The Life and Walks of Dr. José C. Massinga

The Life and Walks of Dr. José C. Massinga
Moments of:
Challenge • Stubbornness • Brilliance • Patience • Love
Author: Solomon Mondlane

“No truth, no future” Desmond Tutu

The Life and Walks of Dr. Jose Chicuarra Massinga is the extraordinary true story of a politician who suffered from his childhood until the days when he thought all sufferings were over.

He started politics when he was young; challenging the authority of his district in Guma after the Portuguese Governor shifted his tribal chieftaincy to another tribe.

He also challenged the teachers where he studied on unfair ssues concerning them as students. Though he was brilliant, he was dismissed from his school where he was doing a last class at the Namaacha Seminary.

Dr. Massinga wanted more education. He tried to apply to many schools of the then Lorenzo Marques but he was not accepted. He had the opportunity to meet Dr. Eduardo Chivambo Mondlane the first black Mozambican to obtain a doctorate and the first black Mozambican to work in the UN offices. Dr. Mondlane helped Dr. Massinga to obtain a scholarship to study overseas. It was not easy for Dr. Massinga to leave the country for the Portuguese would not allow him to do so. He was arrested under the Portuguese law, which prevented blacks to go outside the country. He escaped via Swaziland.

In Swaziland, he spent some time with other politicians. He moved to Tanzania and was there during the formation of the ruling party FRELIMO under Dr. Mondlane. He then went to study in the USA and Switzerland. For 10 years, Dr. Massinga pursued his studies. In 1973, he rejoined his colleagues in the war against the Portuguese.

In 1995, Mozambique gained independence and he was there working in the government. When he thought everything was going well, his people betrayed him. He was imprisoned and tortured. In 1985, he was released and escaped to Portugal where he helped to bring peace to his country, for the government was fighting against the rebels. He organised conferences in Portugal to try to restore peace and to help Mozambican refugees to obtain scholarships under the
organisation ‘Friends of Mozambique’.

Peace was restored in Mozambique and Mozambique became a democratic country. Dr. Massinga formed his own opposition political party and sat in Parliament in 1994.

Today Dr Massinga is a happy man, despite the fact that the FRELIMO government has failed to honour him – he knows he has done a lot for his country. Bishop Desmond Tutu - former Chairman, Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in South Africa.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface iii

About the author v

Acknowledgement vii

Chapter 1: The Beginning 1
Chapter 2: Early schooling days 3
Chapter 3: Political Beginnings 5
Chapter 4: A brief encounter in Lorenzo Marques (Maputo) 13
Chapter 5: Life in Lorenzo Marques (Maputo) 17
Chapter 6: Finding my way to America 21
Chapter 7: A quick visit to Swaziland 25
Chapter 8: Through South Africa to Botswana 31
Chapter 9: Life in Tanzania and the formation of FRELIMO 33
Chapter 10: Life overseas 35
Chapter 11: Soon after independence 41
Chapter 12: Imprisonment under FRELIMO 45
Chapter 13: Life in prison 49
Chapter 14: A free man at last 53
Chapter 15: Life in Portugal 55
Chapter 16: The circle has been completed 59

PREFACE

The life of Dr José C. Massinga represents the lives of many African brothers and sisters who dedicated themselves to the struggle for the liberation of the African continent in the hope of one day living in a free and better Africa, but who were detained, tortured and even killed – some of them without trial – by the very countrymen who took over power when the colonial powers were overthrown.

In today's Africa, most of these heroes have been forgotten as if they never existed when, in actual fact, without their contributions to the struggle, even if victory was certain, it may have been delayed.

As the leaders of contemporary Africa advocate the rebirth of the continent through the newly launched African Union (AU), they should know that an African union cannot be built on a falsefoundation. If this new union is, and is to be considered different from its predecessor the Organization of African Unit (OAU), it needs to embrace the truth and reconciliation as a defining value of its foundation.

While the OAU was formed with genuine intentions, it is the same organisation which was used for propaganda purposes by African dictators. Some of the history and people found in books published under the authority of the OAU and distributed in national libraries in countries across Africa, are a testimony of how African leaders manipulated this organisation for their own propaganda and the spreading of fabricated information.

A biophysical, social, political and economic African renaissance can only be achieved if all citizens are considered equal, the rights of all are respected, and every citizen's efforts and contribution are acknowledged - for Africa is not for those in power at any given moment, but for all Africans, irrespective of tribe, religion, family background and colour of skin.

It is hoped that this book, 'The Life and Walks of Dr. José C. Massinga', will serve as a source of inspiration to: firstly, those Mozambicans who, because of their love for Mozambique, dedicated their lives to the struggle for both independence and democracy of their country and were never acknowledged; secondly, to those fellow Africans who passed through similar situations in any part of Africa: and thirdly, to any freedom fighter in any part of the world who hopes and prays for freedom, independence and peace in his land.

Truth will prevail, it's just a matter of time!

About the Author

Solomon Mondlane was born 31 July 1976 as Domingo Tshekefane Mondlane, the son of Vicente Mododweni Mondlane of Manjacaze in the Gaza Province in Mozambique and Verah Stengile of Johannesburg, South Africa (a former ANC exile in Mozambique). Solomon was abducted by RENAMO at the age of 13 to fight in the war , and escaped to Swaziland after six months.

Before he was abducted, he witnessed the abduction of his aunt Leah. Solomon matriculated in Swaziland at St Francis High School in Mbabane. While he was still at school, he vowed that he would come back to his country to fight against FRELIMO and RENAMO. Today Solomon Mondlane is the founder of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) movement in Mozambique.

Solomon Mondlane became close to Dr. Massinga when he returned to Mozambique in 1997. Dr. Massinga treated Mondlane as his own son. By then Mondlane was 21 years old. Dr. Massinga used to tell Mondlane about the problems he encountered in his life. From that time, Mondlane wanted to write a book which would reveal the cruel governance of FRELIMO and the killings
by RENAMO, but the time was not right. He also wanted to honour Dr. Massinga, the man he believed had done so much for the country without recognition.

In 1999 Mondlane went to South Africa to work and to further his studies. In South Africa, many Mozambicans who knew Mondlane contacted him and asked him to draft a plan to bring back their families, which were scattered by the Guebuza’s Operation Production law. Mondlane saw that it was important to return home to start a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) movement, which would pressurise the government of Mozambique to establish a commission
to compensate the victims.

Mondlane always blamed Graça Machel (the former first lady of Mozambique) for separating the issue of the death of her husband from the issues of those who suffered under the regime of Samora Machel. To expose Graça and the cruel rule of Samora Machel, Mondlane approached Dr. Massinga to consider writing his life story. Mondlane did not realise that he would get more sensitive issues than he expected. For nine months, Mondlane followed the stories, which Dr. Massinga told about himself.

Mondlane never rested. Sometimes he would find himself in tears. It was nine months of joy and sadness. Dr. Massinga would travel with Mondlane wherever he was, telling him what had happened to him and to the country. Mondlane remembered some of the things he had witnessed before he escaped to Swaziland at the age of nine. When he thought of the abduction of his aunt, he felt it was important to do something in order to trace all those who had disappeared, for he believes some are still alive but they have no way of returning to their families.

Mondlane founded the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) movement, for he needed the truth himself as much as many others did. Solomon tried to locate some of the people who were imprisoned with Dr. Massinga, but they refused to tell their stories, feeling that FRELIMO would rearrest them and that’s when Mondlane vowed that he would free his people.
Kenneth Makhanya

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I have nothing much to say, but to thank God that he sent a brave young man to me, Solomon Mondlane. I am happy that history will never forget me because of him. I have met many people in my life, but no one ever thought of doing what Solomon has done for me. Solomon is a man I trust and to me he is like my own son. His ideas are the same ideas I had when I was his age. I believe our government should give him a chance and he will do a lot for Mozambique. They must not let this man’s knowledge be wasted like the FRELIMO government did to me. I also want to thank his wife Saquilifa Nina Chitofo for her hard work researching some of the information in the book.

I will also not forget René Smulders and his professional team at Medpharm Publications for their willingness and professional assistance in preparing the manuscript and publishing my life story in book format.

God bless all.

Dr José Chicuarra Massinga

The Beginning - Chapter 1

Guma is a small, dusty village found in the southeastern part of Massinga District in Inhambane Province. It is surrounded by small bushes and many mafurera trees. Guma Village and Massinga District were named after Gunwa Massinga, the first black paramount chief of that area. That’s where I, José Chicuarra Massinga (grandson of Gunwa Massinga), was born on 3 January 1930. My parents named me José. José is my “Christian” or European name. It was compulsory for newborn babies to be registered every year by their Christian names, as the Portuguese claimed that they could not pronounce our African names. Chicuarra was my father’s name. It was necessary for me to have it as a middle name, according to the law of the Portuguese.

