He was the leader among his siblings. Acknowledged as the cleverest in the family, Tsietsi dominated the dining-room table at night: doing his homework, helping the others, discussing the finer points of a vexing problem. As with Rocks, Nomkhitha imbued him with a love for reading. Tsietsi, in turn, conveyed this passion to the younger children, especially when they had became too numerous to command much of their parents’ attention. In this manner, he became something of a mentor to his brothers.
As the second-born, Tsietsi seemed to escape much of the pressure Nomkhitha and Joseph imposed on Rocks. He developed a playful nature and a lively imagination; among his many inventions, he created a clandestine society called The Secret Seven, based on the children’s books by Enid Blyton. The Secret Seven included two of his brothers and four friends. Tsietsi found hidden meeting places, to enter which required a secret password. There the seven youths devised stories about engaging in exciting and daring undertakings. At the end of each meeting, Tsietsi brought out a cake or some other special treat that he bought with the two-cent dues collected from the members. Like the books that Tsietsi devoured, the game transported him and the other boys beyond the wretchedness of life in the township; for a brief moment, they could dream childhood dreams.
Like Rocks, Tsietsi was a gifted athlete who excelled at softball, tennis and dancing. But he devoted the most energy to karate. The speed and discipline it required suited Tsietsi’s personality perfectly and he liked the fact that the flashy, martial-arts moves made him an exotic figure among the thugs of Soweto. Tsietsi was forever frightening Nomkhitha with sudden karate chops and high-pitched yells. When his siblings begged to learn, Tsietsi taught them turns and kicks, lining them up in the yard for drills. They were thrilled: this was the big brother who deigned to notice them. And they adored him.
To those outside the family, Tsietsi seemed an appealing, if frenetic, youth. He affected what was called an ‘American hippy’ mode of dress: bell-bottoms, peace symbols, an Afro hairstyle. (Tsietsi habitually stole clothes from Rocks – especially for social engagements with girls, who thought him something of a dandy.) Just as he was a force within his family, Tsietsi exhibited a natural leadership among his peers. He was a whirlwind of activity: president of the Methodist Youth Guild; chairman of a youth burial society; chairman of his school’s debating committee and of the Debating Group Association; chairman of a social club; head of a softball club; a freelance writer for the black edition of the Rand Daily Mail. Dispatched by Nomkhitha, Rocks spent countless evenings trying to find Tsietsi and bring him home for dinner.
Tsietsi also had a contentious side to his nature. He made and lost friends with equal swiftness – often because of his penchant for provoking people. Tsietsi’s siblings knew this aspect of his character well: pushed beyond his tolerance one day, Lehlohonolo (or Cougar, as he was called) threw a stone at Tsietsi’s head while he was standing in the kitchen. Tsietsi ducked, and the projectile hit one of the yellow cabinets. The dent that it left became part of family lore.
In the same manner, Tsietsi delighted in testing established limits. One day he decided, against all the regulations, to light up a cigarette in class. It was a free period and the teacher had left the room. Another instructor happened to walk by at that moment; smelling smoke, he entered the class to investigate and found Tsietsi with the forbidden tobacco, surrounded by his friends. The teacher immediately brought them before the school’s disciplinary board. Tsietsi was suspended from school for a few days; his companions received lashings with a cane.
Despite his carefree personality, Tsietsi was a brilliant student; Nomkhitha thought he would become a lawyer. A weekly radio programme about famous court cases, Consider Your Verdict, particularly fascinated him. Tsietsi started out in a chair listening to the show, but in his excitement slowly crept towards the console until, at the climax, he was virtually sitting on top of it. Afterwards, he and Rocks had heated debates in English about the episode’s outcome. Sometimes friends from the neighbourhood joined in; the younger Mashininis would listen in awe as Tsietsi, who had a singular command of the language, dominated the arguments.
Tsietsi’s love of English and English literature prompted his classmate, Murphy Morobe (who would later become a prominent political leader), to confer upon him the title of ‘Shakespeare’s friend in Africa’. To Nomkhitha, his oratorical prowess seemed a direct line from his grandfather, the imbongi. Tsietsi’s talent came to define his adolescent life; he used it to make friends and recruit like-minded youths to his projects. And he employed it to express a nascent hatred of white people – utterances whose virulence surprised his parents.
As head of his debating team at Morris Issacson High, Tsietsi regularly competed against other schools. Debating clubs were immensely popular in the township: students vied fiercely for membership in them, and their debates were always well attended. Khotso Seatlholo, an intense, articulate youth, was in the audience at Naledi High for a contest against Morris Issacson. The topic was ‘The Pen is Mightier than the Sword’; Tsietsi argued for the motion. Khotso was spellbound. Unlike the other speakers, who were clutching reams of notes, Tsietsi had only a small index card which he barely consulted. He was bold, eloquent, witty, quick thinking. It seemed impossible that Tsietsi was the product of Bantu education (as it was called under apartheid). He exuded an uncanny confidence; his closing statement brought a standing ovation from the audience.
Afterwards, at a social gathering, Tsietsi sought out Khotso. Khotso felt flattered: Tsietsi was popular, well-known, a prefect at his school. He had a swarm of girls around him. Tsietsi made polite enquiries about Khotso’s family and church affiliation; they talked for a while, then Tsietsi left. Khotso gave little import to the encounter.
But Tsietsi returned to see Khotso after school the following week. Again, he asked about Khotso’s family, his church, membership in clubs, and so on. Thus began a pattern that continued for several weeks: Tsietsi would appear at Naledi at the end of the school day once a week to talk. He and Khotso would find an empty classroom or, if the weather was fine, sit outside. They covered a range of mostly neutral topics, but occasionally Tsietsi would insert a question about the situation in South Africa. Khotso understood that Tsietsi was trying to tease out his political views. But Tsietsi’s approach was so slow and convincing that Khotso, despite his reservations, found himself being drawn to his new friend.
Mpho, the fourth son, shared little of his older brothers’ anguish about being a poor township boy. Growing up in the political void of the 1960s, it seemed the normal state of things. His house was like his neighbours’ (albeit more cramped), his possessions not dissimilar to theirs. In fact, Mpho felt a great sense of security. Long before he had friends, his gaggle of brothers provided protection and fellowship.
But there were hazards to having so many siblings. At mealtimes, Nomkhitha seated the youngest children on the floor of the living room. (The older ones got to eat at the dining-room table with their parents.) She set down a big bowl of pap with vegetables or traces of meat and there followed an intense struggle to get at the food. Despite the exertion of sharing from one bowl, Mpho came to think of eating as a highly communal experience. It would take him a long time after leaving home to adjust to using his own plate; having a meal in such a manner seemed so solitary, so lonely.
Eating on the floor required a careful choreography. You had to balance getting enough food to eat with finishing promptly; the first to push away from the bowl got his pick of the after-dinner chores. For Mpho, there was always a kind of tension: resisting the lure of more food allowed him to stand up and claim drying, the easiest of the jobs. Gluttony meant some other brother would assert his right before him. That left the washing-up, an odious task or, even worse, cleaning the floor. The older children were responsible for washing and drying the dishes and setting them on the table for the younger ones to put away. In Soweto, girls traditionally did this type of work; but until 1974, when the twins Lindi and Linda were born, the Mashininis were a family of boys.
As such, they were also obliged to do chores around the house, and to finish them before Nomkhitha returned from work late in the afternoon. The children had to wash the breakfast dishes, clean out the ashes from the morning fire, make the beds, fold their clothes, scrub the tiles and sweep the floor.