by Madikizela-Mandela, Winnie; Kathrada, Ahmed; Kathrada, Ahmed
Forever yours,
Nobandla
LETTER FROM NELSON MANDELA
TO FRIEND AND FORMER COLLEAGUE DOUGLAS LUKHELE
August 1, 1970
My dear Duggie,
Our children, Zeni and Zindzi, aged 11 and 10 respectively, are at ‘Our Lady of Sorrows,’ a Roman Catholic boarding school at Hluti. We are extremely disturbed because, since Zami’s detention in May last year, we have heard nothing about them. Information reached me that they spend their holidays with Allan. I should have liked to write directly to him and [his] wife, to thank them for the hospitality, but I am not sure whether having regard to his present position, I am free to do so. I [would] like them to know that Zami and I are sincerely grateful. I believe Mrs Birley,204 now lecturing in a British university, had arranged scholarships for the children at Waterford for next year. I have written them 3 letters and sent a birthday card, but none seems to have reached. Please investigate and give me a detailed report, preferably by registered letter, at your earliest possible convenience.
Letters from me hardly ever reach destination and those addressed to me fare no better. I am hoping that the remorseless fates, that consistently interfered with my correspondence and that have cut me off from my family at such a critical moment, will be induced by consideration of honour and honesty to allow this one through. I know that once it reaches your hands my troubles will be virtually over.
You know that I am essentially a rustic like many of my contemporaries, born and brought up in a country village with its open space, lovely scenery and plenty of fresh air. Although prior to my arrest and conviction 8 years ago I lived for two decades as a townsman, I never succeeded in shaking off my peasant background, and now and again I spent a few weeks in my home district as a means of recalling the happy moments of my childhood. Throughout my imprisonment my heart and soul have always been somewhere far beyond this place, in the veld and the bushes. I live across these waves with all the memories and experiences I have accumulated over the last half century – memories of the grounds in which I tended stock, hunted, played, and where I had the privilege of attending the traditional initiation school. I see myself moving into the Reef in the early forties, to be caught up in the ferment of the radical ideas that were stirring the more conscious of the African youth. (Incidentally it was at this stage that I first met Allan, then a clerk at Union College.) I remember the days when I served articles, licking stamps, daily running all sorts of errands, including buying hair shampoo and other cosmetics for white ladies. Chancellor House! It was there that OR205 and I became even more intimate than we were as college mates and as [Youth] Leaguers. Around us there developed new and fruitful friendships – Maindy, Zubeida Patel and Winnie Mandleni, our first typists; the late Mary Anne, whose sudden and untimely death greatly distressed us; Ruth, Mavis, Godfrey; boxing Freddy and Charlie the upright and popular caretaker and cleaner who never missed a day at Mai-Mai.206 For some time you battled almost alone and against formidable difficulties to keep the firm afloat when OR and I were immobilised by the Treason Trial. I even recall the strange incident that occurred when you visited Zami and I at our home in Orlando West in Dec. ’60. As you approached the gate a bolt of lightning split out with such tremendous force that Zeni, then only 10 months [old], was flung to the ground where she remained motionless for some seconds. What a relief it was when she came round and started yelling; it was a close shave. Your presence at the DOCC207 on that occasion put a new and deeper meaning to your magnificent stand at Winburg and added more weight and lustre to the eulogies that have since been heaped on you in memory of your outstanding service to the womenfolk.
Lenvick! There you established yourself with Manci as articled clerk and [were] ably assisted by the smooth and energetic Joe Magame. I have not forgotten the good things you did for me personally those days. I was still involved in the T.T.208 and during adjournments you kept me busy by giving me work, and it thus became possible for me to assist Zami in some way to keep the home fires burning. I hope one day I shall be able to reciprocate. Anyway I was very happy when I was informed that your fatherland, the beautiful country which is full of so much promise and potential, could now avail itself of your talents to the fullest extent. I was even more pleased to be told that you were now [a] member of your country’s Senate. But I knew at the same time that it must have been a grievous blow for you to sever connections with a country you had chosen to be your permanent home and to be cut off from a community you had served so faithfully and courageously. These and other reminiscences, occupy the long and difficult moments of my present life.
