband was the opposite. Every Saturday when we came back from church, she would cook a full meal and make sure that there was dessert. Sometimes the jelly had to be put under the bed to set as that was the coolest spot in the house. In those days there were no fridges.
Their eleven children were my siblings in all respects, and like a typical big family we did everything together: playing and praying, eating and sleeping. Every trip travelled with them was a marvel for me as I discovered a lot of places with uTata, driving around in his Toyota Hilux.
In their line-up of eleven children was Sir Thoz, as I’ve mentioned,