Special Hearings — Women's Hearings — 1997-07-28

SHEILA MASOTE: I'd like to greet everybody and to thank the Truth and Reconciliation Committee for this opportunity to come and just share the purpose of why I am here is to share, not to make, maybe to show that we've gone through a lot or to get praises or you know, shame or sympathy;  just to share.
 I'll compose myself.  I am sorry.  My start is a bit cold. Next to me - I'm with me, Mrs Benja Mathopeng, wife to, of course my father, the late Zef Mathopeng, president of the Pan African Congress of 1986 to 1990 when he passed away.
 On the programme it says I'm here to speak about - on behalf of the family.  No, that is not what I am here about.  My mother has put in a submission as aN individual and representing the family.
 I then felt, yes, I'm part of the family, but I refuse to be family and have no identity as Sheila.  The problem that I have always suffered and I have always said to myself is that I don't seem to be having an identity like belonging to me.  I'm always either Zef's daughter, Mathopeng's daughter or Mike Masote's wife.  Or no, Masote's mother and Zef Masote's mother. But no, I feel I am me.  And this is why I am here.  
 As a little girl, as a teenager, as a woman, as a mother and as a builder and as somebody who has really contributed in the struggle, I may not have been seen in the forefront, but sometimes I believe they also serve who are on the stand and wait.
 Therefore I - it's such a big story that I have.  It's a long life.  I am 52 years old and most of it I have been born in a family that's been through the struggle.  And I should be presenting a statement, maybe this big.  I know others are as big as this room, but mine has also formed a part.
 But I tried to summarise here in picture form, because so that I keep in focus.  I have here some of what I was stripped of.  And I have a ball, representing my crumbled world.
 I was born in a very, very up family;  my father and my mother both teachers.  Of those days, the royal readers, the best and they stayed in the best place.  When so it had started, it was not so.  It was Orlando-East and then into Orlando-West.  And this is the elite.  This is where you find the Mandela's, the Sizulu's, the Nefews.
 They were hurting Barbara, my sister.  People have whipped her.  I am sorry.  Bear with me.  I cry a lot.  Sometimes it's anger, sometimes it's pain;  it's a mixture.
 And this was a beautiful place.  Many people know my father as a politician.  But let me tell;  my father - I'm just giving you this background so that when I come to me - I'm not omitting my mother.  I start with the late.  
 My father was a cultural man.  He was the first president of the TATA - the then Transvaal African Teachers' Association, which later became TOWATA.  He was the first chairperson of the then Johannesburg Bantu Music Festival, that has brought forth all this Eisteddfod, all the culture that you see, the coming up of Dockare House.  
 During those days, it happened right in Orlando West, (... indistinct) musicals and all that.  I'm trying to show, my mother herself has been a teacher, a conductor, a singer with the Colera Churavoice.  You may wonder why I - where I get these tales from.  I'm highly cultured and I need no apologies;  I am.  I am married to a highly cultured man.  The only man, the only Black in Africa who holds a liscensiate in (... indistinct) teaching.
 He's a teacher and he's the only man who has started and established an orchestra, purely Black.  So I know what I am talking about.  But all that has crumbled.  I'm not boasting.  
 Now, I want to tell you;  my mother still runs a choir of children, young girls.  Their called the Nightingales.  They started way back in the fifties, 1952 she says.  It's a community programme.  All of us, the Barberas, the Smetombi, they have come through this choir and have passed.  The age group is between about six and then fourteen, because as we grow up to be teenagers and she couldn't handle us.  We passed on and we had other interests.
 But she has kept - that is why the girls of Orlando was (... indistinct) cream and I am part of that cream.  
 Here is Barbera.
 Now, I am saying to you, my crumbling world was;  I had a family that was home and togetherness.  My school work suffered a lot, because I had a lot to carry on me.  I couldn't study, I couldn't be worried about my dreams.  I needed to be a lawyer, at one time to be a social worker.  Yes, a teacher, because you would look up to your mother or your father.
 I had no trust at that stage.  It went.  The church, I couldn't trust, because I didn't belong.  Why all this happening to my family?  Why all this happening to Orlando West?  My friends and my neighbours, they got away from me, because the special branch always came to my home.  They harassed my family.  They went to the family, to the neighbours, to the children I played with and they threatened their parents.  
 And we didn't have structures, support structures.  I lost - I'm talking about this as a young girl - I lost role models, because at that time in the sixties;  that's when everybody was moving away.  The Emplateles, everybody, they're my levels, the Mgees, my close family friends, my parents, the people that were good, were going either in exile or in prison.
 The frequent imprisonment of my father first, which was we knew, and then later my mom, then myself, my husband and above all, I'd like to make it clear that one thing that also broke me was this - as a child I didn't understand - I know there's now peace, there's ANC.
 And at my home, there was wintate nephews - wintate Susulu, wintate Mandela and Mr Rabarocketh.  They used to come to my home and hold meetings with my father and they were fiery and when I grew up I learned they were the youth league.
