Chapter Seven
7.3 The Dust Bowl Activists
My life as a student was never devoid of the political undertones that prevailed at the time.
My final year at secondary school was just one of the many disrupted years I would experience as a student. The year J980 was a particularly volatile year in South Africa, especially for those of us that schooled in the 'Warwick Triangle,I which contained the famous Sastri College (where my brother schooled), Gandhi Desai (where my sister and I schooled), St. Anthonys, St. Augustines (which was the school for coloureds), Mansfield High (the school for whites), Orient Islamic School and Durban Indian Girl's High. The area was a constant reminder of the disparities that existed through apartheid. We were constantly reminded that we were not only different but also inferior. The reminders came in the form of the frame of reference that Mansfield High provided for us. Here was a school with four rugby fields that were always immaculately maintained, plenty of green grass everywhere, classrooms with curtains and air-conditioning. Whilst anyone familiar with Gandhi Desai (now converted to a cultural centre) would know that we probably were the only school in the world that had an 'L' shaped soccer field. This L-shaped ground was a dust bowl of red sand and patches of 'almost' green grass here and there.
From one end of the field you could see only one goalpost at a time unless you moved towards the middle to find that ideal spot where both the goalposts could be seen. This sea of red sand gradually drifted into the Orient Islamic school next door - so there were
I This area is on the 'other side' of Old Dutch Road in Durban. It is one of the areas that was historically designated for black people i.e. Indians, Coloureds and Africans.
no real boundaries; the two schools played together on common territory and at the back of all of this stood the 'majestic' Curries Fountain sports ground. The only fence that separated us from this stadium had some strategically removed panels that enabled us to squeeze through every time something was happening there, usually sporting events, but mainly political rallies.
We were a highly politicised group of students at these schools - even though at times we were not quite sure of the 'whats', the 'whys' and 'wherefores '.
At the end of each day we would, together with all the other Indian and Coloured children from the surrounding schools, make our way to the bus rank and board our respective buses to our respective destinations, conscious of the fact that those white neighbours of ours, who were so near yet never to be seen, were clinically separate from our realities.
We passed each other on the freeway and were reminded of the discomfort of the over- crowded, dilapidated, stuffy buses we were in when they would ride by in spacious, air- conditioned, modern school buses destined for the elite suburbs. They always appeared so cool and clean whilst we were always covered in perspiration and grime from our playing in the red dust bowl
The year 1980 saw us lose three months of schooling. The education boycotts were intensifying throughout the country. My friends at Rylands High in Cape Town were being arrested for placard demonstrations, detained for not giving the Special Branch names that were behind the organisation of these boycotts. It was only a matter of time before Gandhi-Desai and the surrounding schools would be sucked into this frenzy.
It was almost miraculous, the way we all came to the understanding that things could not proceed as usual and on that one particular day, all the Warwick Triangle schools (with the exception of Mansfield High School!) decided to go on a boycott of lessons. We were threatened at the morning assembly and the riot act was literally read out to us. Prefects, we were warned, would lose their badges. And suddenly it sounded so insignificant to me when just a year before it meant so much to me. I knew that we had all felt the same way- we felt nothing as we removed our badges and handed them in at the morning assembly, never to wear them again. We then moved to the red dust bowl and the rest of the schools followed. Once there we hadn't quite figured out what we were going to do. We just
screamed out all the protest songs, knowing deep down that it was to help ease the deep pain and shame we felt about being different. It was to begin a process of reclaiming our identities, ridding ourselves of our shame and accepting ourselves in the spirit of pride and dignity.
If I paint a picture of bravado then it is false, because underlying all of our actions was the real fear and concern about the consequences of our actions. We heard all the stories about what was happening to our friends in other parts of the country, we heard about the mysterious disappearances, we heard about the unexplained deaths in detention, we woke up some mornings to hear that so and so has 'skipped' the country, and these thoughts were never far away from our actions.
We consoled each other, because our school was private property, the riot police could not enter our school property. So we believed. But this was not the case. We learnt how rules can mean nothing in a society based on the violation of human rights. The riot police did come that day wearing battle fatigue, accompanied by their dogs, rubber bullets and tear gas. We were armed with our slogans and songs and nothing else, wearing our white uniforms and black blazers. Mini battles ensued until we were brought under control and made to sit on the tarmac of the assembly area whilst the dogs kept guard.
For many of us it was the first time we tasted tear gas,' and felt the sharp pain of bird-shot and rubber bullets; but for some of us it would not be the last!
The year 1981 at the University of Durban- Westville was no different if not worse than anything I could have ever imagined. The constant running battles with the riot police on the campus was just 'another day in paradise' for us. It was bizarre how we accepted that this was to be our way of life, trying to attend lectures and our practicals, trying to write tests and exams whilst vigilant of the hostile climate that was being created. These running battles saw us hide in toilets, the mosque, the surrounding nature reserve as well as surrounding homes. We were learning very different lessons at this tertiary institution where the academic component appeared incidental to the main programme of the liberation struggle.
It was during these chaotic years of the early eighties that were characterised by tension and volatility on most South African campuses that1 came to realise that the personal is
political, that being a black person in this country would forever shape and define my actions, would forever impact on my dreams and aspirations.
I began teaching in I985 at a school in the Phoenix area, north of Durban, after graduating with a Bachelor of Science degree and University Higher Diploma in Education (UHDE) at the University of Durban- Westville (UDW). I taught Biology, Physical science, General Science and Computer Literacy. I had all these grandiose ideas about being an excellent teacher, opening up new worlds for these children with all the training I had been through but I was to meet face to face with those who were suffering the most under these apartheid conditions. I witnessed poverty, hunger, exploitation, homelessness, gangsterism and a host of other social problems.
I became so involved in that community and its problems that I was devastated when the so-called Inanda2 riots broke out later that year in KwaZulu-Natal. I found it impossible to continue as usual with my teaching, encouraged by others not to get involved. But it was not easy to stay uninvolved when on a daily basis one witnessed dark smoke billowing in the distance, when one heard gunfire followed by shrieks and screams in the distance.
On the day that the riots began, I together with another colleague decided that it was not going to be school as usual and drove straight into the trouble-torn Bambayi area. I felt as though I was watching a movie. This could not be happening here in South Africa in the 1980s.
All this while my social engagement with issues was being heightened. A very special sensitisation was taking place within me, showing me, convincing me that nothing is apolitical, nothing is innocent, everything has to do with power, oppression, control;
everything was coloured and emancipation was the only way out of this. I remain forever indebted to my 'children' who taught me more than they will ever realise. I learnt about the ravages of apartheid, about poverty, about hardship, pain and suffering. I was constantly being sensitised through my interaction with them, to issues of social justice, power, greed, discrimination, human dignity and respect. It was I who was on a steep
2Inanda is a historically black area north of Durban that includes the poverty-ridden Bambayi section.
learning curve at that school, and these children and their community were my finest teachers!
I resigned from teaching in I987 and took up a contract post of associate lecturer in the Faculty of Education at UDW in January 1988. I taught courses in Sociology of Education, Philosophy of Education, Science Education, Gender and Education and Research Methodology at the undergraduate and postgraduate levels.