This is what Michelle Faul, writing for Associated Press, has to say –
“Embakwe Mission was founded in 1902 by the spirit medium Njemhlophe, who gave up throwing the bones after he converted to Christianity. He came at the behest of Catholic missionaries who soon followed, a Jesuit priest on horseback and three intrepid nuns fresh from England in an ox wagon loaded with provisions, including a hen, a cock and a cat.First they turned back because of a thunderstorm with forked lightning. On the second attempt, the wagon got bogged down in mud. So the nuns, from the Belgian-based Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, trudged through the sludge to their new home, a loaf of bread under one arm and a bottle of altar wine tucked under the other.”
By the time of my arrival in 1955 it was well developed, with the main buildings constructed of unplastered red brick, contoured and ornate. It would be wrong to imagine that because it was then reserved for Coloureds, we were highly privileged. The privilege, undoubtedly fundamental and vitally important, was that payment of basic fees by government was guaranteed. African black children were denied this.
However, as an educational institution, Embakwe was the poorest and most under-resourced of all Coloured schools in the colony. It was without both a science block and a library.
It is pertinent to point out that two great African schools in the Plumtree area, Empandeni and Tekwane, were both better resourced and each had a science block and a library. In addition the outside World would only grant scholarships to Blacks, not Coloureds, as we were classified as "White" for educational purposes. However this "White classification" gave us no access to scholarships to South African universities. So, to put it bluntly, we were stuffed!
All three schools however were "slums", when compared with nearby Plumtree High School, reputably one of the best schools in the history of the country, and therefore reserved for Whites. Most of the children in Embakwe were from poorer families. The school also served as a "reform school", to which problematical children were committed, on Court order.
Not to put too fine a point on it, we were a rough tough lot of proverbial ragamuffins ... as the picture, taken in 1956 of some Embakwe boys, shows
Still, I could not have got a finer education. The curriculum was British and students left on attainment of either Cambridge School Certificate of the General Certificate of Education [GCE]. It achieved a pass rate in excess of 95%. The current pass rate for South Africa [2008] as regards its Matric results is 62, 5%.
Sister Mare was light years ahead of her time. She introduced sex education in 1958, decades before the World even started thinking about it. I should say we may have needed it rather badly. We boys boasted that we we all having sex and that our girlfriends fainted at the moment of penetration. All lies that nobody disputed.
She also introduced "social and life skills", now standard subjects in schools. In the result Vernon Bowers was tasked to teach us ball room dancing at which we all became proficient. Believe me when I say she also allowed us to become champion "Rock n' Rollers", something most schools discouraged.
She also introduced "social and life skills", now standard subjects in schools. In the result Vernon Bowers was tasked to teach us ball room dancing at which we all became proficient. Believe me when I say she also allowed us to become champion "Rock n' Rollers", something most schools discouraged.
What makes me realize what genuis there was in our education is that our "Embakwe way of thinking" is now the vogue throughout the planet.
No one was more discerning of the inherent hypocrisy of so many "revolutions" than we were. George Orwell, and his iconic novel Animal Farm, represented truth in its finest form. World history since then, especially as regards Africa, fully vindicates this perception.
No one was more cynical about the inherent tendencies of dominant groups, and their governments, to propagate "convenient untruths" and suppress "inconvenient truths" than we were. The "Arab Spring" and "Occupy Wall Street" has more than validated our cynicism, just for a start.
However what clearly marked us out as being different was our brand of humour. It was unconventional, basic and thoroughly irreverent of the status quo. At the time this incurred disdain for for us by others in society. We were often referred to as "raw", i.e, insufficiently sophisticated to appreciate social order and imperatives. Our stance, as regards people and governments, was that if you are going to be that concerned with self and your importance, you are already a big joke. In later life, when we met in pubs, a favourite song that we would resort to with little provocation was "Who is fooling who" by Ray Phiri and Stimela.
Today, programs like South Park, John Steward's "Daily Show" and the "Colbert Report", are smash hit industry standard examples of our Embakwe brand of humour and social commentary. Any number of my mates from school would be more than competent as a script writers for these shows. So we were indeed way ahead on our time.
This region has not been kind to us people of mixed race pedigree. To Whites other Whites were regarded as "us", Black folk were regarded as "them" and Coloured folk as "the other”. It was a huge management problem for the colonial government, and its dominant White society, given the incredible racial diversity and colouring of my people.
It remains so to-day despite revolutionary changes in the region. We are still "the Other"[1]. Thus our kith and kin were brutally reminded of when they were recently told by Chief Government Spokesman, Jimmy Manyi that the Coloured people were "over represented" in the Western Cape, even though they are the sole descendants of the Khoekhoe and San people; the original inhabitants of the region. Where do we fit in under Zimbabwe's "indigenization" program?