  And later on, just from the blue I hear there's now peace and how even our teachers changed.  Yes, people have to be strong in all allegiance to their parties and there I was in the middle.
 Now my father I see other people coming.  I say where are those?  Where are (... indistinct) when he used to my home?  That is the president, wintate Mandela.  I just want to show you how close - he would always be having a sweet.  "Where's Sheila?"  He's always been having this ... indistinct) of a voice.  Even when he was in prison as I grew up, I used to always think of him and I used to write more to him than to Susulu.  
 And I miss that.  And he would always say "You're still so beautiful."  I remember the first time when he came back out of prison to come and see my father, I was there;  now as Mrs Masote.  "Where's Sheila?  Oh, you've grown to be such a beautiful young woman."
 And I looked at myself.  Thirty.  Me, a young woman, beautiful?  But I'm trying to show that was the world that crumbled and why?  Because the system brought all the split and where was my mother in all that?
 I come to my family's breaking.  The main thing was society.  I would also say this communal living;  I could go to granny next door, I could go to Memama.  And I knew I would find help.  If there was no milk at home, it was easy for us to go and ask for it.  Or just to visit and play next door.  I knew I'd come back healthy and well and well fed.
 My mother would go work and she knows her children are safe.  Our keys, door key, would stay at the third house from your house.  Next time the next time.  Nobody would come and steal.  Everybody would look after it.
 But all that crumbled, because the special branch had to come in and tell people;  these are terrorists.  You dare be seen associated.  And then my family, that is my whole family.  Then my father got dismissed.  When they did the introduction of Bantu Education, joblessness came and my mother had to follow suite, loose her teaching post, because she can't go and work for the system when my husband has been - 
 My extended family;  they started fearing us.  My brother went into exile.  There was loneliness.  There was non-stop harassment of the special branch.  There was a series of imprisonment. 
 My father, you know it's better I think, because I haven't experienced.  I always think, maybe if my father had gone once of maybe life imprisonment or long term, I would then cope.  But then he would come, go three years, come back, stay with (... indistinct) us in the house, then going in and out, then he goes again, then banishment.
 And where was I as an only daughter?  And you know as daughters we're very close to our fathers.  And above all, I could see my brothers turning into alcoholics;  those that remained.  I have a blind brother, but you won't believe.  He used to drink like a fish.  One day he would be travelling all over working so good with directions, but he would be dead drunk the very next moment.  I'm not exposing, I'm just showing you.
 My mother was very frustrated, unsupported and lonely.  In all this, all this torture, I have the world and my family and down there is a big load.  And there was who as a girl child?
 I won't read through my story.  I have it in paper, but I would like to say with all that, I used to go for ballet, I used to sing, I was a little girl in tutus, ribbons, pretty little thing;  the only daughter of a well-off family.  
 I'm not omitting my brothers, but I'm speaking here for myself.  They can come and talk about themselves.  And it all went, because when ballet was stopped for Black little kids.  It was taken at least to the Coloureds.  Maybe they felt it was better.  And I stopped.  It was one of my major skills.
 I resorted to ballroom dancing.  Then that's where my conflict with my mother - I love my mother and I would like to say to you people what I'm mainly saying and that even my daughter there is worried.  And I've come alone with my mother and she has suffered and I'm not trying to be - we're just trying to show the suffering we went through together.
 I have seen my mother break down.  I have seen my mother when she did least expect it that I know, crying, sobbing.  I had questions as a daughter.  Mom, what's happening?  
 Then PAC's policy was that women should stay at home, should not participate.  That is why even in the visuals, even when the toy-toys it was for us, our women folk, we wanted to, but the policy was looked after.  It was all by way of trying to say when we go out to jail, when we go out and be killed, you look after the children.
 So my mother was always there for myself and others.  So I would always say, Mama, what is happening?  And they were not told.  The husbands wouldn't share much.  And therefore this started to make me - because I didn't understand then - have an attitude towards my mother.  Why, why doesn't she share with me?  Why doesn't she understand?  Why does she beat me up so much?  Why?  
 Because she was frustrated.  And I was the only one close to home.  My brothers turned to, like boys would have it easier maybe, they would go to bands, play, they started the all-rounders and the all blind band that started in the sixties, seventies and later on they joined Lebachunes.  They have been outward-going.  I was always at home, looking after my mother.
 She started to be sick.  She would be going to hospital sessions.  I would be the sole person in the house, exposed to if people wanted to rape me.  Fortunately it hasn't happened for me.  It almost nearly happened, but never happened.
 There was other things, traumas that I had.  My home was now very cold, very needy, very - no friends.  Except a few friends, later on, that did come onto the scene.  I went to school with her, among other things.  And she was supportive to me in many ways.  I'm not saying everybody moved out, but I'm saying the world crumbled.
