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Leadership at Bethel

At Bethel College, I was among young boys from all over South Africa and that helped open my mind to children and people of different languages, ethnic groups and cultures. We studied mostly with bigger and older boys. One was my friend Bandla Mbali, a handsome and smart boy from East London. You could see by the way he dressed that he was from a well-off family. He and I were the same height and had Afros, dimples and small eyes.

Another friend, Thabo Motea, was a toughie. He loved exercising. He was fit and strong like a weightlifter. He played soccer. Then there was the tall and dark Thembile Msuseni. We called him Star Black. He had brown eyes and came from Cape Town. Next was the short Monde Makola, a Butterworth boy who lived on campus. He was the son of a gospel minister, Pastor Makola.

Although the school discouraged Butterworth learners from living in their homes, they were relaxed about Monde’s access to his home. This meant that we could go to his home during what were called staff and student shopping days. Even when we did not have money, we could go to Monde’s house and have a full meal there. This included meat, which was not offered at Bethel. The school was strictly vegetarian. For the nine years I was at Bethel I was almost a vegetarian. I would get meat only at Monde’s and during school holidays when I went home.

Meat was quite a big thing for me. At some of the houses of my big family, we did not wait to eat meat only on Sundays or at month-end. My big family slaughtered from time to time, not only during traditional ceremonies. Meat would be prepared for our own family feast. Many times, we slaughtered to celebrate achievements as a family.

Eating fresh meat ensured that I could walk long distances to fetch cattle or to herd goats. Walking such long distances also helped me when it came to sports.

But back to my friends. Liphatsa Ramano was tall and handsome, light in complexion, and had an Afro. And you could also see that he was from a well-off family, as his clothes were expensive. Wayebhampa eskoloweni xa ehamba – he had an extra bounce in his walk at school. Monde Tyusha was a smart, quiet fellow of the Gqugqugqu clan. He was also a Butterworth boy. Handsome Mahlasela was no relation to Vusi Mahlasela. His parents nearly got it right by giving him the name. Compared with my other friends, he was not handsome, but he was also not ugly. He was from Soweto. We are still in touch. Sibusiso Tshabalala was the son of the late AmaMpondo princess Stella Sigcau, who was then the Republic of Transkei’s Minister of Telecommunications and went on to become the Prime Minister. I have fond memories of the few times she would arrive at campus to visit her children Sibusiso and Nombulelo.

From the boys’ dormitory we had the advantage of seeing all the cars that went to visit the girls’ dormitory and the administration block. When Minister Sigcau’s entourage approached, we would lay our towels on the dusty street for the minister’s car to drive over while we formed a ‘guard of honour’, whistling, ululating like women and singing crazily. This occurred every time there was a delegation from the Great Place eMngqesha paying a visit to the late King yamaRharhabe. His Majesty Maxhoba Ayakhawuleza Sandile was at the same dormitory with us. And we did it for all other fellow students from prominent families when their parents visited Bethel. The same can be said of famous businessmen Mr Phil Khumalo, father of Pam Khumalo; Mr Monde Zingisa; and Mr Sihele, who was the owner of Fingoland Motors in Butterworth, the father of Mvume Sihele and his sister Zuzi. These are a few of those I remember who came to visit driving expensive German cars such as the long Mercedes-Benz of the late ’70s and early ’80s.

Boarding-school life levelled our social status as we were all subjected to the same conditions, such as the cold showers year-round because there was no hot water in the boys’ dormitory. I don’t know whether it was too expensive or maybe they thought it would toughen us up.

I have to admit that there were four times when I was expelled from school because of non-payment of fees by my mother. Yes, Bethel, our Adventist school, expelled learners when fees fell too far behind. But my mother would always find the money to keep me at school, and for that I am grateful.

Nowadays the school gets a government subsidy. This means that students of other religions are also allowed and that the teachers’ salaries are taken care of. Even during our time, there were a lot of learners who were not Adventists. And it did not matter what religion you followed elokishini – in the township – but once at Bethel, you would be expected to follow the Adventist route.