Spiritual weapons can be dynamic and often have an impact difficult to appreciate except in the light of actual experience in given situations.
In a way they make prisoners free men, turn commoners into monarchs, and dirt into pure gold.
To put it quite bluntly, Duggie, it is only my flesh and bones that are shut up behind these tight walls.
Otherwise I remain cosmopolitan in my outlook, in my thoughts I am as free as a falcon.
The anchor of all my dreams is the collective wisdom of mankind as a whole. I am influenced more than ever before by the conviction that social equality is the only basis of human happiness. We and the children of Mswati and Mbandzeni are linked by a million threads. We have a common history and common aspirations. What is precious to you touches our own hearts. It is in this light that we think of Sept. 6 – an historic event that marks the close of an epoch and the rise of a people whose national pride and consciousness helped them to survive the changes of fortune brought by the imperialist era to our Continent.
It is around these issues that my thoughts revolve. They are centred on humans, the ideas for which they strive; on the new world that is emerging, the new generation that declares total war against all forms of cruelty, against any social order that upholds economic privilege for a minority and that condemns us, the mass of the population, to poverty and disease, illiteracy and the host of evils that accompany a stratified society.
Remember me to Ntlabati, Leslie’s wife, Andrew and wife, Stanley Lollan, Maggie Chuene, Regina Twala, Wilson and Gladys if they are still around. I am particularly grateful to Wilson for looking after my son, Kgatho, after he had been expelled from school for organising a strike, and for all the help he and Gladys gave him.
Let everyone keep well and be of good cheer; my fist is firm!
Yours sincerely
Nel
LETTER FROM NELSON MANDELA
TO WINNIE MANDELA
August 1, 1970
Dade Wethu,
Can it be that you did not receive my letter of July 1? How can I explain your strange silence at a time when contact between us has become so vital?
In June I learnt for the first time that you had been confined to bed for 2 months and that your condition was so bad that you did not appear with your friends when the case came up for formal remand. Is your silence due to a worsening of your health or did the July letter suffer the fate of the 39 monthly letters, letters in lieu of visits and specials that I have written since your arrest on May 12 ’69, all of which, save 2, seemed not to have reached their destination? Not even Kgatho, Maki, Zeni, Zindzi, Tellie, Ma of Bizana, Marsh and Mashumi responded. I am becoming increasingly uneasy every day. I know you would respond quickly if you heard from me and I fear that you have not done so because you either did not receive the letter or you are not fit to write.
The crop of miseries we have harvested from the heartbreaking frustrations of the last 15 months are not likely to fade away easily from the mind. I feel as if I have been soaked in gall, every part of me, my flesh, bloodstream, bone and soul, so bitter am I to be completely powerless to help you in the rough and fierce ordeals you are going through. What a world of difference to your failing health and to your spirit, darling, to my own anxiety and the strain that I cannot shake off, if only we could meet; if I could be on your side and squeeze you, or if I could but cat
ch a glimpse of your outline through the thick wire netting that would inevitably separate us. Physical suffering is nothing compared to the trampling down of those tender bonds that form the basis of the institution of marriage and the family that unite man and wife. This is a frightful moment in our life. It is a moment of challenge to cherished beliefs, putting resolutions to a severe test.