 I would like to say, my adult life;  all this time there was - the police, I think, have always thought I'm the strong one of the family.  Yes, I look weak outside, but yes, I am very strong.  I have carried a lot.  I've carried even things for my mother.  Even when she wasn't away, I was carrying for her.
 Sometimes I wasn't even in her way.  I remember even when my father was very sick, terminally ill, when he was released from prison.  To my mother I looked like I don't know my role.  I am forward.
 But she was very sickly, because of her hip transplant.  But because she's also a firm and strong woman, we had to be hitting against one another.  And I had to put my foot now and again.  She had to be swearing at me.  It was very clumsy and some scars are deep.
 Some of the things I'm not ready to share, but we've had a lot of unpleasantness with my mother.  And I think that was one of the things that have killed me.  
 I think as a teenager, one thing that my mother had never - I didn't know how to handle me, because she didn't have energy.  Maybe she's a social worker.  She was chased away at the third year, Janof Meyer, not for the inability to do her work, but because she's wife to an activist.  Because of my father's activities.
 Again, second time, she's losing out on her profession of her choice.  And those things;  who was there?  It was me.  When my mother wanted to bash somebody, it was me.  I must say I have been very much abused;  by stick, by mouth, by just non-performance, maybe by denials of my rights as a child, which I may not go deep, because maybe people may think it will (... indistinct).
 But because I'm sitting here with her, I see this as a chance that out there, like I am here to represent other children, that want to speak, but maybe think (... indistinct) as we are socialised girls and women we must be quiet.
 Just to encourage people to say I've taken the step.  My story may not be worse than others.  I may not even have put it.  I have rehearsing it so much;  so many good things have come.  But on stage now, I'm leaving out a lot.
 I remember when I was phoned to come and talk about myself.  I was saying to myself, hey, how do I?  And I spoke to my daughter and my children.  They said, granny is now eighty years.  Will she handle it when you talk that you were not happy with her?  I said, she went through it.  She can't hurt because I've said it.  It may be the last straw on the camel's back, but so much has been done to her.  She's been strong.  When other women I know outside here, for having killed so-and-so, did this;  it was outward and insane.  But with the lacks of (... indistinct) it was internal and who do you think received the family.  She was breaking the very family she was trying to keep together.
 And this I carried along even into my marriage life.  I also bashed my son.  I almost killed my son.  Today he's in Switzerland.  He is the finest journalist and the Lord dear hold the man in school.  I'm trying to show you how cultured we are.  
 But the sister at the age of about eight, saw him go up;  he was about six, hanging himself, trying to hang himself in a tree when we were staying in Pefene.  Because I used to bash my son.  I would give him money at about four when I knew everybody has come back from school.  Everybody is coming from work and Vugane's stores in Orlando West, was a busy shop.  And I'd give him money just to go and buy a bread or go and buy things I don't have done.
 And when he goes, I know he's so short.  The counter is up there, he will be asking for help.  I would be calling him to pick up a fight. (... indistinct)  As soon as this thing dries, you've had it, my son.  My son would run.  My boy would run.
 And as soon as he sees that saliva hit, spat, undressing, he doesn't even wait.  That is now how he knew socialise by his mother.  I would take a sjambock.
 That is what used to happened to me, my friend.  I would beat him.  I would beat him.  I don't know what for.  I would beat him until my neighbours jump over the fence.  "Shiela (... indistinct) Shiela."
 That is what my son went through.  I went through the same.  I did it.  I don't know what it is.  I have done lots to my daughter.  Today she is a lawyer.  I'm trying to - I'm not boasting, I'm showing when you have the will to live you can beat the worst of forces.  The worst of military forces, the worst of detention, genocide and if you are a woman and to tell yourself;  my God is there.  I'm not going to give up.  I'm not going to give up.  Those people are not my Maker.  I'm not going - and the bus should stop here.
 Today my children have advanced.  Zef, named after his grandfather, always says, friends I don't know what suffering is.  And that for me is, is a joy.  I sing hallelujah and praises to my God that I have overcome.
 I have gone through therapy.  I've tried.  I've associated with people.  People who are supportive to me like the speaker was saying;  her friends have been the youth, those very young and the old.  Those are my darlings.   I have gone to other mothers, because my mother has broken down.  She needed other mothers.  She didn't see she was very defensive, denial.  I had to move out and look for other mothers.  And they've build me and I'm saying that those structures that the SV's broken down, threatening, scaring people, let's come together.  
 Grannies, where are you?  Little girls, where are you?  Who tells about mysteries?  And who tells you about what's a lining?  Do we still tell stories to our children?  That's what has happened.  My children can tell.  I didn't many stories, because I didn't have a granny.  But one thing my children always give me credit for, are always giving me joy when they give me feedback.  Hey, mama used to tell us story.  Sometimes you could see, no, you're making it up.  Then tomorrow it's Elan, tomorrow it's Sarah and they say, no, that was a school name.  You know, at home she would be called Elan and then at school and at Sunday school, she's called Sarah, because now I had to make stories.