I Am a Man

By Jerry Mofokeng wa Makhetha

Dr Jerry Mofokeng wa Makhetha always felt like an outsider in his family. At the age of 58 he discovers who his real father is. Suddenly his search for identity makes sense. He gives us a glimpse into his family life; his love for his wife and kids, as well as tracing the highlights and disappointments in his career. Along the way he learns some very important lessons on manhood. This is a memoir, but also a challenge to South African men to live out their masculinity in a responsible way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lux Verbi
• Release date: Sep 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9780796322593

Jerry Mofokeng wa Makhetha

Actor Jerry Mofokeng wa Makhetha is a stage and screen legend known for films such as Cry, the Beloved Country, Mandela and De Klerk and Tsotsi, and TV series such as Trackers and the soap Scandal! He lives in Johannesburg with his wife, Claudine and they have five children and six grandchildren. He is also a lay pastor and a motivational speaker.

Book preview

Chapter 1

RAISED BY A VILLAGE

It takes a village to raise a child. My village was Orlando West, one of a number of ‘townships’ making up Soweto, the huge black area south-west of Johannesburg. I was born and raised at house number 8298 in Moema Street. These days, it forms part of a tourist route as it sits between Orlando West High School – the epicentre of the youth uprising of 16 June 1976 – and the Hector Pietersen Memorial, commemorating the youngster who was shot by police four houses away on that fateful day. On 17 June, we were driven out of the house like rats as soldiers fired teargas through the windows.

At the outset, let me credit the men who formed my concept and image of a man and a father. I was raised in a square mile of greatness, because of the men who lived in the area. I saw some, others not. The mere mention of their names sent shivers down my spine. I was warned never to aspire to be like them because I would die in prison on Robben Island, or at least spend the rest of my life there. I might become famous, but my life would not necessarily be one of integrity. They included men active in politics, the arts, education and sport.

Let me give you a brief tour of this square mile and introduce you to a few of those great men. But before I do, I need to say something about addresses in Soweto. When Soweto began, there were no street addresses. All the houses were numbered in sequence – whichever ‘township’ they were in – and the numbers were painted on the houses themselves. Indeed, many streets remained unnamed. After the democratic transition in 1994, when the separate local governments in the greater Johannesburg area were unified, a major attempt was made to name streets and create conventional street addresses throughout Soweto, linked to the stands instead of houses. However, for historical and sentimental reasons, the old numbers have persisted. This is why I’m going to talk about house number so-and-so in a certain street. The street name is actually incidental. That’s how I came to know them, and some of those numbers are permanently engraved in our political and cultural history. We can now get back to my tour …

When you walk out of our gate and turn right, the very house next door – house number 8297 – belonged to Mr Washington Sixolo. A Seventh Day Adventist, he was a man of Negro Spirituals who had started the group The King’s Messengers’ Quartet. He sang bass. My family had vinyl records of their music. I wanted to be like him, and at some point I did sing bass in a group called the Gospel Dispersers that was linked to Orlando West High School and the Youth Alive Ministries. Once he also got me a holiday job as a cleaner at the SABC while it still resided on Commissioner Street. Eventually he featured in dramas aired on what was then the only black channel on SABC-TV, ironically called CCTV. He specialised in the accents of men from Malawi. My one opportunity to be with him artistically was when we were filming the TV series Rhodes. He taught me the vital lesson that as an actor it is not my job to direct fellow actors. I never made that mistake again.

Walking further down our street, you get to Mahalefele Road. It’s like Broadway in New York. It crosses several townships from Diepkloof to Mofolo, changing names as it goes along. On the other side, Moema Street becomes Pela Street. To the right is the Hector Pietersen Memorial, and to the left is Belle Primary School. It is named after a principal who was a father in the true meaning of the word, and I loved him, feared him and respected him from a distance. He was like an uncle to all the teachers in the school. Discipline was the norm. From 1970 onwards, I was fortunate to be in the same class with his son, George Belle, at Orlando West High School.

Right next to Belle Primary School is the Holy Cross Anglican Church that became famous as a centre for anti-apartheid activity, among others by Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Archbishop Tutu needs no introduction. He was active at the church at a time when there was a widespread disgust for Christianity as a white man’s religion seen as holding out an unattainable utopia to the oppressed. The scriptures were regarded as questionable, as church leaders often quoted verses that told us to ‘obey’ those in power. Tutu preached differently. He spoke of a God of justice, and a God whose heart was broken by the plight and oppression of His people. As a little boy, I asked myself if he was not the Moses of our time.

Next to the church is the home of Walter and Albertina Sisulu. My sister-in-law was friends with members of the family. I kept my distance. All I heard was that if I wanted to be in trouble, I should associate with those people and have ideas like Walter had. I often passed the house as I went to a coal merchant who lived in the same street, and who had employed me to collect money from customers during the weekends. I never even went near their gate. Little did I know that, one day, I would act as Walter Sisulu opposite Sidney Poitier as Nelson Mandela in the feature film Mandela and De Klerk. It was only then that I dared to do my homework and research Walter’s life. A new appreciation was born, years too late. As a result, I never met him in this life. I was fortunate to work on a radio documentary about him and Mama Albertina with Julia-Ann Malone for SAfm.