When my mother could afford a few more rand, she would buy me new grey pants. These were important to me as they helped me overcome another negative experience of grey uniform trousers that were mended over and over again with white cotton at the back. The more fortunate boys among us had four or five pairs of grey trousers.

Battling with issues such as these convinced me that once I got out of the campus and had secured my qualifications, few would catch me in the wide world.

At Bethel, I found it fascinating being in charge of myself. I could decide what to wear to church, and what to buy on staff and student shopping days. The exposure to other languages and cultures helped me appreciate the immense social cohesion Bethel presented to all of us. I also enjoyed rubbing shoulders with the school’s American missionaries and learning their twang. Because of the diversity of the many cultures on campus, English was a compulsory language spoken in almost all facets of our interactions. But I soon learnt different languages and became familiar with the various accents.

Bethel was widely known in the Transkei and in South Africa as a good private school where students mastered languages, achieved good results, and were of a high moral standing. This was why the school was also referred to as the KwaSirayeli – Israelites’ camp.

At Bethel, there were streetlights and a lot of trees. We liked being in the shade of these trees because they offered a place to chat with our girlfriends. And then maybe getting a kissinyana – a kiss before separating. That was the only thing you could get, the kiss. Nothing more. Bethel was strict. The school considered sex before marriage taboo, and our consciences spoke to us. If a girl fell pregnant, she was expelled. We were educated on how to conduct ourselves and our sexuality. We read books like Ellen G. White’s Messages to Young People.

Moral uprightness was the order of the day. This was complemented by the stern disciplinary culture of all my principals and deputy principals. There was Mr Milton Siepman and Pastor Du Preez, whom we nicknamed Mshefane, as he was short and his speech was often unclear, just like a character by the name of Mshefane in an old South African comedy, Inyakanyaka. After Mshefane, we had Pastor JJ Mdakane and Pastor Leepile.

Pastor JJ Mdakane died in 2019. He was a disciplinarian who had mastered the art of dealing with students. He was not militant, but he had a clever psychological approach and a distinct voice. I used to imitate him a lot. I would hide and say loudly, as he used to, ‘Hey, ngenani emaklasini nina’– ‘Hey, go to your classes’. And learners would run to their classes, although some realised it was me playing the fool. When we had entertainment nights, during the talent shows, I would play Mdakane. Mdakane was very dark, strikingly dignified, and feared by most learners at Bethel.

Pastor Leepile came from Limpopo. After a giant like ‘Mdakes’, as we called Mdakane, we had Leepile who was quiet and lighter in complexion. When the new principal, Pastor Leepile, arrived at Bethel, we all said, ‘Sadla!’ – ‘Freedom!’

Mr Thula Nkosi was an excellent administrator. His handwriting looked like an official font on a computer. In fact, I would name a font ‘ThulaNkosi’. His signature was also fascinating. It was a carefully designed work of art. It inspired my signature, too.

Mr GB Yaze was a great choral music producer, music arranger and conductor. Today, although retired, he is still famous in the Adventist churches around the country. Wherever he shows up, people surrender their choirs to him as an honour. From Ginsberg Seventh-Day Adventist Church to New Brighton Seventh-Day Adventist Church, Themba Seventh-Day Adventist School, Cancele Seventh-Day Adventist School and Bethel, there was always someone with good remarks about my registrar tishala, teacher uYaze.They complimented him on his knowledge of and passion for choral and quartet music. It was unequalled. In my church, he was a name larger than the music itself.

Then there was my hero for academic excellence whose logical superiority, appetite for research, and good command of the English language fascinated me, and, of course, his handwriting, too. Mr Mfundo Mayaba – also retired in Port Elizabeth – was my isiXhosa teacher from 1978 to 1983. On the days when we were doing literature, he would tell the class to open their books and follow quietly while I read. He would tell the learners that this would feel like they were listening to the radio.