I was born into a family of seven children. We were six boys and one girl. I was the sixth bornchild of my father and the second born child of my mother, Louçiquine Mahendlele. My father had two wives, the second wife being my mother. The name of my elder mother, my father’s first wife, was Nwaximbitane. My father married my mother after the death of his elder wife. My other five brothers were Naethan, Tsikiwane, Bandane, Manhanganhane and Kanyane. My
sister’s name was Jenufayane.

Our family was very poor. Both my parents died when I was very young – I was only six years old. After the death of my parents, I stayed with my elder brother Bandane (from my biological mother) and my younger brother, Kanyane. After some time, my elder brother left to work on the mines in South Africa, and I had to take care of my younger brother and myself. I had a lot of responsibilities as a child. I had no time for playing around and had to make sure that we had
something to eat everyday.

Despite the fact that my father died when I was very young, there is something I will never forget about him. My father, being the son of the paramount chief, was appointed to lead the black slaves, who were required to be sent as ‘shibalo’ (forced labour), to Cataria Mucuaimba in Manhiça and to Xinavane for sugar cane cultivating for the Incomate company. That was the order given by the Portuguese Governor.

My father did not get the number of men required by the company. Therefore, the administrator ordered his men to beat him. He was terribly tortured and beaten with a ‘palmatoria’ (a wooden tool made for torturing black people). When he came home, he was in pain and his hands were bleeding and swollen.

I felt angry when I saw my father like that. I wanted to cry, but my father used to tell me that, ‘a man does not cry’. My mother boiled water and washed his wounds. At home we had three huts, one of which was my father’s. It faced the eastern part of Guma. Opposite was my hut, which I shared with my brother. On the left was the kitchen. This large home was my responsibility. I used to wake up early in the morning to fetch water, which was found some distance away from home.

Sometimes I would go looking for firewood, which was also found some distance away. On my return, I would find my brother waiting patiently for me. By then, I knew what I had to do. I would quickly go to the nearest garden to fetch some sweet potatoes or some cassava. Sometimes I would return empty handed. The solution lay with my neighbours, the Cumbe family, whose house was situated opposite mine.

Life was not easy. Sometimes we would go days without food. My neighbour used to advise us to go to my elder sister, who was already married. I refused. I knew very well that we could not be able to stay comfortably, and that my sister would not feel very comfortable about having us in her place, despite her urging us to stay with her. I knew very well that it was not her home, but it was her husband’s, according to our culture. My elder half brother was not well settled, so we could not trouble him. I therefore stayed with my younger brother, Kanyane, and we were content. My neighbour stopped troubling us about going to my sister, for
he saw that we were not prepared to do so.

Early schooling days - Chapter 2

The Cumbe family was good to us. They had a child of my age by the name of Francisco Samuel. His family was well off, and Francisco was going to start school that same year. He was the one who invited me to register with him at the school he was going to attend. Therefore, I joined him. The year was 1940.

The name of the school we were to attend was known as “Escola de Santos Antonio de Lisboa do Rio Pedras”. It was a long distance from where we stayed, more or less 15 km. My friend and I journeyed together. I was walking, and he was riding on a donkey provided by his family . I was not bothered by the journey because I was used to such long distances. Sometimes he used to give me a ride on his donkey, but most of the time, I would be the one walking. On arrival at the school, we went to the office to register our names. I was happy that I was going to start studying. Despite the long journey, I was determined to succeed at school.

On the second day I woke my friend early, as I wanted to make sure that we did not arrive late.I didn’t want to be dismissed the first time we attended school. We were the first ones to arrive at the school that day. We arrived even before those who stayed nearby.

The lessons started that day, and I enjoyed every moment of it. For the first time I was fortunate to study the Portuguese language. It was a good experience for me.

Arriving early was our daily routine. We got used to the journey. I was doing well at school and my teacher, José Malate, was happy with my performance. My friend, Francisco, was not doing that well at school.

Mr. Malate taught us for the first year and then left. The following year another teacher, who was known as Ernesto Matenga Massinga, joined us. He was also very happy with my performance. He always monitored my schoolwork. He told me that we were family, for I was from the family of the chieftaincy, and that I was supposed to do better than the rest.

I used to achieve the highest marks in exams, and all the teachers liked me. One day Mr. Massinga called me to have a chat, man to man. He told me that he was happy with my performance. Therefore, he wanted me to stay with him so that he could offer his assistance whenever I needed it. He told me that he was worried about the long journey I took from home to school. Sometimes he could see that I had nothing to eat.

I wanted to accept Mr. Massinga’s offer. He was so generous. I had only one problem that I couldn’t discuss with anybody – my younger brother. He was under my care, and could not take care of himself. He needed my help. I had to give Mr. Massinga a reply soon. ‘Sir, thank you for your offer. I have to discuss it with my parents.’ I was lying. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. I had no parents. I was the parent myself. He told me to come back with the reply the next day.

The following day I told him that my parents refused to let me stay with him. He was so disappointed, but accepted it. He emphasized that he wanted to help. He saw that, although I was doing well at school, I was struggling.

I passed to the next class the following year. By then, I had decided to register my younger brother, Kanyane, at the same school. I was happy with my brother’s performance. The following year, I advanced to the third class, and my brother to the second. Now, the third class was the highest grade I could achieve at Escola de Santos de Lisboa do Rio Pedras, and I passed it very well.

I wanted to continue with my education, but I had no idea of how to further my studies. I went to speak to Mr. Massinga, who told me about a school that offered a fourth class. The school was in Morrumbene and it was called “Missãu de Santa Maria de Mocodoeni”. Mr. Massinga advised me to speak to the Director of that school, but he did not tell me who he/she was.

Political Beginnings - Chapter 3

I had to make a plan to get accepted at Missãu de Santa Maria de Mocodoene, in order to do my fourth class. I went there to speak to the Deputy Director, but he told me that there was no place for me. I knew the Deputy Director was lying.

I knew that he hated black people, because he was white. It was the first time I came face to face with a white man. Disappointed and angry I went back home. I wanted more education but it seemed that nothing was going my way.

The following day at home, my friendly neighbour brought a telegram from the mission. It was a telegram addressed to me. It was from Missãu de Santa Maria de Mocodoene where I was the day before. I was summoned to go back to the school. I wondered what was happening. Why were they calling me when I had been there the day before? I took the long journey the next day. I wanted to be at the college to hear what they had to say to me. The chances were that, the Deputy Director could have changed his mind and decided to admit me to his school. The other possibility was that they could register me for the following year.

I arrived at the school on time. The Deputy Director was in his office. ‘What do you want?’, he asked when he saw me. ‘Didn’t I tell you that there is no place for you?’ I was confused and thought to myself, “Was this man making a fool of me?” Sir, were you not the one who sent me a telegram yesterday?’ I asked.

‘Go out, you small puppet. Don’t fool me around!’ he shouted. I was so disappointed. I wanted to cry. I didn’t know what to do. Life was so unfair. Why was the man doing this to me? Was it because I was black?

I marched out of the Deputy Director’s office in tears. As I stood outside, a white man in a black suit, wearing spectacles, approached. He was tall and thin with a long face. He greeted me with a smile and asked me what had happened.

I told him about the telegram I received the day before, and how the Deputy Director of the school had treated me. ‘Oh-no!’, the white man said. ‘I sent that telegram to you. I wanted to speak to you, not the Deputy Director.’ I was surprised and relieved. I knew I was speaking to the right man. Did he want to help? Was he the right person to register me at the college? Was he a Good Samaritan? These were all questions I asked myself.

He apologized for what had happened and invited me to his office. In his office, he asked one of the maids to make me a cup of tea. She was a black woman. The white man introduced himself to me as Padré José de Freitas, the Director of the college. He was in charge of reviewing the student’s applications and their performance forms from the previous classes. ‘Young man,’ he said, ‘I have reviewed your work and I was pleased to see your performance from your previous school. You did very well, and I have called your previous school to speak to one of your teachers, Mr. Massinga. He said you were the best.’ I was so relieved to hear him say that, especially when he mentioned Mr. Massinga’s name. ‘So, what?’ I asked willingly to know what was going to happen to me. ‘So, you are fully registered at this college as a student.’ he said.

I couldn’t believe my ears. I wanted to jump and shout with joy, but I remained calm. Padré Freitas told me to go home and fetch my clothes, for I was going to stay at the college. I was happy, very happy. I appreciated what Padré Freitas said. He promised to speak to the Deputy Director and assured me that nothing was going to change. During my conversation with Padré Freitas, I came to know that the Deputy Director of the school was known as Padré Virgilio Romero de Lemos.