The street behind the Sisulu home housed a ‘Native Shop’ that belonged to a man by the name of Majoro Jeremiah J Makhetha. He was one of the tycoons of that era. At age 58, I finally found out that I was named after him. He was in league with Richard Maponya, Ephraim ‘ET’ Tshabalala, Jeremiah Mofokeng, and others who had started businesses on bicycles and ended up owning shops and later shopping malls all over Soweto. JJ owned a garage opposite Maponya’s first big store in Dube, and had big trucks for his coalyards. I suspect he had millions in the bank. A friend once showed me an entire block of businesses in Maseru that used to be owned by JJ. This was a man without high school education who had learnt all about business from a Jewish boss. As a black man, he could not officially hold accounts at wholesalers and distributors, and his Jewish friends stood for him.

On the other side of the Hector Pietersen Memorial is Uncle Tom’s Hall. That’s where I learnt ballroom and Latin-American dancing. I wasn’t too fond of my partner, and had no aspirations to enter competitions. So for a while I was just one of the crowd that filled the floor after school, and that was it.

Uncle Tom’s Hall was strategically placed for my artistic journey. That is where, from the late 1960s onwards, I went to watch Gibson Kente’s plays. For many of us, Bra Gib is not just the epitome and definition of ‘Township Theatre’, but theatre itself. At that time, Bra Gib’s partner was a model by the name of Eve. We used to wait outside for Eve to arrive. She was always late. We would then form a kind of entourage, and enter the hall when the play had started. A spark was lit in that hall that was never extinguished. I eventually wanted to join Bra Gib’s company, but my mother would have none of it. For her, they were of group of loose men and women who did not work but went all over the country enjoying sex and alcohol. I was disappointed, but the flame was never quenched.

Behind Uncle Tom’s Hall was the home of Ntate Mothopeng, known as Mr PAC. In those days, it was either ANC, PAC or BC (Black Consciousness). People respected men like Mr Mothopeng, but also feared falling into the hands of the authorities, because they were ruthless when they regarded you as a threat to state security. Adults often warned us: ‘Don’t mess with the white man. He will kill you.’ I didn’t know much about Mr Mothopeng until the first few years of democracy when he occupied a seat in the national parliament. A resolute man.

Further along Mr Mothopeng’s street, past Mahalefele street and where the road curves to the right was McKay Davashe’s house. His music was too advanced for Uncle Tom’s Hall. It was only after his death that I found out who he really was. The concerts at Uncle Tom’s Hall featured The Young Ones and The Beaters, which later became Harare, and produced a music legend in the form of Ntate Sipho ‘Hotstix’ Mabuse. I danced to his music as a teenager. Today I can talk man to man with Mr Mabuse as an artist, and have had the honour of directing him in a show at the Windybrow Theatre.

Speaking of directing Ntate Mabuse, allow me to take a detour and say a word about the spirit and humility of a true legend. I am a director. When it comes to the performing arts, I believe I’m in my lane, and able to conceptualise a show and deliver it on stage through the talent at my disposal. I have learnt to respect – not fear – those artists who have been in the field long before me. As a team, we are to produce the magic the stage can produce.

Along this road, I’ve had the opportunity to direct giants. The beauty is that the bigger the person, the more down to earth they tend to be. It’s the half-baked artists who get lucky and grab a bit of fame who are impossible to work with, let alone relate to on a human level. They are ‘stars’, not ‘artists’. It takes character to remain current and productive until our last breath here on earth. At the time of writing, in July 2020, Mama Mary Twala had just passed away, at age 80. I grew up watching her on stage in Gibson Kente’s plays. The memory etched in my mind is of her portraying an old woman at the end of her tether, almost driven insane by worry and frustration. That was her in Lifa in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Her last performance was in the Mosotho feature film This is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection, in which I had a supporting role as well. Quite a prophetic title, to my mind.

At age 79 Mary was carried up the hills of Lesotho, placed on donkey’s backs, put in wheelbarrows, and moved to and from set over rough terrain, closing the film with an unforgettable scene, upper torso bared and hands raised in defiance of the forced removal of her community to make way for a dam. Released in 2019, the film became Lesotho’s first entry for the 93rd Academy Awards for the Best International Feature Film, and was screened at several international film festivals. Evergreen from 1969 until 2019. Now that’s an artist.

Mama Mary Twala is not the only artistic angel who has touched me. Let me name those who were generous with their talent, their experience and their wisdom. Let me take a brief detour from my tour of Orlando West. It was during my time in New York that I first met Hugh Masekela, in the streets of Harlem. It would have been hard to tell that he had been out of the country for more than 30 years. He spoke to me in Tsotsitaal, accepted me as his little brother and a budding professional, and made me feel comfortable in his presence.

At that time, my wife, Claudine, and I stayed in a small apartment on Claremont Avenue, one street away from Broadway. Turning left at the Chinese restaurant, you’d end up under the 125th Street subway station. Across the street was the Spanish store where we bought some of the foods that came close to what we were used to at home. You just had to remember that, in America, mealie meal is called grits. Further east,

Reviews for I Am a Man

[solly · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I have enjoyed the content of this book. The life journey of Dr Jerry Mofokeng wa Makhetha. I appreciate the way he was open to us for his journey. This is a great learning for both men and Women, boys and girls.

I have grown up mentally through this book and I wish this book can be used in mentorship programs so that people can educate themselves from the practical experiences in different sphere of life. I wish this book was written during my youth stages, I could have done better in my journey as compared to where I am right now.

My life now is in a mess. At the age of 50, I have no academic qualification, no employment nor business to sustain myself and family. All my parents are deceased, my relationship with my Wife is dead(staying together but not in a relationship anymore).
I hope the wisdom I gained from this book will somehow assist me in my intro-inspection.

Thank you Dr Mofokeng ka Makhetha for sharing your experiences with us. I will recommend this book to my children and men around me.
Yours Sincerely
Solly Phoshoko