491 Days
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I have already written and requested Niki to investigate whether the letters I wrote to Zeni and Zindzi, Nali, Gibson and to Lilian were received. I should like you to give me a report on whether Kgatho, Maki and Mrs Amina Cachalia got their letters which were written in January, February and April respectively. I require the following additional information on Kgatho: How is his health? Did he go for circumcision? Did he pass the supplementary examinations which he wrote in March? What work is he doing at present and what are his future plans? Perhaps it would be advisable for him to come down so that we could discuss the whole matter. I should also like to know whether Nobandla still possessed the car and the house telephone, as well as what arrangements, if any, have been made for the payment of the accounts? As you know we have a family attorney who has handled all Nobandla’s matters in the past and I should be pleased if you would kindly let me have the name of the lawyer or lawyers who are watching her interests at present and who will appear for her when she is charged. In my letter to Niki I mentioned that this year I expected visits from Kgatho, Moosa Dinath and Alfred Mgulwa and none of them turned up and I should be glad to be informed why they failed to come. Last December I wrote to Dr Wonga Mbekeni,125 P.O. Tsolo, thanking him for attending my late mother’s funeral and for his contribution towards the expenses of the ceremony. I also gave him my condolences on the death of Nkosazana Nozipho126 and asked him to send me some information which I indicated. As he did not reply I assume he never received this important letter. You must, however, answer this particular one immediately without waiting for Wonga’s answer. This can be sent later when you hear from him.
Do you happen to know where Nyanya127 is being kept? If you are able to communicate with her, do give her my love and let her know I am very proud of her indeed. You should also give my love and fondest regards to Amakhosazana Nombulelo128 and Nobatembu129 and let me know whether Nombulelo is still working at the eiderdown factory in Selby. Then there is Nkosazana Nqonqi130 for whom I have the greatest admiration and respect. She has always been a tower of strength to me. Way back in 1942 she stayed next to the power station in Orlando East. Then she moved next to the Communal Hall, later to Jabavu and finally to Killarney. I frequented these places and she always treated me very warmly as she has frequently done to members of the family. When I married Nobandla she lived with her at her Killarney home. One of my wishes is that she may live long until I am released so that I can have the opportunity of thanking her for what she has done for me and Nobandla. You will of course tell me everything about the child who must be very big now.
Last year I received very inspiring letters from Jonguhlanga,131 Nkosikazi NoEngland,132 and from Chief Vulindlela.133 In the course of the nearly 7 years that I have spent in prison I have received several letters from friends in various parts of the country, all of which I value. But letters from the family have special significance for me, particularly when they come from people such as the Abahlekazi and Nkosikazi above, who have made tremendous sacrifices on my behalf and whom I trust completely. As for you Nkosana I need only mention that I have lived with you since the early fifties and one of the striking qualities you possess in full measure is honesty, love and devotion to the family. The free and open manner in which you discussed problems with me and the valuable and constructive criticisms you made of myself, all created a deep impression which I have not forgotten up to the present day. With people like you and Niki round the house I have little cause to worry. I am fully confident that both of you will do your best to keep things steady and even. Love and fondest regards to Nkosazana Samela and husband, to Nomfundo and Mtsobise.134
Very sincerely,
Tat’omncinci
LETTER FROM NELSON MANDELA
TO HIS WIFE WINNIE MANDELA
Special Letter to Zami
16.7.69
My Darling,
This afternoon the Commanding Officer received the following telegram from attorney, Mendel Levin:135
‘Please advise Nelson Mandela his son Thembekile passed away 13th instant result motor accident in Cape Town.’
I find it difficult to believe that I will never see Thembi again. On February 23 this year he turned 24. I had seen him towards the end of July 1962 a few days after I had returned from the trip abroad. Then he was a lusty lad of 17 that I could never associate with death. He wore one of my trousers which was a shade too big and long for him. The incident was significant and set me thinking. As you know he had a lot of clothing, was particular about his dress and had no reason whatsoever for using my clothes. I was deeply touched for the emotional factors underlying his action were too obvious. For days thereafter my mind and feelings were agitated to realise the psychological strains and stresses my absence from home had imposed on the children. I recalled an incident in December 1956 when I was an awaiting-trial prisoner at the Johannesburg Fort. At that time Kgatho was 6 and lived in Orlando East. Although he well knew that I was in jail he went over to Orlando West and told Ma that he longed for me. That night he slept in my bed.