I took the dusty road to Guma, a happy boy. I wanted to let my brother know what has happened. I wanted to tell my neighbour the news. I didn’t forget about Mr. Massinga, or all the teachers at my previous school. I arrived home very late and I found my brother had cooked cassava. I told him the good news before I ate. He was happy, and hugged me with joy. Despite all that, there was a problem.

What was going to happen to him? The only solution was my elder brother Naethan, who could accommodate my younger brother. I couldn’t miss the opportunity of furthering my studies. I decided to take my younger brother to my elder brother. My elder brother was very happy that I was going to further my studies, but he was worried that no one was going to take care of our home. From my brother’s house, I went to Mr.

Massinga. I told him the news. He was very happy. He received the news before me. I then went to the college. I was carrying my mulala bag, which used to belong to my father. Inside were two old pairs of trousers my father gave me, and two t-shirts I was given by Mr. Massinga.

I started my lessons in my new school. My neighbour friend was no longer with me. He didn’t pass grade three and had to repeat the same class. My best teacher was Padré Freitas. He assured me that I was welcome at the Mission School. He told me that, if I had any problems, I could confide in him. I had a good relationship with all the teachers at school. I had a problem with Padré Lemos, the Deputy Director. The way he looked at me, was not good. He was not even smiling at me. During my stay at the school, I came to know why he was like that. All the students hated him and claimed that he behaved more superior than the others.

It was good to be at the college. We woke up very early in the morning and cleaned our rooms. After that, we would go for a bath and enjoy breakfast.We would then proceed to assembly and thereafter start our lessons. That was our daily routine. My best friend was known as Jordaan Mahose. He was doing well in the class and was one of the top students in the third grade at the same college.

The teachers liked him. He was black. We studied with other white students. Padré Freitas encouraged me to be friends with Jordaan. I was happy with my performance, so was Padré Freitas. I worked hard in class and questioned everything I didn’t understand. Our midyear exams were held at Maxixe, with students from other schools. We stayed in Maxixe for a week after the exams. By the time we returned, our results were already received by the college. I remember very well the day I arrived at the college from Maxixe. My teachers were already waiting for me. As I stepped off the bus, my teachers came running towards me. They hugged me and chanted congratulations. I knew I had performed well, but didn’t know that I had achieved a distinction. I was at the top. I had defeated both black and white students in my District. My performance was good and my teachers did not worry about me any more. Sometimes they would send me to the street to wait and bring the newspaper from the newspaper truck . I would read the newspaper before I took it to the teachers. That’s when I started noticing that there was a city called Lorenzo Marques in a certain part of our country. I remembered my father telling me about it.

While I was doing Grade 4, in 1944, I heard that the Governor wanted to take our leadership (chieftaincy) in Massinga, and give it to someone who didn’t belong to the family of the Massinga. I knew that my elder brother wouldn’t challenge the authorities, for he didn’t care about what was happening. I took it upon myself to challenge the authorities of the Massinga District. The Governor of the Massinga had appointed a man, by the surname of Nemba, to be a chief instead of my elder brother, the firstborn of my father. I knew that the whites were playing games with our leadership. The chieftaincy was in honour to my grandfather who, after his death, was succeeded by my father . It was obvious that my brother was supposed to succeed as the third chief.

I went to the Administrator of the District to submit my complaint. He was a white man. By that time, I spoke Portuguese well enough to communicate with anybody. Little did I know that this would mark the beginning of my involvement in politics. I was bitter about what the Portuguese government was doing – making decisions without consulting the owners of the land. When I arrived at the District Office, I asked to see the Administrator. He called me in. I was only 14 years old. ‘What can I do for you young man?’ he asked. I was scared to speak, but because I was already there, I had to speak. ‘Sir, I’m here to find out about our chieftaincy leadership. Why did you decide to give it to someone else? That’s illegal. The chieftaincy belongs to us. We, the Massinga.’ I said.

The Administrator was quiet for a while. He then advised me to forward my complaint in writing. He assured me that my complaint, being forwarded in writing, would be addressed. He didn’t say much further.

I was happy to have spoken to the Administrator. I went back to the college to draft a letter, but before I did that, I had to see Mr. Nemba. I went to his office, which used to be my father’s. I entered the office and Mr. Nemba stood up. ‘Why don’t you knock?’ he asked very angrily.

‘What for?’ I asked. Mr. Nemba was very angry. He sweated as he spoke. ‘This is my father’s office, why are you stealing our leadership? Our forefathers worked for this!’ I shouted. Mr. Nemba was not happy with what he heard, but didn’t say anything in his defence. He told me to calm down and asked me to return the following day. I left with a happy feeling. At least I had made my point. I hoped he would step down. Little did I know that it would not happen soon.

I arrived at the college very late. My friend, Jordaan, asked where I had been. I told him the whole story. He didn’t like what he heard, and was totally against what I had done. He warned me to be careful, for the Portuguese government could dismiss me from the school. He even refused to help me draft a letter to the Governor. I had to do it on my own. I was scared. It was not going to be easy, but I had to continue the battle. I had already spoken to the Administrator of my district, and I had already seen Mr. Nemba. I was convinced that I was going to
defeat them.

Early the next day, I went to Padré Freitas to tell him that I was going to visit a relative who was very sick. I was lying – I was taking the letter I had drafted to the Administrator and was going to see Mr. Nemba. Padré Freitas felt very sorry for me. He wished my relative a speedy recovery. I took the journey on foot. It was a long journey, and I was not feeling as confident as the day before.

When I arrived, the Administrator was not in his office. I left the letter with his secretary. I went straight to Mr. Nemba. On arrival, he told me to enter his office. He closed and locked the door.Mr. Nemba was a very tall and dark man. He spoke with a loud voice. ‘Young man!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t fool with me, my boy.

I am very old, and who told you that I was taking your father’s leadership? Go and tell your father to come himself.’ But he is dea…’ Before I could finish saying what I wanted to say, he slapped me very hard. He took a ‘paramatoria’, which was roughly made, and started beating me. I screamed. It was painful. I tried to open the door but it was locked. Both my hands were red and bleeding. He did not stop beating me until he heard a knock at the door.

When he opened the door, there were people outside, shouting, ‘Nemba, stop it, he is just a child.’ Mr. Nemba let me go. I ran out of the office screaming, and headed back along the road from where I had come. I ran to my elder sister’s house for it was nearby. I stopped crying along the way and started thinking about the ordeal I have just experienced. I thought of my friend at school who had advised me not to do what I had planned. I thought of my father, who once came home bleeding like this. I thought of Mr. Nemba. He was hand in glove with the Portuguese, that’s why he was beating me like that. It was painful. I wanted revenge, but I didn’t know how.

On arrival at my sister’s house, I fell to the ground. My sister came running and screaming for help. She was surprised at what had happened to me. ‘What is it Chicuarra? What has happened to you?’ I didn’t reply. I wanted to get rid of the pain I was feeling. My sister helped me into her house. She quickly boiled water and washed my hands with a cloth in the way my mother did for my father. After that, it felt better. She gave me food. Her neighbours came to the door, wanting
to know what had happened to me.

After finishing my food, I told them what had happened to me. They were all surprised. By then I took an oath that whatever happened to me, I would fight for our leadership. How? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had to complete my studies, for I remembered what my friend told me. I didn’t want to face Mr. Nemba or the Administrator again. I stayed at my sister’s place for a week, not attending college. During this time, Padré Freitas came to visit, accompanied by my elder brother. I knew I was in trouble.

‘Morning Friend,’ said Padré Freitas with a smile. Padré Freitas was a kind person who would not show his anger, even when angry. I responded in a very soft voice. Don’t be afraid boy. I am not here to scare you, but to sympathize for what has happened to you. I heard.’ I was surprised that the news had reached the college.

Padré Freitas continued, ‘The executive of the college has decided to suspend you for a while. This was after the school received a letter from the District Governor requesting to do so. It was said that you have insulted the Administrator and the Chief.’ I was so worried, and wanted to cry. Padré Freitas promised that I would be reinstated very soon, for he was going to take the issue to the top.

Padré Freitas was the only man I could trust. Whatever he said made sense to me. Padré Freitas and my brother, who didn’t say a word to me, left. The following day I heard, from my sister who had been in town, that my elder brother was invited by the Administrator to have coffee with him. I was so surprised that a white man could invite a black person to have coffee with him. It was so strange.

