Zolile Mdaka’s Passing
On 13 April 1976, my life changed forever. When my sons Anthony was three years old, and Lennox just over one year old, my husband Zolile died. His death certificate says he died of chronic renal failure. I was in Tsolo in the Eastern Cape at the time. I would be there for months, and this was before cell phones, so the only way of communicating was through letters.
Zolile had been working as a petrol attendant in Durban Road in Bellville. A few weeks after I arrived in Tsolo, his brother sent a letter saying I should come back to Cape Town because Zolile was ill. It was on the day I was returning, that Zolile died. When I got to the hospital, there my mother was, waiting to tell me. It was seven o'clock at night, I remember that clearly. There she was, with all the other aunties, waiting to tell me my husband had died. Oh, how that was hurting me.
Losing Sons to Violence
In the beginning of 1978, I had a boyfriend, Julius, and we had a son, Nathaniel, and then after that a second son, Samuel. They turned out to be good boys, when they grew up. Nathaniel became a plumber and started building my house.
One day, Nathaniel was at a friend's house, drinking and having fun. When Anthony went to join him, Nathaniel bought a drink for his brother. His friends were drunk and accused him of ignoring them, and one of them stabbed him. He died. He was 24.
The After Effects of Death
Nathaniel used to do all he could to help me. After he died, these things could not happen. So my house still doesn't have a sink or taps, or any plumbing at all in the kitchen.
To wash the dishes and our clothes, we have to go to a tap outside the front door. I've got a big blue bath - the one my daughter Phyllis bought for me - but I've never had the money to install it, so it's just sitting there in my bathroom, like a big blue elephant, taking up space.
Disaster Strikes Again
My heart was very sore when Nathaniel died. After Nathaniel's death, Samuel was the only one left who was working. He had a job on a building contract. 'Ma, half a loaf is better than no bread,' he used to say to me. 'Remember, I am working because I want to help you.' When he heard that Nathaniel's burial was going to cost R2900, Samuel brought me R3000 and told me: 'Cry for the death of my brother, ma.
I don't want you to cry for the cost of his funeral.' He had no idea that he would be next. Then Samuel, my last-born, was also stabbed to death when he was 22. Yes, two of my sons were stabbed to death. It happens to many young men in our townships. It happens when they drink and stay out late; often they're fighting over girls. Many of them have knives, so when a fight breaks out there is violence. And these days they even have guns.
By Jo-Anne Smetherham