Putco Mafani: The Price and Prize of Greatness. Putco Mafani
parents admonished us and tried to discourage us from swimming in the river, more so after a heavy rainfall when the river would be full. It was only the next summer that we returned to our carefree ways.
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One charming and intelligent man I grew up with and later connected with is Jongisizwe ‘JB’ Mali. JB was a cunning fellow, brave and extroverted in an amazing way. His family was close to ours. JB Mali, on getting advice from me when he was an initiate, says:
Putco began to make an ever-lasting impression on me as a boy when he and his brother Mlungiseleli Mafani went to the mountain, to commence their journey to manhood. Hlanga, their younger brother, and I would periodically visit them and I would be struck by this very bubbly and funny mkhwetha – initiate – who always out-talked his introverted and stuttering brother, Mlungiseleli. On the December of our own turn to go to the bush, in 1986, myself and Hlanga would periodically get visits from Putco, who would readily dish out all sorts of unsolicited advice on how to carry ourselves as initiates. At times I found him overwhelming to say the least. He would never know when to stop talking, advising and at the same time teasing us about our respective pain thresholds! I hold those teachings to this very day.
Putco’s padkos
I now realise that although I was late to save Klefi’s life, running back to the township to seek help for him was preparing me for deeper painful situations that I would have to deal with much later in life, such as the dreadful Ellis Park Stadium disaster. Sometimes life tests us early to see how we will handle the tough moments when they happen in the future.
GRACE THREE
My early school days
My foundation education happened at Nqaba Lower Primary School, starting ku-A bhaxa masele – at preschool. I went there aged six in 1970. Nqaba Lower Primary School was a breakaway school from the well-known Maqoma Lower Primary School.
I should add here that the first Maqoma Lower Primary School was demolished and rebuilt on another site. It was next to the graveyard where my ancestor Ndabangaye rested peacefully. It was named after Chief Maqoma, a Xhosa warrior and military commander. The graveyard was separated by a fence from the Winterberg Santa Centre Hospital. As my brother Hlanga said, ‘Death on one side of the fence, and endeavours to preserve life on the other.’
It was at Nqaba that I learned the value of helping others. I volunteered to clean the chalkboard, collect books for marking by teachers, and redistribute them to my classmates. Stern discipline was the order of the day. I had to navigate my way between basic learning at school and, at home, tending the cattle and goats, and my other chores.
In those days, I would go to school ngeenyawo – barefoot, sometimes. Even though, by the standards of the time, my family was middle class, we had to spend carefully. Wearing shoes was a luxury afforded to those from rich families. I had only one pair of shoes, and they were strictly for church. If I wore them to school, then played rugby or football wearing these precious shoes and somehow damaged them, I would get a hiding and the pair would not be replaced immediately.
During almost every short interval at school, Hlanga and I would run to ask for amarhewu. Amarhewu was a popular home-brewed mielie-meal smoothie. I still enjoy amarhewu these days, though I don’t drink it regularly. But I always enjoy it when I’m home in Bhofolo.
After primary school, I went to Tinis Higher Primary School. It was there that I really got interested in choral music. I had sung in school choirs before and first sang soprano, becoming a tenor when I got to higher primary.
I sang in the church choir, too: the Seventh-Day Adventist Harmony Singers. Here I learnt a lot about technical singing under the directorship of choir conductor Linda Rojie. Then my singing education continued under the baton of my maths teacher, older brother and mentor, Thozamile Nyakatya. Later, when on Radio Xhosa, he would be popularly known as Sir Thoz by his listeners. At school I knew him as a meticulous, proud young teacher full of zeal and passion. He was the kind of choir conductor who would not settle for any second position. He always wanted to be number one in music competitions. His culture instilled in us a competitive spirit both on and off the choir stage.
Sir Thoz had a great voice for demonstrating what all four parts should sound like and how the notes should be sung, from soprano to contralto, tenor and bass. In him we had an all-rounder who would not only teach the theory of music but demonstrate it as well. I fell in love with his approach, his love for music and his undying pride for Tinis Higher Primary School. Everything at Tinis epitomised excellence, pride and success, among other values. Our choir had to be the best, too.
As for most people who grew up singing, the church also lit my musical fire. Ask any musician, including the professional ones, and they will all tell you singing in a school or church choir was almost a passport to a musical career, regardless of what genre it would turn out to be.
With school or church music, learning songs through tonic sol-fa (tonic sol-fa is a technique for teaching sight-singing) was not an option and it was expected that at a certain age you would be able to sing notes as the basis of learning music.
Life at school was never boring. I had experiences I would never forget. For instance, the shops and the post office in town were more than a kilometre from our school. Countless times I ran this distance, sent by my teachers. At times, a teacher would make me run this distance to town just to buy slices of French polony.
Sometimes a teacher would send us to the post office to post love letters. ‘Bayajola!’ – ‘They are dating!’ – we would say when the envelopes were sexy. Sometimes the envelopes would have a picture of roses, or of a couple sitting on the beach watching the sunset. I will forever cherish those times of posting love letters.
In 1974, in Grade Four, I was among the high achievers. Those with the best grades were selected for a school tour to East London and King William’s Town. In East London we went to fascinating places like the zoo, the aquarium and Kiwane Beach. But it was King William’s Town that I enjoyed the most. The SABC’s Radio Bantu studios were there, and this was where my dream of being a radio presenter was ignited.
I had long dreamt of working at a radio station. As a child at home in Bhofolo, I was fascinated by the people inside the radio who had this ability to paint a picture in the listener’s mind. I wanted to know more about how they did it. Where did they come from? Did they come from places like Bhofolo?
One day I tried to open a radio.
‘What are you doing?’ yelled my mother when she found me – a mere seven years old at the time – sitting with a portable radio between my legs trying to get into it with a screwdriver. I wanted to see these people with their amazing voices. My mother stopped me before I could do any serious damage. But I knew then that one day, I also wanted to talk in this box. For me, radio released the magic of the voice.
I must say that during the tour of the SABC Radio Bantu station, what had been abstract in my curious mind was made concrete. This was when I saw and sat with the legendary Xhosa broadcaster Given Ntlebi while he was recording his most popular, and my favourite, Sunday morning programme, Bavumeleni Abantwana Beze Kum. If this radio stalwart had lived just ten to fifteen years later, he would have been inducted into the South African Radio Hall of Fame. For me, standing there and watching him performing his trade, playing with his uniquely compelling voice and well-placed hand signals, was all I needed to satisfy my imagination and complete a picture of my future. I was only ten years old, but I could clearly see myself as a radio broadcaster. Me. A boy from the dusty streets of Fort Beaufort. In that moment, marvelling at the sight of that radio legend, I became more convinced than ever that that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
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Thozamile ‘Sir Thoz’ Nyakatya describes being my teacher at Tinis Higher Primary School:
It was not easy to teach Mputumi, as he was a member of my family. What made it difficult was that I could not accept any excuse for failure to do homework or any other classwork. Fortunately, he never let me down, as he would always come top in my subjects. There was one thing I never