But as long as I still enjoy the privilege of communicating with you, even though it may only exist in form for me, and until it is expressly taken away, the records will bear witness to the fact that I tried hard and earnestly to reach you by writing every month. I owe you this duty and nothing will distract me from it. Maybe this line will one day pay handsome dividends. There will always be good men on earth, in all countries, and even here at home. One day we may have on our side the genuine and firm support of an upright and straightforward man, holding high office, who will consider it improper to shirk his duty of protecting the rights and privileges of even his bitter opponents in the battle of ideas that is being fought in our country today; an official who will have a sufficient sense of justice and fairness to make available to us not only the rights and privileges that the law allows us today, but who will also compensate us for those that were surreptitiously taken away. In spite of all that has happened I have, throughout the ebb and flow of the tides of fortune in the last 15 months, lived in hope and expectation. Sometimes I even have the belief that this feeling is part and parcel of my self. It seems to be woven into my being. I feel my heart pumping hope steadily to every part of my body, warming my blood and pepping up my spirits. I am convinced that floods of personal disaster can never drown a determined revolutionary nor can the cumulus of misery that accompanies tragedy suffocate him. To a freedom fighter hope is what a life-belt is to a swimmer – guarantee that one will keep afloat and free from danger. I know darling that if riches were to be counted in terms of the tons of hope and sheer courage that nestle in your breast (this idea I got from you) you would certainly be a millionaire. Remember this always.
By the way, the other day I dreamt of you convulsing your entire body with a graceful Hawaiian dance at the BMSC.209 I stood at one end of the famous hall with arms outstretched ready to embrace you as you whirled towards me with the enchanting smile that I miss so desperately. I cannot explain why the scene should have been located at the BMSC. To my recollection we have been there for a dance only once – on the night of Lindi’s wedding reception. The other occasion was the concert we organised in 1957 when I was courting you, or you me. I am never certain whether I am free to remind you that you took the initiative in this regard. Anyway the dream was for me a glorious moment. If I must dream in my sleep, please Hawaii for me. I like to see you merry and full of life.
I enjoyed Fatima’s210 ‘Portrait of Indian S. Africans’ – a vivid description of Indian life written in a beautiful and simple style. With characteristic modesty she describes the title in the preface as still pretentious for a book that only skims the surface. But the aspects that form its theme are skilfully probed. She raises an issue of wider interest when she points out that ‘differences that divide are not differences of custom, of rituals and tradition, but differences of status, of standard of living, of access to power and power-gaining techniques. These are the differences that have at all known times determined the destinies of persons and people, and the same people and the same cultures have at one point enjoyed high privilege and at another none.’ The book contains chapters which touch on other fundamental matters and I fear that some of her observations on current public questions may spark off animated debates. I welcome the brutal frankness of her pen, but it may be that once she elects to raise such matters her duty is not only to comment but to inspire, to leave her fellow countrymen with hope and something to live for. I hope you will be able to read the book before the case ends. It is a brilliant work written by a brilliant scholar. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Mr Brown, our Cape Town attorney, should have been here on July 29 in connection with the question of guardianship of the children. The sea was very rough and this may probably be the reason for his failure to turn up. I am hoping that he will come soon. In the meantime I am writing to our friend, Duggie Lukhele, requesting him to check on them and to give us a detailed report. I shall certainly keep you informed of developments. Do not allow yourself to be agitated by the chaos in our household affairs and by the difficulties we are having in communicating officially and openly with each other. This is a phase in our life that will pass and leave us still there, and perhaps even growing stronger. I almost forgot to tell you that my second application to see you was summarily rejected, notwithstanding the fact that I had cited your present illness as one reason for renewing the application. The Commissioner did not even consider it his duty to allay my fears by giving me a report on your condition. There was a time when such experiences would make me wild; now I can take them calmly. I have become used to them.
Keep well, my darling; do not allow yourself to be run down by illness or longing for the children. Fight with all your strength. My fist is firm. Tons and tons of love and a million kisses.
Devotedly,
Dalibunga
LETTER FROM NELSON MANDELA
TO NOFUMAHADI ZUKISWA MATJI
August 1, 1970
Our dear Zuki,
The death of Thembi was a bitter blow to me for he was an intimate friend. The relationship of father and son was but the foundation stone upon which we were building more intimate connections and it really hurt me to know that I would never see him again.