It remains so to-day despite revolutionary changes in the region. We are still "the Other"[1]. Thus our kith and kin were brutally reminded of when they were recently told by Chief Government Spokesman, Jimmy Manyi that the Coloured people were "over represented" in the Western Cape, even though they are the sole descendants of the Khoekhoe and San people; the original inhabitants of the region. Where do we fit in under Zimbabwe's "indigenization" program?
However, throughout the difficult period of the last 40 years, the "Embakwe spirit" has always been noticed, commented on, as being remarkable, infectious and indomitable. I like to think that I have in some way epitomized that spirit. As a result of the start I was given at Embakwe I did succeed in later life and have left some footprints in the sands of time. So too as regards most of my school mates.
On behalf of myself and all ex-Embakweans I want to say "thank you" to Embakwe and, in particular, to Sister Mare Nugent and her incredible team of teachers mentioned above. You did indeed make a difference!
Deo gratias.
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25. And necessity is the mother of invention
It is 1958 and there is a terrible
drought in the area. Cattle are dying. Carcasses are retrieved and dragged to
the mission by tractor. The meat is served up in our meals. It smells rotten.
We cannot eat it. Hunger is now the order of the day. Adventure Boys needs to
deal with this privation. On Sunday afternoon the hostel master, Richard Brown, assembles the boys as is the routine.
An audit is conducted as to what we will be doing that afternoon so that he
knows where boys are and what they are up to. Adventure Boys is going fishing
to the dam. We have constructed fishing rods which we hold up in a show of true
intent. He waves us off.
We run off, but do not go to the dam. We
hive off to a farm owned by a Mr. Skinner some 5 kilometers away. On arrival we
survey our target. It is the fowl run, situated some 100 meters away in an open
grassland clearing. Baiting our hooks with mealie rice, we leopard-crawl up to
the fowl run. We cast our hooks into the run and soon bag two fowls.
It is just then that an ambush is
sprung. Skinner's gang of workers have been waiting for us. They now start to
emerge from behind a building a fair distance away. Mark starts to laugh
uncontrollably. I shout out "belt it
... !" and we start to run. Given the head start we have, I have every
confidence that the workers will never catch us. But then we hear the sound of
barking dogs behind us. Dogs are quite another matter ... bad news ... very bad
news. There is something terrible about knowing that you are being pursued by dogs. Dogs are fast. They will catch you, and when
they do they will bite you, with big sharp teeth, and tear your flesh apart.
We run for all we are worth through the bush towards
the river. The barking of the dogs grows louder as they gain on us. I think of
dropping the fowl I am carrying in the hope that the dogs will stop to
investigate it. Instinctively I change my mind, concluding that it is a vain
hope. Ill gotten gains are never easily parted with. The river is in front of
us. We run down the bank, across the dry river bed and up the other side.
Immediately we all stop, turn and crouch down,
untangling our cattys from around our necks as we do so. Everything now goes
into slow motion. As the first dog courses down the other bank, and reaches the
river bed, the cattys twang in unison. There is a loud yelp from the dog and it
half keels over. The second and third dogs meet the same fate. They yelp and
howl out loudly as they are hit again and again. One runs back, the other two
run around in circles howling and whimpering in pain. The workers have arrived.
They stop and take cover on the other side of the river. There is a deathly
silence, broken only by the now occasional whimper of the dogs, who have all
rejoined their masters.
It is a classic stand-off. After a while we crawl away
and make good our escape. Later the fowls are roasted on an open fire and eaten
with some meat packed and reserved for consumption in the days to follow. Mark
starts to laugh again and mimics the running around of the dogs after being hit
by slingshot. "Did you see that...?"
he says, face brimming with joy - "did
you see how the garu[2] was yowling and yowling? " and
shamelessly we all join in with peals of laughter.
The next day an identification parade is conducted.
Skinner's workers pick out the other three members of our gang, but not me.
Fuyane's [3] magic is at work. The punishment is six cuts and
one week in the cellar. The cuts are administered in public, at the boys'
hostel, on towel-covered buttocks, using a sjambok. Heads are then shaved and
the culprits confined to a dark cellar receiving a little light via a very
small ground level iron-grated window. Food consists of unsweetened mealie
porridge served in the morning and the evening. After a week my friends emerge
with eyes as big as an owls and a strong greyish white tinge to their skins on
account of sunlight deprivation.
[1] Book link site --- http://theother.orgfree.com/
[2] Garu – is an Embakwe term for “dog’
[3] Fuyane is the spiritualist who "fixed" me up at birth in traditional Ndebele "lungisa" ritual.
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[3] Fuyane is the spiritualist who "fixed" me up at birth in traditional Ndebele "lungisa" ritual.
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