The safety of the group depended on the morena, and his leadership was under scrutiny, especially in the beginning of his term. “Morena is elected by the members who consider his qualities and experience. But if he is shit, we remove him and put another as morena. We might even kill him” (KI). PM concurs: “We wanted a person who is brave, who can look after people. If he is careless we could kill him. That’s why we want a good person, we tell him that he must be very careful.” Successful marena wielded a considerable amount of power but had to be sensitive to popular opinion. For example, BM was not pleased when he discovered his eldest son had joined one of the groups under his control. “I advised my son to leave the Marashea but I failed because my members asked me where that rule comes from. I didn’t stand a chance. They said that if a man has joined, he has joined. He cannot all of a sudden leave because he already knows the secrets.”
Marena performed a variety of functions with the assistance of the committee. They dispensed group funds to pay bail and legal fees and negotiated all sorts of arrangements with the police. Group discipline was the responsibility of the morena, who decided on punishments and arbitrated disputes. Marena decided when, whom, and how to fight and, in larger groups spread throughout several areas, controlled the actions of their subchiefs. For example, in October 1998, BM summoned his lieutenants from settlements throughout the Free State to a meeting in Virginia to discuss rumors that some of them were participating in taxi conflicts without his permission (BM). SAPS Inspector K reports a similar hierarchy among the group he worked with in the 1970s and 1980s, initially headed by Mokhemele: “It worked like this—MoKimbelele [Mokhemele] was in charge first and he had a lot of lieutenants under him. At that time it was Buffels, Harties, Stil, Jouberton, Canana [mining areas]. He was in charge of them—anything they do, they must first discuss it with him” (Potchefstroom, 7 June 1999).
Once marena were solidly entrenched, coups were uncommon. One of BM’s assistants, when discussing the matters of electing and removing marena, stated that “[BM] is morena for life. He is more than morena now. He is the father of us and he is above these conditions” (CN). Long-serving marena usually died on the job, although a few retired, ended up in jail, or were deported. BM plans to retire shortly, partly because he feels he is losing control. “I am retiring next year if I am still alive, because I am aware that I will end up killed by these youngsters because they do not like to be corrected. I should point out that Kloof, Khutsong, and Bekkersdal were under my rule, but because they were not prepared to accept my control, we parted.”
Many of the most famous marena died violent deaths. Matsarapane was hanged for his part in the killing of a white police officer; Lenkoane was assassinated by a fellow Matsieng; Bifa was killed by Mamalinyane, who was in turn slain by Bifa’s compatriots; Tsilo was stabbed to death under mysterious circumstances; Maseko was killed by the police; and Tsotsi Raliemere was killed by a rival faction.
Matsieng leader Tsotsi Raliemere’s funeral in Lesotho, 1985. Collection of the author.
RULES AND DISCIPLINE
Life was precarious for all Marashea and the gangs adopted strict rules to instill order and maintain male control. Although there have been minor variations between groups there seem to be some general rules that have applied to the Marashea as a whole. Regulations were designed to maintain group integrity, specifically to minimize conflict within each group, to maximize the financial and human resources of the group, and to prevent betrayal. Members were expected to follow instructions issued from the morena and the committee. “You have to take orders from the top. . . . When you are ordered to go somewhere, maybe to collect money, you have to obey” (MM). Members were required to settle quarrels through arbitration and to accept the judgment of the lekhotla (council). To take matters into one’s own hands invited severe punishment.
If maybe you beat someone [another member] who has taken your nyatsi instead of taking him to the lekhotla then you would be convicted and the fine was maybe R600 for such offences. And you had to pay that fine immediately. If you failed to pay immediately you would be beaten. They beat you severely and then they would take you to the hospital. They would break your bones and after the hospital you would come back to the group. You were required to respect the members in the group. (SO)
The linyatsi of group members were introduced to the group and it was an offense to covet another man’s nyatsi. “You should not propose to the woman of another member in the group. When you have nyatsi you have to report it to the group so that she would be known and an investigation would be made to ensure that she is not involved with another man within the group” (DG). For serious matters such as infidelity or attempting to escape, women were judged and punished by men. Some groups allowed women to deal with minor offenses such as personal quarrels. “We have a women’s council composed of elderly women that looks into the matter of rule-breaking. They can fine her some money or corporal punishment may apply depending on the nature of the case” (BM).
All male group members paid a regular contribution to the group treasury. In some groups this levy was collected monthly and in others it was paid weekly. These funds were used for the benefit of the group—to pay bail and legal fees, to hire traditional doctors and pay for moriana, to bribe police, and to pay for transport and funerals. When larger sums were needed—for example, to cover legal expenses when several members faced serious charges—both men and women Marashea were required to pay extra.
Once a man committed to the Marashea he was not free to leave the group. “It is not easy to leave because you are like a soldier, so you cannot leave while the fight is on” (DS). The old, the badly injured, and the sick were typically given a choice between returning home to Lesotho or staying with the group as advisors. For the young and active it was more problematic. “If you are healthy and young we cannot let you go—you are like an ox in a yoke plowing—we cannot let you go especially when you are young” (HL). This condition applied equally to men and women. “No one in Marashea is allowed to leave the group except for those who are old and useless” (‘Mè ID). Along with the determination to retain men of fighting age and younger women, who could attract mineworkers, there was a concern that absconders would reveal secrets to rivals and place the group in jeopardy. “You are not allowed to leave because you have seen our secrets; you have even seen our doctors and how they give moriana to us” (BH). “If you leave without our permission, then we consider you a traitor because you can inform on us to our rivals and the police, who can kill and arrest us” (HL). Healthy members could secure their release in select circumstances. Employed men who lost their jobs were often permitted to leave provided they returned to Lesotho—thus posing no danger. KI was forced to retire from the mines in 1985 and obtained permission to leave the group. He explains that “it is not easy to leave Marashea. But for those who work on the mines, if the job is finished, as in my case, one has to go home. . . . If one leaves the group because he was working and then lost his job, that is a valid reason and they let him go. But if he just decides to step aside while still living in South Africa, it might be like a decision to die.” It appears that some groups allowed members to purchase their release. “When you want to leave you must pay money for going out, and if you do not have money we do not permit you to leave” (MM).
Those who betrayed the group were sentenced to death and great effort was expended in tracking them down. “The most serious offence that a member can commit is treason, and he is killed instantly like a dog when he is discovered” (KI). Treason could encompass informing on colleagues to the police, defecting to a rival group or even leaving the group without permission. After being shot and wounded by the police during a skirmish, ML testifies that he was tired of life as Lerashea: “After that I wanted to leave the group but it was difficult to leave because after committing yourself there is no way to go back, as they will call you a traitor and chase you until they kill you.”
The most common method of discipline was corporal punishment. “In