I later found out that my brother signed some documents, not knowing that he was a witness to the allegation that I had insulted the Administrator. Meanwhile, Padré Freitas took the issue to Lorenzo Marques (today known as Maputo), arguing against the dismissal of a brilliant black boy without any concrete reasons. He stated that a boy of my age couldn’t do what they said I did. The Lorenzo Marques government quickly gave orders to the District Governor to allow me to be reinstated at the college. The documents my brother signed did not help him at all.

I was back at the college as soon as I was called. Padré Freitas had a brief talk with me. He told me that he understood what had happened and why I had acted the way I did. He told me something I will never forget. He said, ‘Education is the key to unlock any door. If you want to fight colonialism, you had better be educated. If you want to fight Nemba, you had better get education. For now, stay out of trouble before you are expelled from this college for good.’ What he was saying was very serious. I knew that my brother had signed documents he didn’t understand, because he lacked education. I had to make a decision at that moment, either to take education seriously or to let it be wasted. When my friend saw me, he made a single statement, ‘I hope you have learnt a lesson.’

From that day on, I vowed to dedicate myself to education. A week later, I heard that the Administrator had been dismissed because of my issue. To me, it was victory against a white man, but I had to fight my own man, Mr. Nemba. How? The answer was - through education. I knew that Mr. Nemba was not educated, and education was the best weapon to use against him.

A brief encounter in Lorenzo Marques (Maputo) - Chapter 4

The Missãu de Santa Maria de Mocodoene ended with Grade 4. Padré Freitas told me to apply at the Escola de Habilitação de Professores Indigenas (Indigenous Teachers’ Habilitation Training School). It was at that school that I met Dr. Maia, a very kind white man. He was the Director and teacher at that school. Dr. Maia gave me much encouragement to study so that I could help my country to fight colonialism. He told me that I had a great capacity to succeed and he never wanted me to waste my time at Escola de Habilitação de Professores Indigenas.

I did well in that school, and applied to further my studies at Magude Catholic Junior Seminary. Dr. Maia promised that I would be admitted to the Seminary on the basis of my performance, and the recommendation he was going to send. My performance was so good that I was easily accepted at the Magude Catholic Junior Seminary. Dr. Maia was so happy that he wished me the best, and gave me one of his beautiful shirts. He warned me to stay out of trouble. My brothers and sister were very happy that I had been admitted to a new college without any problems. My brother bought me a small bag, which I used for my clothes.

The journey to Magude was very long, though I was travelling by bus this time. I arrived at the college late afternoon. I was not the only one. Many boys and girls had just arrived and were registering their names at reception. I just followed the queue. When my turn came to enter the reception office, a black lady assisted me for the first time in my life. She wrote down my name and provided me with a key and room number. I had to share a room with another boy. He spoke another language quite similar to my own. He spoke Shangaan, and his name was Augusto José Senepe.

My new friend and I spent the whole night talking about our previous schools and teachers. That’s when I discovered what language he was speaking. He was from the province we were in, Gaza. Our conversation became tense when I asked him about Lorenzo Marques. He had been in Lorenzo Marques for a while. ‘My friend, Lorenzo Marques is not a joke, that’s where my father works.’ He said with frown on his face. ‘My father works for a Portuguese man. That Portuguese
man treats him like a donkey. He is kicked, slapped and sometimes sent to the shop like a child. The salary he earns is much too little in comparison to the tasks that he performs .’

I was listening. Hearing him speak, I wanted to cry, but I had to listen carefully. My friend told me about the suffering of the black people in that part of Mozambique. What he was telling me was not strange. I knew that some Portuguese people were cruel, and others not , but listening to what my friend had to say made me hate the entire Portuguese Nation. I wished they would leave our country. I knew very well that they didn’t originate from here. Before he died, my father had told me that they were from a country called Portugal.

I fell asleep before my friend could finish his story. The next day we were given the rules and ethos of the Catholic Seminary. I was going to enroll for a Junior Course. I liked the school. All the white people were very friendly . It was a contradiction to what I had heard about them before. We attended assembly before starting our lessons. That’s where I began learning the Lord’s Prayer’ in Portuguese. After praying, we were given instructions for the day.

On the Saturday of the first week, we were told to attend a church service in Lorenzo Marques, once every month. That was the first week we were going to go to Lorenzo Marques. I was happy, very happy. I was selected to be in the school choir that was supposed to sing in the church. We started rehearsal for the Sunday.

On Sunday morning, we woke up very early. We prepared ourselves, and journeyed by bus to the city I considered to be the city of slavery. I wanted to see that city. I wanted to witness what my friend had told me . The journey was long as usual, but we were assured that we would arrive on time.

As we approached Lorenzo Marques, the children in the bus were so happy. I was quiet, longing to see the city. At last, there it was, some kilometers away. There were tall buildings and they were very beautiful. As we approached, I saw many cars. White people drove most of the cars. I realized that I was in another world.

I wished my brothers and sister were there to witness what I was seeing. We entered the city and drove to our church, but my heart was not there. My heart was with the city itself. It was beautiful, yet it belonged to the foreigners. The church service had just started. We went in and our choir was called to sing.

We sang, and after the service, we ate the food we had brought along from the
seminary school. After we had finished, we began our journey back to the college. It was evening when we left, and the whole city was lit up. It was beautiful. I wished I could stay in some of the houses and flats I saw. We arrived at the seminary, very late. I couldn’t keep quiet about what I had seen. I spent time questioning my friend, who was a bit more familiar with the city than I.

Life in Lorenzo Marques (Maputo)Chapter - Chapter 5

My results were very good as usual. I passed all my subjects at the end of the year and was transferred to the major Catholic seminary in Namaacha. I enrolled for a major course. This seminary had just been built. By now, I was familiar with Lorenzo Marques for we used to go there every month. I had a wish – a wish to stay in Lorenzo Marques. I had nephews who lived in Lorenzo Marques.

I passed my first year Major Seminary Course with ease. As I was about to start the second year course, there was conflict amongst the black students, who were from different parts of Mozambique (the southern part, the central part and the northern part of Mozambique). These students were divided by their tribal lines.

Seeing the conflict, the director of the school approached me to lead the students and act as mediator amongst them. However, I refused the offer on the grounds that I was against the appointment system. I wanted to be elected amongst other students, by all the students, from the different parts of Mozambique. I told the director that I believed in democracy.

The director was furious with me for what I had said to him. He accused me of being disobedient and said that I was going to be dismissed from the college. I told him that I was prepared to leave if it was necessary. A few days later, I received a letter of dismissal from the Bishop of the Catholic Churches at the Head Office in Lorenzo Marques. It stated clearly that I was disobedient and that I was propagating politics in the seminary, which was against their policy.

In 1959, before I was expelled from the Namaacha Seminary, my teacher invited me to witness the suffering of my people who were recruited under the forced abour system we called ‘shibalo’. What is ‘shibalo’? Shibalo is the name we still use today, meaning forced labour. This originated during the time when people were forced to cultivate cotton and crops for food. My father once worked under the same system.

After I witnessed that, I wrote a letter to the Governor, Gabriel Teixeira, complaining about the ill treatment of black people. I was against the forced abour system. I received no reply, but the news reached the seminary director.

That also contributed towards my dismissal. I gathered my belongings and moved to Lorenzo Marques to stay with my nephews, Alexandre Zunguze and Joao Chitofo. I applied to further my studies while staying with my nephews, but was refused by all the schools in Lorenzo Marques. By that time I was 29 years old. I was told that the education I had received so far differed greatly from the education in Lorenzo Marques. I was devastated. I realized the difficulties of being in the city of slavery. I had to find a job in order to assist my nephews. I knew they were not going to feed and cater for me while I was not attending school.

I started looking for a job, and found work as a gardener for a white man. The family was so good to me, that I even forgot that whites were cruel. Despite the fact that my employer was so good to me, I used to see other whites beating blacks, sometimes pouring water on them. I will never forget seeing a white man, holding a black man’s face to be beaten by his child. Life was so cruel.

I also came to know about the Portuguese Secret Police (PIDE). They were the secret police found in the city, they were so bad. They hated blacks , and made their lives miserable. Racism was the order of the day in Lorenzo Marques. When a black person wanted to buy something from a shop, he was attended to last, even if he was the first one to arrive. The situation was bad in the city. However, I never dreamt of going back to the village at that time.

My nephews were very happy that I was working and I could contribute to the household, but they were worried about one thing. The way I always talked about the whites, and wanting them to leave the country. They warned me that I would end up in jail if I continued talking that way.

While in Lorenzo Marques, I heard many stories about the death of black people at the hands of their employees. My master always said that it was a lie. He used to ask me whether he treated me badly. Of course, he was not. That family treated me well. They used to give me leftovers, which I took home. To me, that was not enough to change my opinion about the cruelty of the whites and that they should leave our land.