I salute all those who made a contribution to the man I am.

My teachers: Mr Ray ka Msengana and Ms Smondile, whose presence on campus as the girls’ matron was felt by everyone – girls and boys alike.

My English teachers, Pastor Dumba, Pastor Solomon Lebese and Mr Mfundo Mayaba, who at one stage was also my isiXhosa teacher; Miss Hlubi (Mrs Motha); my science and biology teachers, Mr Gerry Yaze and Mr Birkenstock; and my maths teachers, Ms Silana, Ms Sanqele and Mr Xolo Mfeka.

All my boarding masters, or preceptors as they were called on campus: Pastor Dumba, Mr JB Jakavula, Pastor Mantla and Pastor Bhengu were all father figures who in one way or another shaped me more than the academic staff.

Pastor Dumba was from Zimbabwe. We considered it a privilege to have a pastor from another African country. In those days, black people from other parts of Africa received red-carpet treatment here. Those were different times when there was no competition for resources as black people were not benefiting from the economy.

These preceptors did not know about ukushafula. Dumba was a preceptor during my bed-wetting shuffling; Jakavula was a preceptor during this time as well and they knew about my condition but they never embarrassed me. Although I was not the only one osha­fulayo, as I have said my problem kept recurring until I saw the doctor.

Ms Hlubi, who is now Mrs Motha, had a royal accent and her command of English was super. She would go on to be my communications lecturer when I did my diploma.

Gerry Yaze was the son of Pastor GB Yaze, the music genius. Gerry taught me physical science and biology. He was brilliant and was also good in music. He was thin but used to wear size-twelve shoes. Izihlangu zakhe zaziqala zivele emnyango! His shoes would stick out the door first when walking out!

Mr Birkenstock was the husband of the college nurse who ran the school’s clinic. He was our biology teacher. I remember his explaining the reproductive system, how the sperm swam and so on. Pha pha, nini nini – in the meantime, Mrs Birkenstock was pregnant. We said among ourselves that, ja nhe, they put it into practice. Whenever Mrs Birkenstock came into the class pushing her tummy, her husband would say, ‘You see, but you don’t do this now because you are still learners.’

And my maths teacher, Ms Silana, used to talk fast. We had to ask her to repeat what she had said, as maths needed a bit of explaining.

Then there was Ms Sanqele, who came from Cape Town. She was quiet and patient. I had not been to the Mother City. We would ask her about the city and she would tell us about Table Mountain and how flat it was. And being a maths teacher, she even drew the mountain using a T-square.

In grades 11 and 12, we had Mr Xola Mfeka. He also lectured maths when I was doing my teaching diploma. He was a mathematician through and through. He was a fairly young teacher who also liked to hear about student love affairs – who was dating whom. He would go to the dining hall just to see who was sitting together.

I also have great respect for the lecturers who followed the University of Transkei’s three-year teaching curriculum strictly and with passion: the likes of Mfeka, Hlubi, Professor Du Buisson, Nontando Dube and many more come to mind. Pastor Chapman Mphuthumi Ntlonze, who happened to be an ex-Bethelite, was also my mentor and role model and his unorthodox ways and his approach to his calling were a wonder to me. Apart from our sharing the same name, Mputumi, I was humbled to discover he reciprocated the respect I had for him and had followed my career.

Professor Du Buisson was our lecturer for educational psychology. He also took us for principles of teaching and child development. He was a walking encyclopaedia. He knew the Greek philosophy of raising a child, which was part of the curriculum. A quiet man, very softly spoken, he had amazing methods. He had such knowledge, and the moment he opened his mouth, you listened.

Professor Du Buisson was white, but there was no visible friction between the black and white teachers. This was because they were all Adventists and we were under the government of the Transkei. They acted as one big family.

I remember that Nontando Dube was a walking calculator, brilliant in commercial subjects. She was the lioness of commerce. Nontando got married on campus to Ace Dube and invited all the students. Saswanker blind lomini leyo – we put on our best clothes that day. Getting married on campus had an element of convenience, but they also both wanted us to be guests.