There was a time during the last 8 years when nothing could ever ruffle me and when I felt secure and in perfect control of myself. Thembi was gradually taking over the family responsibilities and was helpful in many ways. He had become very attached to Zami and to Kgatho and sisters he had become an idol. Then came ’68 and ’69 when the skies suddenly fell upon me. I lost both him and Ma and I must confess that the order that had reigned in my soul almost vanished. Exactly 2 months before Thembi’s death my Zami was put under lock and key where she still is, and our household affairs plunged into unbelievable chaos. Up to the present moment I do not know where Zeni and Zindzi (aged 11 and 10 respectively) are and who maintains them. Every one of the letters I have written them in the last 15 months has not reached. Probably the car and furniture have been repossessed and the telephone disconnected.
My funds have been completely drained and I have had to give up a couple of necessaries which make life here comparatively easy. I cannot even manage an eye-test for reading glasses. At times I am tempted to feel that this is too heavy a cross to bear and it is against this background that I regard Robbie’s211 cheerful letter. Its warmth and simplicity touched my heart and raised my spirits.
Robbie refers to Thembi and Kgatho’s visit when you were at Sekake’s. What a strange coincidence. The letter arrived while I was reading about old times in Lesotho, Matatiele, Cedarville and Kokstad; about Sekake, his father Sekwati and Lehana, ou Letsie, Lerothodi and Masupha, Mhlonto and Mditshwa, Makawula, JoJo and Mqikela. In the past 8 years I have read more on S.A. history and geography than I ever did in my whole life, and this has made me curious and anxious to tour the country and to visit all the places which have aroused my interest. I do not know how I will ever raise the funds for that purpose. I have always been more needy than the proverbial church mouse, and the position will certainly be much worse on my return. However, remote problems can have no bearing on my present hobby of castle building. But this strange coincidence Zuki! Sekake and Sekake’s. Is it possible that research, experiment and observation may establish telepathy as an empirical study?
The death of Masango and Maroyi was a terrible tragedy which intensely affected us. Robbie must have found it extremely painful not to be able to pay his last respects to such dedicated fighters. Jimmy and Connie are wonderful people for who I have the highest regard. Some of the most pleasant moments in my life were spent in their company. In th
e early fifties Jimmy was hot and sharp and attracted great interest. Later on he seemed to cool off and the knife-edge sharpness that once characterised him was blunted; but he has never faded from those of us who worked closely with him. Connie is a lady in the full sense of that term; always gentle and courteous, kind and decent in every way. They are always in my thoughts and I was very sorry to hear that he had a disk removed in addition to a fractured leg. I was pleased to note that the beautiful friendship that kept your respective families close to each other is still growing strong and deep. I shall write to them soon. Meanwhile give them my love.
I was delighted to hear something about Khalaki, Kumani and Liz. Khalaki attracted me the first day I met him. He struck me as a modest and cautious lad of great promise. In the numerous discussions I have had with him on a variety of questions I was impressed by his ability to grasp at once the crucial aspects of a problem. He must have ripened a lot the 24 months he spent away from Bata and kids. With such a gifted girl on his side, he is well equipped to fulfil our wildest expectations. I should have long written to them if I knew their address. In Dec ’68 I sent them a Xmas card care of Moses Tlebere, PO Box 190, Maseru. I should love to hear from them about the kids. I am confident that if they had been around this part of the world they would have visited us already. Khumani also made a great impression on me on the one occasion on which I met him. His calmness and steadiness reflected a measure of depth which appealed to me very much. During my travel in the Pafmecsa area early in ’62, I was pleased to note that he was attracting interest even beyond our borders. Is he now married?
The name ‘Elizabeth’ has featured prominently in history. The house of the Spanish, Phillip II and his ‘Invincible’ Armada probably would still rattle in their grave when reminded of the year 1588. There is a lot of exciting history around our own Liz and her labours have not been in vain. Perhaps there are on God’s earth other Phillip II’s who are seized by nightmares when they think of her. Remember Paarl is only 40 miles away from us where she is regarded with the utmost respect and affection. To all of them I send my warmest love. I was sorry to hear that our erstwhile mutual friend is a mole that burrows no more. What a pity that such a shrewd and able man should now suffocate in his own timidity! Do you hear anything about Jack?