A year passed. I was tired of working for a white man. I wanted education, but I didn’t know how I was going to get it. One day, in 1960, while listening to the news, it came to my attention that some black children were found dead on the outskirts of Lorenzo Marques. It was believed that the Portuguese government and the PIDE was involved in the act. I heard that a black man from the USA, who was working for the United Nations, had condemned the killing of those children. His name was Dr. Eduardo Chivambo Mondlane. He was a Mozambican from the Gaza Province. He was one of the few black people to be found in the United Nations, and the first from our country to have obtained a doctorate and marry a white woman.

I wanted to get to know this man. Maybe he could help me secure a scholarship to further my studies. I wanted to study abroad. The year was 1961, and everyone talked about Dr. Eduardo Mondlane visiting Mozambique. I wanted to see him and nothing was going to stop me. The man was very famous. He was educated and the Portuguese government felt uncomfortable having him around. I knew that he was going to welcome me with open arms, for he was black like me.

I had to keep myself informed of Dr. Eduardo Mondlane’s whereabouts as to know where he could be found. Fortunately, I heard that he was going to be in Lorenzo Marques, and prepared myself to go to see a very educated Mozambican.

I wanted to be like him, and there was only one way to achieve that. I had to approach him so that he could give me the secret behind his success in education. During the days when Dr. Mondlane was said to be in Lorenzo Marques, I took to the street early one morning. I was well prepared to present my story to this powerful black man of my country. On arrival, where he was said to be, I found a crowd of people. Men, women, and children were waiting to see their hero.

They were waiting to see this famous, educated man. I waited patiently for the moment to meet him. By the shoving and pushing of the people I knew that the man had arrived, but I couldn’t see him. Some were pointing to the left hand side, some to the right, but I couldn’t see him. I had an idea of what he looked like, from a picture in the newspaper. I noticed a black car close to where I was standing. It was a beautiful car, and suddenly a dark huge man appeared, waving his hand. The people were screaming, ‘Mondlane…!’, praising him. I shivered and I did not know what I was supposed to do.

That was Dr. Eduardo Mondlane, “the tallest black tree” of the country. I pushed my way towards him, and he looked at me. He shook my hand and greeted me with a friendly smile. I had the opportunity to tell him about my wish of furthering my studies. He was delighted and took my details. He promised to contact me once he returned to the USA in a few weeks time. He informed me that he was looking for young men and women who wanted to study abroad, and I fit the profile. I was very happy and returned home. My dream to further my education
could become a reality.

Finding my way to America - Chapter 6

Dr. Mondlane was long since gone, and I awaited his reply. Two months later, he sent me a telegram to inform me that I was fortunate, and had received a scholarship. I was supposed to get ready and obtain a passport and visa. I was very happy and, for the first time, heard my nephews wishing me the best in whatever I was doing. Joao promised that he would do anything to enable me to go overseas.

He was the only man I could trust, because he seemed to be more supportive than the rest of the people. I went to the Department of Immigration and applied for a passport, but was refused. I was told that black people were not allowed to go beyond the borders of Mozambique. I had to make an alternative plan to obtain a passport. I went straight to the American Consulate that afternoon. It was not easy, but I had my nephew, Joao Chitofo, with me. He was so cheeky and would dodge the security guards, if necessary, to find his way into the house of the consul, in order to make an appointment for me.

Fortunately, I was allowed into the house with Joao’s help. I explained to the Consul that I wanted to go to America to study, and I needed his help. I explained to him that my brother in America had arranged a scholarship for me. He wanted to know who my brother was. When I mentioned the name, Eduardo Mondlane, he was quick to invite me back to his office the following day. Dr. Eduardo Mondlane was well known everywhere. He was one of the few black people to be found in the United Nation’s offices in America.

I was afraid to return to the American Consulate office. I was scared of the PIDE police, who were in charge of the reception area in the American High Commission offices. I told myself that I had no choice. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to study in America. The following morning I woke up very early and prepared myself to meet with the consul. I proudly approached the reception desk. A white slender Portuguese lady was staring at me. I greeted her but she didn’t respond.

I knew she hated blacks, like the rest of the Portuguese. Madam, I am here to see the Consul, please.’ I said. Who are you? Do you have an appointment with him?’ she asked. No, he wants to speak to me.’ I said. She was very annoyed. She took the telephone and dialed the Consul’s office. A while later, she said very politely, ‘Take a seat, the consul will be with you within a few minutes.’ Very proudly, I sat down and crossed my feet.

The Consul called me into his office. He did not say much and wanted to know whether I could write in English. I confirmed that I could, but I was lying. He gave me some forms to fill in and he ordered me to bring them back the following day. I could not even read and lied about being able to write in English.

I took my forms to my friend, Joel Ngodoane, who was working at CFM and could speak, read and write English. I asked him to help me fill in the forms. He helped me very quickly and ordered me not to reveal to anybody what he had done for me.

The next day I returned to the Consulate. This time I had no problem with the receptionist. The Consul took the forms and told me to come back in a fortnight.

My airplane ticket to the USA had already been sent, but I was still struggling to get a passport and visa. Two weeks later , I returned to the American Consulate. He gave me a document to take to immigration with my photographs and the required amount. I took everything they required with me to immigration. On arrival, I handed all the documentation to the receptionist, who directed me to one of the offices. As I entered, a white Portuguese man greeted me with a warm smile. It was my first time, since I had arrived in Lorenzo Marques, that a white
man gave me such a warm welcome .

The white man asked one of his assistants for help, after I explained to him that I hurriedly needed a passport. It took me two hours to get a passport and visa. The next day I left for the airport with my luggage, documents and ticket.

On arrival at the airport, I followed the queue to the entrance, for my plane was going to depart in one hour’s time. When I arrived at the security guards, who were searching and observing our documents, they asked me for my destination.

When I replied, “America,”, he asked, ‘To do what?’ I told him that I was going to study. He furiously told me to wait aside and said, ‘This is not America. You must follow the rules of the Portuguese.’ I knew this meant trouble.

I was furious for the plane was about to leave. The PIDE was trying to prevent me from studying in America. A security guard ordered some of his colleagues to escort me to the police station. They transported me in the back of their van, with my luggage. On arrival at the police station, I was locked in a holding cell.

After a few hours I was taken to the office of the then Inspector Deputy of PIDE in Mozambique, Carmindo da Rocha. As I entered his office, he immediately started talking about things in connection with me going to the United States.

I was too angry to pay any attention to what he was saying. After he finished talking, there was silence in the room. I asked him , ‘Why does the Portuguese government want to prevent me from studying in a country that follows the principles and values of Western civilization? What programme does the Portuguese follow for the future of Mozambique, to avoid becoming an easy prey for communism tomorrow?’ Rocha never answered my questions . Instead, he asked me why I didn’t ask the Portuguese government to give me a scholarship.

The only answer I could give was, ‘You refused to give me a scholarship.’ He was angry and ordered for me to be removed from his office. The security guards led me outside and told me to leave their premises, but they kept my documents. Outside, there were journalists waiting for me. Some wanted to know what had happened to me and why the government won’t allow me to study overseas? Was I the next Dr. Eduardo Mondlane? I was confused and wondered who informed the journalists. Was this the beginning of the struggle against the Portuguese government?

I was so angry that I refused to talk to the journalists. I could only repeat the questions I had asked Mr. Rocha earlier that day. Little did I know that, in the near future, Mozambique would become a communist country. I took my luggage and went home.

At home my nephews, Alxandre and Joao, were worried to see me back so soon. I had a good relationship with them, and told them what had happened. Joao was disappointed. After I had managed to obtain a passport and visa, he thought the struggle was over. The Portuguese were making the black Mozambican’s lives unpleasant, and they were preventing us from going to study in order to empower ourselves with the necessary knowledge. They wanted us to be uneducated slaves forever.

I couldn’t accept that. I went to the American Consul to explain my dilemma. He told me that I was not supposed to have told the PIDE police that I was destined for America. However, there was no way I could have avoided them at the airport. He told me that there was nothing more he could do to assist me.

The story of a young man who wanted to go overseas to further his studies, was published in newspapers all over the country. Some were saying that I was the next Dr. Eduardo Mondlane. Some reporters even said that I had tried to escape the country to spy on the Portuguese. I feared for my life in Mozambique.

I knew that the PIDE were going to try and kill me before the end of the day. I had to work out a plan of escape because I was sick and tired of being intimidated by them. On the other hand, I was proud to have been the first black person to openly challenge them.