But let me return to my meeting with Thembi. He had come to bid me farewell on his way to boarding school. On his arrival he greeted me very warmly, holding my hand firmly and for some time. Thereafter we sat down and conversed. Somehow the conversation drifted to his studies, and he gave me what I considered, in the light of his age at the time, to be an interesting appreciation of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar which I very much enjoyed. We had been corresponding regularly ever since he went to school at Matatiele and when he later changed to Wodehouse. In December 1960 I travelled some distance by car to meet him. Throughout this period I regarded him as a child and I approached him mainly from this angle. But our conversation in July 1962 reminded me I was no longer speaking to a child but to one who was beginning to have a settled attitude in life. He had suddenly raised himself from a son to a friend. I was indeed a bit sad when we ultimately parted. I could neither accompany him to a bus stop nor see him off at the station, for an outlaw, such as I was at the time, must be ready to give up even important parental duties. So it was that my son, no! my friend, stepped out alone to fend for himself in a world where I could only meet him secretly and once in a while. I knew you had bought him clothing and given him some cash, but nevertheless I emptied my pockets and transferred to him all the copper and silver that a wretched fugitive could afford. During the Rivonia Case he sat behind me one day. I kept looking back, nodding to him and giving him a broad smile. At the time it was generally believed that we would certainly be given the supreme penalty and this was clearly written across his face. Though he nodded back as many times as I did to him, not once did he return the smile. I never dreamt that I would never see him again. That was 5 years ago.
During the intervening period, you gave me many interesting reports on him in your letters and during your visits. I was particularly pleased to note his attachment to the family and the personal interest he took in matters affecting his relations. This attachment and interest is demonstrated by the warm letter he wrote you in June 1967, meeting you at the airport when you visited me the same month, looking after Ma136 in Cape Town and bringing her to the Docks to board the Island boat, visiting you when he recently came up to Johannesburg with his family and taking Zeni and Zindzi out. I do not know whether he managed to go down to see Ma’s grave. He has sent messages through Kgatho and gave me the parental honour of asking me to name his baby. Maki also told me that he bought Kgatho and herself clothing and all the other things they need. I know what a shattering blow his death is to you darling and I write to give you my deepest sympathy. I have sent Ntoko137 our condolences. Though taken away so early in his life, he will rest in peace for he has done his duty to his parents, brothers and sisters and to his relations. We will all miss him. It is a pity that neither you nor I could pay him the last respects that are due from parents to a beloved son who has departed. To lose a mother and a first-born, and to have your life partner incarcerated for an indefinite period, and al
l within a period of ten months, is a burden too heavy for one man to carry even in the best of time. But I do not at all complain my darling. All I wish you to know is that you are my pride and that of our wide family.
Never before have I longed for you than at the present moment. It is good to remember this in this day of bitter misfortunes and bitter reverses. The writer, PJ Schoeman, told the story of an African Commander-in-Chief who took his army of magnificent black warriors for a hunt. During the chase the son of the Commander was killed by a lioness and the Commander himself was badly mauled by the beast. The wound was then sterilised with a red-hot spear and the wounded dignitary wreathed with pain as the wound was being treated. Later Schoeman asked how he felt and he replied that the invisible wound was more painful than the visible one. I now know what the commander meant. I think of you every moment of the day. Tons and tons of love and a million kisses, Mhlope.138
Devotedly,
Dalibunga
LETTER FROM NELSON MANDELA
TO HIS DAUGHTERS ZENANI AND ZINDZI MANDELA
August 3, 1969
My Darlings,
On July 17 I received a telegram from Kgatho in which he told me that Buti Thembi, your beloved brother, had died in a car accident. The accident occurred in Touws River, near Cape Town, on July 13. I am told that apart from him two Europeans, who recently came to this country from Italy, also died. Your brother will be buried in Johannesburg today. In this telegram Kgatho informed me that he was sending the full details of how Thembi died. But my letters take a very long time to reach me and, at the time of writing Kgatho’s letter had not arrived, and I am thus not in a position to give you more particulars on the matter.
I write on behalf of Mummy and myself to give you our deepest sympathy. All of us were very fond and proud of Thembi and he, in turn, was devoted to us, and it is indeed very sad to think that we will never see him again. I know just how he loved you. Mummy wrote to me on March 1 and advised me that he spent his holidays with his family in Johannesburg, and that during that period he took you out several times and gave you much pleasure and joy. Mummy has also informed me that he had invited you to spend the forthcoming December holidays with him in Cape Town and that you were looking forward to a lot of fun. There you would have seen the sea; places like Muizenberg and the Strand where you could swim. You would also have seen the Castle, a large stone fort which was completed about the year 1679. Here the Governors of the early Cape lived. It was also here that the famous African king, Cetywayo, was kept for a while after the Battle of Isandhlwana in January 1879 where the Zulu army defeated the English. In Cape Town you would also have seen Table Mountain which is about 3,549 feet high. From the top of the mountain you would see Robben Island across the waves. Thembi’s death means that you will not be able to spend your December holidays down there, and you will also miss the pleasures and beautiful places I have mentioned above, and we are all very sorry that our Thembi is really gone. He meant much to us and we will miss him.
It was not possible for Mummy and myself to attend his funeral. Both of us are in jail and our request for permission to go to the funeral was not granted. You also did not attend, but when you return from school Kgatho will arrange for you to be taken to see the grave and bid your departed brother farewell. Perhaps one day Mummy and I will be able also to visit the grave. But now that he is gone, we must forget about the painful fact of his death. Now he sleeps in peace, my darlings, free from troubles, worries, sickness or need; he can feel neither pain nor hunger. You must continue with your schoolwork, play games and sing songs.
