My dear friends
It is interesting to see what it is that triggers our
memory. With me this time it was a report on Radio Khwezi's Agriculture programme.
A representative from the Sugar Association of South Africa
(SASA) made mention of a function where the KwaZulu-Natal Minister of Finance, Dr Zweli
Mkhize, was their guest speaker. Dr Mkhize had as a student benefited from the SASA's
bursary scheme.
Zweli and I were classmates at Dlangezwa High School and I was also a recipient of the
same financial aid as him.
After the Khwezi programme I just could not stop smiling as
I recalled an incident I met up with in my dealings with the SASA back then. I had felt
that as an expression of my gratitude for the SASA's generosity it was only right that I
keep in touch with them. My first visit to their Durban office during the school holidays
went without a hitch. Mr Dewey and I had a good time. However, an unexpected hurdle marred
my second visit.
Some of you might have heard stereotype stories about Zulu
traditional men who are well-liked as security guards. They are known for trustworthiness
and unwavering loyalty. In what seems like an exaggeration, instances are recounted of
these men taking their jobs so seriously that if they have been given the instruction that
no one is allowed to enter the business premises after working hours they will go as far
as barring the bosses themselves.
During my intended second visit to the SASA I was just on my
way to the entrance that would lead me to the lift when the Zulu security called me back.
He told me that Blacks are supposed to use the doors that are allocated for deliveries. I
explained to him that my aim was not to deliver anything but to see Mr Dewey in his office
upstairs. The man simply asked me, "In what way do you differ from those who have
come to make deliveries?" From his stern voice I knew that he would certainly not let
me in so I decided to let go of my good intentions. That is how I missed another lovely
chat with the sugar executive. Sweet!
The SASA and other events from the 70s humbled me as I
pondered how all along the way people have come to my aid in one way or another. Three
people from those early years immediately stood out.
Looking back, I understand even better why my maternal uncle
Samuel Jila won our little hearts. He had a very soft spot for us, his nephews and nieces.
During the most difficult time for our family economically our uncle saw to it that we did
not starve.
Embedded in my memory is the 'blue shirt flagship.' That was
part of the kind act of 'ukwambulela' - giving away some of your clothing to a person in
need. I was just a boy, so the blue shirt from my uncle was obviously a few sizes too big
but I wore it with pride. It was my uncle's shirt, and that mattered most.
At university I had a state loan that catered for tuition,
boarding and meals. Towards the end of the year it became clear that my funds would not be
quite sufficient; extra provision had to come from somewhere. One day our English lecturer
brought me a monetary gift from her mother that took me through the year. I never got to
meet Mrs Morphet's mother; everything she knew about me must have been through her
daughter, but in my mind I have my own picture of the lady whose generosity reached out to
a young man she did not know in person.
One of the best relationships I have enjoyed in my life is
that with my older brother, Moses. Most probably, a crucial moment that bonded us was the
night he woke me up in the middle of the night at Dlangezwa High School where he was my
senior. God was at work through His Spirit and that night in 1972 Moses could not resist
Him any longer. My brother, under deep conviction of sin asked me for directions to the
Cross. I was a young Christian myself but I told him what I knew. He surrendered his life
to the Lord and he has not looked back.
In my wardrobe I have a special pair of brown shoes from the
70s. I am almost sure that was the first pair of shoes that Moses bought when he started
working so the fact that he gave it to me never fails to move me. I have since owned other
pairs of brown shoes but I just had to keep that one from my brother. Those shoes
represent something more precious than their good quality genuine leather.
Dear friends, being bedridden is no easy experience but one
of the benefits from such difficult patches is a time to reflect on what might seem like
little incidents - but their significance lives on.
"Jonathan took off the robe he was
wearing and gave it to David, along with his tunic, and even his sword, his bow and his
belt." (1 Samuel 18:4)
Have a blessed week.
Pressing on!
In His love
Fano Sibisi