A quick visit to Swaziland - Chapter 7

The next day I gathered my luggage and boarded a train to Chicualacuala towards the Rhodesian (today Zimbabwe) border. I crossed the border to South Rhodesia. In Bulawayo a local man accommodated me. I was not the only guest in his home.

There was another resident from Mozambique, who had been there for a few days already. His destination was Tanzania, via Zambia. Our host was happy to have us in his house, and told everyone that he had visitors. The white Rhodesian police became suspicious and we decided to leave. He took us to the nearest bus stop, but on our way, we met an armed white policeman.

He wanted to know where we were from. The man who had accommodated us told him that we were from Pafure. Pafure was in Rhodesia near the border to Mozambique. The policeman refused to accept that and said that we were from Mozambique. We tried to deny it but he persisted that the people from Pafure did not look like us. He ordered us to lie down with our hands on our heads and wait for the police patrol van. Our host was told to leave. After a long wait the van finally arrived. The policeman informed his two colleagues that we were from Mozambique, and that we were trying to escape to Tanzania. The two men did ot even ask questions and ordered us to get into the van.

Two armed policemen accompanied us in the back of the van. I asked them, ‘Are you holding me at gunpoint out of fear that I might escape?’ They said, ‘Yes.’ I assured them that I was harmless, not a criminal. I explained that I escaped from Mozambique in order to study inAmerica, and that the Portuguese government wanted to prevent me from doing so. I assured them that it was safe to put their guns down.

They did as I asked . We drove to the Bulawayo police station where the police questioned us. I explained that I was from Mozambique, trying to find my way to America to further my studies, and that the Portuguese government would not allow me to do so. My friend also told his story. The white policeman who questioned us said in Portuguese, ‘Where on earth have you ever heard of black people’s education?’ I was annoyed but I didn’t say anything. We were ordered
to go into the police station cells.

Three weeks later, we were deported back to Mozambique. On arrival, I was rearrested and didn’t know the whereabouts of the friend I was with. I was kept in a holding cell for a week. That marked the beginning of my life of imprisonment.

I was released to await trial. The news about my arrest spread like wild fire. Pictures of me were plastered on all the border posts into Mozambique.

I could not wait for the trial date because I was not sure what would happen to me if I was found guilty. I had no other choice, but to climb the fence to Swaziland.

I asked a friend of mine, by the name of Carlos Chipe, to take my luggage to here I was going to cross to Swaziland. I appeared to leave home as a simple man who was going to return soon. I didn’t want the PIDE to be suspicious of me. I jumped the border to Swaziland through Namaacha. It was a sad moment when I left Carlos standing there. He wished me well and waved his hand. When I jumped the fence, it was still dark. I waited near the road under a tree. While waiting, I remembered that there was a certain man called Mr. Machava, who was a well known pastor. He used to come to Namaacha Catholic Seminary when I was still a student. I heard that his house was situated in the Lomahasha area.

I waited until people started moving around. Swaziland was a very quiet place scattered with mountains and dusty gravel roads. The first person I spoke to was a lady who was in traditional Swazi attire. I greeted her and she was quick to respond in Shangaan. I felt relieved and asked for directions to Pastor Machava. She asked if I was escaping from the Portuguese and I confirmed. She felt sorry for me and directed me to Pastor Machava’s place.

It was not far, near a secondary school called Lomahasha Central. I went to the school and knocked at one of the houses. I asked where Pastor Machava could be found. They started laughing – maybe it was the way I was speaking, and took me to Pastor Machava’s house. Pastor Machava was not available, and they informed me that he would be back in a week’s time. Explaining my situation, his wife felt sorry for me and welcomed me into their house. I was given a room and stayed there for four days. Mrs.

Machava was concerned, for I couldn’t eat the food she cooked. I tried, but I would vomit because I was not used to the ground mealies with curds. When her husband arrived she quickly introduced me to him. She told him that I was from the seminary, from those who wore white gowns. She told her husband that I had not eaten a thing since I arrived. She pleaded with him to take me to Mbabane (Capital of Swaziland) where I could get something to eat which would
agree with my system.

Pastor Machava was so kind. The only thing he asked for was petrol money. I had a little bit of money in my pocket, which was enough for us to reach Mbabane.

We drove along the dusty gravel roads of Swaziland, through mountains and valleys. Pastor Machava pointed out the farms of the English people living in Swaziland. It was a long, dusty journey to Bremersdorp (today Manzini), the first town from Lomahasha towards Mbabane. In Bremersdorp, we stopped at one of the petrol stations to fill the tank with petrol. Pastor Machava bought something to eat, but I didn’t want anything. I was eager to reach our destination. I was eager to meet J.J Nxuku, who Pastor Machava was telling me about.

I immediately noticed the size of the town. It was very small and I did not see many whites for at least 30 minutes. We took another road. We had not far to go this time, according to Pastor Machava and reached Mbabane within 50 minutes. Pastor Machava drove towards a well known location in Mbabane, called Msunduza. He was taking me to a man called, J.J Nxuku, the leader of the Mchubaphambili Political Movement in Swaziland.

Pastor Machava introduced me to Mr. Nxuku, who welcomed me into his house. Pastor Machava seemed to know Mr. Nxuku very well, for they started talking like old friends. Pastor Machavadidn’t stay too long, then left without me. Mr. Nxuku’s place was surrounded by mountains and valleys.

The houses were built with stick and mud. It was such a small tranquil place. Mr. Nxuku was known in Swaziland as J.J Nxuku. That day he had just returned from the Justice Department, where he presented a letter, demanding the release of the black Swazis who were accused, by the British government, of something they didn’t do. Mr. Nxuku was very friendly and showed me his house. He said that he was happy to meet a man from Mozambique, who was involved in the struggle. According to him it was the right time to fight the enemy from all corners of the continent. He told me about his ties with Nkhwame Nkrumah of Ghana, and the rest of the freedom fighters in Africa.

He offered me one of the rooms behind his house. J.J Nxuku wanted me to join the struggle against the British in Swaziland. It was a novel idea, but my struggle was against the Portuguese and his was against the British. One thing we had in common was to be able to live freely in Africa. I told J.J Nxuku that my main aim was to get educated, and have the same knowledge the whites had. To me, education was the best weapon against the whites. I recalled the advice I had received from my former teacher, Padré Freitas in Missãu de Santa Maria de Mocodoene catholic school, when I was in Grade 4. J.J Nxuku understood and admitted that education
was good, but he emphasised that, while some were educating themselves, the rest must fight for freedom.

I had a close relationship with J.J Nxuku. He tried several times to contact Nkhwame Nkrumah in Ghana, so that he could help me to go overseas. He did not succeed, which is why he wanted me to join the struggle in Swaziland. I accompanied Mr. Nxuku wherever he went. He introduced me to many politicians.

Some of the politicians were Prince Dumisa and Ambrose Zwane from the Ngwane National Liberation Congress (NNLC). I became friends with many Swazi activists, but I didn’t forget that my goal was to go to America to study. I was sure that Dr. Eduardo Mondlane was still waiting for me. However, I was not sure whether the scholarship was still valid or not. One day, a man called Mr. Zondi came to J.J Nxuku’s house. He was accompanied by a girl called Thandani. J.J Nxuku introduced us. Mr. Zondi was a South African who was connected to the ANC. Therefore, he was also involved in helping the ANC freedom fighters to cross the border to other countries. Thandani was one of those who had escaped from South Africa with the help of Zondi. Zondi did not stay long, and when he left Thandani stayed behind. J.J. Nxuku wanted me to date Thandani, but I was not keen. I suspected that it was maybe J.J Nxuku’s way of trying to keep me in Swaziland, so that I could get rid of the idea of going overseas to study. I had a good relationship with Thandani but not to the extent that I could marry her. I was not interested in ladies at that stage, for I knew that I had to accomplish my goal. My calling was to liberate my country, even if politics sometimes bored me.

It was very nice to be with J.J Nxuku, but he was always in trouble with the British police. I remembered the day his car was burnt. He used to park his car in front of my doorstep. At midnight, I saw a bright light outside. I went outside and saw J.J Nxuku’s car burning. I rushed to knock at his door shouting, ‘Yasha moto!’ I could barely pronounce any word in Swazi but I had to try. By the time he woke up, the car and my room were burnt to cinders. Fortunately, my documents were in J.J Nxuku’s house.

J.J Nxuku said that the enemy was doing this to weaken him. I decided to take my documents and rather hide them with J.J Nxuku’s friend, Mr. Dlamini, who lived across the street. I had nowhere to stay, and slept outside. I decided against it and fetched my documents from Mr. Dlamini to keep with me in a briefcase.