This time I have written you a sad letter. On June 23 I had written you another letter which was just as sad, because it dealt with the arrest of Mummy. This year has been a bad one indeed for us, but happy days will come when we will be full of joy and laughter. What is even more important is that one day Mummy and I will come back and live happily together with you in one house, sit at table together, help you with the many problems you will experience as you grow. But until then Mummy and I will write to you regularly.
Tons and tons of love, my darlings.
Affectionately,
Tata
LETTER FROM NELSON MANDELA
TO IRENE BUTHELEZI139
3-8-69
Our dear Mndhlunkulu,
I was moved by the message of condolence contained in the telegram sent by my chief, Mangosuthu,140 on behalf of the family and which I received on July 18 (my birthday), and I should like him to know that I deeply appreciate it. 1968 and 1969 had been difficult and trying years for me. I lost my mother only 10 months ago. On May 12 my wife was detained indefinitely under the Terrorist Act, leaving behind small children as virtual orphans, and now my eldest son is gone never to return. Death is a frightful disaster no matter what the cause and the age of the person affected. Where it approaches gradually as in the case of normal illness, the next-of-kin are at least forewarned and the blow may not be so shattering when it ultimately lands. But when you learn that death has claimed a strapping and healthy person in the prime of his life, then one must actually live through the experience to realise how completely paralysing it can be. This was my experience on July 16 when I was first advised of my son’s death. I was shaken from top to bottom and for some seconds I did not know exactly how to react. I ought to have been better prepared for Thembi was not the first child I lost. Way back in the forties I lost a nine months baby girl. She had been hospitalised and had been making good progress when suddenly her condition took a grave turn and she died the same night. I managed to see her during the critical moments when she was struggling desperately to hold within her tender body the last sparks of life which were flickering away. I have never known whether or not I was fortunate to witness that grievous scene. It haunted me for many days thereafter and still provokes painful memories right up to the present day; but it should have hardened me for similar catastrophes. Then came Sept. 26 (my wife’s birthday) when I was advised of my mother’s death. I had last seen her the previous Sept. when she visited me on the Island at the ripe age of 76, having travelled all alone from Umtata. Her appearance had much distressed me. She had lost weight and although cheerful and charming, she looked ill and tired. At the end of the visit I was able to watch her as she walked slowly towards the boat which would take her back to the mainland, and somehow the thought flashed across my mind that I had seen her for the last time. But as the months rolled by, the picture I had formed of her last visit began to fade away and was altogether dispelled by the exciting letter she wrote thereafter testifying to her good health. The result was that when the fatal hour struck on Sept. 26 I was again quite unprepared and for a few days I spent moments in my cell which I never want to remember. But nothing I experienced in the forties and in Sept. last year can be likened to what I went through on July 16. The news was broken to me about 2.30pm. Suddenly my heart seemed to have stopped beating and the warm blood that had freely flown in my veins for the last 51 years froze into ice. For some time I could neither think nor talk and my strength appeared to be draining out. Eventually, I found my way back to my cell with a heavy load on my shoulders and the last place where a man stricken with sorrow should be. As usual my friends here were kind and helpful and they did what they could to keep me in good spirits. My second son, Kgatho, sent me a telegram on July 17 and I felt even much better. The telegram from the Chief created a deep impression on me and greatly contributed to my complete recovery from the shock. I should like to assure him that I will always remember his inspiring message of sympathy, as well as the one he sent on the occasion of my mother’s death. I feel mighty and strong and confident because of the good wishes and messages of solidarity that have come from my trusted friends, among whom I am privileged to include you and the Chief.
My thoughts very often go back to the forties when I lived at Mzilikazi where I first met your parents. Your father, the son of Mzila, was really a grand old man I admired and respected in all sincerity. He was dig
nified, courteous and confident and throughout the 4 years of my stay at Mzilikazi we were on friendly terms. The conversations I had with him indicated a man who was proud of the traditions and achievements of his people, and this aspect, more than anything else fascinated me.
But though he loved and respected his own history and culture he was sensitive to modern and progressive ideas and valued education. In this respect you and your brother should be witnesses. He was often seen at the Bantu Men’s Social Centre141 in his black and gold regalia, decorated with medals and ribbons, playing drafts [sic] and other games with remarkable skill against distinguished sportsmen of that city. I will always remember him as a man who gave me much encouragement and help in my struggling days. I have not forgotten the Old Lady and the warm smile with which she always greeted me. I valued it even then, but you have to be behind bars for at least 7 years to appreciate fully just how precious human kindness can be. It gave me much pleasure to be able to act on her behalf when the Old Man’s estate was wound up. Always remember that I highly value my association with your family and that I hold the Chief in esteem. My fondest regards to you all and to Dr Dotwane and your sister-in-law.