With its beautiful history as a school, Bethel College has a good reputation of morality based on its Christian principles and has produced some of South Africa’s most prominent personalities. Bethel was strict – so strict you could smell wrongdoing even before you set your eyes on it. It was the holy ground and all citizens of the Transkei, Ciskei and other areas of the Eastern Cape, and generally South Africa, regarded it this way.

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These teachers and mentors sharpened my talents. I believed that once I left school with full qualifications, I would be able to achieve whatever I set my mind to in the outside world.

Then, on the South African TV screen, I encountered other exBethelites like my campus ‘mom’ Noxolo Grootboom, who recalls with a broad smile:

‘Wayendwebile’ – he was an extrovert. Putco had long had this unique voice with a hint of hoarseness. I am convinced that the broadcast bug started biting him in high school, and the late radio veteran Dambile Tuswa must have been his role model because when he spoke, I picked up a bit of Dambile Tuswa in his tone . . . not a bad thing at all.

Some readers might know the Baby-Mums game. Well, he was my ‘Baby’ and to him I was ‘Mums’. This meant he had a ‘mother’ figure in the girls’ dormitory. This was someone you confided in. Maybe about things that had to do with love affairs. Putco would come to me typically as my baby and I would advise him on life matters. If he needed something, he knew to come to me anytime. The good thing is that I am still Mums and he is still my Baby. Even to his wife, I am simply Mums. To his former colleagues at iBreakfast Eyo­ndlayo Ekuseni, I was simply Mums and am still Mums long after Putco left the station. One thing I never doubted about him while at Bethel was that he was going to go far in life.

The darling of black TV in the ’80s, Lunga Williams, says:

Observing Mputumi’s movements on campus, I saw he showed signs of leadership as he was always surrounded by his peers who seemed to be attracted to him. During the weekends at Bethel, we usually had entertainment on Saturday nights. One of the activities that used to take place was a ‘Talent Night’. This is where Mputumi showed his talent as a radio commentator. He used to narrate soccer commentaries – commentating on imaginary players on the soccer field – and that amused the audience of students and staff. On the spiritual side, he joined the Master Guide leadership course under my tutorship, and he passed this with a good grade and was awarded the Master Guide certificate.

Mr GB Yaze, former deputy principal at Bethel College, says:

Putco was a bell-ringer – a very prestigious and responsible post in our world. This meant that he was the timekeeper for the entire college, responsible for waking us up, determining when prayers started and ended, when classes resumed and ended, when meals were served, when to study, and when lights went out on campus. He controlled our lives through that bell and we all relied on it to know what was happening. This duty he executed faultlessly and not even one day did he run late or miss an appointment.

Pastor Mputhumi Ntlonze explains:

Mputumi Mafani, from a young age, was very active and energetic. His environment seemed to be too slow for him. Talking, unless combined with action, was never sufficient for him. He would rather be found taking an action than be found doing nothing. He was often criticised but those who criticised him could not cope with his zeal and vigour. The point of finishing something was always a point of starting something else for him. He must have been jumpy before birth, impatient with waiting within the confines of the womb. Maybe before birth he was a student of Leonardo da Vinci, who said: ‘I have been impressed with the urgency of doing. Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Being willing is not enough; we must do.’ Every time I met him, I could not help but see a person in him who had a potential for the fulfilment of the statement by the writer Ellen White, who said: ‘To plan with clear mind and execute with courageous hand demands fresh, uncrippled energies. Young men and women are invited to give God the strength of their youth, that through the exercise of their powers, through keen thought and vigorous action, they may bring glory to Him and salvation to their fellow men.’ (Messages to Young People)

Putco’s padkos

We are all born with a moral conscience that tells us what is right and what is wrong. When that conscience is aided by the moral reputation of a good school, the learners are set up for life and can journey on the rough tracks and the smooth paths in confidence and dignity.