That same night, his house was also burnt to the ground. I started personalising the situation and saw it as an attack against me. The news of my disappearance from Mozambique had reached Swaziland. PIDE was searching high and low for me and I knew I was not safe in Swaziland. When J.J Nxuku’s house was burnt to the ground, the British police who investigated the incident asked who I was. J.J Nxuku told them that I was from Mozambique.

One policeman asked whether I was the one who had escaped from Mozambique. J.J Nxuku quickly told him that I was a relative who was working in Mozambique. He didn’t reveal that we were friends, and so managed to get rid of the police.

A few months later I decided to leave Swaziland in order to find my way to America. I felt no longer comfortable living in J.J Nxuku’s house because Swaziland was very close to Mozambique. I really appreciated the way the Swazi people treated me. They treated me with love and respect. The one thing I remember about the Swazi people is that they have a great appetite for meat. One day, J.J.

Nxuku travelled with me to the far eastern part of Swaziland in the Lubumbo region, towards the Lavumisa border. When we arrived, we found his friend asleep, unaware of our arrival. He had no money, so I had to buy a chicken, which we were going to braai. After I had prepared the chicken, J.J Nxuku sent me to the shop to buy some spices. When I came back, I found that they had eaten the whole chicken. I was so angry. J.J Nxuku told me never to leave when there is meat to eat. That day they gave me the chicken feet, for that was all that was left over. That incident always reminds me of my friends in Swaziland.

Through South Africa to Botswana - Chapter 8

I knew that my journey to America would not be an easy one, but I had to go. I left for South Africa. I jumped the fence and entered the country at Oshoek. I asked for a lift to Johannesburg. It was a long way to Johannesburg, a distance I had never travelled before. It was very late when I arrived at Johannesburg train station. I asked for the train to Mafikeng. The station was very busy. It was the first time I had experienced such a busy place.

I boarded the train to Mafikeng late that evening. The coach I was in was rather empty. I sat next to a lady and wanted to speak to her, but I couldn’t speak her language. The train arrived in Mafikeng at three in the morning. I started asking for directions to Botswana. People couldn’t understand what I was asking, but felt sorry for me. They directed me to a train, that would take me straight to the Botswana border.

We were about to reach the border when someone warned me about the South African police who were looking for those without Identification Documents. I was very alert, and when the train arrived at the border a white policemen entered.

I saw them and decided to exit through the window. The train had stopped. People warned me not to board the train again because the police would arrest me. They told me to walk along the railway line for no one would search for me there.

I took a long walk – the people had lied to me about it being a short distance. I walked until I came to a road which lead to Gaborone. I was already in Botswana.

I hitched a lift from a passing truck on its way to Gaborone. I paid the few Rand to get to Gaborone, for I had no Pulas at that stage. From Gaborone I travelled to Francistown where I crossed the border into South Rhodesia, now known as Zimbabwe.

I jumped the border to North Rhodesia, now Zambia, from South Rhodesia. This time the police in South Rhodesia did not get hold of me. While I was in Zambia I went straight to the office of the UNIP political party, where I met Mr. Gray Zulu. He was the spokesperson of the party, and the one who helped me to get the correct documents to cross the border to Tanzania.

The day I crossed the border to Tanzania I was accompanied by a white male and a South African lady. The white man was a refugee from South Africa. The lady was following her ANC colleagues into exile. Therefore, we went straight to the border between Zambia and Tanzania. I was the first one to present the documents which the UNIP Party had organised for me. The lady had no documents and when they asked whether I was with her, I agreed and they gave her permission to cross. The white man remained behind and was arrested, for his picture had been published in the newspaper.

Life in Tanzania and the formation of FRELIMO - Chapter 9

I travelled with the lady to Tanzania, but on arrival she decided to make her own way. I learnt about the political movements of the time in Tanzania. These groups directed me to where the group of Mozambicans in Tanzania was situated. Again I met up with Dr. Eduardo Mondlane who was organising young people to fight a guerrilla war in Mozambique. He took this decision after the Portuguese failed to react to his request that they abandon slavery and apartheid, and introduce a multiparty system. He was surprised that I was still stranded in Africa. He told me that there might be still a chance for me to continue my studies overseas. He advised me to go to the American Embassy in Tanzania, to find out about the validity of my scholarship.

I was very close to Dr. Mondlane and many wondered why. I remember, that for about four days in succession, we spent the whole night talking about politics.

We used to talk about the struggle against the colonialists and about what would happen after the war, once Mozambique became independent. We talked about the importance of education and he promised me that I would be the first black Prime Minister once he was elected president after we had conquered the Portuguese. For him, there was no going back.

Dr. Mondlane was a brilliant man. He stated very clearly that FRELIMO was not a political party but an alliance. Political parties would be formed after independence and would participate in elections. His idea was that FRELIMO would be displayed in a museum as a symbol of respect and victory against the Portuguese. He was very sure that FRELIMO would conquer. I liked him and I respected him for the knowledge he had and for the respect he had for other people. He was prepared to sacrifice everything for the people of Mozambique and indeed, he did that. What we talked about were the promises he had made to the people during the FRELIMO congress.

In Tanzania, I witnessed the first congress of the Front Liberation of Mozambique (FRELIMO), which marked its formation. Many young men and women assembled for that congress. It was a big congress. Dr. Mondlane had brought together three underground movements that were fighting against the Portuguese, i.e. UNAMO, UDENAMO and NAMU. FRELIMO started when the three movements merged.

The speech Dr. Mondlane made in that congress was very sensitive and encouraging. One felt that there was a need to fight against the colonialists. He stated very clearly that FRELIMO was willing to share power with the Portuguese, even if they were defeated.

Dr. Mondlane was elected the first President of FRELIMO and Oris Smango was his Deputy. This did not happen through ballot voting in the first elections and Oris lodged a complaint. They then held elections for a second time and Dr.

Mondlane openly defeated Oris. The congress was marked with the singing of revolutionary songs and chanting of “Viva FRELIMO!”

After the congress, I went to the American Embassy in Tanzania to find out about my scholarship and discovered that it was still valid. Dr. Mondlane was still looking for young people who would go overseas to study. I remember very well that Joaquim Chissano and Pascoal Mocoumbi were some of those who were selected for scholarships. Everything was arranged for them to go to Europe and for me to go to America.

Life overseas - Chapter 10

On arrival in the USA in 1963, the American Department of Foreign Affairs summoned me on a specific day. On arrival, I was introduced to Mrs. Janet Mondlane, the wife of Dr. Eduardo Mondlane. She was a white lady and I was not surprised for Dr. Mondlane had told me about her. They told me that Janet wanted someone to accompany her to Tanzania. They were afraid that, if she went to Tanzania and asked for Dr. Mondlane, she would be killed. They wanted
me to accompany her and they promised me that I could return to the States. I refused the request. It had taken me a long time to reach the States and I couldn’t allow that opportunity to be wasted. I told the authorities that I was not prepared to return to Africa before I had finished my studies. Mrs. Janet Mondlane was very angry, and since that time we have never met face to face again.

That same year, I started my studies at an English School in New York. I did a six-month intensive laboratory course. It was a very interesting and unique course. I had no choice but to learn the English language in order to further my studies.

During that time, I had to find a girlfriend who could teach me to speak English. Her name was Evelyn Colman and she used to stay in Philadelphia where I visited her every weekend. She introduced me to many different people. Sometimes they would laugh at the way I spoke, but it was not a big deal to me – I just wanted to learn how to speak. At the end of the six months, I could communicate well with other fellows and I could read a newspaper and understand everything.

After six months, I successfully finished my English laboratory course. I then began my BA: Political Science at Manhattan College in New York. While I was in the USA, I corresponded with FRELIMO in Tanzania. I was appointed a representative of FRELIMO in the USA. At that time I started running community development projects in the USA.

In 1965, I went to Ford Ham University to study for my MA: Political Science. In that same year my girlfriend left me, because she said I had no money to take care of her. While at Ford Ham University, I received the surprising news that Chissano and Mocoumbi had to return to Tanzania because they failed their courses. Dr. Mondlane encouraged them to be part of the struggle. I learnt that Chissano was appointed to take care of the Security Department and Mocoumbi to take care of the youth. I used to correspond with Mocoumbi while I was in America. By that time, the war against the Portuguese government was ongoing for a year and the spirit was high in the camp.

I had a lot do in America, both for FRELIMO and the American government. For FRELIMO, I corresponded with many organisations asking for assistance. One of those organisations was NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization), which later on, Dr. Mondlane corresponded with. For the American governement, I involved myself during election time, encouraging the people of America to register and vote. I was so happy to be involved in a democratic society, and hoped that I would have the opportunity to vote in my own country. That’s not all I did, I used to run the street childrens’ programme which was sponsored by the American government. I was a mentor for the programme and it was very interesting to work with children. Despite all these activities, my heart longed to be back with my people in Mozambique who needed to be freed.

