Putco Mafani: The Price and Prize of Greatness. Putco Mafani
SABC while I was still at school.
On my mother’s side of the family there was my brother Hlanga, the author, philosopher and poet; and the late Nomakhosazana, Nonkosazana, Vuyokazi and Sivuyile, otherwise tenderly known by his nickname, Sugar – the charmer. Vuyokazi was Hlanga’s younger sister. Her nickname was Bhabha.
The social standing in my big Mafani family was unequal to a certain degree. The life lived in Zize’s house was a bit economically and socially advanced compared with the lifestyle at grandfather Mlungwana’s house where I was born.
There were other Mafanis and descendants of Ndabangaye who shared a social life much better in standard than the one I experienced as a child. This difference was especially glaring on Saturdays when we went to church. The clothes I wore showed our lesser social status, but I never complained to my mother. I simply understood that whatever was in front of me was what my mother could afford.
Christmas time would also make these differences clear. Although we would have clothes for Christmas, they were never of the quality or style of the outfits my cousins wore. One thing that made my mom proud of me was my sense of contentment. I was always thankful for what was bought for me. The same can be said of the food we ate. I appreciated everything and every dish, even if it was prepared under trying circumstances on a budget thinner than a shoestring budget.
Growing up in Fort Beaufort, I was always under the influence of these families and of the love from my other cousins in my extended family: the Mahlanyana, Mncono, Rojie, Khahlana and Nyakatya families.
As I have mentioned, when I was born my father was absent. His absence from my life has always been a sadness. Many years into my radio career, I got tearful on air. Fortunately, it was radio and no one could see me. Luther Vandross had just released a song, ‘Dance with my father’. This song made me think so much about my father. I wanted us to have it on our playlist every day. The lyrics of this song were a true tribute to my father. Every time this song played, it reminded me of what I could not enjoy in my childhood and my life, especially the line, ‘I would play a song that never ever ends’.
When I was a child, I remember overhearing a conversation where my mother spoke about my father. She said that my father would come home to her when I was four or five years old, sing songs for me, put me on his shoulders, dance and walk away with me to all the places where his friends would be having ‘drinks’ and he would boast about me.
The only way this great man, my biological father, ever contributed to shaping me was his genes. When I experience challenges in my life, I sometimes think that if I had got an opportunity just to see him, to converse with him, to listen to his counselling, things would be different. Just to hear his voice saying, ‘Well done, son!’ Or: ‘No, Mputumi, you could have done that much better.’ I believe I would have made fewer mistakes because of such grooming, mentorship and modelling.
Later, you will read about my role in the 2010 FIFA World Cup. My father would have been proud of me for that. Or would he have demanded, expected, more of me? I do not know that.
Wayengakholwa ngumntu onyabileyo – he did not like a meek person. Would I have been lively enough for him? Those who knew him have given me an idea of how he might have answered. But that is not the same as the real thing.
Putco’s padkos
This book is about rising above the immediate challenges. I was born in Bhofolo and I needed to rise above it. In these Padkos sections at the end of each chapter I want to share some of the episodes that have affected me and what I have learnt. Even if our fathers are absent, there are uncles and grandfathers who fulfil this role. Learn from them.
GRACE TWO
Childhood adventures and misadventures
My childhood was crazy and wild. One of the places we played was at inqaba – the castle. It had been left there by the British after the wars we fought against them during the nineteenth century. In the early 1800s, the British had an interest in this town and ‘established’ it as their ‘own’. Inqaba was one of the reminders of that war. It was an example of the rich history of the early frontier wars between amaXhosa and the British settlers, and to a lesser extent, the Afrikaners. Iinkanunu – cannons that were used in those wars – are now kept at the local museum. When I got older and understood better the resistance to colonisation, I became proud of the great men and women who came before us for successfully defending Bhofolo from a complete takeover by the colonisers.
A wealth of Xhosa culture and traditions was alive in Bhofolo. For instance, in the practice of ulwaluko – the initiation of boys into manhood. There are reports every year that, sadly, some initiates would not be returning home alive. In almost all the cases, this was caused by the people who managed the process. In Bhofolo, this process was and is monitored closely by elders to ensure that it remains clean and safe. We have never experienced the death of umkhwetha kweyethu indawo – an initiate – at our place.
By the time I went to the bush I could already cook umphokoqo (crumbly mielie meal and samp). Iketse okanye umgqusho oneembotyi (samp or samp and beans); nomphokoqo onamasi okanye umvubo (crumbly mielie meal with amasi) are our staple foods. In fact, by the age of seven I was helping the older boys separate the calves from their mothers when milking the cows. By the time I was eleven, I could tie up a cow and milk it myself. Early each morning, I would do such chores before going to school.
I sometimes feel embarrassed that I did a few mad things in my childhood. Some of these adventures led to unthinkable experiences for a ten-year-old. One of these involved swimming in the nearby river.
Some of the boys I loved swimming with were Boy Bless, Lala Meke, Latsha and Pa; the Mthana boys, Sphithiphithi from Tat’ Gangathela’s house, and Mzuzwana; and big boys like Ncuntswana, Ntwana. My friends, Lhalha, Mzamo, Bhanyamoyi and others, were fanatical swimmers. (This name Bhanyamoyi was his parents’ adaptation of the sound of the Afrikaans words baie mooi – very pretty. His parents must have been hopeful my friend would turn out to be a handsome young man. Well! Bhanyamoyi didn’t live up to that promise. Ha! Yala loo ndaba kuBhanyamoyi! Unfortunately, he did not follow his name! Khohlwa – forget it!)
Although Lala Meke was short in stature, he was a good sportsman, excelling at both rugby and cricket. He was also a brilliant swimmer. Enezigweqe – bowlegs. Wayesuka emakini ke lona – he was a fast sprinter. Latsha and Pa Mthana were brothers and could have been twins the way they complemented each other. Pa was more sociable, whereas Latsha was on the quiet side, yet ever ready to fight. And wayesimela ismoko sakhe! – he stood his ground!
Then there was Sphithiphithi from Tat’ Gangathela’s house and his older brothers Gcuntswana and noNtwana. They had moved into the township from the farms and were not quite township smart. As a result, they were teased a lot about their farm background.
One of our summer activities was to swim in the river. We learnt to swim in the shallow parts, only graduating when the older boys let us. We did not use any artificial things to help us swim. Graduation in swimming expertise was when the other boys told you, ‘Hayi uyayishaya’ – ‘No, you are good, come swim on this side.’ We learnt to swim with the stream and also against the current.
Lala and Bhanyamoyi were amazing swimmers, as they could both dive from the riverbank from a height of something like three or four metres into the water. They could hold their breath under water longer than a minute. Babengenantanga – no one could match them. Bhanyamoyi could also somersault when diving into the water.
We were the premier league of river swimmers, using freestyle against the current.
Sadly, Klefi drowned in the river during one of our stream-swimming competitions. We underestimated the strength of the river after the heavy rains. He got into trouble and we quickly realised the current was too strong for us. We couldn’t save him. I rushed off to get help from the adults, but it arrived too late.
This was a scary experience, and for some time afterwards most of the boys stayed away from the river. I’ll never forget the police recovering Klefi’s body. It was the first time I’d seen a dead person. And not just anyone, but my friend – someone