Temba Black History Month Series
Born between the turn of the 20th century (1900) and the 1940`s, they are the unsung heroes and heroines of Temba. With wrinkled old faces, those who are still alive today wake up at dawn – often alone and uncared for – to gain an early spot in the long snaking queues at pension points in and around Temba. And those who have passed on, lie in unmarked graves with no inscriptions to celebrate their selfless toiling years.
And yet it is with their wrinkled hands that they lay the first bricks that build the first houses of Temba in those early winters of an emerging settlement, fueled by the ruthless breeze that came from the nearby Tshwane River. It is their ragged hands that constructed a dingy bridge that was the only gateway over the torrid waters of the Apies River, that was a source of nutrition through its blue economy. It was a time in the past, that the Bethsaida miracle of Christ would have come handy to feed the multitudes of the early settlers. It is their unwavering hands that carried the heritage stones – with buckets of water – that build the first primary school in 1947 to breath hope to a community that was in desperate despair.
It was the hands of these heroic grandmothers who scavenged the nearby enchanted forest to harvest wood and roots to defeat the frontiers of poverty to feed their starving families. It was their aging hands who kept the “two-roomed houses” warm with “Mbaola” – a tin designed fireplace – before the advent of the Dover stoves, to keep our mothers and fathers warm. Our mothers and fathers who would be cuddled together in that part little corner of the kitchen which at night, doubled up as their makeshift bedroom when the last candle or paraffin powered lamp was blown off. And it is those meals cooked with nothing more but love that filled not only these tiny bodies but also their hearts to beat stronger with age.
And it was always the morning Rooster, that disrupted the peace of the early dawn of “Sofasonke” (first name of Temba) with its screeching melody to announce the dawning of a new dawn. And the dash of the half-naked boys to relieve their full bladders from the early morning burning urine – with the boyish wonder of the “erection of innocence” and the rising smoke from the dews of the grass, as the warm urine defrosted the frosty grass. And those tiny hands that carried wood and coal from the tin colliery to prepare the first fire to warm up water and breakfast for the day ahead.
With their sense of duty and dignity – and there was no Fivas or Legae or Thapelo at the time that are wasting the present fathers of Temba – the grandfathers would go and dutifully work for their families. The younger kids would run with jubilance to Temba/Kudube primary school where the late Ntate Setshedi (and late Bango Thobejane) would imbibe them with the fruits of education. Whilst the older kids – like bra Kelly Chauke and Maditse Kgaphola – would walk through the forest from Oudstad to Ratshepo (now called Hans Kekana) in Majaneng in the early cold winters of the 1950`s to study towards the prestigious Junior Certificate (JC) and Matric Exemption for access to higher studies.
These grandfathers and grandmothers of Temba (who are or would have been between the ages of 70 and 109 today) are the unquestionable heroes and heroines of the Temba community. They are the founding fathers and mothers who build the firm and solid foundation of our spiritual identity. It is under their collective community watch, that each child in the Temba village was safe and nurtured with love and education. They kept the playgrounds (which we have turned to public drinking sports like ko “Skwaereng”) safe for us, they kept the school and church spaces (while we have taverns next to our places of learning and worship) for intellectual and spiritual growth. They maintained the houses into homes for love and laughter. They protected the family identity and heritage in their home albums and memories.
So next time you are at Jubilee Mall or any of the Post Office SASSA pension pay-points, read the journey of Temba through their wrinkles – with each line of a wrinkle telling a story of a time gone by. Look deep into those old eyes and see them as lenses that saw the images of the life and times of Temba. Look at those rugged clothes withered by the elements of time – and imagine the fabric of life that they tell. And those worn out shoes that have walked over half a decade so that we can “Keep on Walking.”
If you are visiting the Temba Cemetery for a funeral or to visit those who are like my father (1929-1990) or my mother (1933-2008), pay homage to all the grandfathers and grandmothers who carried us through the repressive regimes of Verwoerd, Mangope and the modern era of “The Tales of Angelo Agrizzi”. If you care, place a daffodil on the unmarked or marked graves. With their good deeds interred in the bowels of their graves, their memories should be commemorated like the “Tomb of an Unknown Soldier” through a memorial wall of remembrance at the gates of the Temba Cemetery or even better as a memorial mural wall at Jubilee Mall to celebrate their memory and legacy.