I was well connected to an American family by the surname of Melady. This family used to spend time with me, advise me and were of great help to me. I always concerned them amongst those who had a positive influence on my life.

I fell in love with a beautiful lady called Ruth White. Ruth was my second relationship, Evelyn having been my first. How did I meet Ruth? It was a Thursday afternoon and I was home from the University. Since I was a bit tired, I just ate leftovers and rushed to the river for some fresh air. I lay down near the river dressed in my pants, half naked. After a while, I saw a very beautiful lady. It was as if I have never seen such a beauty in my life. She looked as if she was from another planet. She was avarage size and well built. She was slender with a light complexion. She was a coloured lady. She came towards where I was lying and greeted me.

She introduced herself and asked whether I knew of an apartment to rent. She was looking for a house and a job in New York, for she had just completed her university studies. I told her that I was familiar with New York and promised to look for an apartment to rent. We exchanged contact numbers and we talked.

She seemed to be surprised by my accent and asked where I was from. I told her that I was from Africa. ‘Where about?’ she wanted to know. I told her that Mozambique was in the southern part of Africa. It was the first time she had met anybody from that part of the continent.

We talked for some time and before she left, I complemented her on her beauty. She smiled and said nothing. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and I was surprised and very happy to get a call from her. We stayed in touch until I asked her on a date and everything was finalised during that date.

I married Ruth in 1967. We moved to Geneva, Switzerland, where I wanted to complete my course in International Relationships. While I was in Switzerland Dr. Mondlane told me that there were conflicts within the FRELIMO ranks.

Capitalists were divided against communists. Dr. Mondlane told me to communicate directly with him for he trusted nobody.

In 1968, my first son was born and I named him Ervin. That same year my wife decided to go back home to America for a visit. When she reached America, she called me and said that she was no longer interested in being married to me, for she feared that I would take her to Africa after my graduation. That same year she sent me divorce papers to sign. I signed the documents and our marriage ended. However, for the sake of Ervin, we always stayed in touch.

In 1969, five years since the war had started in Mozambique, I was corresponding directly with Dr. Mondlane, because of the confusion in the FRELIMO ranks.

On the 3rd of February 1969, when I returned from school, very tired, I threw my books on my bed and went to visit my friend Freitas, who had the room opposite mine. The first thing he said was, ‘Bad news. Your president Mondlane is dead.’ I did not believe him, but later it was confirmed on the BBC news. It came as a shock to hear that the leader of the guerilla movement in Mozambique had passed away. I was very sad and could not concentrate on my studies for days. I never lost hope in the struggle though. I knew that we were going to succeed. I knew that FRELIMO had strong people in politics like Oris Simango and Cavandame. I did not know Machel, and I never thought of Chissano or Mocoumbi taking over as they were very young.

I tried to contact many people to find out more about what I had just heard, but sadly it was a reality, Dr. Mondlane was dead. After some days, I heard that the FRELIMO movement was pushing forward with success. A few weeks later, I learnt that the new leader of FRELIMO was known as Samora Moises Machel, and that many of those who had been close to Dr. Mondlane were viewed with suspicion. Surprisingly, one of the suspects was Oris Simango, the former deputy president of FRELIMO.

Late in 1969, I was fortunate to meet Samora Machel in Geneva for the first time. He was now the president of FRELIMO and was elected by the executive committee. When Samora arrived in Geneva, I was the one who received him.

Machel was cool, but he spoke with authority. He told me that he had heard about me. He had come to tell me that Mozambicans, not Portuguese, would soon rule Mozambique. He said that, I should not forget to go home once I finished my studies.

The same year I received Armando Guebuza, also a strong man in the ranks of FRELIMO. He came with the same message of encouragement. He told me that Mozambique would need me after the war. At the beginning of 1970, Machel came to Geneva for a conference. I had an opportunity to meet him again and I assured him on his proposal that I would return to Mozambique after my studies, for that was my goal.

In late 1970, the Organization of African Unity (OAU) invited me to attend their conference in Accra Ghana. While I was in Ghana, I rubbed shoulders with people like Joaquim Chissano, Milcar Cabral and many others. In Ghana, I met my enemy to be, Sergio Vieira, for the first time. Sergio was a coloured man born in Mozambique. He was one of the top dogs in FRELIMO. The only areas in which he failed to beat me, was that Sergio could not speak English and he never had a chance to attend school overseas. So the black Africans, who were in Ghana, could not relate to him despite the fact that he was one of the top officials, because he couldn’t communicate in English. Worse of all, he was a coloured.

He wanted to know who I was, and if I was a spy, because I was studying in a country of white people, the people he was fighting against. I was very close to many of the FRELIMO people and they were pleased about my presence. I helped in a number of ways, translating for our people who couldn’t speak English and contributing to the meeting. Sergio didn’t like that and thought of me as a threat to his position.

In 1972, I completed my studies. On the day of my graduation, I was very happy to be addressed as Doctor. A lady I had never seen before came to congratulate me. She was happy that I was from Africa and what I had achieved thus far. She said that many people in Switzerland failed to reach the level I accomplished, despite the fact that they had all the opportunities around them. She warned me that not everybody was going to like my ideas in my country, but she said I must always carry my people’s concerns at heart. She emphasized that people in Africa were disadvantanged and needed people like me. She hugged me and left without saying who she was.

Soon after my graduation, I packed my things and got ready to go to Tanzania. I went via the USA to bid my family farewell. While I was in the States, I met Urius Simango, one of the former big guns of FRELIMO. Simango had attended a service in a Methodist church in America. After the church service, I approached him. He told me how FRELIMO had betrayed him and vowed to clear his name.

That was the last time I saw him. In the FRELIMO barracks, I mainly did office work. I clashed with Sergio Vieira who never liked my presence. Since he was in charge of the food, he would some days refuse to dish me food. It became worse when Samora Machel gave me the military uniform he used when he joined the army. Vieira wanted me to join the army in battle; he hated me doing paper work. Fortunately for Vieira, I joined the bush war. By that time, FRELIMO was becoming very strong. Even the BBC news wanted to know what would happen after the war in Mozambique, for they saw that FRELIMO was winning. I joined our army in the bush, located in Gabo Delagado.

During that time I was sent by the FRELIMO leaders to speak to the Portuguese soldiers who were showing signs of defeat, to hear their views on the war.

I was sent to a place called Mueada in Cabo Delgado. First, I met the administrator in Mueda and was welcomed by him and even the soldiers who surrounded the table we were seated at. They told me that they had been looking forward to meet me, because they remembered the time I was trying to escape to the USA. They had followed what I used to say during that time. They believed that I was the right man to pressure FRELIMO to return to the table and find a solution to stop the war. Deep down I knew that they were running out of time. I promised them that I would return. Unfortunately, FRELIMO was gaining momentum and there was no time to keep my promise.

In 1974, FRELIMO conquered the Portuguese. Yes, there was still confusion in the FRELIMO ranks, a mixture of capitalism and communism. The majority were speaking in terms of communism.

Despite all that, there was happiness in our camp when we heard that the Portuguese government in Portugal had decided to give up, because the people in Portugal were complaining that their children were dying. When the Portuguese surrendered it was a time of celebration. The only person who wanted to spoil my joy was Vieira. He was always swearing that my time was coming. I didn’t bother about him for I was more Mozambican than he was, and boasted with an education.

Most of our people went straight to Lorenzo Marques, but I remained in Cabo Delgado. The newly appointed, first black Governor of Cabo Delgado appointed me to be the project co-ordinator in his office. I started teaching people about FRELIMO and its aims, and how it was going to rule Mozambique. The Governor was very happy. People were happy to receive me for they understood what I had to say.

The burden became too heavy, and I decided to start group conferencing, a system known as Groupo Deminizador. To this day people don’t know that I was the founder of Groupo Deminizador for it was later misused, and Armando Guebuza claimed he was the one who started it. With this system I wanted people to make appointments with me if they needed information concerning FRELIMO, for I couldn’t go to many different places at once. I had to divide my time.

Two months after I started the group conferencing, I was summoned to Lorenzo Marques. The job was going well by then. The people complained about me leaving, and the Governor was not happy. I became involved in the transitional government in Lorenzo Marques.

While in Maputo, I met my nephews, Joao and Alexandra, who had helped me during my struggle. They were very happy to see what I had achieved. Sometimes he would sit the whole day talking about the past and laugh.