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.
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