Our mother with Comrade Nelson Mandela’s mother
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The 15th of August 1934 and 1947
( dedicated to our late mother Zubeida ‘Jubie’ Moolla, and to all the women, the mostly unsung heroines in all the struggles for freedom across the world )
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Our mother was born on the 15th of August, an auspicious day, in the winter of 1934.
Thirteen years later, also on this auspicious day, in the summer of 1947, India cast off the yoke of colonial oppression.
These dates, though a decade apart are bound together in our family, hewn together by the happenstance of fate.
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The threads of the struggle for freedom, the hunger for liberation, the thirst for democracy, the ache of sacrifice, are intertwined.
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The valiant freedom fighters faced the brutality of the enemy head-on, staring down the barrels of the imperialists with chins held high, relinquishing the comfort of inaction for the battle for those eternally noble ideals – the struggle against oppression, the quest for human dignity, the emancipation of women, the conviction of being a part of a greater cause in the service of humanity.
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The struggle for liberation in South Africa and in India left many martyred souls, many more victims of appalling cruelty, the harrowing pain of families’ torn apart, the parents and children ripped from each other, the savagery of torture, the massacres of the innocents, the decades spent in prison, the years spent in exile.
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The names of the martyrs bear witness:
Solomon Mahlangu.
Bhagat Singh.
Ahmed Timol.
Rajguru.
Vuyisile Mini.
Prakash Napier
Sukhdev.
Steve Biko.
Victoria Mxenge.
Yusuf Akhalwaya.
Just a few names of the many more who gave up their youth, cruelly executed by the merciless foe.
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The torch bearers of the struggles, are forever etched in our minds, always kept close to our hearts, for these were the giants who inspired countless more to join the just cause for universal human dignity.
Their names are legendary:
Nelson Mandela.
Lillian Ngoyi.
Jawaharlal Nehru.
Sarojini Naidu.
Walter Sisulu.
Mahatma Gandhi.
Dorothy Nyembe.
Oliver Tambo.
Charlie Andrews.
Ahmed Kathrada.
Sardar Patel.
Govan Mbeki.
Nana Sita.
Chris Hani.
Aruna Asaf Ali.
Andrew Mlangeni.
Margaret Mncadi.
Sucheta Kriplani.
Ruth First.
Subhash Chandra Bose.
Joe Slovo.
Raymond Mhlaba.
These are but a few of our eternal flames – the flames that shall burn bright in the hearts of all freedom loving people.
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Our mother was born into a politically active family. Our grandfather a fierce opponent of racism and sectarianism in all its grotesque forms.
Our mother grew up in this cauldron of political agitation.
Our mother married our father and a daughter and a son were born, while Papa made his way in and out of jail, Mummy was left to tend for the infants, Tasneem and Azad.
Our parents were forced into exile, with their beloved young children left behind in the care of loving maternal grandparents, uncles and aunts.
Mummy as a mother suffered harshly and went through many breakdowns, being separated from Tasneem and Azad. I think only people who have been apart from their children will understand the pain of a mother.
People often think life in exile was easy. It was not. Papa was with MK and travelled continuously. It was mummy who was left with her thoughts, her grief, her pain and suffering knowing that her children were suffering by not having parents like normal families do.
People also called mummy ‘cheeky’ with a quick and bad temper, but can anyone understand the pain of being separated from ones own children and not becoming angry and feeling broken.
What Tasneem and Azad had to suffer through only they know. No one who has not been ripped away from their parents can ever ever know the effect that pain and pining has on the children. Today we see people whose kids go for sleepovers with friends and already the house seems empty and already the parents and the children miss each other and WhatsApp each other.
Tasneem and Azad never had that luxury.
May my nieces never forget the sacrifice mummy and daddy made and the pain of that time that can never really heal.
So may we try and spend time just thinking how it would be for the grandchildren if they had their parents suddenly taken away from them and then having to live with uncles and aunties, and grandparents.
These are the scars of history.
These are the wounds that never heal.
These are the sacrifices that go unnoticed.
These are the gnawing ache that history often forgets.
These are the experiences of countless mothers and their children.
This is the price paid dearly for the freedom and democracy we share today.
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The 15th of August, a day of celebration of freedom in India.
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The 15th of August, a day of reflection for our family in South Africa.
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Long live the Women’s Movement!
Viva the strength and power of the women!
( dedicated to Zubeida ‘Zubie’ Moolla, and to all the women, the unsung heroines in all the struggles for freedom across the world )
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Our mother with Comrade Nelson Mandela
